He’s shaking.
The shower in the bathroom starts as Carol sits down, closes her eyes, and cranes her neck up, relaxing on a small chaise longue chair.
“Andrew,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize you were so upset.”
“Am I overreacting?” The question itself is unnerving. Always so self-assured, Andrew’s not the type to ask if his reaction is out of line.
Rapidfire thoughts rip through me as I try to see the situation from his perspective. Pregnant wife on bed rest, home alone, not answering the phone.
“No. I understand.”
He squeezes my shoulder harder.
“Swim with me,” I plead.
Shannon emerges from the bathroom, towelling her wet hair. Carol whispers in her ear, their eyes cutting over to us. Carol goes into the bathroom and the shower starts as Andrew lets go of me and begins texting quickly.
“Too much work?” I ask, knowing the answer.
“Yes, but I’m clearing an hour.”
“A WHOLE HOUR?” Shannon calls out sarcastically.
Blinking rapidly, it’s clear her comment hit a nerve.
He bends down to kiss me and I laugh.
“I’ll take the sixty minutes. It’s better than nothing.”
“You are worth much more than ‘better than nothing.’”
“Don’t fall in.”
Midway to kissing me, he halts, an extraordinary display of emotion crossing his face.
To my surprise, he pulls back. Have I offended him? Pushed the teasing too far?
Stripping out of his jacket, he loosens his tie, throws it on a chair, and kicks off his shoes.
“What are you doing?” I shout as Shannon begins whistling a pathetic version of a strip tease song.
Andrew is not known for being inhibited about his body, though he has nothing on Declan, who models for nude sculpture classes at a local arts center.
Within moments he’s down to his underwear, Shannon shouting, “OH MY GOD, STOP THERE! I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT MUCH ABOUT YOUR BODY!”
The shower ends.
“WHOSE BODY?” Carol calls out.
“ANDREW’S GETTING NAKED.”
“HOLD ON! I’LL BE OUT IN A MINUTE! I NEED TO SEE THIS!”
There is no question these two were raised by Marie.
At the edge of the pool, my husband, wearing boxer briefs and a grin, bends down in competitive swimmer’s launch pose and flings himself expertly into the water, down the lane faster than you can imagine. In his wake, the waves splash water out of the pool, making Shannon laugh as Carol bursts out of the shower, frantic eyes searching for Andrew.
“Did I miss the show? I missed it, didn’t I. Damn it!”
“Why are you so eager to see my husband naked?” I shout over the sound of Andrew showing off his butterfly stroke as he returns.
“I’m eager to see any man naked, Amanda. Haven’t seen one in real life in three years!”
Andrew surfaces, looking like a hot, wet seal, grinning and breathing hard as he treads water. Somehow, he does that one handed, the free hand going to my belly.
Righty kicks him, hard.
And then Lefty kicks my cervix even harder.
“Ooof,” I gasp, legs scissoring hard in the water as I try to get the pain to dissipate.
Strong hands grasp my hips, pushing slightly up. “What’s wrong?” Andrew asks, his body moving rhythmically with his own kicks to keep us both afloat.
“Nothing. Lefty decided to play soccer with my cervix.”
“Again?”
“Mmm hm.” I smile at him, admiring his wet, athletic body as he moves his hands slowly away. “You don’t do this.”
“Do what? Touch you?”
“Jump in the pool midday to just hang out.”
“I should do it more often.”
“We’ll see ourselves out!” Shannon hollers, Carol and Shannon blowing kisses our way. Their departure is perfunctory and so speedy I’m almost suspicious.
Then again, if Declan jumped into a pool in his underwear while I was visiting their home, I’d get out of Dodge fast, too.
“Finally,” he whispers, coming in for a kiss. “Just us.”
Bzzzzz.
“And your phone. Funny, when I imagined having a threesome, I never thought your phone would be the third.”
“You’ve imagined a threesome?” he asks in a tight voice, waving his hand toward the phone. “And I’m ignoring that.”
Bzzzzzz.
“It’s not ignoring you,” I point out.
“My phone doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Since when?”
“Since I — ”
RING!
Hoisting himself out of the pool and giving me a fine eyeful of his ass, Andrew walks carefully to his suit jacket, slides the phone out of his pocket, and starts with, “I told you, Gina, I — ”
And then shuts up and listens.
Every second that passes tells me what I already know: this was too good to be true. Andrew doesn’t just strip down and take a few hours off with me spontaneously like this.
His life is scheduled to the quarter hour.
A series of sighs tells me what I already know: he’s leaving. Back to work. But how to untangle himself from the wife?
I’m thirsty now, and my bladder’s about to burst, so I carefully ascend the steps and go straight to a chaise longue chair, my water bottle next to it. Stretching out, heedless of the dripping mess I’m making in the chair, I drink half the water bottle, then close my eyes.
The tears come unexpectedly, the rush of emotion undefined. As they slip out of the corners of my eyes, the cloth cushion absorbs them.
I open my eyes to find Andrew gone, the shower on, the sounds of water splattering hastily coming through. He says nothing, but within a minute he’s back to his pile of clothes, sliding one leg in his pants after the other, clearly going commando.
“Amanda? I’m sorry. I have to — ”
“I know how it works.”
“But this was going to be different.”
“Mmm hmmm.”
“No, really.”
“I know.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You always do.”
“Please don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
“So — ” But he can’t find the words as he buttons his shirt and tucks it into his pants. We just breathe together and try to find a way not to let the growing distance between what I want and what he wants become impossible to bridge.
Bzzzz.
If Andrew had a mistress, I could scream and wail, feel justly betrayed, sue for divorce and hate her guts. I could hang
