style="font-size:15px;"> Out in the hall the air is cool and carries that old, upscale hotel smell of brass polish and carpet shampoo. Our suite is at the end of the corridor. Three doors down a fortyish man and twenty-something brunette step into the hallway. They don’t see me. Or maybe they do, but they don’t care. He closes the door, draws her to him in a feverish kiss. I watch them shamelessly. His hands skim her slim body, wind their way around to her derriere where they linger, kneading and pulling her into him for the duration of the kiss.
They laugh, kiss again, coo at each other, and finally walk away, arms entwined, past the other rooms that stretch down the passage like twin rows of soldiers standing at attention, guarding tawdry secrets. Shiny knobs and numbered plates glint in the dim light, but betray nothing of the lovers who grace these halls.
A voice deep inside me prods and pokes me in vulnerable places. “You know what’s going on, Kate. You know. Now you have to decide if you’re going to turn the other cheek or start opening some doors.”
We get back to the hotel before midnight. I’m remarkably relaxed. Equalized, you might say. Amazing the miracles worked by good friends, a delicious meal and more than a few glasses of Chardonnay.
Ahh… Medicine to soothe the weary soul.
I fall onto the overstuffed, floral sofa, let my head loll back into the cushion and close my eyes for a minute.
“This is exactly what I needed,” Rainey says as she toes out of her sandals. “It’s good for us to get away. It makes our men miss us. And appreciate us.”
I nod and look at Alex. I see two of her and blink until the images meld into one. My head is spinning. I put my hand on my forehead to make it stop.
I never drink this much. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. It was either anesthe…a—nes—the—tize—phewwww, say that after several glasses of wine. Anyhow, it was either numb myself or cry in my soup and ruin everyone’s dinner. That wouldn’t have been very nice. Especially given that the girls didn’t even ask about my phone call. Wise women. I like that about them. Good friends. They have a sixth sense that tells them when to prod and when to leave it alone.
Instead, we talk about tomorrow’s plans—more shopping, the beach, a massage. Then Rainey goes off on her usual hour-long tirade about how her husband pays no attention to her, which I suspect may have been meant as a segue for me to jump in and talk about my phone spat with Corbin, but I don’t cross the threshold. Uh-uh. Not going there. In fact, that little voice that keeps nagging me saying—“You know what he’s doing, Kate. You know.”—I tell it to shut up.
And then Alex gives Rainey her standard logic against Rainey’s staying with a man who won’t make love to her. “Did you get married to become a nun?” She asked her that.
It’s kinda funny if you think about it.
Well, naaaa, really it’s not. It kinda sucks, actually. At least Corbin and I still do it. Well, we used to. It’s been a while. But I don’t want to talk about it. So anyway, after Alex goes off, Rainey starts with her defense of the ups and downs of holy matrimony.
All this in the span of two bottles of wine. I couldn’t get a word in if I wanted to. All I do is sit, sip and go along for the ride.
Now, we’re back at the hotel, and they’re all talked out. It’s a good thing, because my head hurts.
Alex stands up and stretches. “It’s way past my bedtime. I’m calling it a night.”
“I’m not far behind you,” says Rainey. “Who wants the bathroom first?”
The two disappear into the bedroom to sort it out. Inertia takes hold of me, and tugs me into a prone position on the couch. Maybe closing my eyes will make the dizziness go away.
Yeahhhhh…that’s better… Except that all I can see in my mind’s eye is the long double row of doors outside in the hotel hallway and that damned kissing couple a few rooms down. And this time when the man draws back from the embrace, it’s…Corbin who’s grinding himself into the brunette.
I sit up too fast, which causes my already pounding head to split. I swallow against a wave of nausea.
My purse is on the coffee table, and I fish out my cell phone, letting my PDA, lipsticks and receipts fall where they may.
Dialing my home number, I pay no attention to the little voice that warns me that it’s after midnight. Shut up! Weren’t you just saying, “You know. You know.” Well, I’ve had enough of you. Shut up.
The line rings twice before a young woman answers.
“Hennessey residence.”
I’m jolted sober. A coppery taste fills my already dry mouth and bile burns the back of my throat.
“This is Kate Hennessey. May I speak to Corbin, please?”
My words are short and enunciated. Much too polite for this woman who’s in my house, answering my phone. I should call her a home-wrecking bitch-slut. Because that’s what she is—
“Hi, Mrs. Hennessey. This is Jenny Long. Dr. Hennessey had an emergency at the hospital and called me about an hour ago to come in and stay with Caitlin.”
“Oh.”
My hand flies to my mouth in an automatic reflex. This young woman, whom I nearly called a home-wrecking bitch-slut, is, in fact, the college girl we call when we need an overnight sitter and my mother’s not available. Why did Corbin call her and not my mother? What about Dave and Mac? One of the moron twins was supposed to be on call this weekend. Why is Corbin at the hospital instead of them?
Ask your husband what he’s been doing all those nights he claimed to be at the hospital.
A scream blooms low in my belly and expands, threatening to overpower me. Somehow I manage to ask in a civilized tone, “Hi, Jenny, when did Corbin say he’d be home?”
“He wasn’t sure. He said he might be late—or early, depending on how you look at it. He said if he wasn’t home by the time Caitlin woke up, I should feed her.”
I can’t breathe and the walls start to close in on me.
Not only is the room spinning, but now the floor is dropping out from under me. “Thanks, Jenny.” I don’t know where my voice comes from, but it catches me like a safety net, and I’m grateful for it.
“Sure, Mrs. Hennessey. If it’s urgent, you can always page him or phone him at the hospital.”
“Yes, thanks, I’ll do that.”
I hang up the phone, sick with dread, knowing what I have to do. The longer I put off the call, the harder it’ll be to place. I’m not going to call his cell phone because if he’s not where he’s supposed to be, he’ll know he’s caught. But if I call the hospital and he’s there, I can tell him I felt bad about the way we left things when we spoke earlier, tell him I love him and want to end the night on a better note.
Yes, that’s it.
I pull up the numbers stored in my phone and page through the list until I come to Winter Park Hospital. I hit the automatic dial key. My heart
