Lies She Told(72)

I dab at my dry eyes. “Jake was home when I got there. He’s in a rage about the police coming to the house this morning. I’m sorry. I needed to get out. I told him I was taking Vicky for a walk, but it’s too hot to stay outside for long, and I’m afraid to go back to our apartment . . .”

I trail off and stare up at him. His lips are parted. The invitation is right there on the tip of his tongue. I only need to coax it out.

“I am trying to come up with an excuse to go to my mother’s, but she’s still at work, and she’s not answering her phone.” Again, I pretend to fight tears.

Tyler steps back from the doorway. “You can stay here while you wait to hear from her.”

In the light of day, his apartment appears different: a plain bachelor pad rather than a sumptuous studio. It has an open layout, similar to my own apartment sans the separate bedroom and eat-in kitchen. The living room has a large couch worthy of a dorm’s common room and an obscenely large flat-screen television on the wall. There’s no dining room. Instead, a breakfast bar with four high-backed stools separates the kitchen from the main entertaining space. The bedroom is in a nook at the back.

I push Vicky’s stroller to the side of the couch, away from the light pouring in from the windows. “She’s sleeping,” I say. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

His tight smile widens a bit. “I’m just sorry that you are going through all this. Can I get you some water or tea?”

I am a coffee drinker, and I certainly didn’t come here for Earl Grey. Still, I accept the tea. It’s a gateway to other things.

He removes two mugs from a cupboard along with a fancy glass contraption with a well and a filter. From another cupboard, he withdraws a tin of tea leaves. While his back is turned, I pull down the Columbia tank to show maximum cleavage and tilt my torso in his direction.

Tyler keeps his back to me as he takes the teapot, now with leaves added, to a standing water cooler in a corner of the room. He presses a red lever, and boiling liquid begins filling the well. Steam rises in the climate-controlled air. “We have to let it steep a minute,” he says, returning the clear pot to the kitchen counter.

As he sets it down, I see his eyes dart to my chest. The memory of his lips on my breasts can’t be that far gone. I round the breakfast bar, grasp his hand, and tilt my head to look into his eyes. He stares back, waiting for me to say something. Studies show that sustaining eye contact with a stranger for two minutes results in passionate feelings—even love. I figure I need twenty seconds for lust.

Tyler blinks. “This tea—”

I stand on my toes, grab his face, and plant my lips on his full mouth. For a moment, his eyes remain open. They don’t stay that way. His lids close. His lips part. When he kisses me, I know he understands why I came here.

We move to the bed. I inhale the musk of his skin. It works like incense, chasing away my mental demons. Here, with Tyler’s hands on my body, I can forget all about Jake and Colleen and what I did. It was a bad dream. This man, this bed, the pants falling past chiseled thighs, the fingers pulling at the drawstring of my sweats: this is reality.

As he slips off my underwear, he suddenly freezes. “What about Vicky?”

“We’ll be quiet.”

Recalling that my infant daughter is in the room changes his demeanor. Instead of the wild romp that it seemed we would have moments before, he kisses me as though my lips are chapped. His fingertips trace my neck and move to my breasts, the feathering stroke after a massage has ended. He slips on a condom and positions himself on top of me, bearing his weight on his elbows and knees so that I am not pinned to the mattress. When he enters, he doesn’t make a sound.

Such tenderness feels like love, not sex. I am not ready for this.

Images of Colleen’s crushed skull flood my vision. I pant from the force of them. Tyler slows his already lethargic rhythm as though he might be giving me more than I can handle. The images come faster. I see the pipe. The gun. The blood.

I start coughing, a violent hacking fit that doubles me over and waters my eyes. Tyler withdraws from my body like he’s spotted signs of a venereal disease. He tells me I need tea.

No amount of liquid will wash Colleen from my mind. I was stupid to think that I could rid myself of her and start my life anew. She’ll never leave me. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

I start bawling, silent sobs that shudder through my whole body and blind me with tears. Tyler returns without a mug. He helps me sit up and then positions himself to my right, far enough away that there’s no chance of our naked bodies touching. Any desire he’d felt is long gone.

“Beth.” He speaks softly, subduing his accent. This is his shrink voice. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to sleep with me because I am letting you stay here for a few hours. In fact, we shouldn’t do anything besides talk. You need to process everything that has happened.”

“No.” The word barely makes it out between sobs. “There’s nothing to make sense of. It’s all over. My marriage is over.”

“Even if that’s true—”

I gasp. “I don’t want Jake anymore.”

Tyler reaches toward me. For a moment, I think he is going to pull me into his side and kiss the top of my head. Make me feel better. When I look at his outstretched hand, I realize he’s holding a box of tissues.