Captured(45)

I push away the storm of thoughts and emotions raging inside me and tiptoe downstairs. There’s a note on the kitchen table:

Reagan, dear.

Tommy is with me at my house. My granddaughters are over for a few days, so he’s going to spend the day playing with us. Don’t you worry about a thing. Go, have yourself a wonderful day.

Ida.

Oh. Right. My day off.

The envelope with the gift certificate is on the table. I head back upstairs, take a shower, brush my hair and shave my legs and underarms, trim myself in other places. Head outside into the hot early fall air. I hear noises from the barn and look up to see Derek, shirtless, on the roof of the barn, scraping at the roof. Shingles tumble to the ground and fall in a pile. Hank is there on the ground, giving orders to three of his older grandsons, who are shoveling the mess into a huge red dumpster and carrying square pallets of what I assume are new shingles up the ladder onto the roof. Derek sees me, stands up straight, leaning on the tool he’s using to scrape at the shingles. Even from here, I can sense his turmoil. He doesn’t wave; he just stares at me.

I can’t deal with him right now. I just can’t. So I wave. Hank, his grandsons, they all wave back. Derek just stares at me, and then goes back to scraping.

I blast the radio on the drive up to Brenham and refuse to think about anything. I find the salon easily, and an effusive red-haired woman a few years older than I am welcomes me. She introduces herself as Sandy and hands me a mimosa and helps me into a stylist chair, and starts chattering volubly without pausing for breath about my hair and how much fun I’m going to have. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I’m soon laughing with her, telling her to do what she wants, just nothing crazy. Not too short, no weird colors. She waves me off and starts snipping. I watch as she clips a few inches off the bottom, leaving it just above my shoulders. After that, she goes through my hair again, adding layers and shape to it.

She says I don’t need any color, that my natural honey blonde is just perfect the way it is. So I’m hustled to the manicure station, where I’m given the royal treatment. Hand massage, clip, file, painted a deep plum. Same for my toes. Then they give me a long, luxurious facial, leaving my skin tingling and feeling cleaner than ever.

Sandy looks me over and nods. “Lovely. Just lovely. But you still seem a little tense. Since it’s so slow in here today, how about I throw in a massage? Lisa is just the best. She’s got a light touch, but she can really get those tricky knots out.”

“I’ve never had a massage before,” I say. “I guess I—”

“Then it’s settled. Right this way!”

The massage is probably the best thing I’ve ever felt. I’m jelly by the time Lisa is done, feeling more relaxed than I thought possible. I leave them as big a tip as I can afford, thank them, and leave. I find myself at a coffee shop, listening to quiet folksy music, sipping at a big mug of hot tea.

Thinking about Derek.

How angry I was. Rightfully, to my thinking. But then…I think about Derek, what he said in his defense. And I understand. It doesn’t make it any easier, knowing that Tom never knew. That Derek intentionally kept it from him.

And then I think about how close I’ve come to having sex with Derek, three times now. How am I supposed to reconcile my wide extremes of emotion? Guilt, lust. Grief, need. Confusion and clarity.

Clarity?

I know for a fact that the next time I’m alone with Derek, there won’t be any stopping us. I’m no clearer on my emotions, no clearer on how I’m supposed to reconcile the love I still feel for my dead Thomas with the need I feel for Derek. It’s not just physical, although that plays a huge part of it. It’s a need for a companion. A need to banish the loneliness. He’s here, and he understands, as much as anyone on earth can, where I’m coming from emotionally and mentally. Just like I understand him and why he’s drawn to me. He knows I know the toll combat takes on a man. He knows I’m strong enough to fathom what haunts him. He doesn’t have to pretend to be fine around me, because I know.

But then all the what-ifs crop back up. Will I still get attached if Derek and I have sex? Hell, I’m already attached. And Tommy? What if this keeps going? I bring Derek into my bed, and Tommy finds him there in the morning? How do I explain that?

I huff in frustration. No matter how many times I go through this in my head, I get no closer to an answer. I want him, and I want to let myself go, let myself have it. I have a few moments of it’ll turn out fine, but then all the what-ifs clamor in my head, and I start thinking I should end it.

But my heart and my body clench up at that thought.

I just don’t know what to do.

I think about going home, but end up at the grocery store instead. Since I’m all the way out in Brenham, I might as well get some things while I’m here. I had my pampering, and it was nice. Now back to reality. I feel spoiled, though. I’m going to want that again.

I end up in the pharmacy section of the store, in front of the condoms. Looking. Knowing, if I get them, we’ll use them. Probably a lot of them. But I’m no closer to knowing the right thing to do, so doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t let it happen? But then, who am I kidding? Unless I make him leave, it’s going to happen anyway.

I grab the smallest box. I toss it into the cart, then stop and pick it back up. I find a bigger box.

I hear a voice from beside me, a woman about my age with a baby in a carrier in the front of the cart. “If you’re not sure,” she says with a grin, “it’s probably best to get the big box.” She grabs the largest box from the bottom shelf, tosses it into my cart, and sashays away, cooing at her baby.