Crushing Crystal by Evan Marshall Read Free Book Online Page B

Was? You guys divorced?” Matt inquired.
    I shook my head in no specific direction. Like one diagonal nod maybe.
    â€œHe died?” Matt asked.
    In a moment that seemed eternal, I thought about Matt’s question. If I told him I was still married, he would’ve likely returned to the stadium for the fourth quarter of the game never to hang up on my answering machine again. If I had backpedaled and told Matt I was actually divorced, his decision to dump me after college would be validated by another man—a man who really had the time to get to know me. A man who went into the relationship with every expectation of being with me forever. And still, that man couldn’t love me. My being widowed seemed like a good way to go. It made a statement: the only way my husband would ever let me go is if they pried me out of his cold, dead hand.
    Pretending Reilly was dead was just too horrible, though. Perhaps I could live with myself if I had a weekend fling with Matt, but posing as a widow was a line I could not cross.
    A decision had to be made fast. Who was I? The faithful wife who had the strength to pass on an irresistible opportunity? Or a lesser version of who I thought I was, someone willing to break the rules for a bit of excitement?
    People aren’t meant to be sexually monogamous, my Inner Male explained. It’s not natural to expect people to go through an entire life and desire only one partner.
    You do so much for other people. Don’t you deserve something nice for yourself? continued Penised Prudence.
    The two are completely separate, he continued.
    To deny oneself pleasure is to cease to live, my Inner Guy pressed, though this time he had a European accent.
    Fidelity is for bores.
    Funny how my Inner Male felt completely comfortable weighing in with five opinions on the matter.
    You’re almost forty. How many more opportunities are you going to get? This voice was clearly my mother’s, though she’d shudder if I ever told her she was part of my internal infidelity pep squad.
    Matt must have mistaken my silence as confirmation. “I’m sorry, Malone. That must’ve been tough,” Matt said. “When did he die?”
    Say something. Say anything.
    â€œTwo years ago. Boating accident. I don’t really like to talk about it,” I said.
    Not anything! Common Sense shook me by the shoulders.
    What had I done?! Poor Reilly doesn’t even like boating. He probably went to make me happy, and now he’s dead, I’m alive and I’m using his tragic demise to seduce my college flame.
    Tell Matt it was a slip of the tongue , my Inner Moron suggested.
    Slip of the tongue?! chided Common Sense. He died two years ago in a boating accident is not a slip of the tongue. Just move on and stick with the “I don’t want to talk about it” line. At this point, I thought I’d never see Matt again anyway. I’d assumed he was only interested in a one-time thing, which I was seriously considering.
    I kept my left hand in my jacket pocket until I was able to wiggle my wedding ring off with the other four fingers. Not easy to do. As I struggled with the removal of the evidence of my marriage to Reilly, I knew I was digging myself deeper into the lie I couldn’t stop telling.
    When Matt ran to the men’s room, I quickly called Reilly on my cell phone. I knew this was extremely risky, but I needed to hear his voice. Needed to hear that he didn’t know what I was up to. Perhaps talking to him would snap me back to reality. Back to sensible Prudence.
    â€œHello,” Reilly’s groggy voice answered.
    â€œSleeping in the afternoon?” I said, a bit too sweetly.
    â€œJust resting,” he said.
    Poor choice of words.
    â€œWhat’s up? Why are you calling?” he asked.
    â€œI just miss you, that’s all. I love you. Do you know that?”
    Settle down.
    He laughed. “Of course I know it. Isn’t the game still