were back, running along Savage Lane, Karen wanted to finish up strong for a final calorie burn so she sprinted ahead. A few minutes later, she was on her front lawn, stretching her quads, when Mark approached, straining to catch his breath, his T-shirt soaked.
“So, how’s the rest of your day look?” Mark asked between gasps.
“I have to take care of stuff around the house and then I’m heading to the country club this afternoon,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. “I have an eleven forty-five tee time. But maybe we can meet up at the clubhouse afterward for coffee or something.”
Karen was planning to play tennis with her friend Jill, whom she was bringing to the club as a guest. Afterward she wanted to hang out with Jill and chat, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’m playing tennis with Jill, but we’ll probably be gone by the time you’re done.”
“Oh.” Mark seemed disappointed. “Well, you never know, I’ll text you from the course and maybe we can work something out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Bending down, stretching her hamstrings now, Karen expected Mark to leave but he stood there, watching.
When he noticed she was looking at him, his eyes shifted upward guiltily, and he said, “This was really a total blast. Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“Oh, it was no problem,” she said.
“We should do it again.”
Karen wanted to be honest—tell him that it was nothing personal but she preferred to run alone—but she figured she’d discuss it with him another time.
“Yeah, we totally should,” she said.
He remained, watching for several seconds while she continued to stretch, then said, “Well, see you later,” and she said, “See you,” and he finally headed back toward his house. When he was beyond her driveway he turned back and smiled and raised his hand, so she smiled and raised her hand as well.
Poor Mark. Karen could tell he was suffering inside and she had a feeling things were worse at home than he was letting on. She wished she could help, but there was nothing she could really do—he’d have to work through it on his own.
She went into the house, laid out a yoga mat, and continued with her workout.
W HEN D EB returned to the pool area, ahead of Owen, she felt dirty, disgusting, and ashamed. Everything about her classroom fantasy that had excited her just a few minutes ago, now repulsed her. She wanted to be dead, buried or, better yet, burned. The world didn’t deserve her miserable, unfaithful body. She wanted to evaporate, combust, disappear forever.
“Hey, Deb.”
Deb glanced to her left, toward the bleachers, at the smiling face of Grace Shapiro, the mom of Aiden who was on Justin’s swim team.
Deb had to smile back—talk about being fake—and said, “Hey, how are you?”
“Great, thanks,” Grace said. “Are you just getting here?”
“No, I was here before, I just had to take a call.”
“Oh, too bad,” Grace said. “I love your hair, did you get it cut?”
Fighting off an image of Owen grabbing a fistful of her hair as he leaned close to her ear, grunting, You like that, student ? You like that, right ? she said to Grace, “Um, no, not recently.”
“Well, I love it,” Grace said.
Deb managed a half smile then went and sat in the same spot in the bleachers she’d sat in before, still feeling filthy. What kind of person was she, sneaking away from her son’s swim practice to have sex with a teenager? She could smell Owen’s Axe cologne, as strong as if she were wearing it herself, and she wished she could run down there and jump in the pool to rinse off. But washing his scent off her wouldn’t be enough, because she could still feel his body on her, in her.
She was so absorbed in her self-loathing that she hadn’t noticed that Owen had returned to his seat a few rows in front of her. Now the scent of Axe was even stronger, and she wanted to move—maybe go sit next to Grace or, better yet, in
“So, how’s the rest of your day look?” Mark asked between gasps.
“I have to take care of stuff around the house and then I’m heading to the country club this afternoon,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. “I have an eleven forty-five tee time. But maybe we can meet up at the clubhouse afterward for coffee or something.”
Karen was planning to play tennis with her friend Jill, whom she was bringing to the club as a guest. Afterward she wanted to hang out with Jill and chat, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’m playing tennis with Jill, but we’ll probably be gone by the time you’re done.”
“Oh.” Mark seemed disappointed. “Well, you never know, I’ll text you from the course and maybe we can work something out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Bending down, stretching her hamstrings now, Karen expected Mark to leave but he stood there, watching.
When he noticed she was looking at him, his eyes shifted upward guiltily, and he said, “This was really a total blast. Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“Oh, it was no problem,” she said.
“We should do it again.”
Karen wanted to be honest—tell him that it was nothing personal but she preferred to run alone—but she figured she’d discuss it with him another time.
“Yeah, we totally should,” she said.
He remained, watching for several seconds while she continued to stretch, then said, “Well, see you later,” and she said, “See you,” and he finally headed back toward his house. When he was beyond her driveway he turned back and smiled and raised his hand, so she smiled and raised her hand as well.
Poor Mark. Karen could tell he was suffering inside and she had a feeling things were worse at home than he was letting on. She wished she could help, but there was nothing she could really do—he’d have to work through it on his own.
She went into the house, laid out a yoga mat, and continued with her workout.
W HEN D EB returned to the pool area, ahead of Owen, she felt dirty, disgusting, and ashamed. Everything about her classroom fantasy that had excited her just a few minutes ago, now repulsed her. She wanted to be dead, buried or, better yet, burned. The world didn’t deserve her miserable, unfaithful body. She wanted to evaporate, combust, disappear forever.
“Hey, Deb.”
Deb glanced to her left, toward the bleachers, at the smiling face of Grace Shapiro, the mom of Aiden who was on Justin’s swim team.
Deb had to smile back—talk about being fake—and said, “Hey, how are you?”
“Great, thanks,” Grace said. “Are you just getting here?”
“No, I was here before, I just had to take a call.”
“Oh, too bad,” Grace said. “I love your hair, did you get it cut?”
Fighting off an image of Owen grabbing a fistful of her hair as he leaned close to her ear, grunting, You like that, student ? You like that, right ? she said to Grace, “Um, no, not recently.”
“Well, I love it,” Grace said.
Deb managed a half smile then went and sat in the same spot in the bleachers she’d sat in before, still feeling filthy. What kind of person was she, sneaking away from her son’s swim practice to have sex with a teenager? She could smell Owen’s Axe cologne, as strong as if she were wearing it herself, and she wished she could run down there and jump in the pool to rinse off. But washing his scent off her wouldn’t be enough, because she could still feel his body on her, in her.
She was so absorbed in her self-loathing that she hadn’t noticed that Owen had returned to his seat a few rows in front of her. Now the scent of Axe was even stronger, and she wanted to move—maybe go sit next to Grace or, better yet, in
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