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“Oh God.” He pushes my face into the pillow. “Oh fuck. Yes. Please. Just—”
“I’m going to come,” he grunts. “I’m—”
In waves at first, and then all at once, his body is rigid, and then it goes slack. After several long seconds, he collapses onto me. “Did you get there?”
“Of course,” I say. “Wasn’t it obvious?”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
There is pleasant relief when he lifts up and climbs off me, and I allow my eyes to close, just for a moment.
I hear him towel off and then the room floods with purple light as he flings the curtain open. He walks back over to the bed and stands there for a second. When I open my eyes, his brows are knitted. After a second or two, he leans down and pats my ass. “What a way to start the day.”
As he makes his way across the bedroom and into the bath, I admire all the ways in which middle age has left him relatively unscathed. He’s still long and lean and fit, and aside from a few laugh lines and a smattering of crows’ feet, not much has changed since the day we met. “You got back late,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s no wonder you’re tired.”
I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a dig about my performance or merely an observation. “Yeah, yesterday was a killer.”
“And you’re flying again today?”
Fishing my cell phone from the n
ightstand, I answer, “Another red eye, I’m afraid.”
He doesn’t respond, probably because this is a conversation we’ve already had.
“Nina is picking Sophie up from practice.”
He tosses a towel in my direction. “And Hayley?”
Pretending not to have heard him, I stare at my screen. One less lie I’ll have to tell with a straight face. Scanning my email for the day’s itinerary, I tap on a subject line that reads: Dan and Jackie–Anniversary Dinner. The email contains three paragraphs of text. Attached are several photos of a dinner party.
Dear Ones,
Thank you for coming out to share our anniversary. It was a magical night filled with all the people we love. What a blessing it was.
Just a reminder, we’re hosting game night next Wednesday. Should start around 7:30 and end around 9:15 or so. Hope to see you there! <3
Love to you all —
Jackie
P.S. Please update your contact list with Dan’s new email: [email protected]
Ignoring the words, I extract the numbers and symbols which make up the password that enables me to access compressed data stored in the tedious photos. Back when I first learned how this worked, I thought it was a little risky, sending so much information in an email anyone could read. Covert communication is key, I was told. They could encrypt the messages, but even if they were unbreakable, they’d draw attention. It made sense. No one gives a crap about other people’s vacation photos, at least not to the extent to look too deeply into them.
“Charlotte?” Michael calls from the bathroom. “Have you gone back to sleep?”
“No. Just making a grocery list.”
“I asked about Hayley.”
“Oh—” I scroll through another email before filing it away in a folder to be read later. “I thought you were picking her up.”
“Me?”
I don’t answer. Sometimes it is best to let people come to their own conclusions. Eventually, the shower turns on.
I ease out of bed, roll my neck, and make a beeline for the closet in search of something sufficient enough to hide my injuries.
