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“I can’t believe you would come to my home, Isobel,” Grant says pacing the length of Lucky’s. Back and forth, back and forth. He stops suddenly and pinches the bridge of his nose. He won’t look at me. This is good. It means I’m winning. I have to admit, it’s nice to see him sweat things. I pull the cord, turning off the warm glow of the open sign and then click the lock on the door. He resumes his pacing. “Just tell me what was going through your head to make you do something so stupid?”
He’s like a lion in a cage. Caught. Trying to find his way out. “I-I…”
He stops abruptly. His hands go to his hips. Finally, his eyes meet mine. “You what?”
“I hadn’t heard from you in almost a week. I was desperate to see you.” Love is sweet misery, and you see Grant, I can play too.
He looks exasperated by my answer. He’s just realized I’m a loose cannon, and he’s trying to figure out how to reign me in. He doesn’t know it, but deep down this is the part he enjoys the most. He likes losing control even if it’s what he fears most. “So you thought going to my home would be a way for us to spend quality time together?”
My eyebrow rises. “No—”
“You know my situation Isobel,” he tells me. There’s a hint of warning in his tone, a hard edge. He’s playing daddy, and I like it. “You know I’m married… and you know my family is the most important thing in the world to me.”
Ouch. That stings. I stare at the tiles on the floor. You will not put me in my place, Grant Dunn. Unless my place is with you.
Still, bile creeps up the back of my throat, and it tastes like regret. I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I thought it would give me insight as to how to get closer to him, to better understand his life. But I can see now it’s only done the opposite. I hadn’t given a lot of thought as to how he might react, and honestly, I sort of expected he would be happy to see me. I thought it would make things wild and dangerous. I thought it would add fuel to the fire. On the plus side, he’s here.
And yet…it had the opposite effect. I know what he’s about to say but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when it comes.
“I think we’re going to have to stop seeing each other.”
“Grant—look—” I have to stop myself. Jesus. He’s being melodramatic. I exhale long and slow. What comes next will be more meaningful that way. “I’m sorry….”
“My wife is asking all sorts of questions. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide an affair when it’s out in the open?”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Sounds like you have experience.”
He eyes me from head to toe, evaluating me in his meticulous way. Finally, he softens a bit. I can tell by the way the corner of his eyes relax. The crow’s feet thin out. He looks around at the mess the teenagers left in their wake. Trash, wadded up napkins, empty cups. “Are you almost done here?”
“Yes,” I say, although I have at least an hour’s worth of work to do to get the place in shape for the morning shift. Screw it. I’ll just come in early.
“Good.” He glances around once more. “Because we need to talk, and I’d rather not do it here.”
/> It’s freezing out. He cranks up the heater until it’s stifling, almost unbearable, and then we drive. We take the same route we took only weeks ago now. The vibe is different this time. It’s not carefree and hopeful. It’s somber and unrelenting. My heart pounds. This is it, I tell myself. This was your problem from the get-go; you got too used to a good thing and now look what you’ve done.
He pulls off the highway and takes a feeder road. We drive forever. Finally, just when I think we’ll never stop, he pulls over. He doesn’t kill the engine, he simply puts the car in park and stares straight ahead.
“Look,” I say trying to remedy the silence. I want to fill the space. I want to close the gap I’ve caused between us. “I’m sorry. But I can fix this.”
He cocks his head and studies my face. “How do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know. But I will.”
“My wife suspects an affair, Isobel. I’m afraid this thing we have,” he motions between us, “is going to have to end.”
“But it doesn’t,” I plead. “She doesn’t know for sure. We just have to be more careful is all.”
He shakes his head slowly. “She will take everything, you know. The house, the kids, my practice, she’ll get it all.”
“She can’t take your work from you.”
“She is entitled to half of everything,” he assures me. “She can, and she will. Combine that with the support I’ll have to pay her for the kids and well…I might as well pack it in.”
I don’t know what to say, except I’ve heard it all before.
He checks his phone. “I saw it happen to our friend Tom. He nearly lost everything.”
“But you aren’t Tom.”
