Kayla Perrin - Control

“You know those two are thick as thieves. What one does, they both do. And they suddenly have no use for me.”

“Do you think they’re staying away because they don’t know how to…to deal with your grief?” I knew that some people were uncomfortable in the face of another person’s pain.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “Let’s get back to you and what’s going on with you.”

“Me?”

She gave me a pointed look. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I did. And it was one of the reasons I’d wanted to go away with her—to use her as a sounding board for some of my doubts about Robert.

I cut my fork into the key lime pie, but didn’t lift the morsel to my mouth. I did it to keep my hands occupied.

“What’s bothering you?” Sharon pressed.

I sighed. “I just wonder sometimes.”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.

“You and Warren were married for sixteen years. And I know you were college sweethearts and all that. But I just wonder…did you ever…Is it normal to sometimes feel that maybe you’re not sure about your marriage? To wonder if it will last?” I finished with difficulty.

“Is it normal to have doubts about your marriage? Of course it is.”

“So you had doubts at times?”

“Doubts?” Sharon made a face. “There were times I didn’t know if we would make it.”

“Really?”

“After my last miscarriage, I shut down. I had an emotional wall up that no one could penetrate. Warren threw himself into work as a way to avoid both my pain and his. For nearly a month, we hardly spoke.”

“Wow,” I said softly.

“I felt like a failure. We had a great life, and all I wanted was to complete our family with a baby.” Sharon stopped. Inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t meant to…to be a downer.”

“You’re not. Of course I’m thinking about Warren.” A soft smile curved her lips. “Gosh, we would fight sometimes. Yell and scream at each other. But when we made up…”

I chuckled.

“So, yeah, it’s normal to go through rough times.”

Again, I moved my fork around on my plate. Then I leaned forward and whispered, “But is it normal to…to have fantasies about other men?”

Sharon didn’t answer right away. She took a sip of her water first, which made me wonder if my question had shocked her.

But she said, “I think fantasies are fine. If they help your sex life, why not? It’s a hell of a lot better than some of the things I’ve heard some of our neighbors have done to spice up their love lives.”

I was about to ask if she would still feel that way if all the fantasies were about the same man, but the waitress arrived at our table right then.

“Are you still eating your dessert?” she asked, nodding toward my half-eaten key lime pie.

“No. Please, take it away. I’m stuffed.” I pushed the dessert plate toward her.

“Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” I said. “Just bring me the bill, please.”

“Actually, you can bring me the bill,” Sharon said. “It’ll be my treat.”

“That’s not necessary, Sharon,” I told her. “I can take care of it.”

“Lucky for both of you,” the waitress interjected, “the bill’s already been settled.”

I stared up at her in confusion. “But I didn’t give you my card.”

“Are you Elsie Kolstad?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Your husband called in.” Now the woman smiled. “He gave us his credit card and strict instructions to charge the bill to him.”

I looked across the table at Sharon. She shrugged.

“Oh,” I said lamely. “So it’s already been paid.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the waitress replied. “I wish my husband was so thoughtful.”

“Yeah,” I responded, making sure to keep my voice cheery.

It wasn’t the first time Robert had called ahead to pay my dinner bill, even if I was just out for the evening with friends. The first time he’d done it, I’d considered the gesture chivalrous.

Not today. Today, it seemed like control.

Despite my lack of appetite for dessert, Sharon and I sat on the sofa munching on popcorn and watching a teen slasher flick that we’d picked up from a variety store—a movie that neither of us had heard of, starring no-name actors. The special effects were so pathetic and the story line so incredible that the movie wasn’t scary in the least. In fact, it was laughable.

We were watching a shower scene now, with a big-busted woman who seemed more interested in touching herself than getting clean, lathering soap over her breasts and ass in what was meant to be an erotic display.

“All right, all right, we get it,” Sharon mumbled. “Can we move on with the plot, please?”

“What plot?” I asked, laughing.

“Why are there never any naked guys in these movies?” she asked.

“Because the writers and producers are men. And they obviously don’t think that women enjoy seeing a nice male ass, too.”

Sensing a noise, the actress paused with her hands on her nipples, which she had caressed to an erect state. The music’s tempo had picked up, indicating that danger was imminent. The blonde-haired beauty asked, “Who’s there?” and then playfully, “Donnie, is that you?”

Though Sharon and I had to know what was coming, that when the woman pulled back the shower curtain she would face the masked killer, we screamed when it happened. The woman’s eyes went wide with terror, and the killer raised a large butcher knife. She started to scream, but it was too late, and a moment later blood sprayed all over the bathroom.

Or tomato juice.

The gruesome murder completed, the killer muttered, “Nice tits.”

“Right,” Sharon said in an exaggerated tone. “That’s realistic.”

I started to laugh. So did she. The movie might have been stupid, but it was just what we needed—something so far from reality that it wouldn’t remind Sharon of the loss of her husband.

The scene went from the gruesome one in the bathroom to a college campus. I picked up a handful of popcorn—extra butter as Sharon had requested—and had just begun to munch on a mouthful when the room phone rang.

“I know it’s not for me,” she said.

“I guess Robert’s calling to say good-night.”

I got up from the sofa and hurried to the phone. Sharon paused the DVD.

“Hello?” I said.

“Oh, darling.” He seemed a little breathless. “I’m glad I reached you.”

Instantly, I was alarmed. “Robert, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know…but I haven’t been feeling well for the last couple of hours.” He sounded as if it hurt to talk. “I…”

“What hurts? Your head? Is it stomach pains again?”

“My…chest.”

“Oh, my God.”

Sharon flashed me a look of concern.

“All the stress of this week…I think it’s gotten to me.”

“Oh, Robert.”

“I need you, Elsie.”

“Of course.” My heart pounded against my rib cage. “Oh, my God.” I spoke hurriedly, my own breathing ragged. “You have to hang up and call 911. Get to a hospital, Robert.”

“All…right…I will.”

Sharon got up and moved to stand beside me. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” I told him. He had to be. “You’ll be fine.”

“I need you, Elsie.”

“I’ll leave right now. Have the hospital call me when you get there, so I know which one you’ve gone to.”

“Elsie…If anything happens, I love you. I want you to know that.”

“Don’t talk like that! You’re going to be fine. But please call for an ambulance. Now.”