Robyn Carr - Never Too Late

She had officially moved out three months ago, right after Christmas, and into a town house the perfect size for herself and her son. She had taken only what she needed, but over time she transferred more of her things. She retrieved them in small increments on days and nights like this, when Roger had said he’d be away from the house. If he noticed the linen closet or kitchen getting emptier, he never mentioned it. Tonight she was in pursuit of a Bundt pan, slow cooker, her favorite red-trimmed dishes, the kitchen rug from in front of the sink and a bunch of Williams-Sonoma dish towels. Leaving the card on the breakfast bar would give her secret away, but that was all right. It was time Roger figured this out. Time to make this split official with the big D.

With a sigh, she turned off the engine and stepped out into the cold drizzle. She pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck and shivered—possibly from the cold, or from the prospect of stepping back into the house she loved. Clare was a little surprised that the house alarm wasn’t set, but then Roger had never worried about things like that in this nice little town. The only lights were those built into the walls of the foyer and hall, but that was all she needed. She knew every inch of the house; she’d obsessed over every countertop, cupboard, baseboard, floor covering. She’d just go straight to the kitchen, prop the card on the breakfast bar, get her things and go home. No lingering. No looking around. Seeing the house perfectly tidy always depressed her a little. It was kind of hard to see Roger getting along so well, especially given all his protesting that he needed her back in his life.

This house, after all, had been her domain. All the more reason to leave it in the past and start over.

She heard a squeak and froze. A creaking floorboard upstairs? Her heart pounded. Was someone in the house? A burglar? Then she heard another noise, kind of like that high-pitched moan the water pipes made when the backyard faucet was turned on. She thought about bolting. Then she heard it again, louder. This time it was followed by an undeniably female giggle.

The son of a bitch!

She was enraged on so many levels, but star billing went to the fact that she had asked Jason to come with her! My God, how much counseling would it have taken to get him past this?

She crept up the stairs without making a sound and saw the slit of light coming from the master bedroom; the double doors were just slightly ajar. She peeked inside and saw the long slim back of a blonde riding Roger. The woman rocked back and forth while beneath her Roger moaned. The woman giggled again. At the foot of the bed was a wine bucket with an opened bottle sticking out of it; on the bedside table, two glasses.

She gently pushed the door open and stood there, watching. She cleared her throat. It took a moment for them to realize they were no longer alone. The woman glanced over her shoulder, spied Clare and dived off Roger and under the sheets. She only glimpsed her but at least she wasn’t someone Clare knew. Thank God.

Roger, at a disadvantage, struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. “Clare…”

She walked toward the bed. “How’s that boring old business trip going, Rog?”

“Clare, it was cancelled. At the very last—”

“Oh, shut up, Roger,” she yelled.

“But Clare, we’re separated, and I figured—”

She plucked the wine bottle out of the bucket, tossed it on the carpet and lifted the bucket full of melting ice and water off its stand. She doused Roger and company. He was lifted off the bed with a yelp of pain and the woman under the sheets screamed.

Clare turned and fled the house, deliberately leaving the front door standing open, hoping there had just been an escape from the zoo and several lions and tigers were loose in the neighborhood. Or maybe a serial killer would be passing by and see a prime opportunity.

She jumped in the car and screeched out of the driveway, changed gears and zoomed down the street. And she cried.

She didn’t cry because she loved him so much, but rather because she was so bloody sick of being humiliated like this. When would she learn?

Despite the fact that Roger had no discretion whatsoever, this was the first time she’d actually caught him in the act. She’d found evidence, like hotel charges, receipts for gifts not given to her. There had been strange phone messages and there was that time a woman had called and begged Clare to free him. Once confronted, he’d always come clean. He was a charmer, a flirt, a philanderer and a lousy liar.

She’d asked him more than once why he didn’t just embrace bachelorhood. “Seriously, Roger—why not just be single? You act like it anyway. Just go for it. Knock yourself out.”

Then he would hang his head and say, with pathetic sincerity, “Because I love you, Clare. I’ve always loved you. I know I’m screwed up, but I just don’t think I can get beyond this without you.”

She hit the steering wheel in blind fury. That’s when she saw the flashing lights in her rearview mirror and looked down at the speedometer. Damn it all, she was speeding.

She slowed down and pulled to the curb, then she let her head drop and she fell apart, crying painful tears. Familiar tears.

It was a few minutes before the officer’s flashlight shone into the window and he tapped lightly on the glass. She lowered it and looked up into the handsome face of an overgrown boy who wore a paternal frown. “Got an appointment?” he asked.

She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said, though even as she said it she knew he wasn’t looking for an apology. “I was angry and careless. A bad combination.”

“Angry, careless and dead is an even worse combination.”

“I found my husband in bed with another woman,” she blurted. There, she’d done it again. Roger wasn’t the only one with no discretion. She just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Whoa,” said the police officer. He shined the flashlight on her face. “He must be crazy,” he said.

“We’re separated,” she added. “I walked right into it. I should have been smarter. I should have known.”

“I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registration.”

“Sure,” she said. She fumbled a little, but got the papers together and handed them out the window. “Proof of insurance, too.”

He looked at the documents. “Are you drunk?” he asked.

“No. But I’m not going to kid you. I’m going home to fix a nice big one.”

He had a dazzling smile. Wonderful dimples. Good-looking guy, she thought. “Hey, if I weren’t on duty, I’d buy you one.” He handed back her stuff and said, “Look, I don’t know anything about this man of yours, but you’re a beautiful woman and it would be a damn shame if you got yourself killed on account of him being a loser. Know what I mean?”

“Yes,” she said contritely.

“Think you can make it home safely? Stop at stop signs, drive slowly, all that?”

She nodded, confused. “Aren’t you going to give me a ticket?”

“I think you’ve been through enough tonight. Don’t you?”

“But I thought once you started a ticket, you had to finish it.”

“I’ve always wondered why people think that,” he said. Again that smile. “I’m the police—I can do what I want. Go on. Be careful. And don’t punish the bastard by hurting yourself.”

“Of course you’re right,” she said, surprising herself with a weak laugh.

“Of course I’m right. I could tell in thirty seconds, you have a lot to live for. Drive safely.”

He went back to his car and she put hers in gear. She signaled, looked around and carefully edged away from the curb. She was only five minutes from home. He followed her, she noticed with some amusement. She came to the traffic light and stopped on the red. She gave him a little wave in the rearview mirror, but couldn’t tell if he returned the gesture. The light turned green and she cautiously entered the intersection.