Даниэла Стил - Turning Point

He looked as handsome as ever when he parked his Mercedes in her driveway, and let himself into the house. He was wearing a suit, and she was wearing jeans and a lavender sweater she had bought in Paris. She usually dressed up for him, but this time she didn’t. She had set the table and cooked dinner, and he smiled when he saw her. He didn’t rush over to kiss her or tell her how much he’d missed her. Probably because he hadn’t. She wondered if he ever did, and surely not the way she missed him for the six days a week she didn’t see him over the last six years.

“You look great, Wendy,” he said. “You cut your hair.”

“Just a little.” She smiled back, and felt all the same familiar pulls and tugs that broke her heart, or maybe this time it was her heart trying to set itself free from bondage.

He opened the wine he had brought, handed her a glass, and she took a sip. They talked about his work until dinner. He didn’t ask her about Paris. By nine-thirty they were finished, and he went upstairs to shower and go to bed. He hadn’t touched her yet or kissed her, and she realized that he never did. It hadn’t shocked her before, but it did now. He hadn’t seen her for a month, but she got the impression he hadn’t missed her at all. He knew she’d be back. They talked about him during dinner, just as they always did.

He was already in bed, waiting for her, when she came out of her bathroom in a satin nightgown, dropped it on the floor, and slid into bed with him, and for an instant she hated herself for being so willing to sleep with him, no matter how little effort he made. But she saw it all so clearly now. She’d had a month to think about it, away from him.

He made love to her as he always did. He was an artful lover, but he never made her feel like he loved her, no matter how much she loved him. And afterward, he washed up and came back to bed, and ten minutes later he was asleep, without touching her again. She lay in bed looking at him, thinking that this was the last time she would lie next to him. She had given herself this one night so she could remember forever what it had been like and how little he gave her. And she wanted to be sure of what she was doing. Now she was.

She got up before he did, and was at the breakfast table when he came downstairs in his suit and a fresh white shirt he had brought in his briefcase. He looked impeccable, and she was disheveled and didn’t care. He read the paper, and at exactly eight o’clock, he got up, smiled at her, and said, “See you Wednesday, if not before.” And from there she veered off the script. She looked at him with sad eyes, and spoke softly.

“Actually, no, Jeff. I’m done. I’m sure you’ll find another Wednesday night girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, frowning at her. People didn’t fire Jeff Hunter. He fired them.

“It means just what I said. I wanted to see you one more time, but this is it. We should have stopped a long time ago, and I finally realized it. Somehow, I kept stupidly hoping that one day you’d leave Jane and end up with me. That’s never going to happen. It’s all so clear to me now.”

“I never said that’s impossible, Wendy. In a few years…”

“In a few years, I’ll be forty, and I’ll have wasted nine years with you. I’ve decided to quit at six. You’re never going to leave Jane, and I don’t want to be your Wednesday night piece of ass for the rest of my life, or until you turn me in for a newer model.”

“That’s a disgusting thing to say.” He looked furious, and for once he wasn’t controlling what she did. He no longer could. She wouldn’t let him.

“It was a disgusting thing to do to me, but I let you, so I’m as much to blame as you are. Take care, Jeff.” She opened the kitchen door leading to her driveway and he stared at her and didn’t move, which surprised her.

“This is ridiculous. Let’s have dinner tonight, and we’ll discuss it.”

“What are we going to discuss? How many more years you’ll stay married? We don’t even go out anymore. You just come here once a week for dinner, get laid, and drop by for a glass of wine once in a while, when you feel like it. I deserve a hell of a lot more than that, I need a man who loves me, for starters. You haven’t loved me in years, if you ever did. I’m just some kind of tune-up you give yourself once a week. I don’t want to be your tune-up anymore.”

“What happened to you in Paris?” he asked, genuinely upset.

“I woke up.”

“Is this because of Aspen?”

“That and a lot of other things. It’s the right decision for me.” He walked toward her and tried to kiss her then, but she didn’t let him. She couldn’t. She knew that if she did, she’d be trapped again. And this time she wanted to be free. Somewhere out there was a man who would love her seven days a week, not just once a week and then go home to his wife.

He walked to the door with a bereft expression, and turned to look at her again. “If you wait long enough…” he started to say, and she shook her head.

“Nothing’s going to change. We both know it.” He walked out the door then, and she closed it behind him. She heard him drive away a few minutes later. And after he was gone, she realized that he hadn’t told her he loved her for years while still trying to convince her to remain his mistress. She knew she had done the right thing, but she was suddenly panicked as she thought about what she’d done. What if she’d be alone forever? What if she never met anyone? What if she died all by herself one day? But it didn’t matter. Whatever happened, it would be better than what she had with him. She had nothing with Jeff except loneliness and grief. And she had done it. It was finally over. She felt sadness, but most of all relief.

She felt whole again as she dressed for work, and proud of herself. And very brave. She was free.

Chapter Fourteen

Tom Wylie looked slightly disheveled and arrived ten minutes late for his shift at Alta Bates on Tuesday. It was his first day back to work after the trip to Paris. He was as handsome as ever, as he stopped at the nurses’ station and glanced at the admissions board, without noticing the nurses, which had never happened before.

“Well, look who’s back!” the senior nurse at the desk said, happy to see him. They had missed his stories and light touch for the last month. “How was Paris?” He smiled in answer to the question with a dreamy expression.

“Fantastic. Much better than expected.” He looked like a happy man. “What have we got in the house today?” he said, reading down the list of recent admissions, without a single lewd remark or inappropriate comment, which were his stock in trade, to the nurses. They all noticed it, and mentioned it to each other when he hurried off to the first room. He was back half an hour later, with the orders he wanted filled, and a list of tests the patient needed. He wanted him to have an EEG for a concussion and an MRI as soon as possible.

“What happened to you?” his favorite nurse, Maisie, asked him, looking disappointed. He usually propositioned her at least once a week. She was sixty years old and married with six grandchildren. He didn’t mean it, and neither did she, but it was fun working with him. Maybe he was jet-lagged, but he seemed in good spirits and looked terrific. “How many hearts did you break in Paris?” He grinned at her when she asked.

“None. I met the woman of my dreams. I’ve spent the last two days cleaning my house because she’ll be here in two weeks. Speaking of which, where do I buy a vacuum cleaner?”

She stared at him in disbelief. This was not the Tom Wylie she knew. “This sounds serious. A hardware store or a department store. Do you know how to use it?” She was laughing at him. The Great Tom Wylie had fallen. The women of Alta Bates were going to be heartbroken, but she was happy for him. He acted like a nervous kid with his first girlfriend. In fact, Valérie was the first woman he had loved. It was a whole new experience for him.