spread, like a fire that has been doused with gasoline.
What sort of man would ask a newly married woman if she remembered his body?
A man who was hell-bent on avoiding his own intimacy issues, that’s who. And Caroline, with her unresolved conflicts about giving and receiving love, was a ready-made target for the attentions of such a man. Caroline would have been titillated by sharing secrets, too naïve to see the fissure she was opening in her own marriage. The thought of Caroline as victim was preferable to thinking of her as a willing adulteress.
But only just.
Porter continued to scroll. Later that year, Caroline had initiated another round of e-mails, asking tf_activewearmodesto how come he hadn’t written. Porter’s gut contracted when he read the text of yet another message that had originated with his wife.
“To my forever Valentine,” she had written. There was no text. It had been intended as a simple greeting so Tom would know he hadn’t been forgotten.
She had e-mailed him on the first Valentine’s Day of her marriage to Porter. How hateful. His gut churned with hot jealousy as he remembered the strings he pulled to get a reservation at the hottest restaurant in town that night, how much he had paid Akua to come to the condo in Dupont Circle while they were out to sprinkle rose petals on their bed and leave his gift on the pillow, a pair of sapphire earrings from Tiffany. Porter took a slow breath and tried to calm himself.
He clicked into Caroline’s “Deleted Messages” folder and found Tom’s reply.
You are as sweet as I remember from GW. Porter is one lucky guy. I hope he appreciates what he has. Gotta run, get Lisa some chocolates or something on the way home.
That son of a bitch. Poor, tired Lisa should know how her husband spent his time at work.
A heavy weight descended on Porter, as though he were a thousand feet below sea level, as he considered the implications of this e-mail. Tom Fielding felt comfortable telling Caroline that her husband didn’t appreciate her.
Which meant she had invited his criticism of her marriage.
Porter’s shoulders slumped. He heard a buzzing. It took him a moment to realize it was the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. “Why?” Porter moaned softly. “Caroline, why?”
But he knew the answer. The human ego was the most elaborate defense mechanism ever mapped by man, capable of weaving a web of deception to protect itself. Such was the work of an undisciplined mind.
Porter clicked back to “Sent Messages.” There it was. Caroline’s reply.
P is moody as ever. Physician heal thyself!
Porter shook his head in disbelief. Could Caroline have written this? Porter had cleaved unto his wife, revealing to her the most intimate aspects of his innermost self, laying bare his innermost feelings. All he had asked in return was that she do the same.
And instead she had mocked him in e-mails to this man.
Porter scrolled through the remaining exchanges with a sinking heart.
They spoke in familiar tones, asking about each other’s lives and exchanging news about people they had gone to college with. Tom confided details of his lack of sexual intimacy with his wife. He had asked Caroline about hers.
Porter hardly dared to breathe.
Caroline’s response was simple.
;-) Let’s not even go there.
But she had. The winking icon said it all. She even went on to tell Tom she wasn’t sure she was cut out for marriage.
Porter let out a long breath and felt everything in his gut liquefy. He was glad when he reached the bottom and only one e-mail remained. He couldn’t take much more.
In the end, he was very glad he had read them all.
I still think of your cross-country trip, with you and your Rocky Mountain high when I get stressed out. Somewhere over the rainbow…
That was it. The trail ended. The e-mail was less than two weeks old.
Your Rocky Mountain high.
The buzzing in Porter’s ears grew louder. The pieces of the puzzle had been there
What sort of man would ask a newly married woman if she remembered his body?
A man who was hell-bent on avoiding his own intimacy issues, that’s who. And Caroline, with her unresolved conflicts about giving and receiving love, was a ready-made target for the attentions of such a man. Caroline would have been titillated by sharing secrets, too naïve to see the fissure she was opening in her own marriage. The thought of Caroline as victim was preferable to thinking of her as a willing adulteress.
But only just.
Porter continued to scroll. Later that year, Caroline had initiated another round of e-mails, asking tf_activewearmodesto how come he hadn’t written. Porter’s gut contracted when he read the text of yet another message that had originated with his wife.
“To my forever Valentine,” she had written. There was no text. It had been intended as a simple greeting so Tom would know he hadn’t been forgotten.
She had e-mailed him on the first Valentine’s Day of her marriage to Porter. How hateful. His gut churned with hot jealousy as he remembered the strings he pulled to get a reservation at the hottest restaurant in town that night, how much he had paid Akua to come to the condo in Dupont Circle while they were out to sprinkle rose petals on their bed and leave his gift on the pillow, a pair of sapphire earrings from Tiffany. Porter took a slow breath and tried to calm himself.
He clicked into Caroline’s “Deleted Messages” folder and found Tom’s reply.
You are as sweet as I remember from GW. Porter is one lucky guy. I hope he appreciates what he has. Gotta run, get Lisa some chocolates or something on the way home.
That son of a bitch. Poor, tired Lisa should know how her husband spent his time at work.
A heavy weight descended on Porter, as though he were a thousand feet below sea level, as he considered the implications of this e-mail. Tom Fielding felt comfortable telling Caroline that her husband didn’t appreciate her.
Which meant she had invited his criticism of her marriage.
Porter’s shoulders slumped. He heard a buzzing. It took him a moment to realize it was the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. “Why?” Porter moaned softly. “Caroline, why?”
But he knew the answer. The human ego was the most elaborate defense mechanism ever mapped by man, capable of weaving a web of deception to protect itself. Such was the work of an undisciplined mind.
Porter clicked back to “Sent Messages.” There it was. Caroline’s reply.
P is moody as ever. Physician heal thyself!
Porter shook his head in disbelief. Could Caroline have written this? Porter had cleaved unto his wife, revealing to her the most intimate aspects of his innermost self, laying bare his innermost feelings. All he had asked in return was that she do the same.
And instead she had mocked him in e-mails to this man.
Porter scrolled through the remaining exchanges with a sinking heart.
They spoke in familiar tones, asking about each other’s lives and exchanging news about people they had gone to college with. Tom confided details of his lack of sexual intimacy with his wife. He had asked Caroline about hers.
Porter hardly dared to breathe.
Caroline’s response was simple.
;-) Let’s not even go there.
But she had. The winking icon said it all. She even went on to tell Tom she wasn’t sure she was cut out for marriage.
Porter let out a long breath and felt everything in his gut liquefy. He was glad when he reached the bottom and only one e-mail remained. He couldn’t take much more.
In the end, he was very glad he had read them all.
I still think of your cross-country trip, with you and your Rocky Mountain high when I get stressed out. Somewhere over the rainbow…
That was it. The trail ended. The e-mail was less than two weeks old.
Your Rocky Mountain high.
The buzzing in Porter’s ears grew louder. The pieces of the puzzle had been there
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