Friend Me by John Faubion Page B

low, throaty laugh filled the emptiness of the car. “Hope you like it. You said you liked yellow.”
    That’s right , he thought. He had said that. She was doing everything she could possibly do to please him. Each thing between them drew him deeper and deeper into the relationship.Like a helpless fly in a web, but a web that he walked into willingly.
    Relationship. He would have laughed just weeks before if someone had told him a person could have a relationship with a virtual person. How ridiculous, he’d have said.
    It wasn’t ridiculous anymore. Now it was consuming him.
    â€œAlicia, I have to say good-bye now and go back to work.”
    â€œI know.” She frowned. “Can we meet tonight?”
    â€œNo, I have to . . .” The words stuck in his throat. No, I have to be home. With my family. With my wife .
    â€œ. . . be somewhere.”
    â€œSilly me, of course you do. You’ll be at home, won’t you?”
    â€œYes. I’ll be at home.”
    â€œAnd I can’t be there, can I?”
    No. Not there .
    He clicked the button to close the window on the screen. It faded, then dissolved away in a swirl of color. Where Alicia’s form and face had been, now he saw . . .
    Angela.
    The desktop image of his little girl smiled up at him, oblivious to where her father—the father she trusted—had spent his lunch hour. Her eyes sparkled above the innocent blush that adorned her cheeks.
    She trusts me. They all trust me. Oh, God, please help me. They deserve better .
    Scott closed the laptop, took a deep breath, then opened the window the rest of the way. The fresh air felt good, but it did not drive the guilt away. It hung on him like a cloud as he drove back to the office to resume his life.
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    WHEN SCOTT GOT HOME THAT night, he found Scotty sitting at his play table working in a coloring book and his little sister next to him on the floor playing with blocks. Angela was focused on getting a stack of blocks more than three high to stay in place.
    â€œI’m doing laundry. I’ll be out in a minute.” Rachel’s muffled voice sounded from the laundry room. A twinge of shame rose unbidden to his cheeks. He had a sense of not belonging, like a boat that had drifted away from its mooring. He reminded himself that he’d really done nothing wrong and pushed it down.
    Scott dropped his briefcase on a chair in the dining room, and plopped down on the floor next to Scotty. “What are you working on there, Scotty? Looks like you’re drawing a dinosaur. Is that what it is?”
    Scotty looked at his father and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “No, Dad. Look again. What do you see?”
    He was on the spot now. He had better get it right or he was going to be in trouble for not appreciating his son’s art. “Uh, wait a minute, I think I know. That looks like a . . .”
    Scotty raised his eyebrows toward his father. “A bear?”
    â€œYes, a bear. No doubt about it. It looks like a giant bear, a bear hungry enough to eat a whole dinosaur.”
    Scotty put both fists into the air and pulled his elbows down to his sides. “Yes! You got it, Dad.” Then he turned back to his work of coloring in the bear’s fifth purple foot.
    Rachel walked into the room, arms full of unfolded laundry. She tossed them all down into the wingback chair next to the staircase. “Welcome home, Mighty Hunter,” she said, seething.
    â€œWe’ll warm up some supper for you. I think we’re all pretty happy you were able to drop in. Aren’t we, kids?”
    Scott’s stomach twisted but he did not reply.
    Scotty didn’t respond, already deep into his latest creation. Angela looked up at her father. “Daddy?”
    â€œYes, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to ignore Rachel’s comment.
    â€œDaddy?”
    â€œI’m here, Angela. What do