realized how empty her words sounded once she said them. She could tell that something had changed in Jordan. Jordan looked different. Her face was flushed. Her eyes sparkled. She told Eleanor the details of the affair and how they’d met. “It’s too late,” she’d said, her eyes turning dark. “Even if I wanted to walk away, I’m not sure I could.”
Jordan’s bold nature had made Eleanor feel that she was too cautious and careful, a person who had stopped taking chances. “It’s the most intense sex I’ve ever had. It’s not just the sex. We connect. I’ve never felt so alive.”
After coffee, on the way home, Eleanor stopped and sat on a street bench in front of a church. She sat still in one place, looked at the intricate building, at its masonry its magnificence, to quiet the unrest.
She slipped into the back of a cab and told herself to stop thinking about Jordan. What Jordan decided to do was her own business. She told herself she’d call Michael as soon as she was in the hotel and she’d feel more herself. She looked out the cab window, and as they entered the city, the pale buildings with shutters on the windows, the gray sky, the small curving streets brought tears to her eyes.
The hotel was near the Boulevard Saint-Germain. The conference had reserved a block of rooms for the participants. Eleanor noted from the schedule that they were to meet for a brief dinner that night in the hotel. She was grateful for the hours in between to catch up on sleep. The hotel room was small, with a queen-size bed and a little French desk by the window, a reading chair and a lamp, and a tiny bathroom with a bathtub in place of a shower. She unpacked her toiletries and hung up her clothes. She was in Paris, and yet inside the quiet of her room she could have been in a hotel room in any city. Yet a sense of unease washed over her. She missed her husband and children.
They came to her looking for their lost shoes, wanting her to cut the crust from their sandwiches, to bandage them when a knee was scraped.
Keep the light on, Mommy, I’m afraid
, the little one said.
Rub my back
. She collapsed on the hotel bed. She heard Noah’s voice in her mind, pictured him slipping his hand in hers like he did when he thought no one was watching when she dropped him off at school. She thought of Nicholas’s serious face. Who was she without their breaths, their wants and fears inside her? She turned over and reached out her arm, amazed that the space next to her was empty.
She had fallen asleep on top of the bedspread. When she awoke her head was heavy. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. Only a half hour had passed. She slipped underneath the cold, crisp covers of the hotel bed with the blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper, brought the unfamiliar white down comforter up over her shoulders, and tried to fall asleep again. The most seductive sleep was when she had too little time, and afternoon naps were always the deepest. She felt as if she were plunged into the darkest layers of her being. When she awoke it was as if she had experienced a lifetime. Her sheets were damp, her skin hot. Her dreams had been strange, though she couldn’t quite remember them.
She looked at the clock. Two hours until she had to get up and greet the other conference participants at dinner. She lay in bed and thought about how long it had been since she had allowed herself the indulgence of sleeping past the hour of waking, past the sun rising, past the sound of the alarm, past the schedule of everyone rushing, and wondered how much she had missed.
She lay on the bed and watched the wind play with the long, sheer drapes, watched the light as it danced through the threads of cotton and made patterns on the honey-colored floor. The long flight the night before, the separation from her family, her convoluted dreams, and the sudden flood of memories that seemed now to come at her with new meaning, left her disoriented. She thought about
Jordan’s bold nature had made Eleanor feel that she was too cautious and careful, a person who had stopped taking chances. “It’s the most intense sex I’ve ever had. It’s not just the sex. We connect. I’ve never felt so alive.”
After coffee, on the way home, Eleanor stopped and sat on a street bench in front of a church. She sat still in one place, looked at the intricate building, at its masonry its magnificence, to quiet the unrest.
She slipped into the back of a cab and told herself to stop thinking about Jordan. What Jordan decided to do was her own business. She told herself she’d call Michael as soon as she was in the hotel and she’d feel more herself. She looked out the cab window, and as they entered the city, the pale buildings with shutters on the windows, the gray sky, the small curving streets brought tears to her eyes.
The hotel was near the Boulevard Saint-Germain. The conference had reserved a block of rooms for the participants. Eleanor noted from the schedule that they were to meet for a brief dinner that night in the hotel. She was grateful for the hours in between to catch up on sleep. The hotel room was small, with a queen-size bed and a little French desk by the window, a reading chair and a lamp, and a tiny bathroom with a bathtub in place of a shower. She unpacked her toiletries and hung up her clothes. She was in Paris, and yet inside the quiet of her room she could have been in a hotel room in any city. Yet a sense of unease washed over her. She missed her husband and children.
They came to her looking for their lost shoes, wanting her to cut the crust from their sandwiches, to bandage them when a knee was scraped.
Keep the light on, Mommy, I’m afraid
, the little one said.
Rub my back
. She collapsed on the hotel bed. She heard Noah’s voice in her mind, pictured him slipping his hand in hers like he did when he thought no one was watching when she dropped him off at school. She thought of Nicholas’s serious face. Who was she without their breaths, their wants and fears inside her? She turned over and reached out her arm, amazed that the space next to her was empty.
She had fallen asleep on top of the bedspread. When she awoke her head was heavy. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. Only a half hour had passed. She slipped underneath the cold, crisp covers of the hotel bed with the blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper, brought the unfamiliar white down comforter up over her shoulders, and tried to fall asleep again. The most seductive sleep was when she had too little time, and afternoon naps were always the deepest. She felt as if she were plunged into the darkest layers of her being. When she awoke it was as if she had experienced a lifetime. Her sheets were damp, her skin hot. Her dreams had been strange, though she couldn’t quite remember them.
She looked at the clock. Two hours until she had to get up and greet the other conference participants at dinner. She lay in bed and thought about how long it had been since she had allowed herself the indulgence of sleeping past the hour of waking, past the sun rising, past the sound of the alarm, past the schedule of everyone rushing, and wondered how much she had missed.
She lay on the bed and watched the wind play with the long, sheer drapes, watched the light as it danced through the threads of cotton and made patterns on the honey-colored floor. The long flight the night before, the separation from her family, her convoluted dreams, and the sudden flood of memories that seemed now to come at her with new meaning, left her disoriented. She thought about
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