The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (22 page)

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m busy with my kids… and my husband.”

“But there is something…” he said. “…something between us.
You, feel it, too, no?”

Oh, I felt it all right. I looked at the gorgeous, sensual
man staring intensely at me through the window. His dark eyes locked with mine
and I felt their familiar, mesmerizing pull. His strong, manly hands were
pressed to the glass as he leaned in close. At that moment, I wanted more than
anything, to believe in him. I wanted to undo the window and kiss those sensual
lips, to invite him into the SUV and have wild sex with him in the backseat. Of
course, we’d end up covered in cracker crumbs and raisins but I didn’t care. I
wanted him… maybe more than I had ever wanted anyone.

“No…” I said. “I don’t feel it. I came here for information
about Karen. That’s it.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally said,
stepping back from the window. His posture was dejected, his eyes, as he looked
at me, were full of pain. “I guess… I was wrong. Goodbye, Paige.” Then he put
his fingers to his lips and blew me a kiss. I didn’t know if it was a Spanish
thing or Javier’s own patented move, but it knocked me back in my seat. It felt
like his lips had actually touched my face, just gently, just for a moment… I
turned to say something, I don’t know what—probably “Get in here and do me you
irresistible Spanish stud!” —but he was already jogging back toward The Old
Grind.

“Yes, hello,” I said nervously into the receiver. “Is this
Detective Portman?” Obviously, it was Detective Portman. He had answered his
phone: “Portman?”

“That’s me. Can I help you?”

“This is Paige Atwell calling.”

“Hi, Paige. Thanks for checking in.”

“Y-you’re welcome. I, uh, have some information for you.”

“Great… Would you like to discuss it in person?”

“Yes, please.”

“I could come out to your place this afternoon?”

“No…” I didn’t want Troy coming to my house again. The
neighbors might start to get suspicious, and word could get back to Paul. “I’d
rather meet you somewhere. I don’t mind coming into town.”

“Okay.” He rattled off the address of a coffee shop near the
precinct. “How soon can you get here?”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Within minutes I was in the Explorer, hurtling down the
I-25. No lip gloss or water bra this time. There would be nothing flirtatious
or even pleasant about this rendezvous. I had information to give to Detective
Portman, nothing more. While a part of me was dreading revealing all to this
virtual stranger, I knew it was time. I was in over my head. Last night had
confirmed it.

I made it into the city in good time, but spent several
minutes driving around looking for a parking spot. After living in the suburbs
for so many years, my parallel parking skills had suffered. And with a vehicle
the size of mine, finding ample space in the business district was a challenge.
Finally, I paid an exorbitant fee to stow my car in an underground garage and
hurried to meet Detective Portman.

He was already seated at a vinyl booth in the small coffee
shop—really, it was more of a diner. I walked toward him, feeling conspicuous
despite the fact that none of the other patrons had taken any notice. They all
appeared to be cops having coffee with informants—
stoolies
, I think they
were called. I suddenly realized that I was no different: I, too, was a
stoolie
.
Okay, I was a little different - I was far better dressed than the others, most
of whom appeared to be homeless. But I was here for the same reason: to rat
someone out. I felt like crap.

“Hi,” Portman said, as I slid into the seat across from him.
He looked cute again, back in a suit and tie. His jacket was off and the
sleeves of his tan shirt were rolled up.

“Hi,” I mumbled.

“Let me get you a coffee. Vera!” He called for the waitress.
God, this felt so clichéd. I ordered a black coffee. Obviously, a dry, decaf
soy latte would have been out of the question.

“Thanks for coming down,” Troy said.

“You’re welcome.”

“So… what have you got for me?”

Okay. It was time to lay it on the line, to release all the
secrets that had been causing me so much pain and confusion. I took a deep
breath, and began. “Karen Sutherland told me she was having an affair.”

“Really?” He leaned forward, interested.

“Well… maybe not really,” I said. And then I let the words tumble
forth. I told him everything: how Karen had confessed that she was in love with
an artists’ model/barista and thinking about leaving her husband; how I met
Javier (by chance, I said, at my art class) and he denied that they were
anything more than friends; how I had been trying to protect Karen’s reputation
so I hadn’t shared her secret, until now. I told Detective Portman all of it—except
my own attraction to Javier. I refused to give it any sort of validation. And
besides, Troy may have felt a tiny bit…
jealous
, if he knew I had been
having adulterous feelings for another man.

“I know I should have come forward sooner,” I said.

“You should have,” he replied. “But, I’m glad you did now.”

“So, what happens next?”

“Well…” He dug in his jacket pocket, retrieving a notepad
and pencil. “We’ll need to speak to this Javier. Where does he work?” He jotted
down the address of The Old Grind and the Wild Rose Art Studio.

“You won’t tell him that it was me who, uh…
ratted him
out
, will you?”

“No. That won’t be necessary. Are you still taking that art
class with him?”

“No.”

“Good. It would be wise to stay away from him.”

“Why?” I slid forward anxiously in my seat. “Do you think
he’s dangerous? Do you think he killed Karen?”

“I don’t know at this point, but until we can rule him out,
you’d better keep your distance.”

“I will,” I said. “Definitely.”

“Well…” Portman pressed the button on the end of his pen
before returning it to his pocket. “Thanks for coming down, Paige. I’ll let you
get on with your day.”

“Umm… one more thing…
Troy
.” I suddenly felt shy
calling him by his first name. “The paternity test—have you got the results?”

“Not yet. It’ll take a couple of weeks. Do you think the
baby might be this Javier’s?”

I honestly didn’t know. For some reason, I still felt like
Javier might be telling me the truth about his relationship with Karen. But was
it just wishful thinking on my part? After last night, I knew I could no longer
trust my own judgment. “Maybe,” I said.

I had expected to feel some sort of relief after finally
revealing all the secrets I’d kept locked up inside. Instead, I felt mildly
depressed and rather… guilty. Karen had confided in me because she trusted me,
and I had let her down. And now, it was very likely that the whole thing would
be blown wide open. When Doug found out about Karen’s affair, he would be
devastated. Carly would be crushed that her best friend was no better than the
hussy who had stolen Brian from her. Trudy would be disappointed. Jane, of
course, would understand, but what of all the other perfect, Aberdeen Mist
wives? They’d all be looking down their noses, sneering at Karen’s memory. And
what would they think when they learned that I had known about the affair for
months?

Unless, of course, Karen wasn’t actually having an affair and
her death really was just a tragic accident. In that case, no one need ever
know about her fictionalized admittance to me. I would have nothing to feel
guilty about—except the fact that Javier was going to be interrogated and,
quite possibly, deported. For all I knew, his immigration status could be
totally legitimate, but based on the note he wrote to the police, I doubted it.
I felt a strong wave of remorse wash over me at the thought of him being sent
home. Not that I planned to see him again,
ever
, but I hated the thought
that I had destroyed an innocent immigrant’s life. And I couldn’t help but
wonder if my motives were really pure, or if I was just looking out for myself.
Was I so weak-willed that the only way I could protect my marriage was to send the
object of my desire across the Atlantic Ocean?

I needed a pick-me-up, a mood-booster, something to get me
out of this funk. As if on cue, the Aberdeen Mall rose up on my left, a
sprawling mass of interconnected department stores, boutiques and restaurants.
Of course! Shopping was the answer! Shopping would numb me to these negative,
self-defeating thoughts—at least temporarily. A new pair of shoes or even a new
top would lift my spirits, immensely. I would also buy the children each a
gift, and pick up a little something for Paul. As I took the mall exit off the
freeway, I decided to look at this day as the end of an old cycle full of
secrets and lies, and the beginning of a new one. Really, it was a cause for
celebration. And what better way to celebrate than an afternoon of shopping?

It worked. When I left the mall two hours later laden with a
number of large shopping bags, I felt much more upbeat. I had purchased a
striped purple sweater for Chloe, a hoodie emblazoned with a stylized
snowboarder for Spencer; a blue pullover for Paul, and a hip blazer for myself.
From now on, I was going to focus on the positive. I was not even going to
allow myself to stress out over the money I’d just spent. This was a bright new
day. Now, if only I could find my car.

From my perspective on the sidewalk, I peered out into the
sea of SUVs and family sedans. Okay… I had entered the mall through the Gap, so
I had to be parked somewhere in the general vicinity. As my eyes scanned the
area, I caught a glimpse of someone familiar in my peripheral vision. “Hey,
Trudy!” I called.

Trudy turned toward me. She was burdened with several,
dry-cleaned garments and two, burgeoning grocery bags. “Oh, hi Paige.”

I walked toward her. “Doing a little shopping?”

“Just a few errands.”

I looked at her plastic-wrapped clothes. “Picking up Ken’s
suits? Is he back from his business trip?”

“Uh… he’s still in Seattle. These are actually Doug’s.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been so busy at work that I offered to pick them up
for him.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Well… you know how men are when they don’t have a woman to
look after them…” she trailed off with a laugh.”

“True. Listen, have you got time for a quick coffee?”

“Ohhh,” she said, regretfully. “I can’t. I was just picking
up some groceries to take over to Carly’s. We’re going to whip up a few
lasagnas for Doug to keep in the freezer. That way, he can just defrost them
when he’s hungry.

“Great idea.” There it was again: that niggling feeling of…
pettiness. Carly and Trudy had obviously appointed themselves Doug’s caregivers.
That was, of course, when they were not helping all of Denver’s barren couples
conceive, in the name of our deceased friend. And what was
I
doing? I
was trying, with negligible results, to find out what really happened to her.
But would anyone appreciate my efforts? Or were Karen’s secrets best buried
with her—or rather, burned and scattered across a picnic area at the foot of
the Rocky Mountains with her?

Trudy gave my hand a squeeze. “I’ve gotta run. We’ll see you
soon.”

“Right… Okay. Bye.” I forced a warm smile. I had to stop
being so full of doubt and negativity. This was a bright, new day; the
beginning of a happier, more positive cycle.

That evening, when I bestowed the gifts I’d bought upon my
family, I felt incredibly upbeat, even jolly—like Santa must feel. Chloe adored
her striped sweater and Spencer, though slightly less enthusiastic about new
clothes, thought his new snowboarder hoodie was really cool. Paul immediately
tried on his pullover. It fit him perfectly and emphasized his broad shoulders.
“Thanks babe.” He kissed my cheek. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special,” I said. “I just realized how lucky I am
to have such a great family.” I could feel myself becoming emotional. “I wanted
to buy you all a little present, that’s all… “

“Well, thank you. Did you get yourself something, too?”

“A really cute blazer.”

“Great. I thought you might have bought yourself a new dress
to wear to the party.”

“Party?” I asked, bemused. “What party?”

“The department’s fiscal-year-end celebration for exceeding
our sales quotas.”

“You never told me about it.”

“Yes, I did, Paige. Ages ago.”

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”

“Maybe you were just distracted. A lot has happened lately.”

“You didn’t,” I muttered, but decided not to force the
issue. I had been incredibly preoccupied. “When is it?”

“Friday.”

“Friday? As in, tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, my God!” I went into panic mode, storming into the
kitchen. Paul followed me. “I don’t have a sitter! I don’t have anything to
wear!”

“Call Mrs. Williams. Or, Katy Baldwin. One of them will
babysit.”

I rummaged violently through the junk drawer in search of my
address book. “Why do I always have to take care of all of this stuff? Why
can’t you ever book the babysitter?”

“I don’t have their phone numbers at work, that’s all.
Here…” he stepped in and extracted my address book within seconds. “I’ll phone
them now. You go look through your closet for something to wear.”

“I have nothing!” I cried.

“Wear that black dress… the tight one.”

“I wore it to the last Christmas party!” I screeched. God,
men could be so stupid.

“Okay. Sorry!” Paul was getting exasperated. “It’s really
nothing to freak out about.”

“Easy for you to say! You’ve known about it for weeks.
You’ve got tons of clothes. I’ve got one dress, one formal dress!”

“You can go shopping tomorrow.”

“I volunteered to bake muffins tonight for Spencer to take
to class tomorrow!”