We headed back to the park late in the afternoon. The atmosphere had cleared somewhat. Once again, Alan and I had little time to talk while chasing the kids everywhere, but we managed to exchange a few sly smiles and winks. Dinner consisted of hot dogs and fries (What? It's protein and a vegetable.) as we angled for the best spot to watch the parade and light show.
Things seemed to have changed since the development of our evil plan. Instead of strangers, it felt more like co-conspirators and the idea thrilled me. The edge had softened a bit, and we enjoyed the kids. I even felt the bliss working its magic, catching myself choking up when all the characters rode by on their floats. Yes, things were definitely looking up.
The girls, who mere moments before had been squealing with delight at the fireworks, collapsed on our laps on the bus back to the resort. (Can I insert here that once again, I did not want to leave? But the staff can be very persuasive, and I wanted to come back tomorrow.)
I cast Alan a wary glance when I noticed that the boys were starting to close their eyes. We prodded them gently through the twenty minute trip, both of us doubting we could each carry two forty-pound children all the way back to the room. Unfortunately, that was the situation.
Staggering through the hotel lobby to the pool area, we realized our strength would soon quit. I walked over to a poolside chaise lounge and deposited Clara and Alice. They responded by curling up against one another.
"Good idea," Alan whispered and laid out the boys on the next chair. "The bar is open. Would you like a drink?" I nodded as I straightened out four sets of arms and legs in a vain attempt to make them more comfortable. I stretched out in the third lounge chair, watching them sleep, awaiting my drink.
Actually, I was kind of giddy. For one thing, I hadn't seen Bob the buffalo all day. And for another, I'd actually participated in a conversation with a man. And that conversation included interesting stuff—not once did we talk about needing more toilet paper and light bulbs.
It was so peaceful, dark, and quiet. A lovely evening in Florida. If only someone would turn off that damn cell phone… Damn. I forgot about the cell phone.
"Laura? Sorry I didn't call earlier." It was him. What was it I was supposed to remember? Alan returned with the drinks. He grinned wickedly when he saw me on the phone. Right. That was it. We are villains. Cue the madman laugh track.
"No problem, we had a great time today." That was true.
"Really? I'm glad to hear that." Did he sound a little disappointed, or was I just hoping he sounded that way? "So you're back in the room, then?"
"Actually, no. The kids are sleeping in a chaise lounge poolside. They both fell asleep on the bus, and this was as far as I could carry them." Not a lie! Actually happened!
"Um…" Mike seemed uncomfortable with the visual image he had of this. "Can you handle getting them back to the room? You could wake up Rory, and he could walk…"
"I'm here on my own, so I'll find my own solution, thanks." That felt good.
"Well, okay," he didn't sound convinced. He was either feeling guilty or thinking I was an unfit mother. "Don't be afraid to ask the staff for help."
"Mike, you're cutting out—lousy reception here, so I'm gonna go." Alan stifled a laugh. We were out in the middle of a wide, open space. How bad could the reception be? "I'll call you tomorrow whenever I get a chance. Goodnight."
"I'm impressed." Alan slid me a bottle of beer. "You made that look easy."
"I think I was channeling Cruella DeVil." I really was. I took a swallow of beer before I started looking for Dalmatian puppies to make into a coat. "And it helps to have the right motivation."
Alan lifted his bottle and clinked it against mine, "to motivation…and revenge."
I laughed. "May it always be so sweet."
Once the laughter died down, I noticed that I was having a good time. It came as a shock, but that's how I felt.
"Why don't you write poetry anymore?" Alan asked.
"I don't know. I wish I had kept it up. There were only a handful of pieces I felt were worthy of anything." This was the truth. My poetry always made me feel very vulnerable.
"That is tragic." He drained the rest of the bottle and sat it down on the table with a loud thunk.
"Really? Why do you think so?" Why did he think so? I couldn't recall him ever giving me glowing praise when we were together. We both accepted the fact that he was the stronger writer by far.
"I loved your poems. They were about us. About me."
"You think I wrote poems about you when we were together, you should have seen the stuff I wrote about you after we broke up!" Damn, I meant that as a joke. It didn't come out right. Alan smiled and waved it off. It didn't seem to bother him.
"I mean it. Sometimes, I think I understood how you felt about me more through your poetry than through our conversations."
I was astonished. "You remember that? That was twenty years ago!"
He looked a little hurt. "Yeah, but it was a very important part of my life. You were a very important part of my life." He turned away, peeling the label off the bottle. "But maybe you didn't see it that way."
Confessions of the heart do not come easily for me. But honesty was making this trip easier, and beer was making the tongue looser. "I still have the 'Alan box.'"
It was Alan's turn to look astonished. "You have what?"
Danger! Danger! My turn to fiddle with the beer label. "The 'Alan box,' I still have it."
He waited for an explanation, but I was afraid I had said too much. Too late, I reminded myself. "I still have a box containing every note you ever wrote me, every photo of us, every token you gave me. It's something I will always keep."
You know, I bet I could win an award for saying far too much in an awkward situation. I'd like to thank the Academy for allowing me to make an ass of myself… The silence was palpable. Maybe I should have another drink.
"I'll get us another round." I rose to go, but Alan reached for my arm and pulled me back into my seat.
"Well, since it's confession time, and it's my turn, I'll get the drinks." He walked away, leaving me to wonder what he meant. As he stepped back and headed for the bar, I couldn't help notice the way his body moved. Back at the University, he moved so awkwardly, kind of stiff in his mannerisms. But now, he seemed more relaxed, confident.. Maybe the years had done that to him. I also couldn't help but notice how nicely his ass filled out his shorts. Yeah, I could see that another beer would be a good idea...
The cell phone was still in my hand. It seemed more of a hindrance than a resource. A few moments ago, I was talking to my husband. The man I have been married to for more than a dozen years. Now I was watching an old lover from the past buy us drinks. What did it all mean?
Alice stirred in the next chair. Looking down at her, I marveled how much she resembled her father. They both did, really. Both had that same dark mane, and those same soul-searching eyes. I couldn't help wonder what their mother looked like—was Susan beautiful? What was she really like?
Clara put her arm around Alice, and they snuggled deeper into sleep. They were having a good time together. No, a great time. This trip had turned out better than I thought. Which was significant, considering in the beginning, I'd believed with all my heart it would turn into a catastrophe.
Alan watched the bartender put the bottles on the counter. For a moment, he looked back at me. Our eyes locked over the distance for longer than was necessary. A sweet smile crossed his lips, then he turned back to pay the bartender. I stuffed the cell phone into my bag and covered it up with everything inside. Maybe it wouldn't ring again until tomorrow.
"Are the kids still asleep?" Alan glanced over at the four as they slept, then handed me my bottle and sat down.
"I prefer to think of it as recharging their batteries. And if we don't get some sleep we will never keep up with them tomorrow." As soon as the words left my mouth, I remembered that he had some confession to tell me.
He frowned at his bottle, thinking to himself. "I suppose you're right."
"Well…" I searched for something to stall. "We still have to drink these. I don't think we can juggle two kids and the beer as well."
He smiled, taking a long drink. I didn't want to push, but I was curious. What else could he possibly confess? Alan looked at me, and his lips parted to speak.
"Daddy!" Jack began to cry. "Daddy! I had a bad dream!" Alan was beside him in a second, cradling him in his arms and speaking softly in his ear. The noise startled the other kids, who began to stir. Without a word, we each collected two children and headed back to our rooms.
"Laura?" Alan popped his head through the adjoining door just as I started to carefully undress the children.
"Yes?" I responded a little too eagerly. Did he want to stay up and talk some more?
"Same time tomorrow?" I sighed and nodded, casting him a weary smile. The door closed behind him.
Clara and Rory instinctively snuggled up to one another. They had to be exhausted. Tri-athletes couldn't have kept up with them today. As tired as they were, I knew they would be up at the crack of dawn.
I needed to get some sleep. Fortunately, it wouldn't take long to drift off. My body felt like it was floating and my brain clouded over. Even so, I couldn't help but think about the strange situation I found myself in.
There was no sound from the next room. Alan probably passed out immediately. Men could do that so easily. I usually spent an hour in bed each night thinking what clothes the kids and I would wear, and what it would take to get us where we need to go.
But what if he was thinking about me? Ridiculous! Why should he? And why should I care? But what if he is? He did say he had another confession…
Stop it! Stop it this instant! You are driving yourself crazy, and it probably amounts to nothing—I tried to tell myself. You are married. Well, maybe your marriage isn't that great, but then whose is? Stop wasting your time thinking about the married man next door who will be going back to his wife while you are heading back to your husband!
I don't usually argue with myself, and decided not to continue this train of thought. It was too destructive. Closing my eyes, I made my mind blank and slowly willed myself to sleep.