The Consequences. Colette Freedman
his wife had irrevocably broken down, she was not content to remain so knowing that Robert and Kathy still had feelings for one another. She wanted to be loved exclusively. She did not want to share Robert’s love with another woman.
And it was only now, a couple of hours later, that the enormity of the decision she’d made was sinking in: She’d told Robert and Kathy that she’d made a mistake, a terrible mistake. “I love you, Robert. As much as Kathy loves you. But I cannot have you. Go back to your wife. If she’ll take you, that is.”
And he had. Without an argument. Without a fight. With barely a word of protest.
But she’d been lying: She did love him as much as Kathy did . . . maybe even more.
After Kathy and Robert Walker left, Stephanie wandered around the condo for a few minutes, arms wrapped tightly across her stomach, which was suddenly cramping with tension. She felt light-headed and breathless, and there were tiny black spots dancing before her eyes.
She stepped into the tiny, sterile kitchen and made herself a cup of camomile tea—she definitely hadn’t needed caffeine at the moment—and she knew that if she had a single alcoholic drink it would go straight to her head, and right at that moment she needed to be thinking clearly.
Cupping the steaming cup of aromatic tea in both hands, she wandered back into the room where, only moments before, her lover and his wife had been sitting. She could see the depression in the cushions at each end of the couch. Robert’s Christmas presents to her lay abandoned on the floor, a bouquet of flowers already drooping in the overheated condo. Above them a single pink balloon bobbed against the ceiling.
What was she going to do? She looked around the room. With the exception of the presents Robert had brought, and the small Christmas tree, there was nothing festive about it. She hadn’t had a chance to hang decorations this year, and the few cards she had received she’d stuck haphazardly up on the fridge. Was she now sentenced to sit at home over Christmas . . . just as she had done last year? She’d been miserably lonely, and though she would admit it to no one, she’d cried every day.
What was she going to do?
Her last words to Kathy had been that she was going to go home to her family. She’d said the words quickly, casually . . . but even as she was saying them, she guessed that it was impossible. It was too late to book tickets. Or was it? How many people really wanted to travel on Christmas Eve?
And once the thought had entered her mind, Stephanie suddenly knew that she wanted to go home, back to Madison, Wisconsin, and spend Christmas surrounded by light and life, too much food, and too many children.
Anything but spend Christmas alone in an empty house in Boston.
Leaving her tea on the arm of the chair, she raced upstairs and powered up her laptop. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she had waited impatiently for the Apple icon to blink.
It had taken her only a few seconds to log into Orbitz. Stephanie rarely booked her own flights—whenever she had to travel, the company made all the arrangements, and electronic tickets and an itinerary landed in her in-box. She navigated quickly through the site. All she had to do was choose her starting city, her destination, the dates she wanted to travel on and enter her credit-card details. Simple. Maybe she would make it home in time for Christmas dinner. Her parents would be thrilled.
She quickly discovered there were no flights directly to Madison.
Her cell rang, and she jumped, almost knocking the laptop to the floor. It was Izzie.
“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas! Dave and I are going for a drink, and we wanted to know . . .”
“I can’t.”
The tone of Stephanie’s voice instantly alerted her friend. “What happened?” Izzie demanded.
“Kathy Walker was just here. She found out . . . about Robert and me.”
The phone crackled with Izzie’s gasp of horror.
“Then, the triangle was completed when Robert turned up.”
“Oh, Stef !”
Stephanie suddenly found herself smiling. “Talk about a nightmare scenario.”
“What . . . what happened?”
“What you always said would happen: He went back to his wife.”
“Bastard!” Izzie said grimly. “That’s what they all do. Bastard!”
“Well, actually, I sort of pushed him in that direction. I didn’t want him, Izzie. I suddenly realized I didn’t want to become like Kathy Walker. So, he’s gone.”
“And you. What about you? How are you doing?”
“I’m doing okay,” Stephanie said, and was surprised to find that it was the truth. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “But you know what I’d really like to do: I’d like to go home for Christmas. I want to spend Christmas with my family.”
“Well, do it,” Izzie said decisively.
“I’m trying. I’m sitting here looking at Orbitz, but there are no flights left to Madison,” she said bitterly. “So I guess I’m stuck.”
“No, you’re not. What’s the closest airport to Madison?”
“Milwaukee.”
“What’s the closest big airport?”
“Chicago. But that’s a really long drive.”
“You really never make your own arrangements, do you?”
“No, not really.” Stephanie’s fingers danced across the keys. “There are a bunch of seats left on flights to Chicago: United, Delta, US Airways, American. . . .”
“Good. See if you can get a flight into Milwaukee that connects in Chicago,” Izzie said decisively. “This late, it’ll probably cost a lot. . . .”
“Izzie, I’ll pay for first class if I have to.”
“Then you’ll definitely get a seat. Look, find a seat. Book it. Dave and I are on our way over. We’ll drive you to the airport.”
“It’ll ruin your Christmas Eve. I’ll get a cab.”
“On Christmas Eve!” Izzie snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re on our way.” And she hung up.
By the time Izzie, with a sullen Dave in tow, had turned up at Stephanie’s condo in Jamaica Plain, Stephanie had managed to book a United ticket to Milwaukee’s General Mitchell Airport with a quick layover in Chicago. She’d bought first class—an outrageous extravagance of over a thousand dollars—but after what she’d been through, she deserved it. Her only concern was that the timing of the two flights was incredibly tight. If the Boston flight was delayed by even an hour, she would miss her connection, and then she’d be doomed to spend Christmas Eve and probably Christmas Day in a grim hotel near O’Hare Airport.
It had taken her less than ten minutes to pack, throwing in underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, a yoga outfit, and a little black dress . . . just in case. She didn’t need to take much more; she had a closet of clothes in Wisconsin. When she’d initially come to Boston, she’d been desperately homesick for the first two years and had taken every opportunity to head home, often twice or even three times a year. It simply didn’t make any sense to keep dragging the same bulky clothes back and forth, so she’d finally left a huge suitcase full of clothes in a closet. Her mother had been delighted, and the last time she’d been home, she’d discovered that her mother had hung up the clothes and laid out the rest in her childhood bureau, which still sported a scuffed Pippi Longstocking sticker on one of the drawers.
Stephanie had just finishing dressing in her preferred traveling outfit—black jeans, black polo-neck sweater, and three-quarter-length black leather coat, all chosen to show no stains and splashes—when Izzie arrived.
When