"I…" Kirsten faltered on the first word, knowing if she told them what she'd done to Sandy, they'd never feel the same way about her. She thought back to how she'd told Sandy.
They'd been in the bedroom. He was lying in bed, reading a golfing magazine while she took off her jewellery. She'd just got back from New York that day, from a conference about the new zoning laws to be implemented within the month. Carter had called it fate when they'd both been in her hotel bar for a drink. He was chasing a story, she was trying not to let images of Sandy and Rebecca consume her, as they had done most nights. They'd ended up back in her room, both too inebriated to bother with the awkwardness either should be feeling about this chance meeting. They'd undressed each other, and with spinning heads from too much alcohol, had slept together. Afterwards, Kirsten had considered how good it had felt to hurt Sandy as much as he'd hurt her. How much she had enjoyed sleeping with another man. What kind of person that made her. Carter had given her a lingering goodbye kiss, that was somehow filled with less meaning than the last goodbye they'd shared. She'd curled up on the expensive sheets, thought of Sandy and cried. Later that day, in time for the conference lunch, Kirsten had made her way out of bed into a scalding shower, and washed the feeling of Carter off her. The marks on her wrists, she couldn't hide. She knew they would bruise, knew she'd have to keep it from Sandy with long sleeves and excuses. Knew every time she saw them she'd think of Carter pinning her hands over her head while she arched her back to get him closer to her. The bruises on her hips, too, would need to be explained or hidden, as would the faint handprint bruises on her back. Kirsten had considered the materializing smudges on her body in the full length mirror the hotel provided. She felt sickened by the curious sense of pride she felt in these discolorations, inflicted on her by another man, in places only a husband should be permitted to leave his mark. She'd styled her hair, dressed carefully, packed her bags ready for the flight home. The lunch was hellish, other real estate agents milling around the food while Kirsten frequented the bar, hoping to see Carter again, hoping not to. She'd driven herself home from the airport, had walked through the door to see Sandy and Ryan in the kitchen, drinking coffee. As tenuous as her relationship had been with Sandy then, he'd greeted her as if she'd been away for weeks, offering her coffee, bagels, a neck massage. And now, here they were, her sense of guilt growing inside her like a spreading sickness, Sandy seemingly unconcerned with the guilt she thought he would be feeling over Rebecca. She could see him in the mirror, remembered how he'd reacted after finding out Jimmy had kissed her. Remembered he was angrier about her not telling him than about the kiss. Remembered, too, that he'd been tight lipped about Rebecca, about the rainy night when he'd caught a bus home to her. She started feeling sicker, started realising she might have convinced herself of something Sandy might not have done just so she could sleep with Carter without feeling the hideous guilt that was just beginning to creep into her subconscious. She undressed quietly, noticing Sandy looking up at her, looking at the bruises on her hips, her back, encircling her wrists.
"Honey, what happened?" When she looked at him, she knew he knew something had happened. He'd put his magazine down and slowly pulled the covers back so he could swing his legs out. Kirsten came to sit beside him, bringing his own nightmare closer, wearing only underwear so he could see the full extent of the purpling bruises.
"I'm so sorry." She'd knelt in front of him, the only voice she could find a whisper.
"Who did this?" His voice was controlled, but only barely. She could feel the bitter fury underneath, threatening to spill over, consume and break apart whatever relationship they'd been salvaging up til now.
"When I was in New York, I ran into Carter. I was still so angry about you and Rebecca, what I thought you'd done to me… we slept together." Kirsten looked at the floor, feeling him turning to stone in front of her, feeling him slipping further from her, from the unbreakable couple they had used to be.
"I love you Sandy, so much. I just wanted… I don't know." Kirsten sighed, dared to look up at him. His eyes were closed, and she saw a tear slip down his cheek, silently dealing her a blow bigger than anything he could have expressed through words. She reached up to wipe it away, but as her fingertips touched his cheek, he finally spoke, his voice flinty granite, breaking the silence.
"Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me." His eyes opened to look at her as she withdrew her hand, and she was suddenly more scared than sick as she saw the usual love in his eyes replaced with anger, hatred, the glistening look of the betrayed.
"Sandy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you." She tried to used words to fix it, knew they were as useless as a bandaid over a bullet wound. Knew actions spoke louder than words, and she'd screamed at him with what she'd done.
"I've got to get out of here." Sandy had gone to the closet to get dressed, reappeared in jeans and a shirt, a suit in his hand, a small overnight bag under his arm. He'd left, hadn't returned home that night. He'd put in a brief appearance before Kirsten was up, had seen the boys and collected his surfboard. He'd been either sleeping in the guest room, or had been sleeping away since then. Kirsten couldn't stand the thought of the boys looking at her in the same way, but knew it was inevitable. The look of hurt, the look of betrayal.
"I have to go find your father. I'll be home later. Everything's… It's going to be…" She couldn't bring herself to alleviate their fears by lying to them about how everything would turn out to be fine.
"I have to go." She turned before either of them could try to talk to her again, ask questions she didn't have the right answers for. She picked up her handbag as she passed the hall table, grabbed her keys and was out the door into the night. She revved the car, enjoying the thrum of power, the feeling that there was something she could control. At the driveway entrance, she passed Marissa and Summer driving in. Ignoring their surprised looks at her speed, Kirsten pointed her car down the hill and floored it.
"Hey." Seth said as he opened the door. Summer reached her face up to kiss him while Marissa nodded and walked through to the lounge room. The weather channel was muted, the playstation turned off.
"Hey." She said to Ryan, as he moved to the side of the couch so everyone could fit.
"So, we passed Kirsten on our way in. Is she in a hurry somewhere?" Summer sank onto the couch and leaned into Seth, who was sharing a look with Ryan.
"What's going on?" She asked, sitting back up. Ryan sighed, shrugged, motioned towards Seth.
"We think they're getting a divorce. Or just separating." Seth shrugged helplessly. There was shocked silence after this, while Marissa and Summer absorbed his statement.
"No way, not your parents, Cohen. They're, like, soul mates or something. No way would they break up." Summer tried to reassure him, saw she was falling short.
"They're probably just in a rut. I mean, they've been together forever. There's got to be rough patches, right?" Seth shook his head.
"This is different. This isn't just a rough patch. Dad hasn't been coming home when he usually does. He's never around for dinner anymore, and when he is, the parents just sit and eat. They don't talk. They don't even look at each other. Mom looks like she's going to cry all the time... God, we're just not that family. My parents are the rock. They've always been Sandy and Kirsten." Seth leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Summer let her arm rest on his back.
"I can't believe it." Marissa finally said. There was more silence as they all thought about the destruction of the Cohen family as they knew it.
Thanks so much for all the reviews so far- it's been lovely getting feed back on what is essentially a labour of love. Hear that, Schwartz- no money is being made here! No infringement intended.