Shattered 5
It would be a new project, to wile away an afternoon.
As promised, Norman did the week's shopping. Like the obedient fool his wife expected him to be, he got everything on the list-- and then some. He spent a little extra to buy a few of her favorite things-- the indulgences she had gone without to save up for things the 'new arrival' would need. He found her favorite ice cream, the gourmet frozen dinners, imported cheeses, even some bubble bath-- small, silly things, really, but enough to bribe his way into Connie's confidence a little longer. He'd even make dinner later.
The clerks at the grocery store-- those that knew him by sight-- naturally cornered him for a few moments. 'How was everything going?' -- the usual causal banter meant to convey friendly interest while disguising the true intent of getting some good gossip. Norman smiled and answered just as politely, all good and positive things, and perhaps disappointed them in their quest for dirt. He returned home, put away the groceries like a good little spouse, and then turned his attention to his computer.
The answering machine was blinking, and out of habit he decided to play back the messages before getting to work. There were four calls in all-- two strange, voiceless ones-- no words but there were street or office sounds in the background. Wrong numbers, no doubt. There was one for the wife, confirming an appointment with a hairdresser tomorrow, and then one from Connie.
"Hello, darling! I guess you're out at the store, so that's good-- you won't have a chance to argue. I've made reservations for us tonight at La Belle, at 7 pm. You can meet me there, I'm getting a dinner break-- I'm sorry, sweetie, but I have to do a second shift tonight, Marie called out. So I'll see you then! Love you!"
Norman stared at the floor as he sat on the edge of the couch. At least he didn't have to worry about what to make for dinner. But La Belle? She always called it 'their place'-- a trendy little restaurant on the lake, miles from anywhere and yet always doing a brisk business. That was the site of their first 'official' date, and already it was stirring up memories he'd like to forget.
The way they laughed and how the candlelight made everything so 'romantic'-- how he had too much to drink and ended up in the backseat. How he didn't complain when she kissed him and loosened his clothes--
What a stupid sorry fool! I actually believed she loved me. Me! And made me believe I was in love, too. I fell like a ton of bricks. Nothing is as ugly as the truth, when you're happy to live the lie.
He'd meet her at La Belle, even bring her a rose like he did the first time-- Two can play at that game. She'd see it as a charming, romantic evening, celebrating their love. He'd see it as their 'last official date'. La Belle marked the start of this whole mess-- why not mark the end, as well?
He was quick to forget the unpleasantness, when he finally sat at his laptop. There was research to do.
Laney Kirkpatrick was alive.
Scrolling through page after page, he pieced together the years that had transpired since their summer together. Some of it was found in her husband's obituary.
She had married a man named O'Donnell, whose job brought them to the east coast. He died of cancer ten years ago, and Laney O'Donnell was now a successful author. Looking her up by her married name, he found an impressive list of children's and young adult books she had written. With an excitement he had not felt in years, he scribbled down the names so he could look them up at the library or the bookstore. Time got away from him, and he kept searching, finding articles about book signings and an entire page on her publisher's website, devoted to Laney's life and work. There was even an magazine interview!
The phone rang. It was Connie.
"Hello, hot stuff." she purred when he picked up. "I'm just leaving the hospital now." He glanced at his watch-- it was 6:30. "You got my message, didn't you?"
"I was just heading out the door." he lied.
"Good-- can't wait to see you!"
"I'm on the way."
No sooner had he set down the receiver than he ran to find a clean shirt. He splashed some water on his face, shut down the computer, and shoved the scribbled booklist into his pocket before leaving. There was hardly any time to pick up a rose, but he managed. He was intent on giving dinner his best performance.
It's only an hour or two at the most. I can manage that.
Unfortunately, the evening would end up demanding more of him than planned.
Connie was already seated at their table when he arrived. It was the table in the far left corner, the same one they had occupied on their first visit. She was thrilled to accept the rose, but could not resist a little frown when he sat down.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he took up a menu.
"Did you even shave today?" she teased.
He had, that morning, but looked down embarrassed that he might have left the house too quickly.
"Of course, first thing, like everyday." he mumbled. "What looks good tonight?"
"You." She was smirking over the edge of her water glass, but he pretended not to hear or notice.
It was easy enough to carry on a conversation about their food, and the day's doings. The topics changed easily, as neither brought up anything urgent or pressing. Norman mentioned the people he'd run into at the market, Connie made suggestions about events they might attend in the up-coming weeks. The meal was delicious, and between the subjects of home and work they were able to enjoy a comfortable chat. Unintentionally, Norman had a little too much to drink; by the time they left, he was hardly aware that she was holding his hand.
"Walk me to my car?" she sighed.
He agreed with a nod, and she went on for a bit as they walked, about doing the night shift.
"Where did you park?" It seemed like rather a long walk to him. She nodded to the space furthest in lot, under some trees and well removed from the other vehicles. "Connie! I could drive you there just as easily."
"We can both use the exercise." she teased. "Besides, running up and down the hospital halls doesn't get me much fresh air."
"Well, in your condition, you shouldn't wear yourself out."
"Fine. You can do all the housework then."
I thought I already did.
It wasn't until they were in the shadows under the trees that Norman suspected anything was wrong. Instead of reaching for her keys, Connie slid her hand across his stomach, and down to his groin.
"Connie!" Norman slipped backward in surprise, ending up against the car. "What are you doing??"
"Oh, come on Norman." She leaned up and kissed his neck, rubbing him through his jeans. "No one can see us."
He gasped in surprise, feeling his body respond against his will to this attention. He put his hands against her shoulders, intending to push her away. Instead, he felt his knees weakening and the wine making him dizzy.
"Connie! Stop that!" he whispered urgently, afraid of being overheard.
"What? This?"
She had already loosened his belt and was unzipping his pants. Weakly, Norman grabbed for the waistband in protest. Her hand dove under cotton briefs and took firm hold of him. He groaned and tried to move away, but the sensation of fingers-- even hers-- wrapped around him was too intense.
"No…." He was breathless, and starting to slide down the side of the car to the gravel lot. "We can't--- don't-- please, Connie--"
She opened the back door and guided him in. Norman fell back, lying on the seat, covering his face with both hands.
No, no, no!
It was too late. She had freed the object of her desire from his clothing, and lavished it with kisses and eager strokes. He wanted to kick his way free, scramble to safety, but his rational mind lost the battle. Her lips surrounded him, and once again Connie got her way.
Norman punched the seat backs with angry fists, his eyes clenched and his body stiffened. He was a prisoner of this fleeting moment of carnal indulgence-- taken by force-- hating his human frailty as much as he craved release. In a moment, the struggle ended. He cried out, in tortured anguish.
And, a moment later, he was left weak and panting, while Connie was fixing her make up in the front seat.
"Thank you for the rose." she whispered.
Norman was mortified.
He felt like something dirty and vile, left half naked in the back seat. He struggled to pull himself up, and get properly dressed. Then he climbed from the car without a word. Connie smiled smugly, as if he should have been glad for the attention, and promised she would be home in the morning.
"Do you want a ride to your car?"
Norman stood, arms wrapped around his lean body, and shook his head no. With another tender word or two meant to be reassuring, she drove off.
Anger swelled inside him, choked with a horrible remorse. His own body had surrendered him to the enemy!! He had been assaulted-- tantamount to rape-- and he had lacked the strength or the resolve to fight back. He had let her take him! He hated himself, and once more felt the bile rise in his throat. Bracing his hand against a tree, he bent forward and vomited.
Tears welled in his dark eyes. He had been the victim again. He walked unsteadily back across the lot, to where he had parked earlier, when he was innocent of the trap that lay ahead. Headlights of departing and arriving cars washed over him as he made his way. Instinctively he turned his face away from their light, afraid to be seen at all-- as if the rest of the world knew of his shame. When a small party of revellers met laughing by the restaurant door, he was convinced they were laughing at him.
Norman unlocked the door and slid into the car, hanging his head in defeat. He gripped the wheel, knuckles white with tension and rocked back and forth, hitting his head on the wheel over and over. Tears ran hot down his face.
Can't stay here, can't stay here-- someone will see.
Norman's hands trembled as he tried to fit the key into the ignition. The lake was temptingly close. It wouldn't take much to drive a car into it, by mistake or otherwise….