The Year I Left Page 2

  We did that all night, sipped and puffed and immersed ourselves in nonsense. Once in a while, we’d revert back to work talk, make fun of those who didn’t understand the purpose of the project, and avoid the subject neither of us wanted to broach.

  What was happening in my personal life? I’d hardly spoken about my family. Who in their right mind would be vaguely interested in a neat little life, filled with clichéd accomplishments like work, career, marriage? Such normalcy embarrassed me.

  Instead, we focused on Valerie. She was married too, with parents who owned a Thai restaurant by the Bastille in Paris. She had a brother in school and a younger sister who helped run her parents’ business.

  But Valerie was different. She wanted so much out of life, and she was living it. She didn’t want to stay put in Paris, taking care of her parents. She didn’t even want children. She was against everything that tied her down. Every time we were together, she’d share stories and secrets borne out of her ability to keep moving, keep evolving.

  I’d done just the opposite. Tied myself down at twenty-five and never looked back.

  Valerie wanted to travel the world, move from one place to the other.

  When did I start wishing I was like her?

  I thought it was my cross to bear. I thought that life was just like this.

  You live, you love, you lose.

  We were seated with strangers between two adjacent booths, allowing active talk amidst tables to be shared, and secrets to be overheard. Everyone could tune in to what everyone else was saying. Val and I smiled at each other and purposely stayed silent.

  The couple to our left was obviously on a Tinder date. The young lady was telling the young man about her job. At the end of her monologue, all he said was, “You don’t look like you did in those pictures.”

  I squeaked under my breath when Val kicked me on the shin.

  Four people sat to our right, three women and a man. I only knew it was a man because of his voice. Val kicked me once again as the women across from me strained to speak to the man at the table. They flipped their hair and leaned closer, asking the man where he’d gone the night before when he’d ditched them for a woman at the bar. They spoke in Spanish, but I understood. In heavy accented English, the man said, “A gentleman never tells,” in the most melodious intonation I’d ever heard.

  Up until then, I’d thought the French language trumped all other.

  But not since that day.

  Not since you.

  Chapter Three

  Your Voice

  That voice was yours.

  Did you know it was me sitting so close?

  Someone said something, and you stood to give way to your friend, who tapped your hand as she slid off the booth.

  “It’s that man,” Val leaned in with a whisper. Overachiever. She was always the first to recognize people. Point out the obvious.

  You hovered over our table. From your wide-eyed reaction, I suspect you were a bit surprised to find us there. When your friend returned, you motioned for her to switch places with you. And there we were, side by side. You unfolded the napkin and placed it on your lap. Val was quick to acknowledge you.

  “Hey, we know you!” she announced. “The Wharf guy.”

  I saw summer. Your upturned lips touched the corners of your eyes. You exuded self- confidence. You smelled good.

  Women like summer. I get why those women were falling all over themselves over you.

  “Yes, hello,” you answered.

  But we were too preoccupied with Dylan’s arrival. Our trio was complete.

  Val and Dylan worked at the same place. He was the project lead, often showing up to check how things were progressing. Dylan had the same puzzled look on his face when he saw you. At first, I thought he wondered why you’d sat so close to me, but then I realized he knew you.

  “Matias?” he asked. “Matias Torres?”

  “Dylan Forest?”

  Dylan reached over to shake your hand while Val and I squinted at him.

  “Oh, sorry! This is Matias Torres, the CIO of Majorcorp.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I’d heard him correctly.

  He continued, “This is my colleague, Valerie Petier.”

  You shook her hand and turned to me. “And this is?”

  “Carin Frost, CCO of Sardonyx,” Dylan replied.

  “The Carin Frost,” you said, offering me your hand. I took it, of course. In the most unsettling way, I knew what was coming next. “What an honor. And here I was, working on a trip to meet you in person. Jim Singer said I needed to get on a plane to Chicago to learn from you.”

  Majorcorp was a subsidiary of the company I managed. I had heard that they’d hired a new guy out of Spain, but who would’ve thought it would be the man who witnessed me on my knees, knocked down by a giant bird?

  “Join us, Matias,” Dylan said. “It would be nice to catch up.” And then he addressed both Valerie and me. “Matias and I go back a long way. We started out at the same company, managing the technology integration there.”

  “Well, it must have been before my time because I’d surely remember if we worked together,” Val said, winking at me as you looked away. This time it was my turn to kick her under the table. You waited until Val and Dylan got caught in their exchange before leaning toward me.

  “Are you okay?” you whispered. “You were quite upset earlier today.”

  “Embarrassed is more like it,” I said. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  “Witness what?” You smiled.

  Our orders arrived and the other ladies laughed when they saw what the server placed in front of you. Two sushi rolls—that was it. The rest of us had large dishes, mine with steak and vegetables and white rice.

  You turned to me with a smirk. “Oops, I don’t think I ordered enough.”

  As the dinner host, I thought I’d make the offer. “Would you like to place another order?”

  You smiled. “For some reason, I don’t think you’re a big eater. If you don’t mind sharing with me, I think we have enough.”

  Your English was perfect. Before another word, you reached across with your chopsticks and brought a piece of meat from my plate to your mouth.

  “Sure, help yourself,” I said, surprised, not incensed. You were a comfortable stranger. Maybe it was because Dylan was a friend of yours.

  “Ca-reen.” By this time, both sushi rolls were long gone, and you were picking at my broccoli. The other women seemed consumed by a different topic. “Do you live in California?”

  “No. I’m from Chicago.”

  “Ah. Chicago. The winters keep me away.” You winked. “But maybe now, something will make me come back.”

  I nodded, lost for words.

  “And you have a family?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  You pointed your gaze to the hand under my chin. “Married?”

  “Very.”

  This time, it was your turn to nod. I’m not even sure why I called that out, but I noticed a shift in your body language. You sat up taller, straighter, moved slightly away from me. I think it took a while to register because you put forth a delayed reaction. “Wow. No one would think ... you look so young.” It was a breathy whisper. The first of many secrets?

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  Valerie leaned in and gently shoved me toward you, slapping my arm. “It’s her birthday!”

  “Oh!” You smiled. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Not ‘til next week,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I don’t know why but I wanted to know how old you were. I guessed you were in your thirties. “And you?”

  “No. Never married. Much pressure from my family since I am already thirty.”

  But when you said that, your eyes drilled into mine. The way you spoke was deliberate. You had a focused look and a slight smirk. I found it arrogant. How was it that a man with such kind eyes could also be so smug?

  “Pfft. You’re still young. So much time ahead of you.”<
br />
  Five-year difference. It felt safer. For both of us, I guess. I relaxed, relieved that I was the most senior one at the table. It always made me feel in control, drew the barriers between me and the rest of you without even trying.

  Don’t ask me why I even had the need to do that. Lately, it felt like I’d slapped a sign on my forehead that announced I was available. It wasn’t my outside appearance, that’s for sure. I was a conservative dresser—fashionable but classic. More Chanel than Alexander McQueen. I never showed skin at the office. And yet Valerie constantly pointed out the attention I supposedly garnered during our late nights out on the town. There she was, constantly reporting things I didn’t really care about.

  “Carin, I don’t think you know how beautiful you are.”

  Mind you, I always refuted her suggestions. If anything, it scared me to think I was even remotely encouraging attention. I worked, raised a family, kept to myself, and lived life in a straight line. What more was there to look for?

  Rest, I think. That was what was missing. I was exhausted. I was searching for something. A breather, perhaps. From what, I didn’t know at that time. All I knew was that this trip was a perfect getaway. For a few days, for a few hours. Spending time with the two people who really knew me.

  Chapter Four

  Home Life

  “Why hello there, sexy. How was your trip?”

  Jack opened the front door and pulled me in for a kiss. He was still so handsome though the lines on his face were noticeable and his hair was salted evenly throughout. He still did triathlons, so everything about him was healthy. I guess you could call him semi-retired; he made enough money from stocks to trade from home every so often and had taken on the role of stay at home dad. While he trained for his races, while he did his woodworking, when he bought his motorcycle or his boat or his five sets of golf clubs, I worked.

  I had three jobs at the same time. A full-time executive position, a tax practice on the side, and the management of my family’s business. The tax practice was a choice I’d made when I hadn’t wanted to give up three key clients I’d retained while Jack was just starting out. The relationships I built were of importance to me. I couldn’t just abandon them despite the fact that I no longer needed a side job. These jobs, these ventures—they just had to be a part of our life. A part of our marriage.

  It wasn’t Jack’s fault. I let him take the backseat for ten years and it had become the norm.

  “Great,” I said, kissing him back before kneeling on the floor to embrace our English bulldog, Brutus. “Got so much done.”

  Jack was a physical kind of guy. Hugs almost always led to kisses which always led to sex. So of course, I pulled away sooner than he would have liked. Whenever we fought, he would say that the only one who got all my love was Charlie. I’d argue but in more ways than one, it was the truth.

  Selda, our maid, was in the kitchen. She shuffled over and stood close enough for me to reach out and place my hand on her shoulders.

  “Arriba, por favor.” She nodded before rolling the suitcase up the ramp toward the stairs.

  “Charlie?” I asked my husband.

  Jack slid a large white envelope toward me. I looked up at him, eyes wide with trepidation. He nodded. “He’s in. The Gifted Program at Brenard wants him to start right after Spring Break.”

  There it was. The news I’d been dreading. Charlie deserved to be in a school that would value his advanced intellectual level, but he’d have to go to boarding school. Three hours away by plane, a million miles away from my sanity. “Where is he?”

  “Downstairs, playing Switch with his cousin.”

  Those were the best words I’d heard all week. I loved coming home to the sound of chatter and video games and ruffle-haired boys who smelled like sweaty socks. I scared the sadness away with a big smile.

  “Mama!” Charlie yelled while keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and his hands on the controller. Our fifteen-year-old nephew, Paul, sprang up to greet me.

  “Hi, guys!” I greeted. Four theater seats directly faced a wall-to-wall movie screen. To the right of the viewing area were two pool tables, a curved eight-foot television, and three bowling lanes. Both boys were seated on the floor, legs crossed, pillows strewn all over the carpet in front of them.

  I followed suit and sat between them. “What you playin’?”

  I stole a glance at the blank canvas that rested on the large easel pushed to the far corner. I made a mental note to get that out of the way. I hadn’t painted since ... Well, since my mother left me.

  “Paul is beating me at Mario Kart. He won’t let me win!” Charlie whined.

  “Why would I let you win?” Paul retorted. “I gave you all week to get your game up!”

  “Mom! Tell him! Tell him, Mom!”

  I placed my arm around both boys just as Jack walked in the room. He sat right behind me in one of the armchairs. “He is busy, Paul,” I said in defense.

  “Yeah, Paul,” Charlie mocked. “Being in all honors classes is very demanding.”

  Paul flung a pillow far to the side, missing him on purpose. “Then how come you were on Snapchat until one this morning?”

  Before Charlie could react, a herd of footsteps came rumbling down the stairs. Four more boys showed up, all in soccer gear, each more colorful than the last. I remembered Jack going all out when we shopped in Madrid for Charlie’s goalie uniform. He said the more colors, the better they stood out.

  Selda followed them. “Boys! Remove your shoes, please!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Frost, Mr. Frost!” they cackled in unison, kicking off their sneakers. I waved Selda off, signaling for her to ignore the mess.

  “Hi boys,” Jack answered. “What time do you have to leave?”

  “Baker wants us there by seven-thirty,” one of the boys piped in.

  Charlie pouted. He wasn’t allowed to go to this party. He was only ten, and this was a big point of contention between us. He hung around older kids—his cousin’s friends—but when it came time for parties and girls, he was obviously left out.

  “That’s still two hours from now, let’s keep playing,” Charlie ordered. “I’m bored with this—let’s bowl.”

  Jack poured me a glass of Moscato and pulled out a bottle of craft beer from the built-in wine cellar. The kitchen had been newly remodeled to add modern, useless conveniences. To me, wine stuck in the fridge for a few hours tasted the same as wine kept in a ten-thousand-dollar contraption. Granted, Jack loved to cook, but I couldn’t taste the difference between the food he cooked on the old KitchenAid versus what he concocted on the Viking. I’m sure he would have listened to me if I had given my opinion, but those were discussions I didn’t care to have. Every time I arrived from a work trip, there was always a new hobby, a new fixation, more money to be spent. It made him happy, kept him busy—and out of my way.

  “Carin?”

  Jack reached out to touch my arm. I sat facing him on one of the leather stools, my glass resting on the marble counter. He leaned forward, eager to hear about my trip.

  “Sorry. Yes?” I took a sip of my wine.

  “I asked how your trip went. Did you guys finish that contract so you could disengage for the weekend?” He quietly brushed his thumb across my wrist.

  “Met the new guy I told you about.” I stood and pulled some carrots out of the fridge, washed them and sat back down. “By coincidence, actually. Matias something.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “He was sitting next to Dylan, Val, and me at Butterfly the other night,” I said. “Apparently, he’s due to fly here soon.”

  “Val and Dylan. When one’s there so is the other. I swear—”

  “They are not sleeping together,” I interrupted. “Val’s married.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Torres is his last name. It came out in the Wall Street Journal the other day.” He took a carrot and started munching. “Press release.”

  “Oh, I missed that.” I smiled.

  “S
o, how is he?” Jack probed, gently reaching out to touch my shoulder.

  “Seems okay, one of those arrogant young hot shots.”

  “He was featured in Thirty Under Thirty last year. Young kid.” Chomp, chomp. He chewed on the carrots. I swigged the wine. “Apparently, he’s being credited for turning his old company around—profit was at thirty-five percent right before he left to join your company.”

  “Huh.” I shrugged. “We’ll see what he can do for us.”

  “He has an Instagram account. Have you seen it? It has forty-five thousand followers.” Jack circled the kitchen island to stand directly behind me. He pulled me into his arms to show me his phone.

  I used to love being held by him. In a way, I still did. I leaned up against his chest.

  As if I didn’t already know, he pointed out, “He’s Spanish.”

  “I see that.”

  “Looks like he’s into surfing or something.” Jack clicked on a picture of him surfing a wave.

  “Great. Now I’ve seen my colleague shirtless and in swim trunks,” I joked.

  “Aha! Funny that’s the one you noticed!” he teased. “That’s just one in a thousand others. Photography is his hobby, apparently.”

  He slid his finger on the screen to make his point. The pictures were all in black and white, most were abstract objects against natural backgrounds.

  To me, you looked like a homeless nomad. No roots.

  “Yeah, they’re okay,” I said. “I hope he’s gotten all that dillydallying out of his system. He’s got a huge job ahead of him.”

  “He’d be a good hire for a start-up. We should have him over for dinner when he gets into town.”

  I stepped forward and turned to face him. “Why? Are you planning to start something up?”

  He retreated. We were known for this. Turning the mood from good to sour at the drop of a dime.

  “Not again, Carin.” Jack turned around and headed back to the wine cellar.

  “You’re wasting really great potential by staying home. We’re still young; we should be killing it. You’re not much older than him—”