Not that Sheila thought Ethan was capable of murder. Or did she? Did the police even talk to him? He’d been Diana’s TA, after all. They’d spent a lot of time alone together. He’d proctored at least two of her early writes and had provided extra tutoring at the swimmer’s request…
Sheila shook the thought out of her head. The last thing she needed was to become paranoid on top of everything else.
Checking her watch, Sheila walked over to the blackboard and jotted down the chapters to be read for next week’s class. Drowsy heads popped up immediately at the sounds of her chalk squeaking, and a few of the faces showed panic. Sheila smiled reassuringly at no one in particular. The smile would make the students feel better, even if there was nothing behind it.
Ethan caught her smile and grinned.
She shuddered.
Morris’s car was in her driveway when she pulled up to her townhouse. Her heart soared, though her stomach knotted like a ball of twine. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him in five days, not since the conversation where she’d finally told him everything. Were they still getting married? She was about to find out.
He was sitting on her porch steps, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The front door was locked. He’d never had a key because most of the time they went to his place. He was dressed for work, his wool overcoat unbuttoned even though it was chilly. Thrilled to see him, Sheila went to greet him with a kiss. But he turned his face away at the last moment and her lips only brushed his cheek, prickly with a day-old beard. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. A bad sign. Normally he was fastidious about his grooming.
His eyes matched hers-red and puffy from lack of sleep. Before she could open her mouth to say something, he beat her to the punch.
“I can’t do this,” he said.
Pausing only for a split second, Sheila walked past him and unlocked the front door. Dropping her purse and briefcase on the foyer tile, she kept her voice calm. “Will you come inside? I’ll make coffee.” She paused. “I also have to feed Mercury.”
It was a calculated move on her part to mention the goldfish. Morris had won him for her at the Puyallup Fair the year before, on their first official date. It was a subtle reminder of their history and all the beautiful moments they’d had before she’d infected their relationship with her lies and unfaithfulness.
Morris did as she asked, closing the door behind him. But he made no move to take off his coat and he wouldn’t enter the house past the foyer. “I don’t want coffee. I need to sleep on the plane tonight. I’m flying back to Okinawa to try and get the Taganaki deal closed.” His voice was filled with exhaustion.
The house felt unbearably hot and she realized she was still wearing her coat. She took it off and hung it in the hall closet, then bent down to zip off her stiletto boots. She moved slowly, wondering what to say, what to do.
She felt Morris’s eyes on her. Other than his obvious fatigue, his face was impassive. Unreadable.
“I can’t do this,” he repeated.
“Can’t do what?” she asked, standing in front of him in her stocking feet. Her voice was shaking. She could lecture in front of hundreds of students without one slip, but now, in front of her fiancé, her whole body was quivering. “You need to be more specific. You can’t do us? This relationship?”
Morris was quiet. The seconds ticked by like hours while she waited for him to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.
“When I met you, I was in trouble. You helped me. You got me through AA and the twelve steps, you helped me see what I had to lose if I didn’t get sober. Because of you I was able to salvage my relationship with two of my sons. That’s more than anyone else could ever have done for me.” He paused, his eyes gazing past her to some invisible spot on the wall. “I admired your strength, your confidence, and not just in yourself, but also in me. You believed in me. You somehow helped me put my life back together. You helped me save my job. You reminded me that I’m a decent person. For that, I owe you everything.”
His face hardened. “But that doesn’t change the fact that everything I thought I knew about you is a goddamned lie.”
It was over. Sheila could feel it in every bone in her body. He was ending it. She was losing him, and the pain was so excruciating she thought she might vomit. “Morris-”
He held up a large hand. “I’m not finished.”
Sheila nodded weakly and took a seat on the stairs.
“You’re a sex addict.” His voice was heavy. “I did a little reading on it-gotta love the Internet-and I get that it’s a viable addiction. Like alcohol. Like drugs. Like gambling. There’s even twelve-step meetings you can go to. Do you go to those?”
Sheila nodded again, afraid to speak.
“As an addict, I get the shame. I get the desire to keep the addiction a secret, to not want to admit it to yourself or to anyone, to keep that part of you compartmentalized so that you can try and have some semblance of a normal life.” He took a breath. “But what I don’t get is how you could have kept this from me. We’re supposed to get married.”
His voice began to tremble. The next words to come out of his mouth were at a volume a hundred times louder than the words before. “Did you not think, somewhere in that large, intelligent, sensible brain of yours, that I had a goddamned right to know?” The boom of his voice echoed throughout the quiet townhouse, and Sheila cringed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Morris. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Her words caught in her throat. She could barely look at him. His face was full of accusation and loathing. “Sex addiction… it isn’t like drinking, Morris. You tell people you’re an alcoholic, they get it. They won’t hate you, or think you’re gross. But you tell people you’re a sex addict, and suddenly you’re sick. You’re a pervert. Or they want to take you out back and fuck you. It’s not an easy thing to tell people.”
“I’m not people. ”
“I know. I’m just trying to explain.” In frustration, she ran her fingers through her hair and her diamond bracelet tangled up in the strands. She yanked, ripping out two glossy black hairs. “I wanted to tell you, I did. But I couldn’t.”
“What’s your specific addiction anyway?” Morris’s gaze never left her face. “Porn? Chat rooms? Multiple partners? What?”
“Yes.” Never had a word tasted so poisonous. “All of it.”
“That’s great. Just fucking great.” Morris rubbed his head. “And how many men since we’ve been together?”
“Just one.” Sheila’s voice shook. “I swear. I was celibate for a long time before we met.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Until the affair with your student.”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Does it matter?”
Morris’s face was expressionless. “All those things we did last Saturday. Did you do them with him?”
Sheila kept her eyes glued to the floor and refused to answer.
“Look at me. I want to know.” Morris was eerily calm. “Did you?”
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“Other stuff, too?”
She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Which she knew would be answer enough.
“Fuck!” he yelled, punching the wall beside him hard. A fist-size dent appeared in the drywall. White powder flew everywhere. He hit the wall two more times, adding to the damage. Sheila cowered. Glaring at her, he rubbed his raw knuckles, chest heaving. “Was he of legal age at least?”
“Of course!”
“Should I get tested for STDs?”
It was a low blow, but she had no right to be offended. “We used protection.”
“Can’t blame me for asking.”