There was some relief to his going to college. The disgrace and distraction of Noah would be hundreds of miles away. His musky, mean scent, gone. His athletic frame, a ghost. His doe eyes that belied the lascivious wants that harass all young men, a fading memory.
You and your husband divorced: no scandals, no infidelity, little drama. It was a long time coming, a relationship destined to die. Single as you may be, you’ve yet to “play the field” or give online dating a try. The idea of dating does not so much make you nervous, as it makes you guilty. It makes you feel more shameful than when you were married and you pined for Noah. The idea of dating feels as if you would be betraying a man who has yet to know you.
But today, he will find you. And he will know you.
It’s been two years, almost exactly, since you laid eyes on Noah. (It’s been half as long since you’ve known a man’s touch.) You have the house to yourself now, and this summer, you’ve hired no pool boy. You clean the pool yourself when you have time.
Today is one of those days. It is hot, the sun is high, and you wear your bikini. Self-conscious, you tend to wear shorts or a tankini when you go the beach, despite your friends complimenting your well-kept figure. But today you’re in the privacy of your own backyard; you expect to see no one.
You hear the gate to the backyard squeak open, and you hear a familiar, musical sound.
“Hello?”
It’s Noah. He’s standing in the backyard in fitted jeans and a tank top. He has matured. His jaw line is stronger, his peach fuzz replaced by sexy stubble. He carries a masculine vigor that you can practically see pulse through him.
“Hi Mrs. Thompson,” he says. “I rang the bell, but no one came.”
“Oh Jesus,” you can’t help but blurt, “do not call me Mrs. Thompson.”