She Stole My Wife Ch. 02

I smiled, and left. It wasn't 15 minutes later before Lauren knocked on my door and came in. She had her coat on and had come up to thank me for breakfast before leaving. I had decorated my room with my paintings, and when she walked in she was genuinely impressed. She looked carefully at them, asking questions about each. Her coat soon came back off. She wasn't leaving quickly. Karen came in, smiled when she saw Lauren. She slipped a card with her phone number and email address into my hand, ran her hand enticingly over my shoulder, then joined Lauren admiring the paintings. I turned back to the computer I that was the central hub of my recording rig as they moved from painting to painting. Ellen came in. Apparently Ellen was an aspiring singer, and when she saw my recording rig, she flipped. She was full of questions about my work, and finally convinced me to playback my current project.

I couldn't just play what was loaded. It was so inspired by Karen's raid on my solitude last night, that her presence would expose feelings I wasn't ready to share. I was afraid my lyrics would strike a too-familiar chord. I loaded a different project that was nearly finished the night before. It was my real freedom celebration song, and in my haste to find something to play for Ellen, I didn't even consider that I was playing it for Andy's "freedom party" guests. Maybe it was poor taste, but all three women stopped to listen. They lyric was at the same time painful, but looking ahead to a new life. I didn't even hear it though, and was stupidly listening to production quality. When it finished, I was looking at the screen, and quickly tweaking some things according to what I'd heard. I began babbling about what I needed to do to polish it, and when I turned to Ellen, she was wiping a tear from her eye.

"That was beautiful," she sniffed. "The lyrics..., the music....it's wonderful. I can't believe Andrea had a party to celebrate losing you!"

Lauren leaned over and kissed my cheek. She asked if she could come by sometime with her watercolors. Ellen asked the same, only about me helping her record a demo. She asked if she could sing the song I'd just played. They left together, and I saw them to the door, all of their phone numbers safely sitting on my desk. Kim came downstairs, dressed to go to the gym.

"You know you really were sweet about last night, and about breakfast this morning. Thanks."

Her words sounded fine, but there was something suspicious about her demeanor. I didn't trust Kim.

I went back up to my room. Andrea was sitting at my desk looking up at my watercolors. She glanced at me over her shoulder, but not for long enough that I could read her expression. I wasn't interested in seeing her expression, knowing how her eyes had always been able to melt me. I really didn't want to see them right now.

"They're right...it's beautiful."

I thought she was talking about my paintings. She hadn't been in here for months since we separated. I hadn't interested her at all. I had a habit of matting and hanging work that I really liked, and when we separated, already had one wall and a big portion of a second filled with stuff I was proud of. Since the separation, I had done several larger pieces, including one of Jeffy hitting a baseball that had captured his bubbling spirit incredibly well. I thought she was referring to it, as that's where her eyes were cast.

"It sounded amazing, and I can't believe I caused you that much pain, and didn't even realize you were hurting like that."

I didn't understand what she was talking about. I couldn't respond. She lingered, eyes still fixed to Jeffy's perfect swing.

"Your song. It was about me. It was about you, and how I hurt you. It was about how you'd go without me, never letting me know."

Her shoulders betrayed the silent sob.

"Is it true?"

Apparently she had heard the song when I played it for her friends. She must have been standing outside, eavesdropping. I hadn't told her how deep she'd dropped me with this whole thing. I had put it into my songs, into my paint, into my efforts to play out and ear some extra cash. My silence was her answer. I hadn't told her how I felt, and that door would never open to her again. She had to understand.

"I'll never be able to hear that song, or anything you write again, without crying. Part of me will always regret..."

I didn't hear the rest of what she said. I couldn't listen to it. I left the house and went to the hardware store. When I came back, I was alone. I filled the peephole. It was time to move on.

To be continued....