Free After the Fall by Kylie Ladd Page B

Cressida’s chatter took me back to the early days of our own relationship. I’d remember those first few months of living together, the excitement I’d feel as my headlights picked out our house at the end of the day. How I’d find myself accelerating into the driveway in my eagerness to get inside. How I’d hurry up the path beside the lemon tree, driven by a desire that was part sexual, but mostly just a need to see Kate again. My key would fumble in the lock and then like a child playing tag I’d be home, safe, with the world shut out behind me. Inside Kate would be humming as she prepared dinner or flicked through a magazine, and she’d look up laughing at my abrupt entrance, then kiss me with lips that tasted of the apple she’d been eating or the basil she’d just added to our dinner. Cressida was now caught up in the same manic delirium, but having been such a willing victim of it myself, how could I complain? In fact, I think I enjoyed the reminder. Half a decade later I was still very much in love, but I no longer sprinted up our garden path at the end of the day. That’s no failing: I defy you to show me anyone who does. In my book, familiarity breeds content; love plateaus but is none the less for that. It has to, or no one would ever get any work done.

CRESSIDA
•
    My part should have ended there, at the hospital in my wedding gown. Maybe there could have been a postscript: two healthy children, respected in her profession, a long and happy marriage. But no more, and certainly not this. What could I possibly have done to deserve it?

LUKE
•
    It just happened, I swear. That’s what I told Cress and the counselor, and I mean it. I admit there were a lot of lies, but that wasn’t one of them. How else can you explain such a thing? Sure, I was attracted to Kate, but I’ve been attracted to plenty of other women before without feeling obliged to kiss them in the middle of a dance floor in full view of their husbands. Or my wife, for that matter. Of course, there was alcohol involved, and I tried to blame it on that: a stupid, drunken gaffe. I think Cress believed me—what choice did she have? I almost believed it myself. That is, until I saw Kate again and realized that there’d been no mistake.

CARY
•
    Kate sparkles; I don’t. She flirts; I don’t. She dances; I don’t. She’s an extrovert, and I’m not. But I wouldn’t say I was introverted, just that I’m neutral, naturally quieter, Belgium to her Brazil. Apart from that, I’ve always thought we were pretty well matched. Water finds its own level, my father used to say, and I believe that. I mean, we knew what we were getting into—we were together for four years before marrying, and she was the one who forced the issue then. On some basic level we must have been suited. Up until that night I thought we were perfectly happy. Maybe not perfectly, but more than most. Then suddenly she’s kissing someone who isn’t me. Is sparkling and flirting and dancing worth risking a marriage over?

KATE
•
    What can I possibly say in my defense? That it was dark, that I was drunk or confused or premenstrual? That I was swept away by the music and the night and had no idea how it happened? No, I have no defense, but at least I can be honest. Of course it didn’t “just happen.” That’s not to say I expected it, but I can’t say I was surprised either. I knew Luke was attracted to me, though that was no big deal; in my experience, men like Luke are always attracted to someone. I was attracted to him too. Why wouldn’t I be? He was beautiful, and our both being married didn’t change that. Still, I could have pulled away. The signs were there. I could have stopped dancing, gone outside for some air or to find Cary. Could have, should have, but didn’t. Didn’t stop, didn’t think, didn’t want to.

TIM
•
    I wasn’t there, though I heard plenty about it. It was a hospital function: a doctor that Cressida knew marrying a doctor