Free Those We Love Most by Lee Woodruff Page A

working the zipper on the back of her dress. But after a few minutes, after some writhing and repositioning, Roger found himself unable to focus, unable, to his horror and great shame, to become aroused. Each time his ardor would flag he would focus on it, will himself unsuccessfully to put his head in the moment, which only compounded his embarrassment and failure. “I … I’m sorry,” Roger said finally, rolling off her with more than a little frustration. This had never happened with Julia. With Margaret, perhaps, there had been times he had excused himself with fatigue or mumbled something about one too many drinks. But this utter failure, this lack of control over his own body, panicked him. True, he was preoccupied with the deal and worn out from a day of travel. But Julia had always known how to soothe that part of him, to tease out the fun side and inflame his passion.
    “I really am sorry,” Roger said again and rolled on his back. He could read disappointment and maybe even mild alarm in Julia’s eyes, but now she was on top of him, over him, rubbing his shoulders and cooing, unwilling to admit defeat. “Why don’t we just lie here,” she said, reaching for her sheer nightgown and pulling it back over her head. “Let’s just lie here and talk … and cuddle. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be with you.”
    For the first time with Julia, Roger experienced the distinct sensation of not wanting to be touched. How ironic, he thought, all of those nights he and Margaret seemed to keep a football field between them on their king-size mattress, and now here he was, fighting the unfamiliar urge to fling Julia off, to wave her away abruptly and just fall asleep with his own thoughts. In his own bed.
    As if sensing this, Julia rolled away from him and onto her back. She inched her right foot over to touch his calf, and when he didn’t respond, she withdrew.
    “Is it me?” she asked somewhat tentatively.
    “You? No. Julia, it’s me. I’m just having a hard time shutting off so many thoughts tonight, I guess. You know this never happens.”
    “Hmmmm.”
    “I’m thinking we get a little rest now and then in the morning, well, we have a whole new day. My meeting doesn’t start until nine.”
    “I’d like that. Everything is always better in the morning.” Julia’s voice brightened and she rolled back toward him, laying her head on his chest and shoulder, her gardenia perfume overpowering. As he reached down to draw her closer with his free arm he felt a hopeful stirring, an increased sense of security and peace. Roger leaned to turn off the bedside lamp and pulled the covers up over them both. The air-conditioning was on too high, but neither one of them had the energy to get up and adjust it.
    As he closed his eyes, he thought about being with Margaret on the night after the funeral. As they crawled into bed she had begun to softly weep, and he had drawn her to him. They had lain like that, wordlessly, for a long time, her head resting like a stone on his chest, and he had felt protective and united. Roger had savored the strength and satisfying heft of being integral to his whole family that night, of being deeply needed. Julia was asleep now. He could hear the growing sound of her almost cartoonish exhales of air. And before Roger drifted off he experienced a sense of warm anticipation about heading home. It was suddenly a place he very much wanted to be.
    “Maura, you need to eat,” Margaret urged.
    “I am, Mom, I do eat.” Maura was picking at the glops of tuna poking out of the sandwich. Next to her at the table Sarah’s chubby fingers were grasping one buttered noodle at a time.
    “You don’t eat enough. Even Daddy was commenting that you look too thin.”
    “When is Dad coming home?” Maura asked.
    “Dinner tonight. And then he’ll head over to your house to see Ryan.”
    Roger had been spending more time at Maura’s lately, taking Ryan into the city for a hot dog last