Free Once More with Feeling by Cynthia Baxter Page B

lock. Roger paused in the doorway, his expression changing from haggard to surprised. “What’s this?”
    “Oh, just a little something I cooked up.” Laura didn’t bother to mention that the inspiration for her romantic evening a deux was rooted in the latest issue of the Ladies’ Home Journal. “I thought we deserved a quiet evening all to ourselves.”
    “Great.” Roger sat down at the table, peeking under the cloth napkin that covered the basket of rolls. After casting her an appreciative glance, he grabbed a biscuit.
    By the time Laura had served the Boston cream pie, the candles were burned halfway down, the wine bottle was empty, and her bare feet were in his lap.
    “Let’s go into the bedroom,” she murmured.
    This time, she told herself, shuffling down the hall with her arm slung around his waist, Roger and I will connect. We’ll be closer than we’ve even been before. I know we can. I can make it happen.
    Lying with him in bed, she forced herself to shut out every defense, every reservation, every thought of anything besides the here and now. She even put aside her usual self-consciousness about her body. She knew Roger wished she were thinner, more graceful, more agile ... freer. Tonight she refused to worry about any of that.
    Instead, she concentrated on the sensation of the taut skin on the familiar curves of his shoulders. She pressed her breasts against his chest and felt a rush of excitement when she was rewarded with a satisfied smile. Her body responded to his in a way it never had before. As he pushed inside her she moved against him hard, giving in to the longing to have him as close to her as possible.
    Afterward, Laura lay with her head on his stomach, her hair splayed out on his chest. One arm was flung across his waist while with her other hand she caressed him. When she heard his breathing turn heavy and even, she, too, fell asleep.
    She woke up alone. Yet she was still glowing as she followed the sounds of coffee being made and found Roger in the kitchen.
    Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
    “Hmmm,” she purred, nuzzling the back of his neck. “That was nice last night, wasn’t it?”
    “Well,” he replied matter-of-factly, “it was better.”
    * * * *
    As she finished making the bed, Laura sank down onto it. Whatever energy she’d awoken with was already sapped.
    “I was never good enough,” Laura said aloud. “No matter what I did, it was never enough.”
    Tears stung her eyes. Annoyed, she wiped them. Desperate for an antidote to the ache in her heart, she switched on the radio on the night table.
    Bonnie Raitt was mournfully singing “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”
    “Listen to that,” Laura muttered. “They’re playing our song.”
    She let out what was meant to be a laugh. Instead, it came out a sob.
    * * * *
    There was an unreal quality to the scene that Laura found herself in that evening: three reluctant participants gathered in the kitchen, Laura and Roger sitting at the table, Evan standing in the doorway, impatient to get back to his Nintendo game. Part of her was shrieking, No! I don’t want this! I can’t do it! Yet she knew this was just one more part of the roller-coaster ride. She had to hold on. If she could only hold on ...
    “What, Dad?” Evan said, his body present but his mind clearly in the living room with the Mario Brothers.
    Something in Laura switched off. What she was experiencing was like an out-of-body episode. Her flesh was here, but her mind had departed, unable to accept the fact that this horrible moment was real. She felt as if she were watching a movie. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Above all, she felt the urge to run away, or at least to do something—anything—to stop what was about to unfold.
    We don’t have to do this, she thought. Roger and I can put our arms around each other and laugh and tell Evan to go back to his Nintendo game. We can say that Mom and Dad were just