Free Honeymoon Hazards by Ben Boswell

conscious. Far from it.
    It didn’t make sense. Obviously her judgment had been impaired. Nothing else really mattered. I sensed I was trying to convince myself as much as anything else. The residual haze of my high was making it hard to concentrate. One thing I did know was that I wasn’t going to buy her flowers.
    Finally, after maybe an hour of unproductive reflection I rose and returned to our room. I hesitated before entering. I braced myself for the coming confrontation. I had decided that I could forgive her, if she was really contrite, really apologetic, but I didn’t know if that would hold once we were face-to-face.
    I needn’t have worried. When I got inside, it was obvious she wasn’t there. The bed hadn’t even been slept in. Another surge of panic rose in me. Had she done something crazy? Had he done something to her? He didn’t seem the type. But then again, she’d never seemed the type to cheat on me. It was later than I had originally thought, around 9:30am. Where could she be?
    It is a testament to how slowly my mind was working that I only now thought to call her. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dropping a handful of sand onto the carpet as I did. I dialed her number. It rang. Once, twice, three, four times before going to voicemail. That ramped up my anxiety. If she’d just had it off, it would have gone to voicemail much quicker.
    As I stared at the phone trying to puzzle out scenarios, a text came through from her.
    -- Meet me at the lobby bar in an hour.
    She was out there somewhere. I dialed again, with the same result as before. Then after another few minutes, another text.
    -- Just be there and I will explain everything.
    I was tempted to call again, but it seemed pointless. Her games had definitely sapped my sympathy.

    I walked into the lobby bar a little before 11:00am. I’d showered and guzzled a gallon of water. I felt almost normal, except for a profound nervousness.
    I sat down and ordered a coffee. I was on my second sip when Trent walked in and sat down next to me.
    After my incredulity faded, I rounded on him.
    “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Claire?”
    He smiled. He ordered a gin and tonic before answering me.
    “Claire is fine. She just wanted me to speak to you first. She was afraid of how you’d react.”
    “Um, Trent, don’t take this the wrong way, but fuck off. I want to see my wife.”
    “And she wants to see you. She’s feeling very sorry, but she wanted to make sure you were not in too thuggish a mood.”
    I was feeling thuggish, but most of my violent impulses were focused on Trent.
    “You’re a bastard, you know that? She was drunk. You took advantage of her. She was in no state to give consent.”
    He took a sip of his drink.
    “She wasn’t drunk this morning.”
    All of the piss and vinegar drained out of me. “What?”
    He didn’t answer. He knew I’d heard him.
    “What did you do to her?” I asked.
    “John, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Claire and I had a very pleasurable evening together. We both had a bit too much to drink, but I assure you, it was all completely consensual and mutually enjoyable.”
    I didn’t respond. I was trying to process all of it.
    “Your wife is a very sensual woman and quite an accomplished lover. You’re a lucky man.”
    I didn’t feel like a lucky man. I felt like a chump. I looked over at him. He was watching me frankly, almost kindly. He didn’t seem to be gloating.
    “What happened? How? How did this happen?”
    He shrugged. “The tropics do that to people. The sun, the sand, the sea. It makes people randy and silly. And you didn’t help with Annabelle.”
    “What did I do?”
    He laughed. “You mean besides leering at her? And then kissing her?”
    “She kissed me. And then left me for a fire dancer.”
    “Yes. She’s quite a little handful, isn’t she? You can see why I invited her along last night, though I do quite feel like I got the better end of the