Our Rome will Rise Again

He takes it, then gives it an impromptu massage with his other hand. "Sure you can't use some company? Away from here, I mean. You smell really good, by the way."

"Oh, brother." She rolls her eyes, then jerks her hand away. "Bye, Derek. Take care and good luck with your lube business."

She takes the elevator up to her room, kicks off her shoes, then throws herself on the bed, arm draped over her forehead. She's not feeling so good, thanks to that one Chardonnay too many. Two would have sufficed. She's also feeling lonely, not something she normally feels on these trips, at least not to this extent. She reflects on her chat with Derek, chuckling. Sure, she'd bet he'd just love to keep her company. She laughs knowing what ultimately that would come down to: your place or mine. She must admit that it helped confessing her sins to that big jock. There's something to be said for the kindness of strangers. Or, in her case, the attention of strangers.

Sitting up, she swings to the edge of the bed, her head down, her hands folded against the back of her neck. Damn, she feels so lonely it hurts, feels like one of those forlorn people in an Edward Hopper painting. She groans, knowing she's got three more days of business here, three days of meetings, Power Point presentations, networking. She misses Conrad, genuinely misses him, wishes he was here to hold her, to make love to her. They could have dinner together, do some sightseeing. She begins to cry, thinking how badly she hurt him. He didn't deserve it, not him, not her loyal, loving Connie, who's always loved her unconditionally. Out loud, she says, "A woman of virtue...Sure, that's me all right." She laughs bitterly.

She grabs her cell and begins punching in numbers. "Connie? Look, I was wondering if...oh my..." She breaks down, unable to continue.

"Jen, are you okay? Jenny?"

"No, I'm not okay." She pauses to compose herself. "Look, I want you to hop on a plane and get your butt over here. I miss you terribly. Think you can do that? Don't worry about the expense. Just do it."

"You didn't run into—"

"No, I sure didn't. I just miss you. That's all, just missing you." She chokes up again.

"Jen, did something happen? I mean, this is a first. You've never called me like this while away on business."

She grabs a tissue from the night table and blows her nose. "No, and before Brayden came along, I never cheated on you either. Look, I can't fully explain it. But just the thought of spending the next three days without you, makes me terribly sad. Please, Connie, I need you."

"Sure, okay, but what about the kids?"

"Your parents or mine will watch them." She tells him to text her after he books a flight, one preferably that gets in after four. Because she rented a car this time, she can pick him up at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in Arlington.

She feels better, much better. Had Conrad blown her off, she'd have sunk into a funk so deep it might have forced her to come home early. She still doesn't feel much like eating, so she gets undressed, hops into bed and opens a paperback. She's also got the TV on, something else to keep her company through the long night. Tomorrow there's work and then it's off to the airport to greet her husband. In all her years of marriage, she can't think of a time when she so looked forward to seeing him.

*****

Conrad could have blown her off. He thought about it, thought about telling her to stew in her own misery. He's still hurt, still angry. Trust? Hardly. Something must have happened. She's never done this before. Maybe she's lying. Maybe she did run into Braydon and, well, who knows? Or maybe she met someone else and things went awry. He'd like to believe her. But it's so unlike her to do this, to call him bawling over the phone, begging for his company. Is it the new Jenny or simply the old Jenny pretending to be new? He can only guess, speculate.

Carry-on bag draped over his shoulder, he walks up the ramp toward Southwest's greeting area. He's excited and nervous at the same time, unable to tell one condition from the other. Both make for a queasy stomach and sweaty palms. He moves his head, scanning the crowd of people waiting for their own arrivals. Ah, there she is, the beautiful blond in tight white slacks and heels. It's his Jenny, his hot looking Jenny, loyal mom to their children but less than loyal wife who's now trying to make amends. Or so it would appear. He throws up his arm. Then he sees that she sees him. Oh, that sunburst of a smile of hers. He couldn't miss it. He picks up his pace when he sees her jogging toward him. He drops the bag, catching her in his arms. She cries on his shoulder and he says, "Okay, I'll turn around and go back if that's what you want."

She laughs and cries at once. "Not without me, you won't!"

"Jen—"

She cups her hand over his mouth. "Just kiss me. Then we'll talk." He presses his lips against hers, thinking she's either genuinely glad to see him or she's missing her calling as an actress. If the latter, what ulterior motive might she have for pretending? It feels genuine, her warmth, her affection, her passion. He'd like to believe it's real. She pulls away and says, "Thanks so much for coming, Connie. It means the world to me. I love you."

He says "me too." Not since Jenny's confession has he been able to say those three words. He said it then, in the heat of the moment. Now? He can't; it makes him uncomfortable. He feels it; he just can't say it. He wouldn't have come if he didn't love her. In his case, trust and love have become mutually exclusive. Can that change? He still has hope.

While collecting his suitcase in the baggage area, she talks about work and where she plans to take him to dinner. Nothing too fancy. The jeans he has on will do fine, she assures him. A tram takes them to her rented Ford Fusion and then it's on to Jesse's, a favorite seafood restaurant of hers in the District.

He likes the rustic, warehouse look of this place: exposed brick, concrete floor, wood beams, high windows. Over crab imperial for her and sword fish for him, they discuss what he might do during the day while she's working. This isn't Conrad's first visit to Washington, but there's still so much he hasn't seen: the Lincoln and Vietnam Vets memorials, plus some of the museums. He asks about the Smithsonian, about the Air and Space and Natural History museums that he knows she visited when she was here last. "Worth seeing?" He still thinks she was with co-workers that day, when in fact it was with Brayden.

She nods. "Definitely worth seeing. Maybe we can do the Smithsonian together, stay an extra day or two. Maybe visit Mount Vernon."

He'd like that. They haven't been away together in a while. This still seems surreal to him—her call, pleading with him to come here, her greeting him the way she once did years ago and her wanting to spend extra time with him. All great. But still not quite believable. "Jen, I'm kind of overwhelmed by all this," he says, forking into his fish. "I get that you're trying to make up for what happened, and that's fine. I just want to make sure it's really what you want."

She takes a sip of her Chardonnay. Then: "I guess it feels to you that I'm going overboard. And maybe I am. But last night, before I called, I missed you so much, my bones ached. Okay, maybe not literally, but you get the idea."

"And you told me that nothing happened, nothing unusual anyway."

"Well, in the interest of full disclosure, some guy tried to pick me up at the Hyatt's bar." She tells him the whole story. "I might have lapsed into my funk even if this Derek hadn't hit on me. Hard to say. I just know that when I got back to my room, I wanted nothing more than your arms wrapped around me."

"The Hyatt bar is where you met Brayden, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So why the hell did you go back there?"

"It helps me to unwind, sipping this stuff and chatting with people. And perhaps for another reason that just occurred to me."

"Go on."

"Maybe, unconsciously, I was testing myself, flirting with temptation."

He appreciates her honesty. However, her 'full disclosure' only reinforces the insecurity he always harbors about her business trips. That's the downside of being married to a wife that turns heads wherever she goes. "So this Derek tempted you? You were attracted to him that much that you might have strayed again?"

She shakes her head. "No, Connie, that wasn't my mindset at all. I did enjoy chatting with him. Well, up to a point, up to the time he made his intentions clear." She pauses, takes a deep breath, one of frustration. Then her eyes mist up. "Look, I love you, and I'm trying desperately to save our marriage, trying desperately to regain your trust." She wipes her eyes.

He takes her hand. "I see that you are. And I'm trying desperately to believe you, to trust you again, to not be mad anymore. But it'll take some time. It's like my dad says, Rome wasn't built in a day. And, just for the record—and in the interests of FULL DISCLOSURE..." He pauses, stumbling in his head over those words again. 'Say them, you pathetic wimp,' he thinks. "I love you too."

She blinks back tears as she smiles. "Well, it's about fucking time, man. Now, let's finish this so we can get back to my room where we're going to do you know what."

He gives her a faux look of innocence. "No, what?" She slaps his hand, then resumes eating.

*****

Twenty-four hours ago, Jenny Yeager was mired in depression. What a difference a day makes. Now she's warm and comfy in the arms of the husband she desperately wants to keep as a husband. Tenderly he kisses her. Tenderly she responds. She knows he's not there yet, not fully trusting, cynical as any man or woman would be after being cuckold. Her Connie, a prince of a man that she didn't fully appreciate up to now because of reasons she now realizes were superficial reasons: He doesn't like classical music; he doesn't read much; he never went to college. She knows at least one couple that shared those interests and still didn't stay married. Values, more than interests keep people together, she knows, and that's where she and Conrad mesh. They seldom argue over their kids, sharing similar concerns and solutions when problems arise. And yes, she's still attracted to him, his handsome face, his dark, penetrating eyes, his cute smile. His body is hardly what you'd call jacked. Still, she respects him for keeping his bodyweight stable in light of the arthritis that holds him back from vigorous exercise. Some once active men would eat as they once did, putting on the pounds. Not her Connie, who curbed his diet when his condition worsened, who still amazes her with his discipline when it comes to food.

Now they're into "round two." Arthritis? She wouldn't know it by his jackhammer performance, his pelvic thrusts from all angles, up, down and sideways. "That's it, ram it into me. Stuff my hot pussy with that thick shaft of yours!" she cries. She knows he loves this, this dirty talk, 'my turbo booster,' he once called it, so cute and so apt. The sex is great but the best part is Conrad holding her, telling her again he loves her, each time with less hesitation. Shortly before she falls asleep, she hears this: "We still have a ways to go, honey. Just give me more time, time enough to love you the way I should, without looking over my shoulder, without wondering what you're up to when you're away, without thinking back to what happened."

She snuggles closer, runs her fingers over his face and body. In her delicate, sensitive state of mind, touching him somehow feels magical. "You know I will. And you know what else?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to make it. This wounded, bruised and battered marriage of ours is going to heal because we love each other and because our love is strong enough to endure. Our Rome will rise again."

"Our Rome will rise again. I like that."

"I just hope you believe it."

He hesitates. Then: "Yes. It has the ring of truth."