He struggled to sit up. Then to stand. Standing, he found he was drunker than he thought. It took a moment to steady himself. Making his way down the long hall to the bedroom, his arms pulled him along the corridor like the rope tow on the bunny hill. She’d left the bedroom door open and there was a trail of clothes leading to the master bathroom. A belt… her skirt… the white blouse with ruffled cuffs… lacy rose-colored bra… The bathroom door was cracked slightly, steam drifting out. Quietly, he shuffled to the door and wedged himself in the frame. Sliding down to the floor so his back was straight, knees bent, feet up against the other side. He closed his eyes; the escaping steam felt good on his face. A faint smell of eucalyptus. He wanted it to go on forever. He would be very, very quiet and she wouldn’t even know he was there.

There had been a work celebration.

Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. Not now, not nestled in his comfortable hiding place with steam on his face and his love right on the other side. Everything was perfect. That was where he woke up the next morning, curled in front of the bathroom door, alone, a blanket on him. Claudine off to work. She must have had to step over him when she was getting ready.

From that night on, she was gone most nights. Client dinners. Late showings.

He went smaller. Drank more. Talked less. Only whiskey made things better. His new nightly routine after work was sketching with a glass of wine, then watching television with a bottle of whiskey, just sinking back into the worry, letting it consume him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he knew.

She was having an affair, and it was exhausting.

Claudine

Claudine didn’t exactly consider it an affair. Or a dalliance, a fling, a tryst, a booty call, a hookup. All of those suggest romance, passion, or just plain lust, and she didn’t feel any of that for Steve. This was purely work. A transaction—that’s how she saw it.

By her initial estimate, she thought it would take three months to scrub him for what she needed, but after two she felt done. The mentor-mentee-lover relationship cemented, she’d made it to the inner circle quicker than she thought. Now she couldn’t wait for it to end. It had gone well. Methodically she’d made sure to meet every contractor he knew, photocopied his lists of past clients and cold-call leads. She had boxes of documents and critical correspondence, and listened in on every call she could. The last part was about learning how to get a listing and she succeeded.

But it was time to be home. Henry needed her, especially with his drinking getting so out of control.