-A Lie
I decided to focus on family, choosing to believe-and have faith-that everything else would fall into place. I wasn't comfortable-or good-at lying to her.
So, when Samantha surprised me one day by swallowing her pride and asking directly if a...
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When the affair with Pippa ended, I found myself drifting back toward Samantha and our infant son, Josh. Even then, I wasn't sure if reconciliation was possible—but I was certain of one thing: I no longer wanted what I had just left behind. In some ways, I was relieved when Pippa moved on. The affair not only ended a five-year friendship, it also pushed me back toward the possibility of salvaging our seven-year marriage.
We rekindled our relationship, initially spending evenings together at our small, three-bedroom home—our first house purchase. We quietly talked while settling Josh into his bassinet for the night, eventually making our way downstairs. Before I left for my apartment, we would finish our conversation over mugs of steaming-hot tea. It was hard to think of Samantha with someone else; even harder to imagine sharing my son and fatherhood responsibilities with another.
[The hypocrisy of those feelings was as clear to me then as it is now.]
Our recommitment to each other was finalized during a trip to the West coast, to the small town of Strawberry. The town is nestled between the American River and Highway 50, and easily missed as you head east toward the more popular tourist destination, Lake Tahoe. We put our little boy into a hiking backpack secured to my shoulders and walked along the valley floor beneath Horsetail Falls. After the hike, we bundled Josh in blankets and lay beside him on the aged wood floor. We took turns retrieving drinks from the bar to share and played board games, enjoying the warmth of the fire emanating from the oversized fireplace.
We made love that night in a small bed at the Strawberry Lodge, the uncomfortable mattress perhaps as ancient as the structure that housed us. Josh lay comfortably settled in the Coleman portable crib that had accompanied us everywhere. We listened to the sounds he made—a staccato rhythm of sucking noises as he nursed his nighttime bottle. Once finished, we replaced the bottle with his binky, our name for his pacifier. Staring lovingly at the little boy we had created, we each kissed his milk-dampened cheeks before tucking him in for the night.
As Josh succumbed to the approaching slumber that always followed his meals, Samantha and I quietly moved together along the familiar terrain of each other's bodies, finding our own rhythm once more.
