Despite Kiersten's arousal the night she caught me on the course, I had a feeling she was upset that she'd been watched. I picked it up in small things. She was sometimes moody, which was very unusual. She rarely touch me in casual situations. I didn't get to spend the night for a couple of weeks. I worried my voyeurism had caused a rift that might become an irreparable chasm.
I tried to address the elephant in the room, but she waved it off, telling me she was wanted to forget about it. When I asked about Erin, she didn't remember mentioning her friend. I asked if it bothered her that I had watched her. That got a momentary glare, followed by a shoulder shrug and a change of subject.
We still had date nights. We continued planning the wedding. She still appeared committed to getting married. We made a guest list. Ordered invitations. Hired a photographer. Selected a caterer and a wedding/reception venue. Kiersten gave deposits to all of them. We settled on the reception menu. Kiersten, Stephanie, and one of Kiersten's girlfriends, Melissa, shopped for a bridal gown and dresses for the brides' maids. She bought a gown and went for fittings. We settled on tuxes. We shopped for and bought an engagement ring and wedding bands. We asked a judge to officiate and met with her. But I still worried.
We also moved the wedding date out to the middle of August. If it was Kiersten's idea, I would have pressed for a discussion. But it couldn't be avoided. My father had needed surgery and a period of physical therapy which meant he couldn't travel. We didn't want to get married while my parents couldn't attend.
Kiersten dropped what felt like a bomb one night at dinner in early June, just after the school year ended. Michael Freed had called. Gerry Adams, his fiddle player, had gone to sleep on the tour bus after a performance and didn't wake up. The group was on their way home for a four-week hiatus when Gerry died. Michael hired and rehearsed another fiddle player after Kiersten said no again, but the new fiddler had contractual commitments that prevented him from joining the tour for a couple of weeks.
Michael begged Kiersten to fill in for a short period. She initially said no. But he persisted and when she heard what he was offering as compensation, she accepted. In less than two weeks, she would earn enough to pay for the reception. She would leave in a week and be gone thirteen days. It would be the longest thirteen days of my life.
Kiersten's mood improved appreciably in the next week. She became the Kiersten I knew before she caught me on the golf course. She was affectionate. We spent three memorable weeknights at her house. I dragged myself to work after those nights and struggled to get through the day. Everything suggested that she was over whatever had been bothering her. The night before she left, though, she told me I should spend the night at my apartment. Since I was driving her to the airport for a 7:00AM flight, it didn't seem logical. She said she needed a good night's sleep, but that was a weak excuse. We'd spent nights together when we did no more than sleep.
When I picked her up in the morning, she was as excited as a three-year-old with a new pony. She chattered non-stop the entire ninety-minute drive to the airport. I hardly got a word in. I helped unload her bags at the ticketing entrance. I got an enthusiastic kiss and hug. She told me she'd miss me. And then she was gone. I watched her lead the porter into the ticketing area until she disappeared. I stared for several minutes after she was no longer in sight. Until I spotted an airport cop giving me the eye. I drove away before he told me to get moving.
On the drive to work, I worried that she accepted the tour opportunity to give her a chance to re-evaluate her feelings for me. The thought didn't sit well. Kiersten called when her plane landed, and I got several texts an hour later after she boarded the tour bus for the drive to the first performance venue.
While she was gone, Kiersten called at least once every day. We exchanged texts throughout the day. She was not only staying in contact with me but also staying on top of the wedding plans. Everything seemed normal.
Kiersten called with a change of plan the night before she came home. Originally, I was to pick her up at the airport when her return flight arrived. But the last performance was only a four-hour drive from home. The flight itinerary was an absurd eight-plus hours. Driving was a no-brainer. She canceled the refundable return flight ticket. I told her I'd see her when she got home the next day, which was a Friday.
Like every day, I drove by Kiersten's on the way home from work. A sport utility with out-of-state plates was in the driveway. When I got home, I sent a text, changed and went out for a run. When I returned, I checked my messages but found no reply. I showered and settled in for the night. I ate dinner then called Kiersten, but it went straight to voice mail. I did some reading and went to bed at eleven.
I was just drifting off to sleep when my cell buzzed three times. The first text was normal. It read, 'I got home safely. Sorry I missed your call. Phone was in my bag while I slept. Meant to nap. Slept far too long.'
The second text was also normal enough, 'Had a great time on the tour but it was exhausting. Have another reason to say no if Michael asks again.'
The third text was one I never expected. 'Twelfth green. Forty-five minutes. Find a spot very close to the green where you won't be visible. Text back if you'll be there. Don't call.'
One of the few things Kiersten had told me about knowing she'd been watched was that she wouldn't go back to the green. She didn't feel comfortable there anymore. I was confused. Now she was going back and inviting me to watch? And why didn't she want me to call? Something didn't fit. I thought about it for a few minutes before I responded, 'You sure about this?'
I got a one-word reply. 'Absolutely.'
I responded immediately. 'Will be there. Leaving shortly.'
I pulled on some clothes and bolted out of the apartment, anticipation high. There was the barest sliver of a waning moon and scattered clouds as I made my way across the street, through the trees to the fairway. An occasional light breeze blew as I walked up the fairway.
I took advantage of the time allotted and spent a few minutes finding a good viewing spot. I ended up in a hollow in the trees behind the green. I could never have got there if Kiersten was already on the green. I got in position and waited.
The next ten minutes felt like hours. My feet itched. A mosquito buzzed me. When it landed on my cheek, I flattened it. The buzzing stopped and didn't resume. But the sound of the slap seemed incredibly loud. I hoped there wouldn't be more mosquitoes.
I somehow didn't see Kiersten when she crested the hill. When I spotted her, her approach seemed cautious, unsure. The moon provided little light and was frequently blocked by the scattered clouds. She was probably just having difficulty seeing where she was walking. But eventually, she made her way to the green.
Kiersten dropped her backpack immediately downhill from my position. She stood and looked up at the sky, her arms held out at shoulder height. I would have to ask about this ritual one day. After looking at the sky for a few moments, she bent over and picked up the backpack. After spreading out the blanket, Kiersten stripped out of her clothes.
Kiersten looked slimmer. Her breasts were smaller than before she went on tour with Michael. I was a little concerned. I remembered how physically demanding the performance I attended was. I imagined nearly two weeks of performances could easily cause some weight loss. Of course, the light was poor, making details obscure. It might be my imagination.
Kiersten stood for another moment or two before lying down, with her feet toward me. She stretched languidly and caressed her breasts. She retrieved the vibrator from the bag and set it beside her. Her knees came up and spread. A hand caressed the inside of her thigh. She sighed softly.