It has been three years since our Chicago tryst. The tension between Lynn and me remained like dry kindling ready to catch fire. Now at 65 she was still an amazing woman in every way, my attraction to her never waned. I did not see Lynn again, in the flesh that is, until one hot Carolina summer afternoon.
Lynn was considering retirement in order to care more for her invalid husband and reduce the expense of his caretaker. Her leaving the university would leave a void in life.
Every now and then I need a day to get away and recharge my battery. A real estate developer had a lake bungalow he would let me use for a day so I could retreat. I had no radio with me, no television, and no stereo, which meant having no baseball games, no news, and no Mozart. I did not smoke my pipe or drink wine. I did not talk on the phone. The cell phone remained on top of my desk at work. I would usually take a thoughtful book of fiction or a book of collected poetry to rouse my imagination. There would be a long morning walk down the gravel road to the lake, along the shore then up through woods back to the little cottage. The purpose of all this was to consult with my soul. Being alone, away from Pascalian diversions, was a way for me to clear the deck, so to speak.
What possessed me I will never know, but on the afternoon before my retreat, I scratched directions to the lake house with an open invitation to Lynn, folded the note and left it on her cubicle chair. It was very doubtful she would make the ninety minute drive with her work load. The next morning I hit the road with a book of short stories by John Updike, my journal and other necessities one might need for a day-trip. It was a clear, sunny Carolina day. And it was going to be hot.
The key was right where my friend said it was. Unlocking the door and walking in, I immediately set the thermostat to cool off the place, and then checked the place out – especially the well-stocked 'fridge. Being the predictable steady-as-she-goes type, I embarked on my walk. Nothing is more restorative than a walk through unadulterated nature. The lake was serene. The stroll along the shoreline was getting warm so the shade of the wood provided much respite from the ensuing heat of the day. Getting back on the gravel road toward the bungalow and walking over the rise of the knoll, I saw something familiar, a tan Camry parked off the road in front of my place of refuge. Lynn arrived.
"The air conditioning compressor broke down again. We were told we could go home, so here I am instead," Lynn said while she was rocking on the front deck of the lake house.
"Let's cool off inside," I said as I kissed her on the cheek. Lynn sat on the couch while I went to invade the 'fridge to get a couple bottles of cold water. It was close to noon.
"Are you hungry?"
"Oh, a little bit."
I scrounged around and found some sliced ham, cheese, mayo and mustard and made sandwiches for us. Checking out the produce drawers, there were some apples, so I sliced those up, put them on plates and brought them out to the living room. Lynn was on one end of the couch, lounging at an angle with her feet propped up on the coffee table. I plopped down next to her in the middle with my plate on my lap and we ate and talked. She gave me an update on her husband's health and her children. We spoke about the books we were reading. Lynn was wearing a loose fitting, but silky outfit, suitable for office attire but relaxing enough for a hot afternoon. Finishing my sandwich, I substituted the plate on my lap with her feet and began to massage them.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… that feels heavenly," as she slowly began to melt into the soft cushions, adjusting herself to give me better access.
