Triad
iv: Coming Home
I stared blankly out the window of my taxicab as it cruised along I-440 into Raleigh. It was well past 11:00 at night; very late for me, but I was holding up all right. Besides, I could assume I’d sleep very well once I got to the house.
Things had gone well in the week following our dinner with Bob. Sara and I took Sylvia out to our favorite bar that Saturday night, mellowed her out with a couple of drinks, and told her about Isobel; the news raised an eyebrow briefly, but Sylvia seemed to adjust right away. Dale’s newspaper ad for a Citrix expert yielded no viable candidates, which was good news for Gene—he interviewed with Sylvia on Wednesday and looked like a lock for the job once the mandatory 15-day minimum search period expired. Meanwhile, the office rumor mill had picked up the news of my coming departure and ground out a number of amusing versions, prompting Sylvia to hold a full department meeting just to set the record straight.
Things were proceeding well outside of work, too. Sara had gone home Sunday afternoon as planned, keeping in touch through email and ICQ. I got a chance to start cleaning out closets, looking to lighten the load before trying to move south. Bob even stopped by one evening with a six-pack just to shoot the breeze. “I still think you’re jumping too quickly,” he’d said, “but if you need anything, I’m here.”
What I need, I reflected as the taxi rolled across Six Forks Road, is a good night’s sleep in a well-populated bed. That would happen very soon.
The porch light was on when we reached the house, along with a faint incandescent glow leaking around the curtains in the living room window. The curtain swished a little as I was paying the driver. The front door opened as I approached it and I was greeted by the sight of Isobel standing in the doorway. She wore white silk robe, a pair of slippers, and a loving smile that warmed the night air.
Her arms went around me the moment I reached the doorway. Her lips met mine and opened hungrily. She tasted faintly of bordeaux. I returned the kiss with equal fervor, feeling the beginnings of an erection stirring in my groin. The taxi was long gone before we came up for air.
“Welcome home, Nick,” she said with a happy sigh. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” Once inside with the door closed, we kissed again. My hands roamed over her silk-draped back and concluded that she wore nothing under the robe. “Where’s Sara?”
“Asleep,” Isobel explained. “She was pacing endlessly up and down the living room, so I put her to bed. I promised we’d wake her when you got home.”
“Ah,” I said, and started toward the stairs. I got about two steps before Isobel stopped me.
“Not yet,” she admonished gently. “Come talk with me for a few minutes.” She gestured toward the living room, where an open wine bottle and two glasses stood waiting on the coffee table. One of the glasses had a small amount sitting in the bottom; she refilled that one for herself and poured a fresh glass for me. She curled up next to me on the sofa, her body turned towards me in a relaxed but attentive posture. The robe opened slightly, showing me lots of leg and just enough cleavage to be distracting. Her eyes looked deeply into mine as she asked, “How are you?”
Coming from Isobel, this was never a casual question. “All things considered, I’m okay. I’m ahead of schedule on weaning the smaller clients off me. I’ve gone through a couple of closets and gotten rid of a bunch of crap I haven’t looked at since I moved into that place.”
She kept looking into me, listening all the while. “That’s all very good,” she remarked, “but it doesn’t answer my question. How are you, Nick?”
I sighed. “Physically? A little tired, nothing more. Mentally? A little shaky, but I’m holding together.”
Isobel nodded and sipped some wine. “Tell me about the shakiness.”
I shrugged. “There’s a lot going on,” I said. “Arrangements to make with the apartment. Briefings to conduct. People wanting favors before I go. Me answering the same questions eight times a day as more people get the word for the first time.”
“So you feel?”
“Stretched, I guess. Hassled. Tired.”
“And underneath that?”
“I don’t know.”
She smiled. “Close your eyes for a few moments, Nick. Take a deep breath. Look deeply into your heart, and tell me what you find.”
My eyes closed and I found myself focusing on my chest. I became aware of something lurking inside—something cold and squishy, slithering around in the shadows. “Fear,” I said. “Fear of losing my friends. Fear of making a mistake. Fear of the unknown, I guess.” I opened my eyes and told her about my dream with the burning ships.
“Like Cortez,” Isobel said. “You see yourself as burning your ships?”
“Sometimes. Then I remind myself that nothing I’ve done represents that big a commitment. There are other clients, other apartments, and even other friends if it came to that. Still, sometimes there’s this little voice in my head that whines about my taking all the risks.”
Isobel’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
“I’m not talking about emotional risk,” I hastened to explain. “I know we’re all taking our chances there. I just meant the professional and financial risks: dropping my clients, moving to an unfamiliar area, starting over. I know I can do it, and I know that it’s what I really want. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary.”
“Especially when someone whose judgment you’ve always trusted tells you that you’re making a mistake,” Isobel observed.
“Exactly. Bob gave a little extra credibility to the nagging doubts I already had.”
“Enough to prompt you to reconsider?”
“At first,” I admitted. “But when I weigh the risks of starting over against the rewards of a life with you and Sara, it’s pretty clear that I have a lot more to gain than I could possibly lose.”
Isobel leaned over and hugged me. “I’m glad you feel that way. Shall we go wake up Sara now?”
I caressed Isobel’s breast through the silken robe and was pleased to feel a hardened nipple. “Unless you’d like to start now, one on one.”
I could almost feel her arousal building like static electricity. “That’s very tempting,” she said, “but I did make a promise.” With a soft kiss, she stood up and collected our empty wine glasses. I closed the bottle and put it in the refrigerator while she rinsed the glasses, then I followed Isobel up the stairs.
We went all the way to the third floor, to Isobel’s master suite. The double doors opened into a sitting area; we walked through there, past a walk-in closet, and around to the bedroom. Sara lay there, peacefully asleep, in the middle of a luxurious king-sized bed. Like Isobel, she was wearing a bathrobe. I stepped up to the side of the bed and stroked her hair gently.
“Wake up, precious,” Isobel said softly from behind me.
Sara’s eyes opened and found mine. A look of complete joy filled her face. “You’re home!” she said. Moving quickly, she rose to her knees and took me in a bear hug. After a moment her hands began to wander over my back. She pulled my face down to hers for a long kiss, and I felt her fingers begin working at the buttons on my shirt. Another pair of hands touched my back, rubbed it gently, and then slid down and around to start undoing my pants.
They had the clothes off me in no time. I let Sara pull me down to the bed gently as the boxers slid down my legs. I landed on top of Sara, our mouths locked together, and felt Isobel’s hands work their way up my back to my neck. She massaged my shoulders, then leaned in and whispered something into my ear. I felt my mind receding, leaving the body on autopilot, floating away on a raft of pure pleasure.
My memories of the rest of that night are jumbled. I remember feeling the soft, arousing touch of hands all over me, bringing me relaxation and pleasure together. My mouth alternated between lips and nipples, and at times it seemed as though I must be in bed with half a dozen eager, expert lovers. I kissed and stroked and came repeatedly until my body ached, then the fog enveloped me and I slept.
It was good to be home.