Control - Kayla Perrin

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      “You want to go back to the room and relax for a bit before dinner?” I asked, releasing her.

      “Actually, I wouldn’t mind another hot fudge sundae.”

      We both smiled.

      I was surprised she’d finished off the first huge one. But I said, “Who am I to keep a pregnant woman from what she craves?”

      We made it through dinner without Robert phoning again. I was relieved. Despite what Sharon said about Robert’s calls proving he loved me, she had to be wondering the same thing I was.

      If he was checking up on me.

      “What are you thinking?” she asked.

      I looked up at her. “Hmm?”

      “You’ve hardly touched your key lime pie.”

      And before I could speak, my phone rang.

      If this was Robert calling for an itemized list of what we’d eaten…

      Instead, the display showed the name Felicity Williams.

      “It’s Felicity,” I announced, almost happily. I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Felicity. What’s up?”

      “Wondering where you are tonight. A few of us are going to head to NV Lounge to kick back and have a couple of drinks, and wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

      “I can’t. I’m out of town right now.”

      “Oh.”

      “With Sharon.”

      “Ohh.” Felicity’s tone fizzled. “How is she?”

      “She’s good. Doing well, all things considering.”

      “So sad, what she’s going through,” Felicity said, but she didn’t quite sound sincere.

      “I’m gone for the weekend, so I’ll call you when I get back to town,” I told her.

      “Where are you?”

      “In Charleston.”

      “Well, have fun. Ta-ta.”

      “Bye,” I said, and ended the call.

      “Did she actually ask about me?” Sharon inquired, looking dubious.

      “She asked how you’re doing.”

      “Funny—she could call me herself to find that out.”

      “You still haven’t heard from her?”

      “Ha ha ha. That’s a good one.”

      Up until the time Warren died, Sharon and I used to get together on Sundays after church with a few other wives “to lunch.” Felicity was one of the women we regularly met with, as was Carmen, the wife of another Carolina Panther. It was what society women did, and we’d discuss what was happening in our worlds, charitable efforts and, of course, gossip.

      Unlike Sharon—whom I truly connected with—there seemed to be a wall of glass around Felicity and Carmen. As if you could see them on the other side of the table, but couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t get close.

      I’d taken to Sharon the instant I’d met her, seen her as a real person. Felicity and Carmen always put on a bright smile and played like they were happy to see you, but I never felt either one was genuine.

      The fact that they hadn’t seen Sharon since her husband’s funeral proved me right.

      “I can’t believe Felicity.” I shook my head. “You haven’t heard from Carmen, either?”

      “You know those two are thick as thieves. What one does, they both do. And they suddenly have no use for me.”

      “Do you think they’re staying away because they don’t know how to…to deal with your grief?” I knew that some people were uncomfortable in the face of another person’s pain.

      “Yeah, that’s it.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “Let’s get back to you and what’s going on with you.”

      “Me?”

      She gave me a pointed look. “You know what I’m talking about.”

      I did. And it was one of the reasons I’d wanted to go away with her—to use her as a sounding board for some of my doubts about Robert.

      I cut my fork into the key lime pie, but didn’t lift the morsel to my mouth. I did it to keep my hands occupied.

      “What’s bothering you?” Sharon pressed.

      I sighed. “I just wonder sometimes.”

      She raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.

      “You and Warren were married for sixteen years. And I know you were college sweethearts and all that. But I just wonder…did you ever…Is it normal to sometimes feel that maybe you’re not sure about your marriage? To wonder if it will last?” I finished with difficulty.

      “Is it normal to have doubts about your marriage? Of course it is.”

      “So you had doubts at times?”

      “Doubts?” Sharon made a face. “There were times I didn’t know if we would make it.”

      “Really?”

      “After my last miscarriage, I shut down. I had an emotional wall up that no one could penetrate. Warren threw himself into work as a way to avoid both my pain and his. For nearly a month, we hardly spoke.”

      “Wow,” I said softly.

      “I felt like a failure. We had a great life, and all I wanted was to complete our family with a baby.” Sharon stopped. Inhaled deeply.

      “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t meant to…to be a downer.”

      “You’re not. Of course I’m thinking about Warren.” A soft smile curved her lips. “Gosh, we would fight sometimes. Yell and scream at each other. But when we made up…”

      I chuckled.

      “So, yeah, it’s normal to go through rough times.”

      Again, I moved my fork around on my plate. Then I leaned forward and whispered, “But is it normal to…to have fantasies about other men?”

      Sharon didn’t answer right away. She took a sip of her water first, which made me wonder if my question had shocked her.

      But she said, “I think fantasies are fine. If they help your sex life, why not? It’s a hell of a lot better than some of the things I’ve heard some of our neighbors have done to spice up their love lives.”

      I was about to ask if she would still feel that way if all the fantasies were about the same man, but the waitress arrived at our table right then.

      “Are you still eating your dessert?” she asked, nodding toward my half-eaten key lime pie.

      “No. Please, take it away. I’m stuffed.” I pushed the dessert plate toward her.

      “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

      “We’re fine, thank you,” I said. “Just bring me the bill, please.”

      “Actually, you can bring me the bill,” Sharon said. “It’ll be my treat.”

      “That’s not necessary, Sharon,” I told her. “I can take care of it.”

      “Lucky for both of you,” the waitress interjected, “the bill’s already been settled.”

      I stared up at her in confusion. “But I didn’t give you my card.”

      “Are you Elsie Kolstad?” she asked.

      “Yes,” I replied.

      “Your

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