After work I found myself heading to the gym, finally finding a use for the change of clothes I always brought with me, but rarely used. Today was different. I wasn’t ready to head home.
I double knotted my laces and set the treadmill to level five. It was a nice run, not too fast, but not slowly enough to tense my calves. I wondered what Frannie would do, probably the elliptical, on a high level. She could sweat for hours and still manage to look decent.
Tuesday passed, Wednesday passed then Thursday came. I’d photocopied the image of Frannie from her driver’s license. The picture lay in the back of my filing cabinet at work. She brightened my day with every file I stored. I saw myself lying to my mate just to sneak away with Frannie for a weekend. We would end up making love in a Comfort Inn somewhere hours away from home. We’d share the complimentary breakfast together and drive home without silence intruding. It was impossible anyway. We had so much to share. Frannie was a writer and well-known author. She wrote about love and the search for it. The love she found with me.
I imagined her warm scent of vanilla lingering on my clothes. I’d wait days to wash my shirt for fear of losing it. Cindy wore no scent. She used to when we first started dating. Blue Wave - or something like that. It didn’t matter anymore. The past never matters. Cindy would become my past. She had to, if I wanted to keep what I had with Frannie.
Monday. It had been a week since Frannie came into my life. It was also the week night Cindy and I would go out for dinner, not necessarily somewhere fancy, just out, for something different.
I watched Cindy twirl her pasta. She was bored even with the