"First Fundamentalist Hospital," Molly said, her gorgeous drawl following him around the corner.
At least he had another day to think things over. His marriage was going smoothly enough. Dull at times, sure. Weren't all marriages? Jennifer and he didn't have that much in common, as it had turned out. But they were good humored, and they shared a disposition to make the best of things. He had his responsibilities; she had hers; they avoided confrontation. He was genuinely fond of her. And they had Emma. Emma was a delight, a little like each of them, although she took after him in looks. He should have been on top of the world, compared to most people.
So—why was he reaching for Suzanne? There was something coiled inside him, a force that he wasn't sure he could control. Intuition told Oliver that if he ran from it or pretended it wasn't there, he would be in even bigger trouble.
He was at work before Suzanne arrived the next day. He watched her drive in and walk toward the front entrance. Even at that distance and under a parka, her body radiated a compact grace. Her hair was gathered and held by a red scarf that hung to the nape of her neck. She hadn't done anything drastic. He waited a few minutes and went to her office. His heart was beating fast.
"I'm sorry," he began.
She shook her head. "It's my fault, Oliver. You're married and you have a child. I lost control. I'm—not a good woman."
"You're a wonderful woman."
"I've been praying," she said. "I don't pray like the rest of them, but
God hears everyone."
Oliver pulled at one ear lobe, off balance.
"I'm asking Him to take this want out of me." Suzanne's voice trailed off. "I don't think I can do it by myself." Oliver's cheeks grew hot. "I was going to cut my hair practically off, but I couldn't."