Chapter 7: A Call from a Ghost

The late afternoon sun slanted through Evelyn's kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the granite countertops as she sat nursing a glass of wine that had already gone from full to half-empty. Her lesson plans lay scattered across the kitchen table, forgotten in favor of staring at her phone, which had been ominously silent since Charlie's confident promise that morning.

We'll be in touch.

The words had echoed in her mind all day, through her remaining classes, through the faculty meeting where she'd nodded and smiled while internally reliving every moment of the previous night. The way Charlie's hands had felt on her skin, the way Mary had orchestrated everything with such calculated precision, the way she'd felt more alive in those few hours than she had in months.

She took another sip of wine, savoring the way it dulled the sharp edges of her anxiety while somehow making her skin feel more sensitive, more aware. The house around her felt even emptier than usual, the silence more oppressive. Usually she would have graded papers by now, prepared dinner for one, settled into the lonely routine that had become her life.

But everything was different now. The woman who had mechanically moved through her days, who had accepted loneliness as her due, who had buried her desires so deep she'd almost forgotten they existed—that woman felt like a stranger. In her place was someone she barely recognized: someone who could still taste Charlie's kisses, someone who could still feel Mary's hands in her hair, someone who wanted things she'd never dared to want before.

The shrill ring of her landline made her jump, wine sloshing dangerously in her glass. For a moment she considered letting it go to voicemail—it was probably a telemarketer, or her mother with another passive-aggressive comment about her marriage. But the caller ID made her blood run cold.

David Williams - International

Her husband. Calling from whatever godforsaken corner of the world his work had taken him to this time. Evelyn stared at the phone for another ring, her heart hammering against her ribs. Just yesterday, she might have been grateful for the call, might have seized it as a lifeline back to the safe, predictable world of her marriage.

Now it felt like an invasion.

On the fourth ring, she answered. "Hello, David."

"Evelyn! There you are. I was starting to worry when you didn't pick up right away." His voice came through with that slight delay and tinny quality of an international connection, making him sound even more distant than the thousands of miles that actually separated them.

"I was just finishing up some grading," she lied smoothly, surprised by how easily the deception came. "How are things in... where are you again?"

"Singapore this week, then Bangkok next. The climate negotiations are more complex than we anticipated." He launched into a detailed explanation of trade agreements and diplomatic protocols, his voice carrying the enthusiasm he reserved for his work—an enthusiasm she realized she hadn't heard directed at her in years.

Evelyn let his words wash over her, making appropriate sounds of interest while her mind wandered. When had she stopped caring about David's projects? When had his passion for international law started feeling like a betrayal of their marriage rather than an admirable ambition?

"But enough about work," David said, his tone shifting to what she recognized as his attempt at intimacy—stilted and formal even in private moments. "How are you, darling? You sounded a bit... distant during our last call."

The word 'distant' hit her like a physical blow. How could she explain that she'd been distant because she'd been thinking about other people's hands on her body? How could she tell him that his dutiful check-ins had started feeling like obligations rather than connections?

"I'm fine," she said, the lie feeling like ash in her mouth. "Just tired. You know how exhausting the school year can be."

"Of course. I'm sorry I haven't been more available. This assignment is crucial for the firm, but I promise it won't last forever. We'll have time together when I get back."

Time together. The phrase that had once filled her with anticipation now felt like a prison sentence. She tried to imagine David's return, tried to picture sliding back into their careful, passionless routine. The thought made her chest tighten with something that might have been panic.

"When will that be?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Probably not for another six weeks, maybe eight. But then we'll have that vacation we talked about. Remember? The bed and breakfast in Vermont?"

She did remember. They'd planned it during one of their last real conversations, back when she'd still believed that change of scenery might rekindle something between them. Now the idea of romantic getaways with David felt like a cruel joke.

"That sounds lovely," she managed, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.

"I've been thinking about us a lot lately," David continued, and something in his tone made her pay closer attention. "About how we've drifted apart since I took this position. I know it's been hard on you, being alone so much."

If only he knew how hard it had been. If only he understood the depths of loneliness that had driven her to Mary's arms, to Charlie's bed, to choices that would have horrified the dutiful wife he'd left behind.

"It has been challenging," she said carefully.

"I want to make it up to you. This assignment is setting us up financially for the rest of our lives, Evelyn. When I come back, we can start fresh. Maybe even think about having children again."

Children. The word hit her like cold water. They'd tried for years before his career had consumed him completely, had endured the doctor visits and the disappointments and the slow erosion of intimacy that came with scheduled romance. The thought of returning to that clinical approach to their relationship, of pretending the fire that Mary and Charlie had ignited in her could be extinguished in favor of domestic obligation, made her feel sick.

"David, I—"

"I know it's a lot to think about," he interrupted, mistaking her hesitation for overwhelm rather than horror. "But I love you, Evelyn. I know I haven't been the husband you deserve, but I want to be. I want us to have the life we always planned."

The life they'd planned. Before she'd discovered what real passion felt like. Before she'd learned that her body was capable of responses she'd never imagined. Before she'd tasted freedom and found it intoxicating.

"I love you too," she said automatically, but the words felt hollow, meaningless. A social contract rather than an emotional truth.

They talked for a few more minutes—David sharing updates about his colleagues, asking about her classes, maintaining the polite fiction that they were a happily married couple temporarily separated by circumstances rather than two strangers who shared a house and a last name.

When he finally hung up, promising to call again soon, Evelyn sat in the gathering darkness of her kitchen, the phone still in her hand. The conversation had been everything wrong with her marriage distilled into fifteen minutes: polite, dutiful, passionless. David loved her the way one might love a reliable appliance—grateful for its function, proud of its quality, but never truly excited by its presence.

The contrast with the way Charlie had looked at her, the way Mary had touched her, was so stark it made her laugh—a sound that bordered on hysteria. Less than twenty-four hours ago, two eighteen-year-olds had shown her more passion than her husband had in years. They had seen her as a woman to be desired rather than a wife to be maintained.

Her phone buzzed, and she looked down to see a text message from an unknown number: "I hope your evening is going well. I've been thinking about our conversation regarding authentic desire. Perhaps we could continue exploring that theme soon? - M"

Mary. Even in a text message, the girl's sophisticated vocabulary and careful phrasing came through. But underneath the polite words was an invitation that made Evelyn's pulse quicken. An acknowledgment of what they'd shared, and a promise of more to come.

Without allowing herself to think too hard about it, Evelyn typed back: "My evening has been... illuminating. I would very much like to continue our discussion."

The response came almost immediately: "Wonderful. Are you free tomorrow evening? I have an idea for our next lesson that I think you'll find... educational."

The word 'lesson' sent heat spiraling through Evelyn's body. Mary's lessons had already taught her more about herself than years of marriage had. What else might the girl have to show her?

"Where?" she typed.

"Somewhere more adventurous than my living room. Somewhere that will challenge your comfort zone. Are you ready for that kind of education, Mrs. Williams?"

Evelyn stared at the message, her heart pounding. Part of her—the part that had been a dutiful wife and responsible teacher for so long—screamed that this was insane, that she should delete the conversation and pretend none of this had happened. That she should focus on repairing her marriage, on being the woman David expected to find when he returned.

But a larger part of her, the part that had been awakened by Mary's touch and Charlie's desire, rebelled against the idea of returning to that safe, empty existence. David's call had shown her exactly what her old life looked like from the outside: a careful performance of contentment that fooled everyone except the person living it.

She thought about the way Charlie had looked at her in class, the hunger barely concealed beneath his polite student facade. She thought about Mary's dark eyes, the girl's ability to see straight through her carefully constructed defenses to the passionate woman beneath. She thought about how alive she'd felt in their arms, how real and desired and powerful.

Her fingers moved across the phone screen before her rational mind could stop them: "Yes. I'm ready."

The reply came within seconds: "Perfect. I'll send you details tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Mrs. Williams. Try to dream about what you really want, not what you think you should want."

Evelyn set down the phone and finished her wine in one long swallow, feeling the alcohol burn away the last of her hesitation. David's call had been meant to reassure her, to remind her of their plans and their future together. Instead, it had shown her exactly what she would be returning to if she chose safety over passion, duty over desire.

The choice, when she looked at it honestly, wasn't really a choice at all.

As she prepared for bed, Evelyn caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and the excitement, her eyes bright with anticipation rather than the dull resignation she'd grown accustomed to seeing. She looked like a woman with secrets, a woman with plans, a woman who had tasted freedom and found it addictive.

Tomorrow, Mary would teach her another lesson. Tomorrow, she would push further outside her comfort zone, explore more of the authentic desires the girl had awakened in her. The thought should have terrified her.

Instead, it made her feel more alive than she had in years.