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The storm.

He'd been going to these for four years and the droning speeches, the exhortations and the warnings from top management never changed. Usually he passed the time by selecting and re-selecting his all-time baseball All-Star team. Yogi Berra or Johnny Bench behind the plate? And how could he omit Joe D in center field-but what then would he do with Willie Mays, move him to left? Because Babe Ruth HAD to be in right field....

Today, though, he was daydreaming about Andrea. Boy, had she been a firecracker this week! Ever since he got home from Denver, she'd been feeding him and loving him and fucking him like a champ! It was almost as if....

Peter cut off his thoughts suddenly, as if too terrified by what the rest of the sentence would bring. But he couldn't stop the words from leaking into his consciousness: "...as if she were feeling guilty about something."

All awareness of the sales meeting now gone, Peter considered what might be making Andrea guilty, and his mind leapt almost instantaneously to the worst mistake of his life: the time two years earlier when he'd been unfaithful to her, on a business trip to Phoenix.

He mentally replayed the terrible guilt and remorse he had felt, and the way he had come home two days later determined to make it up to Andrea. He'd taken her to her favorite restaurant for a surprise dinner, he'd bought a stunning aquamarine bracelet and given it to her the next weekend-pretending he had gotten it on his trip-and in general he'd given her all the devotion, affection and consideration he could manage.

He'd done so much, in fact, that after a week Peter was suddenly terrified that Andrea might suspect something, so he'd toned it down. He left his dirty socks on the floor, and did a couple of other trivial but inconsiderate things, just enough he hoped so that Andrea would feel he was still the same imperfect husband she'd married.

Now, Peter's mind was spinning. If Andrea had done some small thing she felt bad about, like putting a dent in the car or splurging on a dress, she would have confessed by now, especially after the last few days of softening him up. So it had to be something pretty terrible, something she intended never to tell him about...and he could only think of one thing it could be.

Suddenly Peter was aware that the room had fallen silent. He looked up and saw everyone gazing towards him expectantly. Ron from accounting spoke. "I said, do those figures seem about right, Peter?"

Peter's stomach heaved without warning, and he knew he was going to be sick. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "it must be something I ate for lunch," and without pausing he ran out the door of the conference room and into the men's room. Within seconds the remains of his most recent meal left his stomach as he retched into one of the toilets.
It was more than twenty minutes before his stomach calmed down enough for him to stagger to his feet, wash his face, and leave the men's room. The meeting had broken up. Peter retrieved his papers, left them on his desk, and told the Sales Department secretary he was going home for the afternoon.

Julie looked at him sympathetically and said, "I hope it's nothing serious, Peter. You do look a little green around the edges!"

Peter found that he had to force himself to concentrate on his driving. Twice the light changed without his noticing, and drivers behind him made sure that their horns were working properly. All that filled his mind was the most terrible, most upsetting image he'd ever experienced: Andrea beneath another man in the act of love, sighing and moaning, rolling her hips up at him, kissing him deeply, then coming explosively.

When he got home Peter went straight to the bedroom and stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor. He quickly brushed his teeth to get the sour taste out of his mouth, then headed for bed. He was exhausted.

But his thoughts and fears wouldn't let him rest.

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