The following morning at nine o’clock sharp, Peter called. I told him I was free for the day and asked what his plans were. That would be my first time actually driving anywhere with him; I could never resist an offer to drive out in the country. I loved the smell of the field and the scenery. It always made me feel a sense of freedom, as if I had nothing to worry about; everything felt perfect.
As much as I wanted to tell myself that I was street smart, I was so naïve. I had no right entertaining a conversation with him or even going anywhere with him for that matter. For all I know, he could have been a serial killer. I guess what gave me comfort was the fact that on the Island, those things were rare.
I met him at the main square, as I didn’t want him knowing where I lived, and he told me that he was going to go to a mineral spa. It was a place where hot water came out of the earth and it was said to have healing properties. On that trip, he asked about my relationships and I was only too eager to tell him about Keith. I was proud of my relationship with him and held very little back. I told him how well he treated me and how much I loved him. I emphasized that I had no space in my heart for anyone else.
The last thing on my mind was that he was a spy who was working for “the wife.” He didn’t look it, he didn’t sound it, but he was. A very unprofessional one, but he was. We enjoyed each other’s company platonically. I was able to breathe and not feel pressured. It felt like he wanted nothing more from me but my company, like he just needed someone to talk to about his girlfriend, who I later found out was completely fictitious. But I was gullible enough to listen. Why shouldn’t I believe him? I believed that everyone told the truth about their agendas.
We spent hours talking and when it was time to leave, he offered to dry my feet by putting my toes in his mouth. I was horrified and shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He quickly apologized as I told him I was ready to go back home. He was embarrassed and I felt a little bit bad for him, so I decided to just drop it.
Keith must have called me about ten to fifteen times during that day, and Peter kept saying, “He must be in love,” to which I responded, “I am, too.” I was so proud of our relationship that I had no level of embarrassment, even though he was married. But I was so stupid to not pay attention to the storm that was about to bear down on me. Peter was hardly who he made himself out to be. Soon enough, it would all blow up in my face.