Write a scene two ways: as surprise (where reader and a character learn of a plot development at the same time) and suspense (where reader is in on the plot, but at least one character isn't)
Surprise: Carrie’s POV
I’ve always loved the beach, and John’s never been that into it, so I was surprised when he suggested going to Alki that afternoon.
Before he could change his mind, I grabbed my sandals and jacket and headed out the door. I waited in the car, fiddling with my phone and checking Facebook, while he found his car keys and locked up. Silly me, I even posted a status, all breathless and goofy, about how we were going beachcombing together. Later, I really wished I hadn’t done that.
We found a parking place and made our way down to the beach. I tossed my sandals in the dry sand, rolled up my jeans, ran to the water’s edge, and started looking for treasure. I breathed the briny air and let the sound of the waves and seagull cries take me to my happy place, where nothing mattered but the search for elusive bits of shells and sea glass.
Pretty soon I noticed that John wasn’t anywhere near. I’d left him behind as I plied the sand in my beachcombing trance. I looked up and saw him standing up on the dry sand about ten yards away, his hands on his hips and a displeased expression on his face. I knew he didn’t share my zeal for beach glass, but I decided to ignore his grimace.
“Come on!” I said. “The water’s not that cold!"
“It’s January. The water’s freezing,” he said.
“You don’t have to get your feet wet! Just come here and walk with me,” I said, holding out my wet, sandy paw. He shook his head with undisguised disgust.
“Okay fine, you’re not into beachcombing. How come you wanted to come down here today, anyway?”
“I was actually hoping to talk to you,” he said. “Maybe you can stop mucking around down there and walk with me."
I stood there, my back to the waves, trying to decide if I wanted to go with him. Then he closed the distance between us and stood in the dry sand, that unpleasant expression still on his face. I knew something was wrong. That’s when he dropped the horrible news.
“Here’s the thing,” he said.
I never liked it when he used that phrase. It never boded glad tidings.
“I’ve been having an affair,” he said.
A wave washed over my feet and got my jeans wet. I felt swamped.
“What?” I said.
“You heard me."
“But John, you can’t,” I said. It was a moronic, nonsensical thing to say. More waves washed over me. I was too stunned to move, and now I was wet up to my thighs.
He moved toward me, took me none too gently by the arm, and dragged me up to the dry sand as if he were pulling a toddler out of a wading pool. I went with him, resenting his touch.
“Yeah, I can, I did. I still am."
“Who with?” I asked, but immediately after the words came out I knew that it was a woman he worked with, who I’d met several times, who we had entertained in our house with her husband, who I even sort of liked.
“Jessica,” I said.
“Look, I don’t want to get into it,” he said.
“Sorry, bub, I think you’re already into it,” I said, kind of amazed that I’d pushed back. “It’s Jessica, right?"
“Yes."
“Do you love her?”
“Yes."
“Do you still love me?"
“I haven’t been in love with you for a long time, Carrie,” he said.
My legs were stinging from the cold salt water. I began to shiver, and I reached out to him, hoping he would take me in his arms and comfort me, and this would all be a sick, bad, joke. But he just stood with his arms crossed, stony-faced.
“But I love you!” I said, knowing it didn’t matter. “We can work it out, I know we can. I would forgive you. We could go to counseling. I know I’m partly to blame for this."
He seemed about to laugh as I said this.
“Carrie, don’t be so fucking clueless. I’m not going to counseling with you. I want a divorce."
I couldn’t stand to hear any more. I found my sandals and crammed them on my sandy feet, and started running back to the car, not even caring if he was following.
Suspense: John’s POV
Today’s the day. I’ve put it off too long. I’ve got to tell her. Jessica has given me an ultimatum. If I don’t tell her this weekend, she’ll break it off with me, and I couldn’t handle that.
“Let’s go to Alki,” I say. Carrie looks surprised. She knows I hate the beach, knows I’d rather have a root canal than wander around on the wet sand. Maybe this isn’t sending the right signal, me asking her to go to a place she loves in order to give her the bad news. But’s it’s out of my mouth, and she has already put on her jacket and left the house.
I keep her waiting for a few minutes while I find my keys and shoes and a jacket, and I send a quick text to Jessica, to let her know that I’ll be coming to her in a little while, after.
Carrie chatters happily on the way to the beach, talking about how much she loves it there, about how she wants to look for washed-up junk down on the shore, about how she’s hoping we can grab dinner at Salty’s after taking a walk. She’s planning our afternoon and evening and not even noticing that I’m not saying anything.
She takes off for the waves like a puppy, jumping out of the car and running before I can even finish parking. I follow her, sighing. This is going to be harder than I thought. She’s distracted, like a toddler, and I’ll have a hard time getting her attention.
I follow her while she messes around in the sand, finding and pocketing bits of stuff, making noises like she’s just laid her hands on the Crown Jewels, not caring that her feet are getting wet. I walk on the dry sand, waiting to see whether she even notices that I’m not with her.
Finally, she stops and turns around and sees that I’m at least ten yards behind her.
“Come here, John!” she says. "The water’s not that cold!”
Yeah, right. I don’t answer her, or move any closer.
“Could you come up here?” I say. “I want to talk to you."
She looks chastened, like a scolded child, and I wait for her to come to me. She slogs her way out of the water and stands there shivering, looking like she expects me to give her my coat or something. I’m annoyed, want to tell her she shouldn’t have gone in the water in January. But that’s not what I need to say.
“Here’s the thing,” I say. There isn’t any way to do this except to do it. Better to rip the bandage off quickly.
“I’m having an affair,” I say.
She looks stunned. I can’t believe she’s surprised. I thought she’d have figured it out by now, with all the late nights away from home, the text messages on my phone. I haven’t exactly hid my movements.
“Who?” she asks. And a second later, she says, “Jessica.” So she sort of did know. I’ve worked with Jessica for years. We’ve had Jessica and her husband to our house for dinner. I felt bad about that, playing footsie right under our spouses’ noses. It was a big turn-on, though. We had mind-blowing sex later that night, in my car in a parking lot, after both of us made excuses and snuck out of our houses.
“Do you love her?” she asks.
“Yes."
“How long?"
“I don’t want to go into it. Look, Carrie. I don’t love you anymore. I want a divorce."
She starts to cry. I really hate it when she cries. Her face is ugly and crumpled and her nose is red. She says a few things about how she still loves me, about how she’s pretty sure it’s her fault I cheated, how she wants us to go to counseling, patch things up. How she’s willing to try to forgive me. Every sentence hardens me even further. I don’t want to be with this woman anymore.
“No,” I say. “There’s no point.”
She turns and runs toward the car, tripping in the soft sand and falling on her face. I don’t care. I take her home, and then I leave. Jessica and my new life are waiting.
