By the time we got into the city, it was already dark and Leah was walking in slow motion as I dragged her to the LIRR station. We hopped a train in the direction of Jamaica, and now here we are, less than half an hour away from home on a near empty train. It’s so quiet in here that every sound from the track echoes through the car.
I’ve been calling Lisa on and off, knowing she’s my best shot at getting home. But she hasn’t picked up, and the last two times I called, it went straight to voicemail. That means the phone is probably sitting in her purse, out of batteries. So basically, she has no clue I’m attempting to call her.
That leaves… well, nobody. I’ve only lived in Long Island for a year, and Lisa’s the only friend I’ve made who I could contemplate asking to pick me up at the train station at close to midnight. I mean, that’s a lot to ask.
It looks like I need to call for a taxi. Or an Uber, if I’m in the mood for getting murdered tonight. (I’m just kidding… I’m sure Uber is super safe and wonderful. I just think there’s a non-zero chance the driver could kill me.)
While I’m Googling the number of a local taxi company, a text message from Ryan pops up on the screen:
Back in town yet?
Before I can stop myself, I write back: Almost. Leah and I are on the LIRR.
Just you and Leah?
Yes.
Where’s Pip?
I hesitate. He decided to stay in Reading another couple of days.
Interesting. You need a ride?
I do. I desperately do. But not from him.
I’ll catch a taxi, I type.
No way. Let me drive you.
I bite my lip. I don’t trust your driving with Leah in the car.
I’ll drive slow. I promise.
I look out the window at the blackness whizzing past us. We’re going to be practically the only people at the station so late on a Monday night. And when I put my fingers against the glass, it feels nearly frozen to touch. It would be nice to have someone waiting for us.
Okay.
Half an hour later, we pull into our stop. Leah is still sound asleep and my attempts to rouse her are met with irritable groaning. So I lift up all forty pounds of her as well as the consolidated bag of her stuff and mine, then I hurry off the train before it can leave with us still on it.
It’s freezing. Even with my heavy coat on and Leah’s warm body resting against me, I’m shivering. I feel the wind go right up my coat and I hug Leah tighter.
“Jane!”
I turn and see the figure at the other end of the platform, waving to me. For some reason, I get a flash of déjà vu to when Ben used to take the train out to visit his mother, and I’d meet him at the platform when he got back. I remember how excited we’d both be to see each other. He’d run down the platform toward me, drop his bag, and grab me in a giant bear hug. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time I was gone, he’d say.
Except this isn’t Ben. It’s Ryan. He jogs towards me, his handsome face in shadows until he’s a few feet away, and then I see the smile break out. He quickly grabs my bag from me and tosses it on his shoulder like it weighs as much as air. Then he looks at the sleeping bundle in my arms and for a second, he seems like he might offer to take her off my hands too, but of course, he doesn’t.
“You weren’t waiting long, were you?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah. It’s fine.”
My arms spasm with Leah’s weight. “Well, let’s get to your car before I drop her.”
Ryan is parked right at the station. He doesn’t have a car seat, so I buckle Leah into the back seat as securely as I can. She is completely passed out and only barely registers what’s going on. Hopefully, she won’t be telling Daddy any stories about the man that came to pick Mommy up at the train station. And you know what? If she does, it will serve Ben right.
When I climb into the car next to him, Ryan is staring at Leah with a bemused expression on his face. “Christ, she looks just like you.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to mask that hint of pride. Leah really does look like me. Sometimes I stare at her, trying to see something of Ben, but there’s nothing. She may have half his genes, but on the surface, she’s all me.
He pulls out of the parking lot, and even though I don’t remind him, I can tell he’s driving very carefully. He never goes even a mile above the speed limit, which must be difficult for him in this ridiculous Porsche. As I watch him with his hands at the ten and two on the steering wheel, I feel this dizzying sensation of being in a parallel universe—one in which I married Ryan and he’s driving me and our child back to our home.
“Back when we were dating, I always wondered,” he muses, “if we had kids together, what they would have looked like.”
“Is that really what you were wondering?” I shoot back. “Because you could have fooled me by the way you always put on like three condoms.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being safe.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Remember when one of them broke and you made me take a morning after pill? You wrote the script yourself, escorted me to the pharmacy, and watched me take it?”
“Was there something wrong with that?”
“I was already on birth control pills!” I huff.
“So I was cautious.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t mean I never fantasized about the future.”
I lean back in my seat and stare out the window. The truth is, I used to fantasize about the exact same thing. I used to think about what would happen if Ryan changed his mind about getting tested and we could finally really be together. At least, I did until I met Ben—the guy I actually could have a future with.
It isn’t far to our house from the railroad station. Ryan pulls up to the curb in front of the garage where my car is still parked. I glance at the back seat and Leah is sound asleep, drooling on the seatbelt.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say again.
He nods. “Jane,” he says in a low voice.
I look up at him.
“I just…” His eyes study the steering wheel. “I wish…”
“What?” I say.
He doesn’t complete his thought. I don’t know what he wishes. That he got that test back when it could have made a difference? That I had waited around for him?
It doesn’t matter anyway. You can’t change the past.
Unless he wishes I’d leave Ben for him. That, I guess, is something that could change. Not that I would ever do that.
“Good night, Ryan,” I say.
He nods again, and leaves the engine running while I rescue my daughter from the back seat of his car.
Chapter 23
Oh God. My mother is calling.
I see her number flash on the screen as I’m driving to the preschool to pick up Leah and am stalled at a red light. It’s night number two of us being alone together without Ben. It hasn’t been fun.
I really don’t want to talk to my mother now, but I recognize that it’s been over a week since we talked, so my not picking up will trigger immediate suspicion. Better to get the call over with and have the automatic excuse of being able to get off the phone when I arrive at Mila’s. I quickly put on my hands-free device and answer the call.
“Hi, Mom,” I say.
“Jane!” She always sounds breathless when she first answers the phone, as if the thrill of talking to me has overcome her. “How was Reading? How was Nancy?”
“Good,” I mumble.
“Did Leah have a good time?”
“Yes.” She did have a good time. That’s definitely not a lie.
“And what about Ben?”
I bite my lip, not entirely sure what to say. Mom is probably the biggest Ben fan in the world. Before he came along, she met Ryan a handful of times and she was never quite sure what to make of him. “He’s sure handsome,” she said, the first time we all had dinner together, which was a feat in itself because Ryan did not “do” dinner with the parents. It took months of coaxing,
culminating in him being his usual charming self, but my mother was still incredibly suspicious of him.
Then when I started dating Ben, Mom took to him immediately. Of course, Ben was ready to meet her pretty much from our second date, but I waited three months, just in case things fell apart. After that dinner, she didn’t comment on Ben’s looks, but she told me breathlessly, “Boy, he sure likes you.”
“Ben had a good time too,” I say tightly.
“I hope Nancy didn’t spoil him too much,” she comments.
Actually, she spoiled him so much, he refused to leave.
“Not too much,” I manage.
There’s a silence between us while I sit stalled at another red light. I want to tell her everything that’s going on. I probably should. Except…
My mom’s marriage was such a mess. Yeah, my dad was a total loser—an alcoholic with no sense of responsibility—but I still felt like my mother bore some responsibility for what happened. If only because she chose such a loser to marry. But if Ben and I fall apart, then I’ll have to own up to my own part in that mess. And I can’t do that right now.
“Is everything all right, Janie?” she asks.
“Yeah, totally fine,” I say quickly. “It’s just… I’m at the daycare, so… I should probably go.”
“All right…” She sounds somewhat hesitant. “I’ll let you go. Call me later if you want to talk.”
“Sure,” I chirp brightly. “Talk to you later!”
I’m still about half a mile from Mila’s. But if I stayed on the phone another minute, I’d crack.
I’m the very last parent to arrive at the preschool. Ben usually picks Leah up today because this is a clinic that tends to run late, but obviously that wasn’t an option today. So there was a lot of interrupting of patients and unreturned phone calls. Tomorrow I’ll make up for it.
The door to the preschool is stuck, which is just what I need right now. After I jimmy it open, I practically fall to the floor in the foyer. Mila and Leah are picking up toys, and Mila looks up in surprise when she sees me. Leah just keeps picking up toys, to mock me by showing me all the things she’d be capable of if I were a more competent parent.
“I’m not late, am I?” I right myself and shut the door behind me.
Mila shrugs. “I do not pay attention to such things. You are usually on time.”
I grab Leah’s coat out of her cubby and hold it out for her. I notice that Mila is giving me a curious look, which I try to do my best to ignore.
“Usually this is your husband’s day to pick up Leah,” she notes.
“Yes,” I mumble. “He’s just… he’s not around. I mean, right now.”
Mila’s brown eyes widen slightly. I didn’t mean to imply anything, but apparently, she’s put it all together faster than my mother. Honestly, this was the last thing I wanted. Mila was so obviously a perfect mother and I’m certain she was a perfect wife too. This will be yet another piece of evidence that I’m failing at my family.
“You wait here,” Mila instructs me.
I watch as her stubby little legs carry her to the back room, where she keeps art supplies and has a sink and refrigerator. I hear the refrigerator door open and then shut, and when Mila returns, she’s holding a large piece of Tupperware.
“You have this for dinner.” She pushes the Tupperware into my hands. “Stuffed chicken breast. Maman’s recipe. Nothing fancy.”
“Mila, you don’t have to…”
She waves her hand at me. “Too much food for me anyway. Better for you and Leah.”
Of course, Leah will only eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. But maybe in the parallel universe that my daughter occupies when she’s here, she’s someone who would eat stuffed chicken breast.
As I clutch the Tupperware to my chest, Mila says, “My husband. He left for a while too.” Her eyes soften. “He came back though. He was a good man. I miss him.” She offers me a tiny smile. “Your husband is a good man too.”
I hope she’s right.
Chapter 24
Mr. Holton is here for back pain.
Back pain is the second most common chief complaint in primary care, the first being upper respiratory infection. It’s frustrating because there’s really very little we can usually do about either of those things. Really, most people are probably better off just Googling remedies. My job is to reassure Mr. Holton about his back pain and maybe prescribe him a medication or physical therapy. Of course, the fact that he’s eighty years old means that he might be stuck with his back pain.
“So how did your back pain start?” I ask Mr. Holton.
“Well…” He smiles at me with slightly yellowed teeth that are at least (mostly) still there. “This all started in… 1975?”
This man has had back pain since before I was born. My rule of thumb is that if a condition has been around more years than I’ve been alive, then it’s probably not something I’ll be able to fix.
“So my girl was messing around with this other guy, see?” he says. “He was more successful than I was and I guess she liked that. Anyway, I saw this other guy on the street and I knew he was the one who was messing around with my girl. So I said to him, ‘Hey!’ And then he didn’t even say nothing, like he didn’t even know who I was! So I said ‘Hey’ again. But he just kept pretending that he didn’t know who I was. Can you believe that?”
I clear my throat. “So… you injured your back then?”
“Wait, you didn’t let me finish,” he complains. “So anyway, later that day, I went to the store to get some smokes, and…”
I tune out Mr. Holton’s story, confident that it will have absolutely no bearing in the diagnosis and treatment of his back pain. I’ve been distracted recently—since my trip to Reading. Ben returned home two days after we left him, as promised. But things have been subdued since then. I’m still peeved at him for not coming home with us, and he’s just… I don’t know. He seems preoccupied. I can’t say we’ve had one conversation in the week since he came home.
Maybe Ben’s having an affair. With a woman in Reading.
Nah, probably not.
While I haven’t been answering Ryan’s text messages, there’s part of me that can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had taken a chance all those years back and waited for Ryan instead of ditching him for Ben. Yes, we’d just be starting our lives now, but that wouldn’t be so horrible. If only he’d taken that genetic test like I’d asked him to…
But then I wouldn’t have Leah.
“… And I said to Freddy, I’m never helping lift a piano for you again, buddy!” Mr. Holton bursts out.
It takes me a second to realize he’s expecting more of a response than my vacant nodding. “Oh!” I say. “So… that’s how you hurt your back?”
“Well, that got better, but that was how I hurt it the first time,” he says. “That’s what you asked right? How it all started?”
I suck in a breath. “I meant how did it start this time? This time, right now.”
“This time?” Mr. Holton says thoughtfully. “Well, three months ago, I was going to play golf with my buddy Norman…”
“So you hurt it playing golf?”
“No. So what happened was that I was going to play golf with Norman, but then I got this phone call…”
I grit my teeth. Well, at least this story starts in the current century.
_____
When I get home with Leah tonight, Ben is in his usual spot on the couch, a tub of peanut butter by his side, staring at his laptop. He doesn’t bother to say hello or even lift his eyes from the screen.
The thought of cooking dinner tonight makes me physically ill. In my head, I tick off a list of local restaurants that deliver, and choose the one we’ve had least recently. “How about Chinese food tonight?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Ben!” I say sharply. He looks up, like he’s surprised I’m in the room. “How about Chinese food tonight?”
“From where?”
“Chow’s?” In the entire year we’ve lived here, we have never once gotten Chinese food from a place besides Chow’s.
Ben groans. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”
I go to the kitchen and start fishing around in the drawer where we keep the fifty-thousand menus that we’ve collected, despite the fact that we only order takeout from like four places. “What do you want from Chow’s?”
“Christ, I don’t know.”
“How about chicken lo mein? You like that.”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “From a decent Chinese restaurant. In Manhattan.”
I let the comment slide. I don’t feel like having the “all the food in Long Island sucks” conversation right now.
“Maybe I’ll get chicken with broccoli,” he says. “They can’t mess that up too badly, right?”
“You know, Chow’s is actually not that bad,” I say. “I like their food.”
Ben shakes his head at me. “Sometimes I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
He says it like he’s kidding, but honestly, I wonder.
We eat the food with Dora on the television. Leah is eating her portion of the meal (white rice—that’s it… and God help us if a tiny droplet of sauce gets on her rice) while watching television. I’m sitting next to Leah, but I’m actually surfing the web with my phone. And Ben has his plate next to him and his laptop on his lap, killing all his sperm. Not that either of us have been interested in doing anything lately that would require the use of sperm.
I start typing an email on my phone, but I notice that the keyboard doesn’t automatically pop up. I switch windows and then go back to the email, but it’s still happening. Damn it.
The Devil You Know Page 15
