by Megan Hart
“From big, bald men in white T-shirts?” I watched him stretch and move, fascinated by the lines of his body. I wondered if he was going to take off his shirt. I wondered why I cared.
“No. Small, gorgeous women with the most amazing hands…” He wiggled his eyebrows and spoke in a feminine voice. “Ah, Mr. Kennedy, you like a Happy Ending today?”
I covered my mouth, feigning shock. “You didn’t.”
His enigmatic grin told me nothing, but that maybe he was lying.
“Wouldn’t you?” He put a hand on the railing and stretched his back again.
“I don’t think so.” The ice had melted in my lemonade, cutting the tartness but keeping it cold. I drank, not because I was suddenly thirsty but because I found myself needing something to do with my hands.
“But you’d hire a houseboy to come and do your laundry for you and scrub your toilets. Interesting.” He shook himself the way a dog does coming out of water. “Fuck, my back hurts. Would you rub it for me?”
He was already taking a seat on the foot of my lounger and pulling off his shirt.
“Does anyone ever say no to you?” I was already putting down my glass.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “No.”
I opened and closed my fists quickly, stretching my fingers. I hovered my hands over his shoulder blades, my fingers spread. I didn’t have to touch him to feel him.
He was still looking at me. There was no reason for me to do what he wanted, but he acted like I couldn’t refuse him. Maybe I couldn’t.
His skin was already warm from the sun. My fingers were cold from the glass of lemonade. He hissed when I finally touched him, though I don’t think it was from the chill.
“You’ve got knots the size of softballs.” I kneaded them, one at a time.
“So I’ve been told,” Alex murmured, and we both laughed.
“You have a dirty mind,” I told him and dug my fingers into the tight bundles of muscle.
He moaned, low and long. “Been told that, too. Fuck, that’s good.”
“James’s back hurts him a lot.”
He moaned again and put his head down so I could work at his neck. “Right there. Yeah…fuck.”
I moved closer, my knees on either side of his hips. I could smell him. Sunshine. Flowers. Something exotic. I leaned in as I worked, my eyes closing as I breathed him in.
“Hello-oh!”
The singsong greeting immediately clenched my jaw and curled my fingers. Alex yelped as I dug into him too hard. We both looked up as my mother-in-law appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Her eyes took us in, her gaze weighing and judging us and finding us guilty in the time it took for me to uncurl my fingers. Alex took his time getting up, rolling his neck on his shoulders and stretching his back again.
“Thanks, Anne,” he said. “Hello, Mrs. Kinney.”
“Alex.” She let her accusing eyes fall on me. “Anne. I should have called first.”
Why start now? rose to my lips and I bit it back. “Don’t be silly, Evelyn. Would you like some lemonade?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She looked at Alex, who seemed intent on poking her with his every motion as he settled himself on another lounger and lifted his glass of lemonade, pinched from me, toward her with a smirk. “I just came by to drop off these magazines.”
I’d read somewhere once that you should never refuse anything someone wants to give you for free, even if you don’t want it, because the next time they might not offer and you’ll miss something you do desire. I never wanted Mrs. Kinney’s stacks of used magazines, nor her unwanted picture frames or, God forbid, the sweaters she’d replaced with new. Still, I smiled and stood.
“Oh, thanks so much. I guess you can never get enough home and garden tips.”
Alex snorted under his breath and she shot him a sour look. The one she gave me was only a little sweeter. “I put them on the kitchen table.”
“Thanks.” I made no move to go inside and gush over them, though I knew that’s what she was waiting for me to do. I found the more I could tell she wanted something, the more perverse the pleasure I took in pretending I didn’t notice what it was. She wasn’t subtle. I’m not dense. It was a power struggle with a veneer of shiny.
“James won’t be home until later,” I said. “Did you want to wait, or…?”
I trailed off with an expectant uptilt at the end of my statement, leaving it up to her to fill in the rest. I’m sure she wanted me to ask her to stay, to sit with her over coffee and chitchat, and in the past I’d have done it. I wasn’t going to offer it with a smile today. It would have been lying.
I think she would have stayed if not for Alex, now stretched out full-length in the sun, his eyes closed. Instead, she pursed her mouth and shook her head. “No. I’ll call later.”
“Okay.” I also didn’t move to show her out, though I suspected she expected that, too.
Mrs. Kinney made a big deal about how family weren’t guests as a reason to make herself comfortable in my house. I didn’t mind, mostly, but for the way she wanted it both ways. She didn’t want to be a guest but she wanted to be walked to the door. This would give her some private moments to snark about Alex. I knew this because in the early days of our marriage, Evelyn had snagged me with this divide and conquer tactic. She’d stand up to leave, and I’d walk her to the door. Separated from the pack, or even just from James, I’d be open to her wheedling or gossip. I’d learned my lesson. And I won’t pretend it didn’t give me a small thrill of satisfaction to thwart her, either. If she wanted to complain about my houseguest, she’d have to find someone else to do it to.
Alex waited until the thrum of her car faded before he sat up and looked at me. He clapped once. Twice. Three times. “Bravo.”
“Hmm?” I turned to look at him.
“You handled her brilliantly. Bravo.”
“I didn’t handle her,” I demurred.
Alex shook his head. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t be modest. Evelyn’s a tough woman to deal with. You were perfect.”
I’m always wary when anyone gives me a merit badge for perfection in any arena. “Was I?”
“You weren’t rude, but you were firm. You didn’t let her manipulate you into giving her what she wanted.”
“Which was?” I finished off my lemonade. It wasn’t cold or tart anymore, and it left me thirsty.
“I’ll be fucked if I know. But I could tell she didn’t get it.”
It was wrong to laugh at that, but I did anyway. “You know her pretty well.”
“I did. She hasn’t changed, I guess.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “That’s what Molly said about you.”
“She did?” I expected him to give me a sardonic look, but disappointment flashed so quickly in his eyes I thought I must have imagined it.
“Tell me what it was like. What James was like, when he was young.”
“Jamie? Pretty much like he is now. A good guy.” He adjusted the chair so he could sit up to look at me. His bare toes curled against the plastic woven straps of the seat.
“That’s what he said about you.”
“Well, one of us is wrong.”
It would have been nice of me to dispute that. “I heard you wore eyeliner.”
“Sometimes I still do.”
“Evelyn doesn’t like you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, I assure you.” Again, the small flicker of disappointment.
I waited for him to tell me why. From where I sat, his eyes looked wide and dark. Limpid, I thought, since languid had worn out its welcome in my descriptions of him. Luminous, too. Alex’s gaze had a glow that seemed unrelated to the light around him.
“Anne.”
“Yes, Alex.”
“Are you hungry?”
This gave me pause. “A little. Why?”
Then, the smile. The look. Heat.
“Because you’re looking at me like you want to eat me up with a spoon.”
I dissolved i
nto laughter, turning my face to keep truth from showing in my eyes the way it had flashed in his. He didn’t laugh, just settled back into the lounger, stretching his arms over his head. I imagined straddling him. Bending to lick the smooth curve of his arm and shoulder.
“I’m going to get some more lemonade,” I said, instead, and went inside.
Chapter 06
My doctor’s office was decorated with fecundity. Pictures of smiling babies and pregnant women hung on the walls, and the racks overflowed with magazines with parent and family in the titles. I waited, my purse tucked over my stomach against the curious glances of the other patients waiting, most of whom were proudly displaying bulges. Several of them came with children, small humans who ran around and wept without provocation and seemed to me both delightful and obnoxious.
“Mrs. Kinney?”
I looked up. Six years later, and I was always still a bit startled when someone called me by that name, no matter what my driver’s license said. The nurse smiled and gestured.
“Dr. Heinz is ready for you now.”
I gathered my things and followed her down the hall toward the brightly painted room. More photos of babies decorated the walls. The magazine selection in there was far more out of date. I undressed at her command and settled myself onto the paper-covered table, a crinkling gown covering me. My feet were cold.
I had too much time to think while I waited. Too much time to look a the jars of tongue depressors and cotton balls, to ponder the small table set with sharp and shiny instruments that looked like torture devices. Directly opposite me was a large poster displaying the signs of common sexually transmitted diseases. Suppurating pudenda stared at me. I was saved from an overload of ooze and blisters by the sharp knock on the door announcing my doctor’s arrival.
I liked Dr. Heinz because she was in her early thirties. Close to my age. Her attitudes about sex, childbearing and birth control were straightforward and refreshing, never judgmental. If I’d had her for a physician when I was much younger, I might have been able to make different choices than I had. Then again, that was a long time ago, and there wasn’t any point in wondering what if.
“So how are you today, Anne?” Dr. Heinz wore the traditional white lab coat, but underneath her clothes were a mix of patterns and colors that would have guaranteed her arrest by the fashion police.
“I’m fine.” I sat up straighter, too, aware that beneath the paper dress I was naked.
“Good, good.” She bustled around the room, preparing latex gloves, lube and the instruments while she chatted with me about my history. When at last she settled between my legs on the rolling stool, her face level with my groin, I lay back on the examining table and stared at the ceiling.
“So,” she finished, “anything new?”
“No.”
I drew in a breath as I waited for the invasion. Dr. Heinz also had a slow hand, an easy touch, but that didn’t make it any easier when it came time for her to use it. I concentrated on relaxing my muscles. She was good. She waited until I’d let out the breath before putting her fingers inside me.
“How’s the pain?” She probed.
I winced. “It’s…better.”
Her fingers slid out of me. “Much better or a little better?”
“Much, actually.” I tensed again, waiting for the speculum’s metal quack.
“Any pain during intercourse?”
“No.” The chill metal slid inside me.
Once, after an E.R. visit to stitch up an embarrassingly placed puncture wound on his rear, James had complained to me about the indignity of having a stranger access his most private parts. “He didn’t even buy me breakfast,” was the joke, and I’d laughed even as I mentally rolled my eyes at what he thought was indignity. Prostate exams might give a man an idea of what it’s like to be a woman with the yearly intrusion into our pink parts and the experiences of childbirth and nursing. Maybe.
“Just a little scrape.”
It was more the anticipation of the scrape than the actual pain that made me hiss. I felt embarrassed immediately after, like I’d screamed aloud. Dr. Heinz patted my foot kindly as she swabbed the glass slide and tucked it into a plastic Baggie to be sent to the lab.
“How are your periods? One hand over your head, please.”
I always wanted to giggle when she manipulated my breasts, checking for lumps and bumps. Not because it tickled, but because it felt so ridiculous. Cool, latex-covered fingers massaging my skin while paper crinkled beneath me. Laughter would have relieved some of the tension, perhaps, but I managed to never laugh.
“They’re still irregular. But not so painful. I can get away with a hot bath and some ibuprofen, now.”
She grinned. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. You can go ahead and sit up.”
The rest of the exam was swift. Heart, lungs, whatever it was she did while probing and tapping my back. Then she left the room to give me privacy as I dressed, returning in a few minutes with her clipboard and a friendly smile.
“Okay,” she began. “So. No more pain during intercourse, which is fantastic. Periods are feeling better, but still irregular. That could be a side effect of the birth control shot, but then again…” She flipped through my chart. “It says you’ve often had irregular or skipped periods. That’s also typical with endometriosis. But other than being inconvenient, are they concerning you for any reason?”
I shook my head. “No. I wish it were easier to predict them, but other than that, no.”
She noted my answer on the paper, then looked up at me. “Do you have any questions, Anne? Anything about the endometriosis treatment, pain management, the shots? The meaning of life? How to make a meat loaf?”
We laughed. “No, thanks. I think I can make a decent meat loaf.”
She made a gesture of wiping her forehead. “Phew. I was afraid you were going to ask me the meaning of life, and I’d have to come up with something on the spot.”
“No.” I hesitated, the questions I knew I should ask hovering on my lips but in the end, unasked. “Thanks, Dr. Heinz.”
“Sure thing.” She smiled. “Let’s get you your shot, okay? And you can be on your way.”
The shot didn’t really hurt. Not compared to childbirth, I thought, as she swabbed my skin with the alcohol pad and stabbed me with the chemical cocktail that would prevent James’s sperm from conquering my eggs for the next three months. The puncture didn’t even bleed. I bid my doctor farewell and headed through the gauntlet of burgeoning bellies and out of the office.
June really is a beautiful month. The sun shines, but not with the intensity of July or outright nastiness of August. Flowers bloom. People get married. School finishes for the summer. Everything seems on the cusp of something new, a new life, a new start.
I’d had the chance in Dr. Heinz’s office to make a new start. I hadn’t. I had another three months to convince myself I wanted to try to get pregnant. Also, another three months to lie to my husband.
James had been patient and understanding through my bouts with the disease that caused painful menstruation and intercourse. He’d brought me medication and held my hand when the cramps had made me sweat. He’d been the one to tell me my pain level wasn’t just monthly aches and pains. I’d been having the discomfort for so long, I’d convinced myself it was normal. Coming from a family with four other women in it, moaning and groaning about periods seemed matter of fact. James had insisted I tell my doctor about the problems getting worse.
I’d been relieved to find out there was something she could do for me. That my suffering was not, as I’d half convinced myself, a punishment for long-ago sins. Many women had the same condition, some far worse than I. I was lucky. Minor outpatient surgery and some medication had helped immensely. I felt better than I had in years.
It was a good time to have a baby. James had a great job. My career had sputtered to a stop, a situation I could rectify if I wanted…but why go back to work if I was only going to leave to have a
baby in a few months? It was perfect timing. I could be the stay-home mother I’d never dreamed of being.
Everything seemed like it had fallen into place. Perfect. I’d have told anyone who asked I didn’t want to lie to James about anything, and certainly not something as important as our decision to have children. That in itself would have been another lie. The fact was, if I really hadn’t wanted to lie to him, I wouldn’t. I’d have told him the truth. I was still taking birth control. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get pregnant.
I wasn’t sure I could.
Endometriosis, though it can contribute to it, is not a guarantee of infertility. Nor is having a previous miscarriage. I’d had both, though James knew only of the former.
I wasn’t sure I couldn’t conceive, but I was terrified of finding out. Choosing not to have a child was my right as a woman. Choosing to have one was up to the whim of higher powers, and I wasn’t so convinced I hadn’t pissed off God enough to have Him give me the big thumbs-down when it came time to procreate.
Leaving Dr. Heinz’s office, I meant to go straight home, where several loads of laundry yearned for folding, and the mop and vacuum patiently awaited my arrival. I had weeds to pull and some bills to pay.
I also had a houseguest.
James and Alex had stayed up until far past midnight. I’d left them to their reunion, the occasional rumble of their laughter pulling me from sleep. James had slipped into bed sometime between when the birds began chirping and the sun came up, that predawn time when it’s still possible to convince your body you haven’t stayed up all night. He’d smelled of beer and cigarette smoke, a combination that would have been much improved by the thorough application of soap and water. His snoring had woken me and kept me awake.
Despite his late night, he’d been up and about in time to head out to work. The house had been quiet when I’d left for my appointment. The door to Alex’s room had been closed, no sound of anyone stirring within.
Alex wasn’t my friend, but James wouldn’t have bothered to leave a fresh pot of coffee or a stack of clean towels and linens. I hadn’t gone so far as to offer to do Alex’s laundry, but I had left instructions on how to operate my diva of a washing machine and where to find the detergent. I’d done what a good hostess should do. I even planned on stopping at the grocery store on the way home to pick up some steaks and corn for grilling tonight. I filled my day with errands designed to keep me out of the house all day, avoiding going home without even trying to pretend to myself I wasn’t.
