She looks good. Robust and at least ten pounds heavier. Even her eyes appear brighter.
We hug. It’s a bit awkward, but I welcome the warmth of human contact.
“You know, I could have just met you in the city. You didn’t have to drive all the way out here,” I say.
“It’s okay. I could use the drive. It clears my mind. Plus, I wanted to see my niece.”
“Oh, Maritza just put her to bed, but maybe she’s still up. Come on.”
I lead the way back upstairs, and sure enough, there Morgan is, sitting up in her bed.
“She says she’s not sleepy,” Maritza tells us.
Norah sits on the edge of her bed and tickles Morgan’s belly, setting her into a fit of laughter. Maritza frowns. It will be that much harder to get her to sleep after we leave.
“God, she’s getting so big. Amazing how much they grow in just a few months. You remember when Ashley was her age? How she used to run around the house naked?”
I laugh. It’s true. Wherever Ashley went, there was sure to be a trail of clothes behind her.
Morgan bounces up and down on her aunt’s lap, clutching at Norah’s hoop earrings.
“So, where is Vaughn?” she asks.
“He’s…”
Hell, I have no idea. Before, he’d rattle off his agenda over breakfast, no matter how mundane. Now, I have no clue where he is, what time he’s returning and most frighteningly, what he’s thinking.
I tell her he’s at a meeting.
TWENTY-ONE
If I thought things were tense between Vaughn and me before, I had no clue just how bad they could get. Now he ignores me altogether. If I enter a room, he’ll exit. When forced to speak to me, he doesn’t make eye contact, just speaks in my general direction. He’s even resorted to sending messages to me through Rosa. When I try to address what happened between him and Dylan, he tells me to mind my business and that he’ll handle it.
Sometimes I barely recognize him. He’s always angry; he’s got this permanent crease of frustration across his brow and he’s been drinking an awful lot. He’s always been a social drinker, but I’ve never seen him drink alone. It started with a glass or two after dinner, then I began to notice more and more bottles in the recycling bin.
Today he’s left the door to his office ajar. My opportunity to try and talk to him. I knock gently then poke my head in.
“Vaughn, can I speak to you?”
His chair is facing the window to his left. His eyes are riveted on something outside. “About?”
“Everything,” I say and warily approach his desk.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
It’s both a blessing and a curse that he avoids me. Every time I look at the welt on his face I feel a new pang of guilt. “I think there is.”
He reluctantly pulls his stare from the window and spins his chair in my direction. “Go ahead.” He rests his clasped hands on top of his desk. Ordinarily it’s in meticulous order. Every pen, paper clip and post-it in its assigned place. We used to joke about how OCD he was about his office, well about everything, but what I’m looking at is not the desk of my husband. It’s a mess. Looks like it belongs to someone with an attention deficit disorder. There are papers scattered about, crumpled tissues that never made their way to the garbage pail and a pile of unopened mail stacked into a crooked little tower. And are those water rings on his prized walnut desktop?
“What do you want to talk about?”
“You haven’t said two words to me since that night. Whatever happened has changed things between us, more so than before.”
“Nothing’s changed. Everything’s fine. We are fine.”
“Fine? You hardly talk to me, you barely even look at me.”
“It’s all in your head.”
“Is this in my head, too?” I lift the empty glass on his desk. “You’re drinking all the time now. This isn’t like you.”
He sighs. “I think I’ve earned the right to drink.”
“A drink is one thing, but you’re polishing off bottles left and right. I see them all when you’re done.”
“Blair, don’t monitor me. I’m a grown man.”
“What happened between you two? I think I have a right to know.”
“I told you what happened.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He scratches what must be two week’s worth of facial hair. “You sure you want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Close the door and sit down.” I do so. “I went over there to talk to him about the papers he filed—”
“Over there? You mean to his house?”
“Yeah.”
“You know where he lives?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“C’mon now. You want to hear the story or not?”
“Sorry.”
“So, I went over there and told him I thought we had an agreement. He said he never agreed to anything and that he’s going to let the courts handle it. Told him he needs to reconsider, and one thing led to another.”
“That’s it? Three sentences? You were gone for hours. Tell me the whole story.”
“That is the whole story. You want to know what we said word for word? That’s the gist of it.”
I point to the bruise on his face. “So how did that happen?”
“He didn’t like the fact that I came to his house or that I even knew where he lived. Said I was threatening him. I told him if he went through with this suit he would regret it—”
“So you threatened him?”
“That’s not a threat.”
“What do you call it?”
“I call it the truth. He has no idea who he’s dealing with. Had to let him know upfront. Now he’s been warned.”
“Vaughn, what are you saying? It’s gone too far. We just need to call Frank and see what our rights are. I’m her mother, no court will take her away from me. From us.”
“Don’t need a lawyer. A lawyer can’t fix this.”
“But hitting him can?”
“He put his hands on me first. I just defended myself.”
He’s lying. Dylan is not a fighter; he’s in no way physically aggressive. Vaughn, on the other hand, has made a career out of intimidating people with his size.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No. I believe you. I … I just don’t understand how it got to this point.”
“It got to this point ‘cause you were fucking him! That’s how it got to this point.”
I recoil and look away. “I … I meant how it came to blows.”
“I told you, I was defending myself. Look, believe what you want.”
I don’t know the next time I’ll get so many words out of him so I push for more. “Okay, so then what happened? Did he call the police? You guys just fought and then you left?”
“Blair, the details are irrelevant. No police were called. He hit me, I hit him back, end of story.”
“So where do we stand now? He’s not going to drop the suit, is he?”
“What do you think?”
“What happens next? We’ll have to go to court and then what?”
“Don’t know that it’s going to go that far.”
“What does that mean? Stop talking in riddles. You have to let me in here. I’m your wife, I’m the reason this is all happening. It’s not fair that I’m left in the dark.”
I see his brain processing, wondering if he should tell me what he has up his sleeve. Wondering if he can trust me with his plans.
“I don’t know, Blair. I have to think this through. I need some time.”
“But it’s not for you to fix on your own. It’s our issue. Let’s put our heads together and figure out our options. I’ve been doing some research online. They say it’s very rare for a mother to lose custody. Unless she’s unfit, which I’m not. So we go to court and let the judge decide. We can’t lose. Look at everything we have to offer her. He can’t compete with that.”<
br />
“And then what, Blair? He gets to come over here every other weekend and take her? He gets Thanksgiving, and we get Christmas? And when she’s older, he’ll have her over the summer breaks? Is that what you’re suggesting? Is that good enough for you?”
I had never thought that far down the line, but he’s right. Even if Dylan didn’t get shared custody, he’d be entitled to see her. We’d have to share her with him for the rest of our lives. A constant reminder of my betrayal. And if Vaughn and I were to ever have more children, I’d have to explain to them why their sister had a different father. They’d one day come to know what their mother was. And what if I can’t have any other children? Vaughn would be forced to die childless, supporting a daughter who wasn’t his. I look at his face and pity him. For everything he’s ever done wrong, he’s never made me feel the way he must feel now.
I have no more words or suggestions or optimistic sentiments. He’s right. We are fucked.
TWENTY-TWO
I have to fix this. I have to convince Dylan to drop the suit. I don’t know how; neither money nor violence have deterred him. All I can think to do is to appeal to his heart. It’s the only card I have left to play.
I wait for him by his car in the campus parking lot. Going to his house is too risky. After Vaughn went there he’s likely to have me arrested for trespassing. The Drexel University faculty parking lot is neutral ground, and I doubt he’ll make a scene in front of his co-workers. I checked his schedule online, so I know he’s done for the day right about now.
The weather is the perfect backdrop for this scene. The sky is overcast, and there’s a distinct chill in the air. I watch him exit the building with a woman. They’re engaged in what appears to be lighthearted chatter, laughing even. She touches his arm in a way that tells me they’re more than just colleagues. This bastard is over here smiling and enjoying life. Meanwhile, Vaughn and I have been nothing but miserable.
His smile quickly fades when he sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“Have nothing to say to you.”
“Dylan, please.”
“Dylan, what’s going on here?” the woman he’s with asks. I can’t help but give her a once-over. She’s extraordinarily ordinary. Average height, average weight, shoulder-length brown hair and plain brown eyes. Is this what he likes? This woman with the gray pantsuit and brown Nine West shoes? Her?
“Nothing,” he tells her.
Nothing? I extend my hand. “I’m Blair.”
She recognizes my name. I can tell because she surveys me closely, drinking me in from head to toe. I can see her now, assessing her own appearance as she compares us. Her shoulders slump slightly as she tucks a tendril of her limp hair behind her ear. She hesitantly shakes my hand then quickly withdraws it to hide her un-manicured nails. Is this the woman from the airport? His companion to Barcelona?
“Gayle,” she says. Her name would be Gayle—just as plain and uninteresting as she.
I turn back towards Dylan, my confidence bolstered. “We need to talk.”
He sighs and turns to ‘ole boring face. “Gayle, I’ll call you a little later, okay?”
She hesitates before nodding and walking away, watching us as she heads to her own car.
He draws his keys from his pocket. “You have no business coming here. You want to talk to me, you contact my attorney.”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.”
“And where’s your husband?” He looks around as if he expects Vaughn to come leaping from behind a car. “Does he want to “talk”, too?”
“No, he doesn’t know I’m here. This is between you and me. Just the two of us.”
“Still lying to him, huh? What a healthy relationship you guys have.”
“Dylan, please. Just hear me out.”
“There’s nothing to hear out. I’ve said all I’m going to say.” He climbs inside his car. “Like I said, call my lawyer.”
I grab his wrist. “Dylan, be fair now. When you asked to see Morgan, I let you. You owe it to me to—”
“Owe you?” He snatches his arm away. “I don’t owe you anything. Is this how you and your husband handle shit, by putting your hands on people?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “And I’m sorry for what happened between you and Vaughn, but this is just me talking to you, one-on-one. Like I said, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
He slams his door shut. “Get the hell away from my car.”
I leap in front of it, planting my hands on the hood. “Stop! You’ve got to hear me out.”
A group of students stop, stare and point. One even pulls out his phone to snap a picture.
Dylan leans out of the window. “You’re causing a damn scene. Get away from my car.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
He stares at me, then back at the growing group of students. “Okay,” he sighs. “Follow me back to my house.”
Half-an-hour later I’m at Dylan’s house.
We enter in silence. He drops his satchel on the floor by the door and tosses his keys on the sofa table. Then he flicks on the lights, removes his jacket and turns to me. For the first time I get a good look at his face. Just as I thought, Dylan caught the worst of it. His eye is bruised, there’s a two-inch cut on his temple and the left corner of his mouth is red and swollen. Against my will, my heart aches for him.
“So?” He folds his arms. “What is it that you just have to say to me?”
“You’ve got to call off this lawsuit business. I know we can come to some other type of agreement.”
“Agreement?” He laughs. “What? Like the five-hundred-thousand you tried to bribe me with or the ass-kicking your husband threatened when he came over here?”
Five-hundred-thousand?
“I … I didn’t know anything about that and I never told him where you lived. I wouldn’t do that. I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“But it did, and now we have to deal with it.”
“I know. It’s been hell for us both.”
“Us both? What hell have you been going through, Blair? You’re not the one who had to tell his co-workers they were mugged in a parking lot. And you’re not the one who’s going to have to explain why some crazy woman nearly jumped on my hood today. Jesus, Blair. I have an image to uphold. I’m the chair of the Business Department for God’s sake.”
“First of all, I didn’t jump on anybody’s hood. Sounds like you’re more concerned about what your girlfriend—what’s her name—Gayle, is thinking.”
“Blair, please.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“It’s just a question. Why are you afraid to answer me?”
“Afraid? It’s none of your business.”
“What’s the big deal then? Is she?”
He sighs. “She’s a colleague and close friend.”
“Another business professor?”
“No. She teaches biology.”
Biology? That would explain her comfortable shoes and thick glasses. “So how well do you know her? Is she the one who took you to Spain?” On our trip, I want to say, but I don’t. No traipsing down memory lane today. I’m here on business.
He studies me for a second, probably wondering how I knew about Spain or that he even went with a woman. “Blair, you’ve got five minutes. Now speak your peace or get out.”
“Okay, okay. Can we just talk?” I gesture towards the living room.
“I told you, it’s too late for that now.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say. “We’ve let it go too far. Can we talk inside? Please?”
He rolls his eyes and I follow him to the kitchen. “Had you just agreed to visitation in the first place, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“I know, but you have to understand how difficult that would have been. Vaughn wouldn’t have—”
“Vaughn doesn’t have shit to do wi
th this! That’s what you don’t seem to get. She’s our daughter. Ours and ours alone. It was up to us to work it out. But you let him take over. Now look where we are. Whatever lie you chose to tell him is your business. Has nothing to do with me.”
I sit across from him. “I know, but—”
“But nothing. You let him believe she was his. That’s where you went wrong. Once you knew, you were supposed to tell him, so he could decide what he wanted to do. But you never even gave him that chance. Just like you never gave me that chance. You’re selfish.”
“He would’ve left me—”
“Then he would have left! But at least you wouldn’t be here now, dealing with this. God, you almost make me feel sorry for the guy. For all his faults, he’s just as much a victim in this as I am.”
“You didn’t feel so bad for him when you were laying on top of me, did you?”
“You still don’t get it, do you? You just can’t admit you’re wrong. It’s everybody else’s fault, huh? Yeah, I was wrong for dealing with a married woman, but there was a point in time, Blair when you could have cleaned this whole shit up, and you chose not to. Now, we’re all left to pick up the pieces.”
“Look, I can’t go back in time. We just have to deal with the way it is now. That’s why I’m here.”
“What else is there to talk about?” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not dropping the suit.”
“Why not? Months ago you were fine with just seeing her whenever you could, what’s changed?”
“Did you really think that was going to be good enough forever? I should have just filed the suit to begin with. But…”
“But what?”
“Nothing.” He opens the freezer and retrieves a bottle of vodka. Then grabs a glass, fills it halfway and quickly downs it. “I just have to know,” he says. “Was that pay-off your idea? Did you really think you could buy me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That was all him. I had no idea he planned to do that.”
A Delicate Truth Page 14
