What's Not Said

by Valerie Taylor

  After three laps around the lot filled with white and silver foreign SUVs, her shivering got the best of her. She headed back to the lobby.

  “There you are,” Chris said as he joined her at a table in the bar.

  “How did you find me?” Kassie stared into a glass of white wine.

  He held up his phone. “Remember you’re on my Find My Friends app. Now that I’m here, why don’t you put me on yours?”

  “Now that you’re here, we need to talk,” she said her eyes meeting his, yet ignoring his suggestion. “I didn’t finish—”

  “Would you care for a drink?” A waiter asked Chris.

  “Go ahead,” she said annoyed. She could tell by the look on his face Chris wasn’t sure if he should.

  “Do you think this is wise?” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Out in public? At a hotel no less.”

  “I don’t think it matters anymore. There’s no turning back. Anyway, I think Mike’s involved with another woman. So the divorce could be simple, a fait accompli.”

  Chris gulped as he swallowed his Guinness.

  “I tried to tell you before. I found another metal box at his office. There was an envelope inside with a note from some woman who lives in Elephant Butte.”

  “And what did he say about it?”

  “I told you, I didn’t stick around. I threw the envelope at him and walked out. There must be a connection between the money and the Elephant woman. Don’t you think?”

  “Don’t ask me. Ask Mike.”

  Kassie caught the waiter’s eye and mouthed, “The check.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” She rushed out of the bar with Chris on her heels.

  He grabbed her left arm. “What the hell is going on, Kassie?”

  “The money, Chris, where is it? In the room?”

  She seethed, but kept Bad Kassie under wraps during the elevator ride they shared with a peach and a penguin who whispered and giggled until they stumbled getting off on the third floor. Kassie kept her control only slightly longer than the lovebirds.

  “What’s going on?” she exploded once they were alone in their room. “You tell me. Seems you’re taking Mike’s side. About everything.”

  “I’m not. I’m trying to help,” Chris insisted as he tried to put his arms around her. “Look at you. You’re a tempest in a teapot. Pacing back and forth. And you keep running off. Calm down and tell me everything.”

  Kassie found the money and put the envelope in her bag.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Not sure. Half of it’s mine. And it’s evidence.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged wearing nothing but a short black silk nightgown. She poured herself a glass of wine, and lowered herself onto the couch in a Lotus position.

  “Now isn’t that better, sexy lady? But you expect me to sit here and keep my hands off you?”

  “Control yourself.”

  “Me?”

  For the next hour they refrained from attacking one another, physically and verbally, as Kassie shared her whole day. The money, note, renovated office, the brush with the law. And the visit with Mike. He’d broken her.

  “I thought I knew him. Concealing money and another woman?”

  “Which is bothering you more?”

  “It’s not an either-or. Both. Marriage and financial infidelity. What else has he been hiding?”

  “At the risk of stating the obvious and having you run out the door again, you’ve been lying to each other for years. But that’s not why you’re divorcing him, right?”

  “Right, but I never lied to him about you. He never asked if I was having an affair with anyone, so technically I haven’t lied. Deceived, yes, but not lied.”

  “Splitting hairs, aren’t you?”

  “I consider you one continuous five-year cover-up. And I’m ready to tell Mike the truth. Think about it, in less than forty-eight hours I’ve learned Mike lied about his health, money, a woman in New Mexico, and my mother. And if his stupid kidney thing hadn’t flared up, I may not have known about any of this. I think if we’re keeping score, Mike’s won.”

  “We’re not keeping score. But try to put yourself in Mike’s position. If you were sitting alone in a hospital bed and your husband told you he wanted a divorce, would you feel like a winner?”

  “There you go again. Why, are you defending him?”

  “I’m not. Two sides, that’s all,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You tired?”

  They continued the repartee for another hour in bed. Going in circles. Kassie expressing her anger at Mike and frustration with Chris. He tried to convince her he had her back while rubbing it.

  “Tomorrow’s Easter. I need to go to the cemetery. My parents.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. You’re part of the family now. I might as well introduce you.”

  “Any living relatives I should meet?”

  “You’ll meet Annie tomorrow,” Kassie said, checking her phone for messages. “She’s my best friend. Does that count?”

  Kassie saw one message from Annie probably confirming dinner. And Mike had called three times and left one message. She played it aloud.

  “Really, Kassie? I’m stuck in this hellhole, and you won’t answer my goddamn calls? The least you can do is put on your big-girl pants and let me explain. It’s time to get real.”

  She bolted upright. “Big-girl pants! Bastard. Who does he think he’s talking to? I’m not a child.”

  She replayed the message. “Time to get real? I’ll show him what real is. See what I’ve had to put up with?” She shook the phone in the air.

  “Sounds like he wants to explain,” Chris interrupted her tirade.

  “There you go again.” She laid down and rolled away from him. He pulled her close to spoon. She didn’t push him away but didn’t encourage him. His strong arms around her were all she wanted.

  “Kassie,” he whispered, “you know you should put the money back.”

  She didn’t fulfill his expectations that night.

  21

  With a Doubt

  Daylight poked through a skinny opening in the double set of drapes as Chris opened his eyes. Easter morning. Only one more night in the hotel. Tomorrow he and Kassie could move into the apartment in Charlestown. It would be their place, at least until September when they’d figure out what’s next. He searched the other side of the bed. The sheets were as cold as a hot water bottle in the morning.

  “Hey, Kassie, get in here,” he called out, figuring she was in the living room reading. No answer. He stood up, naked and half wilted. The lights were off in both the living room and the bathroom. Her jacket was gone, so was her bag. He scratched his head.

  Standing at the sink to wash his face, he noticed an orange Post-it note on the mirror. Only Kassie would have Post-it notes at her fingertips.

  “Out. Be back 9ish. Go ahead and eat. KO.”

  “Happy Easter to you, too, Kassie.” Where’d she go? The gym? Nope. Not with her sneakers under the desk.

  It was only 7:30. Not ready to start the day, Chris slid back under the sheets and stared at the ceiling. He retrieved the small purple box with the silver ribbon he’d tucked under his pillow the night before, placed it on his chest, and gazed at it as though it were a crystal ball. Now what? His plan to give it to her when they woke up that morning had slipped away. It’d have to wait. Perhaps that night at dinner with Annie. Or would that be rude? Knowing Kassie, she’d prefer they were alone when he gave it to her. He put the box in the nightstand.

  Chris rolled to the empty side of the bed and buried his nose in Kassie’s pillow, indulging himself in the sweet smell of vanilla that lingered there. The hunger inside him grew. His morning wood returned right on cue. He wished she were there to handle it. Instead he did.

  He checked the clock. There was time for him to go to the gym. The hotel didn’t have an indoor pool, which would be his preference. He made a mental note to search on
line later for gyms with pools in either Cambridge or Charlestown. Convenience, cost, cleanliness would be the criteria he’d use to choose the right gym. He’d check with Kassie on what gym she used. Maybe they had a pool.

  That day, running on the treadmill would have to be a good substitute for swimming laps. The gym was empty, as he liked. No stranger’s sweat flying around stinking up the place. No need to make small talk with gym rats in tank tops and spandex. No television blaring talking heads he couldn’t care less about.

  A good time to plug into his workout playlist and think.

  Indeed. Where was Kassie? If the last few days were any indication, what would the future be like? On the spur of the moment and without explanation, she bolted. She hightailed it after telling Mike she wanted a divorce, skipped out for a walk alone the night before, and snuck off that morning without waking him or kissing him goodbye.

  He’d uprooted his life in San Francisco to be with her. He expected something more after five years.

  Maybe she’d changed her mind about the divorce or even their moving in together. A lot had happened since he’d stepped off the redeye. He’d flown there thinking he was making a commitment of sorts to a strong, independent woman who was leaving a bad marriage. Now she’s a woman with a sick husband who has his own baggage that seemed to be driving her to act crazy.

  Elephant Butte. Where had he heard that name before? He shook his head clueless.

  Should he go back to San Francisco? Give Kassie a chance to figure things out without him in her way.

  “Don’t be a wuss,” he said out loud to no one. The freelance gig was a great opportunity that would boost his résumé. Even if it were only until September. No matter what happened with Kassie, whatever decisions she made, he could survive five months on the East Coast. San Francisco was always waiting.

  On his way back to the room, he stopped at the Starbucks in the lobby.

  “Whatcha gettin’?” He heard a soft voice, felt a firm hand on his butt, followed by an intimate mini pinch.

  “The usual. You want something?” He turned to see Kassie with her blue eyes twinkling at him. Thoughts of leaving her vanished as quickly as a shooting star.

  “No, thanks. I had tea at home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes. I did what you told me to.”

  The money, he nodded and smiled.

  As they returned to their suite, Kassie hung out the Do Not Disturb sign. Hippety-hop.

  22

  As the Worm Turns

  Mike’s Easter started out like a basket of rotten eggs. Everything around him stunk. The room, the bed, the food, himself. A shower and shave were in order, especially if he might entertain any visitors that day. He didn’t think he needed to ask permission anymore to feel human. There were no fluids being pumped through his veins and no monitors surveilling his vitals. Statistically he was cleared to come and go as he pleased as long as he stayed in the hospital.

  With a fresh pair of pajamas and a comb through his salt-and-pepper hair, Mike donned his bathrobe, which still had that clean Downy smell, and was ready to make the rounds. Before starting his adventure, he peeked both ways out the door in case a cranky nurse was heading his way with different ideas. Why were nurses always ornery, even the hot ones? Maybe it came with the job. He bet there was a required course in nursing school: How to be Nasty and Nice. What if, he snickered, the course name was reversed? How to be Nice and Nasty. Once a marketer, always a marketer. They could lock him up and force him to take his foot off the pedal, but his mind was still in full throttle.

  Mike lucked out. The coast was clear. Not a cranky nurse in sight.

  Nearly noontime. His lunch would arrive soon. He didn’t care to wait around. Nothing special for this Easter to be sure. There wouldn’t be any lasagna. Not like his mother’s. God rest her soul. She died ten years before, shortly after his father. Long before her death, she taught Kassie the secret of being a good wife. Cook Italian. Kassie tried, but it was never like his mother’s. But isn’t that always the way? He couldn’t remember when Kassie last made lasagna, or whether he even enjoyed it when she did.

  There wouldn’t be any Chianti for him that day, either. Or beer for that matter. He wondered if there’d be any tomorrow, or the day after that. How’d he’d like a cannoli right now. Ba humbug. Wrong holiday.

  Usually the lights in the hospital hallways were as bright as those during a night game at Fenway. They blinded as they bounced off the sterile not-quite-white walls and utilitarian-beige floor tiles. Today was different. The lights behaved like spotlights on an Easter parade. Purple, pink, blue, and yellow pastels greeted Mike on his promenade. Balloons, streamers, even a larger-than-life stuffed white rabbit with an oversized pink-and-green polka dot ribbon around its neck sat in a chair by the elevators to greet visitors and staff. A large wicker basket with a handle and a matching ribbon sat on a table next to him. Him? Mike wasn’t sure if the rabbit was male or female. The only rabbit he could remember was Peter Rabbit. Oh, there was also Br’er Rabbit and Roger Rabbit. All of the male persuasion. The only female rabbits he could think of were Playboy Bunnies.

  Hoping no one would notice, Mike peeked in the basket. Yum. Hershey’s miniatures. He liked the Mr. Goodbars with the nuts. Mike considered swiping a few and then reconsidered, remembering why he was there in the first place and how desperately he wanted to go home. He didn’t want to do anything that would prevent him from leaving Monday. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled along.

  Soon enough, he walked by a nurses’ station where three ladies were busy doing whatever nurses do when they’re not poking and prodding some poor patient. At least he thought they were nurses. Why don’t they wear those white caps anymore? With so many women becoming doctors these days, how can we tell who’s who?

  And what’s with men becoming nurses? Yikes. Everything’s upside down. Who was that guy he’d met when he checked in the other morning? Oh yeah. Tommy Thompson. Who names their kid like that? Or maybe it was an acquired nickname. It would be like someone calling him Ritchie Ricci. Ridiculous.

  A female voice interrupted his internal dialogue. All he wanted to do was walk around. No chitchat. “The best conversations I have are with me, myself, and I,” was a Mike-ism friends and family knew all too well. Most agreed with him, especially Kassie who’d suggested on more than one occasion he should keep his thoughts to himself. Humph. She should talk.

  “It’s about time, Mr. Ricci.”

  “Time for what? Hope you don’t mean an enema?” Mike laughed, as did the nurses.

  Ah-ha. He knew he still had it, sensing a newfound giddyap in his step.

  “You’re out of your room and walking around. It took you long enough. You need some exercise.”

  Exercise? As Amelia’s visit the day before flashed across his mind, Mike gave a quick salute, and kept moving. No way he’d engage in a contest he knew he’d never win. After all, he was on their home turf.

  Further down the hallway, he recognized a young, rather buxom gal who’d delivered his breakfast the past two days pushing a cart full of lunches, he presumed. Tall, strawberry blond, a fine behind to go along with her chest. Now we’re talkin’.

  “Excuse me, Celia, is it?” He tried not to stare at the name badge sitting on top of her left boob. “Short for Cecilia?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Ricci. Can I be of assistance to you?”

  “Just wandering around looking for something to do on this fine holiday.”

  “Have you explored the library? It’s kind of like a teeny-tiny resource oasis, nothing like our sprawling, splendiferous Boston Public Library certainly, but intellectually stimulating all the same.”

  “You mean it awakens the theatre of our mind?”

  “Yes, very good, Mr. Ricci. Or the chapel? It’s like a miniature replica of a European cathedral and provides all of our patients and families with a spiritually rewarding haven.”

  “Now I’m guessing you mean a sanctuary.” M
ike smiled suppressing a laugh.

  Dreading the prospect of continuing this word salad with this sweet young thing while he was in pajamas, Mike asked for directions to both.

  “You must descend one level of this magnificently constructed concrete edifice to discover the joys of the mind and the awakening of the soul. It might be good for you.”

  “May I ask? Are you in college?”

  “Why, yes, Mr. Ricci. How did you guess? I’m studying American Literature. I will be a famous writer one day.”

  “That explains it. Happy Easter, Celia. Oh, and mind those adverbs.” Mike gave her a thumbs up and retraced his steps back to the elevator.

  Well, Celia was right. The library was the size of his walk-in closet. Did that mean the library was unusually small, or his closet unusually big? Probably both. It had a window, though, which made it more inviting, and more intellectually stimulating, than his closet. Except his closet housed his pot and porn collection. Also stimulating.

  The Sunday Boston Globe was scattered on the floor. He wasn’t the only one bored that day. Whoever it was could’ve at least put the paper back together again. He rifled through the pile, found the sports section, and plopped down in a somewhat cozy brown leather chair near the window. Not quite his Pleasure Chair, but it’d do.

  Pictures of the Red Sox game and stories about the Celtics chasing their tails as usual reminded him how out-of-touch he’d been in the last few days. When he wasn’t trying to figure out how to handle Kassie and her paranoia, or living the fantasy called Amelia, he was reading the Hemingway bio. The Globe was a welcome diversion.

  His eyes fixed on the picture of Fenway. Unfortunately, this hospital mess screwed up Kassie’s plans to hobnob with her boss and show off her vast baseball knowledge to the new hires and interns.

  No other woman he knew understood baseball or football like Kassie. There was a time early in their marriage when they’d take in at least one Red Sox game during every home stand. If they could, they’d sit behind home plate, and she’d call balls and strikes. She’d stop short of calling the umps every f-ing word in the book. Pissed off everyone who sat around them. For such a small fry, she had one loud mouth. She claimed she inherited it from Uncle Dan. Mike believed it.