“You never came to see me,” he says, leaning over and pushing open the passenger door.
“It’s not safe. Are you kidding?”
“It’s dark. No one’s around. I’ll say I’m hiring you for some local book promotion stuff.” He indicates a stack of books in the back that could serve as an excuse if we’re caught. I look around, paranoid, making sure there is no one in sight, then slide in and shut the door quickly.
“Hi,” I smile, immediately shy and self-conscious in his presence.
“Hi.” He moves in to kiss me, but I back away.
“Someone could see.”
“Okay, you’re right. But they won’t see this.”
He unbuttons my jeans and moves his hand inside them. I inhale sharply, not expecting his touch. He puts his fingers inside me and we look at one another. I grip the door latch, but force myself not to look suspicious in case anyone were to pass.
“I missed you,” he says.
I take off my ball cap and cover his hand, glancing around again outside the window, but then letting myself be overtaken by the pleasure.
“Me too.” I’m finding it hard to speak. I stifle a moan. “I thought you’d have gone to Italy by now.”
“You make it hard to leave, you know that? Maybe I would be if I hadn’t met you.”
I keep asking myself, why me? What’s so special about me that this perfect man wants me? I don’t understand.
“Mel?” a voice calls. Luke and I both start. He pulls back to his side and I straighten my shirt over my open zipper.
“Jesus!”
I see it’s Lacy.
“Lacy. Hi. I—” I open the truck door and step out. She must have walked right out of the front door without us knowing. How could I be so careless?
“This is Luke. He’s a writer. We’re here for a writing event...thing. Well, not him, I mean just me. He already wrote a book.” I grab one of the books from the stack in the backseat to emphasize my point. “He was just giving me one.” She peers in at Luke and waves.
“Hi, there,” he says, and waves back.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was inside looking for you. I thought we were meeting here. I’d given up and was gonna head out.”
“Oh my gosh, no, I thought that was happy hour tomorrow.”
“Did I get it wrong?” She pulls out her phone, and mumbles as she reads my message back. “‘I have a group at Classics Bookstore Thursday at six. The Local has a good patio happy hour on Friday, starts around five.’ Ohhh gosh. I thought you were inviting me to the Classics group thingy. And I just said ‘C U then.’ I was in a rush. My fault.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I thought you were saying ‘see you then’ to Friday.”
“Yes, I can totally see that. I’m an idiot.”
“No, please. I’m sure I was probably unclear.”
“That’s fine. Gives me an excuse to go over to Rodney’s and get a drink. I thought I’d be stuck reading all night or something. No offense,” she says, and I laugh. “But let’s do next week, ’cause I can’t get a sitter again for tomorrow.”
“Oh, you came all the way out. I can skip the group.”
“No, no.” She lights a cigarette and rests her other hand on one skinny hip. “It’s my stupid fault.”
She pulls her phone out, and the light reflects off her face, where I can see the cut on her lip is almost healed. She seems in good spirits. Not in danger, I think.
“Okay, then. Next week.” I smile. Then I wave, awkwardly, to Luke. “Thanks for the book.” I look like a complete moron right now, visibly jumpy, but I can’t seem to control it. Conscious of the need to get to the bathroom so I can do up my still-open zipper, which my T-shirt is barely covering, I finally make myself turn and go in.
I was less than a second away from getting caught. Would I have gone back to his place with him if she hadn’t come? Or would I have held to the promise I’d made to myself a thousand times in the last week and walk away, go home, forget him, tell him to leave town?
10
I HAVE NOTHING IN common with Lacy Dupre. We would never come together or form a friendship in any way if I hadn’t seen what I’d seen.
She shows up the following weekend, at Rodney’s, a bar she suggested, wearing pink cutoffs so short that her butt cheeks peek out the bottom. Her tight tank showcases boobs that are too big for her small frame. She later explains they were a gift from an ex. She sits and I can smell drugstore perfume attempting to mask the heavy odor of cigarettes.
“Hey, what’s up?” She drops her phone in her purse and smiles. I see a line of lipstick across her teeth but don’t say anything. She pulls out some Tutti Frutti lip gloss and applies a second coat. She reminds me of a Fruit Roll-Up, all pinks and reds and tropical smells. I feel very beige next to her in my skinny jeans and plain white tank.
“Hi, it’s crowded, so I just snagged the first table I could. This okay?” I ask.
We’re seated at a small two-top in the front of the bar, near the windows that look out to the sidewalk. The damp, stale urine smell sort of just comes with the territory when you go to a bar in this town. It’s the kind of place where shaky addicts and drunks are slumped over the bar before noon, redolent of sour liquor as alcohol leaches from their pores, clinging to the halcyon days of their youth because they haven’t got much of a future.
“Sure.”
A waitress is quick to place a napkin down in front of Lacy as she passes us, carrying a tub of dirty glasses and empty beer bottles. She orders a beer-rita, and I don’t know what that is. I trace the rim of my wineglass with my finger, anxiously, not really having a plan. Not really even knowing why I’m butting into her life. If it weren’t Joe Brooks, would I still feel this compulsion to help her, or whatever it is I’m doing?
A giant margarita with a bottle of Corona stuck into it, upside down, arrives at the table.
“Wow,” I say, taken aback by the monstrosity.
“Want some?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I actually bartend here one night a week, so I know all the good drinks.”
“I can see that.” I try not to sound condescending, but my mom voice is coming out a bit.
“Ronny Lee pissed on me, so I had to change, that’s why I’m late. Sorry.”
“Oh, is that your...son?”
“Yeah. He should be passed the pissing on me stage by now. I hope he don’t end up retarded,” she says, sighing, then taking a few gulps of her vat of green beer-rita. I try to make sure my face doesn’t show how offended I am by her choice of words.
“Kids always hit milestones in their own time. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“I guess.” There is an awkward silence. She probably wonders why I asked her here. A bus lumbers by on the street outside. The paper birch tree outside the front window bends as it surrenders dozens of dead leaves from a heavy gust of wind. I try think of what to say. I have no real plan.
“I thought it was cool of you to ask me to hang out.”
When she says this, I feel a rush of relief.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean it’s hard to be friends with chicks. Don’t you think? They’re usually nasty to each other. I don’t have very many girlfriends.”
I do know what she means. I think of Liz, Karen, Gillian, all the women who I see a few hours here and there at social events who I call my friends. They know that Monica Harkins will never lose that baby weight, and that Katherine what’s-her-face got fired and might lose her house, and that Tammy’s husband is probably gay, but they don’t know a damn thing about me. Not really.
I live on Willow Street, I take care of Ben and Claire, my daughter is in honors English classes, and my husband is a riot, well loved by all the other husbands. I sit quietly for most of the PTA meetings and barbecues, and I just sort of blend in. I
’m on the invite list—a half of a couple that my neighbors invite places, but I’ve never had a real conversation with any of them.
“Yeah. Me either,” I tell her. “It is hard.”
“I’m sorry ya had to see all that, few weeks ago. It’s embarrassing. I hope you didn’t feel like you had to be nice to me ’causa that.”
“No. I mean. I wanted to make sure you were really okay.”
“Why do you care?”
“I...” I’m surprised by this, and stutter over a response.
“I didn’t mean for that to come out shitty, but I seen online that you got a family, kids and all. You live in the fancy part of town. Just curious, like, why you’d be concerned. Is all.” She takes out a cigarette that she can’t smoke inside, and taps it on the table, absently.
“I think anyone would be concerned—wanna try to help,” I say, and she laughs, a short burst, then she’s serious again.
“Nobody I know gives two shits. Ya don’t bring it up, ya just deal.”
“I understand why you don’t feel like you can report it, but you have a witness now. He can’t get away with something like this.”
“It’s over. I’m not goin’ back to that bar, I’m not lettin’ him come over when he calls anymore. It’s done, as far as I’m concerned.”
She pulls the beer out of her drink and chugs down the remainder. If it were me I would make a sign that says Joe Brooks Is a Rapist and picket outside the police station if they wouldn’t listen. It’s not me though. And Lacy Dupre has no credibility. What if he’s doing this to other women? He has the gun and badge, and he can really get away with whatever he wants, as it appears.
“I would go with you, if you wanted. He can’t get away with—”
“Look. I’m happy right now. Joe’s leavin’ me alone and I’m not strippin’ anymore since my new job at the truck stop. I even met someone...someone I really like, and I can’t mess all that up, okay. It’s in the past.” She looks away, not wanting to deal with any pressure from me. This isn’t what she signed up for tonight. She just wanted a new girlfriend, so I let it go.
“You met someone, that’s great.”
“Yeah, he’s really hot. And smart. Like supersmart.”
“I’m happy for you. Smart is good.” I gesture to the waitress to bring me another rosé. Lacy beams as she talks about her new romance.
“I know it’s new, like only a week and all, but I’ve seen him almost every night, so in regular dating time where you only go out on a weekend, that’s like five weeks. That’s how I see it.”
“Sounds like you’re really into him.”
“My sister is knocked up, so she’s not goin’ out anymore, drinkin’, so she’s staying with Ronny Lee, so I can go see him. It’s like a storybook. So romantic. He writes books actually, can you even believe that?” When she says this, all the color drains from my face, I feel dizzy, my heart is in my throat.
“What?”
“Isn’t that crazy? I mean maybe it’s TMI, but this guy can fuck. God almighty. He makes ya feel like the most important person in the world. It’s like love at first sight. Did you feel that way when you met your husband? Is this the way it’s supposed to be, and I was just stuck with fuck-face Joe Brooks all this time?” She is genuinely looking to me for an answer, some hopeful words, and I can’t speak. I try to swallow down the tears climbing up my throat.
“Are you talking about Luke?”
“Oh yeah! The guy you were buying that book from. So much has happened since then, I forgot you know him too. Do you know him well?”
She’s eager for a yes so she can ask me all about him. I feel paralyzed in my chair. When my wine comes, I drink it in a few swallows.
“No, not at all. I just—just from the bookstore. In passing.”
“Are you okay?” she asks. I’m not hiding my horror well.
“Yes, I just, I don’t feel very well.” I know I’m sweating. I can feel it beading on my forehead.
“Ya don’t look so good.”
“I think it’s probably just...something I ate earlier.”
“Did you get sushi from the gas station? It’ll get you every time.” She gives a sympathetic shake of her head, and I stand, feeling my gut betray me, and run to the bathroom. After I throw up in the toilet, I stand in the stall and try to compose myself. I squirt hand sanitizer into my palm and rub it into my hands, then pour a couple of Tic Tacs into my mouth. The jolt of mint is curbing the nausea. I have no right to be this upset. He is not mine to lose.
I take a few deep breaths and return to the table. I don’t sit.
“I’m sorry, I need to go home.”
“You poor thing. Is there anything I can do?”
“Thanks, no. I just need to rest. Here.” I place some money on the table that will cover all our drinks and some change. She stands up as I gather my things, with the look people give when they are powerless to help. “Let’s do this again,” I add, already headed toward the door.
“Yeah, okay. Feel better!”
* * *
I have three hours until I’m expected home, and I know I shouldn’t, but I drive directly to Luke Ellison’s house.
I park a few blocks away and walk the stretch of land to his door, hugging the tree line so as not to be seen. Just the way he’d suggested I do anytime I felt like showing up. He said he’d be waiting. I’m seething with anger, thinking about what I would have found if I did stop by, unannounced. What an absolute fraud. He thinks he’s some ladies’ man–romance writer who can just come to town and seduce all the women, telling them grand stories, telling them he’s never felt this way about anyone before.
I should only be angry with myself for thinking that this was something rare and special, a once-in-a-lifetime bond that we shared. That even when it ended we would have experienced something that I could take away and carry with me—that was just mine—that had nothing to do with caretaking or stay-at-home motherhood or suburbia or anything. It would be this delicious secret that only I knew, and it would keep me going. Because I had proof, in this brief summer of knowing him, that if I said “Yes, I’ll come to Italy,” I could still take that path I didn’t take. This whole other life was still within reach. Even though I wouldn’t go, I was shown that I could. But now he’s ruined that. I’ve been had. None of it is special.
His truck is in the dirt drive and the kitchen light is on when I walk up. I knock on the side door and wait in the darkness. When he sees me, his face lights up, then drops after a moment when he can tell I’m upset. He tries to take my hand, but I pull it away and cross my arms. I stand just inside the door, so I don’t risk being seen, even though it’s too secluded for that to be a concern out here.
“Hi. I’m thrilled to see you, but you don’t look happy.”
“Is Lacy planning on coming over tonight?” I ask, sharply, and he looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Then he closes his eyes a moment, probably figuring out how to best lie and get out of this.
“No, not tonight,” he says, and I’m surprised he’s so forthcoming. “Will you come in, please.” He gestures to the kitchen. My eyes rest on the spot on the counter where we had sex last time I was here.
“I think that’s all I really needed to know, so I’ll just go.”
“Please, Mel. Please come in. Just for a minute at least. Don’t leave it like this.”
I follow him to the kitchen table, reluctantly, where his open laptop and a glass of wine sit. He offers me a glass, but I say no, then we sit at the table under the dim overhead light.
“What is there to say?” I ask.
“I’m leaving in ten days. I don’t want this to end with you angry.”
“Does she know you’re leaving?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t come up.”
“Really? ’Cause she thinks you’re in love—said
it was love at first sight.”
“What? We hung out a few times, that’s it.”
“Is that what you call it, hanging out?” I snap, embarrassed at how much I am now realizing I had invested in this.
“Wait. So, you’re angry. With me?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“You’re good. You acted like this meant the world to you. You invited me to Italy, for fuck’s sake. You—”
“And I meant all that. And then you disappeared. When you stop going to your own writing group to avoid me, shouldn’t I take a hint? I got the courage up to try a few times—see if you felt the same, but you never came by, never reciprocated my interest. What was I supposed to think?”
“I can’t just—So you fuck Lacy and who knows how many other people. I’m an idiot. That’s all there is to it.” I stand up, as if I’m going to leave, and he counters.
“I told you that after many years in a tough relationship, I was newly single, and I haven’t felt the way I did when I met you, never felt that rush—that need to just...be near someone the way I did with you. I meant that. I still mean that. But you’re married.” When he says the word married his voice breaks just a tiny bit.
“I know that.” I sit back down, pulling his glass of wine across the table and taking a sip, buying a few moments of time because this is the last thing I expected him to say and I’m not sure what to do.
“You’re the one with a family, and you’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know about us. I’d tell the whole world if I could, I’d cancel my trip, I’d be ecstatic.”
“Someone who feels that way doesn’t go sleeping around. I don’t get it. If I were so special, then...”
“I didn’t do anything wrong here. You made your position clear from the start.”
“I know. I didn’t say you did anything wrong. I—”
“Writing is a very solitary life, and I left my friends back in Boston. I met Lacy that night you walked away—walked out of my truck and into the bookstore instead of to my place.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, knowing there was no way I could have gracefully stayed with him, with her standing right there.
Such a Good Wife Page 9
