“You son of a bitch,” she said with icy calm.
“Might as well have something to do,” he said, and stormed out.
Mickey knew that it was the same old shit. She was going to have her way, and he could just take a flying fuck at the proverbial rolling donut, as far as she was concerned. Sandy could be a subtly controlling woman, but this wasn’t one of those times. Usually, she was one of those prideful givers, the kind of person who was always helping, always shoving things along under the guise of giving herself to others. It was a form of masochism that Mickey had not understood for a long time. But he was beginning to get it, slow but sure.
He sat in the truck for a minute, engine running, thinking about it, and then he turned the ignition off and went back into the house. Sandy was sitting on the couch crying with her elbows on her knees and her face buried in her hands. Mickey picked up the mop and cleaned the floor. She didn’t move. When he was done, he poured the dirty water out and rinsed everything clean. Sandy still hadn’t moved. He sighed and went to take her hand. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t help, either.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re going to the beach.”
She squinted at him like he was some shadowy figure in heavy fog. “All right,” she said in a dead voice.
They locked up and got in the truck. Sandy stayed outside while Mickey took the scuba bottle in at the dive shop and waited for a fill. He paid his six bucks and carried the tank back outside. Sandy had opened the door and was sitting with her legs extended into the sun. She had on her tackiest cut-off jeans, the ones Mickey had trimmed too short and she wouldn’t wear out of the house because it made her thighs bulge right at the hip.
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” she said.
“We’ll go up on the north end of Juno,” he said, stowing the tank. “You can swim in your underwear.”
“I’m not wearing any.” She looked out the window, not at him, and said, “You going to parade me around naked again, Mickey?”
“I might,” he said shortly.
“Figures,” she said.
In the old days, Juno Beach had been neatly divided into three segments. Condos on the south end, public beach access north of that, and then further north, just scrub and wilderness and skinny dipping. Sandy had been there, but had always refused steadfastly to take off whatever bikini she happened to have on at the time. The most conservative of her bathing suits wouldn’t have made a handkerchief on its best day, and Mickey always thought she looked more naked wearing one than she did when she wasn’t wearing anything at all. It didn’t seem reasonable to him, although he loved the mix of brazen and shy that was Sandy in a nutshell.
He stopped at the swift mart for a six-pack, and loaded the small cooler that lived behind the seat in his truck. Sandy made no comment about the expenditure, but asked for cigarettes. Saturday traffic was unreasonable. They found a parking spot on the north end and scrambled down the sharp bank and across the scruffy dune line. They hadn’t brought a towel or a blanket, and sat on the sand side by side, not quite touching each other. Mickey opened two beers and passed Sandy one.
“I’m scared,” she said after a long silence.
“You’re the toughest, sweetest cunt I know.”
“Whatever that means,” she said with a sour look, and lapsed into silence again. She tried to light a cigarette but the wind kept blowing the cheap lighter out. She threw it down with sudden fury and said, “God damn!”
Mickey retrieved the lighter and lit the cigarette for her. She wouldn’t look at him, but took it, and smoked without speaking again for a long time. They opened two more beers and drank them.
“It’s hot,” Mickey said. “I’m going for a dip.”
Sandy didn’t reply. He kicked his shoes off and peeled off his shirt.
“Don’t forget your wallet,” she said then.
“It’s locked up in the truck.”
The water was summertime calm and warm but cool at the same time. Mickey made a flat sort of dive and swam out a good way, relishing the caress of the sea and not quite sure what to do. Maybe he’d gone too far with Sandy this time. He lay on his back for awhile, being pushed back toward the beach without any real urgency by the small waves, and when he stood up in the shallows, it was to see Sandy standing by the cooler, taking off her shirt.
Mickey looked up and down the beach. No one was particularly close or even paying attention. Sandy dropped her blouse onto the cooler and walked straight toward him in her narrow black bra and the cut offs.
“Hi, sailor,” she said brightly.
“Still scared?” he asked.
“Got you to protect me, don’t I?”
She dove sideways and swam out toward where Mickey had been. With no idea what she was up to, he followed those long, scissoring legs. They swam until the bottom fell away and then he caught up with her and they half floated out there with the cool water underneath them and the sun burning into them on top.
“I love the beach,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
Sandy grinned, the sudden gamine smile of old. “I didn’t cum,” she said. “Not yet, anyway.”
Mickey didn’t quite know what to say to that, either. The sudden shift in her attitude puzzled him, but he was pleased that she had come into the water. He let it ride, hoping to see how things played out. She kissed him again, and her hands moved over him under the water. She was slick and warm in his arms.
“You want to fuck me?” she asked, giving him the eye. “Right here in front of all these strangers?”
Mickey looked around. The closest person to them was an easy two to three hundred yards distant and looking the other way.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Sandy asked, insistently.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, kicking his legs slowly to stay next to her.
And then, incredibly, she was crying again. He hugged her and she wrapped her arms around his neck with a desperate strength.
“I don’t know what you want,” she sobbed. “I thought I did, but now...”
Mickey held her, paddling them back to water shallow enough to get his feet down. When he did, Sandy held on anyway, sobbing.
“I just want us to be good together,” Mickey said softly. “I want us to want each other like we used to. And to love each other like...”
“I do love you,” Sandy said, almost wailing. “I couldn’t live without you, Mick. Sometimes I can’t even breathe, it scares me so much...the idea you’d be gone.”
Mickey wondered how the wiring in her head worked. She’d fucked Linus Davidson on Tuesday and here she was only a few days later swearing undying love for the man she’d cuckolded. Where was the logic in that? He kissed the wet side of her head and hugged her.
“I’m not going to be gone,” he said. “I’m not, Sandy. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. We always have.”
“I don’t deserve you,” she said timidly.
Mickey laughed.
“You’re giving me a woody.”
Sandy reached down to see and giggled through the tears. “This thing must have a remote control somewhere,” she said breathlessly. “God, how could you get a hard on after the way I’ve...”
“Shush,” he said, and kissed her.
Sandy unzipped his pants and reached in for his cock. He’d had that achy sort of semi-erection thing going with her naked in his arms in broad daylight, but her nimble fingers brought the blood, and in seconds he was erect and filled her hand. He helped her off with the wet cut offs and she did a little hop in the water, wrapping her legs around his hips again. She had a good grip on him, and made that little yipping sound of pleasure and welcome as he flexed his hips and slid all the way up inside her.
“Oh, yessss....!” she said with a wide, untroubled smile.
There was no rush. The ocean was warm and the sun burned them. Sandy lay back to float in the water with just her face sho
wing and Mickey held her high enough so the little waves wouldn’t wash over her face. He pulled her bra straps off her shoulders and got the bra down around her waist to stroke her nipples. They were salty when he kissed them. She held his head against her chest and he fucked her slowly and with great deliberation and pleasure.
At the end, she got her arms around his neck again so he could hold her hips and move her up and down, he came deeply and happily and kissed her like she was brand new.
Chapter Ten
The policeman on the beach was not quite as amused. “Made quite a spectacle out of yourself out there,” he said with a knowing look when Mickey came out of the water. “Folks down the way called us. Said you were exhibiting lewd and lascivious behavior in a public place.”
“Mostly underwater,” Mickey said with a grin.
Sandy had her bra pulled up again and was wriggling around in the surf, getting her pants back on. She had to raise her hips to do it, giving Mickey and the cop a nice look at her bush, glinting with beads of water, something she had almost certainly not meant to do. She finally came up the beach, and her wet bra showed her nipples clearly. The policeman looked elsewhere while she pulled her shirt on.
“Nothing lewd or lascivious around here I can see,” he said blandly. “You folks see anything offensive?”
“Well, we’re nearly out of beer. That’s pretty offensive.” Sandy was squatting by the cooler. “You want one, officer?”
“God, how I would love that,” he said sadly. “But no, ma’am, thank you very much. I have to go look out for criminals and bad behavior. Ya’ll have a nice day, hear?”
“Been pretty good so far,” Mickey said, grinning a little. “Might have embarrassed the fish, though.”
“I’ll ask them if I see them,” the cop said, and turned to walk back up into the dunes without looking back.
Sandy burst out laughing, passing Mickey the beers to open because the twist off caps always hurt her hands. “Do you believe I just did that?” she asked, delighted.
“A goddess out of the sea,” he said. “Damned lucky I was here to see it. Especially that little show you put on getting your pants on.”
Her eyes widened and she giggled again, blushing deeply. They sat together again, shoulders touching this time, and drank their beer, looking at the sea through their sunglasses, and enjoying each other’s company. Mickey lit another cigarette and passed it to Sandy, and then lit a cigar.
“I’m trying my best, Sandy,” he said.
“I know,” she said softly.
“It’s not fun, you being mad at me.”
“Not either way, Mick, but it happens.” She shrugged and tipped her beer up, the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed.
“I love you,” he said.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, sometimes.”
“I know.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in a little smile. “Didn’t say I don’t like it,” she said. “A girl can’t complain too much, her husband banging her every time she turns around, even when she’s being a bitch.”
“Can’t keep my hands off a lovely cunt like you,” he said, grinning a little.
“That’s nasty,” she said. “I kind of like it, though.”
“The hands part, or calling you...?”
“Both,” she said. “I’ll be your cunt, Mick. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Told you I liked it,” she said.
They finished their beers. Mickey dumped the ice and stowed the empties and the cigarette butts in the cooler. Sandy got up and dusted her butt, but she’d been wet when she sat down and was covered in sand.
“You’re all sandy, Sandy,” Mickey said, which was what their daughter always said when it happened.
She patted the front of her shorts and said, “Not where it counts, hot shot.”
They laughed together and held hands, walking back to the truck. Mickey remembered the towel he’d brought for lunch the day before and found it behind the seat. Sandy’s bathing suit was rolled up in it. She gave him a look.
“I forgot,” he said, and it sounded weak.
“Sure you did.” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t strip me down again.”
“The nice policeman might have enjoyed it,” he said.
“Or busted me for indecent exposure.” She ran the towel over her arms and legs and scrubbed her hair with it.
“The bikini is dry,” Mickey said, getting into the truck. “You could change.”
“This is my back yard suit,” Sandy said. “It’s too small to wear in public.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I kind of like seeing most of you.”
It was fun to watch her trying to hide over in the dunes, peeking out when cars came by, scrambling to get her pants off when they went on. The bottoms to her suit weren’t the usual string tie. They had thin metal hoops so her hips were bare on either side. The top was just two small triangles with a dart, and strings.
“Happy now?” she asked, tossing her clothes onto the floorboards and climbing into the car. “This thing doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
“I’d be happier if you were naked,” he said, pulling out into traffic.
“I nearly am.”
“You got curves like a country road.”
“I’m not eighteen years old anymore, Mick.”
“You’re only twenty-four,” he said. “And trust me; I’ve been all over that body with a fine toothed comb. Damned thing is perfect, near as I can tell.”
“I wish that was true.”
Her eyes shone again with those sudden, unshed tears. He reached out for her hand. She dodged him, but he got it anyway.
“Slide over here and sit by me,” he said.
“I don’t want to.”
“Now would be a good time.”
Sandy gave him a dose of the big sigh but unbuckled her seat belt and slid over on the seat. The middle belt put her firmly against him, so she couldn’t keep herself from touching him. He put his hand on her left thigh when she was settled and they didn’t say anything to each other all the way home.
They had a quiet night. The little one was wound up tight when she came home, but frazzled from a hard day at the playground. She settled down with cartoons on the television and an armful of dolls. Mickey got the bills out again, and Sandy went over them while he took notes, and thought about things. She’d fretted and wept over the damned bills for so long that she knew them by heart. Talking about money had always been stressful, but this time was cathartic.
“All right,” he said at last. “We just need to figure how to do this.”
“Some of us already know how,” she said in a sad tone. “It’s the when part that’s killing us, Mickey.”
“I mean how we actually pay,” he said, and pointed with his pencil. “You make this much. I make...well, not so much, but maybe that’s changing. We have one problem and one question.”
“Is that all?”
“The problem is my income not being steady so we can depend on it. We had zip except your paycheck and the tips from the restaurant, and now I’ve got money coming in again. I think that may continue, so let’s figure it will. That leaves us with the distribution question, Sandy, and right now that’s up to you.”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean, distribution?”
“We can split the bills, or I’ll pay them. Whichever you like.”
“But I do that,” she said, surprised. “I mean, I do when I can.”
“And you worry yourself sick.” He sipped coffee and looked at her. “Here’s the way I see it. Either we divide the bills so that you pay what you can and I pay the rest, or you put your money in the pot and I pay the bills. Simple.”
“You’d...” She made herself stop, trying to hide the skepticism on her face. “You’ve never paid any attention to the money,” she said finally. “I took the responsibility a long time ago, Mickey.”
> “Because I wouldn’t,” he said, understanding her point. He put the coffee down carefully on the table. “You don’t trust me with the money, babe. I know that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She was lying. Mickey knew she was. She didn’t trust him, and he wasn’t surprised in the least. Money had always slipped through his fingers like water. He tapped the pencil on the table, suddenly aware of how that mistrust had permeated their marriage and their...well, their friendship.
“Tell you what,” he said. “If you like, we can do a trial. I can do this, Sandy. I will do it. But it’s like anything else. You have to trust the person with the ball point. We’ll pay bills together, and we’ll figure the budget every month sitting right here at this table. Then one day, maybe soon, you’ll be able to relax and I’ll take care of it on my own, and you can just forget about it.”
He felt like an idiot, having to concede all that, but even irresponsible idiots could learn new tricks. And he found that he really did want to take responsibility for their finances, and for other things, too. It was his job. Had been all along, and he hadn’t been very good at it.
“Why are you doing this?” Sandy asked, watching him.
“I want to be better,” he said. “You know, like Jack Nicholson said to Helen Hunt in that movie. You make me want to be a better man.”
“You are a good man,” she said, bending forward to grip his hand in hers. “Honey, I’ve never thought otherwise.”
Oh, yeah, Mickey thought, flashing on Linus Davidson and who the hell knew how many men before him? He wanted to ask her. Make her tell him how many times she’d slipped off with someone else during their life together. He had his suspicions. Looking back, he thought it might be three, with two more possibilities. Five guys including their high school days and the six years of their marriage. And here Mickey was making excuses, when he ought to be kicking her ass, or walking out the damned door. He looked over at Cindy on the couch, the three year old light of his life, and then he looked back at Sandy.
Redemption For Two Page 6
