by T. L. Haddix
Only Dave’s hands on his chest, pushing him away from the door, kept him from going after her. “Son, calm down and tell me what’s going on here.”
“She hurt Zanny. She set it up so that Zanny would walk in while she kissed me. She’s been coming on to me for months now, and I’ve ignored her. And somehow, she knew Zanny was coming.”
The office manager had stepped close enough that she could hear, and she spoke up. “She was watching out the window. He’s right.”
John couldn’t worry about the fallout. His main concern was Zanny. Pulling his keys from his pants pocket, he moved toward his car. “I have to find her.”
Dave let him go. “You do that. We’ll discuss all this later.”
“One thing—and at this point, I don’t much give a damn how it happens—but you keep that pit viper as far away from me as you can. Because otherwise, I might just wring her scrawny neck for what she’s done.”
John’s mind raced frantically as he drove home. Given Zanny’s history with her father and the way she’d been raised, he knew that somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d been waiting for something like this to happen. He’d done his best to assuage her fears, but he didn’t know if he had the ability to convince her what she’d seen wasn’t his doing. He very much feared he didn’t.
Reaching home, John had never been so happy to see Zanny’s car parked in their driveway. “Thank you, God.”
He pulled in behind it and just sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out his best course of action. She would be angry, and she would be hurt. If his suspicions were right, she was also pregnant, so keeping things as calm as possible was vital. It didn’t help that during her first trimester, she was usually hyper-emotional, even on a good day.
His cheek still stung where she’d slapped him, and he used the rearview mirror to examine it. The bright-red smear of lipstick covering his mouth and chin caught his attention. No wonder she’d been upset. He used his tie to clean it off, then tossed it into the passenger seat when he was done. Praying he would find the right words, he went inside.
Chapter Seventeen
Zanny didn’t quite know what to do when she got home. She couldn’t think past the pain that was starting to build. Easing onto the couch, she waited. She figured John wouldn’t be far behind her.
All those years, she’d thought it would be a relief when it finally happened, when he finally got tired of her and decided to walk away. It wasn’t a relief. Nothing about what she felt was lightening or freeing. Until very recently, she’d started to believe things would be good forever. But then he’d become distant, and she’d known. That scared little girl inside her had whispered, “He isn’t happy with you anymore.” And all the old, long-buried fears had started leaking to the surface like the oil in an old rusted drum that had been lodged in a sandbar in the river.
She heard his car pull up in the drive, and the minutes crawled by as she waited. Part of her demanded that she fight and not just roll over and accept this end to the dream she’d held for so long, but she was so tired—just so tired. So she sat on the couch, and she waited for the axe to fall again.
He stopped short when he saw her sitting on the couch in the fading evening light.
“Zanny?”
She looked toward the fireplace when he turned on the lamp beside the couch. Blinking against the hard light that flooded the room, she thought it was so bright, brighter than usual, and she realized then that she was crying.
John came into the living room carefully and sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. He pulled a couple of tissues from the box next to the lamp, and gently wiped her face.
“Zanny, I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry. It wasn’t what you’re thinking. She kissed me. She knew you were coming in, and she kissed me.”
Zanny felt as though she were watching a TV show, only the scene was playing out in slow motion. She turned her head to look at him, and for an instant, she didn’t recognize him. John, her own husband, the man she’d known for most of her life, was a stranger. He was a handsome stranger, even with the red handprint on his cheek, but he was someone she didn’t know.
“Do you know, I think we get so used to the image of the people we live with, we don’t see them? We don’t really see the true person, but a sort of-of facade or something. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
The skin around his eyes tightened as though he’d been dealt an invisible blow, and he inhaled sharply. “Zanny, please—”
“You weren’t kissing her?”
“No. I would never kiss her. I would never cheat on you. I love you, Zanny. You know that.”
A tiny crack appeared in the shield that was insulating her. She didn’t trust the tiny sliver of hope and hated herself for feeling it. “You’ve not been happy lately.”
He jerked with surprise. When he hesitated with a slight shift in the way he held himself, she knew she was right about that. Her fears hadn’t been unfounded. There was a problem.
“You’re not happy. You won’t tell me why. You’ve been spending more and more time at work. And then I walk in on you tonight… I don’t think I believe you when you say you’re not involved with her. No, I don’t think I believe you.” Calm, too calm, she looked back at the fireplace.
John reached out, placing his hands over hers where they were clasped in her lap. “I swear to you—”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
That was all. Three simple words. Why was it always three words, she wondered. I love you was three words. I hate you. I’m leaving you. In any event, it hardly mattered. John heeded her warning and drew back.
“All right. I won’t touch you. But we need to talk this out. Zanny, you’re misreading things. I do love you. I am happy.”
But his voice was desperate. Having known John for so long, she had gotten very good at reading when he wasn’t quite telling the truth—like when he’d sworn he liked the burnt orange she had wanted to paint the dining room.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Because I’m not misreading things.” She was certain of that. “Something’s wrong. Has been for a while. You are not happy. Are you?”
John stood with a heavy sigh, his hands going to tug at his hair. He paced over to the wall that separated the living room from the dining room, and Zanny could tell he was trying to figure out what to say. He stopped at the foot of the steps and looked back at her.
“I don’t know. Yes? No? I don’t want a divorce, if that’s what you’re getting at. Maybe it’s just growing pains. Maybe all married couples go through this. I’d change a few things, but overall, we’re okay. Right?”
“Except for the fact that you were just kissing your coworker? Sure, we’re fine and dandy.”
For the first time, Zanny saw the anger flare in his eyes.
“Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you? She kissed me. For crying out loud, Zan, you’re the one who pointed her crush or whatever out to me!”
Zanny didn’t really have an answer. He was right; she had pointed that out. But he wasn’t exactly rushing to explain whether he was happy or not. She was so tired that she didn’t know if she would find the strength to move off the couch when the time came. She slumped against the pillows a little, ready to be done with the whole argument.
“I mean, yeah, it would be nice to not have to do so much work around the house. To have a weekend off or something. And I feel like everything has to be perfect, has to be in its place. Sometimes, it would be nice to come home with a pizza and put my feet up on the table, with my shoes on, and eat like a damned pig. Swill it down with a couple of beers, and who cares if I get some food on the carpet? It isn’t like you won’t clean it up behind me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I guess I just…You set awfully high standards, that’s all. And
sometimes, it would be nice to just be John. Not the father who has to get rid of monsters or the husband who has to fix the damned garbage disposal. It’s a heavy load sometimes.”
Well and truly incensed, Zanny slowly got to her feet. “And that ‘heavy load’ gives you the right to have an affair with some office slut?” Her voice rose with every word until she was shouting. “Then I should be screwing the whole damned neighborhood!” She was shaking, she was so furious.
“That’s not what I said. And I know what you do is important, but it isn’t like it’s work. And I’m getting a little tired of you accusing me of doing something that I’ve told you over and over I did not do. It’s insulting.”
Zanny was incredulous. “You cannot be serious. You can’t. You self-righteous prig. Emma had it wrong all those years ago. You’re not boring. You’re just a fucking prig. I feel so damned sorry for you, John David, having to bear all this responsibility. Having a wife who won’t work, who doesn’t have past a high school education. Two little children who expect you to slay dragons for them because you’re their father! What a burden it all must be.”
She could see the anger warring with regret on his face, and he held his hands out in a conciliatory manner, but she was on a roll, and she wasn’t going to stop.
“Well, today is your lucky day, mister. Because I hereby absolve you of any and all responsibility for me and the boys. I’ll be damned if I’ll beg for your affection or let them beg for it, either. Now that I know just how great a burden we are, how can I live with myself if I don’t set you free?” By the time she finished, her voice was a whisper.
“Zanny, you’re upset.”
“You think so?” She laughed hoarsely. “You think I’m upset? Really? What cued you in there, Mr. Smart Ass?”
The way his jaw clenched and his eyes glittered with anger told her he didn’t like that, but she didn’t care. Wiping her hand across her face, she finished it. “I think you’d better leave.”
Dead silence followed. John gave one brief shake of his head, as though he didn’t understand what she’d said. So she repeated it.
“Leave. Get out. I don’t want you here.”
“You don’t mean that. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re overwrought.”
Zanny didn’t think so. She felt cold inside, as if there was a solid block of ice inside her body that was growing, destroying everything as it expanded. “I don’t care where you go. Go to her. Go…wherever. But I want you out of this house. Do you understand me? I can’t stomach looking at you any longer.”
John’s face blanched, and he blinked rapidly, his hands slowly falling to his sides. “This isn’t over. When you calm down, we’re going to talk about this.” Despite the words, he headed for the door. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”
Zanny didn’t try to stop him and didn’t watch him leave. She waited until she heard his car fire up and pull away, and then she reached out and turned off the lamp. She didn’t want the light. Feeling old and worn out, she started toward the kitchen and the bedroom beyond, but she collapsed at the door to the dining room. The mental anguish was just too heavy to bear any longer. Curling into a ball, she nearly screamed with the pain, and finally, she let the tears come.
Chapter Eighteen
After consuming three shots of tequila, John finished off the last of his second beer. His brother Ben joined him at the quiet table in the darkest corner of the Bent Wheel Bar. John raised his bottle in greeting and tipped it up until it was empty. He signaled the waitress. “Another one, please.”
“Sure thing, honey. Ben, you want anything?”
“No. Thanks, Mary.”
The bar was fairly quiet for a Friday night because most of the partiers were at the more lively clubs up on the hill in the newly developed areas of town. Main Street and its businesses were practically deserted, and that was why John had chosen the Bent Wheel.
“Rusty called me, told me you were over here getting drunk off your ass,” Ben teased lightly, speaking of the bartender and owner. “I told him he was nuts. Not my brother. He doesn’t get drunk off his ass. Guess I was wrong. You okay?”
John just moved his head from side to side slowly as he peeled the label from one of the empty beer bottles. He nodded at Mary when she sat the full bottle down in front of him. After a second, he picked it up.
Ben’s voice was quiet when he tried again. “Problems at home?”
Narrowing his eyes to slits, John gritted, “I didn’t come here to talk.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Mind if I stick around?”
“Only if you shut the fuck up.”
Ben raised his hands. “Okay.” He was as good as his word, not saying anything else until after John had drained the third beer.
“Mind if I borrow your couch tonight?” John asked.
“Not at all. You planning to drink more, or are you done?”
John evaluated how he felt. “I’m done.”
Not used to consuming so much alcohol, he was unsteady on his feet when he stood. Tonight was only the third time in his life he’d been drunk and the first since he was a freshman in college. He remembered how miserable he’d been the day after, which was primarily why he’d stopped drinking. He knew he was in for it in the morning. He didn’t care.
Ben held his hand out as they stopped at the bar to settle up. “Let me have your keys. I saw the car out front. We’ll move it back next to my truck at the apartment so you don’t get towed.”
Only fumbling a little, John managed to get the keys from his pocket. “I need to pay.”
“I have it.”
Within a few minutes, they’d driven around the block to Ben’s apartment building, a converted hotel on Main Street a few doors down from the bar, and Ben was helping him up the stairs.
“Don’t remember these being so steep.”
“Well, they’re a little steeper tonight than usual.”
Ben got him inside the small apartment, guided him toward the bathroom, and waited for him to come back out.
“Let’s get you on the couch.”
John was vaguely aware of his brother taking his shoes off for him and settling a blanket around his shoulders. “Thanks, Benny. You’re my favorite brother. You know that?”
“I’m your only brother.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my favorite.”
“Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
After that, John was out.
A demented bird was perched on his head, pecking on his skull in rhythm with his heartbeat. The damned thing was chirping so loudly that John thought it couldn’t possibly be of this planet. “Shut up, you infernal creature,” he growled, swatting at his head. Instead of feathers, he encountered a warm male hand.
“Good morning, sunshine. Time to rise and shine.” Ben’s voice was way too cheerful given that John thought himself to be dying. “Dad’s on his way over. You’d better get a move on.”
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” John still hadn’t opened his eyes, and he thought the bed felt funny. “Where’s Zanny?”
He reached out for his wife, but instead of her warm body, he felt only air. He rolled closer to her side of the bed, but before he could stop himself, he tumbled over the edge.
“What the—” his words were cut off with a grunt as he hit the floor hard, on his hands and knees. He managed to pry his eyes open against the light that was blindingly bright, and as he blinked, he realized he hadn’t been in his own bed. He was at Ben’s apartment. The bird was outside the window, chirping incessantly. As he sat back, a blanket tangled around his legs and memories of the previous night rushed in.
“Come on. I’ve got some clean clothes laid out in my bedroom. You need a shower before Dad gets here.” Ben shoved a mug under his no
se that was filled with a vile, steaming concoction. The scent of it turned John’s stomach.
“What is that?”
“Gilly’s hangover cure. Bottoms up.”
Figuring his aunt probably knew what she was about since she’d grown up in and still owned a pharmacy, John forced himself to drink it straight. He handed the mug back to Ben without a word and sat very still while his stomach tried to figure out whether or not to reject the concoction at the speed of light.
When it stayed down, he scrambled to his feet and pushed past Ben, heading for the bathroom.
The shower helped, and by the time John made his way to the kitchen, he felt almost human again. His relief didn’t last long, however, because sitting at the table with Ben was a very angry Owen Campbell.
Chapter Ninteen
When Owen answered the phone at nearly eleven o’clock at night to hear his youngest son’s voice, his heart sank.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um, have you or Mom talked to Zanny today?”
“Your mother saw her, picked the boys up. They’re spending the night here. Why?”
“John’s here on my couch, passed out. I think they had a fight or something.” Ben’s voice was full of worry. Owen understood that concern, but something inside him wasn’t as surprised at is should have been. He hadn’t been able to shake the bad feeling he’d had all day. He met Sarah’s concerned gaze and held out his hand. She clasped it and slid under his arm, watching him closely as he talked.
“Did he say what happened?”
“No. He won’t talk. And I thought about calling Zanny, but if they did have a fight, that’s probably not the best thing to do right now. Should I drive over and check on her?”
