by Karen Cimms
She snatched up her purse and left.
Voices filled the crowded restaurant, flatware tinkled against the plates, waiters moved between the tables, but all he heard was the click of Christa’s heels on the hardwood floor. He rubbed his hand over his face, then lifted his glass and drained it, relishing the burn. He signaled for a refill.
His life was turning into a fucking nightmare.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Billy stood in the lobby of a building in lower Manhattan. He’d been loitering so long, he was surprised none of the residents had called the cops. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. He’d been at it for hours. Pulled up every scenario. Turned every possibility over in his head. There was only one answer, and no matter how much it was going to suck, he couldn’t think of any other way out.
Steeling himself, he rang the bell. The door buzzed, allowing him to enter without having to announce who he was. Skipping the elevator to give him more time to change his mind, he took the stairs to the fifth floor. When he reached the apartment, he convinced himself to stop thinking and just knock.
Turned out he didn’t have to.
“What are you doing here?” Joey leaned into the hall, probably looking for Kate. He looked at Billy suspiciously. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah.” His voice quavered.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He shook his head. “Can I come in?”
“Where’s Kate?”
“Home. Can I just come in?” He was already losing his temper. Bad idea. “May I please come in?”
Joey’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.
“‘Please,’ huh? Learn a new word?”
“Something like that.”
Stepping back, Joey waved him in with a dramatic sweep of his arm.
Although not as big as their apartment in New Jersey, Joey’s new place was much bigger than the one he’d had in the Bronx.
“Have a seat,” Joey said, already bustling away. “Do you want something to drink? I have a bottle of Malbec open, and some chardonnay in the fridge. I might even have some beer.”
“Water will be fine.”
Joey’s head popped around the corner. “Water? Seriously?”
This was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Even an everyday encounter with Joey usually left Billy wanting to choke him.
“Yeah. Water.”
“Perrier or tap?” Joey called from the kitchen.
“Just water, for fuck’s sake.” He wiped his palms on his thighs. “Tap.”
Joey returned a minute later with a glass filled with ice and tap water and set a coaster down on the glass-topped coffee table. He sat across from Billy, crossed his legs, and rested his hands in his lap. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Billy took a sip of the water, hopefully enough to clear the dust from his throat, then set the glass onto the coaster. He looked around the room. A large black and white picture of Kate—naked, it seemed—holding Rhiannon as a baby was propped on a bookshelf on the opposite wall. Tears burned the backs of his eyes and he had to look away, but not before Joey saw what he was looking at.
“What makes her even more beautiful is that she doesn’t have a clue how beautiful she really is,” Joey said, angling his head toward the photograph.
Billy nodded. This was going to be even more difficult with Kate looking down at him from that shelf.
“You know, most men would have a problem with their wives or girlfriends posing au naturel.”
Billy studied the calluses on his fingertips. “Well, I’m not most men.”
Joey burst out laughing. “You and I both know you’d lose your shit all over the place if it had been anyone but me who had taken that picture.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He hesitated. He raised his eyes to meet Joey’s. “But I know I can trust you. I know you’d never do anything to hurt her. Ever. Right?”
Tilting his head, Joey remained silent.
“Right?” he repeated.
“Of course I’d never hurt her.”
Billy nodded. His throat was closing up again. He reached for the water. When he set the glass down, he stared at it as if the next move would come from the glass and not from him.
After a while, Joey cleared his throat. “Is there any specific reason you came to see me?”
Just as Billy opened his mouth to speak, the front door buzzer went off.
Joey stood.
“That’s probably Shanghai Dumpling, but the way my luck’s going, it might be my father.”
Billy frowned at the implied insult.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” he said as he buzzed in the delivery man. “But if you’re hungry, there’s usually enough for two.”
“No, thanks. Not hungry.”
While Joey dealt with his dinner, Billy checked out the rest of the room. He assumed most of the pictures on the walls had been taken by Joey. Some were iconic New York architecture: the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center. But most were people—his people, Kate and his children. A composition of details from photos he’d taken of Kate filled one wall: the slope of her neck, the swell of her breast, the sharp angle of her hip bone. He was intimately familiar with every part of her, and he could lose it all now so quickly.
A sob escaped before he could stop himself. He turned it into a cough, but it was too late.
“Billy?” Joey stuck his chopsticks into his container of beef chow fun. He dropped onto the sofa. “What’s wrong? Is it Kate?”
Billy looked up though a veil of tears. The look on Joey’s face was heartrending. This man loved his wife as much as he did. Maybe even more, since unlike him, Joey would never do anything to hurt her.
He shook his head. “Kate’s fine. The kids are fine. They’re all fine.” He dragged his hand through his hair, then ran it over his face.
“Then what the hell is going on? Something’s wrong. I’ve lived here for over a year, and no matter how many times you’ve been in the city, you’ve been here once, and I’m pretty sure you were kicking and screaming all the way. Start talking.”
Billy nodded. “Yeah.” Here goes everything. He looked up to meet Joey’s gaze. “I love Katie more than anything. Since the day we met. She means more to me than anything.”
Joey’s features softened. “I know. I give you a hard time about all this, but I know. And I know she loves you, so if for some reason you think you needed to come here to convince me, you didn’t have to. I know, okay?” He gave Billy a wicked smile. “It’s just that it’s so much fun watching you turn red when I get you going.”
When Billy didn’t respond, the smile slipped from Joey’s face.
Billy’s eyes swept the photos of Kate again. “I know, and I’m sorry about any misunderstandings in the past. I need your help.”
Joey nodded. “Okay.”
“This is hard. Really hard. And please believe me it was just once, and it won’t ever happen again. I was drunk and I’d been doing coke and there was a lot of champagne, you know?”
Joey’s eyes hardened. “What did you do?”
Billy stared at his hands, twisted together in his lap.
“The night of the Grammys . . .” The words were so painful, he struggled to swallow. When he looked up, the expression on Joey’s face told him he’d already figured it out.
“It was Christa. It just happened. Before I knew it, we were in the back somewhere. I don’t even remember it all. She was kind of all over me. I didn’t even kiss her, honestly.”
Neither of them seemed to be breathing. All he could hear was the sound of a clock ticking from somewhere deeper within the apartment.
“So that was it? She came on to you. You didn’t touch her, and then you went home. Six fucking hours later, but you went home, right?” Joey’s eyes were locked on Billy.
Billy shook his head so slightly that it would have been hard to see if Joey hadn’t been staring at him.
“Oh my God.”
“I didn’t touch her. It was all her.”
Joey’s hands were flying about his head in a frenzy. “Do you really think that excuses anything? That if you just lie back and close your eyes, you’re not accountable? What are you, some fucking stereotype?”
Billy buried his head in his hands. “I love my wife.”
“Oh, well then. I guess whatever happened with Christa doesn’t matter, right? You love Kate. What’s the problem?”
Joey’s hatred for him was palpable.
“The problem,” he said, trying to remain calm, “is that Christa is threatening to go to Kate if I don’t give her what she wants.”
Joey snorted. “So you’re some amazing stud and now no one else can satisfy her?”
“I don’t know what her deal is, although I know I didn’t satisfy her. I didn’t fuck her. I wouldn’t, and I won’t. It was just a blow job.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
“Why didn’t you say so? Just a blow job. Well, damn, even Kate can’t get upset about that. I mean, that doesn’t even count, right?”
“Can we cut the sarcasm?”
“I don’t think so.”
This wasn’t coming out right. “Listen to me. I need you to keep Christa from going to Kate. That’s all. Beg her. Plead with her. Whatever you have to do.”
“Why would I want to help you?”
It was what he’d been wondering all afternoon. Why? Why would Joey want to help him? There was only one reason, and he hoped he would see it his way.
“Because you don’t want Kate to be hurt any more than I do. I love her, and I know I don’t deserve her. But she loves me, too. We have a family. We have two kids, and you and I both know if she finds out, she’ll leave me and she’ll take my kids away.” His voice broke. “And then everybody is hurt, and for what? One stupid, drunken moment? Don’t you think she’s been hurt enough in her life? Please don’t let this happen. I don’t care what Christa does to me. I don’t care if she destroys my career. I don’t care. I’ll do anything to keep Katie from being hurt.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Billy stared at his feet. If Joey refused to help, chances were he’d go directly to Kate and tell her himself. It could all be over tonight.
“What if she won’t listen to me?” Joey asked, his voice low.
Billy looked up, hopeful. “Make her listen.”
They sat in silence. The clock ticking. Finally, Joey rose from the sofa.
“I think you should go.”
Billy stood slowly. “Can I count on you?”
Joey looked away, and his eyes hung at the photograph of Kate with Rhiannon. He turned back to Billy, his expression flat and cold. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re the only hope I have.” He took a few steps toward the door, then turned and held out his hand.
Joey stared at it, then shook his head. “No. We don’t get to shake on this. We’re not friends. You fucked up. What you’ve done could destroy the best person we both know. I won’t shake your hand over that.”
“Understood.” Billy nodded.
As he turned to leave, Joey spoke.
“You know I hate you, don’t you? I really hate you.”
The words stung, but it was easier hearing them from Joey than from Kate. He nodded as he reached for the doorknob.
“If it’s any consolation, you can’t possibly hate me as much as I hate myself.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“It’s today!” Kate cried, popping up like an overexcited jack-in-the-box.
“Every day is today,” Billy grumbled into his pillow. His head ached. A dense fog filtered through his brain.
“Today’s the day. C’mon, grumpy. Get up.” She traced her nails over his bare back. “I need to strip the sheets off the bed.”
One bloodshot eye cracked open. “How ’bout I just strip you and we stay in bed all day?”
“Yeah,” she snickered, “because people with two kids under the age of two get to do that all the time. Not to mention, we have to be out of here by five.” She brushed her lips across his temple, then climbed out of bed. “We’re buying a house today, remember?”
In his head, he was groaning. How could he forget? He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to move closer to Kate’s parents. Didn’t want to move to some lame-ass little Jersey town so far from New York City it was almost in fucking Pennsylvania. He groaned again, this time not just in his head.
“You OK?”
“Yeah.” He opened both eyes and rolled onto his back. Kate stood at the foot of the bed, wearing a lacy little bra. The angry red scar starting just below her naval and disappearing into the matching panties was a sharp reminder of what today was about. She stepped into her jeans, zipped them up, then climbed onto the bed and crawled up between his legs, planting kisses on his belly and chest along the way.
“We’re buying a house today,” she sang, a wide grin splitting her face.
He forced a smile. “Yep.”
With one last kiss, she snatched the pillow out from under his head.
“Hey!”
“C’mon,” she said. “Up! Besides, you’re the one who never likes to be late for anything.” She pulled a too-large Viper T-shirt over her head. “I’ll nurse Devin, you can give Rhiannon breakfast. There are Cheerios and a plastic bowl and spoon on the kitchen table, and just enough milk in the fridge.”
“What about coffee?”
“No coffee. I packed the coffeemaker. We can get coffee on the way. Think of it as incentive to get out of bed.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t get motivated to do all this shit without coffee. Besides, I have a headache.”
Her smile faded, but she said nothing about the hangover they both knew was causing his headache.
“There’s a full bottle of aspirin in my purse. We’ll get coffee at the deli on the corner.” With that, she yanked the sheet off him with a flourish. “I’ll make it up to you. Soon. I promise.” She batted her eyes before sailing out of the bedroom, calling to Devin that she was on her way.
Billy sat up and ran his hand over the scruff on his face, trying to remember the last time he’d shaved. Not that it made any difference. He’d be signing his life away today no matter what he looked like.
He pulled on the worn, ripped jeans he’d worn yesterday, then turned on the TV for Rhiannon and shuffled into the kitchen to get her breakfast. Kate’s purse sat on the counter, a bottle of Excedrin peeking out of the top. He tapped three into his palm.
After rinsing the dregs from a plastic sippy cup sitting on the counter, he filled it halfway with orange juice and the rest of the way with vodka he’d lifted from a box near the door. When he raised the cup to wash down the aspirin, his eyes settled on the new tattoo inked across the outside of his thumb and down his wrist:
When love is not madness, it is not love.—May 20, 1989
He had recited the quote from Pedro Calderón de la Barca as part of his wedding vows. After what happened the night Devin was born, he’d had it tattooed on his hand. He would never unzip his pants again without remembering all that he stood to lose.
He closed his eyes and prayed that the vodka and aspirin would kick in soon.
Kate’s exuberance was deflating like a day-old birthday balloon. Billy had barely said two words since they’d left Bayonne, even after finishing his extra-large coffee. She studied his profile as he drove: hair pulled back, shades on, eyes focused straight ahead, jaw tight. Her anxiety grew with each passing mile.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” she said as they pulled up in front of her parents’ house to drop off Rhiannon and Devin.
He gave her a thin smile. “Yes, it is. Like you reminded me earlier, we have to be out of the apartment today. I don’t wanna live in the van—or worse, with your parents.” He ruffled the top of her head like she was one of the kids.
“I mean it. If you don’t want to do this—”
It’s fine? He was acting as if she’d just told him they were having leftovers for the third night in a row. She’d gotten carried away in the excitement of buying a house, while it was all too clear, if she’d bothered to pay closer attention, he was miserable.
Later at the lawyer’s office, Billy stopped several times as he worked through the mountain of papers to drag his hand through his hair, a sure sign he was tense. By the time Mr. Reilly congratulated them and handed Billy the keys, he stared at them as if he wasn’t sure what they were for. This was wrong—very, very wrong. Her stomach churned. How could she have woken up so excited and just a few hours later be filled with such doubt?
It took less than four minutes to drive from the attorney’s office to their new home, but the uncomfortable silence made it seem much longer.
“I love you,” she said after Billy pulled up in front of the two-car garage. Her voice lifted at the end, making it sound more like a question than a declaration.
He gave her hand a quick squeeze before climbing out of the van. “I know.”
I know? This was some deep shit. She scanned the back yard where she had pictured her kids playing. Where she’d imagined barbecues and picnics on the patio, maybe a treehouse someday, and a pool. Now it just looked forlorn and shabby. Lost in thought, she climbed from the van and headed toward the front of the house while Billy tugged boxes from the back of the trailer.
“You’re not gonna help?” Irritation crept into his voice.
She had assumed he would carry her over the threshold. She almost said as much, but thought better of it. “Sorry,” she said instead, reaching for a box marked Kitchen.
“Not that one.” He frowned. “That’s too heavy. Grab the guitars from the van and take them into the room off the kitchen.”
As she waited for him to unlock the back door, she set the two cases down. It would be okay if he carried her over that threshold. They’d probably be using that door most of the time anyway.
