by Curtis Bunn
She also had an ice-cold Chimay—a gourmet beer he loved, but she disallowed him from frequently having. The house was cleaned and the dining room table beautifully set with sparkling China and tall candles.
Two minutes before he arrived, Stephanie received a text from Charles:
I have had a good day in one sense: I thought about you all day. Didn’t get any work done, but I had a good feeling. I thought about Sunday and about my trip there this weekend. I hope you can find some time for us to be together.
Stephanie had not prepared to end things with Charles. She didn’t want to end things with him, so she avoided thinking about it. But if Willie handled the night the right way, she decided she’d figure out how to let go of Charles.
Before Willie made it home, she returned her lover’s text:
You. . . I don’t know what to do with you. But I’m glad you’re coming here this weekend. Not sure what my availability will be, but I will do my best. You know that.
Then she put her phone on silent; she didn’t want any distractions. She made sure to wear the dress that Willie seemed to last notice her in—almost a year earlier. . . a red number that hung off her shoulders and hugged her ample hips.
Willie came in a moment later and stopped in his tracks when he saw the table.
“What’s this?”
“Dinner for my husband,” Stephanie said, smiling. “And here—here’s your favorite, Chimay.”
Willie smiled, but it was not a smile of excitement or joy, which alarmed Stephanie.
“What’s wrong?”
He put down his bag, took the Chimay and sipped. “Ah, this is good. Thank you. But I’m trying to figure out why you’ve done all this today, a Monday.”
“Trying to break the routine, that’s all. You’re not happy about this?”
“That’s the reason? No other reason?”
“No. That’s it. Why?”
“I thought it would be for my birthday. But—oh, that’s right—that can’t be it. And you know why? Because my birthday was yesterday.”
Stephanie’s smile vanished. Her shoulders dropped. Her heart pounded. She felt numb. She had spent the previous afternoon and early evening—her husband’s birthday—in a room at the W hotel in San Francisco with Charles, making love like horny teenagers.
“So, you made this nice meal because, but you couldn’t remember my birthday? Listen, I’m no kid. I’m not going to pout. But if I had forgotten your birthday, you’d never let me hear the end of it. And the way I look at it, it says to me that you’re going through the motions in this relationship, this marriage. After this, that’s all I’m left to believe.”
Stephanie was at a loss. She had nothing of substance to add. So she threw herself at his mercy—and sprinkled it with lies.
“Willie, I’m so sorry. Oh, my God,” she began. “Please forgive me. You know I never forget your birthday. But I got caught up in my sister’s troubles. Toya and Terry are having problems and she’s relying on me to help her get through it.”
“Since when? I talked to Toya yesterday; she called to wish me Happy Birthday. She seemed fine to me. And she didn’t say a word about any problems at home.”
“Well, you aren’t her sister, Willie. She’s trusted me with all the private stuff she doesn’t tell anyone else.”
“What’s that got to do with you forgetting my birthday? She’s worried about her marriage, but she thought enough of me to at least call me. But my wife didn’t remember? And you think you saying you were helping Toya make this excusable?”
Stephanie had not seen Willie so upset and disappointed in years. After so long together, they had found a groove where arguments were infrequent, if at all. One of them would acquiesce, and any potential blowup would be averted. This was different—and Stephanie could sense it.
“There is no excuse, Willie. No excuse. I don’t mean for it to seem like I’m offering one. Nothing should prevent me from remembering and celebrating your day with you. You’re my world and I’m really sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“You can tell me what’s really going on with you. That’s what you can do. I’m as busy as the next man, but I know you. We’ve been together for too many years not to know when you start acting different from the norm. And for a few weeks, you’ve been different.”
Stephanie took that opening as an opportunity to flip the momentum of the argument. “Wow,” she said in exaggerated disgust. “I have been different. I realized I have a good husband and so I have been more loving and attentive. I have been more in tune with you, more romantic. And that’s a problem? See, that’s a real issue for me.
“I love you, make love to you, make sure you’re satisfied, and you don’t like it? You think there’s something wrong with that? How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I’m not trying to make you feel anything,” Willie said. “I’m trying to figure you out. You act different, more loving, as you put it, but then you forget my birthday? There’s a disconnect with that, Steph.”
She knew then she had wiggled her way out of danger. Whenever Willie called her “Steph,” it was in moments of endearment. He never called her that while in angst.
“What do you want from me, Willie? You want me to be this stale wife or do you want more? ’Cause I can be what you want me to be.”
“I want you to be happy,” he said. Stephanie smiled to herself. She had turned the subject to what she wanted instead of Willie’s concerns.
“You know what would make me happy now?” she asked. “Letting me make up for my mistake. Arguing about it isn’t going to get us anywhere. I made a major mistake, Willie. I can’t believe it. And Toya didn’t say a thing to me. She bent my ear about her issues and what she’s planning on doing about her marriage.”
In her moment of desperation, Stephanie was unrepentant about lying about her sister’s marriage. It was the first thing that came to mind, and she ran with it.
“So what’s going on with them? Toya and Terry always seemed happy to me.”
Stephanie had to make a split-second decision on how far to carry the lie.
“She’s thinking about having an affair.”
“What? Come on. Not Toya. She’s as ethical as they come. She talks consistently about the downfall of marriage is about infidelity. And she’s thinking about cheating? With who?”
“She wouldn’t say his name. But it’s some guy she met recently while walking along Lake Merritt. Said he stopped her because he thought he had met her before. They ended up talking and staying in touch.”
“But why? You don’t cheat because some guy hollas at you? What’s wrong at home?”
“You have to promise not to mention any of this to Toya or Terry. None of it, Willie.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m serious. You can’t act any differently. Toya can’t know I told you any of this.”
“I said okay.”
“All right, well, apparently, their love life has fallen off,” Stephanie began. She knew she had to take the lie to the mountaintop to convince Willie and to keep his mind off her not being home and forgetting his birthday. “She said their life is boring, that Terry doesn’t have any interest in doing anything but work and visiting his mother. She wants to get pregnant and he’s not ready for a baby and—”
“Wait. What? Terry told me last weekend at the Warriors game that he wanted Toya to get pregnant. I thought I told you that.”
Stephanie realized she had messed up. Willie had told her what Terry had shared. In her zest to lie, she’d forgotten.
“You did tell me that. But some time since then, he changed his mind, I guess, because Toya said they have been arguing about it.”
She felt bad about lying so much, but she could not break the axiom that one lie leads to another and another and. . .
“Bottom line, they have troubles. But I’m tired of talking about their issues. That’s what got me all twisted up yesterday.”
“Yeah, o
kay.”
“Really, I’m sorry, baby. Let me start bv making up with this nice meal—look I made you a rib eye, which you know I don’t normally do because I don’t want you eating too much red meat. But I’m trying to be out of the box and not predictable. I don’t want the troubles Toya and Terry are having.”
She walked up to her husband and hugged him. Willie reluctantly hugged her back. She laid her head up against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Come on, finish your Chimay and then wash your hands. I’m going to get dinner ready. Can you light the candles for me?”
Willie did so and they eventually sat down at the table. “You look nice. You know that’s my favorite dress.”
“That’s why I wore it. See, I’m trying to do the things I know you like. I guess seeing what Toya and Terry are going through makes me realize we have to keep it fresh and new. We’ve been married going on twenty-five years. So we have to really work at it, almost as much as we did when we first got married because after a certain point, it gets harder for it to stay exciting.”
“I give you credit because I work so hard that sometimes I look forward to the end of the day, visiting my mom, dinner and bed so I can do it again the next day,” Willie admitted. “So I do appreciate you wanting to keep things going for us.”
“Thank you, baby,” she said, grinning more from relief than anything else. And then her cell phone chimed, indicating she had a text message. She thought she had turned off the ringer.
“I know you’re not going to get that now; we’re at the dinner table,” Willie said.
“I was only going to get it because I texted Wilhemina earlier and I hadn’t heard back from her,” Stephanie said. “You know how your daughter is. She keeps that phone in her hand, but she didn’t respond. So I have been looking to hear from her since it’s been so long.”
“I spoke to her on my way home,” Willie said. “She’s fine. She’s trying to figure when she’s going to come home for a visit. I told her we weren’t going anywhere. She can come whenever she likes. Think she’s talking about driving up this weekend.”
Their twenty-four-year-old daughter lived outside of Los Angeles. She wanted to be in the film industry, so she needed to live in L.A., New York or Atlanta. Willie and Stephanie were glad she’d chosen to stay in California.
“This weekend?” Stephanie asked. For all she had avoided and despite her pledge to cut Charles out her life, her close call gave her a charge to keep up her shenanigans instead of the opposite impact. The close call scared her, but excited her, too. She liked the adrenaline rush. It invigorated her, made her feel vibrant—all elements that allowed her to embrace her erstwhile uninspiring existence with Willie.
“Yeah, Saturday afternoon. Think she’s talking about bringing some guy with her she’s dating. So, I hope she does. She’s been spending a lot of time with this guy and I—we—need to check him out.”
Saturday was the day she and Charles had planned to go to Sausalito, a quaint town in Marin County on the shore of the Richardson Bay with a charming hotel—The Inn Above Tide—right at the pier where ferry boats docked. Charles told her of the spectacular views of the San Francisco skyline, Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz, rooms with fireplaces, sunken tubs.
“We can walk to the village of Sausalito and have dinner on the water, in a booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark. We can do anything we’d like there,” Charles had said.
The notion of it all was enchanting for Stephanie.
“Maybe this isn’t the best weekend for her to come home,” she told her husband. Willie gave her a curious look. “I’m thinking about Toya and Terry. First of all, she asked me to go someplace with her on Saturday afternoon. Second, you know Wilhemina will want to see them, and I don’t want her to be worried about how they are doing.”
“What? Wilhemina is a young lady, a grown lady. And maybe with her around, they will be on their best behavior and find whatever is missing.”
Stephanie knew better than to fight it, so she gave in, knowing she would call their daughter and make up an excuse to come another weekend. “You’re right. What am I thinking? I need to see my baby. It’s been about three months.”
Willie enjoyed his meal and took a seat on the couch in the living room. The thought of her rendezvous with Charles was all Stephanie could think of, so she took her cell phone into the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and texted him.
I’m in my bathroom right now with panties at my ankles, thinking about two things: Last weekend and this coming weekend. I can’t wait.
Charles responded: Where is he?
Not in here with me. Where is she?
Who cares?
Let me ask you: Does this thing with me make your life better at home?
To be honest, maybe. I don’t know. It makes me feel better. And when you feel better, you act better.
That’s how I feel. I know this is wrong. But the only way to keep my sanity is to have you. This is crazy to say, but you’re saving my marriage, Charles. You are.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN
JUANITA
Juanita found herself weak to Brandon. Again. She was doing fine. . . until she had seen him at the restaurant with another woman. That broke her down.
So, she called him—he didn’t answer. She texted him—he didn’t respond. His silence made her desperate. After two days of not hearing from Brandon, she decided she would take drastic measures to get a response from him.
Before she could take that step, though, she had to endure another counseling session with Maurice.
Dr. Fields got right to it. “So, how do you feel about things since we last met?”
“You can go,” Juanita said, looking at her husband.
“It’s actually been better, I think,” Maurice started. “She—”
“You mean, Juanita, your wife?” Dr. Fields interjected. “You should refer to her by her name or ‘my wife’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘baby.’ Do you ever call her affectionate names?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You apparently say them to yourself,” Juanita cracked. “I don’t recall hearing anything affectionate for years.”
“Years? You’re exaggerating. . . honey.”
Dr. Fields smiled.
“I have not heard you call me ‘honey’ in who-knows-when,” Juanita said.
“Well, he did now, so the best move for you is to embrace it. It’s a show of affection. It’s an effort.”
Juanita smirked. She viewed Maurice’s “affection” as condescension.
“What I was going to say,” Maurice continued, “was that my baby threw me a birthday dinner over the weekend that was really nice. There were friends we hadn’t seen in a long time, and it was nice to be around people and have a good time.”
“Very nice,” Dr. Fields said. “What made you throw him a party, Juanita?”
“It was his birthday. That was enough reason.”
“I have had a lot of birthdays when you didn’t do anything.”
“I always did something for you. Are you kidding? Last year, the kids and I baked cupcakes and sang to you on the back porch. You don’t remember? See, this is what I’m talking about. We put a lot of time and effort into that celebration. And yet, it didn’t mean anything to you.”
“I remember; I don’t have dementia, darling.”
“My point is, Maurice, that I have celebrated your birthday every year in different ways. And it bothers me that you seem not to remember that.”
Dr. Fields asked: “Why did you do a party this year, Juanita? What was the message you were trying to send?”
“I was trying to do something different. We came in here last time talking about trying to make things better. I thought we should do something without the kids, be around some adults. And I’m glad I did. It felt good.”
“I enjoyed it. I did. And I thanked her for it. But I was surprised by one thing.”
Juanita hel
d her breath. Could Maurice have known about Brandon?
“I felt like Juanita drank too much, especially as the night went on. She was fine, but then, later, she had two glasses of champagne after two other drinks. That’s not like her. And I wondered why she was drinking like that?”
“Did you ask her?” Dr. Fields said.
“I knew we were coming here so I thought I’d wait to ask now.”
“See, I don’t think that’s right. I’m right there with you; why not ask me? Also, I was not drunk, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was having a good time—that’s it. But then, you’re not used to seeing me have a good time, so I guess it was a surprise to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I hadn’t seen you drink that much, that’s all.”
“And you couldn’t talk to me about it? You had to wait until we got here to bring it up? That’s a punk move to me.”
Before Maurice responded, he looked at Dr. Fields, who interjected. “Name-calling never helps to bring a couple together. It only causes animosity.”
“But am I right, Dr. Fields? Isn’t it punkish to hold back on something so insignificant to bring it up here, like ‘Ah-ha. I got you’? I don’t appreciate that.”
“Was that your intent, Maurice? Or was it—”
“Wait, Dr. Fields. Don’t help him by putting words in his mouth. Let him answer.”
“I’ll be glad to answer,” Maurice said. “Juanita, I love you. You’re my wife. You’re wonderful. But you’re not perfect. And I think that’s what all this is about—me realizing that she’s not perfect. It’s all right that you have flaws, make mistakes. But you seem to think it’s some fatal strike against you.”
“That’s not it, Maurice. I’m not God, so I know I’m not perfect. I have tried to be a perfect wife to you and a perfect mother to my—our—children. And that’s not easy. It hasn’t been easy to be a good wife because you didn’t put much effort into being a good husband. For me, being a good husband is more than providing and being there. It’s being engaged. It’s understanding me. If you were really in tune with me, you would know. . .”
