Beside Herself

by Elizabeth Laban

  “I bet he is,” Hannah said. Brett reported to Joel, but she always suspected that he didn’t like that arrangement. “Why are you afraid to go? Are you scared you’ll be tempted by Tara? That you won’t be able to resist her?”

  “What?” Joel said, sounding truly alarmed. “No, nothing like that. God—have you not listened to a single thing I’ve said? I don’t want Tara. I want you.”

  Again, Hannah wanted to say, Well, you should have thought about that before you did what you did, but she didn’t. How many times could she say the same thing? Instead she said, “You don’t have to do that. You can still go. In fact, it would be a relief.”

  Joel didn’t say anything.

  Hannah was almost to the Y. She was bleeding, her hair was windblown, and she felt pulled down by Joel. She didn’t have an ounce of sexy in her right now.

  “Look, I’m not going because I don’t want to leave you,” Joel said. “I’m afraid of what you might do. I mean, I know you’ve been doing something; that’s a done deal, but I don’t want to be too far away, just in case I can rein it in a little or at least remind you that I’m here.”

  “I have to go,” Hannah said. “I’m at the pool.”

  “Okay,” Joel said, but she could tell he didn’t want to hang up. “And I get that you don’t want to give me the chance to talk about it. I do get that. But can I just ask you to try to get on with it? It seems to be going on forever, and it’s . . . hard. I feel out of control. I’m afraid you’re going to like someone, a lot. I guess that’s my biggest—”

  “Stop, okay?” Hannah said, interrupting him.

  What had he expected? That she would mark the family calendar in the kitchen, the one with images of Ocean City, New Jersey, where they spent two weeks at the beginning of each summer? That she would find the right square, take the navy Sharpie they left on the counter to write playdates and concerts, and write First Day of the Affair and Last Day of the Affair? And of course, he didn’t know that she was still looking for the right person, that everything leading up to this point equaled nothing.

  Hannah walked through the heavy door and breathed in the scent of the pool. She thought she might just ask the front desk for a Band-Aid and leave, try again another day when she felt better, more confident; she couldn’t risk losing this chance. But through the glass wall to the right of the desk, she saw Lance, sitting tall and strong on the guard chair, his clipped-on palm tree next to him as he mouthed the words to some song. She looked closer. The pool was completely empty. She heard Joel breathing on the other end of the call. She was glad she couldn’t see him because he was probably pale, maybe trying not to throw up. Well, she thought, he made his bed.

  “I’m going now,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.” She ended the call and handed her card over to the person behind the desk. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it thumping.

  She headed to the locker room and stripped down to her bikini. She threw her stuff in one of the many open lockers and closed it, not bothering to see if she had a lock. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she walked through the shower room. She looked good, by any standards, she thought, not just with the knowledge that she had had two kids. But Lance didn’t know that. She didn’t think he knew much about her at all. She wished now she had told him her name was something else. It would be so much easier to do this if she were using another name—Jasmine, maybe, or Collette. Then it might seem like acting or role-playing. Then it might not feel so real. But it was too late for that.

  The humid air hit her as she walked toward Lance. Her plan was to get into the deep end slowly, maybe start up a conversation, and possibly, if she dared, ask him out. Lance smiled at her as she got closer, and she thought, We did always have a bit of a connection; isn’t it great that I can actually act on that now, see how it plays out? She was going to use the ladder and ease in, but now she thought an elegant dive would be much better, more seductive. She walked to the back of the pool, standing just in front of Lance, so he could see all her trim curves and the way her bikini bottom fit her just so. She lifted her arms over her head.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” Lance called out rather harshly. “Ma’am, are you bleeding?”

  She put her arms back at her sides and turned slowly. She looked behind her at her heel, and yes, she most certainly was bleeding. A small, watery red puddle had formed below her foot as she’d stood getting ready to dive. She looked back at the path she had taken, and sure enough, there were drops of blood here and there.

  “You can’t swim with an open wound,” Lance said.

  “Well, it’s not really an open wound,” she said.

  Lance sat forward to get a better look, then hopped off the chair and crouched down to see.

  “I can treat that,” he said, but his tone was so removed, so unromantic, that he could have been talking to a kid or one of the old ladies. She wanted to ask him if he remembered showing her how to adjust her backstroke based on the overhead flags and how they’d listened to Bob Marley together that day. But she couldn’t. If she talked, she would cry. So she nodded. He jumped up and grabbed a first aid kit from under the guard chair. He rifled through it and pulled out an alcohol pad and a Band-Aid. He didn’t ask her to sit down or to join him on one of the benches. He knelt again and wiped the cut, which stung.

  “Hmmm,” he said. “That’s a real bleeder. Do you tend to bleed a lot?”

  Just my heart, she wanted to say.

  “Not really,” she managed.

  “Well, this one isn’t stopping,” he said. “I’ll put the bandage on it, but you can’t get in the pool until it stops. Health-code regulations. You can wait a little, maybe elevate it.”

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, waiting while he positioned the Band-Aid on her heel. Then he smoothed it once, twice, to make sure it would stick.

  She hobbled over to the bench, even though it really hadn’t hurt much after that initial ache. There was something about getting medical attention that made the focused-on body part suddenly seem even worse. She sat down and put her leg out to the side on the bench. At this point, honestly, swimming sounded better than flirting with Lance. Was he even that cute? She couldn’t tell suddenly. She noticed that his back was really hairy. She’d gotten a good look when he’d leaned over to tend to her foot. Also one of his toes looked twisted. Ugh, she wasn’t looking for someone else to marry, she reminded herself, just someone to have a drink with, to get back at Joel with. The pool had been quiet, but now music began to play. It took a few notes to hear it was Van Morrison, “Crazy Love.” She wanted to tell him what a coincidence that was, that she’d been just listening to it, but she couldn’t; he would think she was crazy herself. He slid off the chair again and walked over to her, and she looked away. Was she so obvious? Could he tell she was thinking about him?

  “Hey, how does it feel?” he asked kindly.

  “Okay,” she said. “Better, I think.”

  “Can I take a look?” he asked, reaching out his hand. At first she wasn’t sure what he was asking her to do, but he pointed to her foot and opened his hand again, so she eased it around and into his palm. He turned it over and examined it. “It looks good. It stopped. I think you can swim soon.”

  “Do you want to get some coffee sometime?” she blurted. “Or a drink? Have you ever been to that bar with the cowboy boot sign? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  Honestly, he didn’t even appear to be surprised. He looked at her for a beat, maybe two, and then he was nodding his head, taking in the idea.

  “Sure,” he said. He was still holding her foot, and now she wished she had waited until he wasn’t to ask. But really she hadn’t even planned to ask—it was like the words had been kidnapped from her throat and sent out into the world without her consent. “That sounds like fun. You mean the one on Broad? Yeah, I’ve always wanted to go there too. Do they have, like, different themes on different nights? I like to line dance. Do they have that?”

  “I do
n’t know,” Hannah said, easing her foot out of his hand, placing it on the tile floor, and standing. “I’ll look it up.”

  “Great,” he said.

  “Um, can I take your number? I’ll text you once I do some research,” she said. When she heard the word research resonate in the pool area, she thought of her meeting.

  “Sure, it’s—”

  “Oh, wait,” she said. “Let me get my phone from my locker.”

  What an idiot, she thought to herself as she walked back through the shower room, opened the unlocked locker, and found her phone in her jeans pocket. Her hand brushed against her wedding ring as she pulled it out. In that short time three women had come in and shed their clothes and were now heading out toward the pool and toward Lance. One of them wondered out loud about the blood on the floor. Hannah had the urge to push past them, to get back to Lance before they did, but she couldn’t without risking slipping on the wet floor, not to mention looking insane. So she took a deep breath and went back for a paper towel, using it to clean up the drops of blood as she went. When she finally got back out, two of the women were already in the shallow end, but one had walked right up to Lance with a question. While Hannah waited, she scrolled to her contacts and simply typed POOL. If Tara was HOTEL, then Lance would be POOL.

  It didn’t take long, and he was walking toward her.

  “So, my number,” he said and slowly recited the numbers. She typed them in, then read them back to him.

  “I’ll call you,” she said. “So you have mine too.”

  “Great,” Lance said. “Thanks.”

  What she wanted to do was get all the small talk out of the way now, to make sure this wasn’t just a completely bad idea. For example, were all the rumors true, and why was he a single dad? Had he ever been married? If so, what had happened to his spouse? But she couldn’t. All of that would have to wait to be answered during breaks between the Macarena and the Cupid Shuffle.

  “I’ll text you,” she said quietly. “Later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said.

  Okay, she thought as she turned away, letting her number ring through to his before ending the call, was this the beginning of the real part of her affair? Maybe. She walked into the locker room again. She imagined herself using the Sharpie by the calendar and drawing a tiny heart in the square that represented today. She smiled at the ridiculousness of it. As she slowly got dressed, pulling her clothes on over her still-dry bikini, she hoped Lance hadn’t noticed that she’d ended up not getting in the pool at all. Should she go back and explain? Say she was afraid her heel would bleed in the pool? She shook her head. She was as bad at this dating stuff as she always had been. Clearly, it never got easier.

  Hannah had just gotten home and was heading to the computer to do research when she heard her phone ping with a text.

  The text was from POOL. She smiled, then immediately worried he had thought better of it.

  Line dancing?

  Phew.

  Still looking into it. Will write again soon.

  She considered her text for a long time, wondering how she could make it sexier, more fun. She could add a smiley face; clearly a heart or a kissy face was way too much. Flowers? No. In the end she found a red cowboy boot emoji and added that. She sent it, hoping the red didn’t connote something she didn’t know about. It was surprisingly complicated to have an affair, even when you were allowed to do it.

  She sat down at the computer, intending to do research about all-day cafés and what people wanted from their hotel stays. Really, her plan was to read almost every single review she could find for similar hotels. What they wanted to do, what she was so excited to be a part of, was to create the perfect hotel. But instead of going to TripAdvisor, she tried to find the name of the bar with the cowboy boot. It was called Boot and Saddle and turned out to be more of a music venue than a western bar. So she looked for others—one called Howl at the Moon got her attention. But in the end she decided they should stick with the original plan. She would propose a night when there wasn’t a band playing and just hope they were open to requests. Also, the house-made cocktails were appealing. The next open night, though, wasn’t for a week and a half. That was okay—it would give her time to gear up for it all.

  She picked up her phone.

  Not sure about line dancing but looks nice. Called Boot and Saddle. How is a week from Wednesday? And again, she added the red cowboy boot emoji. She pressed send.

  Not even a minute later, she got his text.

  Sounds good! See you there at 7? And he added a cowboy hat emoji, which she really liked.

  Yes! See you there at 7.

  All she could do was hope her affair had finally begun.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Even though this one felt different to Hannah, she tried not to get too excited. She dressed in dark jeans and a flowy white shirt. She had stuffed a red bandana in her purse. Frankly, she felt like she was going to a sorority barn dance.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she called toward the dinner table, waving over her shoulder. “You guys be good.”

  She left off the for Daddy that she would usually say. She couldn’t even look at them as she walked out. When her cab dropped her at the iconic boot sign, she really did feel like she was acting. How many times had she wondered what it was like in there? How many times had she said to Joel, “We should go there sometime”? She walked in, and it was quiet. She looked around but didn’t see Lance. She took a seat at the bar.

  “What are you having?” the young, muscular bartender asked. Maybe she could date him if things didn’t work out with Lance.

  She tried to remember the mixed drinks that she’d read about on the website. There was one with rum—what was that called?

  “I’ll have a Night Out, please,” she said. “The one with rum?”

  “You mean the Good Night. Sure,” the bartender said. But she wasn’t sure—should she be waiting for Lance before she ordered? She really could use a drink. Even a few sips might help her relax a little.

  “What’s in that again?” she asked as her phone rang. She looked at the hopeful bartender, who was giving her all his attention since nobody else needed it. “You know what, I’m just going to think about it for a minute,” she said, and he bowed slightly and backed away.

  She reached for her phone, assuming it was Lance cancelling, which would totally suck. She had come this far. But it was Joel. Shoot. She clicked ignore and stuffed it back in her purse. Was he checking up on her? A few seconds later a text came through.

  I’m not really calling. Lincoln needs to talk to you. Call again?

  Sure, she wrote back.

  In no time her phone was ringing again. Joel’s picture looked up at her. She was going to have to change that, maybe replace the photo with a generic smiley face or something. Better yet, the throwing-up emoji. She chuckled to herself quietly.

  “Hi, Linc,” she said.

  “Mommy?” he called into the phone like she hadn’t just spoken.

  “I’m here, sweetie. What’s up?” Hannah asked.

  “Mommy, when are you coming home? We have a problem,” he said in his old-man way. He had been so good, barely needing to go over any timing questions with her lately, rarely calling repeatedly. Honestly, most of her dates had been so short he probably hadn’t even realized she was gone. But the radar on this kid! Clearly he knew something was up tonight.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked, her eyes on the door. What would she do if Lance walked in before she could appease Lincoln?

  “I want to read Harry Potter, but Ridley doesn’t,” he said seriously. “We need two adults in the house tonight. It’s double reading duty.”

  “I get that,” Hannah said, feeling annoyed and amused at the same time, if that were possible. “I really do. But can you compromise tonight? I’m out with Kim, and we’re just going to have a few drinks and catch up—girl talk—but I’ll be home at a reasonable hour.”

  It w
as so much harder to lie directly to Lincoln than it was to lie to Joel at this point. Before, she never would have thought that—she wasn’t a very good liar, always confessing quickly when she tried to keep the truth from someone—but now she told herself she had to lie to keep Joel from throwing up constantly. It was for his own good. Also, she reminded herself, she didn’t owe him total and complete honesty anymore the way she used to. But lying to Lincoln was a whole other story. It did not feel right. Then she thought, if she was really going to do this, she would have to lie to him and to Ridley, so was it worth that? Just then Lance walked into the bar. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust from the bright evening to the dark bar. He saw her and smiled. He wore jeans and a nicely worn plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just under his elbow. His hair was still a little wet and neatly brushed, and as she looked at him, she realized she had never seen him in clothes before. He looked good in clothes.

  She was so torn. She pointed to the phone and mouthed my son, which she thought was acceptable since as far as she knew he had at least one child. He nodded and gave the okay sign.

  “Take your time,” he said almost inaudibly, and she appreciated it so much. There was nothing for Lincoln to hear.

  “Can you guys compromise tonight?” she asked again, her mind racing. How could she get him to agree to this? “Maybe you can be the one in charge and suggest a book both of you will like. I’ll read you Harry Potter tomorrow, for an hour or more. And I’ll give you twenty dollars.”

  “Twenty dollars?” Lincoln said incredulously. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Sure,” he said. She waited for him to ask when he could call again, but he didn’t. He just stayed on the other end, singing quietly to himself, “Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posy, ashes, ashes.”

  “Hey, Linc, I’m going to go now,” she said. When she’d first offered the money, she’d thought, Joel will kill me. He hated bribery, and it was always her instinct when she was in a panic. She often ended up offering things she would come to regret—like telling one kid they could choose what the whole family was going to have for dinner if they would just please stop wailing in the grocery store and let her check out. That had backfired. Or the time she’d told Ridley she could sleep in bed alone with Mommy and Daddy if she would just please, please go to sleep. That hadn’t turned out so well either. But now she realized, Who cared? Lincoln probably wouldn’t tell Joel because he was smart enough to know Joel wouldn’t like it, and the last thing Lincoln would want to do was lose the twenty dollars. But if he did, that would be okay. It wasn’t her job anymore to consider Joel all the time; she had to keep reminding herself of that. It was really a whole new perspective on everything.