Trouble Won't Wait

by Autumn Piper

  I smile at Adam as I pull the phone back a safe distance from my ear.

  “The kids are all done helpin’ me now. Markus said you’d be by to pick them up.” She must be ready for them to leave, and knowing her, she means now.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there. You don’t need me to run any errands or anything?”

  “No, honey, I’ve got Franklin to drive me around if I need to go somewhere.”

  God, that guy is blind death with a steering wheel. Terrifying. And he’s not one of those pokey old geezers who putts down the road. No, Franklin’s average speed equals his age, and he’s an octogenarian–with an eyeglass prescription older than his ’75 Cadillac.

  “It’s really no trouble, Aunt Clara. I have to go down the hill anyway. If you think of anything when I get there, I’ll do it.”

  After we hang up, Adam is smiling, no dimples.

  “It would really suck for her to make it to ninety in good health, and get killed riding around with Mario Andretti’s grandpa.”

  “Do you take care of everybody?”

  “I try, if they let me.” He’s moving toward me with that look, the one that gets us into trouble. “I have to go, Adam.”

  “I’m gonna take care of you, soon.” Adam’s hot mouth brushes over mine for too short a time, then he hugs me from head to toe, leaving the front of me much warmer than the back. He helps me into my coat, and gives me another peck before opening his front door, sighing as if saddened by my leaving.

  I wave from behind the wheel, and he winks from his steps.

  * * * *

  The kids are playing tag outside Clara’s apartment, likely trying to escape her hot-house. She’s fed them lunch down in the cafeteria, which I’m sure I’ll hear bad reviews about on the way home. Clara grins at me as if she knows exactly where I’ve been, and I feel myself blushing and unable to meet her eyes. Each kid bears a small baggie of Nutter Butters and circus peanut marshmallows. They climb in my vehicle smelling of rose potpourri. I have to smile. Some things, at least, stay the same.

  * * * *

  My kids beg to have Jake come play, so I take him straight to our house. Ben uses my phone on the way to call Mark and Kenna to let them know Jake is coming home with us. I’m doing laundry while the kids play downstairs, when Ben walks into the laundry room. “Hey, Bean,” I chirp, ruffling his dark hair. He’s got my phone in his hands again.

  “Mom, who’s this first number in your phone?”

  My heart takes off pumping fast, and I’m tense, like when I’m running late for an important appointment. The first number in my phone is Adam. I didn’t enter his name. I was goofing with the symbols and uppercase stuff, and it came out #### somehow, so I just left it that way.

  I concentrate very hard on the shirt I’m ironing. “Um, I was walking in the cemetery and I ran into this guy…and he was….” I try to get the sleeves lined up. “He had a, um….” I’ve ironed the crease off-center, and now I have to press it back out. Shit, what can I say?

  Ben fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, tired of waiting for my answer. “Is it something for sale, like the numbers Dad always saves in his phone?”

  Mike is forever seeing For Sale signs on trucks and RVs, saving the numbers in his phone, and then forgetting to delete them.

  I nod, hating myself for lying to my son. “Um, yeah, a…” Something I need, something people get rid of. Exercise equipment? “Treadmill!”

  “Cute Mom. Pound, pound, pound. Like in the comics, from the sound of running. Is it a nice one?”

  “Really nice.” At least that’s no lie.

  “Okay! Bye Mom.” He leaves, and the guilt I feel over lying to him tightens around my chest like an enormous blood-pressure cuff.

  * * * *

  Mike comes home in a happy mood, trying especially hard to be nice to me. More flowers, this time a huge colorful arrangement from the florist, not the grocery store. He suggests we take the kids to a movie, and I agree. It beats trying to fill the evening by getting along. Jake decides not to join us–he has a not-so-subtle aversion to his Uncle Mike lately–so I run him home.

  * * * *

  Mark opens his front door, letting Jake and I in. After Jake has disappeared to his room, Mark asks, “Why’d you ask about hunting season?”

  I’d forgotten how annoyed I was with Mark when he didn’t answer me. “No big deal, never mind.” Something inside is warning me I really don’t want to know any more about hunting seasons.

  “Where’s the little mister today?” Mark’s figured something out. He’s wearing the same look as when he saw me stashing condoms in my purse for the prom date when I planned to lose my virginity.

  “I gotta go, Mark.” I don’t want to know what he’s figured out. Why did I ever ask him about hunting seasons? I head toward the door.

  He plants his oversized body between me and the door, blocking my escape to the Republic of Ignorant Bliss. “Dumb and Dumber and I were talkin’ earlier, about the new restrictions on water fowl huntin’, and how they shut down all the seasons for December on the western slope.”

  Okay, so maybe Mike is out doing some secret thing, some surprise thing, trying to win me back. He can’t really be spending whole days out cheating, can he? Lord knows, he hasn’t had that kind of stamina for several years.

  “Pheasant? Turkey? Grouse?” I’m grasping at straws, naming everything I know of Mike ever shooting in the winter.

  Mark shakes his head with each guess.

  “Well, thanks. You’ve been very helpful,” I snipe.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

  “Is this funny to you?” I want to fight. I want to yell at Mark, because his marriage isn’t falling apart. He must feel so superior. He’ll be able to look down on me and feel sorry for me the rest of our lives. I smack his chest, but he doesn’t even flinch. I get the feeling he’d let me pummel him as long as I’d like, if it would make me feel better. His pity angers me more.

  “No, not funny.” His voice is past the Impatient Mark point. I look up to see he’s mad, and I hope it’s not because of me. “I got a notion to go bust his ass, Mand. If your kids weren’t home, I’d do it. Let him know he has it comin’, will ya?” He tugs me into a big bear hug, then sets me back on my feet.

  With my hand on the doorknob, I turn back to him. I need to be certain first, but an idea, a plan, is forming far back in my head, in the place where my stories come from. “Don’t say anything about it yet, Mark. I’m working on something.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right bro?”

  When I leave, both his door and his mouth are hanging open.

  They say when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. I’m thinking more along the lines of lobbing those lemons right at a point between Mike’s eyes. Better yet, right between his legs.

  * * * *

  I want to get on the computer. I have “research” to do. But my family is ready to go to a holiday blockbuster, so we go. My mind churns like water at the base of a spillway. Ideas come up, I examine them, then they go down and others surface. I skim off what I like, making a neat mental stack of the things I can use. The kids enjoy the movie and pay little attention to Mike and me. When his arm is around me, I fight back the rabid shudders of hate and revulsion his touch brings on. I’ve gotta change my mind-set in order to pull this off successfully.

  Chapter 12

  At home, I carefully change into my sleepwear in my closet, as always, but I make sure Mike gets plenty of unintentional glimpses of me while I do it. And I’m not in my yoga pants. A long silk nightgown, now loose enough to barely skim my curves, still hugs my breasts nicely. I want him to see what he’s going to miss, what he’s thrown away in exchange for fast, dirty sex with Lana. As I pause to look for a minute at him alone in our bed, I allow myself to appear sympathetic. And when I exit the room, I even wipe at an imaginary tear, telling him softly, “’Night, Mikey.”r />
  The door at the base of the stairs gets locked again, but instead of going right to bed, I log onto the internet. I’m the only one who ever accesses our cellular account on-line. Our paper bills don’t show call details, but our web account will. I’m holding my breath, thinking maybe this is all an overreaction and a mistake about Mike’s “hunting.”

  Until I see who he’s been calling and getting calls from. Lana. I refuse to let this hurt. Mad, I have to be mad. Naturally, no calls between them on those Saturdays when he was out hunting. Not much of a hunt, really. More like being hunted. Can’t he see what a whore she is?

  My grandpa used to say women are the only predators who use themselves as bait. I guess Lana’s a pro, because it seems like Mike doesn’t even care how many other guys are nibbling her at the same time. Eww. And to think I almost gave in and slept with him a little over a week ago.

  Oh, no. Now I’m feeling sick. He spent Saturday with her, then came home claiming he thought of me all day. He was so happy–whistling, loving. Then he tried to force himself on me. I bet she’d hate that! No wonder his guilt is of record-breaking depth. The entire time he’s been begging my forgiveness, he’s been accumulating more sins. Jesus, what a sick bastard. Why does he want so much to reconcile?

  How long was this going on before I found them out? I will be sick if I discover I slept with him after she had.

  Even after going back another month in the records, I find no calls to or from her before Thanksgiving. Thank God for small miracles.

  Upstairs, I’m in the kitchen under the pretext of getting a glass of water, and I locate Mike’s cell on the counter. He’s sleeping; I can hear the snores. I flip open his phone to the call logs. Sure enough, Mikey’s been covering his tracks as well as he knows how. The logs have all been purged. Good work, Mike. Way to cover your butt. Except you don’t know the little woman can see who you’re calling as soon as you do it.

  Downstairs, as I dial Adam, I’m unsure whether or not to tell him I know about this. I doubt he’d appreciate my somewhat risky plan for revenge, so I guess I won’t.

  “Hey,” he answers drowsily.

  “Hi, sexy. Watcha doin?”

  “Reading your book.”

  “I thought you already did that.”

  “I did, but I liked it.”

  “I can loan you some Nora Roberts, if you’re after romance,” I tease. “I’ll even dog-ear the juicy parts.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Thanks for lunch.”

  “I’m not much of a cook, unless it’s on the grill.”

  “It’s all good with you. I’d maybe even eat lima beans with you.”

  “You’ll never catch me serving that.”

  I laugh. “Good, because I really hate those things.” It feels good to laugh and joke with him. It’s a nice change from the dark stuff going through my head all afternoon and evening. Come to think of it, Adam is always a bright spot for me. It’s hard to picture him without a smile, whether or not it’s accompanied by passion in his eyes. I wonder what he looks like when he talks to other people and I’m not around. Is his smile different with me? God, I’ve created this little corner of the world for him in my mind, where he’s only mine. I have no idea what he’s like with anyone else, as if I’ve been visiting a hermit.

  “Ding-dong, anybody home?” he asks.

  “Huh?” That sounded brilliant. I think he’s been talking, and I’ve been missing it.

  “Did you hear anything I said? Where are you, la-la land?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “I was saying lima beans should only be fed to livestock, not pushed on little kids.”

  “I’ll support legislation for that.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “I was picturing you wearing the ‘let’s get it on’ look.”

  “Let’s get it on?” He’s laughing so hard I can barely understand him. “Isn’t that, like, Marvin Gaye? I think I’m too white to say that.”

  “You know what I mean. And I’ve never seen you around other people, except at lunch yesterday. It’s like you’ve been my little secret.”

  “I could say the same thing.”

  True enough. “So, you wanta go to Mark’s New Year’s party with me?” I’ve asked him on our first real date. Will it bother him?

  “I’ll have to check my date book and get back to you.”

  Yeah, check it good, smartass. “Everyone in town will be talking about it by the next day, but it’ll be juicy talk, at least.” Besides, it’s better than them all talking about poor Mandy, all alone. “Is Rascal sleeping with you?”

  “Curled up right next to me.”

  “Lucky little shit. Goodnight.”

  “’Night, Sloane.”

  * * * *

  I’m spending Sunday fighting the crowds at the mall with the kids and Mike. I decided to get it over with today, before it gets any crazier out there. Besides, tomorrow the kids are going to Kenna’s for the day, Tuesday is our last session with Baldwin, and Wednesday is Christmas Eve.

  I finally managed to come up with a couple of gifts for Mike. If I’m going to pull off my plan, I need to have gifts for him.

  Mike came down with us. I think he split in the Durango for awhile, which makes me believe he ran over to the adult store, still hoping to uphold our tradition together.

  I slip away to call Adam while the kids are shopping for me. He sounds confused when he answers. But then, it is my normal time to be coming by. “Hello?”

  “Did you wonder who it was?”

  There’s a small pause. “No. Where you at?”

  “Grand Junction, shopping. Sorry, I can’t come by today.”

  “Oh.” He sounds morose.

  “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, though.”

  “Buy me anything?” He’s joking, I know. But I’ve got an idea for his gift.

  “Indirectly.”

  “Is this a riddle?”

  I chuckle, thinking of the tiny red negligee, with matching thong, I bought and tucked inside a bigger bag. “Yes.” Here’s a hint. “Wanta know what I’m wearing?”

  “Jesus, aren’t you in the mall?”

  “Yeah, just a joke. I’ll call you at bedtime.”

  “Bye.” He sounds disappointed, and I don’t blame him.

  I’d be let down if I went by his house and he wasn’t there. I considered calling earlier to tell him I wasn’t coming, but if the tables were turned, it would ruin my whole day. When Adam was sick and I knew I couldn’t see him, each day was like an ice cream cone without the yummy little last bite. The best part was missing. Now a day without him is like just a dry, empty cone.

  I sigh and step into a sweet shop to buy something for Aunt Clara. She gets a kick out of candy shaped into other things. I find her a big candy sneaker. It’s solid chocolate, with colored hard candy shell outside, a sole made of gummies, and licorice strings. It should crack her up. She’ll probably share with all her friends after she looks at it for six or eight months. Hopefully it won’t melt in her inferno of an apartment.

  I’m at a loss, as usual, for a gift for Mark. What to buy for the guy who eats everything? Ha, I mean has everything. I usually go for a gag gift with him. He gets a lot of goofy stuff, though. He has every version of that singing mounted fish. Lucky for Kenna, all the Billy Basses live in the garage. Mark, Dave and Danny get a kick out of them still.

  I finally decide on three books of politically incorrect jokes. At least he’ll have some fresh material for offending virtually everyone he sees.

  The kids are meeting me in the food court, and I’m heading there when I run into Mike. He looks excited, turned-on excited, and now I know for sure he’s been to the adult store.

  “Guess I know where you’ve been.” I smile at him, thinking what a perverted creep he is, but he thinks I’m smiling because I’m excited about his gift. Years past, I was. Now that he’s probably shopping for sex toys for someone else as well as me, I find
it yucky. Jesus, does he really think I’m going to give in just because it’s Christmas? I hope he thinks so, I really do.

  We cruise around, looking at the best holiday light displays for awhile before going out to dinner. I feign sleep while Mike drives home. I’m planning my next move. Within three days, I will have gradually “forgiven” him and be willing to take him back.

  * * * *

  At home, poor Ben has to wake up and stumble inside all wiped-out tired, but Mike carries Rachel and lays her in bed. She’s still small enough even I can carry her if I need to, but not for long. It makes me sad. I miss having little ones, so much.

  I’m stashing my bagged purchases in my closet for now, but I make it a point to hang up the negligee while Mike is in the room. Of course he notices the red, silky thing.

  He’s still staring at it when I close the closet door. “What’s that for?”

  You’d die if you knew, pal. I shrug. “I just wanted something new.” I let him see I’m keeping something to myself, which he takes to mean it’s a surprise for him. He’s such an idiot. I need to tread lightly here. I don’t want to lead him on so much we have a repeat of last Saturday. Just letting him see parts of me when I dress gives me the creeps, but it’s a necessary evil for the revenge I’m exacting.

  He comes to me, eyes searching mine. Yes, baby, believe in me. “I love you Mandy. Don’t forget that for a second, okay?”

  I nod my head like the fool he takes me for. I happened to notice this morning in the garage that there is no gun in his truck, and he didn’t bring one in yesterday when he returned from his hunt. I let him look in my eyes for a bit before I look away, feigning an inner struggle.

  “Goodnight, Michael.” I flounce out in the long silk nightie as if I’ve just recalled he hurt me. It’s not a difficult act. How many times have I actually done that?

  * * * *

  Adam is anxious to hear from me when I call. It’s earlier than usual, yet I imagine he’s had a long day.

  “Did you sculpt today?”

  “Yeah, for like twelve hours.”

  “Is the dog done?”