by Glenn Rolfe
They had nearly finished the plate of twenty wings when she downed the last of her beer and gazed at him.
“What?” he asked, swallowing the last bite. His tongue was on fire and his brain felt like it was melting inside his skull, but that was just the way he liked it. He couldn’t think straight, but he did his best to give her the attention she was obviously seeking. “Come on, out with it.”
“I wanted to say sorry for…for the way I’ve been acting the last couple days.”
“It’s okay, Sarah. I get it. And I thought we made up pretty well the other night.” He stood. “I’m sorry, too.”
She shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one with the dumb idea.”
She bit her bottom lip and dropped her chin.
John walked to her and wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you,” he said.
“I…I still want to try.”
The words swarmed and stung.
“Fuck, Sarah,” he said. “I thought we were over this.”
“Over this?” she said.
“Yes. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. I can’t…I can’t give you a baby.”
He glanced at her face and saw her crumble before him.
Clenching his jaw, he shut his mouth in order to stem the damage. He kissed the top of her head, and said, “I’m taking a shower.”
As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard her start to cry.
John paused in the hall, too pissed to comfort her, before heading to the bathroom and slamming the door.
* * *
When he was out of the shower and dressed in shorts and a fresh t-shirt, John returned to the kitchen.
“Sarah?”
The dishes were where they’d left them after dinner.
He went to the living room. The TV was off.
“Sarah?” he called out to her again.
It was then that he saw the note taped to the front door.
* * *
John,
I’m sorry me wanting to try for a baby again is upsetting you. It’s probably not fair to you, but this is something I need to do.
I’m going to my mother’s for the night. I need some space and I think you do, too.
Please consider it again, for me.
Love you,
Sarah
John grabbed his car keys. The elation of being past this latest baby talk had effectively been stomped into the fucking ground. He needed a drink, something stiff enough to shut his brain down for the night, but he didn’t want to be home, either.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Asshole!” she cried. Taylor Momson wailed through her speakers about it being just tonight as Sarah cruised the back roads to her mother’s house in Sabattus. John was a selfish prick. The sun lit the sky with a brilliance worthy of Heaven’s envy when he cast his attention upon you, but too often if it didn’t make him happy, it wasn’t going to happen. The potential was something she saw in him from day one. He was so great with other people. She admired his success at work, what he’d done for families he worked with, especially what he’d accomplished with Pat, Ada, and Trisha Harrison. They were practically family now. But just once, she wanted to feel like his priority.
She knew his weakness. Expectations. Leave him alone and to his own devices and you could stand back and watch him shine, but try to push him toward his potential and he’d shut you out. She knew it was a defense mechanism; he’d survived on his own for so long starting when he was way too young to do so. She got it, but they’d been married for seven years now. At some point, he had to face his fears. Fear of expectations, fear of failure, fear of change.
Her mother’s house came into view. Pulling into the driveway, she checked her face in the rearview mirror. Red, puffy eyes looked back.
“What happened?”
Her mom stood next to the car.
Sarah shook her head. “I just need a night away.”
“Come on,” her mom said. “I’ll put on some tea.”
“You got anything stronger?”
“Hmm. Yeah, I think I’ve got a little something in the fridge.”
Inside, they sat at the kitchen table.
Since seeing a doctor and getting on medication to help with her bipolar symptoms, her mother had really turned her life around. It was incredible to see.
“Here you go,” her mother said, sliding a sweaty tumbler in front of her. “I had some Margarita mix in the fridge. It’s my summertime treat. Damn this humidity.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, cupping her hands around the cool, wet glass.
She explained the fights she and John had been having, the baby talk, and John’s reasons for not wanting to try.
“He’s got as much at stake as you,” her mom said.
“What?”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Sarah. He’s right about one thing, you’re not the only one who hurts when it doesn’t happen.”
Sarah simmered within. She didn’t come to hear her mother take John’s side.
“Do you know if he thinks about it still?”
“No, Mom.” Sarah sipped her drink. “I just see him with Pat.”
“The boy with the funny hair?”
She nodded. “He’d be such a great father.”
Her mother reached over, placing her hand on Sarah’s.
“If it’s meant to be, it will be. You guys are young yet, you still have plenty of time.”
“I know, but—”
“He knows how you feel. He knows what you want.”
She was right, damn it.
They had two more drinks before Sarah asked if she could stay the night.
* * *
In her old bedroom, she sat upon the bed, the tequila hitting her hard. A poster of Eddie Vedder hung on one wall, Marilyn Manson on another. She was surprised her mother hadn’t at least taken down the Manson one.
She leaned back against the pillows and turned on the TV atop the dresser. Chip and Joanna Gaines and their kiddos wandered across their farm, talking about chickens, God, and family. Right about now she’d pray to a chicken god if it got her and John a family.
She had known how John would react. That he’d probably get upset, but she just wanted them to be a family so bad. She wanted a baby.
The tears slipped free.
Her timing was pretty shitty considering he was already stressed out because of his boss and dealing with his awful dreams. He’d only just started therapy.
And she tried to put this on his plate. Her mother was right. He knew how she felt, and that would have to be enough for now.
As she lay down, Sarah watched the Gaineses and hoped one day she and John might stand a chance at having something similar.
Chapter Twenty-Four
John settled for a dark corner at The Tap Room. In all their years together, throughout the challenges they’d faced and conquered, never once had either one left for the night out of anger. Even through her nights of pain or irritation with him, or stupid budget night squabbles, they got over themselves and came back to the table to hash things out. Always. His biggest fight had been when he wanted to buy a 2015 Dodge Challenger. He came in with his own plan, having money for a down payment well underway in his savings account, but her stepsister Morgan’s wedding in Ireland had been coming up and she had the trip all planned out. In the end, after a few drinks, he saw that his dream car wasn’t exactly a priority. They had a great weekend at Morgan’s wedding and there was no way he ever thought seeing Ireland would be as incredible as it had been. She was right.
Sarah was always right.
Well, not this time.
He sat in the corner stewing in his rage as one drink led to the next.
His mind was sloughing throug
h the landmines he wanted to see explode into brilliant starlight behind his eyes, when someone slid in beside him.
“Hey, John,” she said.
“Kaitlyn?”
“What are you doing out?” she asked.
Dropping his gaze to the empty glass spinning in his hands, he thought about telling her he just wanted a drink, but when he opened his mouth, his emotions spilled his guts.
“Sarah and I had a fight,” he said with a sigh.
Reaching around the glass, she placed her hand on his.
“Are you all right?”
He turned his head and found her deep brown eyes taking him in. His face was already flush from the alcohol, but he felt himself burn a few shades brighter under her gaze.
“A few more of these and I will be,” he said, raising his glass.
They stared at one another.
His throat suddenly dry, he chugged down the beer.
He knew he should pay his tab and head the hell out now. The way Kaitlyn looked at him was dangerous, plus she looked amazing in her way-too-tight t-shirt and her curls framing her gorgeous face.
“What are you all dolled up for?” he asked.
She pouted out her bottom lip.
“I got stood up.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“So was I until I spotted you.”
Their gazes locked a second too long.
“I have to go to the ladies’ room. Do me a favor, order me a Jack and Coke?”
“Sure,” he said.
She got up, dressed in a plaid skirt and tall boots.
He finished his drink as the waitress stopped.
“Get ya another?”
He should say no, get up, and go home.
But instead he ordered Kaitlyn’s drink and another beer.
Just one drink, he told himself. Don’t be rude just because you can’t handle hanging out with an attractive woman who isn’t your wife. She’s had a shitty night, too, plus you do owe her.
Their drinks arrived just as she came back and squeezed in next to him.
“Thanks,” she said. She brought the straw to her shiny lips and gazed at him as she sipped from it.
“I owed you, so I guess we’re even.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. “The drink’s a nice start, but do you know how crazy some of your case families are? Do you?”
He laughed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe a couple more of these bad boys and we’ll be close.”
The little devil on his shoulder was tap dancing. By the time he finished his beer, he didn’t see the harm in having a few more.
* * *
It was almost two hours and way too many drinks later when she got them an Uber.
John’s brain felt like it was hanging upside down, swimming in booze. When the car began to move, he felt Kaitlyn’s hand on his thigh.
He wasn’t thinking clearly when she brushed against his crotch.
Voices battled to be heard inside his head as the car pulled up to a little one-story home and let them out before driving away.
John mumbled about walking home even though he didn’t know what street they were on or which direction he would go.
“I need to sober you up. Come on,” she said, hooking his arm in hers and walking him to the door. “I can’t let you go home in this shape. You could get in big…” she leaned into his ear and whispered, “…trouble.”
As soon as they were inside, she slammed him against the door, pressed herself against his chest, and kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Part of him was trying to think about directions and walking home drunk, the other part was a dumb teenager again and fell under her spell.
She pulled him beyond the entryway, past the living room and down the hall. Pushing him into her bedroom.
“This is a onetime offer, John,” Kaitlyn whispered, her hand undoing his jeans. “I know you’re married. I don’t care what brought you here, but I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”
“I know,” he slurred. “but….”
“Shhh,” she whispered in his ear, licking his earlobe before dropping down and pulling him free from his boxers. “I see part of you is happy to be here with me.”
She put him in her mouth, and he felt too discombobulated to react.
As she went to work on him, he gave in and let go. All the stress of the past few weeks was suddenly gone.
* * *
When he woke up the next morning, the sun shining directly in his eyes, he was met with a splitting headache. It wasn’t until he reached for his cell phone on his nightstand that he realized he was in the wrong fucking place.
Oh shit.
Kaitlyn lay naked beside him, her long brown curls spilled across the pillow.
Stupid shit. You stupid, dumb ass, drunk, fucking asshole.
He slid his feet to the floor and stuck his pounding head in his hands.
He’d never cheated on anyone before. Yet here he was, his clothes scattered at the bedside, shrouded in a wave of guilt and shame.
All because Sarah wanted to try for a baby.
The thought crushed him.
* * *
Kaitlyn apologized with a devil’s grin, but whatever her part in the deed had been, he was the one who didn’t go home when he should have the first, second, or third time. This one was on him.
He walked back downtown to fetch his car from The Tap Room, the angry morning sun burning hot as hell and working his hangover like Clubber Lang to a soul-broken Rocky Balboa in Rocky III. John had no idea what to do now.
He was contemplating whether to hide his mistake, though he was certain the guilt would eat him alive, or come clean and take his punishment, whatever Sarah deemed that to be, when he spotted the green Dodge van. It was parked on Water Street.
It was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, but his feet were already carrying him toward the mystery machine.
This was the vehicle harassing Pat. John could take the oddness of seeing the van everywhere, but the thought of it doing the same thing to Pat, well, he wouldn’t stand for it.
As he closed in, he could see there was no one in the front. He glanced around to see who was near him. He didn’t want to look like some kind of a car thief, so he acted like he was giving it a look over. A Dodge fan admiring an antique.
An elderly couple passed him on his right; he nodded, and continued with his appraisal of the vehicle. When he finally made his way around to the back, half expecting someone to jump out and clobber him like this truly was some kind of horror movie come to life, he saw the license plate.
MIBOYZ
Something clanged behind the back doors.
His heart raced as he stepped back and waited to see who or what was going to come out.
Everything around him – the disheveled man with nasty dreads and tattered clothing, the pigeons walking their mad two-step across the street pecking at scraps from a discarded bag of Lays, the cars in the distance rolling along with various tunes cranking out through rolled-down windows – seemed to suddenly slow and move like something out of The Matrix. His focus honed in on the dark windows of the back doors. He swallowed hard, John waited for the monster to show its face.
The sudden blare of a horn caused him to cry out.
“Get the hell out of the road, you stupid asshole,” a man in an American flag bandana barked and shook his fist from a Ford F-150.
John hadn’t realized he’d retreated so far.
Turning away from the truck and its spirited driver, he stepped on the sidewalk and tried to get a hold of himself.
He was getting in his own head.
His nerves were just beginning to settle when the person watching him from down the road beside the Magic Card and Gami
ng shop waved.
Tall, lanky limbs, bony shoulders, and a face he couldn’t make out. He knew who he was looking at – August.
Im-fucking-possible.
A chill raked its icy claws down his spine.
Moving without thinking, John walked toward the dream kid.
August hurried down the street away from him.
John ran, headache and hangover be damned.
August glanced back once, his face still a warped slate John couldn’t force into focus, then disappeared down the old stairwell next to the Christian bookstore.
John pushed on, his stomach now elbowing him.
He ignored the nausea and ran faster. He turned the corner and watched the shape disappear from the little stairwell.
“John.” Beau Connors, owner of the bookstore and former Spears Corner gym teacher, stepped out the door and tried to engage him in one of his pointless conversations. Beau had given him the creeps since John was a teen. He assumed the guy was a pedophile even though he’d never heard anything of the sort anywhere else. Sometimes your instincts just kept you away from certain situations.
He chose not to acknowledge Beau as he hurried past him and down the stairs that led to the back parking lot.
When he ran out the opening, he had to shield his eyes from the blazing sun, squinting to see where August had fled.
He was gone.
He was never here, his mind scolded him.
Last night’s booze finally caught up to him. His stomach flipped.
As he yucked his guts up mere feet from the little passageway, all of John’s shame came crumbling down upon him.
Beau Connors was down the steps and at his side like a horny schoolboy with a chance at scoring with the first girl that showed any interest.
“Are you okay, John?”
He wished this guy would stop using his name like they were best fucking friends.
John waved him off.
“Rough night,” he said. “But I’ll survive.”
“You should come by the church sometime….”
John was up and hurrying back up the steps before Beau could lay into him about Christ and all that jazz.
“Sorry, Mr. Connors,” he said. “I gotta get back home.”
