by Elsa Kurt
“Mae?”
Mae startled, nearly dropping the coffee cup in her hand. “Jesus, Bruce. You always sneak up on me.”
“I’ve been standing here for five minutes,” he answered with a wry expression.
“Sorry.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I thought you were going to be tied up on a job today? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, of course.” She looked up at him, curious.
“Yeah, I know. Elise called and asked if I’d help pick up a new washing machine with the truck.” He shrugged. “So, why not, I guess.”
“Elise? Elise Martino called you to get a washing machine with her?”
“Well, her husband drives a—a smart car, so—”
Mae couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, stop, it’s not a smart car. It’s, like, a Prius or something. They’re good for the environment.”
Bruce scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever. You mind tellin’ her I’ll be in the truck? I don’t want to go over there with the cackling hens clucking around.”
Mae glanced over at Elise’s table. They were standing to leave, saying loud goodbyes—despite that they’d probably be meeting up again later in the day—and gathering up children and bags in big swoops. Bruce was right; they did look like hens clucking around their pen.
“Yeah, sure. Go hide, quick, before they see you.” Mae gave him a playful shove toward the back door. As she watched him go, her smile was replaced by a frown as she considered the new development. Snapshots flashed through her mind—Bruce and Elise talking in hushed voices a couple of weeks ago. Elise following Bruce out the café door on another occasion. Elise being caught by William in yet another hushed conversation with Pedro Villeneuve—a family lawyer. And now this. She narrowed her eyes at the dark-haired woman. What was she up to? Had she set her lasers on Bruce to be her interim break-up go-to guy? If so, did Mae have any right to say something to him?
If she did, she might look like the jealous—well, not ex-girlfriend. Former…something. She definitely didn’t want to come across as anything more than a concerned friend. Bruce was too good of a guy to be someone’s rebound relationship. Especially someone like Elise Martino. Come on, a member of the Brianna Brigade and Bruce Grady? He’s not a “hold her purse while she shops” man. But apparently, he was a “go pick up a washing machine for a girl he hadn’t hung out with since high school” kind of guy.
As Brianna and company left—with their usual fanfare, of course—Mae made her way over to the table where Elise was counting out bills. Mae tried a pseudo-casual sounding, “Looks like it’s your turn to pick up the tab, huh?” Wow, way to state the obvious, dummy.
Elise glanced up and made a sound of disgust. “Yup. It’s supposed to be Charlotte’s turn, but she conveniently forgot her wallet at home. Crock of shit, right?”
Mae didn’t know how to respond, so instead, she said, “So, um, Bruce wanted me to tell you he’s out back when you’re ready to get your—to go.” She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know about the washing machine. But then, why would it be a secret? Now she just looked shady.
Elise confirmed her concern by looking up sharply and giving Mae the once over as she chomped on her gum. After a pause, she said, “Washing machine. Mine busted. Assholes wanted to charge me an extra hundred bucks to deliver, and they won’t take the old one out. Screw them, right?”
“Right. So, you and Bruce, huh? I mean—I don’t mean, like, you and Bruce, I just meant I didn’t realize you two were friends.” Mae then added, as pointedly as she dared to a good paying customer, “He’s a really good guy.”
Just as pointedly, Elise said, “Yeah. I agree. Bruce is a really good guy.” The two women eyed one another coolly, both nodding slowly. Then Elise softened and said, “Relax, Mae. Bruce and I go way back. I’m not taking advantage of him or whatever you’re thinking.”
“Oh, I—”
“Yeah, you did. It’s okay, though. Listen, you and Bruce are about the only two people in this town that don’t gossip about anyone, so between us, I’m divorcing Ethan. I’m going to tell him this weekend.” Before Mae could say anything, she added, “I’m just telling you ’cause I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea here. You know, like I was trying to have an affair with Bruce.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t—”
Elise laughed mirthlessly. “Sure you did. It’s fine, I get it. But now that you know, maybe you could, like, diffuse the fires that are gonna start up? Not for my sake, but for Bruce. I don’t want anyone thinking he had any part in breaking up my marriage, you know?”
This was a side of Elise Mae would never have guessed existed. She really did care about Bruce. “Of course. Absolutely. And Elise? I’m sorry you’re going through a rough time.” Mae meant it.
“Thanks, Mae. I appreciate it. Well, guess I better move it before Mr. Impatient takes off on me, huh? I only got my mom to watch Gianna for one more hour too.”
“Go on out the back, if you want.”
“Thanks, Mae. You know, I always thought you were pretty cool the way you just kinda did your own thing all the time. You never really cared what other people thought, huh?”
The unexpected compliment caught Mae off guard, and she stammered, “Oh—I, well—thanks, Elise.”
“Call me Lissie. All my friends do.” Elise gave Mae’s arm a quick squeeze and left.
Mae never thought she’d see a day when Elise Martino could be counted as a friend, yet there it was. And despite the seemingly mass assumption that she’d never cared about other people’s opinions, Mae found that she did care enough to suddenly feel special that one of the cool girls wanted to be her friend, knowing full well it was absurd. They were grown women now, not high school kids. She looked around the quieted café, her gaze landing on William. He gave her an all-knowing smirk then wrote something down on the notepad that always sat beside his coffee cup saucer.
She muttered, “Oh, shut up, you,” and swiped the money and bill from the table roughly. She also stopped at Miles and Pedro’s now-vacated table and collected their payment. Just as it dawned on her that she’d been spared Miles’s obnoxious and incessant banter, his voice—in all its smarminess—stretched across the room from the patio.
“Hey, baby Mae. Did you think I’d leave without some sugar from my best girl?”
“Hello, Miles.” She sighed. “Isn’t your brunch over?”
“Sure is, baby. But I saw my girl Rosie out here and thought I’d bestow upon her my presence.”
Mae dropped her chin and lifted an eyebrow. “Miles.” She used her most threatening tone.
“Relax, baby Mae, relax. We’re just chillin’ out here. Okay, actually, I’m sweating my bal—”
“I’ll send Melina out with more water. Anything else I can do for you? Wait, don’t answer that. Just—go. Behave.”
Mae watched from inside, aware that William’s eyes were trained on the surprising pair on the patio as well. In delighted shock, they watched as Rosabelle Waterman threw her head back and laughed at something Miles said. Their jaws dropped when she gave his arm a playful swat. And when Miles Hannaford glanced around the patio then leaned in and quickly kissed Rosabelle Waterman’s cheek, they both nearly fell over. Mae looked back at William as if to say, “Did you see that?” to which his expression replied, “I believe I did.”
Chapter 18
ACCURATE CONCLUSIONS
“You sure you don’t mind bringing it in the house?”
“Lis, I told you, it’s fine.”
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this. I didn’t tell Ethan I decided to pick it up instead of delivery. It would’ve been an argument, so I figured I’d just get it done while he’s at work.”
“Um, looks like he’s home. Whose car is that in front?” Bruce had just turned onto Cardinal Lane, spotting both Ethan’s sky-blue Prius in the driveway and another car—a silver Lexus—in front of the house.
“No idea.” Elise said nothing more, but her look spoke volumes.
�
��Lis, it’s probably someone from work, right? Don’t jump to conclusions.”
She gave him a caustic look and said, “He said he was going in to the office today. He knows I have brunch and then errands on Thursdays. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think he’s got another woman in there.”
“I’m driving, so I can’t look you in the eye.”
“Mhhm.”
She was right, of course. He did think there might be another woman in there. It was a classic scene. Happened in the movies and on TV all the time. Weakly, he said, “Well, you’re divorcing him anyhow, so—”
“So that’s beside the point, Bruce. He’s not going to disrespect me in my own house with some Lexus driving whore.”
Ah, shit. Bruce had a feeling things were about to get ugly really quick. For a tiny thing, Elise was like the Tasmanian devil when she was pissed. He witnessed the infamous ass-kicking she gave Krista Pepper sophomore year of high school—all because she smiled at Lissie’s then-boyfriend Nick Giantoni—so there was no doubt in Bruce’s mind what Elise could do.
“Maybe we should just—”
“Pull into the Luschek’s driveway. I don’t want him to get a heads up before I can get inside.”
Despite his better judgment, he did as she said. Before the truck fully stopped, she’d flung open the passenger door and stomped across the grass separating the yards. “Shit.” He slammed the gear into park and hopped out clumsily to follow her, calling her name as he did.
“Shh,” she hissed, “I want to catch him in the act, the bastard. Stay out here, or come with, but either way, be quiet.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled slowly, then gave in. “Okay, okay. Fine. Jesus.”
Elise had already turned away and marched up the wide stairs and across the porch. At the front door, she twisted the knob slowly. The house seemed silent. She searched the first-floor room by room, tip-toeing across the gleaming hardwood and peeking around corners like a spy…or a SWAT officer. When each room had been found empty, she led Bruce to the spiral staircase.
“Follow my footsteps. I know where all the creaks are,” she whispered. When he hesitated, she waved her hand at him rapidly. “Come on. You’re already in it, so move it.”
Like a mantra, Bruce mumbled, “Shit, shit, shit,” as his heavy boots landed on each stair. At the top, Elise reached back and grabbed his wrist. He wasn’t sure if it was for reassurance or to keep him from escaping. She paused outside a set of ornate double doors that he assumed to be her and Ethan’s bedroom and pressed her ear against the wood.
“Elise, I don’t think—”
“Shhh. I hear something.”
Of course, you do. Everyone knows how this plays out. He held his tongue and waited for the inevitable cliché. Elise took a big breath then flung open the doors, shouting as she did, “Ethan, get your fucking whore out—”
Silence. Then a flurry of sheets flying over bare skin. Bruce couldn’t comprehend what he saw at first. Ethan…whatever his last name was, was clearly in bed with someone, but it wasn’t a woman. It was Jack Jacobson, and his usually tan face was now ashen, his mouth drawn out on a long, comical “O.” Bruce stifled an inappropriate laugh, barely.
“Elise! It’s not what—”
“It’s not what I think it is? Were you seriously going to say that to me? From our bed, Ethan? With…with…him? And you, Triple fucking J. Get the fuck out of my house, you fucker.”
“Sweetheart, the language—”
Elise whipped around back to Ethan, still in the bed, but now with his hands out. “Sweetheart? Did you just—” Her eyes darted across the floor until she found a stray shoe. Then she hurled it at him with considerable force and even better aim. Ethan ducked, and the shoe whizzed over his head and slammed into the headboard with a clap. Next, his pants—or maybe they were Jack’s, for all Bruce knew—then another shoe. All the while she shouted obscenities. Meanwhile, Jack had stumble-crawled out of the bed—thankfully with pillow strategically positioned over his junk—and cowered in the far corner of the room. When she got to a vase on the dresser, Bruce stepped in and plucked out from her hand before she could send it sailing.
He wrapped one bear-sized arm around her waist and lifted her—kicking and cursing—up and out the door, calling behind him, “Get yourselves decent, will ya?” He carried her like a sack under his arm all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he dropped her into a chair and shook a finger in her livid face. “You, sit tight. Don’t move.”
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut at the sight of Bruce’s impassive expression. A sound that could only be described as a “harumph” came out through her nose, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Satisfied, Bruce left her in search of the liquor cabinet he thought he’d seen when they came into the house. In minutes, he had two vodka tonics in his hands. He set one down in front of her and took a gulp of his. Footsteps echoed down the stairs and a voice—Jack’s—called out shakily.
“I—I’m going now. Sorry about—sorry. Please don’t tell my wife, okay?”
Elise looked up at Bruce in disbelief, and he shrugged and shook his head. She raised a middle finger in the air and gave no acknowledgment. After a moment, the front door opened and closed.
“You okay?” Bruce knew it was kind of a stupid question, but what else could he say? “Sorry you didn’t know your husband was gay?” Or, “Sorry we walked in on your husband and his gay lover?” Or maybe, “Sorry your husband has really bad taste in men?” A snort escaped from Bruce’s mouth at the last thought.
“You think this is funny?” Elise glared at him.
Bruce slid a chair out and sat down across from her. “Sorry, but…Jack Jacobson? I mean, I guess you can at least say he’s got better taste in his women than he does his men.”
Elise blinked at him. The corners of her mouth began to twitch. Suddenly, they were laughing in loud snorts and howls, falling over each other and slapping their knees. In between hoots, half-formed sentences eked out then were choked off by a renewed hysteria.
“Did you see—”
“He was in the corner, like—”
“When the shoe hit—”
A third voice, holding none of the amusement theirs did, broke in. “I’m glad you two can find the humor in this. Elise, can we please discuss this privately?” He shifted his gaze to Bruce—not meeting his eyes, but rather hovering over his shoulder—before looking pointedly back to Elise. To his credit, he held himself rigid with every modicum of dignity he could muster, but his shifty eyes and trembling hands gave him away.
Elise placed her empty glass on the table soundly, exhaled so completely that her shoulders slumped, and faced him. “Oh, Ethan. There’s nothing to discuss. I want a divorce, and you’re moving out. Don’t fight me on this. You’ll regret it.”
Ethan dropped his chin to his chest then looked back up at her sadly. She, too, wore a sad look, and somehow Bruce knew it wasn’t so much for themselves, but more for their daughter. He kept his gaze averted, trying to be as inconspicuous as a six-and-a-half-foot man could be.
Ethan addressed him. “Bruce. My apologies for a most awkward…scene.”
Bruce coughed and gave a quick wave. “Yeah, yeah, sure. No, uh, no worries, man.”
When the door opened and closed for the second time, Elise said, “Well. How about that.”
Bruce ruffled her hair and grabbed her glass for a refill. “Maybe call your mom and see if she can—”
“Yeah, I’ll call her now. And Bruce? Thank you. For everything. If you weren’t here—”
“It’s all good, kid. I got your back. Call your mom. I’ll give you a few.”
Bruce made fresh drinks and took them out onto the front porch while Elise spoke not-so-softly to her mother. In hindsight, it wasn’t his best idea. He should’ve stayed in the living room. But he wanted to give her at least some privacy after such an embarrassing scene. Cautiously, he lowered himself onto the porch swing, afrai
d his weight would tear it from the ceiling. It creaked but held as he slowly pushed back and forth with the heels of his boots.
Before he could see them, he heard Katie O’Brien and her crazy brood come up the sidewalk. He had a moment of foolish hope that they wouldn’t notice him, but of course, they did.
“Oh, hey, Moose. I didn’t expect to see you here. Isn’t that your truck in the Luschek’s driveway?”
“Hey, Katie. Yep, yep it is,” was all he said. He could practically see the wheels turning in her blonde head, but he wasn’t going to help her out.
The front door swung open, and Elise popped her head out. “All right, Moose, I—Katie. Uh, what’s up? Were we supposed to—”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I just saw Ethan go down the street—awfully fast, I might add—and I thought we could—Ian, get off the banister, now—go for a walk with the kids. Is Gianna…” Katie trailed off and looked past Elise into the house.
“She’s at my mom’s.”
“Oh. I see.” She darted her eyes back and forth between Bruce and Elise. A devilish grin spread across her face.
“No, Katie, you don’t see. Bruce has my new washing machine in his truck. He’s going to install it for me.”
“Oh, okay.” She shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “Lord knows Ethan would never be able to figure that out, right? Billy junior, don’t you dare wake the baby, so help me God. Listen, you want to walk or not? I gotta get them moving or they’ll go crazy.”
Elise looked at Bruce, uncertain. He said, “Go on, I don’t need you hovering over me while I work.”
“Thanks, Moosie.” She skipped over and kissed his cheek then whispered, “I can handle her.”
As they walked down the stairs, he called after them, “Have a nice walk, ladies.”
“Oh, we will, Moosie,” answered Katie. To Elise, she said, “Do I smell alcohol on your breath?”
