by K T Morrison
“But then when I do…”
“Fine,” he said, showing her his palms again. He collected his fork and put scrambled eggs in his mouth but could barely swallow it...
39
In the driveway, sitting in his truck and waiting for Libby who was still in the house, he texted Chelsea against his own better wishes.
Ben: what did Finn say?
He set the phone down face-first on his thigh, turned up the air conditioning. After breakfast, he and Libby had gone about getting ready for the day, moving around each other in the bathroom in a not unfriendly way, still very quiet with each other. He was dressed first, and now he was waiting for her, listening to the radio, getting the news. His phone dinged.
Chelsea: she icing that kitty cat?
Ben: what does that mean?
Chelsea: how's she taking it?
Ben: taking what?
Chelsea: what did she tell you?
Ben: She told me nothing happened
Chelsea: nothing happened?
Ben: not even what you and I heard
Chelsea: did you tell her you heard it?
Ben: Are you crazy?
Chelsea: Finn fucked your wife twice last night
He stared at the words right there on the screen. Finn fucked her? His skin took a chill from the cold air against the sudden body heat wetting his skin. He wiped at his upper lip.
Ben: What did he tell you?
Chelsea: said they fucked twice in his hotel bed. Said she was so tight his dick is hurting today
He groaned, tightened his stomach muscles, could feel his face flushing with heat and rage.
Ben: are you serious?
Chelsea: He had to drive to Hamilton today I asked him if he wanted a bag of ice for his dick
“Come on,” he said, and punched his arm rest. Why wouldn’t Lib tell him that? Why was she such a little liar?
He turned the screen of his phone to read it again. Finn fucked her. Twice. She was so tight…
Sudden churning tumult rip-roared through his insides. He grabbed at his tie to loosen it, undid the top button of his shirt. Fucking grabbed his steering wheel and shook it back and forth, growling through gritted teeth. They fucked. They fucked!
“Fuck you, Libby,” he said. Now he was bewildered, looking at the door, waiting for that pretend-innocent to come skipping out to get a ride into work. Yeah, sure, he was a piece of shit who cheated on her. He was a piece of garbage who set his wife up to get seduced by a guy she had a crush on. But she didn’t have to fall for it. She didn’t have to open her legs to Finn. But most importantly: she could have told him. He practically begged her to.
Libby’s blonde hair was swishing now behind the glass inset of the door, and she backed her way out with her little lunch bag and briefcase, wearing her sedate attire of lightweight khaki summer skirt and cotton chambray button-down collar shirt.
“Fuck you, Libby,” he said again, put the truck in reverse and backed out of the driveway.
40
The further he ripped down their street the worse he felt. He eased off the pedal, the engine’s roar making him feel ashamed. The tires had even chirped. The worst was Libby in his rearview, hands held up as if to say Where are you going?
The rage couldn’t be helped. Nor the jealousy and the hurt. It wasn’t the act of the infidelity. It was her lack of honesty.
At the end of Sarah Ashbridge, he jerked his truck to the right before the stop sign and pulled over, grabbed his phone, shame and guilt washing up his back. He texted Libby now.
Ben: sorry gotta go business emergency I’m not going into the city, heading out east so sorry
He growled, tapped his phone against his forehead. He sent another message.
Ben: I love you so much Libby. I love you so so much
He waited, eyes frozen glued to his phone. Libby hardly ever texted though her old flip-phone could do it. He waited, thinking she wouldn’t hear his apologetic missive. At last she responded.
Libby: I’m telling you the truth, Ben
He shook his head, looked up through the truck’s sunroof at the hazy blue sky. Growled and punched the velour ceiling.
“You are not,” he groaned. “You’re just not…”
He stared at her message again.
In the coffin of his cab, he shouted at the top of his lungs: “You are a little liar!”
41
Three hours later, just before lunchtime, he was overwhelmed by embarrassment over his behavior this morning. He was a first-class heel. All that bullshit, telling himself about how he would support Libby through anything, and the first little speed-bump, he’s throwing up his hands and acting like he’s back in high school again. That was not a classy move.
Just because things didn’t go your way didn’t mean you kicked over the Monopoly board and went home. Kids that did that weren’t asked to come and play again. What had happened? He’d been so confident about how things would fall into place. Libby had done the thing that would make them equal. But instead of confessing and nudging their relationship closer to the bull’s eye again, she started breaking rank, doing the unexpected, and the next thing you know he’s storming off, squealing rubber and acting like an asshole.
The truth was, he wanted this to be done because he wanted Libby to be restored with him. Wanted to hold her in his arms and be renewed. Atone for his badness, if she would accept it, and accommodate hers. Sure, he’d held onto fantasies about maybe getting together with Chelsea and Finn, maybe even bringing Neve into his bedroom with Libby, but it was far-fetched.
It was her lies that had stumbled him. Libby was not a liar. But there was no way nothing happened. He’d heard it himself…
Finn fucked her twice...
Fifteen minutes before her lunch break, he was in the deli where all the staff from the bookstore liked to get their coffee, ordering four blacks to-go and getting containers of cream and sugar. It would be for her friends, because he was going to take Libby out for lunch. They would start this over. He wouldn’t talk about Finn, not at lunch, that would be dealt with in time. He would make Lib happy again, make her feel safe. Make her feel loved. Because the Ben she saw this morning was not the Ben he wanted to be for her.
Coffee tray in hand, he strolled through the black steel and glass double-doors of the downtown bookstore set in the shopping level of a Bay Street skyscraper. Inside, the store was incongruous; sky-high mahogany bookshelves, towering Ionic columns, glittering chandeliers, gleaming hardwood floors. Outside was hot dog carts and finance hustlers, inside the shop’s doors it was a wink to the Bodleian Library.
Between the huge round front tables of newest releases, he worked through a mid-day crowd, waving at Earl who manned the checkout today, then up the open staircase to the half second floor. The special-order and customer service kiosk was there, a clutch of middle-aged women gathered near the balcony edge looking down on the first floor, sitting with coffees and quietly gossiping.
His eyes had been darting around, peeping over aisles and around corners, trying to pick up a pretty blonde head dancing around. If she wasn’t on the floor, the kiosk is where she’d be.
Tina was there in her place, sitting behind the desk and filling out some paperwork. She saw him coming and her face brightened. “Hey, Ben, hey, great to see you...”
“What’s up, Tina?” He set down the tray of coffees, pulled one from its sleeve and set it in front of her. He motioned toward the cream and sugar. “Where’s Lib at?”
“Oh, shoot, she didn’t come in today, Ben.”
“What do you mean didn’t come in?”
Tina stopped her tearing of a sugar packet, detecting his alarm. “She didn’t tell you? She called in sick this morning.”
He was quick on his feet. “Shoot,” he said, “I left before she did. She said she wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t realize it was that bad, poor kid…”
With a sly wink, Tina said, “Probably partied it up in Barrie on the weekend.�
��
“Yeah, she had a really good time. Lib keeps it sensible though.”
“Nice of Finn to take her—and get her backstage...? I wish I had a friend like that.” She sifted sugar into the coffee cup.
“I was really bummed I couldn’t go.”
“Lib was pretty mad at you. So—she had a good time?”
“She had the best time,” he said, leaning his elbows on the high kiosk counter, his body weight hanging.
“Yeah, that Finn is a great guy,” Tina said, adding two creams. He watched her hands work, thinking about Finn.
“He is,” he said, head cocking warily. “I like him, he’s a good guy. Have you... met him?”
“Finn?—sure. He brings coffee too,” she said brightly.
His eyelashes fluttered, and a sudden swell of blood pounded up his neck. His body sagged further against the front face of the kiosk and he had to flex his arms to stop from sliding to the floor. “Finn comes by here?”
“Uh-huh, every once in a while.”
Wait, every once in a while? He leapt for a backhand, his mind racing. He asked competitively: “And he brings you guys coffee?”
“He sure does,” Tina said slyly, sipping her coffee with sleepy eyes.
“Better coffee than me?”
“Mmm, I think he mostly goes to the Starbucks, but sometimes the deli.”
How many fucking times has he brought coffee? “What’s better, the Starbucks or the deli?”
“Equal. Both are excellent.”
“This might turn into a competition,” he laughed. Meanwhile his heart was pounding and stars sizzled in his periphery. “How often does he come?”
“Once, twice a week. You guys want to compete who can bring the most coffees, I’m all game for that. You know I like donuts, too, right?”
“Good old Finn,” he said, rapped his knuckles on the counter. “How long’s this been going on?”
“Psh, I don’t know, probably since you moved in.”
“Six weeks?”
“‘Bout that,” she said and shrugged, both hands curved around the coffee like she was cold.
Now he didn’t know what to say, caught in Tina’s gaze, desperate not to give away the racing thoughts of betrayal, but beginning to crumble.
He cleared his throat, made an awkward attempt at small talk that came out like a croaking consonant succotash. He shook his head, smiled. “Shoot, Tina, I better go home and check on Lib. I was going to take her out for lunch today, I guess I’ll bring her home something instead...”
Tina smiled warmly, said, “You’re so special, Ben,” and he faked a smile as his insides began to squirm. His bowels made a squelching sound.
He loosened his tie as he marched down the stairs and between the book rows again, eyes beaming on the front doors as he tried to parse what he was just told. Six weeks? That was before their block party. Before what was the first time he thought Libby met Finn.
42
In the frustrating snarl of traffic between downtown and the beaches, he began to see before him the events of the last few weeks as if they were laid out on a campaign map. Little pewter military figures making moves like chess pieces around a Machiavellian scheme. Arrows drawn on the map of his existence, a big dirty circle drawn around his wife. Could it be possible that the things Chelsea had done with him, luring him away from his wife, were being done behind his back between Finn and Libby? Was he just as oblivious of her infidelity as she was of his?
This was the first crack of light coming through a collapsed cave wall. Each strike of his pickax bringing more and more light... If it were true, then what would he find when he arrived home? When he clambered up the steps to their bedroom, would he find Finn and Lib entangled in round two (or is it round three or four or even more by now)? Finn’s butt pumping up and down, driving that big thing in and out of Libby as she squawked with bright pleasure...
Stuck in a slow moving worm of cars, he couldn’t escape images of deep dark betrayal. Lib in bed with Finn and one of Finn and Chelsea’s friends, like Neve’s well-hung boyfriend, doing all the dirty things he’d done with those girls. Little Lib getting her tiny pink asshole licked and sucked, Lib on her hands and knees getting spit-roasted, sucking two cocks at once, getting ass fucked and giving a blow job, an around the world tour of depravity, maybe the very same night he was with Chelsea and Neve. Both men ejaculating on her multiple times; inside her, deeper inside her, inside her ass, on her perfect tits, on her back, jerking it onto her ass cheeks, onto her face, into her open mouth...
When he pulled off of Boardwalk and onto Sarah Ashbridge, he stopped short of his home. He watched it with the sun visor pulled down, eyeballing the street, looking for that burly custom motorcycle. But his driveway was empty. Of course, it was just walking distance between the two houses. And what would he do if when he went in the house Libby wasn’t even home? He would wonder then where she’d gone. Was she off with Finn? Was she over at Finn and Chelsea’s? Was she rolling around like a panting little newborn puppy dog on a bed with Finn and Chelsea and Neve? Was she being as bad as he’d been? He deserved it.
He deserved it because he’d earned it. But if they’d done to her what was done to him, weren’t they all just pawns in Chelsea’s game?
He got out of his truck, closed the door quietly, walked down two houses, strolling with hands in his pockets underneath a honey locust’s shade. Made his way up the driveway, sticking to the side where he might not be seen from the windows, quietly then up the front steps and to the door.
He tested it, found it locked. Smart Libby.
Key silently slipped in, lock turned noiselessly, he was inside the house. It was quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of the dryer. He slipped off his shoes, and in his socks, slipped around the hall, ducking his head into the kitchen to see if she was there. She wasn’t. The family room was empty as well, no one else on the back deck. That left the upstairs. That left the bedroom.
He made his way quietly up to the second floor, moving along the hallway with cold dread in his stomach. It would be Libby and Finn he would find behind his door and though he’d been prepared for this, tried to make it happen, the stark betrayal by his wife might make this too much for him to bear. His hand rested on the doorknob and he challenged himself whether or not he was ready to enter. He took a deep breath, turned the knob and pushed...
43
Libby was alone in bed. She was curled up on her side, and there were balled tissues in an array around the pillows and on the floor. She was watching him over her shoulder, bewildered. She didn’t say anything.
The calmness of the scene railed in sharp contrast to his expectation and shook him. His rising panic and anxiety stalled. He said, “Libby, sorry I had to take off this morning.”
She nodded.
“Look, I’m really sorry. I’m not handling this very well, am I?”
She shrugged one shoulder.
He clenched and unclenched his sore hands. They’d cramped from the tight grip on his steering wheel. “I went by work to apologize and take you out to lunch and they said you called in sick.”
She nodded again.
Her silence had him puzzled. And wondering became worrying...
“Yeah,” he said, “hold on...” He undid his tie, went into the walk-in closet, tossed it on the dresser, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt then peeked through his hung-up clothing looking for someone hiding. No one.
He returned to the bed, came around so that he could see her face and sat down. He was distracted, the whole while trying not to convince himself that Finn was hiding under the bed. It was crazy. That wasn’t the game. The game was for him to know, not for it to be done, but for Ben to know it had been done...
“Look, Lib, things kinda got weird...”
“They did,” she said, grabbed a tissue, wiped at her nose.
“Have you been crying?” Dumb question, look at all those tissues. Unless, of course, they’re actually mopp
ed up loads of Finn’s semen...
She looked at him sullenly, her chin dimpled. “I’m sorry, Ben,” she said.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
He nodded, laced his fingers together in his lap, and told her: “I know Finn’s been coming by the store.”
Now the red of her face deepened and her lips wriggled as she began to cry again.
“Don’t cry, Lib, don’t cry… It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, Ben, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, Lib, I just wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because I’m embarrassed.”
“But nothing happened, you said.”
“No...”
“Then why are you embarrassed? If you didn’t do anything wrong, you shouldn’t be upset at all.”
“I didn’t. I tried not to...”
“But something happened?”
She shook her head no, infuriating him.
“Why do you keep doing that, Lib?”
“Doing what?”
“Lying to me.”
Her eyes locked on his, weak and submissive and full of shame, her chin dimpled and her lips trembled.
He said, “I know something happened—you said Finn kissed you?”
“Uh-huh...”
