Chapter Thirty-Three

 

The tiny grave was perfect. The rose bush was the touch it needed. I sat on the lawn, the dampness of the grass cooling me through my underwear and pants.

“Lola was a good dog.” Seraphene, Marguerite’s eldest daughter, smiled. She was so grown I wouldn't know her but for the look in her eyes. It was her mother’s.

“Thank you so much for taking care of her when I couldn't.” I had nothing else to offer. What did you say to a child when you were trying to explain that level of darkness? She might have been eleven years old, but she was still too young to understand that overwhelming darkness could lurk inside a person.

“We were just glad you gave her to us. Mom said you lived in kind of a crazy house and Lola would have hated it.”

“She would have. This was a better fit for her.” I nodded, swallowing the acidity in my throat. Crazy house was an understatement.

Marguerite carried over a couple of glasses of wine and sat next to me, handing me one. “Mike is officially my favorite person in the world and if you break up with him, I will murder you, for real.”

I held my glass up to hers and clinked it as a response.

Seraphene got up. “Mom, you’re so weird.” She turned and left.

“Probably.” She wrinkled her nose at her daughter and then turned back to me. “And if you do, he’s mine. I am calling shotgun on him now. If Stan dies, I also get visitation rights.” She winked.

“You’re drunk.” I laughed and sipped the wine.

“I’m happy.” She leaned into me. “This is the life I knew you would one day have, so fabulous and smart and kinda refined and yet trashy at the same time. I just never imagined you would date a construction worker, I guess be common-law with him. How many years has it been now?”

“Dating or living in sin, as his mother calls it? Three. Which is nuts. I agree. I never imagined this was how my life would be.”

“Hey, you said imagined normally like a Yankee should,” she beamed and turned back to the guys on the huge back deck, laughing and talking like they’d been friends for decades. “She said imagined normally.”

“Oh my God.” I shoved her.

“Still says God weird though.” Marguerite laughed, nudging me back.

“You should hear her say cup of or spot of. That’ll never be normal again.”

I lifted my middle finger in the air at Mike.

“Ladylike.” He scoffed. “And in front of the children.”

“Mommy tells Daddy to piss off.” Kara, the youngest daughter laughed.

Marguerite’s eyes widened as she burst out laughing. “Stan! Deal with your kids.”

“Yes, because I’m the one cussing in front of them in traffic.” He chuckled and spoke quietly to Kara, letting her know that piss was a bad word.

“They’re gorgeous, Marguerite.”

“I know.” Her eyes squinted as she smiled hard. “I never imagined this would be my life either. You remember that apartment we had before the kids? God, I loved that place. I was so smug then. So blissfully unaware what life really tasted like. What pain and hate and disappointment were.”

“We all were.”

“No, you’d lost Jonathan already. You were filled with misery then. But I was still smug and foolish. I had so many ideas about who and what I was.”

“The word you’re looking for”—I took a big gulp before I said it—“is insufferable.”

“Asshole.” She laughed and stared at the rose bush on her small farm. “Come on, let’s go inside.” She got up. “I need to put out some snacks before we all get too drunk.”

I took her hand and followed her inside. She went into the kitchen, but I sauntered over to the dining room, sitting at the same large industrial table that they’d had for ages. I noticed now it had scuffs and marks and even something resembling crayon on it. There was food in the crevices and no fancy tablecloth or runner. No bowl of pretentious dried acorns or yarn balls made out of grape vines. It had a stack of plastic tablemats that weren’t particularly clean and a stuffed bear who seemed like he was a bit lost.

But none of this had brought me to the room.

It was the painting I had come for.

The one spread across five canvases, the one of the beach grass and the boardwalk. I sat and stared, stunned that the beautiful painting was still here.

I could still smell the grass and sea and hear the waves. I could hop from canvas to canvas. But this time I didn't want to get lost in the beauty of a world where I could flee my troubles. I pondered if Mike would want to go to the beach. I desired to snuggle into his arms around the fireplace with the weird broken glass pieces and listen to him tell stories. Or walk on the beach with him, my hand safely encased in his.

I glanced outside quickly to check and see if it was raining as I wondered for a moment if I was possibly still in the machine.

It happened frequently when it rained, especially if I was sitting in a window. I would gaze around, double-checking.

This painting was the full circle moment, the pinnacle of me sensing I was reliving something.

But unlike the first time I saw the painting, I didn't listen to the siren’s call. I didn't let it tempt me into a fate I believed was better than this one.

I turned my back on it and smiled at my friend. “You need help?”

“Sure. Can you lay out the crackers to go with these dips. Did you ever try these?” She held a container of dip up. “It’s from Costco, I love it. The kids don't, so more for me.” She chuckled.

We set out food and when the guys came in to get some, Mike planted the biggest kiss on my lips, pinning me to him. “Don't get drunk, Em. I have plans for you later at the hotel,” he whispered in my ear.

“Take your own advice.” I bit his lip.

“I’ve been drinking the kids’ grape juice for hours. I’m getting a stomachache from it but that's about it.” He laughed and grabbed some food.

I put my glass down on the table and forgot it inside.

I wanted whatever his plans were.

At the end of the night, he drove us to the hotel. I had the window open, sticking my hand out in the warm summer air.

“They’re nice, huh?” Mike remarked, sort of randomly.

“The best.” I grinned wide.

“Did you know they split up for a while?” He puzzled, making me bring my arm in and close the window.

“What? No.”

“Yeah, the reason I got so drunk that night in New York, at the signing, was him. He came and kept me company while she went to the signing. He got hammered too and needed a walk back to the hotel a little early. On the walk over, he told me the story. She had an affair with some guy, some big shot from the city. She thought she was pregnant and he found the tests. I guess he got the snip-snip so he knew it wasn't his. They broke up for a while. He took the kids and she moved into the city for a bit. Came back about six months later and they got back together. Heavy counseling and shit, but back together. He still sounded crushed though. She would go like weeks without seeing the girls.”

“When was this?” My insides were on fire.

“I don't think he mentioned—”

“Don't lie!” I could smell the lie seeping from him. Liars always knew their own kind and Mike wasn't one of us.

“Right after you girls had your thing. I guess she had a bit of a crisis and it went downhill.”

“Oh my God.” I felt sick. I hadn’t imagined that my state and how I’d acted would have affected her. Typical villain. “She never told me.”

“Yeah, I assumed as much. I thought you should know. Maybe cut her some slack on the whole way she treated you before; she was obviously going through something.”

“You think I am offended by how she treated me?” I leaned away from him, wondering if he really knew me as well as I thought he did.

“No. I know you blame yourself for it all, but we all have self-preservation, Em. And yours is sometimes really good at pointing at the other people in the crowd and hinting at their blame so you don't feel as bad.”

He knew me. He knew me better than I knew myself.

“And you don't need to blame anyone else, or feel guilty about everything you've ever done in your whole life. No one is holding it against you, except you. And I suspect if you stopped counting them and holding them in such high regard, you’d forget your problems were even there. Maybe not always, but some of the time.” He reached over and rubbed my arm. “You think I hold myself hostage on every shitty thing I’ve ever done?”

“No?” I asked.

“No. I don't. I have a list a mile long of horrible shit I wish I could take back. Everyone does. I lost my virginity when I was sixteen to my neighbor because I knew she was in love with me and I just wanted to do it. She told me she loved me, and I didn't give half a shit about her. I screwed her and she told me she loved me again, and I said thanks and then I never talked to her after that. She was kinda easy so I thought why not?” He didn't sound as remorseful as he should. “My mom found out like five years ago and beat the hell outta me. She actually hit me with a wooden spoon, around the kitchen table, shouting like a madwoman. Over twenty years after the fact.” He outright laughed at that. “And truth be told, I deserved way worse. And that isn’t even one snowflake on the damned iceberg of bad things I’ve done. Your inability to deal with guilt is ridiculous. If I knew your parents in any way, I’d blame them. But your twice-a-year phone calls don't reveal much.” He laughed at me, doing that mocking thing I hated, where we laughed but really it was only him.

He pulled into the hotel and I lost my interest in whatever it was he wanted to do.

I couldn't believe Marguerite had gone through all that alone.

Her statement about being smug before, it meant so much more now. So did the wine and candy in the bathroom, alone.

My perfect friend with her perfect life and her perfect marriage wasn't so perfect.

I glanced over at Mike as he pursed his lips, checking for the valet slip before he handed over the keys. I smiled, seeing all the things I knew were flaws but loved him more for having them, even laughing at me for mine, which I hated. My annoyance dissolved.

“I love you,” I blurted.

“I know you do.” He turned and gave me that smile. “And I love you.”

I leaned in, giving him a soft kiss before hopping out when the attendant got my door.

Mike and I held hands up to the room, clinging to each other.

The sadness for my friend slowly lessened as we got there, but my passion for him didn't come around. I needed a hug and the ability to lay some of my troubles on him, if only for the night.

His plan for the night was ruined, but we still spent it in a perfect ending to a flawed and chaotic day.