Chapter Five

 

Mary, Mary

One Week Later

 

 

 

 

I thought people would be dropping off warm smiles and casseroles for the next two months. I was wrong. The house has grown as quiet as a monastery and I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad about it. I know people want to give me my space and, at this point, don’t know what more to say. After all, one can only say they’re sorry so many times before getting on with their lives. Just the same, I feel like I have a disease. Yesterday afternoon, I ran into one of my yoga regulars at Starbucks and hated the way she apologetically tap-danced around our shallow conversation while slowly edging closer to the door with a Unicorn Frappuccino sweating almost as badly as she was. I’m not a leper. I’m not contagious. Yet, no one will talk to me and maybe that’s for the best.

Muting The Young and the Restless, I check my cellphone again and lean back into the couch. Lincoln hasn’t reached out since dropping me off after the funeral and I can only assume he’s gotten on with his life as well. I mean, out of all the guys in the world, I pick him to center my thoughts on and I couldn’t feel more foolish. For instance, I could be thinking about the tall drink of water in the Thursday morning yoga class I teach for pennies on the dollar. Kurt is handsome as hell and I’m pretty sure he’s only there to meet women. There’s never a ring on his finger and always an erection in his yoga pants. A few weeks ago, I caught him staring at my ass during a downward dog demonstration and when he offered to buy me a smoothie after class, I had to politely remind him I’m married while trying not to gape at the massive protrusion poking from his pants like a polyester ghost. I’d be lying if I said I never thought about grabbing it. I could be thinking about him and his giant boner right now but I’m not.

I’m thinking about Lincoln and if he knew I sometimes imagined his face whenever Jack hurriedly buried his cock in me, I would die of shame. The thought of never seeing Lincoln again saddens me greatly even though I know it’s for the best. But who will I call when I need someone to help me put the pieces back together? No one, that’s who. This time, I do it myself. Besides, where could something like that possibly lead? It’s taboo, and why would I want to thrust that upon his family? I don’t, so I won’t.

Bringing a steaming mug of coffee to my lips, I blow on it and try to recall the last time I had sex with a human. It was probably around two months ago when Jack came home drunk one stormy night and forced himself on me. I can still smell the scotch on his breath. Still feel the cold marble against my cheek as he bent me over the kitchen island and took me from behind like some two-bit street whore he’d never see again. That’s what our sex life had become. Faceless. Nameless. The doorbell rings and I burn my tongue with hot coffee.

Setting the mug down, I hurry across the room, bare feet slapping against the hardwoods. “Shit,” I whisper, grimacing at my reflection in a foyer mirror and throwing my wild hair into a ponytail of submission. I look like hell and if Lincoln is at the door right now I will never live it down. I usually don’t sleep this… The doorbell rings again, pulling my eyes to the outline of someone standing on the other side of the frosted glass. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my Linkin Park concert tee and courageously pull back the heavy door.

Mary frowns at my beleaguered appearance, dressed like she’s just come from work. “Did you just wake up?”

“No,” I pant, trying to hide my disappointment that she’s not Lincoln. “I was just finishing up some yoga. Come on in.”

Crossing the threshold, Mary suspiciously eyes the place over as if she’s entering a grisly crime scene. I shut and lock the door before following her into the sunlit living room where she takes a seat in the middle of the couch and doesn’t say a word. Just eyeballs me for a few long seconds that make me squirm.

“Coffee?” I ask.

“No thanks, I had enough at work.” Crossing her shapely legs, she straightens a yellow summer dress that compliments her long, red hair. “I went in at five to finish setting up for the new release of The Haunting of Campbell House 2 and I think I drank an entire pot of coffee.”

 “That comes out today?”

Mary nods. “Ran out of copies over two hours ago,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You know how this town loves their Lewis brothers.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

Patting the cushion next to her, she scoots over a little. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”

I sit down next to her and she immediately takes my hand. Mary is a touchy feely type and I’m not. I want to take it back without offending her but don’t know how. Instead, I blow out a breath that flutters a loose lock dangling in my face. “I’m doing good. How about you?”

Surveying the empty pizza boxes and wine bottles littering the coffee table, Mary wrinkles her tiny freckled nose. “Have you eaten yet?”

Gently prying my hand from hers, I pretend to adjust my ponytail. “Not yet.”

“You want to go grab something?” Leaning back into the couch, she picks a piece of lint from her dress and lets it float to the floor. “We were so busy at the library today, I barely had time to use the restroom let alone eat breakfast.” She stops swinging a mint-colored high heel through the air. “I could really go for something greasy.”

“Greasy?” Tilting my head to one side, I frown because Mary is a certified health nut. “You?” She looks away and I know something is wrong. “What happened?”

Dismissing it with a quick shake of the head, tears build in her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Mary,” I say, shifting next to her on the couch. “What happened?”

Looking up, she bravely meets my beleaguered stare. Her jaw opens and nothing comes out.

I lift my brow, anticipation twisting my insides. Maybe something terrible happened with Lincoln. Maybe he moved to another state or hung himself after taking too many pills. “Out with it.”

“I had sex with Weaver last night,” Mary blurts, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Relief washes over me because Lincoln is safe; I’m just overreacting again. “Okay, is that a good thing or not?”

“It was supposed to be a great thing.” She blinks a tear over the freckles on her cheek, rousing my curiosity. “Even though my parents hate him, I really thought he was the one. He’s such a gentleman and so handsome.”

“But?” I say, sipping my coffee.

Inhaling a calming breath, she gains control of her emotions and lowers her voice as if there are other people in the room. “But…his dingy was so small I barely noticed it was in there.”

Without warning, laughter erupts from my nose and spreads to my mouth. I begin choking, eyes watering. Setting my mug down, I grab a nearly empty water bottle and clear the clog. “Dingy?” I laugh some more. “Mary, you have the worst luck!”

“Tell me about it. Gerald was like a mighty redwood and Weaver is like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I feel like Goldilocks who can’t find a bed that is just right.”

I’m attacked by another round of giggles and it feels so good. Hugging her, I try to tell her everything will be alright but don’t know how. I can barely breathe. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Drawing apart, Mary looks down at the fingers she’s bending in her lap, knuckles white with tension. “I feel so shallow letting something like that get to me but it does.” She presses her lips together and avoids my eyes. “People stereotype me because I’m a librarian, but, the truth is, I like to let loose in the bedroom.”

Tucking a strand of flyaway hair behind an ear, I shift uneasily on the couch.

“I mean, I like to be destroyed.”

“Okay, Mary,” I say, trying not to smile. “I think I get it.”

Sighing, her chest falls. “I’m starting to think I’m going to be single for the rest of my life.”

My smile dies a horrible death on my lips. “Hey, listen to me, you are a beautiful girl and you deserve to be picky. You remember that.”

Refusing to meet my gaze, she toys with a heart-shaped ring. “I graduated from college a year ago and still work at the public library.” When she finally looks up, there’s no disguising the sorrow in her eyes. “My parents are so disappointed in me.”

“That is not true! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I’m twenty-three now, Sienna, and still live with them! I don’t have the drive in me that Jack did,” she continues, swinging a heel faster through the air. “I don’t want to work for a living. I want to have kids and drink chardonnay at Chuck E. Cheese with other moms on a rainy Tuesday.”

“I don’t think they serve that there.”

“I want to make nice meals and clean the house with Days of Our Lives playing in the background because that’s how I’m wired.” She scrunches her face up. “Plus, I hate working for people. It’s like being a slave.” Her eyebrows rise. “Let’s face it, a boss is no different than a master.”

I realize my mouth is gaping, like I’m about to reply any second now but the words aren’t quick to come. “I’m not sure I would compare a career to slavery.”

Mary blows out a contradictive huff. “You have to be there by a certain time, five days a week. You can’t take naps or watch TV. You have to do all of this…work.” Sensing my distress, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward to take my hand again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Listen to me going on and on about my stupid problems when you have plenty of your own to worry about.”

“Mary, I love listening to your stories,” I reply. “They always take my mind off things. I mean, you can’t make that stuff up.”

She pats my hand and leans back into the sectional, crossing her legs and swinging a heel through the air again. Turning quiet, she examines the spacious room and I can tell by her wistful sigh she’s reliving some special memory here with Jack. Maybe last Thanksgiving or that one bowl game when somebody broke my new tripod lamp. “So,” she breathes out. “When do you want my help packing all this stuff up?”

My hearts drops like a rock into the pit of my stomach. “How do you…”

“Lincoln told me.”

“Of course, he did.” I swallow hard. “Please tell me he didn’t tell your parents I’m selling the house.”

“Just me.” She smiles back. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Thank God,” I lean back into the couch and cast my gaze about Jack’s antique globes, sundials, and telescopes. This house is one of the last bastions his poor parents can feel close to their dead son and if they knew I was selling it, they might try to stop me. Hell, they may even buy it just to keep it exactly as it is now. A shrine to ole holy Jack. “That is the last thing they need to hear.”

“So where will you go?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“But you’re staying here in town, right?”

It’s all I can do to lift a heavy shoulder to an ear, signaling my uncertainty.

“Oh my gosh,” Mary mutters. “You’re leaving Cottage Grove?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing yet, Mary. First, I have to sell this McMansion and everything in it.”

Tears slide over her creamy cheeks, catching me completely off guard.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You can come visit me wherever I go. I’ll always be there for you.”

She shakes her head, shaking more teardrops loose. “I just feel so bad this happened to you. Your whole life is turned upside-down and the thought of you leaving makes me so sad.”

I study her without knowing what to say. It hurts to see her like this but also warms my heart. Mary has become the sister I never had. The one I always wanted and for that, a part of me (albeit a small part) will never regret marrying Jack. Pushing off the couch and going into the kitchen, I come back and let a set of keys dangle from my fingertips. “I tried giving these to Lincoln but he wouldn’t take them.”

Staring confusedly at the silver teardrop keychain, Mary uncrosses her legs. “What are those?”

“The keys to the Vette. It’s all yours.”

Her eyes bulge. “Sienna, I can’t take that car!”

“Sure, you can,” I say, gesturing with the keys. “You deserve it, and I’ve got enough to deal with selling this house.”

Slack jawed, she stares at the keys, hypnotized by the sunlight winking off the metal.

“Please.” I shove them closer.

Hesitantly, as if they were burning hot, she reaches out and takes them. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Keep it or sell it. Jack was your brother and would want you to have it.”

Mary looks up. “Did you tell Lincoln the same thing?”

“What? No,” I reply, drinking more water only to find the bottle already empty.

Wrapping the keys in a fist, Mary bites back a smile. “Well, thank you. This is…way too much. I’ve always loved that car!”

My heart swells for her. She’s an old soul trapped in a young body and I know how much this means. Not just because it belonged to her older brother, but because she’s as vintage as the Vette. And I don’t mean hipster vintage; I mean classy vintage. From the vinyl record collection she’s been building since the third grade, to her persistent use of personalized stationary, she exudes old school. Hell, I’m surprised she even has a cellphone.

The doorbell startles me. Exchanging a worrisome look with Mary, I rise from the couch and cross the room. My bare feet slap against the floor, heart aquiver. I’m not expecting anyone and it can only be one person. The doorknob is cool in my hand and when I whip it back, my heart falls out of my chest and lands next to a tiny white box resting on the welcome mat.