Accidents of Marriage (38 page)

“It’s just a temporary break.”

“I’ve thought about you. You taught me so much. Being with you, talking, everything, it meant more to me than I think you knew.”

Yes, she wasn’t that beautiful, but she was that desirable with that soft sweater falling over her breasts.

“I’m getting back together with Maddy.” Ben remembered the taste of Elizabeth’s lipstick.

“I don’t know why I miss you so much.” Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, a clean expensive scent drifted from her hair. He ran a hand over it, the glossy sheen, so different from Maddy’s curls. She lifted her face to him, all yearning admiration. She thought he was Mr. Fucking Wonderful. In her fantasy, she’d made him some kind of prince.

“Sometimes I think I love you, Ben.”

“You don’t. You don’t even know who I am.”

“I know the important things. How smart you are. What you do for people like B-bird. You were probably the first person who actually helped him—look at the difference you made in his life.”

B-bird. Out on bail with yet another continuance as the case got weaker for the prosecution and witnesses dried up. Did Elizabeth think getting one more murderer to stay on the streets was some fucking crowning achievement for Ben?

“Getting him free isn’t the same as making a difference. Maybe being locked up was the right thing.” The world ran on rules; Elizabeth should know this.

Now she sat up a bit straighter, looking less soft sweater and more pressed shirt.

“He’s a fatherless boy who grew up in the projects,” Elizabeth said. “His mother has been an alcoholic most of her life. He had his first drink at seven. When did he ever have a chance?”

“That’s sad—not a reason to get away with murder.”

“This doesn’t sound like you,” she said.

“Maybe I’m having a crisis of faith,” he said. “Or maybe I’m just having a crisis. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

•  •  •

He dropped Elizabeth in front of her brownstone. Then he headed home.

“Welcome to the Jungle” blared out of the CD player as he drove past Northeastern University on Huntington Avenue. Guns N’ Roses—that’s what he needed, no matter what anyone said.

Fucking Elizabeth.

Fucking world.

Fucking him.

He thanked God for letting him stop, for helping him push Elizabeth away. Ah, yes, God. Thank you for keeping me from fucking Elizabeth.

He turned and passed the gas station on the corner of South Huntington and Tremont.

In his torrent of need, he’d driven toward home. Toward Maddy. He pushed the button for home on his cell and got Maddy’s voice inviting him to leave a message. He wanted to go there—see her right now.

The Volvo in front of him cut him off from the right, squeezing in next to him, trying to beat the trolley at South Huntington Avenue. Ben pounded on his horn until he wanted to give himself the finger. He turned up the CD volume, drove two more blocks, and then stopped, his chest hurting. He parked across from Angell Memorial Animal Hospital. A rescue shelter. He tried to appreciate the satire as he turned off the ignition, and then tried to slow his breathing before he stroked out.

He reached into his coat pocket, looking for the package of Tums he’d taken to carrying, and pulled out the bag of Lindt chocolate. Inside was the assortment of chocolate he’d chosen for himself and Maddy—flattened, squashed.

CHAPTER 36

Maddy

Eighteen days had passed since Ben left.

Maddy knew because she’d marked the date in her journal and today she’d counted—brushing away corn muffin crumbs from the page as she finished saying each number out loud. Then she returned to the list of chores left by her mother, who wrote them in huge letters on the blackboard her father had hung in the kitchen just days after Ben moved out.

The phone rang as she sat folding socks after first matching them up—part of her mother’s rehabilitation plan. Sock therapy.

“Maddy, I heard something. Something not good.” Her sister’s shout invaded her brain like an assault.

“I’m not deaf, Vanessa. Keep telling you.” Her sister thought she couldn’t hear; her mother considered her blind, someone who needed lists written in foot-high letters. When they weren’t shouting or miming, they treated her as though she were dust in the corner—annoying but inevitably still there day after day.

“I’m in the car—can’t talk long. The light’s about to change, and I promised Sean I’d stop talking when I was driving. Guess what?”

“What?” She held a sock up to the window. Black and navy were
hard to tell apart. Was this her brain, or had it always been hard to see these shades?

“When I took Ursula to nursery school, I ran into cousin Gail. She got so fat!”

Vanessa sounded happy. She hated cousin Gail.

“Gail said she saw Ben last week. Dropping a
young woman
—actually she said
girl
—off in the Fenway. By Northeastern. You remember that Gail teaches there?”

“Ben? A girl? Who?”

“Gail didn’t know who, stupid!” She laughed. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, she said the girl was blond and pretty. Long straight hair. Have to go. Green light.”

“Wait. What time. Did she see. Ben?”

“I don’t know—ten? Maybe nine?”

Vanessa hung up. When her mother’s footsteps alerted her approach, barely knowing why, Maddy ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right?” her mother called.

“Nothing. Is ever right.” Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? “Leave me. Alone.”

Her mother knocked on the bathroom door. When Maddy didn’t answer, she knocked again. “Should I call Dad?”

So intensely did she want to curse at her mother that she knew she must be getting better because she didn’t let out a single
fuck you
or
cocksucker
.

“Mom. Go home. Please. I need. Time. By myself.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, Maddy!”

Are you stupid? Deaf? Blind to me? I want to be alone. That’s why I’m in the bathroom.

She bit the corner of the towel.

The next knock sounded tentative. Tapping, really. As though she thought Maddy had turned into a rabid animal. She splashed cold water on her face and the back of her neck. Then she opened the bathroom door and announced, “Maybe Ben. Slept with someone.”

“Don’t be crazy—of course he didn’t!” Her mother shook her head
so hard Maddy waited for it to fly off. “Is that why you were hiding in the bathroom? Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t. I know it.”

“You don’t. Know. Vanessa called.” She repeated Vanessa’s words, one halting almost-sentence at a time.

“So he drove someone home.” Her mother patted Maddy, forgetting, as they all did, that since the accident she hated being touched when she was upset.

“Ben loves sex.” She threw the words with as much passion as possible—needing to convince her mother and stop the constant Ben campaign.

Her mother rolled her eyes as though Maddy were thirteen. “He’s not an animal. Stop building castles in the sky. Your imagination has the best of you. As though you don’t have enough problems.”

Maddy balled her fists to keep from sticking up her middle finger—proud at her control—and walked away to call Kath.

•  •  •

Searching for something to concentrate on other than hating Ben, Maddy stared at the back of the cabdriver’s neck, mottled with age, bristly little hairs coming out of his skin. She didn’t want to hate the driver. Rage already rented too much space in her brain.

Kath waited in the lobby of the high school where she worked as the director of student services. The yellow brick building exuded an exhausted, day-is-over, three o’clock feel, smelling of overamped teenagers, winter coats, and dirty mops. She barely had time to cry before Kath hustled her out and into her car.

“Where are we going?” It took four tries, but Maddy finally buckled her seat belt.

“For a walk.” Kath shot out of the parking space and made a U-turn.

“Where?”

“You’ll see,” she said.

They sped toward whatever destination Kath had in mind. Cars flew by on Storrow Drive. Fast and furious. Had Ben driven faster than any of them?

“Why would he?” Maddy banged her fist against her knee. “How long?”

“We don’t know anything yet.” Kath pulled into a small parking area off Soldiers Field Road. “Come with me. You need a chance to let go.”

She led Maddy to a path by the side of the Charles River, a desolate weedy section she didn’t recognize.

“No one is ever here during the week. You can yell and cry and say any damn thing you want.”

“I can’t yell. Not enough. Breath. Remember?”

“See, that’s just not fair,” Kath said. She took her hand and squeezed. “If you can’t yell, swear as much as you want—fuck Zelda’s no-dirty-words exercises.”

“I hate him. Want. To kill. Plunge. A knife. Into his. Fucking heart. Twist it. Stomp him. Fuck. Hate him.” She wanted to howl. Bands of tension cinched her chest. “Scream for me, Kath.”

Kath put her hands on her bony hips and screamed loud enough for the veins in her skinny neck to stand out. “Ben Illica is a goddamn moron. He’s the supreme asshole of the United States of America! Ben Illica is a useless stupid prick!” She turned to Maddy. “Good?”

She nodded. “Good.”

They walked in silence, Kath watching her closely. For signs of what? Maddy wondered. Throwing herself in the river?

“He cheated already. Lying. He cheated me out of truth. What he was like. Our life. What it had. Become.”

“Maybe he felt so evil he couldn’t face up,” Kath said.

“Ben never ran away. From anything,” she said.

“Ben never got into a rage so big it caused physical damage before.”

“Making excuses? For him?” She tripped over a branch and grabbed Kath’s arm. “Shit. Can’t even walk.”

“No. Trying to make sure you don’t go over the deep end.” Kath gripped her arm. “And you may not beat yourself up. Or become a professional victim.”

Maddy tried to order the words pouring through her mind. “He was mean. Before. And the other night. He scared us all.”

“I know you’re tired of hearing the word
accident
and that he’s sorry. He’s trying to do better—I know this. I don’t know if that’s enough, but really. Can you live alone now? Honestly.”

“Listen to me! I spent years. Pushing it all. Down. And then. This. And now. Is he feeling so sorry for himself. That he found a blond. Comfort doll?”

Maddy tried to think what she might have said to herself if she were Kath being honest. Kath not worrying about Maddy taking care of herself and the children.
He’s always been a schmuck. What did you expect from him after all these years? He’s always been a selfish prick.

It wasn’t as though the signs weren’t there from almost the beginning.

Not the very beginning, of course—when things were all starry with sex and glitter, you hid things like the tendency toward martyrdom you’d picked up at your mother’s breast and sudden furies you’d learned from your father.

One minute Ben would be rubbing knots from her neck, the next exploding over something she said. Sometimes the never knowing seemed the worst.

Truth rolled in like acid. Remembering how on guard she’d been every time the door opened and Ben walked in. He never reached for control. Lashing out seemed so much easier. Did all men have that in their toolbox? Was Ben so much out of line? That’s what always tripped her up, not knowing what was normal in relationships. So many women acted differently around their husbands, a bit guarded, laughing nervously, watching for their husbands’ reactions before they formed their own opinions.

She knew other women who put on an emotional apron when their men were nearby, just like her. But did that make it normal? Okay?

Even during Maddy’s pregnancies, Ben allowed his reactions to override her vulnerability. Carrying Caleb had been the worst. July was the cruelest month to be pregnant. You’d think August might be harder—but Maddy didn’t think so. August in Boston sometimes brought the relief of cool nights.

During July she was in her eighth month—too early to hope for the relief of delivery, so bloated that two-year-old Gracie and seven-
year-old Emma made designs by indenting her swollen calves. She’d lurched between stuffing herself with butter-slathered saltines and living on cucumbers to rid herself of the water weight induced by her carb cravings.

Sweaty wood had slipped under her hand as she gripped the banister, slowly struggling down the stairs, holding Gracie’s hand. Emma bumped into her from behind with every step.

Maddy still remembered the sink filled with plates and silverware, everything coated with chicken grease.

The baby had kicked as though planning an escape straight through her flesh.

“Em—why don’t you get the pot and the cereal?” Emma strutted with self-importance when faced with chores. She also insisted on oatmeal with berries whatever the humidity level.

Maddy brewed coffee, craving the one guilt-ridden cup she allowed herself. Emma measured oats, reading the directions aloud, and mixed them into the cold water. Once the coffee brewed, Maddy took over, standing on her eight-month swollen feet, stirring the oatmeal until it thickened, then turning off the burner and putting bowls on the table.

“Mommy has to go to the bathroom,” she’d said as she lined up juice glasses. Mommy had to go to the bathroom every second of every minute. “Watch Gracie, okay? Don’t take your eyes off her.”

Gracie’s unusually sweet and placid nature made it easy to entrust her to Emma, but still Maddy left the bathroom door open—modesty being yet one more casualty of motherhood. She took advantage of her moment of alone time to study her ragged cuticles. They crept up to cover her nail bed more each day. Nail polish was verboten during pregnancy. Of course she could buff and file, but really, at a certain point, who cared? It wasn’t as though she and Ben were holding hands these days. Who would she buff for? The UPS guy holding out his thingie for her signature?

Seconds after she left the bathroom, murderous screams exploded through the air. One hand under her giant belly, she ran over the slippery oak floor to her babies. Spilled oatmeal steamed on the floor;
Emma, sobbing, tried to hold a hysterical Gracie.