Before He Finds Her (29 page)

“I wouldn’t call it
amazing
,” he said, grinning.

“You know it is,” she said, and ordered a second drink for herself.

After breakfast, he drove her home, and she honestly didn’t think anything of it when he said, “I’ll walk you to the door.” They were both a little tipsy. And how they got on to the topic of David’s wife, she couldn’t remember. But that was when David made his comment about Allie being a warm person. Which made her smile, because at the moment he said it, with the start of summer evident in the growing shrubs and trees and grass all around them, the azaleas blooming pink, the yellow coreopsis, the potted petunias and zinnias framing the front door, she
felt
like a warm person, and then David put his hands on her shoulders as if he were steadying himself.

He’s going to kiss me.

She knew it immediately. But when it came, it was a kiss at war with itself, coming only after resting his forehead against her own for what seemed like an eternity. In fact, the head-touching was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. He put his lips to hers and repositioned his arms around her back, and she felt one of his hands dip a little lower, and none of it lasted more than a few seconds.

A drunk kiss—she’d been the giver and receiver of them before and felt no need to pull away. She wasn’t even particularly annoyed at David. He’d kissed her because of her warmth. Because they were both tipsy. Because his promotion was making him feel invincible, and because they had become close, these past few months.

He wasn’t much to look at. He was married. She was married. This was going nowhere. So she let herself be flattered and amused, and she decided that David’s transgression was a forgivable offense. And just as she knew would happen, the moment that the kiss was over, his face got red and he made an “oops” expression, and with a pat on his cheek and a single line—“Not the best idea, probably”—she dispelled the moment’s potential severity with a rejection that was its own flirtation. She did it effortlessly, like tossing dust that happened to be magical into the air.

And because David’s friendship was important to her, she made sure to call him the next day and invite him to walk around the block, which gave him a chance to apologize, and gave her a chance to assure him that it was no big deal, honestly—the matter was already forgotten—and allowed for the situation to be put to bed before it ever became a situation at all.

But she knew. He desired her.

She followed him now into the living room. His home, like his yard, was tidy and uncluttered, the sofas all leather, the tables all sharp angles—a home with no children. A peaceful home, which she was making less so with her presence. On the coffee table lay two Sunday newspapers, neatly aligned, and several books.

“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked. “I could really use—”

He put up a hand, silencing her, and went over to the bar (in the corner, with a sink, something she’d never seen in a living room other than on TV), poured her a small glass of Scotch, and delivered it. The first sip was like a full-body massage, and she sank a little deeper into the couch.

He poured himself a drink and, to her disappointment, sat across the coffee table from her. But his smile was warm. “So it seems that you, too, have fled the event of the century.”

From inside David’s house, she could hear traces of music coming from her backyard. In a quiet suburb, sound traveled at night. “I can’t do it any longer,” she said. “My marriage is over. It’s been over for so long.” Lying alone at night, she came up with various metaphors, all having to do with movement: ships adrift, birds flying in two directions, or one flying and the other staying still, which, given enough time, still created a chasm. But she spared David the metaphors. “Ramsey and I—we have nothing. Not any longer. Please”—she patted the sofa beside her—“sit here. I need you right here.”

David rose, moved around the coffee table, and sat beside Allie. She placed a hand on his knee and looked at him. “You and I are good for each other, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he said, and hearing this, she released a breath she wasn’t even aware of holding. “I’m grateful for what we have.”

“You are, huh?” She said it with a sideways glance. She knew what she was doing. The flirtation and the Scotch made her face hot. It’d been a while, this feeling. She missed it. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was a good man, and he was intelligent and going places. And their connection wasn’t some long-ago remembrance that might not ever have been real. It was happening now, in Allie’s adult life, with its experience and its complications, its logistics and uncertainties. An adult connection. It could be love.

She moved her hand up the leg of his pants, just slightly.

“Allie.”

She moved her hand up a little more.

He placed his hand on top of hers, stopping its movement. “Allie—listen. This can’t happen.”

But he was wrong. It could and should. This past year proved it. His kiss proved it. Their easy conversations and their candor and his obvious attraction to her proved it. She wanted to explain all this to him, but when she spoke she was horrified to hear that her voice sounded drunken and pleading and shrill. “
Why not?
”

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“No, it isn’t. Nothing is simpler.” Her words came faster. “I’m getting a divorce. And I know you aren’t in love with Jessica, not really. So you can get a divorce, too. You don’t even have kids. It isn’t complicated at all.”

“Allie, I can’t leave Jess.”

She refused to be fazed by his use of his wife’s nickname. “You deserve to be happy. So do I. Do you know what a superconjunction is?”

He frowned. “You mean the planetary alignment thing?”

“Ramsey thinks the one tonight is going to end the world.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that won’t happen.”

“He’s delusional,” Allie said. “I can’t live with it any longer.”

“Then you shouldn’t. You deserve better.”

“You need to leave Jessica, too.”

He sighed. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He released her hand, stood up, and went to pour himself another drink, leaving Allie to endure the distant but relentless thumping of drums and bass coming from her backyard. David didn’t speak again until he was back on the sofa beside Allie, though not as close as before. “There’s a spot opening up on ABC news. New York network.
Jessica’s
network. They’ve narrowed their search to two people, and I’m one of them.” He nodded as he spoke. “She’s opened this amazing door for me, and I’m
this close
.” He must have seen the tears in Allie’s eyes, because his voice raised in pitch, became a little more desperate. “Allie, this is it—the chance you wait your whole career for. God knows I’ve paid my dues for so long, and now Jessica’s opening doors that… well, these are doors that open maybe once in a career. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She let the words sink in. “Do you love her?”

He looked away. “It’s complicated.”

“You fucking coward.”

“
Allie
...”

“Do you love me?” He didn’t answer. “Coward.”

She ran her hands roughly through her hair, pulling at the roots.

“I’m not a coward, Allie,” he said.

“Yes, you fucking are. When you use people to get ahead and ignore the chance to be with your soul mate? What do you think it makes you?”

“We aren’t soul mates, Allie. You’re only saying that now because...” He shook his head. “Look, we’re two people who meet for breakfast a few times a month. I keep you company sometimes when you’re alone with Meg, because—”

“Because I’m so desperate, is that it?”

“No. But I do think you’re lonely.”

I don’t want to hear this
, she thought. He was twisting what the two of them had. Making himself feel better. He was being cold because that was easier than dealing with the truth.

“We’re neighbors,” he concluded, and the words were like a knife.

“We’re a lot more than that, and you know it,” she seethed. But were they? She considered, in horror, that maybe she had it all wrong. What she saw as friendship, as intimacy, maybe he saw as nothing more than a charity case. And now she was here, and her daughter was alone back in the house with no adults to hear her if she was crying for something.

Allie thought that nothing David could say could possibly be worse than what he’d already said. “Listen, Al, I’m not going to leave my wife. That just can’t happen.” He took a breath. “But if you have... what’s the right way to say this?—
needs
that aren’t being met...” He looked away. “We’d have to be very discreet.”

It took a moment for his words to make sense. When they did, she shot up from the couch and rushed to the door, sobbing.

“Okay, forget I ever said it. I’m sorry. Allie? Come on, Allie. Come back.”

But she was already out the door.

The Sandy Oaks section of town was almost completely residential, though one bar, Jackrabbits, was only a couple of blocks away. It probably predated the neighborhood itself. It had a decent jukebox, and when she and Ramsey first moved into the house, they went there sometimes for a beer and a few games of pool. She considered going there now, she could walk it, but her head was already swimmy from the beer and the Scotch, and she didn’t want anyone, even in a dark bar, seeing her like this. So with nowhere to go, she went home, walking the too-bright streets of her neighborhood. So many damn light posts. Safety, safety. How about a little darkness at night? Why must a person always be on display?

At least the music had stopped, though she wasn’t sure why. When she crested the small hill on her street, her own house became visible. Two police cars were parked out front.

She quickened her pace, and by the time she reached her driveway she was breathing heavier. She went around to the side yard and through the gate in the privacy fence.

A dozen or so guests lingered. The fire pit coughed up smoke, and picked-over food sat out on tables. Near the stage, the band huddled with two police officers. When she approached, Ramsey glanced up at her and, taking little notice, continued talking to the officers. “What does ten p.m. even mean if we can’t play till ten p.m.? I mean, you tell me.” She could tell she’d walked into a conversation that’d been going on like this awhile.

“Can’t allow it,” the officer said. “Not with the complaints we’ve gotten.”

“Who’s complaining?” Ramsey asked. “Everyone was
here
. It’s for them.”

“What about two more songs?” Eric asked, looking at his watch. “We’ll be done by nine thirty.”

“Two songs, nothing,” Ramsey said. “I know the ordinance, and it’s ten p.m.”

“Can’t allow it,” the larger officer said. “This is a quiet—”

“Yeah, a quiet neighborhood. I get it,” Ramsey said. “That doesn’t change the goddamn ordinance.”

“
Sir
...”

“Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me.”

“
Ramsey
,” Allie said, before either of the officers had a chance to reply, before this escalated further.

“Why, yes, Allie, what is it?” He spoke slowly, his tone mocking and loud, intended for all to hear. “Has my wife returned from one last roll in the hay with the great weatherman to offer us her words of wisdom?”

“
What
?” She glanced around. “How dare you... that’s not what I...”

He leaned in closer and fake-whispered: “So how was his lightning rod?”

She glared at him. “You fucking—”

“Cool it, Ramsey!” Paul moved between the couple, the first responder springing to action. “Whatever’s going on, you need to calm it down.”

The air was oppressive. Allie’s head spun. She thought she might become sick.

“Your friend is right,” said the officer. “You need to calm it way down. Because I’ll haul you in for drunk and disorderly. I’ll be glad to do it. So take a deep breath and count to ten. Because this party’s over. And you can either be cool about it, or you can come with us. And I’m this close to making that decision for you. Am I being clear?”

“Officer,” Eric began, but his younger brother laid a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“Yeah,” Ramsey said through gritted teeth. “You’re clear.”

“That’s right—I am.” The officer stood almost a head taller than Ramsey and stared him down another few seconds. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen the inside of our drunk tank, Mr. Miller. But I promise it’s ready and waiting.”

Ramsey’s face took on a wounded look. “Man, why’d you have to go and say that?”

The officer’s expression stayed rock hard. “Why? Because I’ve been a police officer long enough to know that some things never change.”

“That’s not true,” Ramsey muttered under his breath, like a child protesting to himself on the way to the principal’s office.

“We won’t have to come back here, will we?” asked the officer.

Ramsey shook his head, still looking deflated. “Nah. It’s like you said. The party’s over.”

Halfway to the gate, the younger, shorter officer turned around. “Since you’re so concerned about ordinances, you should know your fire pit’s too large and too close to the trees. We could ticket you for that.”

They left, shutting the gate behind them.

“I want you all out of here,” Allie said, loud enough for everyone in the yard to hear. “Get out of here this second.”

“There’s all this gear,” Paul said apologetically. “It all has to be—”

“Fine. Pack up your gear and leave.”

“Allie,” said Eric, who stood beside Ramsey, “maybe the three of us should—”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Eric. I want you and everyone else gone.” She walked toward the house. “You, too, Ramsey,” she said without bothering to turn around.

20

September 28, 2006

Such a strange mix of assertiveness and nervousness, Melanie thought while fishing through her purse for change in the Sandpiper’s lobby. All of David’s fake charm masking his actual charm. And such a large and lonely house. Or maybe she was merely detecting her own loneliness now that the evening’s excitement was over.