Ex’s and Oh’s (7 page)

“I’m surprised they don’t insure them,” Elaine said dourly.

“Who says they don’t? Don’t get me wrong. They can be a real source of entertainment.”

“If you’re in the mood for that sort of thing,” Nell called from the table. “But day in and day out? You’d think they could give it a rest!”

“Every man I’ve ever known acts as if he can’t function without adjusting it.”

“If it isn’t in one hand or the other, they’re groping for it. Heaven forbid a woman wants to be in control once in a while.”

Pattie hadn’t even taken her first sip of wine before she said, “Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?”

Caroline nodded.

And Nell said, “The television remote.”

Laughter erupted throughout the room. Yes, Caroline thought, joining in. When it came to laughter and life, she’d come to the right place.

“By the way,” Tori said above the noise. “Next week we’re going to the club.”

“Dave has a fit when I go to the club,” Pattie complained.

“I can’t drink, remember?” Caroline said.

“You’re going to be our designated driver.” Tori put down her wineglass and began to set out the food.

“What did you do today?” Pattie asked Caroline.

“I went shoe shopping, for one thing. But instead of trying on anything fancy, I bought a good pair of walking shoes. I think I should have picked up new underclothes. All of a sudden, I’m busting out of this bra.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Tori said.

Caroline was enjoying it. Not the increase in bust size, per se, but all the rest.

“What about you, Elaine?” Nell asked. “What did you do today?”

“I hired a private investigator.”

“No kidding?” Nell said.

“I found a receipt for lingerie. Justin hasn’t given me lingerie once in the nine years we’ve been married.”

“Oh, Elaine,” Pattie said.

“Men,” Nell added. “We’re better off without them.”

“Then why do we keep trying?” Elaine asked.

“That’s a good question,” Tori replied. “Nell, Elaine, try this crab dip.”

Watching her friends across the kitchen, Pattie said, “I’m married to a fantastic guy. He helps with the kids. He compliments me. He’s great in bed.” She wrinkled up her nose. “But after spending a night with these three when they’re in one of their anti-men moods, I don’t even like the way he breathes. Have you called the midwife yet?”

“I have an appointment next week. Pattie, did Tori’s ex cheat on her, too?”

“I don’t think so.”

“The other way around?” Caroline asked.

“Tori’s not like that. She wanted more is all. More of everything. More than he could give her. I think she feels guilty about that.”

“Are you talking about me?” Tori quipped.

“Caroline wants to know if Grady cheated on you.”

“He didn’t cheat,” Tori said.

“As far as you know,” Elaine insisted. “He said he wouldn’t touch her breasts if she got implants.”

Caroline couldn’t help glancing at Tori’s chest.

“They’re mine,” Tori said. “For now. There’s always room for improvement, right?”

Sitting in the middle of the aromatic kitchen, women’s
voices raised in laughter and complaint, Caroline began to understand the dynamics of this group. She rather liked the noise, the disarray, their earthiness. Tori strove for perfection, and yet it was all their imperfections that had brought them together. In Caroline’s own way, she’d striven for perfection, too, but it was a mistake, a potentially messy one, that had awakened her to the need to change her life.

And every day, her life
was
changing. She was going to have a baby. She had new friends. She thought of Karl, and fleetingly of Shane. Caroline didn’t know what the future held, but she felt breathless and on the brink of discovery. Why, she almost felt young.

Shane
could hear boats leaving the marina. A few docks over, a couple of kids were yelling over an idling engine. Below deck it was as quiet as a crypt.

More than a week had passed since Vickie had brought up the subject of the child psychiatrist. Shane had finally broached the subject.

Andy wasn’t taking it well. “Dad, no.” Even now, he didn’t raise his voice.

“Your mother and I discussed this, son. It could help.”

Andy darted to the ladder leading to the upper deck. Instead of going up, he stopped there, needing to escape yet needing something else more. But what did he need? If Shane knew that, he might know how to help him.

When Andy was eight years old, he and Brian had found a sparrow with a broken wing. They’d brought it to the marina. “My dad can fix him,” Andy had said. “He can fix anything.”

That tiny bird couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces, and yet when he’d taken it from his little boy’s cupped hands, Shane had felt the weight of a father’s responsibility to do the impossible. He felt that weight again.

“What do you mean by doctor?” Andy’s voice shook. “What kind of doctor?”

“One who works with kids all the time.”

“You mean a child psychiatrist. I’m not crazy.”

“That’s right, you’re not. Ninety-nine percent of the people who talk to psychiatrists aren’t crazy.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody. I’m doing all right. My report card was better. And Skip says I do a great job on the boats. I’ll work harder. You’ll see.”

“I don’t expect you to work harder. You already do the work of three men.”

Andy was thin. The baggy jeans and T-shirt made him look forlorn, lost somehow. He didn’t smile. How stinking long had it been since his boy had smiled?

“It’s Mom’s idea, isn’t it?”

“We both want—”

“You want what? For your kid to stop being a freak?”

“You’re not a freak. You’re sad.”

Andy looked as if he’d been slapped.

“Sadness isn’t an affliction, son. It’s a natural process. A necessary process.”

“I won’t go. She can’t make me. I won’t. The other day she told me she wants me to whistle again. I’ll whistle all day long if it’ll get her off my case. Please, Dad. Talk to her. I don’t want to go to a shrink. I won’t.”

That was three won’ts. Shane felt wrung out. This was the most he’d gotten out of his son in a long, long time, but instead of making Shane feel better, he only felt more unsure.

“Mom would be happier if she found a joint in my pocket and smelled beer on my breath. I could do that, but I don’t. Does she appreciate it? Instead, she doesn’t like having a freak for a son.”

His mention of pot startled Shane. And Andy was really hung up on this freak thing. “That’s not true and you know it,” Shane said. “She wants you to be happy again, the way you were before.” It was the closest they came to mentioning Brian’s accident. “It’s what I want, too.”

Andy took a moment to regain his composure. “You’ll talk to her?”

Shane could practically feel that little bird’s heart beating against his hand. “We both love you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Then call her off.”

Shane hated this. This uncertainty. This being put in the middle, between Andy and his mother.

“Please, Dad?”

“I’ll talk to her.”

Andy didn’t gloat. Shane doubted it was in him anymore.

“It doesn’t mean we won’t address this again in the future.”

The boy looked relieved as he said, “I’ve gotta get back to work.” Without a sound, he went up on deck.

Shane didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. He never knew anymore. He wanted to believe that at least some of Andy’s behavior was normal. The kid was fifteen! Shane remembered what that had been like. Sometimes it had felt like being in a dark tunnel. The carefree days of childhood were far behind, and the promise of freedom, of adulthood was far ahead.

Time healed. How many times had they all heard that? Was Vickie right? Could a psychiatrist help Andy more than time could? God. Vickie. She’d have Shane’s balls on a platter for this one. It was getting harder and harder to care.

His stomach rumbled, deep and empty. He eyed the slices of bread he’d gotten out before he and Andy had started talking. He’d planned to make a peanut butter sandwich and get back to work.

He had to get out of there, go somewhere, be somewhere, anywhere but here. Sweeping the bread off the galley counter and into the trash, he hurried to the upper deck for some fresh air.

Shane took his foot from the accelerator, coasting. Caroline Moore was walking up ahead. He’d known it was her from a block away. She was a class act from the tip of her auburn head to the heels of whatever expensive shoes she was wearing today. She was heading south, toward the Oval Lake Bridge. Lunch was north.

He’d planned to go straight to Clara’s Diner, where he would polish off a plate of pan-fried whitefish and warm peach cobbler. He would sit alone. He would eat alone. He wouldn’t talk. And he wouldn’t think.

He stopped at the curb. “Need a ride?”

The wind blew a section of her hair across her cheek. Even from this distance, he could see the indecision in her eyes.

“You can bring your mace.”

She lost the battle of personal restraint, and smiled. “In that case, how could I refuse?”

Once she was settled in her seat, he checked his mirrors and pulled into traffic. “Where to?”

“I’m renting a summerhouse on the channel.”

He could feel her looking at him as he eased into the center lane. She probably sensed his agitation. Instead of commenting, she looked out the window.

They rode in silence until Shane spied the flashing
lights up ahead. “They’re raising the bridge. I hope you’re not in a hurry to get there.”

“I’m not in a hurry.” Her sigh filled the car.

Sweat trickled down the side of his face. Old Shelby Mustangs didn’t come equipped with air-conditioning. The radio didn’t work, either. Normally, it suited Shane just fine. For some reason, he felt the need to fill the silence today.

“Andy and I just had a talk. His mother wants him to start seeing a psychiatrist. I’m supposed to make him go.”

“And you don’t want him to go?”

“I don’t know what’s best. He doesn’t want to go.” Shane found himself telling her about Brian. “Knobby knees and freckles, Brian had a cowlick right here.” He pointed to a spot on his own forehead. “He was always skinning his elbows or his shins. Laugh. You should have heard those two boys laugh. Andy doesn’t laugh anymore.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Brian drowned.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand cover her mouth.

“It happened two years ago. It was a windy day, perfect for sailing. They took the Kerrigans’ catboat out. Brian’s father watched them go. He said Brian was wearing his life jacket. They both were. We don’t know why Brian took his off.”

Shane was reminded of something Caroline had said yesterday, about why he dove.
One split second can change everything.

“A sudden gust of wind came up, catching the sail. It pitched Brian out of the boat. It must have knocked him unconscious. Andy saw him go under. Brian didn’t come back up for two days.”

Shane concentrated on the perspiration running down the side of his neck and not on the image trying to burn itself into his mind. “Both boys were avid sailors and strong swimmers. Andy went in to try to save Brian. He wishes it had been the other way around, that he’d been the one to die that day. His mother’s worried about him. Hell, who isn’t? She wants him to see a psychiatrist and I just caved and told him I’d talk to her.”

The breeze stirred Shane’s short beard. Up ahead, the bridge was being lowered. He watched the tall sailboats that had just been let into Lake Michigan. “We used to spend hours together, Andy and Brian and I. We had fishing gear, sailboats, Jet Skis, and all the toys families with kids need to spend all their free time on the water. Andy thinks I sold everything, but I put most of it in storage, hoping he’d want it again someday. I don’t know if I did the right thing. That’s the trouble with parenthood. You never know.”

Caroline didn’t agree or disagree. Other than making an occasional sound to let him know she was listening, she didn’t say much of anything. Perhaps that was why he kept talking. And talking. By the time he stopped, he was sitting on a stool in her kitchen, and an hour had passed.
An hour.
He had to look at his watch twice to believe it. It wasn’t like him to take an hour for lunch. He knew he should be getting back to the marina, but he didn’t get up.

“Help yourself to another cookie,” she said, after he’d already taken a bite of another one.

He hadn’t expected to smile. Not today. “I’ve done all the talking.”

“Is that unusual for you?”

Finally standing up, he said, “Very.”

“Maybe taking your son to see a psychiatrist isn’t a bad idea. You said he won’t go in the water.”

“That’s right.”

“And yet he works at the marina and sleeps on your boat when he stays with you? How does he get there?”

“He rides his bike.”

“All the way from Charlevoix?”

He nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

“He must like to ride.”

Shane’s mind raced. Years ago he’d had a sixteen-speed trail bike. He tried to remember what had happened to it.
“Every year on Labor Day thousands of bicyclists ride across the Mackinaw Bridge. There are probably bicycling clubs, marathons, plotted courses. Maybe Andy and I could ride together. I keep thinking if only he could reconnect with somebody. Maybe this would be a start.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s possible you’re a genius.”

She sighed.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“I saw the midwife for the first time this morning.”

“Did everything check out?”

She carried their snack plates to the sink. She’d kicked her sandals off near the door when they’d arrived. One sat upright, the other was tipped on its side. Without them, the bottoms of her light blue pants brushed the floor. A little farther up, the fabric hugged her curves and followed her every move.

“I walked into that office feeling young. I walked out practically needing a cane.”

“Was the midwife fresh out of college or something?”

“No, she’s very knowledgeable and seasoned, exactly what I’m looking for. She said I’m approximately sixteen weeks along. Although I’m slightly anemic, my blood pressure is good, and whatever I’ve been feeling probably isn’t the baby.”

“I don’t see a problem,” Shane said.

“Apparently I was her first patient today whose navel isn’t pierced.”

Somehow Shane doubted she would appreciate it if he laughed. “The other expectant mothers were on the young side, were they?”

“Two of them were still in high school. There
was
one woman about my age. She asked me how I was handling menopause.” She looked at him from across the room. “You’d better not be smiling beneath that beard.”

This was one of those impossible situations men often stumbled into. It seemed to him she’d told him she was forty-three. She looked damned good no matter how old she was. If she was four months along, she hid it well.

He couldn’t help it that he had to walk past her in order to reach the door. Stopping close to her on his way by, he let his hands settle on his hips. “Know what I think, Caroline?” Giving her a quick but thorough once-over, he said, “I think belly-button rings are overrated.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. It didn’t last long enough for either of them to close their eyes. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, and he didn’t stay long enough to read her reaction. As he drove away, he wasn’t sure she felt any younger.

But he sure did.

Four hours later, Caroline caught herself running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. How many times did that make?

She was on her way to Elaine’s house in Charlevoix, and she, Pattie and Tori were outlining their strategy via their cell phones. Evidently Elaine had proof that her husband was cheating. She’d called Tori, and Tori called the others. They all pulled through the open gate and into Elaine’s driveway, parking in single file.

Elaine threw her front door open before Pattie could ring the bell. Caroline, Pattie and Tori entered a grand, two-storied foyer. “We came as soon as Tori called,” Pattie said, still in her scrubs.

“Where’s Nell?” Elaine’s hair was disheveled, her face pale.

“She and her sister took the kids to visit her mother this week, remember?” Pattie said.

“Let’s see this proof,” Tori insisted.

Although she had yet to change out of her bathrobe, Elaine’s hands were surprisingly steady as she handed over a large manila envelope. Opening it, Tori said, “It didn’t take your private investigator long to come up with these.”

Caroline peered at the black-and-white photographs in Tori’s hand. There were five in all. Each contained a date
and time, and each one depicted a middle-aged man with a slight paunch and a much-younger woman. One had captured them entering a hotel. The final photograph showed them leaving it an hour and a half later.

“Now you know,” Tori said, slipping the photos back into the envelope and out of Elaine’s sight. “Now you can divorce his sorry ass.”

When Elaine made no reply, Pattie steered her toward a wing chair. “Where are Trish and Tracie?” she asked gently.

“They’re at their father’s this week. They love their father, but they adore Justin. He’s good to them.”

“If he wanted to be really good to them,” Pattie said, “he would be faithful to their mother.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Elaine sighed heavily. “Her name is Brittany. She’s twenty-seven.”

“It figures.” Sinking to the edge of the sofa, Tori adjusted her lime-green skirt around her thighs. “You’re much prettier. Which just proves what you already knew. Justin is slime.”

“She may not have a pretty face,” Elaine said, “but look at her body. He’s always been a breast man.”

“Oh, honey,” Pattie insisted, “you don’t deserve this.”

“He’s slime,” Tori insisted.