Fix You (4 page)

             
“That’s how you’re going to handle this?” His frown was exasperated. “Ten years we’ve been married and you’re gonna call me names and refuse to see me anymore?”

             
“H-handle?” Something was coming up the back of her throat and she didn’t know if it was bile or if her rage was becoming physical and solid. “
Handle
?” Her voice went screechy and she didn’t care. “We didn’t have an argument, Dylan! This isn’t some marriage issue we can…can
fix
…”

             
“Think about what you’re saying. You don’t want to throw away our family. Don’t be unreasonable - ”

             
“
Unreasonable
?!
You’re
the one who threw away our family!”

             
“Jessica - ”

             
“You put your dick in some other woman!” she railed, hands shaking, teeth chattering with how much she wanted to rake her nails down his face. “
You
did that! You threw ten years away!
You
will explain to your son why you don’t give a damn about either of us enough to keep your pants zipped up!”

             
She didn’t want to – couldn’t – listen to whatever lame excuses he would offer, whatever you’re-being-crazy bullshit he would use to try to keep her with him, under his thumb. She spun away from him, her eyes dry, her head clear, every cell in her body throbbing with the furious thump of her pulse.

             
And in the front windows and in the open threshold of the front door, her whole family stood slack-jawed and staring.

**

              “I never did like that shithead.”

             
Chase, as the oldest, had been put in charge of keeping Tyler occupied in the living room and watching Willa and Evan: Mike and Delta’s two-year-old. The adults were in the dining room, the women sitting, the men lingering behind their chairs. Jess had imagined breaking the news slowly and individually to all of her siblings. Instead, everyone knew all at once.

             
All eyes went to Randy after he spoke and he shrugged. “What? I didn’t. You boys didn’t either.”

             
Mike scratched at his hair and looked guilty. “Well, he wasn’t my favorite…”

             
Tam shared a look of agreement with Dad.

             
Jordan was flat-faced save the frown that tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I hate to say it, but I’m not really surprised.”

             
“Jordie!” Ellie chastised. “Don’t say that to her.”

             
“It’s the truth,” he defended, dodging the half-hearted swipe she tossed over the back of her chair. “I’m sick and damn tired of the way he stares at you.”

             
“Shut up, Jordie,” Walt said, and Jess felt Gwen’s hand settle consolingly on her shoulder from the neighboring chair.

             
“I just…” At the head of the table, Beth was in shock. She kept raising a hand to her mouth, touching her lips; then she realized it was an ineffectual gesture, and folded her hands together on the table, only to do it again.

             
“Jess, are you sure?” Walt asked. “Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions and - ”

             
He trailed off when she shot him a sharp look over the back of Gwen’s chair.

             
“Michael,” Delta said sweetly, “why don’t you and the guys go check on the kids?”

             
“Boys, we’re being kicked out,” he said, but complied, patting his wife on top of the head and earning a good-natured eye roll for it. The husbands left – all but Jess’s who was already gone – the floorboards groaning. The silence hummed a moment afterward. Chairs creaked and a bird chirruped beyond the warm, butter yellow portals of the windows. The kids chattered in the living room.

             
“Oh, Jess, honey,” Beth finally said. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

             
“You don’t have to apologize.” Jess stared over the top of her sister’s head and out through the window, to the place on the curb where Dylan had been parked. “It’s not your fault.”

             
“She didn’t say it was, Jess,” Jo said, and Jessica felt a ripple of aggravation move through her.

             
“How’d you find out?” Delta asked.

             
“There were panties in his jacket pocket.”

             
Pretty little super pregnant Ellie went ashen as she studied her fingernails.

             
“Then I started digging and there was…additional evidence.”

             
“That son of a bitch,” Jo said.

             
Jess felt Gwen’s hand on her shoulder again. “I know a really great therapist who specializes in couples counseling,” she said in an undertone that still carried, perking everyone else up in their chairs. “I can give you her number.”

             
“I’m not going to therapy.”

             
“Damn right you’re not,” Jo said and Jess fought the urge to glare at her sister.

             
“Gwen,” Beth’s hand hovered in front of her mouth again, her already shattered expression now even paler, “you and Walt are having trouble?”

             
“No,” Gwen said in an obvious lie, eyes falling to the table top.

             
“What would you talk about in therapy?” Jo wanted to know. She had this indignant, self-righteous tilt to her head, all her wavy dark blonde hair pulled over one shoulder, looking tiny and too self-assured of her own romantic immortality for Jessica’s liking.

             
“Um, Jo,” Delta started in a warning tone.

             
“Dylan’ll just try to spin the whole thing as your fault for not paying enough attention to him or some shit.”

             
“Joanna,” Beth scolded.

             
Jess swallowed hard, the dry insides of her esophagus sticking together, and she tried to squelch the venom that came boiling up the back of her throat, but she just couldn’t. She was too full of black rage and misdirected hate to keep the normal lid on her behavior. “And what business is that of yours, Jo? You don’t know a damn thing about having a grown up relationship.”

             
She regretted it the moment it left her mouth, but she couldn’t make herself take it back. Jo looked like she’d been slapped, dumbstruck and blinking.

             
“Jess,” Beth groaned. “Don’t take it out on your sister.”

             
“That was harsh,” Delta said.

             
Gwen stared at the table and Ellie looked ready to pass out.

             
“Life’s harsh.” Jess pushed back her chair. “You get old and your husbands get mistresses and nothing makes sense.”

             
“Jessica,” Mom said, but she ignored her. She was getting her kid and going home; she’d been crazy to think that she could pretend everything was fine.

3

             
T
uesday morning, Jessica woke up the content, if not happy, stay at home wife and mother she’d been for the past ten years. Tuesday night she became this…this…victim she didn’t recognize, and every waking moment felt like a car crash that wouldn’t end. Her feet didn’t touch the ground for weeks; instead she tumbled, fell, spun around and around, blow after blow landing as her world turned end over end.

Wednesday Night

              “You’re acting like a child.”

             
“
How old is she
?”

             
Dylan exhaled through his nostrils and ran both hands back through his dark hair. “Twenty-two.”

             
“And I’m the child?” Her hands were curled around the arms of the leather wingback chair in the bedroom, but her voice didn’t quaver. “What attracted you to her? Her stunning maturity?”

             
“She…” he trailed off and turned away from her, pacing toward her dressing table.

             
“
What
?”

             
“She respects me!”

             
“Then she can respect you tonight,” Jess snapped. “You’re not sleeping here.”

Thursday Afternoon

              “You won’t even
try
to work with me on this.”

             
She walked around the kitchen table and put it between them. “Keep your voice down. Willa’s napping.”

             
“I don’t give a shit - ”

             
“About my niece?” she fired back. “I didn’t think so. No, all you want to ‘work’ on is turning me into your submissive little sex slave who fetches your slippers and strokes your goddamn ego,” she snarled the last of it, folding her arms across her middle.

             
Dylan hadn’t shaved and his stubble looked dark on a sickly pale face in the sunlight that came through the bay window of the breakfast nook. Coloring books, crayons and Tyler’s Hot Wheels littered the table and made their conversation feel revolting on so many levels. He swallowed and his adam’s apple jackknifed in his throat. “You’re a cold, nasty bitch.”

             
“The same cold nasty bitch you married.”

             
“No, no. No you’re not. You’ve changed, Jess. We’ve both changed – that’s what a marriage is.”

Friday Morning

              Willa screamed from the other side of the baby gate as the heavy crystal vase full of dying white lilies fell off the end table and shattered against the hardwood.

             
“No!” Dylan was not a big man, but Jess staggered to regain her balance, twisting wildly in an attempt to wrench free of the grip he held on her wrist. “Let go of me, son of a bitch!”

             
He pulled her against him, toward the sofa that had been his original destination. Their living room was all in beiges and browns, the morning sunlight skimming across the cherry floors. The kiss he’d tried to press to the back of her neck had been like a punch to the stomach, nausea flooding her system, fury fueling the slap she’d swung around and clapped to the side of his head.

             
“Stop it!” he roared.

             
The arm of the sofa caught her hip and sent her sideways, his hand the only thing that kept her upright, his fingers digging into her skin until she gasped. The tears that clouded her eyes had shit-all to do with sadness. Her heart lunged against her ribs.

             
“I will
fight
you,” she hissed as he tried to grab for her other hand. “I will kick and scream and I will claw your goddamn eyes out before you
ever
touch me again.”

             
Willa was crying – great big pealing baby cries.

             
Dylan went still, his eyes wild and rolling around in his head, his hand loosening around her wrist.

             
Jess snatched free and hurried across the room, scooped Willa up and tucked her little dark head in under her chin. “It’s okay, baby,” she cooed, her whole body shaking like she had palsy. Through a fallen sheet of her golden hair, she watched Dylan watch them, his expression uncomprehending. Jess rocked her niece. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.”

Monday Morning

              Walt’s attorney friend didn’t handle divorces, but his colleague Amanda did. She had a severe blonde bob and a smart black suit, just the right amount of makeup. The rings that glittered on her fingers were evidence of cases won and settlements gained. Her office was done in a minimalist tribute to frosted glass and chrome. Her diplomas were arranged on the wall behind her head.

             
“Your husband,” Amanda said over her reading glasses, “is wealthy and he was unfaithful. Your settlement’s going to be good, Jessica.”

             
Jess smoothed her hands down the fronts of her black slacks and saw how badly her nails were in need of new polish. Her reflection that morning had shown that her makeup did a poor job covering the dark circles under her eyes. She looked every one of her almost thirty-two years. Confused, depressed, Tyler had pitched a rare rolling-and-kicking fit about going to school. Ellie was keeping Willa for the day.

             
“I don’t care about the settlement,” she said flatly as she squared up her shoulders and met her attorney’s gaze. “I just want out.”

Next Tuesday Night

              The rain was coming down in great sweeping curtains that shifted and danced across the lawn. The night sky shimmered with water and crackled with lightning over Jo’s head. Jess propped a shoulder in the threshold of her front door and took stock of her little sister on the stoop; she had a bottle of white wine in one hand and a Kroger bag that clung to the frost rimming two pints of Haagen-Dasz in the other.

             
“I don’t have a grown up relationship, but I’ve got alcohol and ice cream.”

             
Jess pushed back the door and invited her in wordlessly, not trusting herself to say the right thing. Jo came in shaking raindrops out of her hair, rubber clogs making squeaking sounds against the hardwood before she shucked them and left them by the umbrella stand. Jess watched the wet, black, slick street a long moment, watched the rain pour over everything and glaze the neighborhood, fast tongues of lightning licking out of the clouds; listened to Jo’s small, bare feet as she went into the kitchen and set her peace offerings on the counter.

             
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Jo was the blind kid running off emotions; Jess was the thoughtful, careful pragmatist who’d married for so much more than the high of stolen tongue ring kisses and the smell of a leather jacket. Jo was the dreamer who thought love compensated for everything; Jess was the realist who searched for love that didn’t need compensating in the first place. In what universe were Jo and Tam the shining beacons of what commitment looked like?

             
With a deep, fortifying breath, Jess locked them in and went to join her sister.

             
It was almost ten and Tyler was tucked into bed, the house shut down for the night, only the chandelier above the table providing any light in the room. The dining room and formal living room were deep pools of shadow, the living room lit by the glow of the security light coming in through the French doors that led onto the deck. It had been a depressing place five minutes before, but Jo had pulled glasses down and was getting out spoons for the ice cream. She’d turned on the little TV under the microwave to HGTV, the volume low, the soothing comfort of a home renovation show throwing light across the countertop.

             
“Where’s your corkscrew?”

             
“Drawer on your left.”

             
The Pinot Grigio came open with a deep, echoing
pop
and Jo poured more than either of them needed into the Waterford glasses. “Bring the ice cream,” she said as she went to the table. “I brought mint chocolate chip and chocolate with chocolate chips.”

             
Mint was Jo’s favorite, so Jess set it and a spoon in front of her, pried the lid off the double chocolate for herself. The last thing she needed was a whole pint of dairy to make her not only divorced, but flabby, but she dug her spoon in anyway and took a bite.

             
“If I ask you how you’re holding up,” Jo started, spooning up her own bite of ice cream, “am I gonna get my head bitten off?”

             
“No.”

             
“It’s a stupid question, though, isn’t it?”

             
“Yeah.”

             
Jo drew a pattern across the top of her ice cream with the tip of her spoon, her expression almost guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that the other day and, well, I should have.” Her blue-green eyes had gone puppy dog big when she lifted them. “I’m so sorry, Jess.”

             
“Yeah, well,” Jess reached for her wine. “If one half of all marriages end in divorce, statistically, at least one of us was going to head for Splitsville.”

             
“My money was on Walt and Gwen,” Jo said with a sideways non-smile.

             
“I was betting on Jordan.”

             
The Pinot was inexpensive grocery store stuff, but it was crisp and went down warm. Jess realized she hadn’t been eating anything but scant handfuls of saltines and the occasional half a peanut butter sandwich. Wine was exactly what she’d needed and not been conscious enough to admit. Her stomach growled.

             
“There were signs,” she said as she lowered her glass and trailed her fingers down the delicate stem. “He wasn’t affectionate anymore and I didn’t press him about it. I’m cold that way. We’d go months at a time without sex and even then it was…unenthusiastic.”

             
“The honeymoon fades,” Jo said. “All couples cut back on sex, it doesn’t mean - ”

             
“All?” Jess lifted her brows in question. “Even you and Tam?”

             
Jo chewed at her lower lip.

             
“Or do you guys still go at it like rabbits?”

             
“Well…I mean…that’s just because…”

             
“You enjoy each other.” She took another sip of wine. “Your husband likes screwing you.” More wine. “My husband doesn’t like screwing me.”

             
“We haven’t been married as long as you and Dylan have…were.” Jo dug her spoon into her ice cream and dropped her eyes away.

             
“That doesn’t matter – when you tell someone forever, ten years is nothing. Ten years is bullshit.”

             
“Jess…”

             
“You know the worst part of it all? I mean, aside from Tyler having two Christmases the rest of his life.” She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. The Waterford stemware had been a wedding gift. “I hate being one of those women.”

             
“What women?”

             
“Those poor unsuspecting bitches whose husbands cheat on them. I don’t want to be a victim, Jo. ‘Oh, poor Jess, she let herself go and Dylan had to turn somewhere else.’”

             
Jo snorted. “No one is saying that, trust me.”

             
“But I
got cheated on
,” she protested. “
I am
one of them.”

             
“Getting cheated on doesn’t make you a victim,” Jo countered. “It’s how you handle the cheating that counts.”

             
Jess rolled her eyes.

             
“It’s one week later and you’ve lawyered up and kicked him out and you
are not
a victim, Jess. You are the toughest chick I know.”

             
She reached for her wine yet again, blinking hard. A thick lock of hair slid from behind her ear and she let it hang, hoping it would hide the shine in her eyes. “Tough, yeah. That’s why he’s with
her
; she’s submissive. Makes him feel like a man.”

             
“Jessica.” Jo’s voice had become so stern that Jess had to meet her gaze. Tiny as she was, she’d bowed up in her chair, eyes big and fierce, spoon brandished like a weapon. “If a man – if
any
man – needs beautiful, smart, responsible
you
to let him treat you like shit so he can
feel like a man
, then he’s the biggest pussy in the world, and I know my sister wouldn’t look backward a second for a guy like that.”