In Medias Res (8 page)

I smiled at the memory. As I got dressed, though, my good humor gradually faded. How long could I go on playing the aggrieved wife when I didn’t know if I had earned the title?

When I got back to the house, I was going to have to do what I’d been putting off. I couldn’t drag my feet any longer. I would have to watch the wedding video—and deal with whatever feelings that did or didn’t arise as a result. I couldn’t go on living in limbo. No matter how good a time I was having there.

Marcy and I dropped off the film at Photos in a Flash and headed to the Duval Beach Club for breakfast.

“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?” Marcy asked as I dipped a piece of wheat toast in the soft center of my eggs over easy.

I tried to deflect her question. “Perhaps I’m not that interesting.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

I reached for my glass of orange juice in order to buy time. “Perhaps I’m afraid you’ll judge me and find me unworthy.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re biased.”

She blushed. “The whole wanting to get in your pants thing, you mean? Can you blame me?”

“I’m no great catch.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, too?” She had her teeth into the conversation. I couldn’t shake her. She reached for the Heinz 57. “Just tell me one thing and I’ll leave you alone.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you ever been with a woman before?”

I racked my semi-restored brain for the answer. “I don’t think so,” I eventually responded.

She arched one eyebrow. “You don’t
think
so? Don’t you know for sure?”

I tried to cover as best as I could without giving myself away. I remembered sleeping with a bunch of guys I didn’t feel anything for, but I couldn’t remember why I had subjected myself to that. Had I been trying to fit in or stand out? I remembered my father telling me I should be more selective with my choices and my mother telling me I should keep doing what I was doing. “You have to kiss a few frogs in order to find your prince,” she had said. Was Jack my prince or just another frog? I felt the first stirrings of the vague unease that seemed to settle around me when I stumbled upon a subject I wasn’t ready to fully explore.

“I’ve been in a couple of situations where I woke up the next day not knowing what the hell I had been thinking the night before—”

“When you would rather chew your arm off than disturb whoever you woke up next to? We’ve all been there at least once.”

“With me, it was more than once.”

“Were any of those times with a woman?” she asked, breaking her own rule about limiting herself to one question.

I reflected on the nights of drunken debauchery that had characterized my college years. I could remember making several walks of shame from the frat house with a couple of my sorority sisters in tow, but I couldn’t remember making any similar pilgrimages from one of my sorority sister’s rooms.

“That’s actually something I’ve been thinking about since I met you,” I said before I convinced myself not to.

Her ears perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Not in an I-want-to-jump-your-bones kind of way. You might be ready to go there, but I’m not. I’m wondering if I could ever go there with a woman in general, not necessarily you in particular. I just met you, remember? We’re still getting to know each other.” And I was still getting to know myself.

“But I’m high on the list, right?” she asked.

I found her persistence charming, if a little off-putting. As an attorney, I was probably more accustomed to giving the third degree than receiving it.

“I can’t tell if I’m attracted to you or to your attraction for me. I like being around you. I like the way you make me feel, even when you’re making me feel uncomfortable. You’re awfully good at that, by the way.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m told I have no filter. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but there are others who disagree with me.”

“Am I right in assuming Ana’s one of those people?”

“How’d you ever guess?” she asked with a wry smile. “But enough about me. Let’s get back to you.”

“What makes me such a fascinating topic of conversation?”

“Because I can’t figure you out. I hate mysteries. I’m going to crack you if it’s the last thing I do.”

“That sounds painful.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Don’t worry. I only bite on command. I won’t clamp down until you tell me to.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your loss.”

She winked to cushion the blow. She reminded me of a colt that refused to walk because running was so much fun.

“How do you do it?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Stay so upbeat all the time.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant in Podunk, Tennessee. There, I was the girl no one noticed. But when I got here, I opened up like a hothouse flower. I became the person I wanted to be instead of the one my family and so-called friends thought I should be. It’s like I always say: sometimes you have to forget who you were to remember who you are.”

Her words struck me with such force I could almost feel the blow. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I might have hit the floor. What was it about them that had rung so true? Had I abandoned everyone and everything I knew in order to allow myself to become the person I was meant to be? To give myself the freedom to introduce myself to that person far from prying eyes? Marcy had come to Key West to find herself. I was doing the same thing. Literally as well as figuratively. The question was, would I be nearly as successful?

Marcy poured more ketchup on her house potatoes, then peered up at me. “Every time I look at you, you seem to be lost in thought. Did you come down here to think or to run and hide?”

“Probably a little bit of both.”

“And which one are you doing more of?”

“That depends on what time of day you ask me.”

She chewed her steak thoughtfully, debating whether to ask the question that was obviously on her mind. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Yesterday when I arrived.”

“Did you talk about the subject at hand or did you dance around it?”

“I was standing in the middle of baggage claim at the airport, so it was kind of hard to get too personal. I asked him where we stand. He said we’re—
he’s
happy.
I
have my doubts.”

“Is that why you’re here with me?”

She made it sound like we were doing something illicit. All we were doing was having breakfast. I knew pork was bad for me, but it wasn’t against the law for me to eat it. “I’m here with you because I enjoy your company. That isn’t a crime, is it?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll see what I can do.”

I wanted to tell her I thought she had learned her lesson with Ana about moving too fast, but doing so would have implied that I’d given serious consideration to sleeping with her. Yes, I’d thought about it, but only in passing. Sleeping with her didn’t seem like the right thing to do. I thought it would confuse the issue, not make it clearer. If Jack and I were having problems, I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. That would only add fuel to any potential fire, and I already smelled smoke.

“Are you ready for tonight?” I asked.

The question took some of the wind out of her sails. “Ana’s just going to lecture me and tell me that I’m making a mistake with you.”

“Are you?”

“I can’t answer that. You’re the one who’s holding all the cards. I’m just waiting for you to make your play.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll get over it. Eventually.” She pushed her empty plate away. “I’m not stupid. I know you need a friend right now, not a lover. But when the time’s right—when you’re ready—I’d love to be both. If you tell me you just want to be friends, that’s fine. If you tell me that you want to be more than that, that’s fine, too. Just pick one and stick with it. Don’t waffle back and forth.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing now?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing now,” she said. “On the plus side, I don’t think you do, either.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?”

“You figure things out; I wait for that to happen.”

I wiped my mouth with my napkin and tossed the napkin onto my empty plate. “Pardon me, but you don’t seem like a patient person.”

“I didn’t say I’d be waiting patiently. Believe me, I’ll be trying to help you along as best I can.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” She slowly unspooled a smile filled with wicked promise. She opened her mouth to speak, but I stopped her before she could. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

She tossed a tip onto the table for the waitress. “Since I kept you from your grocery shopping, the least I can do is take you by the store. The Circle K is five blocks from here. I can drop you off or hang around. Which would you prefer?”

“I’d love the company, but I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

“You won’t be. I don’t work for any of the tour companies. I’m an independent operator. That means I have the luxury of setting my own hours. If I want to work, I do. If I don’t, I don’t. Right now, I don’t. I’d rather be with you. If that’s okay.”

Suddenly I felt like I was in over my head. There was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, but what we were doing no longer felt harmless. Marcy had made it clear that she could develop feelings for me if I gave her half a chance, but I couldn’t make such an offer to her—or anyone else—until I gave myself one.

“Expecting company?” Marcy asked, cutting the engine on the scooter.

“No.” I followed her line of sight. A car was parked in front of my vacation house. The black Toyota Camry had Florida plates and a “KW” sticker on the back window, marking it as a local vehicle. “I’m sure it’s one of the neighbors,” I said. “His driveway’s probably blocked so he borrowed mine. That’s cool.”

I reached for one of the two grocery bags. Marcy grabbed the other. The pictures were in my backpack. We had ordered double prints so each of us could have copies. We hadn’t pored through them when we picked them up—too eager to put the groceries away and crack open a couple of cold beers. Thinking I would need plenty of alcohol to get me through my afternoon chore, I had bought a six-pack of Heineken and a bottle of Wild Turkey.

Marcy and I headed up the sidewalk, ready to examine the photos of our underwater expedition. I felt like Jacques Cousteau minus the cute little hat. Until I saw that the front door was ajar. Then all I felt was fear. I touched Marcy’s arm for support.

We froze in shock, uncertain whether to venture into the house or run next door to call 911.

“Are you sure you’re not expecting company?” she asked.

“Positive.”

We didn’t hear any sounds from inside. Brave or crazy or both, we cautiously climbed the steps.

The door swung open. A tall dark-haired man dressed like Tiger Woods on a Sunday afternoon—red polo shirt and black golf pants—stood in the doorway.

Marcy stepped in front of me protectively. “Who the fuck are you?” she barked at him.

I answered for him. “My husband.”

“Jack, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I was worried about you,” he said matter-of-factly. When he bent to kiss me, I offered him my cheek instead of my lips. “You sounded so distant on the phone that I had to come see you. I cleared my schedule for the rest of the week and hopped the first plane I could.”

“Are you going to be here that long?” I couldn’t imagine living in close quarters with someone I barely knew—even if I did bear his last name.

“Unless you have any objections.”

I had plenty, but how was I supposed to raise them?

He took the grocery bag out of my arms and turned to Marcy. He stuck out his hand. “Jack Stanton. Who might you be?”

“A friend of your wife’s.” She shook his hand, then cast a withering glance at me as Jack possessively draped his left arm across my shoulders. “Or at least I thought I was.”

Unable to face the unspoken accusations in her eyes, I turned to Jack. “You didn’t have to come,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

He chucked me under my chin. “Maybe I wanted to see it for myself.”

Marcy thrust the other bag of groceries toward me. “You look like you’re in good hands,” she said. “I’m going to take off.”

“Wait!” I called after her as she rushed down the stairs. I handed Jack the groceries and dug around in my backpack for the extra set of prints. “You almost forgot your pictures.”

“Right,” she said without much enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t want to forget those.” She slid the photos into her back pocket without looking at them.

Jack went inside the house, presumably to put the groceries away. I used the respite to apologize to Marcy. Or try to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to be here.”