Savage Lane (4 page)

Then Deb sent:
I’m so horny for u 2!

She hated herself for being so weak, so pathetic. She had to text him again, tell him she wouldn’t be able to see him after all, and that they had to end this now, today.

She typed,
Actually I really don’t think
, then deleted it, telling herself that breaking up by text was an awful idea. For an eighteen-year-old, Owen was level-headed and mature—if he wasn’t that way she wouldn’t have been attracted to him at all—but she had to make sure he understood,
really
understand, that this was it, she was ready to move on.

She still felt nauseated and her head was killing her. After making sure she’d deleted all the texts she’d sent and received, she switched the phone to silent mode and put it away in her purse. Then she heard Casey clacking down the stairs and a few moments later he came into the kitchen, panting, and went right toward the sliding screen doors. She let him out and then, watching the happy dog sprint toward the backyard to do his business, she thought,
Dog, hair of the dog, that’s it
, and she got a glass, went to the liquor cabinet in the dining room, and poured some vodka—not much, just a half a glass, enough to get
back
.

As she was putting the vodka away she heard, “Hi, Mom.”

Justin’s voice startled her, and she nearly dropped the bottle.

“I didn’t know you were up, you scared me,” Deb said.

“I don’t feel good,” he said, holding his stomach.

Thinking,
Join the club
, she said, “You’re probably just hungry. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and watch some TV, and I’ll make you breakfast?”

When he was gone she drank the vodka in one gulp. At first, it made her feel even worse, and she thought she might throw up, but after a few moments she felt better. Well, less sick anyway.

In the kitchen, Justin was at the table, already gripped by Pokémon on TV.

“How about some pancakes for that hungry stomach of yours?” Deb asked.

“Okay,” Justin said, staring at the screen.

As Deb got busy making the pancake batter and greasing up the pan, she felt great—not only because the hair of the dog had had its full effect, but because she was back in her mommy role.
This
was
what she had been risking for a fling with a teenager. She was so glad she was ending it, that she’d woken up from this nightmare.

She served Justin the pancakes and after a couple of bites he said his stomach felt better.

Later, when she was clearing the table, Mark came down to the kitchen in boxers and an old T-shirt, grunted, “Morning,” and went right to the Keurig.

“Good morning,” she said.

He remained with his back to her, waiting for the coffee. Although Mark’s behavior wasn’t so unusual—they never said much to each other in the morning—today it obviously had to do with the fight in the car and all the tension last night. Deb knew she’d made a mistake, making a big deal about him and Karen. While it was incredibly obvious that they were at least contemplating an affair, Deb knew that confronting him about it and threatening to tell Karen was a bad idea while she was still involved with Owen. The only reason Mark hadn’t found out about Owen yet was because he was so preoccupied with Karen and, besides, what right did Deb have to be upset about
anything
that Mark did?

“Can we talk about last night?” Deb asked.

The coffee was spurting into the mug.

“What’s there to talk about?”

Typical Mark, preferring to let things stew than deal with an issue head-on.

“About yesterday in the car.” She lowered her voice to make sure Justin couldn’t overhear. “I still feel bad for attacking you. That was wrong of me.”

“Whatever,” Mark said, still staring at the coffeemaker. “It was no big deal.”

Deb noticed Mark was holding his iPhone. This was normal too—well, normal lately. He seemed to carry his cell around with him all the time and sometimes he’d say he needed to “get some air” or make excuses to drive to get gas or milk or whatever else he could think of.

“Also about what happened in bed,” Deb said. “I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I guess it’s just been a while since we—”

“Do I have to go?”

Justin had just entered the kitchen, still in his pajamas.

“Yes,” Deb said, “the coach said this practice is mandatory.”

“No, do I have to go to Andrew’s sleepover tonight?”

“Yes, and please get dressed.”

“Okay.” Justin left.

“What was I saying?” Deb asked Mark.

Adding milk to the cup of coffee, Mark said, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, last night,” Deb said. “I was a little drunk, and I’m not sure what happened, but I meant what I said about us going on a trip. I think it would be good for us to get away from all of this, escape. I really think we need this right now.”

Walking by her with the coffee in one hand, iPhone in the other, Mark said, “Can we talk about this later? I just woke up, I can’t focus on this now.”

“I don’t want to put this off,” Deb said.

Mark went into the den/office across from the kitchen, and Deb heard the door shut. Deb knew he was going to text Karen, maybe complain about how bitchy Deb had acted in the car and how now she wanted to go away on a trip to Italy. Deb felt angry, violated—
what right did that woman have to know anything
? She wanted to barge into the den/office, demand that he stop texting Karen, and to cut off all contact with her—that was what any wife who wasn’t cheating would do—but because of her own situation, she felt powerless.

Deb went to the liquor cabinet. She reached for the handle, then paused, deciding she was probably better off without a second drink of the day at nine in the morning, and returned to the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher, she was proud of herself for resisting the drink; it proved that she wasn’t a total victim—she had the ability to take control when she wanted to. Like she’d walked away from the liquor cabinet, she could walk away from Owen Harrison. All she had to do was be strong, focus on the things she couldn’t afford to lose, and she could do it.

On her way upstairs she saw that the door to Mark’s office was open, and he wasn’t there, and then she spotted him in the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed in gym shorts and a T-shirt, pulling his socks on. This was very new behavior. For years the only exercise he got was when he played golf, but lately he’d been going running almost every morning, and he’d even dusted off the weight bench in the basement and he’d been bench pressing.

“Going for a run?” Deb asked, opening her dresser to pick out clothes for the day.

“Yeah,” Mark said, not looking at her.

She took out a pair of jeans, and a gray scoop neck T.

With her back to him, she said, “You have to be careful, running along the road.”

“I am,” he said.

Instead of getting undressed in the bathroom before she showered, the way she did lately when Mark was in the room, she decided to get undressed in the bedroom. Why shouldn’t she get undressed in front of her husband?

She took off her T-shirt and sweats and was topless in panties. Mark, tying his running shoes, was still at the edge of the bed, not facing her, but there was a mirror ahead of him, above the other dresser, and if he looked at it he would see her part-naked.

“How far do you go?” Deb asked.

She wanted Mark to look at her, to notice how sexy she was. And she was sexy. She went to the gym four days a week—okay, two days—and swam at the country club. Okay, maybe she wasn’t as in shape as exercise-obsessed Karen, but she looked damn good for forty-four years old. She weighed 127, only seven pounds more than when she’d gotten married.

Mark finished tying his sneakers, and now he was standing, texting somebody, probably Karen. Deb felt pathetic, standing there topless, waiting for her aloof husband to finish texting his girlfriend so he could notice her, maybe give her a compliment.

Deb was about to give up, just go into the bathroom, when Mark, still looking at his phone, said, “Oh not too far. Just a few miles.”

“A few miles is great,” Deb said. “Maybe we should play tennis together sometime.”

“Tennis?”

Deb wasn’t sure he was paying attention.

“Yeah, tennis,” she said. “We used to play all the time. I want to get back into it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He put the phone in his shorts’ pocket. “Have you seen my keys?”

He glanced around the room, looking right
past
her, then zeroed in on the dresser, to the immediate left of her.

“There they are,” he said, and he came up right next to her, not even noticing she was naked, and snatched the keys. Then, walking away toward the door he said, “Can you wake up Riley before you go? If you don’t she’ll sleep forever. I’ll drop her at dance and then I’ll text you later from golf. Text me if we need anything from Trader Joe’s. See ya later.”

Deb watched him leave the bedroom.

Showering, Deb knew time was running out. Yeah, she and Mark had been distant for a long time, but she’d never seen him so detached. Had she pushed him too far? Would it be impossible to get him back?

Deb got dressed quickly, eager to get to the school and have a talk with Owen. Usually, when she was going to see Owen, she put on one of her nicest lace bras and sexy panties, but today she put on her shabbiest underwear so she wouldn’t feel tempted.

Then she went to get Justin and saw he was still in his pajamas, playing a video game.

“What the hell’re you doing? You’re supposed to be getting dressed.”

She knew she wasn’t just blowing up at Justin, she was blowing up at everything, but she couldn’t help it.

“Sorry,” Justin said.

She grabbed the joystick.

“Hey, give it back,” he said.

“You have five minutes to get dressed, or I’ll throw it away.”

Deb went across the hallway into Riley’s room. She was curled in a ball, dead asleep, looking more like a twelve-year-old than a sixteen-year-old.

“Come on, time to get up,” Deb said.

Riley’s eyes opened. “What?” She seemed disoriented.

“Dad’s going to drive you to dance class,” Deb said. “I don’t know why you can’t get up on your own, why I have to be your alarm clock.”

Deb went downstairs, pulse pounding, and put Justin’s DS on a high shelf in the hallway closet. Fighting off an image of Karen and Mark, holding hands in the Lerners’ backyard last night, she shouted, “Four minutes, I’m warning you!” and then went into the dining room, right to the liquor cabinet, and took out the bottle of Stoli. She knew this wasn’t a good idea, she was being weak, but she needed a drink, one
little
drink, to steady herself. She poured a half a glass, then added a little more, just for a little extra boost, and gulped it down fast.

Okay, that was better, she felt more relaxed now, and that was the most important thing, right? She couldn’t put her mistakes behind her and get through this day with so much anxiety.

“Three minutes!” she yelled, then went to her purse and checked her phone. She saw a new message from Owen:
I’m gonna give it to you so good today baby!!!!

Hating that she was turned on, she deleted the text and did a search for “Amalfi coast vacations.” She scanned the results and clicked on a site that offered a trip of six days, seven nights, including guided tours, at a spectacular-looking resort. Maybe they could do a week in Italy, then a week in Greece. Besides, going away wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity. They were never going to get their marriage back on track here in Westchester. They had to get away from the routine, the distractions. She loved the kids, but the routine, the sameness of their lives, had ruined them more than anything.

“One more minute!” she called out.

She straightened up in the kitchen and made sure Casey was in the house. She was about to announce that time was up when Justin came down, fully dressed but carrying his sneakers.

“You’re lucky, you just made it,” Deb said.

They got in her car, Justin in the back seat, and she pulled out of the garage, feeling very buzzed, but it was okay—she could drive.

“I really, really, really don’t wanna go to the sleepover,” Justin said.

Deb heard her phone vibrating in her purse, another text from Owen.

“You’re going,” Deb snapped, “and that’s final.”

She steered the car onto Savage Lane, thinking that she definitely didn’t want to get into a big discussion with Owen—the shorter, the better. Maybe she’d say, “I’m sorry, it’s over. We can’t see each other anymore.” No build up, just be direct. Or, better, “I’m sorry, it’s over, Owen. We can’t see each other anymore.” Yeah, saying his name would underline it, put her in control, but why say
sorry
? What was she apologizing for? Maybe just go, “It’s over, Owen.” The other times she’d tried to break up, she’d been wishy-washy, left wriggle room, but this time he’d hear the seriousness in her tone. Maybe she was wrong thinking that breaking up with him would be difficult and there would be drama. Maybe he’d be on the same page, understand that it couldn’t go on like this, and he’d agree to move on, and that would be the end of it.