Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives (31 page)

But no, the phone’s caller ID shows me that it is yet another update from Patti on my father’s rapidly deteriorating condition. It
should only take her a minute to leave a message, but I don’t check my voice mail until later that night, when the children have gone to bed and Ted is unwinding in front of the tube. I have to play it several times to realize she has spoken only three words between all those hiccups and sobs: “Any . . . day . . . now.”

Thursday, 19 Dec., 7:40 p.m.

Santa has come and gone, which is more than I can say for DeeDee. Olivia and I are keeping Temple busy so that she doesn’t ask for the millionth time, “When will my mother get here?” She has a right to have separation-anxiety issues.

She also has a right to be with her father when her mother wants to run errands. In fact, I’m surprised I don’t see Harry here at the Annual Pacific Heights Caroling Extravaganza—

But of course, he doesn’t want to run into us.

I’ve been scanning the crowd for Ted, too. I was hoping he’d get here to see Olivia tell Santa what she wants for Christmas. Then, as she’s done every year of her young life, she handed Santa an invitation to her birthday party. “We’ll have fun,” she promised. “Just like last year.”

Temple was not as bold. In fact, Olivia had to nudge her toward Santa. I can only imagine what wish she whispered in his ear. If it was for the reunion of her parents, she’ll be sorely disappointed.

I know from experience.

Even at nine, Mickey is now too old for Santa. I have to poke him to keep him from snickering at his sister’s idolatry of a fat man in a fake beard and a red velour suit. Tanner and Marcus are flirting with Natassia and some of her lustful gal pals. I don’t see Jake anywhere, though. Since DeeDee never mentioned his tagging along with the boys, I presume she’s letting him hang with Harry.

How big of her.

I am duly snubbed by Margot, Isabelle, and Tammy, although Colleen and Brooke give me reserved nods. So much for the Christmas spirit.

Finally Santa reappears and throws the switch that lights up every limb of the park’s most majestic Douglas fir, and three local church choirs take turns singing it out in the name of the child in the manger. As I stand there mouthing the words to songs always identifiable even if most of their stanzas cannot be remembered, I wonder if DeeDee is still fighting the 101 traffic home or is in fact still terrorizing some couture-shop clerk and in the emotional frenzy of the experience has lost all sense of time.

Yeah, okay, it’s Christmas, so this once I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

The kids and I are walking back from the park when I spot Officer Fife coming out of our house, his partner not far behind. Seeing the concern in my face, he meets me in the driveway while the other policeman gathers up the kids for a few questions.

“Your silent alarm went off. From what we can see, nothing was taken, but it looks as if somebody sure made a quick exit from the house.”

I follow him inside to verify his presumption that our valuables are still in place. Yes, there are the television and the computer, but I don’t remember having left it on prior to leaving with the girls. Neither Tanner nor Mickey remembers doing so, either.

Mickey runs upstairs to confirm that his baseball card collection is safe and sound, and that Ted’s favorite sex toy, the TV, is still pinned to the wall.

I start to ask him to check on my vibrator too, then think better of it.

Then I see it: the San Francisco Seals baseball cap.

So the burglar is Jake.

Boy, oh boy: the last thing Harry needs is Jake going into juvenile court for theft.

I do get some satisfaction that it happened on DeeDee’s watch.

The proof of this is the cap.

As Officer Fife checks yet another window, I kick it under the couch before Tanner or Mickey can see it and ID it as their good buddy’s. But if he’s going to stay a friend, he’s going to have to be reeled in as soon as possible.

DeeDee glides up the steps just as the policemen are walking out the door. “My God! Is everything okay?” She looks around frantically for Temple. Since Halloween, she’s come to expect the worst.

“There was a break-in. Our silent alarm went off.”

Relief puts color back in her face. “Anything stolen?”

“Apparently not. They’re figuring it’s a kid’s prank.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about Jake, but I don’t want her to think that I just presume he’s the villain anytime something bad happens around here. If and when the truth comes out, she’ll be on the defensive anyway.

DeeDee tries on some apologies for size, but my reaction is a shrug. “The girls had fun. That’s all that counts.”

She sweeps Temple into her arms. Glancing around, she notices her basket on the coffee table, beside my cup of tea and an issue of
Vanity Fair.
“That’s mine, isn’t it? Oh! Already empty. . . . Well, I guess you liked the cookies after all! Addictive, aren’t they?”

As she says this, she looks pointedly at my backside.

It wouldn’t hurt so much if it weren’t true.

She smothers a grin. “Yes, well, we’ll have to reschedule our little bonding date. The holidays are crazy. Maybe one afternoon on the back end of Olivia’s party . . .”

That’s when I figure out her no-show was all a big fix.

My guess is that she rendezvoused with Max Karloff. With all his listings that are currently vacant, finding a place to fuck shouldn’t be
all that difficult.

If she did go shopping like she said, I hope she bought herself some very expensive pairs of shoes, and that Lucky finds one and makes a good meal of it.

“Friendship often ends in love;
but love in friendship—never.”

—Charles Caleb Colton

Friday, 20 Dec., 11:08 a.m

Harry won’t answer the door, even though I know he’s in there.

I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself, but I keep tapping on it because he’s not answering his cell phone either, although he can see on his caller ID that it’s me.

What the hell is up?

I move from the door to a window and peek in. He’s still standing at the door, listening for my knocks. He’s in scrubs and a T-shirt. There is a dark shadow of a beard on his face. I’m guessing he hasn’t shaved since I last saw him, let alone brushed his hair, which now waves out like wings from behind his ears.

Something certainly has him worried.

I rap even harder, and startle him enough that he jumps. He swivels around to see me, and breathes easier.

“What are you waiting for?” I tap the glass once more for good measure. “It’s cold out here. Let me in.”

He wipes his face with an open palm, then with a shrug motions for me to come back over to the front door.

He doesn’t greet me with a joke, let alone a smile. He doesn’t
even ask me to sit down. What’s wrong? Does he already know the worst about Jake?

Now that this moment has come, I don’t know what to say.

So I say nothing. Instead I toss the Seals baseball cap on the sofa bed, which still has not been made up.

He stares down at it. “So . . . you know, I guess.”

“Oh! You know, too?”

All of a sudden, he’s on his guard. “Know what?”

“You tell me.”

“Nope, you know the rule: ladies first.”

This game is getting old fast. “Okay, sure.” I take a deep breath. “I know about Jake.”

He nods but says nothing, as if he’s mulling that one over. Finally: “What about Jake?”

“Harry, quit playing games! I know it’s Jake who’s been doing the break-ins all over the neighborhood.” I stare him down. “You must know about it too, right? Hell, I know Pete knows, because Officer Fife told me so himself—”

Worry pierces Harry’s brow. “What else did Fife say?”

“Are you asking me if he knows who owns this cap? No, don’t worry, I didn’t tell him.”

Relief floods his face. “Thanks, Lys.”

“Seriously, did you think I’d squeal on Jake? Give me some credit!”

For some reason he finds this hilarious. His snicker soon roils into a full-blown belly laugh.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Harry? Don’t you know what this means? If he slips up again and gets caught, it could mean jail time!”

“You’re right Lyssa. I shouldn’t be laughing. I guess—I guess it struck me the wrong way. But please believe me when I say that Jake has nothing to do with the break-ins. In fact, Pete will agree because—”

“Oh, right. You’re telling me that Jake was with you guys last night? And what, were you all playing poker—during the lighting of the Christmas tree? Cut me some slack, Harry! I’m not
that
gullible!”

“Lyssa, you’ve got to trust me, even if I can’t tell you everything right now. Do you get that? But one thing I can tell you in all certainty is that Jake wasn’t in your house. And . . . there won’t be any more break-ins.”

I can’t believe my ears. “How can you be so sure? Look, I get it. No parent wants to believe his child is capable of anything like that. But, Harry, you have to face facts: Jake hasn’t been the same kid at all since your breakup. This is no time for you to be in denial—”

“Me—
me
in denial? Boy, you’ve got nerve!” His face turns to stone. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Maybe it’s time you quit butting into my business and take care of your own.”

“You say
I
don’t know what
I’m
talking about?” His words hurt worse than any fist could. “Okay, yeah, all right, I’ll mind my own business. Heaven knows I’ve neglected my own life because I’ve been so concerned with yours. Well, that stops right now.”

I would have made it to the door before he grabbed me, except that the tears are falling so hard and so fast that the whole room is a blur. I guess he’s afraid I’ll bump into something because he holds me close and whispers how sorry he is that he hurt me, that he never meant to make me cry ever, not in a million years, but that he’s so angry now, about everything, especially what he couldn’t stop, and now everyone will get hurt and will feel the pain—

Even me.

Especially
me.

This time, when he kisses me, I don’t pull away. I can’t.

I won’t.

His tongue opens my lips gently, but moves through my mouth with a ferocious hunger. I want to eat him too, body and soul, to lose myself in his touch. . . .

But first things first. I place his hand beneath my shirt and shiver as his fingers roam over my belly, light feathers that tease my skin. His tongue follows, working its way up to my breasts, where his palm cradles my heart while his index finger, with a few gentle strokes, stiffens my nipple so that it aches for the feel of his lips around it. . . .

He groans, torn between the desire to do what we both want and awareness of the consequences that we both know will come with this one act. We risk shattering our friendship . . .

And perhaps creating something better in its place.

Something that will change our lives forever.

And our children’s.

And Ted’s.

I feel him staring at me. I open my eyes to find in his the very last thing I’d ever want to see there:

Pity.

I bolt from his arms.

There is only one thing I can think of saying to him. “Why?”

“Do me a favor and just don’t ask me, okay?”

Because he’d never do to another man what was done to him.

Because I’d be his rebound fuck.

Because, despite what I’d like to presume or what he’s willing to admit to himself, let alone me, he’s still in love with DeeDee.

Yeah, okay, I get it. Let’s keep things friendly, no more.

Well, there will always be carpool and playdates. “See you later, Harry.”

“No, Lyssa, you won’t,” he says very seriously, although he can’t say it and look me in the eye. “I don’t think we should see each other. Ever. Again.”

That stops me cold. I can’t feel my heart. I can’t feel anything.

I’ve just lost my best friend. I’ve lost the man I know in my heart I love.

Because, despite loving him as I do, I can’t be like DeeDee. I can’t
break up my family. Not even if it means losing Harry.

Slowly I turn back to him. It takes five steps to reach him. I count them, yes: five. When I get to him, I take his face in my hands so that he can look me in the eyes and measure the meaning of my words:

“Yes, we will see each other again, Harry. In fact, I’ll see you on New Year’s Day. At Olivia’s party, remember?”

I don’t look back as I walk out the door. I already know he can’t take his eyes off me.

But this time, I know his eyes hold no pity. That’s the way I want it.

He is in love with me. I know that now.

And because he loves me, he won’t let me down. He knows I’ll need him there beside me at Olivia’s party, sharing whatever memories are made that day.

Sharing laughter and glances, and perhaps a touch or two.

Even if we can’t share anything else, that will be enough.

I hope.

I pray.

“Never feel remorse for what you have thought about your wife; she has thought much worse things about you.”

—Jean Rostand

Monday, 23 Dec., 10:10 a.m.

I’ve started painting again.

This time, it’s for real.

Each day, after dropping the children off at the Paradise Heights Recreation Department’s Christmas camp, where Olivia is making ornaments out of foil paper and glitter and whole eggshells blown empty of the essence of life, and Mickey trots the boards in yet another version of
A Christmas Carol
, and Tanner shuffles up and down the rec center’s gym in pickup games (basketball) and games of pickup (girls), I head out to the shed. There I prep the large canvas with warm undertones: amber and poppy and goldenrod for the background, blush and sunny yellow for skin and hair. Then I dip a thin brush in black in order to outline, from memory, three faces I know so well: Temple’s, Jake’s, and Harry’s. Only now they are devoid of the pain and anger that has been so finely etched in their features these past months. Instead, I take joy in dabbing their eyes with the traits we identify with love and adoration. Happiness is projected on the broad dimpled smiles I glaze onto their faces.