Things Go Flying (28 page)

“No way,” John scoffed, when he thought about what
that
meant. It was bad enough to imagine your parents having sex with each other, but imagining one of them having sex with someone else was even worse.

“Well, why the hell else would someone in this house—and it wasn't you or me—look up how and where to do a paternity test? Hmm?” Then Dylan said, “It wasn't you, was it?”

John shook his head. This was almost more than he could stand. He squashed his pillow to his chest.

“It must be you,” Dylan said heartlessly.

“Why me?”

“Because you were born first. They probably
had
to get married.”

“I don't believe it!” John said, but he wasn't sure what to believe.

“Can you think of any other reason Mom and Dad might be smashing the furniture?” Dylan added.

So now John feared that life as he knew it was about to change irrevocably. He wanted to put his head in the sand, but the world wouldn't let him.

Also, the pending lawsuit had him completely freaked out. He didn't understand lawsuits. His father had told him not to worry about it, that the insurance company would defend it for them—that's what they paid such ridiculously high rates of insurance for. John would have to show up for the discoveries though, and answer questions put to him by lawyers, and he was already losing sleep over it even though it was months away. Also, he was worried about his careless driving trial, which although also months away, would happen first. It was more important than ever that he not be convicted, because of the civil suit. He imagined his parents losing everything, because of him.

And Nicole—he was feeling very uneasy about Nicole. Things weren't as uncomplicated as they were before. It used to be just excitement and sex, and pretending to be someone else—it was perfect—but now she seemed to be on to him. He thought she might be losing interest, and he was terrified she would dump him.

His cell phone rang just as he reached the school grounds. It was Nicole.

“Hi baby,” she said, sounding as hot and sexy as ever. She didn't sound like she was losing interest, not at the moment anyway, and John was reassured. He relaxed.

“Hey,” John said, very cool.

“A wonderful opportunity has just come up,” Nicole said.

“What?” John wasn't sure his idea and Nicole's idea of a wonderful opportunity were the same. She had some pretty crazy ideas. Like shoplifting. Which was just crazy, because as far as John could tell, she had pretty much unlimited funds. She had her own credit card. She didn't need to steal. She did it for kicks. The first time he'd been with her when she stole some CDS, he thought he'd pee his pants in fright. But he'd had to act as if he stole things all the time. Now he was always trying to avoid going to the mall with her.

So he held his cell phone to his ear anxiously, worried about what might come next.

“My mom's out all day. We've got the place to ourselves.”

“Really?” This was definitely what John would call an opportunity.

“Yeah, so come over,” she invited. “Unlimited liquor, choice of beds.”

John only hesitated a moment. He had a science test; the teacher might call his house. But it wasn't until the afternoon—maybe he could be back by then. He hoped his hesitation played like he was considering it, like maybe he had something more important to do.

“Come on, John, live a little.” There was a decided edge to her voice; she was flexing her feminine muscle.

“Take your clothes off,” he said roughly. “I'll be right over.”

He snapped his cell shut.

This, he could do. She loved him in bed. They were terrific together, absolutely mindless. As long as he got out of the house before she got all dreamy and scheming on him, afterward. That was always the dangerous part.

When he arrived at her front door, he was feeling pretty excited, so it didn't intimidate him, the grandness of the house, its isolation from the others on the street. It was very different from his own neighbourhood, with all the semi-detached houses crowded together on top of each other. He rang the doorbell and waited, impatient to see her.

She answered the door buck naked.

He gave a low whistle, looking her up and down in gratified surprise. John felt like all his dreams had come true, all at once. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, deliberately. He reached for her, but she twisted away, eluding him.

He shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the floor, staring as she went to the bar. Her backside was mesmerizing. He was used to being with her in the woods—usually in the dark, but not always— and they were usually in a hurry. Now, getting a really good look at her naked, he couldn't believe how lucky he was.

She turned to face him from across the bar, her perfect breasts pointing at him. She obviously knew how much power she had over him, and she was playing it to the hilt. She poured them each a drink. He sauntered over and she handed him one.

“We have all day,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

He took a drink, felt the liquor burning down his throat. “I don't think I can wait all day,” he said, his voice low and manly, giving her
the look
. He'd mastered
the look
quite easily; he was playing his role beautifully.

She leaned over and kissed him, wetly, on the mouth. He put his drink down somewhere. He could taste the liquor in her mouth, feel her round breasts in his groping hands.

Finally, she pulled him over to the sofa. She pushed him playfully onto it, one hand against his chest, and straddled his lap. She was still holding her drink; he'd lost track of his. He could smell her, her dampness. He'd never wanted anything in his whole life as much as he wanted her right that second. And he was going to get her, but not yet. For now, there was more kissing. It was like a form of heavenly torture.

“I want you to do something for me,” she said caressing his face, looking into his eyes. He wanted to bury his face in her breasts, to hide, but her eyes held his.

He was starting to pant. He really was going to lose his mind.

“To prove your love.”

Uh-oh
. This sort of talk usually happened
after
they had sex. He was
so
screwed. “Sure baby . . . can we talk about it later?”

She slithered off his lap, putting her drink down on the floor beside her. She kneeled on the carpet, undid his jeans—he raised his hips helpfully—and pulled them down.

“I want to talk about it now,” she purred.

He didn't care what she asked. Her mouth was on him and it was just too good to deny her anything. He groaned.

She stopped, lifted her head, and said, “I want you to steal a car.”

“Whatever you want,” John gasped, not really caring what he agreed to at this point. He'd agree to anything.

Nicole, he'd learned, was a girl who got bored easily, who liked a thrill. She was the kind of girl who expected a guy to
prove his love
. He should have known—right from the time she lifted her dress at him from inside her parents' car—that she was dangerous.

She lowered her head again, obliterating all his thoughts.

• • •

H
AROLD AND AUDREY
sat apprehensively on the living room couch, waiting for the mail to fall through the slot onto the floor. Audrey thumbed unseeing through a magazine, while Harold glared at the floor between his feet. They weren't speaking—they weren't even looking at one another.

At last the mail dropped loudly through the slot and fell onto the floor. The two of them sat frozen for a second; then Audrey shot to her feet. Harold got up too, but slowly, reluctance informing his every movement. Audrey sifted through the junk mail, the bills—and found the envelope. She stood, holding it in her hands, Harold staring at her.

“Aren't you going to open it?” Tom said, startling them both.

Audrey nervously tore open the envelope. Her hands were shaking. Finally, she held out the paper for Harold to see. “It's not a match,” she said.

Harold had no idea what that meant. Since he and Audrey weren't speaking, she hadn't told him anything about the test, or how it was conducted, other than that it was all done by mail. But being Harold, he assumed the worst, and blurted out, “Are you sure?”

“The test is accurate to 99.99 per cent,” Audrey said flatly. “They guarantee it.”

“So—” Harold said.

There was a long, awkward silence as Audrey and Tom waited for the truth to dawn on Harold. Finally, Audrey, tired of waiting, looked at Harold and said, “You're not the father.”

She didn't sound too surprised. That she'd evidently been expecting this result was a further assault on Harold's masculine pride.

Tom had the decency, for once, not to say anything.

Harold stormed out of the house. He had no idea what to do about any of this. His life had become far too complicated for him; he was a very simple man.

He spent the rest of the day on his bench in the backyard, even after a cold, light rain began to fall.

• • •

T
HAT NIGHT AT
supper, Audrey was positively grateful for the TV. Otherwise, the meal would have been absolutely unbearable. It was bad enough as it was. In numbing despair, she'd thrown together some Hamburger Helper, and no one had even complained.

It was up to her to make things appear as normal as possible, for the boys' sake. She'd read all kinds of things over the years about the damaging effects of divorce; it could just ruin a sensitive boy like John. So she pretended that she and Harold were actually speaking, even though he didn't acknowledge anything she said. She was careful not to ask him any direct questions.

She wasn't fooling anybody though. John especially looked tense and unhappy, his expression unchanging regardless of what was on the screen in front of him. She ruffled his hair affectionately when she cleared his plate, but the gesture fell flat; he pulled away from her.

Audrey really feared she might smash the greasy frying pan against the edge of the counter in sheer frustration. Another sleepless night on the floor, fending off spirits and absorbing Harold's anger, would send her off the deep end.

She'd thrown the ripped Ouija board out in the garbage—
good riddance
—along with the shattered Lladró and the broken lamp. She'd carefully double-wrapped everything in grocery bags so the neighbours wouldn't see the wreckage and put sticky notes on for the garbage men saying
caution: broken glass
.

Maybe she should go spend the night at Ellen's and tell her the whole miserable story. She could use the support. She could use the sleep.

Surely he would miss her?

But she couldn't do that to her boys, not now, when they needed her more than ever. When this was all her fault.

Harold couldn't refuse to speak to her forever.

• • •

H
AROLD KNEW THAT
he couldn't refuse to speak to Audrey forever. It was wearing him out, the effort of it. He was someone who liked his creature comforts, and companionship was one of those creature comforts that Harold couldn't really do without. Even if the other creature was Audrey. But he could certainly hold out a little longer. He'd never held the righteous upper hand before, and it felt good.

When they were getting ready for bed—Audrey pulling her blankets onto the floor—she said, “I got rid of the Ouija board.” Harold ignored her and climbed into bed. Audrey dropped her pillow onto the floor and said, her voice breaking, “I'm sorry, Harold.” Harold rolled over onto his side, away from Audrey, and pulled the covers up.

Just then Tom joined them. His voice boomed, “So, what are we going to do about this?”

Harold bolted upright in bed; Audrey gave a little gasp.

“You've got a lot of nerve, showing up now,” Harold said wildly to the air. “Where the hell are you, anyway?” he asked, casting around as if he wanted to take a swing at Tom, if only he'd show himself.

“I'm right here,” Tom said, from the foot of the bed.

“What do you want?” Audrey demanded. “Why don't you leave us alone?”

“I'm not hurting anybody,” Tom replied. “I only want to help.”

“How could you possibly help?” Harold cried, all his hurt finding its way into his voice. “You were my best friend—and you helped yourself to my wife!”

“I'm sorry, Harold. Really, I am. But that was all a long time ago. We have to deal with the here and now. And the fact is—Dylan's my son.”

“No he isn't!” Harold protested recklessly.

“I was
there
, Harold.”

“What do you want?” Audrey demanded again.

“I want a role in raising my son,” Tom said. “I don't think that's asking too much.”

“What kind of role can
you
expect to have in raising Dylan? You're
dead
for Christ's sake!” Harold cried. “It's not like you can play road hockey with him!”

“Well, for starters, I think you could both do with some parenting advice.”

Harold and Audrey gaped at each other in disbelief.

“There's no reason we can't all work together,” Tom said. “Blended families of all types do it all the time these days.”

“You're talking about people who are divorced, not dead,” Harold exclaimed.

“Divorce is a kind of death,” Tom said. When no one said anything, he carried on. “Now, I'm concerned about Dylan's grades. He could do much better.”

“You've got a lot of nerve,” Audrey sniped.

“And I don't think you should stand in his way about the acting thing. He'd be great! Did you ever think of letting him act if he got his grades up? Jeez—it's not rocket science!”

• • •

A
T HAROLD'S NEXT
visit, Will took one look at him and said, “Harold, are you okay? You look a little more distressed than usual.”