Текст книги "Swelter"

Автор книги: Nina G. Jones

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

My hips thrusted up to meet Bobby's and we crested against each other like waves against a bluff, the table barely needing to support me as I clung to him. His shirt stuck to the sweaty knolls of his chest and arms as he grunted savagely, coming closer to his climax.

“Come with me,” he groaned into my neck.

I braced Bobby's torso against mine as I convulsed against him, biting down onto his shoulder as an intense stampede of pleasure rolled over me. I held on as tightly as I could, feeling like if I let go, I would drift away and never be able to hold him again. That I would lose him in this helpless abyss of rules and unfairness we call life. Bobby tensed against me, his groans as gritty as mud and earth as he released inside of me.

I kept my embrace firm around Bobby, hoping we would freeze in time like the images I had seen in textbooks about Pompeii. Or that we would burst into trillions of stars, so that we could live in the heavens for eternity like the constellations we admired on moonless nights. So that one day, other weary lovers could look to us in the sky for hope.

But we were still here. Pieces of flesh and bone, desperately clinging to each other.

“I have to go, Lil,” Bobby said somberly. “I'll see you tomorrow.” It seemed he was trying to convince himself more than me this time.

I let my arms go limp as Bobby slid away from me, collected himself, grabbed his bag, and left.

I mindlessly collected the dish fragments from the floor trying to decipher what was holding me back from going with Bobby. This was the life I had dreamt of. But I had made vows. I had chosen my path. Somehow I felt like packing my bags and leaving was cheating.

Maybe it was the guilt I carried from being with Bobby the night before the wedding. That the rest of my life was penance for that one act. Or maybe I cared more about what other people thought than I had realized.

A small shard pricked my finger and pulled me out of my fugue. I stood up and placed the chunks of porcelain in my hand on the kitchen table and wandered the house, taking stock of the life I had here.

Things.

Furniture. Clothes. Cars. A house. A few acquaintances. This was all an illusion. As if I tried to grasp any one of them they would slip through my fingers like sand. I didn't really have a life. I didn't miss any of these things when Bobby and I were up at the lake. It was as if I had picked out the pieces for my real life dollhouse. And I felt as empty and fake as the doll in the center of it all.

My family, they would always be my family. I could only hope they would forgive my decision if I left Rory for his brother. But it wasn’t them who would live with the consequences of the choice I faced. I couldn't keep choosing this life to please them while I suffered.

I didn't have a say when Bobby slipped away seven years ago. When he never visited. When he left to war. When he vanished from the face of the earth. But I had a say now.

If I did this, I would be starting over. Everything I owned was shared with Rory. I had a modest trust fund, virtually untouched. That, and my clothes, was all I could take with me. Someday, I would split my parent's estate with my sister, but who knew if that would change when they found out about my behavior. It didn't matter though. Between Bobby and me, we would find a way.

I slipped on some clothing and grabbed my purse and car keys. I needed air. The house was stifling. I drove aimlessly at first, down the main street, through county highways, until I decided I had a destination: the lake house.

It was only an hour away from home, and the afternoon sun was still at its peak when I arrived. I kicked off my shoes and dug my toes into the cool grass, closed my eyes, took a lungful of crisp air, and smiled.

Freedom.

This is what it would be like. We would experience the world together, and then we would get a little cottage by the lake or the beach, and we would read to each other, or sing, or dance. And one day, our little babies would lumber around in their diapers, and then they would grow enough to run and jump into the water, and then they would one day fall in love and have their hearts broken and patched back together and then we would watch them as they watched their little ones. Bobby and I would witness it all, experiencing every smile and tear with them. This was the life we were meant to have.

And if I wanted to try something new, Bobby would encourage it, not tell me what I wanted. And if Bobby wanted to open up a shop to build furniture or fix cars, I would encourage him. Because all we wanted was what the other wanted.

In the walls of my house with Rory, my dreams had been strangled for so long, it made it impossible for me to imagine anything else. But out here, on the tree swing, watching the birds sweep over the water, feeling the breeze curl along my neck, I could smell the scents of my new life. Taste its flavors. Feel it tickle my skin.

When I stripped it all away, it wasn't so hard to imagine leaving.

After watching the bright afternoon sun dull from the swing, I made my way into the house. I went upstairs to the bedroom and into the jewelry box. I slipped off the ring I had worn for seven years as an impostor and returned it to its rightful place: my mother-in-law's jewelry box. Next to it was a small box that held just one item. I opened it and slipped the pale apricot-colored gem on my finger. I found an empty large cardboard box and carried it to the living room, where I grabbed the record player and a few records, including the Billie Holliday vinyl.

I threw in my favorite overalls and loaded my car. I wasn't sure when I'd ever see this place again.

I thought about whether I should say goodbye to Barbie as I drove home, but I decided against it. I was going to slip out as quietly as I could. I smiled to myself as I drove back to visions of me showing up at Bobby's motel door, my suitcase by my side. How he would embrace me and we would cry tears of joy. How I would tell him I was sorry I ever doubted us. And that I was sure. I would bet everything on us.

I had stopped at a diner by the lake to eat supper when a sharp and sudden hunger demanded to be addressed. It was nice being anonymous. I listened to music from the mini jukebox at the table while I scarfed down a shake and burger. I felt unburdened, like someone released from captivity.

The rest of the ride home only made me more anxious to pack my bags and get to Bobby. I thought about stopping by his way first, but then figured it would save time and an extra trip to call him once I got home and have him pick me up. I'd be leaving the car Rory bought me behind. Bobby's truck was way more fun.

Summer construction slowed me down so that I pulled up to my driveway at about eight-thirty. Once I pulled in, something struck me as odd. I could see from the front windows that the light in the kitchen was on. I was certain I hadn't left any lights on when I left, but then again I was in a daze so I shrugged it off. If Rory was home, his car would be in the driveway.

I unlocked the front door, and instantly heard frantic footsteps in the kitchen.

“Rory? Rory? Is that you?” I asked as I flicked on a lamp in the living room. The off-white carpet had a trail of soiled footsteps leading into the kitchen. I tiptoed towards the sounds, when Rory popped his head out. A trail of blood flowed down his temple and his shirt and pants had tears in them. He was covered in mud and soaking wet, his hands covered in red scrapes.

The pieces of broken dishes were still on the table where I had left them.

“Where have you been?” he asked in a drunken panic.

“I was—Rory, what happened? I thought you were in Illinois?”

“Turn off the light!” he demanded.

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

I remained still.

Rory let over to the lamp and shut it off. He reeked of liquor and pond water.

“I need you to take me to my car,” he ordered.

“For what? What happened? Did you crash it? You're bleeding. We should go to the hospital. You might need stitches.”

“No, no hospital,” he protested.

“You're plastered, Rory. I'm sure neither the car or you is in condition for a trip.”

“Lilly, I don't have time for this. You need to drive me to my car.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain to me what is going on.”

“Goddammit, just do what I ask!” he snapped.

I crossed my arms and shook my head in disgust. “No. Really. I am done. I can't do this anymore. The lying. The bickering. You take care of yourself. I have had it!”

“You're not going anywhere with that car,” he sneered.

“Here, take it,” I said, throwing the keys at him, letting my anger get in the way of common sense. “But I'm still leaving.”

“How? You gonna walk to the bus? That's miles from here.”

“Just go look for your car. I don't even want to know . . .” Rory had come home drunk before, but this—this state he was in—was a new low.

“Lilly, I don't need this shit right now.”

“I don't care what you need!” I yelled.

The phone began to ring. We both looked at it suspiciously.

“Don't answer it,” Rory ordered, trying not to raise his voice.

I snatched the phone up, clearing my throat before answering. “Lightly residence.”

“Lilly? It's Peggy.” Peggy was Barbie's next door neighbor. She and I weren't close, so I was clueless as to what she would want at this time of night.

“Hi Peggy,” I responded, keeping my eyes on an unsettled Rory, pacing across the kitchen.

She sighed. “I just wanted to check and see if you heard the news. I tried calling earlier but it seems no one was home.”

“The news?” I asked. “No, I was . . . gone all day.”

“Barbie's been in a terrible accident.”

As if this day could be any worse.

“What?” I asked, forgetting all my troubles in an instant. “Is she going to be okay?”

Peggy responded somberly. “They found her car in the river. It had driven off the road. She was underwater. She's in a coma. It's not looking good.”

“Oh my god,” I gasped as my knees weakened. I lowered myself into the chair behind me for support. “What about Stan? Was he with her?”

“No, he was out of town this week. And, I suppose I shouldn't say this . . .” Gossip always lurked in these parts if one wanted a glimpse. Especially from someone like Peggy, who was married to a deputy in the police department which made her privy to the rare crimes in our area.

“What?”

“Well, the Chesterfields’ boys came up on it, and there are whispers they saw a man crawl out of the car and run . . .” The rest of her words blurred into a hodgepodge of sounds as my attention focused on the man in front of me. The person I had known almost my entire life who had become a stranger. The mud. The cuts and bruises. His missing car.

“Lilly? Lilly? Are you there?” Peggy asked.

“Uh, yes. I'm sorry, this is all such a shock,” I mumbled.

“I know. It's a tragedy. Such a shame. Well, I wanted to let you know . . . you two are so close.” Yeah, so close, apparently closer than I ever thought.

I slid the phone back on the hook as rage and sadness poured out of me in burning hot tears. “What did you do, Rory?” I growled.

“Who was that?” he asked, stepping back from me even though he was ten feet away.

“You know what that was about!” I sobbed as I pointed at the phone. “Barbie? Barbie? You son of a bitch!” I shouted.

“Who was that? Do they know it was me?”

“No . . .” I paused when I realized why he was demanding I take him to his car. “I can’t believe you. You’re planning to lie about this?”

“Lilly, you have to be quiet. Just stay calm. We can fix this.”

“We?” I laughed mockingly. “There is no 'we.' You did this. You made this mess. Now you need to clean it up!” I commanded through gritted teeth.

“You are my wife. For better or for worse.”

“I don't want anything from you. I just never want to deal with you again.”

“You're not divorcing me.”

“I want my keys back.”

“I can't let you leave. The police are probably out there asking questions.”

“I don't want any part of this. I just want my keys.”

“I told you, you aren't taking the car.”

“Dammit, Rory, just let me go!” I pleaded desperately. “Go talk to the police. I am sure they'll understand it was an accident.”

“Oh, I am sure they will,” he rejoined sarcastically. “Where are you gonna go, Lil? What are you going to do by yourself out there? It's you and me, Lilly.”

“You and me? You mean you and Barbie. How long, Rory? I can't believe I didn't see it. How many of those business trips were real?”

“It was the last time. We're moving. I was just saying goodbye. Telling her it was over,” he slurred.

“Oh, well seeing the condition you're in, that was a helluva goodbye.”

“Can’t you just have my back for once, Lilly?”

I sat at home and put my dreams to the side for him. I cleaned this house. I cooked every meal. I pressed his clothes. I became his accessory. And yet, he had the nerve to say I never had his back. That was all I had from him.

“She's in a coma, Rory. She might not make it. This is really bad.”

“Oh god . . . oh god . . .” he buried his face in his hands.

“She has children and you left her there to drown. I thought I knew you . . .”

“I panicked. I couldn't wake her up, and she was stuck. I didn't want to lose everything we have.”

“What do we have?” I asked. “There's nothing left. Nothing.”

“I was never good enough for you. Everything I do is just never enough, is it? Even now, I save her, I'm a jerk when you find out about us. I leave her because I want to save our marriage and it's still wrong.”

“You wanted to save your own ass.” I stabbed my finger in his direction.

I knew I didn't have a right to be angry about Barbie and Rory, at least without making myself a hypocrite. But the truth was, I was mad at myself, for delaying my happiness for something so false. Bobby was right. Rory needed to be freed too, but he didn't want freedom. He wanted everything—his doting wife and his mistress. He wanted the image of perfection while sneaking around. He wanted the perfect house and he wanted secret romps in the back of his car.

I had to find my way back to Bobby, to the security of his embrace. Never in my life did something feel more certain. Never had I felt more resolute that being with Bobby was the right decision. I didn't want everything. I just wanted Bobby.

I marched into the kitchen, hoping Rory would just let me take the keys when I got closer, but he pulled them back and out of my reach.

“Fine. I'll call someone to come get me.”

“No one is coming here. No one can know I'm home. I walked miles in the dark, through the woods, in pain, just so no one would see me. You're going to sneak me to my car so I can go to Illinois and have an alibi.”

“You are out of your mind,” I said, turning to the phone and closing my eyes, praying that Rory hadn't lost every bit of himself.

“Lilly. Stop,” he reached for my arm, and I tugged it away from him, but all it did was encourage him to grip me tighter. “Let go of me,” I shouted. I gripped the phone as he tried to wrangle it out of my hand. With all my strength, I pulled away as hard as I could. My feet went out from under me as soon as I stepped back into a puddle on the linoleum. As I fell I heard a loud thud. I wondered if the phone had ripped from the wall, or if something fell off the table in the struggle.

“Lilly? Lilly?” Rory crouched over me, his words echoing as if he was on the other end of a tunnel, getting further away. And then his face began to swirl into shades of beige.

Then darkness.

It took me a few painful seconds to recall where I was or the circumstances that lead to the throbbing knot pulsating on the side of my forehead. I wasn't on the wet kitchen floor anymore. I was on something warm and soft. I blinked my eyes over and over again, trying to focus on the blur around me.

“Oh thank god,” Rory stood up from the chair in the corner of our bedroom. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but things had gone so far off course for us, that I shuddered as he stepped towards me. It wasn't fear, but mistrust. I didn't trust Rory to keep me safe. He was reckless. He was desperate.

“I'm so sorry, Lilly. I didn't mean it.”

Finally the images before my eyes sharpened. Rory was still dirty and sweaty. The blood had dried on his temple. His breath reeked even more strongly of alcohol. He had been drinking while he waited for me to wake.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It's uh . . .” he glanced at the clock. “Four.”

Eight hours until Bobby left.

“In the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god,” I said. “You should have taken me to the hospital.”

“Like this? No . . . I watched you all night. You were breathing. You were just knocked out. You woke up and then said you were tired and wanted to sleep.”

I didn't remember any of it.

I sat up and Rory propped some pillows behind me. “I need water.” I winced, massaging my temples.

“Okay, I'll be right back,” he said.

I thought about running out right at that instant. But I'd still have to get past Rory, and I was too dizzy to come to my feet without the room spinning. Rory was back quickly with a glass.

“Here.”

I took a long sip, my throat was parched. He hadn't turned on the AC and the bed underneath me was drenched with my sweat.

“Lilly, I didn't mean what happened.”

“You could have just let me leave. You just keep making things worse, Rory.”

“I'm just trying to fix this.”

I knew this was heading into one of our arguments that goes in a circle. I needed to find another way to deal with this newer, more intoxicated, more panicked Rory.

“You need a shower,” I suggested, hoping this would give me some time alone.

“I know. I didn't want to leave your side.”

“I'm okay now. I'm up.” I faked a smile. “Go shower.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “You can't leave, Lilly. Not until I figure this out.”

“I'm not your enemy, Rory. Why don't we just call Bobby and see if he can help?”

“Lilly, he left for California this morning, didn't he?”

This was not the ideal time to reveal my plan to run away with his brother. “Oh . . .” I grabbed my head. “Yeah. Sorry I forgot. My head.”

Rory's eyes softened with guilt. “Besides, I don't want to involve him in this mess.”

“I won't run, I promise. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“This will only be a minute.”

I nodded. Rory undressed in front of me, dumping his filthy, tattered, clothes on the floor and walked out of the bedroom to the bathroom.

I tried to come to my feet, it was worth a shot, but severe vertigo kicked in, knocking me back down on the bed. So, it was on to plan B.

The one benefit of Rory being drunk was he forgot about the phone on my nightstand. I reached for it and called the operator. My heart raced as I had her connect me to Bobby's motel. The phone rang and rang and rang. It was too early.

I gently hung up the phone as Rory returned to the bedroom.

“You look a lot better,” I replied. He was still covered in scrapes and bruises, but losing the mud and dried blood helped quite a bit.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. His eyes were heavy. I knew the booze and lack of sleep would hit him, I just hoped it would sooner than later.

“The sun's coming up,” he said lazily. “We should wait until it's dark again. Same plan. We'll say you were home alone for the past couple of days, cooped up, not feeling well. I was in Illinois.”

“Are you sure you don't want to call the cops?”

“Lilly, do you understand what would happen if I did? No. Absolutely not.”

I sighed. This battle would not be won with aggression. I had to get Rory thinking I was on his side. “Fine. We'll do it your way. Why don't we get some sleep?”

“No. I won't be able to sleep until this is fixed,” he said. “I'm making some coffee.” He headed for the bedroom door and then stopped. “Lilly, I'll make this up to you. I'm sorry about Barbie. And I know it will take a long time to forgive me. But this, when we get through this, I am really done. I know I screwed up.”

“When did it start?” I asked. It didn't make what I did right, but if I knew he was with Barbie for a good while, then my marriage was lost before I ever thought of abandoning it.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“It does.”

He leaned against the door frame. “Two months ago.”

My head throbbed harder as if the pain was responding to his admission. “How?”

“You went to see your sister and Stan was out of town at the same time. She invited me over for a meal. And . . . do we have to go through this?”

“No. That's enough,” I declared. The odd thing was, I wasn't shocked about Rory. It was the natural evolution of our demise. But Barbie, she insisted on being my friend, and it made no sense. Did she stay close to me to be closer to Bobby? Was it because she felt guilty? I couldn't ask her, she was too busy fighting for her life as the man who drove her into a river planned to skirt the blame.

We sat for hours. Most of it in silence. I watched tensely as Rory's head would bob, and then he would bounce up. He was stubborn as always. I stared at the clock, watching my new life slip away with each minute.

At ten-twenty-one the phone rang. Rory and I made nervous eye contact.

“I'll pick it up. I'm supposed to be here.”

I answered as Peggy's voice on the other line updated me on Barbie's condition. I'm not sure I even said much. I think I just nodded and hung up the phone. Maybe I said thank you.

Without looking over at Rory, just gazing aimlessly into the emptiness of the world in front of me, I uttered the words that would change my life; not in the way I had planned hours ago.

“Barbie's dead.”

In retrospect, maybe I should have lied to Rory. Maybe I should have held on to the knowledge of Barbie's death. But I was in shock, too. I was angry with Barbie, but she was a friend and her death hurt. At first Rory took the news in silence. It was a deep silence. The kind you can only achieve by being underwater. In that bedroom, not a bird chirped, not an insect trilled, a sheet did not rustle, a throat was not cleared. I couldn't even hear the grandfather clock taunting me down the hall. It was like a vacuum sucked the noise out of the space as Rory sat there, contemplating how he was responsible for a woman's death.

But that silence only lasted seconds. Like the receding of the ocean before a tsunami. Or the eerie quiet breeze before a devastating storm. Rory stood up and without a word, he exploded, swiping everything off of the closest dresser to him. I recoiled as the objects flew every which way, but Rory didn't see me. It was like I wasn't even there. He unleashed a storm of curses and phrases of self-pity. Not once did he say he say her name. It was at that moment that I realized that I believed him. He didn't love her. He was mourning the shift in his own life. How this accident had affected him. Maybe how it affected us. Perhaps in his mind, Rory really was on the path to getting better, having his last hoorah with Barbie before moving us to Minnesota to start fresh. But it didn't matter anymore. I had made my decision before I walked through the door that night.

When there was nothing left to curse or punch, Rory collapsed to the floor and sobbed, his chest heaving in sharp thrusts as he finally mumbled “sorry” over and over again. I wasn't sure to whom. The dizziness from the fall had nearly subsided, and I cautiously approached him, kneeling next to him, and wrapped my arms around him. He turned and buried his head in my chest like a lost, scared boy.

10:34a.m.

We stayed in that position for a while, until his sobs were muted, and then they stopped altogether. He stood up, nodded once, and left the bedroom without saying a word.

The deadline to meet Bobby was approaching quickly and I didn't see a way out other than to run. Maybe the phone was my better chance. Rory would probably catch me before I ever made it to the front door. I tried not to make a sound as I tiptoed back to the bed to try the motel again. But Rory's footsteps halted my plans for the second time.

I could hear the glass in his hands clanking before he even made it up the stairs. In one hand he managed two bottles: one of whiskey and the other scotch. In the other hand, a highball glass already gleamed with the topaz-colored liquid.

“I don't want to hear it, Lilly,” he professed as soon as he saw my eyes rest on the plunder. “I just need to get through today,” he sighed, tilting the glass on its end against his lips to take the remaining sip of his first drink.

I tried to think of a rebuttal, but my mind was consumed with what Bobby would think when I didn't show up. Would he leave me? Would he think I chose Rory over him? If he left, would I get the chance to tell him I didn't? Or would he break his promise and vanish again?

I was certain of nothing, except for the fact that Rory was in a state unlike anything I had ever seen. Despite the drinking and the arguments, I had never feared him. I had known him almost my whole life, and for most of those years, he was a stable person. He grew up in a good home with loving parents. I never thought he could become the man in front of me. But on this day, under these circumstances, cornered like a frightened animal, something dark came out of him.

He was scared. He would never admit it, but I could see the terror in the way his hands trembled as he lifted the glass to his lips. As he mumbled to himself, and sometimes to me, how “we were going to get through this,” reciting his plan over and over.

I had no choice but to go with his plan or pray Bobby would come and save me from my captivity. But Bobby promised me he wouldn't force me. That he wanted me to make this decision with a clear head. I had to come to him to tell him I was ready to leave it all behind.

At 11:55, my hope of making it to Bobby in time had died. Rory had slowed his drinking pace, not because he was moderating his drunkenness, but because I think he was on the verge of being sick. So when he could not distract himself with drink, he brought the record player upstairs for entertainment.

Rory begged me to dance with him. I agreed, thinking this would calm his nerves and keep his hands occupied with something other than a glass of liquor.

And like some sick, twisted joke that confirmed to me that god did exist and he was cruel—the record he grabbed was something I didn't even know we owned.

I recognized the melody right away. It was a different arrangement, a little quicker and peppier, the voice a little higher in the throat; more old-fashioned.

“What's this?” I asked through a clenched throat as Rory pulled me in to dance.

“Uh, Ruth...” he glanced back to the record sleeve and almost lost his balance. “...Et—ting. Ma and Pa used to play her all the time,” he added, his face droopy from the copious amounts of alcohol he had ingested.

Rory tried to lead, but his feet kept tangling into mine, and his body rocked haphazardly like a boat docked in a storm.

“Let's just go slow,” I suggested, pulling him in close and resting my head on his shoulder.

I listened to the words of the song. The story of who I had become. I rocked side to side with Rory as I looked at the clock on the nightstand, the second hand rapidly approaching the twelve.

The chime of the grandfather clock that had become white noise during this time of turmoil, rose back to the surface. Taunting me as it always did. This was the inevitable. This was the countdown I had always known was imminent.

The last time I heard this song, sung by Billie Holiday, the words were bittersweet. A love note. A little boy watched his parents dance and thought of a little girl. He didn't know yet what that meant, but on a warm summer night, they swam in the lake under the moon and they understood. One day he left the little girl, now a woman, taking all the good parts of her when he left. But he was back. And so, she was back.

Now, the song was an elegy. The sad story of a girl who loved the wrong boy. Of a boy who tried to run away to make things better, but instead left with best pieces of that girl. So that every time she looked in the mirror she saw skin, and hair, and eyes and lips. But she didn't see herself.

Tick. Tock.

The second hand pointed to the 12, and I buried my face deeper onto Rory's chest to mask the tears, bracing for the feeling of loss like a grenade had been dropped onto what was left of my soul.

Bobby thought I had chosen Rory again.

And if he left again, there would be no putting me back together.