Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense (12 page)

“Don’t any of you see how lucky you are?” I scream again, my voice threatening to crack.
I will not cry. Roger will not make me cry. I will be strong for my children. He will not break me.

When my sister Beth went through similar problems with her husband Derek (the exception being
she
also cheated on him), she started taking kickboxing classes. She told me that it completely empowered her and made it easier to get over what Derek had done to her. At the time, I thought she was just trying to get me to join her so she could get me to exercise, but now I am thinking her claim may have a lot of validity. After all, if I could just punch Roger in the face
just once,
I’m pretty sure I would feel much better. Or the nuts. Either one works.

I gather up the beach toys and towels, and shove them unceremoniously into the beach bag, fighting back the deluge of tears at the same time. “Let’s go to the beach, kids!” I announce happily, pasting a sunny smile on my face. I will smile for these kids even if it kills me.

“But, Mom,” Lexie starts to say, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.

“No arguments. We are here for a fabulous beach vacation, and a fabulous beach vacation we will have!” I announce with the fake chipperness of a game show host.
Show them what’s behind curtain number one, Bob! Why, it’s a happily divorced family!

Allie and Lexie exchange glances that say, “Oh boy, Mom has lost it.” I ignore them and grab the sunblock, shoving it into the bag. Of course, the cap isn’t on tightly, and half the bottle of sunblock ends up squirted all over the towels.

I briefly stare at the mess in the bag and then shrug.
No point in getting upset over things I can’t do anything about, right?

Of course not, Amy! Get mad over things you can do something about!
My oh-so-helpful conscience is agreeing with itself. It always thinks that it has come up with the most wonderful ideas.

“Mom, I think what Lexie—” Allie starts to say, but I cut her off, too. Why must everyone argue with me today? Hasn’t this day been horrific enough without having to fight with them before nine o’clock in the morning?

“Not another word, people. We’re going to the beach and we’re going now.”

Colt glances at the bathroom door that Roger is ensconced behind. “What about—”

“Don’t worry about him,” I mutter. “He can find his own way to the beach. He doesn’t have any problem finding anything that’s blond and easily spreadable.”

Allie’s mouth gapes open. “Mother!”

I shake my head, appalled at my own outburst.
I thought you were going to hold it together for the kids, Amy?
“I was talking about the sand! Geez, Allie! Get your mind out of the gutter. What has high school done to you?”

The kids trudge after me, obviously annoyed that I had the nerve to drag them to the beach on their beach vacation. We reach the elevator, and before we can start our morning round of “it’s my turn to push the button”, Colt gasps.

“What?” I ask, quickly inspecting him for signs of trauma that would cause him to gasp like he was injured.

“I forgot my goggles!” His eyes are wide and stunned.

“Okay, so we’ll wait,” I say, holding out the room key. “Go back and get them.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “I can’t do the key.”

“Yes, you can,” I insist, thrusting the plastic card into his hand.

He continues to shake his head. “No I can’t! I tried it and it made a loud buzzing noise.”

I sigh, dropping my hand to my side. I highly doubt it was a “loud buzzing noise”, but knowing Colt, it was enough to traumatize him. Because he is so into sports, buzzing and whistles usually signify a penalty or something, and Colt
hates
being yelled at. In sports that is.

I hand the key to Allie. “Can you go get his goggles, please?”

Momentarily shifting her gaze from her phone, she raises her eyebrows at me. “No way. Dad is probably walking around naked in the hotel room right now.”

Her statement leads to a round of groans from all of us. She is probably correct about that. As much as I don’t want to see him naked right now, either, traumatizing any of my children would probably be worse.

The elevator dings and the door pops open. There is a young couple in a lip lock inside the elevator.
Ugh
. Just the sight of people being lovey is enough to turn my stomach. I want to shout at them, “I used to be like that too! Just forget it, it won’t last! In twenty years you'll hate each other because he cheats on you!”
But I don’t say that, thank God.

“Fine,” I grumble, shrugging the bag off of my shoulder. I hand it to a startled Allie. “Take them downstairs and wait for me in the lobby.” I glance back at the oh-so-lovey couple pawing at each other with reckless abandon as they stumble off the elevator. “I’ll take the stairs.”

As my kids clamor onto the elevator, I head back to the room. I slide the key card in and quietly turn the handle of the door, not wanting to alarm Roger. Pushing the door open, I can see that he is still in the bathroom.
Perfect. I don’t even have to talk to him.

Spotting Colt’s goggles on the dresser, I silently close the door and nimbly tip-toe across the rug. Passing the bathroom door I overhear, “Yeah. I can talk now. Amy’s gone. You won’t believe what it’s like to get rid of her.” Roger’s voice reverberates against the tile floor and walls of the bathroom.

I halt in my tracks.
Is he on the phone with
her
?
Disgusted, I am tempted to just wish explosive diarrhea on him, and leave as quickly as possible, but of course, my curiosity gets the better of me. I sidle up close enough to the door to hear without actually leaning against it.

“I think they went down to the beach. Yeah, I know. Well, I tried to get away last night, but as you know, Amy went down to the bar.” A pause and then a laugh. “Yeah, she was a little tipsy when she got back.”

I suck in my breath, desperately attempting not to get infuriated. Was Roger’s little friend watching me last night?

Roger is silent for a minute, listening to the other party on the line. I can almost see him nodding his head in agreement. He’s probably staring at his cheating balding head, too—inspecting his hair in the mirror, wondering which ones got up and left his scalp last night while he slept. He sheds like a Siberian husky in July when he sleeps.

“I should be able to get away this afternoon for long enough to do it.”
Oh really, Roger? So you think. I will do everything in my power to prevent that.

I resist the urge to throw myself against the bathroom door and drag him out by his last ten strands of hair. “No, not now.” He sighs and then adds. “Listen, I’ve gotta make an appearance at the beach. I think she’s pissed at me, and when Amy gets pissed, all hell breaks loose. And then months of planning—”

Oh you better believe I’m pissed, Roger! You’ve never seen me so pissed. And you can just shove your plans where the sun don’t shine.

I can’t hear what he’s saying now because he’s turned the water on. I lean my ear against the door and can make out, “Of course...you know you’re my favorite out of the two of you.” Followed by a laugh.

And then, I feel like I’m falling—the room shifts, my body crashes, and I’m staring at the ceiling. And at Roger’s face, peering down at me.

“Amy!” Roger yelps, clearly wearing a guilty expression. “What are you doing?” He chuckles nervously, glancing around to see if the rest of our crew is present before he sticks his hand out to help me up.

I’m about to read him the riot act, reveal that I am on to him, but then I realize, he’ll just deny it, or try to explain it away.
No, I need proof, proof so iron-clad that Roger can’t deny that he’s having an affair. Something I can wave in his face and watch him squirm over.

I paste another fake smile on my face (man, I’m getting so good at these I might be becoming my sister Beth). “Colt forgot his goggles. He said they were in the bathroom. I didn’t realize you were in there.”
Wow, Amy, you’re getting good at this lying through your teeth thing. Have you been taking classes from Roger?

I step into the bathroom, knowing full well that the goggles are sitting on the dresser.

“Oh,” Roger replies, and even though I can’t see his face, I can tell from his voice that he is relieved. “I was coming down as soon as I changed into my swim trunks,” he tells me, as if I have any reason to doubt what he was doing so long in the bathroom. I hear the drawer slide out of the dresser, and then he calls out, “Here they are! I found them on the dresser—Colt was wrong!”

I offer myself a congratulatory smile in the mirror. He doesn’t seem to think I overheard his conversation at all.
Good.
I rub my hands together like a spider getting ready to feast on her prey.

I step out of the bathroom to see Roger with his bathing suit in one hand and his son’s goggles in the other.

“Thanks,” I say with a sunshiny smile. “I guess I’ll see you down at the beach?” I ask in a syrupy voice.
Take it down a notch, Amy...you were just acting like a bitch to Roger earlier. And yesterday. He may get suspicious.

Good thing Roger is oblivious. He doesn’t seem to notice my sudden change of attitude.

He does appear confused, though. “You’re going to the beach before breakfast? You think the kids will be okay with that?”

Oh crap. That’s probably what they were desperately trying to tell me this morning...that we haven’t eaten yet! Ughhhh, I hate when Roger is more aware than I am.

“Of course not, silly,” I giggle as I swat him on the arm.
Too much on the giddiness, Amy. Tone it down.
I pretend a mosquito is in the room and swat at the air. Roger wrinkles his brow, possibly concerned about my mental status. “We’re going to breakfast first. On the beach!” I add that part as an after-thought. Hopefully one of the six million restaurants on the beach serve breakfast.

“Okay,” Roger replies, buying my lie. “I’ll meet you down there in five minutes. The Sandpiper, right? That’s the one that advertised breakfast on the beach.”

Thank you, Roger,
I silently reply, bobbing my head up and down. “Yup, that’s the one.” If I recall, The Sandpiper is right next door. I move toward the door and step through before briefly propping it open with my foot. “Meet you there in five.” The door slams behind me and I breathe a sigh of relief. I head to the exit door to take the stairs and meet the kids in the lobby.

Kids, we have a change of plans.

~Thirteen~
 

Roger spreads the beach blanket onto the cool sand after dropping the picnic basket to the ground. He kneels down and pulls out two flutes, setting them on the blanket. Then, he extracts a bottle of Dom Perignon. Bracing the bottle between his knees, he grips the cork with his thumbs. With one swift thrust, the cork goes flying, bubbles of champagne escaping from the mouth of the bottle. He holds up the bottle and laughs heartily before pouring the liquor into the waiting flutes.  Then he lowers himself onto the blanket and offers his already reclining companion a glass of the world’s finest champagne. She accepts with a devious smile playing on her crimson red lips.

“Oh, Roger, you’re so manly and strong!” Victoria purrs as she runs her tongue along his earlobe. “And so romantic,” she finishes in a raspy voice, channeling her inner Marilyn Monroe. Screw Tinkerbell—this bitch is pulling out all the stops. She’s moving in for the kill with my husband’s favorite iconic sex symbol.

I watch from the shadows, recording the liaison on my cell phone, biding my time until I get to jump out and give them both a heart attack. I chuckle as my fingers caress Roger’s nitroglycerin pills in my pocket. Maybe I’ll give them to him. Or maybe not. Maybe I will just watch as his face contorts with pain. And then he will know what it feels like to be me.

“Mom, I think Colt is out too far,” Lexie is telling me matter-of-factly. I’m staring off into the horizon, plotting to bust Roger’s affair wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes on him all day, waiting for him to attempt to escape. So far he hasn’t even moved, other than to signal for the cabana boy to bring him a few beers.

I squint my eyes to see where Lexie’s pointing and
crap
...he’s way out by the buoys. The water is not nearly as rough as the water we are used to at the Jersey shore, but I have no idea how deep it is out there. And aren’t rip currents everywhere? Colt is a pretty good swimmer, but man, that seems way too far.

“Roger!” I slap my napping husband on the arm repeatedly. He swats my hand away like I’m a gnat. “Roger!” I call again, this time, much more frantically.

Not wanting to waste any time, in case my child is in need of assistance, I leap from my chair and speed down to the water’s edge, flinging my flip flops off of my feet in the process. “Colt!” I call, cupping my hands around my mouth. His head turns toward the sound of my voice and then I see his hand pop out of the water, waving frantically.

Crap! He needs me!
I toss my sunglasses on the sand and plow through the gentle waves. As I hit mid-thigh depth, I realize I still have my cover up on and it is rapidly becoming soaked, the terry cloth material weighing me down as it takes on water. I wriggle out of it as quickly as I can and push it off of my body. It floats away from me on the next wave, looking like a dead body washing up on the shore. “Don’t worry, Colt!” I shout. “Stay calm! Mommy is coming for you!”

I continue to trudge ahead until the sand underneath my feet gives away and I’m in over my head. If it’s over
my
head, it's definitely over my eight-year-old’s head. Paddling my hands, I bob to the top of the water—I don’t see Colt anywhere.

Oh my God! He’s been swept out to sea!
Panicking at that thought, I flap my arms frantically, clawing my way to the top. I feel like I’m swallowing an awful lot of water, the saltiness burning my throat and my chest. I break to the surface and gulp as fresh sea air floods my lungs. Suddenly, just as I catch my breath, a pair of muscular arms grip my abdomen, and I feel my body being jerked to the shore. I can’t seem to open my eyes to see who or what has gotten a hold of me, but I must stop them from dragging me onto the beach! I have to save Colt! He’s the one who needs help, not me!

“Stop!” I manage to gurgle. “Not me! My…” I gasp for air at the same time that I attempt to wriggle out of the arms of my pseudo savior.
Man, he’s got a tight grip on me! What’s he trying to do? Drown me?
“My son!”

I am ignored despite my protests and within seconds I feel the sand beneath my feet again. Latching onto it with my toes, I once again try to wrestle away from the vice-like grip I am being held in. As I get my bearings and stand up straight, I glance up to scream at the person who may be inadvertently responsible for the drowning of my child. However, once my eyes are fully open, I find that I can’t speak...coherent sentences, at any rate.

Standing before me in all his bronzed god-ness is the most perfectly muscled and gorgeous specimen of mankind that I have ever seen. And believe me, I watch a lot of Channing Tatum movies. My mouth hangs open for a second while I try to breathe and speak at the same time. Instead, I get a mouthful of air and start sputtering.

“Are you okay?” Bronzed god asks as he drops to his knees and grabs my hands. My heart begins to race in a pitter-patter fashion.
Oh dear Lord, what have I done to deserve this attention? Why is this gorgeous man dropping to his knees at my feet? And why did he pull me out of the water to begin with? I was just trying to save...oh my God! Colt!

I whip my head toward the ocean, but I no longer see my son bobbing there, waiting for my help. I lunge toward the surf. And I am unceremoniously yanked backward by the Bronze god's firm grip on my arm.

“Let go!” I scream at him. “Colt!” I yell at the ocean as I try to pull away.

“Yes, Mommy?” Colt’s voice surfaces somewhere near my elbow.

I nearly get whiplash turning my head. There stands Colt right next to me, goggles affixed to the top of his head, absolutely NO signs of drowning or distress on his face at all. I fling myself at him, gathering him tightly in my arms.

“Oh my God, Colt! I was so worried!” I am practically in tears, a combination of relief and fear.

“Why?” Colt wrinkles up his nose.

“Because you were drowning!”

Colt shakes his head. “I wasn’t drowning! I was looking at the sea creatures under water with my goggles!” He points to the goggles on top of his head.

Confused, I say, “But you were waving at me to come save you!”

“No, I wasn't,” Colt replies. “I was just saying hi! I was fine. I could touch the bottom just like you told me to. Remember, you said, don’t go out any farther than where you can touch the bottom?”

It’s at this point that I recall Bronzed god. Mostly because he is standing next to me...chuckling. Loudly. I jerk my head toward his direction and that’s when I see it. The red shorts, the whistle, the red paddle board by his feet in the sand. The whispering crowd that has gathered around us. I’ve been rescued by a lifeguard because I got in over my head trying to rescue my son who was absolutely fine. I shove my foot in the sand, hoping that I have hit some fault line and I will get sucked up in the sand like a hermit crab and never have to deal with this mortifying moment.

“Well, then I guess everyone is all right,” Bronzed god, aka. Hottie Lifeguard Man, says. He offers me a smile and I just know he can’t wait to tell his buddies about the dopey middle-aged mom who nearly drowned herself needlessly today. They’ll probably laugh over at least a dozen beers and ten pizzas.
Ugh.

I offer him a halfhearted wave and grab Colt’s arm. “Come on, buddy. We need to be getting back.”

As I tromp up the sand, Colt starts to whine. “But I wasn’t done! I want to swim some more.” People are staring at me and whispering, probably discussing my status of “most overprotective mother ever”, along with “jumps to conclusions without examining facts”
.
And as I drag him up the beach while he cries, they’re probably adding “most unfair mother ever” to my list of faults.

I ignore his protests as I continue to drag him to where the rest of the family is stationed. Actually, where they are gawking. Aside from Roger, who is actually
still
napping. Allie’s face is beat red, and she looks like she wants to help me dig that hole to crawl into. Lexie’s eyes are wide and her mouth is hanging open. Evan is the only one who hasn’t seemed to notice the whole embarrassing debacle that just unfolded.

“Oh. My.
Gawd.
Mother,” Allie nearly screeches when I am standing in front of her. “How freaking, unbelievably embarrassing!” She is shielding her eyes as if looking directly at me will somehow blind her.

I bite my lip as I admit, “I’ve had more embarrassing moments actually…”

“Not you! Me!” Allie throws herself on the blanket in a heap. “Now I can’t talk to
anyone
for the rest of this vacation!”

“Well, that’s a little harsh! I’m sure I’m not the first person that the lifeguard has rescued...even though, of course, I didn’t need rescuing. It was Colt—”

“I was fine, Mommy,” Colt chimes in.

“Oh my God, you needed to be rescued?” I swear Allie could break glass with her tone.

“Well, I didn’t need—never mind. The lifeguard was helping me. Isn’t that what you’re embarrassed about?”

Allie whimpers and covers her eyes with her hands. “This just keeps getting worse!”

I turn to Lexie, my slack jawed child. “What the hell is going on? What is her problem?”

Lexie finally closes her mouth and points at my chest. She’s motioning frantically Thinking that a piece of seaweed is on me or worse, a poisonous jellyfish, I make a flicking motion with my hand to get it off. I don’t feel anything there, but Lexie is still staring, her eyes getting wider by the second.

“What? What is it?” I finally ask, annoyed by her gaping mouth.

She points again and manages to speak in a half whisper. “Your boob is...
hanging out.
”

Shocked, my head snaps toward my chest. Indeed, most of my left breast, nipple and all, has popped out of the top of my bathing suit, on display for the world to see.