As You Were (18 page)

22

Seattle

Two Months Earlier

THE GIG AT THE CROCODILE CAFÉ HAD BEEN A SMASH. Macy and Tru had celebrated there afterward. Over Hummus and Babanouj they discussed the ramifications of a fan base in one of the most important hubs in the music industry, Seattle. After a few drinks, they took a cab to catch a flight back home.

Tru bought candy and flowers at the Montrose airport, and took a tram to the parking lot. Once in her Cherokee, she lost no time in navigating highway 36 to Castle Mountain.

A light mist fell as she switched off the lights at the driveway, and parked in front of the garage. She crunched carefully across the snow on the front lawn and crept in through the front door, mindful not to jingle her keys as she unlocked it, and moved silently into the living room. The hall light was on, the rest of the house, dark.

Smiling to herself, Tru stepped into the hallway, pausing when she heard the shower from the master bath. Her smile grew wider, and she turned back to put the flowers and chocolates on the occasional table in the hall outside the bedroom. It had always been passionate for them, and jet lag, or no jet lag, Tru would make love to Brit all night if that’s what she wanted.

Quietly, she turned the knob of the bathroom door and opened it. She heard Brit moan;
the water must be hot like she likes it...
She probably worked too hard today
, Tru thought. Lifting large hunks of clay for her sculptures, perhaps. Brittany moaned again, but it was different this time. Puzzled, she stepped in far enough to make out Brit’s shadow on the opaque Plexiglas door.

The image there expanded and shrank, and it was not Brittany’s moan, but a different one, deeper...the moan from a male throat—

She froze, the force of her shock making her listen a moment longer.
It can’t be real—

Tru took an involuntary step back, her hand leaping to her chest to stop her heart from pulsating through it.
Brittany’s voice.
The shadows were clearer now...there were two—Tru’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Brittany, baby, you are...
so hot—” he said, his lust-filled voice rising from the shower stall with the steam.
Travis—

“I need to lie down...
no, stop...
wait—” Brittany was saying.

The acidic clump in her gut changed directions then, carrying with it the bile that was building in her throat like a geyser about to erupt. She swallowed hard to keep it down.

Backing out, she closed the door again, walking numbly back to the living room. She sat, found the lamp switch, and spilled an aurora of light on the sofa and coffee table, both of which had been shoved close to the fireplace where embers were still glowing. The glow revealed a barren wine bottle, and two half-empty goblets. Her jaw a firm line, she poured the contents of one goblet into the other, spilling some on the table. A copious swallow followed by a trip to the kitchen window, revealed the familiar Dodge Ram Travis drove parked by the back door. She had a quick fantasy of tying a strong rope around his stupid boots, and dragging him through the snow like a human plow, behind his own truck.

Tru returned to the living room and settled back in the sofa, waiting. She thought about that night at the hotel with Travis. Travis, the one who had committed an unforgivable sin: taking advantage of her as she lay unconscious and vulnerable...and now he rubbed salt in the wound.

Soon, the shower stopped, and she heard them get out. They were talking, but Tru could not discern the subject, and knew it did not matter. Brittany came through the doorway in her robe, one hand on the wall as if to steady herself, awkwardly patting her wet hair with a towel, a disturbed expression on her face. Tru merely sat there, glass in hand, her own face blank, the numbness crawling through her body like a disease.

Travis came up behind Brit, a plea in his voice, and said, “Wait, come back—” then saw Tru. He froze for an instant, and Brit stopped drying her hair to look in the direction of his frown.

“Tru—” Brittany whispered, horrified.

Travis’ demeanor changed instantly to arrogance as he tightened the towel around his waist, and leaned against the door jamb, lingering.

“Surprise,” Tru said softly, her tone flat.

Brittany searched in vain for an explanation but could only murmur, “Oh...God...”

Travis spoke up, “I’m going to get dressed while you two have a cat fight,”—and thankfully, disappeared into the bedroom. Tru wanted to tear his eyes out and make him eat them.

Brittany fussed with the robe, tightened the belt, still mute, still searching for the right words. “Travis told me about you and Liz...”

Brittany had obviously had way too much to drink. Tru squinted at her in confusion. “There is no me and Liz. Travis has an agenda. I thought you were smart enough not to fall for it.”

“What agenda?” Brittany placed a hand on the door jamb again, to steady herself.

“To break us up, Brittany. Whatever he told you about Liz was a total lie.”

Brittany stared at her. The possibility of truth in Tru’s statement niggled her chest like a sharp stick. She couldn’t think clearly...Tru had never lied to her, and had always been faithful...
What if it was a lie? What if—

“I want you out of this house, Brittany. Right now. Don’t pack. Don’t talk. You can send for your things later. Get the hell out.”

Brittany blanched in sudden understanding, and stepped forward, one hand extended. “Tru— let me-“

“Out!” Tru shouted, sending the wine glass spiraling into the wall next to Brittany, where it shattered and fell, the liquid making dark lines as it ran to the floor.

Brittany staggered back into the bedroom and moments later appeared in the doorway, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Her heavy BDU jacket in hand, she fumbled for her keys and stared at Tru, who sat with elbows on her knees at the edge of the sofa, her mouth pressed to her propped fists. Travis emerged, dressed, sucking on a newly-lit cigarette. He moved past Brittany, almost too close to her on the way by, and paused in front of the fireplace. His eyes told her everything she wanted to know. Nothing she wanted to think about.
Smug bastard
. She glared up at him, wordless. He dredged his keys from his jeans pocket and sighed. “You know, I can’t decide which one of you I like the best...”

Tru closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally, but forgot to master her body. Before she could check herself, she had launched from the sofa and popped him in the mouth with her fist. He pushed her away roughly, and she fell to the hearth, scattering the fireplace tools, her fingers soon closing around the shovel. He had started for the kitchen door, and she rushed him, smacking him soundly with the implement. He fell to one knee and held the back of his head; his hand away bloody. “You’ll answer for that,” he growled.

Brittany’s hands went over her mouth in shock, but she didn’t move to help him.

“You devious little fuck! Get out of my goddamn house,” Tru screamed.

The satisfied smile returned to his lips, though tinged with the pain the shovel must have inflicted, and he straightened and headed for the kitchen, placing his palm on the wall and leaving a smear of blood to remember him by as he stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

Brittany’s timid voice came from behind her. “Tru, we need—” Her hand went to her head.

“No.” Tru retraced her steps, dropping the fireplace shovel on the rocks of the hearth, and sat down heavily on the sofa.

The image of Tru sitting dazed there, rubbing her sore knuckles, hung unabridged in her mind as she drifted to the front door, a queasiness taking root in her stomach.

When Tru heard the door click shut, she looked over at the shards of glass on the carpet against the fireplace wall. Dropsi was there, sniffing the area cautiously. Tru saw the scene again in her head: opening the door... hearing them...seeing their writhing shadows against the Plexiglas. “Goddamn it!” she said to the photo of them atop the mantle. “How could you do this to us?”

She slid back against the cushions and let the tears come, holding a sofa pillow and ignoring Dropsi’s confused attempts to comfort her.

Brittany gripped the wheel firmly, aware of the treacherous condition of the wintry roadway. Tears blurred her vision, giving her another reason to drive slowly.
What am I going to do, now? Where can I go? How could I ever have done something that stupid?
The stark reality was clear to her: she had been that anxious to punish Tru for a transgression reported to her by some half-assed friend.
And why was I so quick to believe what Travis had told me about Tru and Liz? He had obviously told me the lie, so I’d have sex with him, in a fit of vengeance. But the wine...
the wine had gone to her head so quickly, and...
The damage was done. Her silly spitefulness and drunken reasoning had cost her everything this time. She had lost her world. She had lost Tru.

Brit drove like an automation toward Boulder, her thoughts swirling in a chronological myriad of images. She saw herself and Tru in the Army training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina...she saw them passing titillating notes in classes at Quartermaster school at Fort Lee, Virginia...she saw their first kiss...the first time she had let Tru make love to her in that hotel in Petersburg...the strained goodbye before Tru left for Colorado to pursue a career in music and live in the mountains. She had believed that her two year tour in Germany would mean she might not see Tru again, but she had returned to the States...to Tru.

Brittany recalled the way she fell in love with Tru,
in spite of her ideas about how it couldn’t happen...
their new life together on Castle Mountain...
the day Tru returned after a successful tour, and brought with her a horse trailer and the two Morgans...

The throng of scenarios reeled through her mind, harsh and vivid.
How did I manage to ruin it all in one night?
Brit wiped at the tears streaming her cheeks and continued to drive, continued to clear her muddled mind, fighting the images, continued to sob.

She drove in a timeless haze, unaware of anything except the regret and sorrow she felt— through Boulder, Broomfield, Westminster, Arvada, and onto I-25 toward Denver—
where am I going?
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard...
2:10 on the green digital display. She blinked at the ache in her eyes. Coffee...
sleep...
another drink...
which did she need more? She kept her eyes on the road as her hand rifled in her purse for the eCig. A hit of nicotine would help. She had left it at home, and didn’t have one in the glove box. She had left too quickly to think of everything. Rather, she had been
thrown out
too quickly. Banished from their home.
Home
...

She kept traveling, wanting a cigarette more than ever now that she knew she didn’t have one, wanting a cup of coffee, thinking that the caffeine would form resolutions in her mind, that options would evolve if she could just get her brain to function properly.