Double Trouble (35 page)

“It’s not that simple...”

I shouted to interrupt him. “What was Marcia, other than James Coxwell’s wife?”

James flinched and we stared at each other in silence.

There it was, my big boogeyman, forced out from under the bed and splayed out on the hardwood floor between us. It would be too easy to sacrifice everything I was, everything I had become, for the greater good of a relationship with James. Oh yes, I know that slippery slope all too well. I try at least to make new mistakes, instead of repeating the old ones. I’d given too much to Neil. He’d hardly been worth it and he hadn’t asked. James was ambitious and demanding.

I needed to know that he wouldn’t ask that of me.

No, I needed to trust him to never ask me that. And I didn’t.

“That was her choice,” James said finally.

“Maybe, maybe not. The point is that it’s not my choice.”

His expression hardened. “Sex is your choice. Just sex, no more expectation from your partner than that. It’s a pretty meager deal, Maralys.”

“It works. It’s realistic.” I folded my arms across my chest, holding up the towel.

“Really? Is that why Neil left? Because your marriage—or your sex with no commitment—was working out so well for both of you?”

Ouch. “I don’t have to explain myself to you...”

“No, you don’t. And that, I think, is the bottom line. You’ve been burned. Well, welcome to the club, Maralys. But instead of going back into the fray and looking for something or someone better, you’re withdrawing from the game. You don’t want to risk anything at all, which means you’re not going to get anything at all. You don’t want to take any chances.” He shrugged into his suit jacket. “You’re the last person I thought would give up everything just to play it safe.”

I was getting angry, though it’s tough to make a compelling argument wrapped in an ultramarine bath sheet. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I want...”

“No, I guess I don’t.” James hauled on his raincoat, then crossed the floor to me. He didn’t touch me but he spoke with such intensity that I felt as though he was reaching in to give my heart a squeeze. “But let me tell you what I want, Maralys.”

I couldn’t look away from his gaze. The vigor of his words bored right into me, tattooing themselves on my innards so I couldn’t forget. “I want a partner. I want a wife and a friend, not just a lover. I want to spend my life with someone I can trust, who also trusts me.”

“I can’t be that person,” I managed to say. “I don’t want to be that person.”

James smiled. “You’re wrong, Maralys. You’re just afraid to try.”

“I’m not afraid of anything!”

“So you say. All this talk of sipping from the cup of life and taking chances and feeling alive, yet you won’t risk getting hurt. You’re all talk, Maralys O’Reilly.” He shook his fist in front of me. “This is the good stuff. How can you not see that? How can you not want it? This is the brass ring and you’re too afraid to reach for it. Consider your bluff called.”

He pivoted to leave but I went after him. “You just want things your own way. Wouldn’t it improve your plea for custody if you had a wife and a nice family setting?” It was a heinous thing to say, but I was angry enough to let the words keep falling out of my mouth. Maybe I had to know for sure. “I don’t know a lot about this stuff, but I do know that Daddy doesn’t often get custody when Mommy wants it, too. Isn’t that how it works?”

James glanced back over his shoulder, shock clearly etched on his features. I knew that I had crossed a line.

And I knew that I was wrong.

He composed himself quickly, his features setting to stone but there was something in his eyes that I had put there.

I almost wished the words back, would have wished them back if I hadn’t needed to know the answer so badly.

“That you even have to ask tells me all I really need to know.” James spoke with quiet determination, then turned and scooped up his briefcase, as he headed for the elevator to leave.

No! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen! He was supposed to answer me. He was supposed to be impervious to anything I said. He was supposed to give as good as he got.

He wasn’t supposed to take a fatal hit.

I panicked. “Where does it say that you get to make up the rules?” I cried. “Where does it say that you get to decide which questions are answered and which ones aren’t?”

He spun quickly and came back after me, fire in his eyes. I wasn’t afraid of him, though. I knew that James only fought with words.

Which wasn’t to say that he was harmless.

“I don’t,” he snapped. “But I play for keeps, Maralys, and you know it. All or nothing. Love, marriage and
trust
, or nothing at all.” He glared at me, daring me to take him up on that.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

“Stalemate,” I whispered, folding my arms across my chest.

James’ gaze searched mine for a long moment. “Do you really think I’m using you?”

“I don’t know.” I took an uneven breath. “I hope not.”

The annoyance faded from his expression and he sighed. He came to me, lifted one hand, then let it drop before he touched my cheek. I was trembling.

“Then I guess it is stalemate.” He sounded defeated and I felt the same way.

There was a huge lump in my throat as James pushed the elevator call button. The silence between us was oppressive, filled with hurt and disappointment. I knew who had conjured that up. I thought I might vomit, but I knew I was right.

Wasn’t I? Someone has to ask the tough questions, don’t they?

The elevator arrived with a groan of gears and James didn’t even look back. He was closing the book on me, exactly as he’d closed it on Marcia. And it hurt, oh baby, it burned.

“My dad?” I asked, sounding whiney and weak just when I wanted to sound strong and independent.

I got a chilly look for that. “I keep my promises. You ought to believe that at least. He’s still the boys’ grandfather.”

“I keep mine, too,” I insisted. “I’ll be there a week Saturday for Jimmy, like I said.”

“Suit yourself.” James shrugged and swung open the elevator door. His glance was piercing. “But then you always do, don’t you, Maralys? Maybe it’s better to know that now than to have expectations later.”

I will never forget the look on his face when he turned back to face me. There were so many things mingled in his expression—yearning, disappointment, and yes, love.

I almost went after him, but this was about self-preservation. I was old enough and wise enough to not stick my finger into 220V and expect to survive unscathed.

Which didn’t explain why I wanted so very much to cry. I had done the right thing. I had ensured my own emotional survival. I had learned from experience.

But a little voice in my head taunted “cluck, cluck, cluck” all the same.

----

Subject
: getting burnt

Dear Aunt Mary -

What’s flaming? What’s a flame war? Where’s the fire?

I don’t get it!

’Net Newbie

----

Subject
: smokey says

Dear Newb -

Flaming is one of the rhetorical arts of the Internet, a tradition of speaking your mind, without holding anything back. I mean “anything”! It’s part of the culture and lo, it is good.

Flame wars, however, are not good. By fanning the flames, so to speak, and responding in kind to a flame on a chat board, thus starting a heavy exchange of hostile fire, you waste everyone’s connect time. How rude. How petty. How juvenile.

So speak your mind, but take your fights into *private* chat. To learn more about online do’s and don’t’s, type “netiquette” into your search engine.

Remember - only you can prevent forest fires.

Aunt Mary

***

Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!

Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:

http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com

----

N
obody called.

No deliveries came.

No one demanded my help.

I worked away all that night and the next, then all the next week through, knowing I should be damn glad to finally have some peace and quiet.

I wasn’t. Instead, I felt surrounding by an endless vacuum. It was privacy. Silence. Safety. Solitude.

Loneliness. I took it like penance and told myself I liked it.

At the end of the week, I gave the last tweak to the contract job and installed the code remotely on their server. I gave it a poke and checked it out, emailed the contact person to let me know how it worked. I’d tested it backwards, forwards and sideways. It worked like a charm.

I told you that I’m good, at writing software anyway.

I printed my invoice and mailed that sucker off, then paced the loft for the ten thousandth time. It was late the following Friday and the phone was eerily silent.

Maralys without a date. Huh.

My imagination kicked into gear. No news was good news, right? I supposed my father had gotten settled in well enough. I supposed that James had engineered the transition well. Of course he had. He was nothing if not organized. Competent.

He didn’t need a mommy. He didn’t need me. I shivered and put on a sweater.

We’d decided to leave most of the furniture and such in my dad’s house until it sold, though James had planned to pick up my father’s bed and dresser so he’d feel more at home. He was using the K, which delighted my father to no end.

I stared out the glass blocks at the sunset fading quickly into night. Marcia was probably getting some right about now, somewhere under a desert sunset.

The way I felt right now, I’d be about a thousand years old before I let a man between my thighs again.

It’s not often that I get depressed and I wasn’t going to get that way without a fight. Next morning was my day with Jimmy and I was going to get through to him, one way or the other. I got on the phone and made some deals.

Actually, I didn’t have to give up that much. I was surprised. I’ve never asked the Ariadne’s for anything but they don’t drive tough bargains. More than one of them said they were glad I was finally asking, and they had some good suggestions. And it was good to hear their voices. Antonia I called just for fun and her offer of sharing dinner just about made me weep. I didn’t go—I have some pride left—but it made me feel better to be asked. I went to bed at midnight, a full day booked and then some.

I could still smell James on the futon, even though I’d washed the sheets twice. That did just about nothing to push me off to dreamland. Neither did the awareness his scent brought of the orgasm I hadn’t had. I dug out Cap’n V and apologized for being inattentive.

Here’s a first—I stared at the ceiling while my faithful consort slaved away. Nada. I shifted around and tried again. Zip. It did look as if there could be a water mark in the far corner of the ceiling though. I trotted over with my flashlight, certain that the threat of water on my wiring was what was distracting me.

It was just an illusion.

I settled in, finally found a reasonably comfortable position and tried again. No luck.

I sat up and punched the pillow before flopping down one more time. It was this futon, I decided in frustration. It reminded me of James too much and might do so for a long time. In the game of compare and contrast, this mechanized gizmo lost big time.

What I needed was a new bed. That would bring back the romance between my studly Captain V and me. A change of scene. A new venue. Yeah, that would work.

Guaranteed.

Ha. It had been James’ idea that I get a new bed and I’d never be able to look at one without remembering the glint in his eyes when he swore to convince me.

I had the sudden realization that I had moved in to BigMistake.com without even realizing I’d packed.

Now what?

* * *

“Brat pick-up and delivery service,” I said cheerfully the next morning when Jimmy answered the door. His shiner had moved into the yellow and mauve zone of the spectrum with some greenish highlights just for fun.

He blew through his lips with disgust, then sauntered back toward the kitchen. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t blame you.” I moseyed after him and shut the door behind myself. I was dressed with attitude myself, a biker chick in leather. Sadly, I have not yet put studs in my face. “That yellow is really not your color and the whole world will laugh once they get a look at it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

My father was holding court in the kitchen, looking perky if a bit thinner than before. I gave him a kiss on the cheek, said hi to Johnny and finally looked at James.

He gave me a cool considering look that wrenched my heart, then turned when the toast popped up. “Want anything to eat?”

His indifferent tone cut me like a knife. “No, I’m fine.”

My father, sensing nothing amiss, expounded with relish on his chosen theme. Clearly the tea was good and strong today. “Do you know that when Mary Elizabeth and Marcia were born, their mother had the idea that we name them differently.”

I stiffened, not really wanting to hear about my mother right now. Johnny was intrigued. “Differently?”

“Yes, one for the new world and one for the old. One good Irish Catholic name for the sake of tradition, for our roots, and one American name for the sake of our new beginnings, for our future.” He chuckled to himself. “We thought ourselves quite clever in finding names that both began so similarly.”

“Marcia and Maralys.” Johnny grinned at me, his innocent delight easing my tension a bit. I smiled back.

“Marcia and Mary Elizabeth,” my father corrected, then he chuckled and shook his head. “But since those babies looked identical and had yet to utter a word, a single word, we got their names exactly backwards.”

“How so?” James asked tightly. I was surprised he got involved.

“Well, Mary Elizabeth was always the tomboy, the one to defy any instruction, the one to push the boundaries over and over again. Mary Elizabeth was so untraditional that she couldn’t even use her given name. She had to change it, to make it sound like what it wasn’t, to make it suit her modern ways.”