His Other Wife (9 page)

“Mom, you know there will be a little of that. There’s always some of that at high-school parties. But you also know you can
trust me. There’s a whole group of us that just want to be together.”

She made him stop and face her one last time. “You ought to drive the truck. It isn’t going to kill me.”

“I know that.”

“Don’t let me stand in the way. I didn’t mean to react the way I did. We all need to be fair.”

“I’m making my own choices, remember?”

“But you could take it up to the campsite. It might be safer. It’s bigger than other cars on the road.”

“I’m riding with the girls. It’s okay.” A honk sounded from the driveway. She didn’t kiss him good-bye. He’d already taken
that into his own hands and she didn’t want to overdo it.

“There they are.” She couldn’t imagine why tears sprang to her eyes. “You go have a good time, you hear me?”

In spite of everything, Eric knew Hilary. He’d been married to her for over a dozen years, and during those years they had
shared a life that had knit them together.

Once, when Hilary had been driving to his parents’ for Thanksgiving dinner, he remembered they’d hit a patch of black ice
and, the whole time they’d been spinning out, sliding forever to a stop, her voice had remained deadly calm: “Pump the brakes,
right, Eric? That’s what I’m supposed to do.” They’d crossed into the oncoming lane, with the headlights of another car bearing
down on them, but she hadn’t panicked. Instead she had steered them up over the curb. When the world had stopped spinning,
she’d looked at him and burst out laughing. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Well,” he’d said, his own heart pounding. “Maybe next time you get the urge for some trick driving, let me know and we’ll
go to a track somewhere. It’ll be a lot safer that way.”

“You think?”

There had been childbirth classes and the pillow from their bed she’d insisted he carry to class and the way she’d needed
him when Seth had been born. She’d been in transition (Eric kept teasing her and calling it transmission), the stage of labor
that the nurses had all told him she would blame him for, and he’d been astounded by the way she kept asking, “How are we
doing, Eric? Are we doing this right?”

“
You’re
doing fine,” he’d told her as he’d washed her face with a cloth the nurse had brought him. He doubted Hilary even knew she
was crying. “
I
don’t have anything to do with it.”

“You have
everything
to do with it.” She’d clenched his arm bruise-tight. “You’re not getting out of this.”

If she’d given Seth permission to go to this party, she really thought she was doing the right thing.

It saddened Eric, seeing how he’d missed the chance to know all he could about his son, to understand how to be the daily
parent of a teenager. There was always that awkward coming-up-to-speed when he and Seth got together, the careful questions
(so hard not to be an interrogator when you wanted to find out so much so fast!), Seth’s first vague answers, and then finally,
finally his getting around to details.

Now, Eric stood beside the truck he’d found on CarMax, the one Seth had rejected. Through the window Eric could see Seth and
his mother with their heads together, discussing something serious, and Eric couldn’t help feeling jealous. He heard the pounding
bass a good thirty seconds before Seth’s friend’s car rounded the corner. It bumped over a dip and bounced into the driveway,
an old Pontiac, with a rust ring around the exhaust pipe and so many decals on the rear window, it was a miracle anyone could
see to drive.
THE GIRL ON MY FAKE ID IS AN HONOR STUDENT
, said the bumper sticker. It made Eric think twice, seeing this part of Seth’s life, knowing he wasn’t a part of it.

That was always the question with life, wasn’t it? You had to let go of one thing to pursue another. Which discontent did
a person want to live with? Maybe he’d only traded one set of problems for another when he’d fallen for Pam. When he’d been
disillusioned by the pale exhaustion on Hilary’s face whenever she came home from her PCU shift and he could see she had nothing
left to give him. You got to pick your own poison, didn’t you?

The door opened and music spilled out. “Come on, Seth,” called a boy from the passenger side. “Let’s roll.”

Here came his son, bounding down the stairs with his bag hoisted over his shoulder. “Hey, Seth.” He wanted to say something
to make it better between them, like telling one of those knock-knock jokes or just saying,
I’m proud of you
. But Eric had waited too long. The kids were listening. “Son, wait up.”

When Seth turned to him over the roof of the car, the boy’s face was unreadable. “Dad, don’t. Please. I knew this was going
to happen.”

“What?”

“Not in front of my friends, okay?”

Eric didn’t like his son telling him what to do. “How do you know what I was going to say? Maybe I was —”

“Everything I do ticks you off.”

“What are you talking about? I just wanted to tell you that I’m not upset, all right, Seth?” Eric’s anger rumbled up, ignited
by the way Emily reached across and grabbed Seth’s hand, a sense of conspiracy. Oh, Seth thought he knew everything so well,
did he? All the kids did.
He
had when he’d been that age. “I don’t care about you driving the truck. I don’t care if you don’t come with us.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.” He was being pushed away again. It irked Eric how Seth’s voice stayed so calm. “Tomorrow I’m
all yours. Make any plans you want.”

Emily said, “Don’t be mad at him, Mr. Wynn. It’s just that it’s been tough for him, fitting into your life when you want him
to but not having you around when he needs you. It’s been really hard. For Seth.”

The air in front of Eric’s eyes turned red. So Seth and this girl had talked it to death, had they? Probably for hours, days.
His mistakes had been a main conversation topic while his son and this girl had been hanging out.

“Mr. Wynn,” Emily said.

“Emily, don’t,” Seth said.

“You go,” Eric told him. “You just go.”

“I will.” Calm. Seth’s words, so calm in front of his friends, with that steel edge to them. “Thanks for your permission,
Dad.”

H
ey.” Remy nudged Seth. “Get over it, why don’t you? We’re supposed to be having a good time.” The girls were crammed so tightly
into Laura’s front seat that she almost didn’t have elbow room to drive. There weren’t nearly enough seat belts. Megan, Laura’s
friend, sat wedged between Laura and Emily.

“Yeah,” Seth agreed. “A good time. I know that.”

As the car entered the Eisenhower Freeway, it felt like light-years to Seth before he would be leaving for college. But his
mother seemed obsessed with him moving out of the house, living in a different town. He loved his mom, no doubt about that.
His dad had left him to take care of her. That responsibility made him feel like he was moving underwater with a barbell on
his back sometimes. Add to that the conversation he’d had with his dad in the driveway. His dad, who couldn’t figure out why
money, stuff, vacations, and promises wouldn’t be enough! Couldn’t his dad
see
it? Couldn’t his dad ever be loyal to
anybody
?

Remy rolled down the window and stood halfway in his seat, shouting to the world and anyone else who happened to be driving
along I-290, “Freeeedom!” They weren’t the senior class of Jefferson High anymore, were they? They were graduates. They had
tonight left, and then the whole summer if they played it right — two long months of late nights and freedom-packed, sun-seared
days. It had the potential to be
great
.

From the backseat, Remy teased Laura’s hair with the corner of his smartphone.

“Cut it out.” Laura tried to swat his hand. “I hear they’ve got meds for ADHD.”

“Sit still, Remy.” Ian was already pressed against the door. “You’re killing me.”

“We’d have
plenty
of room,” Will noted, “if Seth had driven his new truck.”

Megan changed the song on the CD. A motorcycle thundered past. Seth scowled out the window as if he hadn’t heard.

“Stop torturing me,” Laura demanded. “Remy, stop it.” But her flirty smile in the rearview mirror spoke otherwise.

“Seriously, dude. That truck is amazing. If my dad gave me that truck, I’d have it clear to Madison by now.”

“Shut up, Remy,” Emily said. “Don’t talk about it anymore. We’re supposed to be having fun. You’re the one who said it.”

“Oh, what’s this?” Ian said. “You standing up for your boyfriend again? Just like you did with his dad?”

“Shut up, Ian.”

“Too bad
your
parents didn’t get a nasty divorce,” Ian told Remy. “I hear the guilt gifts are amazing.”

Seth felt squeezed tight, smashed together inside himself the same way his elbows were smashed against him on the crowded
seat. He felt a beast coming alive in him. Maybe it had been hiding there for months; he didn’t know. But after the conversation
with his father, this thing had risen inside his chest until, like the osmosis they’d studied this semester in biology class,
it had pushed its way out and filled every cell in his body. “Take the next exit,” he said.

“What?” Ian asked.

“Stop the car. I want to get out.”

“You’re weirding out, Seth,” Remy said. “Why do you want to do that?”

“Laura, stop the car
right now
.”

She took the ramp as he’d said, darting across an extra lane of traffic to get there.

“Seth,
don’t
.” Emily grappled with him for the door handle. The car skidded onto the shoulder. “Don’t. Nobody’s going to talk about it
anymore.” But Emily was no match for him. He lurched outside the minute the car stopped, into a funnel of road dust and wind.

“You’re kidding me,” Remy said. “He wants to fight?”

Laura craned her neck to see Seth. “How should I know what he wants? What’s wrong with him?”

“Remy,” Emily said. “Don’t get out. Just let him get over it. I don’t care what he tells you.”

Seth’s face leered outside Remy’s window. “You want to fight or something?” Remy said through the closed window. “Find somebody
else. I’m not up for it.”

“Get in the car, man,” Ian urged. “Come on.”

The thing inside Seth was speaking lies. It made him want to act like a demanding jerk. But then if his dad was going to treat
him that way, why not? “Who died and left you king of the world, Ian? Remy, stop freaking out. Just let me stand out here
a minute. Just let me
breathe
.”

“Fine,” Remy said, slumping against the seat. “So breathe.”

Seth rubbed his neck, tilted his face toward the sky, and stared at the airplanes strung into the night like a kite’s tail
as they made their final approach into O’Hare. He clenched his fists. A wind draft from a passing car plastered his shirt
against him.

Emily climbed out of the car to stand beside him. She didn’t reach for his hand and Seth didn’t offer. He didn’t get why everything
triggered his anger lately. Even Emily made him mad, her standing there and she didn’t deserve
anything
.

He thought if he acted like a self-centered idiot, maybe he’d turn into one; maybe someone would have to take care of him
instead of the other way around for a change. Anything that would drown the angry ache in his chest. But Remy had stopped
trying to talk him into the car. Laura hadn’t honked to make him hurry. They’d given him time to get over himself. Which made
him feel better.

Seth reached for Emily’s hand. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yes.”

He held the door open, watched his girlfriend duck inside. “Gosh, man,” Remy said, rolling down the window in relief. “You
were acting so weird. You were freaking me out.”

“Remy —”

“But all is not lost.”

“No?”

“Look where you stopped us, Seth.” Remy pointed toward the strip mall, its lights pooling on a sparse mix of cars just off
the frontage road. “Just where we needed to be. You found the mother lode, baby. The liquor store.” Neon beer signs beckoned
through the window. “Finally, the chance to try out my new fake ID.”

Ian growled, “You’re kidding, right? You haven’t used it yet? What were you waiting for, Remy? College?”

“Laura, go and park beside the building.” Remy yanked his wallet from his rear pocket. “I’m buying the booze. Who’s chipping
in?”

The girls dug in their purses and the boys thumbed through their wallets. Crumpled bills and odd change passed to Remy from
every direction. Seth slapped two tens in his friend’s hand.

“We’re getting beer?” Megan asked.

“Beer? Are you kidding me? How about the hard stuff ? Bottles of Jim Beam.”

“Beer,” Laura said. “I just want beer.”

“It’s your money.”

Emily called out the window, “Get us a twelve-pack!” as Remy hopped the curb.

“Beam, baby.” Remy’s eyes challenged them before he squared his shoulders and headed in like a man. “We’ve got celebrating
to do. I dare any of you lightweights to try to keep up with me.”

Even now, even as many years as it had been, sometimes Hilary still dreamed she was breast-feeding her baby. She dreamed
she was sitting in a rocking chair with tiny Seth bundled against her, his little cap tugged down around his ears to keep
him warm, a night so still it could evoke carols. She dreamed of that delicious moment when her milk let down, that stunning
tingle of her body responding. And then in her dream, the shooting milk, the relief of the baby’s mouth suckling. After which
she always woke chasing something. As if it might be a moment she could catch. As if her shirt might still be wet. As if her
breasts might still be laden.

But Seth was eighteen years old. Seth, the proof that she and Eric had done some good things together.

After their son had left in the car crammed full of teenagers, Hilary had stepped outside. She’d leaned against the doorjamb,
watching in the direction where the car had disappeared. As she’d shoved her sweater sleeves up over her elbows, she’d felt
Eric’s eyes on her. She touched her hand to her neck where the cardigan fastened. His gaze followed.

“It was a horrible dinner,” she said.

“You could say that again.”

“I tried.”

“We’re all trying,” he said.

“I’m sorry.” Even as she spoke them, she knew those words could mean many things:
I’m sorry Seth left the way he did. I’m sorry he didn’t accept your gift. I’m sorry our marriage didn’t work.

“What were you and Seth talking about before he left?” she asked. “It looked like you were still arguing.”

“Hurt pride, I guess.” Then, “Mine. Not his.”

“Probably both.”

“You look exhausted,” he said.

“Don’t I always?” She tugged a piece of hair at her neck while a fly droned around their heads and the fountain in Hilary’s
front yard bubbled. For a moment they stood looking at each other, each of them realizing that they had done this together,
this hurting of each other, both of them; it hadn’t been just one.

“It’s been a tough day,” he said. “You should come to dinner with us.”

There was a dog park several blocks away named Wiggly Field, and Lily had been begging Pam all afternoon to take her. Eventually
Pam had given in and they’d walked over. Just as Eric had issued the invitation, here came Lily and Pam returning from their
walk. They appeared around the same corner where Seth had departed, two girls, one big and one small, their elbows swinging,
their heads bent at the same angle. Even from here, Hilary could hear them laughing.

“Thanks, but no. I’ve got to go in and work a shift,” Hilary told him. “The hospital’s understaffed as usual. And I wanted
to spend time with Mother.”

“You’re sure? Alva could come, too. You’d both be welcome.” But Hilary knew they wouldn’t really be welcome, at least not
as far as Pam was concerned.

“I’m sure.” Still, it felt nice to be invited. “Thanks, Eric. Really.”

Hilary and Alva had gone to one of those neighborhood places instead, one with poster-board signs and plastic checkered tablecloths
that felt greasy even after they’d been wiped. They had Chicago-style pizza, with a layer of seasoned crushed tomatoes double-decked
with Italian sausage. They sat across from each other, their elbows on the table and their cupped hands propped beneath their
chins. As they talked, Hilary realized how much she’d been missing her mother. The mother Alva had been when Hilary had been,
say, eleven. When whatever had been wrong, Alva had known how to fix it.

The two of them leaned toward each other over the table, sopping up olive oil with hunks of focaccia and discussing what young
girls saw in Rob Pattinson. That had been one of the most terrifying things about becoming a mother herself, Hilary admitted — finally
understanding that the wise, perfect mother, the person on whom everyone relied, hadn’t really existed. Alva, too, must have
sorted it out as she went, muddling through the process with the help of gut instinct and prayer, self-help books and teacher
conferences.

“I’m exhausted,” Hilary admitted. “What a day. It’s impossible, trying to make everybody happy.”

“You think that’s what you’re supposed to do?” Alva pushed the bread in swirls, mixing together the oil and vinegar. “Make
everyone happy?”

Hilary thought about it. “Yes.” Then, “No, I guess not.”