Seasons of the Fool (7 page)

She was not about to go outside and dive into the crawl space to check the furnace – not in this storm. So she lit a fire in the fireplace and made herself some tea.

That worked for a little while. But as the unnatural dusk turned to darkness and the storm began to let up, the temperature outside plummeted. She bundled herself, shivering, into a couple of layers of shirts and slacks, and put on her puffy coat over the top of all of it. But it only helped so much.

After an early supper of hot soup and more tea, she admitted defeat. She had heard the village snowplow scraping along the streets a couple of times, so she knew the road would be passable for walking. Ms. Thea and Ms. Elsie were closest, and would very likely be glad to take her in. But really, she could think of only one person in the neighborhood with whom she’d like to be marooned in a snowstorm.

She picked up her phone again.
My furnace is out. Clean up those empty beer cans, mister. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

~

Dave read her text and knocked back the rest of his beer.
If you’re not here in 10,
he texted back,
I’ll send my St. Bernard after you.

He hadn’t even gotten drunk. Once he had reached his haven, he’d popped the top on the first can and then sat by the window, watching the snow fly and thinking about what to do.

The kids were fine. He’d gone outside a couple of times to stick a yardstick into the snow and take a photo of the accumulation, which he then texted to them. His messages were met with the appropriate oohs and ahhs, and the news that Aunt Angie was taking them out for pizza. It hadn’t snowed there at all. Randi had scored a goal at basketball practice, and Ritchie had gotten the highest score in the class on his Pompeii diorama.

And why not? The kid knows all about volcanoes. After all, he lives with one.

He pushed his bitterness aside and got ready to welcome Julia.

When she arrived a few minutes later, he met her at the door with a mug of Irish coffee.

“Oh, God,” she said, pulling off layer after layer, “it feels so good to be warm!” Down to a turtleneck and leggings at last, she accepted the mug from him and took a hearty swig. “Oh, God,” she said again when she came up for air. “That is exactly what I needed. David Turner, you’re my hero.”

He reached out to touch her hair, and caught himself. Instead, he rested his hand on her shoulder and said, “Come on in.”

They settled in by the fireplace, where he had lit a fire, more for ambiance than for warmth. He had brought in the LED lanterns from the deck and put one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom, but the living room was bathed only in firelight.

They sat in silence for a little while, at opposite ends of the sectional sofa, while she sipped her coffee and he started in on another beer. Finally she said, “So. Are we just going to stare at the fire all night, or are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here in a snowstorm?”

“Did you leave your taps turned on?” he asked. “The last thing you need is a burst pipe in this weather.”

“Of course I did. Don’t change the subject.”

He sighed.
What the hell. Maybe it’s time.
“I don’t know how much you’ve heard about Nina,” he began.

“Ms. Elsie told me she’s bipolar.”

He shook his head. “Not bipolar. Borderline. She has Borderline Personality Disorder. And a couple of other charming disorders, too.”
Disorders that make her behavior unpredictable at best.
He took a healthy swig from the beer can in his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounded hurt.

Because you don’t know what it means.
“It’s difficult to talk about,” he said.

“Why?”

He stared at her. “Because.”

“Because why?”

They were starting to sound like his kids when they bickered. “Because it’s…” He sputtered to a stop. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

“Illness is embarrassing?” she asked.

“It’s not the illness,” he said, and threw up one hand. “It’s living in chaos, never knowing when the volcano will erupt. It’s having to leave work on a moment’s notice to do damage control at home. It’s seeing my kids deal with it all like it’s normal. It’s knowing it
is
their normal.” He stopped and took another long pull on his beer. “It’s knowing that all my decisions have been flawed and all my choices are lousy.”

“I know all about flawed decisions,” she said. She looked away from the fire to him. “Did you know she was sick when you married her?”

“Kind of. But she wasn’t this bad then,” he said. “The pregnancies seemed to make it worse.”

“I think I’ve heard that,” she said. “Hormonal changes in general can influence mental illness. And pregnancy is all about hormonal changes.” She focused on the mug in her hands. “To be honest, I’m glad Lance never wanted kids. Everything we went through would be ten times worse.”

“Tell me what happened,” he said suddenly. “You’ve never said.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “I made a bunch of stupid choices, that’s what happened.” She sighed. “I ran from my parents’ deaths, right into Lance. He looked like a safe port in the storm. And to him, I looked like the perfect arm candy.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” he allowed himself to say.

She accepted the compliment with a tiny smile. “Anyway, we got married. And he was all about money. Didn’t want kids because they’re too expensive. Wanted to blow our cash on houses and vacations.” She shook her head. “I left a fortune in jewelry behind when I moved out here. Did you know that?”

He shook his head. How could he have known? He’d hardly spoken to her after their breakup.

“Doesn’t matter now. The government’s going to get it all.” She stared into the fire for another moment. “I was pretty sure he had a mistress. I guess I wasn’t enough for him.” She paused, her mouth twisted. “Anyway,” she resumed, “I was bored silly. Then I got the idea to start writing again. He blew his top when he found out I’d signed up for a workshop. Told me I’d better not be spreading around any stories about him.”

“I bet he was worried that you’d tip somebody off about his indiscretions.”

Her eyes widened. “You know, that didn’t even occur to me. I was too focused on the fact that he didn’t want me to write. I told him I didn’t have anything that was just mine except my writing, and I’d be damned if I’d let him take this away from me, too.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, well. It made for a pretty speech. He hadn’t taken everything away from me so much as I’d given it all up to keep him.” She shook her head in something approaching self-disgust. “And then I met Jesse.”

He frowned. “Who’s Jesse?”

“Jesse Vaughn,” she said, straightening in her seat, “was a guy in my first workshop. Younger than us, but only by a couple of years. He was a free spirit, or so I thought. Wanted to be a famous playwright. Then he switched it up and decided he wanted to be a famous novelist. Then he decided he wanted to start a famous publishing house.”

“I’m sensing a theme,” he said with a small smile.

“You could say that.” She shot him a lopsided grin. “Once he figured out I was rich, he was very attentive.
Very
attentive.” She finished her coffee, the mug hiding her face.

“You slept with him.”

She lowered the mug. “And gave him money. Every couple of weeks, he needed cash for some new scheme, and like a dope I gave it to him. Except he never used it for what he said he needed it for. He blew it all on booze and drugs. Probably other women, too, for all I know.”

“And Lance found out you were giving him his money.”

“Oh, hell, no. I’m not
that
stupid. I was writing him checks out of my inheritance.”

His dismay grew. “How much of it did he take?”

“All of it.” She set her mug down on the coffee table and picked up a throw pillow. “Well, very nearly all of it. When I told him there wasn’t anything left, he told me he’d never loved me anyway.” She wrapped her arms around the pillow and crushed it to her chest. “Then he kicked me out.”

“You were living with him?”

“Yeah, well, by then, Lance had admitted that he was sleeping around, so I threw my affair with Jesse in his face. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“But where did you go after that?”

She let out a breath. “Back to the house in Evanston. He’d moved his girlfriend into the condo and was spending nearly all his time there anyway.”

“My God, Jule. I’m so sorry. I had no idea any of this was going on.” He should have kept in better touch with her. But Nina and the kids had sucked up all of his energy. That, and trying to hold onto his job. He’d had nothing left for anything else.

“Don’t feel bad. It’s not like I was blogging about it.” She looked at him, still hugging the pillow. “I did see a therapist. But I didn’t tell anyone else because the whole thing made me look so stupid.”

That, he could relate to. “You don’t look stupid, Jule.”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I’ve made nothing but stupid choices since my parents died.” She looked at him as she said it, and then looked away. “I need another drink.” She flung aside the pillow, grabbed her mug, and walked rapidly into the kitchen.

He followed her. “Julia.”

“Don’t, Dave.” She poured herself more coffee with trembling hands. “Just don’t. Everything I’ve touched for the past fifteen years has turned to shit.” The coffee pot rattled on the heating element as she put it back. “I just don’t know how to fix it. Where’s the booze, anyway?”

He was next to her in a moment. “I never should have let you go,” he said roughly, and drew her into his embrace.

“We can’t do this,” she said. Her breath warmed his skin through his shirt. “I don’t want this to turn to shit, too. You don’t deserve it.”

“My life is already shit,” he said in her ear. “I mean to fix it for both of us, starting right now.” He covered her mouth with his.

She responded the way he remembered. Then she pulled away. “We can’t,” she said again. “What about Nina?”

“Fuck Nina.” He wished she hadn’t brought her up.

“What about your kids, then?” she went on. “And technically, I’m still married to Lance. I might yet get pulled in as an accessory to his mess.” She pulled further away. “I don’t want you involved in any of that. I can’t do that to you.” She let him go and backed up against the counter for support, breathing hard. “I have to stop making stupid choices.”

He shook his head. “You’re trying to protect me, but it won’t work. It’s too late.” He stepped toward her and gently slid his arms around her. “I’ve already made my choice.”

This time, she didn’t pull away.

~

Early the next morning, under a cloudless sky, Julia closed Dave’s front door soundlessly. Squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the snow, she trudged back to her own cold home.

She should have left last night, she knew. Despite his stirring words about making his own choices, he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for with her. She did need to protect him. He had his own mess to take care of; he didn’t need to worry about hers, too.

The power had come back on sometime in the early morning hours, but her house was still freezing inside. She made coffee while she put in a call to Ron. Then she grabbed the snow shovel from the front porch and began clearing her way out. The physical exertion would keep her warm, she thought, and the repetitive nature of the task might keep her thoughts away from the night just past.

Fat chance. It was the only thing she could think about.
Why, oh why, did I give in? I said I was done with men – that I needed to take a break to get my head together. And yet, Dave put his arms around me, and….

And it was like I’d come home.

But I can’t see him again. Not as a lover. It’s all just too complicated – with the trial, and his wife. And his kids! Too many people stand to be hurt if we keep this up.

No. I can’t let Dave trash his marriage because of me. It’s bad enough that I ruined my own.

Ron arrived in the company truck just as she finished shoveling the driveway. “How’d you weather the storm?” he asked as he got out of the truck.

“It wasn’t too bad,” she said, keeping her face carefully neutral. “I stayed overnight with a neighbor.”

“Good call,” he said. “You would have frozen to death if you’d stayed here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” She gave him an apologetic look. “The furnace is in the crawl space, I’m afraid.”

“I can take it.” He flashed his million-watt smile.

The repair didn’t take long; by the time she had shoveled her sidewalk from the front porch to the street, heat was pouring out of the vents in her little house again. “That feels wonderful,” she said, warming her hands over the vent. “What do I owe you?”

“I can send you a bill,” he said, in the usual way, “or you can have dinner with me tonight.”

She thought of Lance, and Jesse, and of how she couldn’t see Dave again.
Oh, what the hell? What’s one more bad choice?
“Okay,” she told Ron.