Tempted (31 page)

More silence.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She went to the store.”

“When’s she coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

Cold air pushed the warm eddies across my face. It swirled over me like water in the lake. Like currents that could sweep me away.

“She left me once, you know. You remember that? That summer?”

“I do. Do you want a blanket?”

He wasn’t listening. He was lost somewhere. “I loved that woman so much I wanted to die from it, you know that? Did you know that, Annie? Loved her like it was burning me up from the inside.”

I hadn’t known, but how could I? Why would I? “No. I didn’t know that.”

He sighed and was silent. I thought he’d passed out. I pulled a blanket from the closet anyway, in case he did need one.

“She ran off and left me, and I wanted to die.”

The wool of the blanket scratched my palms as I put it on the bed by his feet. He reached out faster than I’d have thought he could, finding my wrist with unerring ease despite the dark. He pulled me closer, until I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You remember that summer, don’t you?”

“I do, Dad. I told you that.”

“You were always a good girl. Took care of your sisters. Little Mary, sweet Mary. And Patricia. You were such a good girl. She went away and left us all, remember that?”

I sighed and patted his hand. “Yes, Dad.”

“But she took Claire. Baby Claire.” He laughed, and the bed rocked. “Who’s going to have a baby of her own, sweet Jesus.”

“Do you need anything else? Because I’m going to leave now.”

“You’ll tell Claire I’m sorry, won’t you? I didn’t mean what I said.”

The circular conversation wasn’t new. Instead of feeling annoyed, I felt only sad. This man, for better or worse, was my father.

“Sure. I’ll tell her.”

“I don’t think she’s a whore.”

“I know you don’t.”

“You’re a good girl, Anne.”

“I know, Dad. I’ve always been a good girl.” The words sounded bitter, but he was beyond noticing. “I’m going, now.”

“That summer, I took you out on the boat.”

My stomach did a slow, sick somersault. “Yes.”

“That was a good day, wasn’t it? Just you and me, out there on that boat. Riding the boat. Out on the water. Out on the waves. That was a good day.”

I hadn’t thought so. Not then. Not now.

“Maybe the last good day.”

My mother had left with toddler Claire two days after the boat ride. It had been a bad summer, but for me it hadn’t started when she left. It had started the day we almost drowned.

“There have been other good days,” I said.

“I should just do it,” he said. “Just finish myself off.”

I said nothing. He wasn’t talking to me, not really. Or maybe he was, but it was ten-year-old Annie Byrne he meant to tell, not Anne Kinney.

“Just put the pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger. Just be done…with…all of it.” His words got more slurred. “Be better off for everyone. If I just did it.”

I’d heard this before, more than once. Sometimes like this in the dark. Sometimes through the closed door while my mother begged him not to.

“I should just do it,” he said again, and I answered the way I always had.

“No, Daddy. No, you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, voice deep and slow and far away.

Tears pricked my eyes and stung my throat. “Because we love you.”

I was sure he’d passed out, then. The wheeze of his breath had settled into a steady in and out, and his hand fell limp from mine. I let it go and got up to leave. His voice stopped me at the door.

“Annie, did you ever learn to sail?”

“No, Daddy. I didn’t.”

“You should,” he muttered. “Then you wouldn’t be so afraid next time.”

Then all I heard was snoring, and I left him there to sleep it off.

“It will be fine, Pats. That’s why we got the tent.”

“The tent will only cover the food,” my sister said. “What about all the guests? They can’t fit in your house!”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and most of them won’t show up.”

“Very funny, Anne.”

I wasn’t laughing. I wasn’t really even joking. I yawned and looked at the clock, which showed an hour far too early for my taste. “Pats. Calm down. It will be fine, I promise you.”

She sighed. “You’re so good at this, you know that?”

“Good at what?”

“Being in charge of things. Making it all better. Fixing it.”

Through the half-open bathroom door, I could see my husband scratching himself in places I didn’t need to see scratched. I turned on my side. “No, Pats. I’m really not.”

She sighed again, and was silent for half a second. “It’s only a chance of thunderstorms, right?”

“Only a chance.”

“And…we just have to get through this one day, and we’re fine. We’ll be done.”

“All done.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the butt. I know it. I just…I’m just…”

“I know.” I did. There was a lot going on, not just this party. There’d been a lot going on for a long time. “It will be great. Mom and Dad will have a good time. Their friends will be here. We’ll be held up as bright and shining examples of what good daughters do, and we’ll be done for the next thirty years.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing, but the noise didn’t sound quite like laughter. Maybe a snort. “Sure. Right.”

James came back to bed, his eyes still half-closed. He slid between the covers and reached to pull me back against him. I allowed the embrace because it would have been too difficult to disentangle myself from him while I was on the phone. When he nuzzled into my hair and his hand came up to cup my breast, I let out a low, annoyed noise. He didn’t get it.

“Everything will be fine,” I said for what felt like the millionth time. “The sun will come out. The rain will hold off. The people will come and eat and leave, and tomorrow this will all be a pleasant memory. Go back to sleep for a while, Patricia. God knows I’m going to.”

“How can you sleep?” she protested. “What time do you want me to come over? Is there anything I can bring? What about—”

“Noon, like we agreed. And no. Goodbye,” I said, and hung up even though she protested.

“Patricia?” James asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t move out of his arms, but I didn’t exactly nestle, either.

“She’s freaking out?”

“Yeah.” There’d be no going back to sleep for me. I had over a hundred people arriving at my house a few hours from now, and though I’d told Patricia it would all be all right I wasn’t as assured.

The barometer hanging on the wall in my kitchen didn’t make me feel any better. The blue water in the tube had risen nearly all the way to the top, portending storms. I looked outside. Blue skies didn’t necessarily mean anything. A storm could fly up at any time.

Despite the concerns about the weather, the tent arrived on time and was set up without problem. The caterer came with his portable pit beef spit and all the other gear. James had already set up the outdoor speakers to play a mix of songs from our iPod. “Build Me up, Buttercup” wafted over air steamy and humid and smelling of cooked cow. It was two hours to party time, and though Patricia and Mary had shown up, Claire was nowhere to be found.

“She said she had to meet the asswad,” Mary told me as she helped me set out paper plates and plastic utensils on the long trestle tables set up in my teeny tiny yard. “Something about getting some money, or something?”

“I think you mean the fucktard.” I surveyed the yard. Everything looked okay.

“Yeah, him.” Mary laughed, her eyes scanning the driveway. “And she’s going to drive Mom and Dad. You know, so…”

“So he doesn’t have to drive. Yes.” I watched her. She fumbled with the stack of plates, picking it up and setting it down, and arranging the spoons so they tucked neatly inside one another.

James appeared on the deck, moving chairs. He was a very good husband, I thought, shading my eyes to watch him move. He’d been helping all morning without complaining. He’d even run out twice to pick up things we’d forgotten. He was cheerful about it, too. I loved him. So why did looking at him make my stomach drop like I was falling?

“Are you okay?” Mary waved a hand in front of my eyes to capture my attention. “Earth to Anne. Hello?”

I shook it off and gave her a smile. “Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

We looked at each other, both aware we were lying, but only Mary confessed. “I invited Betts to come. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” I thought I should say more.

“Thanks.” She fussed some more with the plates and spoons before she crossed her hands tightly over her stomach. “Anne…”

I’d been watching James again, my hand raised in a small half wave in return to the one he’d given me. “Hmm?”

“How’d you know you wanted to spend the rest of your life with James?”

I was still looking at him when I answered. “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t? You married him.”

She sounded so astonished, I had to look at her. “I knew I loved him, Mary, but I didn’t know that it would be the rest of my life. I hoped it would be, but I wasn’t convinced it would last.”

“Why not?”

It was my turn to fuss with the plates, though there was nothing wrong with the way they’d been arranged. “Because good things don’t last, do they?”

“Gosh,” she said quietly. “I hope you’re not right about that.”

I shrugged.

“Anne?”

I looked up. “Mare, I want to tell you that you’ll know love when it hits you, and it will all be great and you’ll find that one person who makes your heart sing, the end, happily ever after. I want to do that for you, I really do. But I’m just not that person. I’m sorry.”

She blinked and cleared her throat, looking chagrined. “I thought you and James had a perfect thing going on.”

“Yeah. Well. Like I said, things don’t last. Good things don’t last.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked sorry, and I felt bad for putting the damper on her enthusiasm. “It’s not your fault. And it could be different for you, Mare. It really could.”

“Are you guys having problems?” She shook her head. “I mean…obviously, I guess you’re having trouble, but…bad trouble? Divorce trouble?”

I searched the yard for James and found him down by the water. He was doing something with a beach umbrella. I wanted to holler at him to forget the stupid, single umbrella—what could it do for a hundred people? But he was trying to help, and no matter what had happened between us, I didn’t need to be unkind.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Wow. I just had no idea. I’m sorry, Anne.”

I smiled at her. “I think you’ve been a little tied up with things of your own, haven’t you?”

She laughed. “Yes. I guess so.”

We looked the most alike, Mary and I. The same curly auburn hair, though she wore hers longer. Our mother’s blue-gray eyes. We were about the same height, too. We looked a lot alike, but I’d never felt we were much alike.

“Listen, Mare. Don’t let what I said keep you from trying to find something that will make you happy, okay?”

“Is this going to be a ‘make your own kind of music’ lecture?” She shot me a grin.

“What the heck’s a ‘make your own kind of music’ lecture?”

“You know. Sing your own special song, blah blah blah, find your own shiny star, be your own person. You know what I mean. That feel-good sort of thing.”

I snorted. “Okay, so I’ll pass on the lecture.”

I did wish I had better advice for her. According to Patricia, I was supposed to be good at fixing things. Mary didn’t seem concerned, though, as she came around the table to sling an arm over my shoulder.

“It’ll all work out,” she said confidently. “I know it will.”

“How do you know this, oh wise one?”

She looked out across the lawn, where James was now talking with the pit beef crew. “Because you love each other.”

Tears are such unfortunate things. They never quite make everything all right. Sometimes they make everything worse.

I had no time for self-indulgent weepiness, not even with a shoulder all ready to cry on. There was a party to put on, families to deal with. My marriage to save. I didn’t have time for sorrow. I took it anyway.

Mary, even if she didn’t understand all the reasons I was crying, was a good enough sister to hand me a napkin and say nothing while I sobbed into it. I’m sure I got a few odd looks from the caterer, but I kept my face hidden so I didn’t have to see them.

“Maybe you should go lie down for a while,” Mary said after a few minutes. “Patricia and I can handle things from here. Maybe you need a break.”

I wiped my face. “No, no. That wouldn’t be fair to you guys. I’ll be fine, really. I’m okay.”

She shook her head. “Anne—”

“I said I was fine, Mare.” My voice brooked no argument. I was fine. I would be fine. I would put on the smile, and I’d make it all shiny, because goddammit, it was what I did. I was a good daughter. I was not going to let my personal fuckups ruin this party. It had too many chances at ruination already; it didn’t need my having a breakdown, too.

A car pulled into the drive. We both turned, Mary’s face first lighting then getting dark when she saw it was the Kinneys. I’m sure mine didn’t look much better.

“Why does your mother-in-law always look like she just stepped in dog poo?”

Laughter, too, can be an unfortunate thing.

“Hello, girls,” Evelyn said. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m going to go see Pats about the…stuff…with that…thing….”

Mary abandoned me. Evelyn smiled. I smiled back. She waited, but I had nothing to say to her. She was early, like she often was. Frank had already disappeared into the house. I wondered if she was waiting for me to greet her with a hug. She’d be waiting a damn long time, I thought. Still smiling.

“I came early to see if you needed any help,” she said.

“Nope.” Cheer came out of me like blood from an artery, great spurts of it. “Everything’s all taken care of.”

She looked around, eyes scanning the tent, the yard, the tables. “Everything looks nice.”

She was, I think, trying to be nice. I think she meant to be. At least, I wanted to give her credit for the effort, because assuming she was really just trying to make me feel inadequate on purpose would have made me a nasty person.

“Thanks. James is in the house.”

“So. It’s thirty years for your parents?”

I nodded, still smiling brightly. My face ached. “Yep.”

She might not have been calculating my age, twenty-nine, with a birthday coming up in April. She might not. She really did look like she’d stepped in poo.

“That’s a nice accomplishment,” she said, like they should get a gold star. “Frank and I will have been married for forty-five years in December.”

She looked around again at the yard and toward the house. “A party is such a nice way to honor your parents, Anne.”

No way was I planning an anniversary party for Frank and Evelyn Kinney. No way. She had a son and two daughters, all fully capable of taking the matter into their own hands, if they thought of it. Which they probably wouldn’t. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“James is in the house,” I said again. Still smiling.

She gave me an odd look. “Yes, you told me that.”

“Don’t you want to go see him?”

Something in my gaze must have seemed sour, because she frowned a little. “Anne, are you feeling all right?”

“Yep, yep, dandy. Just fine. Just have a lot to do, that’s all, why don’t you go ahead inside and I’ll just talk to the caterer over there.” More smiling. Fierce. I was getting a headache.

I smiled.

Fortunately, she backed off. Maybe I scared her. Maybe I wanted to.

Guests began arriving, filling my driveway and parking along the somewhat narrow street. We’d invited the neighbors—the ones we liked and the ones we didn’t—so there’d be no problems about the extra vehicles. The sun came out, hot as could be expected on a late August afternoon. A breeze came up every so often from the lake, though, and the tent and our scraggly trees provided shade. Some people waded down in the water, splashing and laughing.

There was plenty of food, despite Patricia’s worries. Cascades of carved beef slathered in tangy horseradish and barbecue sauce. Mountains of crusty rolls. Buckets of potato and macaroni salads. Coleslaw. Desserts by the dozen. People ate and talked and mingled. They drank.

My father held court on the lawn, a plastic lawn chair his throne and a bottle of beer his scepter. My mother ran back and forth to serve him, bringing him platters of food and cans of cola he didn’t drink. He started off with beer but soon had switched back to his favorite: tall glasses of iced tea that gradually contained less and less tea and more and more whiskey.