Tempted (33 page)

“No fucking way!” Claire shook her head. “And you didn’t knock her on her ass?”

“I wasn’t going to hit her, Claire.”

She put her hand over her mouth for a second, looking at the desk. “I’d have bitch-slapped her.”

“Oh, Claire.” I laughed again, and it came easier this time.

“Seriously. I don’t blame you for being pissed. What a nosy bitch.”

“Yeah. Well, unfortunately, she wasn’t smart enough to lock the door behind her so I didn’t see her doing it. Or maybe she really feels entitled to sift through my drawers, I don’t know.” I told her the rest of what had happened.

“And she had the nerve to insult our family?” Claire was outraged. “Oh, you wait. I’ll be all up in her shit. You wait.”

“Oh, God,” I said, but laughing. “Don’t!”

She laughed, too. “Honestly? Not worth the effort. She’s a pain in the ass, Anne.”

“She’s James’s mother.”

“Then let him deal with her.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing about that. I got up. “C’mon, we’re probably missing the toast.”

“I’m not so sure that’s such a tragedy. They’re all getting up and toasting. It’s a fucking slosh fest out there. Besides, Sean’s getting it all on that nice new video camera he showed up with today. You can watch it all in vibrant color at your convenience, later.”

I groaned and flopped down on my bed. “God. Will this day ever end?”

“Yes,” my sister said simply.

I listened for voices but heard nothing. “Why have I so messed up my life, Claire? Can you tell me that?”

“Telling off Mrs. Kinney didn’t mess up your life.”

I looked at her and sat up. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” She nodded, after a second. “Alex?”

“That, too.”

“There’s more?” She grinned. “Damn, woman. You’ve been keeping secrets.”

I was so tired. Of everything. All of it.

“Claire, you don’t remember the summer Mom left. You were too young. And she took you along. You don’t know all the stuff that happened….” My voice twisted, got tight. I swallowed against the barbed wire in my throat.

“I know some of it. Mary and Pats told me things. You never did,” she said. “But…I’m sure it was bad. Wasn’t it? I mean…it’s never really been good, has it?”

“It used to be. He didn’t drink so much. He and Mom didn’t fight. Before that summer, he was better.”

She pulled her knees up and curled her arms around them. “Gah. Belly’s getting in the way.” She relaxed her posture a bit. “Dad’s a drunk, Anne. It’s the way it is.”

“But it got worse after she left.” I pulled a pillow onto my lap, kneading it. “I never told Mom about how we’d gone out on the boat, or the storm. How the boat almost capsized because he was too drunk to sail. If I’d told her, maybe she’d have stayed, and he would’ve managed to get it together. Keep it together. Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

Claire was staring with wide, wet eyes. Her mouth, painted today in a demure shade of pink, trembled and turned down at the corners. “You can’t blame yourself for anything he did. Or she did. That was a long time ago, and you were just a kid. It wasn’t up to you to do anything.”

“I know. I know,” I said, fingers digging deep into the pillow’s forgiving softness. “But like you guys always said, I’m the only one who could ever deal with him.”

“Oh, Anne,” Claire said. “Don’t make yourself sick over this.”

“I’ve read the journals and studied about it,” I told her. “Alcoholism is a disease. It’s not my fault, or yours, or anyone’s. Nothing I did made him drink. I know it.”

“But you have to believe it,” she whispered and took my hand.

We looked at each other.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “That’s the hard part. Sometimes I just think, if I’d told her about that day, she’d have stayed. He wouldn’t have tipped over like he did. She’d have stayed instead of going to take care of Aunt Kate.”

Claire’s fingers twitched. She wiped glittering wetness from one eye, then the other. “She didn’t go to Aunt Kate’s, Anne.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “What?”

Claire shook her head. “She didn’t go to Aunt Kate’s that summer. That’s just what everyone told you, but it wasn’t true.”

“Well…where did she go?” The bottom had fallen out of my basket already today. I couldn’t do more than blink at this news.

“She went to stay with some guy named Barry Lewis.” Claire looked more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen her. “She was having an affair with him. She left Dad that summer. She meant to divorce him.”

I hadn’t missed the toasts. Someone had given my mother a pull-tab necklace and crowned my father with a hat made from a paper plate with plastic forks poked through the rim. I heard a lot of laughter as, one by one, friends and family got up and said a few words and lifted a glass to mark my parents’ accomplishment.

It all seemed more like a lie than ever. I’d never thought my parents had a good marriage. One that worked for them, one that limped along pretending to be satisfactory. But good? No. Not by the standards I’d set for myself.

My mother’d had an affair. She’d left my father for another man. Knowing this exonerated me, but I didn’t feel better. She hadn’t only left him. She’d left us, too. She’d left me behind to take care of him when he should’ve been taking care of us. She’d left us, and he’d fallen apart, and nothing had ever been the same after that.

Laughing and shaking her head, my mom refused to get up and speak. My dad had no such false modesty. He stood, glass held high. He surveyed the crowd. There was no anticipatory hush, but the murmuring of conversation dimmed.

“What a day, huh? What a day.”

“You said it, Bill! You tell ’em!”

“Way to go, Bill!”

Some people clapped. A few whistled good-naturedly. Over by the tent, Evelyn folded her arms across her chest and looked like doom.

My dad started out by thanking everyone for coming and my mother for being with him for so long. James appeared and put his arms around me from behind, his cheek next to mine. I tensed, waiting for him to say something about his mother. He didn’t. She was watching us, her displeasure obvious to anyone who wanted to look. Her expression made me angry all over again. This wasn’t her day, but somehow, she was trying to make it all about her.

“And to my daughters, Anne, Patricia, Mary and Claire,” said my father. “For planning this party for us.”

The crowd sought us out, the four. Patricia, with her arm around Sean’s waist and her kids circling her like satellites. Mary, standing just far enough away from Betts. Claire, deep in conversation with a tall guy I didn’t recognize. And me, looking out from the dubious safety of James’s arms.

They seemed to be waiting for something.

“They want you to talk,” James whispered. “Go ahead.”

“No,” I said, but he linked his fingers through mine and squeezed, and I somehow found the strength.

“About six months ago,” I began, “my sister Patricia came up with this crazy idea for an anniversary party. So if you’re all having a good time—” lots of cheers “—you can thank her. If you’re having a horrible time…thank her.”

Laughter greeted that. I continued. “We’re glad you could all come today to help us share thirty years of marriage for Bill and Peggy. There’ve been some good times. And some not so good times.”

I faltered, then, with tears in my throat. James squeezed my hand again. Just a gentle touch, letting me know he was there.

“But that’s what family is all about. Good and bad times. Sticking together. Sharing the happy things and being there to lend a hand during the unhappy ones.”

I wanted to be more eloquent but with what felt like every eye upon me, I could only come up with cliché after cliché.

“Some of you have known my parents for the past thirty years. You’ve known me and my sisters for almost our whole lives. Some of you we’ve just met, but that’s okay. You’re not exempt from the craziness. If you’re here, you’re all part of the family. Be prepared to help clean up after the party.”

More laughter.

“So…a toast to my parents, Bill and Peggy. To thirty years together.” I didn’t have a glass to lift, but there were enough raised in my stead. “And to twice as many more.”

“Good job,” James whispered and kissed me.

He folded his arms around me, holding me tight. I let him. I didn’t want to let go of him, not ever.

“I love you,” I whispered against his chest.

His hand came up to cup the back of my head and stroke the heat-frizzed mess of my hair. “I love you, too.”

“James.” Evelyn’s voice interrupted our quiet moment.

James didn’t let go of me. “Yeah, Mom.”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

He kept me circled within his arms. “Bye. Thanks for coming.”

“I said we’re leaving,” she repeated, as though hadn’t heard her.

“I heard you,” said James. “Goodbye.”

It seemed as though the second wave of eating had begun, with people drifting back into the house in search of the brownies and cookies Patricia had baked. We got a few curious looks as they passed by, probably from Evelyn’s tone. I didn’t give in to the temptation to speak to her. I wasn’t sure what would have come from my mouth.

“Aren’t you going to walk us to the car?”

James didn’t even turn toward her. “I think you know the way.”

I pushed away a bit. “If you want to—”

He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Bye, Mom. I’ll call you.”

“Will she let you?” The comment was nasty, even for her.

James kept his temper better than I would have. He answered her with silence, which I had to admit was the best way to deal with her, after all. It gave her nothing to respond to. Evelyn turned on her heel and left. As soon as she was gone around the corner of the house I took a deep, relieved breath.

James patted my back. “We can talk about it later.”

I didn’t think I’d ever want to talk about it. “Okay.”

“Get a room,” commented Claire as she climbed the two steps to the deck and propped herself up next to us by the railing. “Ya buncha exhibitionists.”

James ruffled her hair and she ducked away with a scowl. “Look who’s talking.”

Claire put on a hoity-toity attitude. “I’m not into public displays of affection, thanks. That’s tack-ay.”

Patricia popped her head up from the yard below. “Hey, should we bring out the cake?”

“Cake!” Claire clapped. “I vote yes.”

“I vote yes,” said James.

Mary showed up, too. “What are we voting on?”

“Cake,” I explained.

“A definite yes,” she answered. “I’ll help. C’mon, Claire.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, making the pregnant woman work!”

“Sit on it” was Mary’s suggestion.

“The cake?” Patricia cried. “Don’t you dare!”

“God help me,” I murmured, sinking back against my husband. “It’s a madhouse around here.”

My sisters went inside to bring out the cake, a reproduction of the one my parents had served at their wedding. It got lots of oohs and ahhs when it was unveiled. Compared to the elaborate cakes I’d seen at more recent weddings, theirs was a simple three-layer with white icing and a plastic bride and groom on the top.

My sisters corralled my parents into cutting it. Claire had cued up “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” from the iPod, and they smashed the cake into each other’s faces. Watching my dad lick icing from his fingers and my mother help clean him up with a napkin, I saw something.

They really did love each other. No matter what had happened in the past, they still did. They’d made it this far, made their choices. They didn’t need anyone to step in and give them a hand. They could do it all on their own.

The party wound down as the sun started setting. We said our goodbyes and packed food in foam containers provided by the caterer. We settled bills and helped tear down the tent. By the time it was all done and everyone had gone home, night had fallen.

“The rain held off.” James cracked open one of the remaining bottles of beer and took a long swallow. He looked out over the water. “Some party, Anne. Good job.”

I collapsed with a groan into the swing glider. “It wasn’t all me. And you did your share, too. Thanks.”

He plopped down beside me. We rocked. He finished his beer and put his arm around my shoulders, inviting me to rest my head against him. The night had no stars, hidden by the clouds that had promised rain but not delivered. The night was muggy, though every so often a fresh and cooler breeze would spring up and make me shiver.

He yawned. “I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow, I think.”

I toyed with the buttons of his shirt. It wasn’t pink. The material felt scratchy under the pads of my fingertips. “That sounds good.”

His fingers crept up to scratch my skull, through my hair. It felt good. I knew why cats purred when petted.

“So you and my mom went at it, I hear.”

“I came into our bedroom and found her standing with my calendar in her hand, James.”

His fingers kept working my skull and down to the base of my neck, easing knots of tension. “She told me you said she wasn’t welcome in our house and she had to get out.”

“Well…yeah. After she tried to tell me she wasn’t being a snoop and then insulted my family.”

James gave a heavy sigh. “Anne, you know my mother.”

“I do know your mother.” I looked up at him. “I really hope you aren’t trying to defend her.”

He paused. “No. I guess not.”

“Good. Because from now on, she’s your problem.”

A small smile quirked his lips. “Like she never was before?”

“I mean she’s not mine. I’m not going to keep smiling like some kind of ventriloquist’s dummy when she gets on my nerves.”

“Nobody ever said you had to, honey.” He moved down to my shoulder, his strong fingers massaging the aches.

“Good. Because I’m not doing it anymore.”

“My mom just wants you to like her, that’s all.”

I sat up straighter. “Is that what she said?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

I laughed. “Oh, right. That’s why she’s been so open and accepting of me all these years. Why she’s embraced me fully with open arms.”

“She thinks you don’t, that’s all.”

“She knows it today because I told her off after I found her invading my privacy, James.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t just—”

“What? She tripped and fell and caught herself with my journal? And it just happened to flip open and she had to read it?”

“I didn’t say that.” He withdrew his arm and sat back.

The swing moved us back and forth, and I put a foot down hard onto the deck to stop it. “I guess you don’t think it’s as big a deal as I do.”

His expression told me that was true. “I guess not. It was just a calendar, right?”

I got off the swing. “Not just a calendar. It was where I marked down important events, or things that happened. Snippets of thought. It was personal, and it was private. If I wanted the world to read it, I’d have set it out on the coffee table for everyone to flip through.”

I could tell he still just wasn’t that upset about it. I put my hands on my hips. He rocked the swing, bringing the edge dangerously close to my shins but never letting it hit me.

“I wrote down everything in that calendar, James.”

It took him another second. The swing stopped. “Everything.”

“Yes. All of it. Everything about you and me…and Alex.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. Funny how important it suddenly becomes when it’s about you, isn’t it?”

“That’s not fair, Anne!”

He sounded angry, and I poked him just a bit more. “It might not be fair. But it’s true. Isn’t it? You didn’t see much harm in your mom reading about my fight with my sister or how many drinks my dad had, or when I got my period or how much my sandals cost. Those things she has a right to. But when it comes down to you and your love affair—”

He stood, menacing. “It wasn’t just mine.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. But I guess the difference is I don’t really care if anyone knows I gave Alex Kennedy a blow job. And you do.”

I think he was more surprised than I when he grabbed me. I’d taunted him into it. James didn’t like to think of himself as a man who could be pushed that way.

“And it wasn’t a love affair.” His fingers gripped my upper arms. “Was it?”

“You tell me,” I said in a low voice.

“If you have something to say, maybe you’d better just say it.”

“He told me what really happened the night you got that scar.” I poked it, and he captured my hand, squeezing my fingers into a fist.

“I told you what happened.”

“Apparently, you left out a few things.”

James pulled me so close I had to tip my face back to look up into his. “What did he tell you?”

“He said you got upset when he told you about the guy he was fucking.”

“I did!”

“Why?” The question came out quieter than I’d expected it to, and less accusatory.

We both were breathing hard, our anger mixing into a different kind of tension. One more familiar. We hardly ever fought, but we’d fucked plenty.

“I was surprised.”

“Were you, really? He was your best friend. You’d known him for years. Was it really a surprise when he told you?” I slid my hands up his chest to curve over his shoulders. “Or were you just disappointed it wasn’t you?”