The Family You Choose (17 page)

"And there you are," he said, pulling her
down so she was lying on top of him.

"You admit you’re stupid?"

"No. I’m getting what I really want."

Hours later, having forgotten hunger and
thirst, but not sleep, they collapsed into each other’s arms. "You
wanted this?" she asked sleepily.

"Yes," he said, squeezing her and kissing her
cheek. "Do you believe me?"

"I don’t know." Before he could say anything
else, she fell asleep.

He woke her up at nine on Sunday evening.
"I’m hungry. For
food
," he said with a smile. "Do you want
anything?"

"Um...maybe some bread?" she said
groggily.

He put on his pajama bottoms and came back
five minutes later with some bread, cheese, fruit and wine. He fed
her an apple slice. She laughed, and for the next slice let her
lips linger on his fingertips. He inhaled sharply. "Then again," he
said, "food is overrated."

"I think so," she said, taking his hand.

"Michael! Let me in!"

They froze. Alex banged on the front door
again. Michael gave Miranda the food and put his shirt on. "I’ll
take care of this," he said, closing the door.

Miranda couldn’t hear their conversation
outside the door, but she could hear yelling and shouting, mostly
from Alex. She pulled the blankets around her, preparing herself
for Alex to burst in. Then she heard a crash and a shatter. She
grabbed one of Michael’s shirts and ran out, in time to hear the
front door slam and see Michael on the floor, blood oozing from his
mouth, lying next to a broken lamp.

Shaking, she ran into the kitchen and got
some ice and a towel, then pulled Michael over to the couch.
"Thanks," he mumbled, then put the ice against the back right side
of his head.

"Alex hit you?"

"No. We were having a perfectly civilized
conversation, and then I slipped and fell, and brought the lamp
down with me. And Alex, gentleman that he is, ran to the drugstore
to get some gauze."

"Right," Miranda said, hitting his arm. "And
you had the TV on during all of this, which is why it sounded like
there were two people yelling."

"I knew you couldn’t be as silly as you
looked." He wiped the blood off his mouth. "But could you not hit
me for a few minutes?"

"What was your civilized conversation
about?"

"He’s still looking for you." Michael
groaned. "I told him to check Zainab’s."

"And you...slipped because of that?"

"I slipped because I told him that you might
have company over and didn’t want to be disturbed. He didn’t
appreciate the implication."

"I see," she said, laying his head on a
cushion. "I sleep with you, and suddenly I’m open for
business?"

"No," Michael said irritably. "But I thought
that would be just the sort of thing Alex might expect me to
say—and just the sort of thing that might get him to leave. Sorry—I
wasn’t trying to offend your honor."

"Let me see. I’ve spent the last twenty four
hours with the guy who tried to rape one friend and assaulted
another, and half-hated me for most of his life, when he maybe
didn’t want to rape me too." She shrugged. "Yeah, I can see why
that guy wouldn’t think I had any honor to offend."

"That isn’t…" But before he could continue,
he rolled over and threw up on the floor. Miranda ran to get a
towel, then saw Michael starting to fall asleep. "Michael! Michael,
wake up!" Damn.

She threw on her pants and dragged Michael to
his car. Driving as fast as she could, she got to the emergency
room in fifteen minutes. She had just started arguing that Michael
couldn't wait to be seen when he threw up again. They were seen
immediately.

It was four o’clock in the morning when
Michael was finally released. It was a concussion, but not a
serious one. He needed to see his doctor on Tuesday, but otherwise,
ice was going to do the trick.

Michael groaned when Miranda put him into his
bed and then left to clean up. "You are such an idiot," she said
when she returned to his room to put ice on his head. "Were you
trying to get hit?"

"Why is it that I’m an idiot, but Alex gets
off scot-free?"

"I’ll deal with Alex later."

"No you won’t."

"Sorry, you just don’t sound very
authoritative with a concussion."

"I’m serious. Please."

She stroked his hair. She wanted him to fall
asleep. "He’s not going to hurt me."

"He’s pretty angry."

"You just worry about you right now, alright?
I mean, really, the one thing we could always count on you to do
was protect yourself from getting hurt. Although on the bright
side," she said, fluffing up a pillow next to him, "I understand
that head injuries can sometimes lead to personality changes."

She snuggled into his chest. "You see," he
said sleepily, hugging her into him. "I do have a plan." He kissed
her, but then she pulled away.

"Michael, what about work?"

"What about it?"

"Okay, so do you even really have a job, or
is that another one of Alex’s lies?"

"Believe it or not, I do have a job, and I
actually do it well."

"Well, I’ll believe you have a job—probably.
Isn’t it Monday? Shouldn’t you call if you’re not going in?"

Michael turned over to face her. He was
smiling. "Why the sudden concern for my welfare? Do you think
you’re actually starting to like me?"

She kissed him softly. "Call me crazy.
Someone gets hit, probably over me, and I guess I feel a need to be
nice, no matter how much of an ass he is. It’s pretty childish, I
know."

"And I have my uses, don’t you think?"

"Maybe, but since you’re in danger of getting
cut off from...‘the lifestyle to which you’ve grown accustomed,’ I
think you should be worried more about your job right now."

He kissed her. "Just think—if I don’t go into
work today, you get me all to yourself."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "If I get you
today, you’re not doing anything more strenuous than sleeping on
your side."

He winked one eye and cocked his head. "I can
commit to that until twelve, but after that I can’t make any
promises."

"Fine," Miranda said sleepily, wrapping her
feet around him. "But I won’t make any promises either."

Alex was impatiently waiting for Keith to
finish supervising the delivery men with the new monitor and
bookcase. He was snapping at everyone, and finally he stormed out.
Should he go into his office? No, they didn’t need him for a few
hours, and he thought he would go crazy if he tried to kill time
there. He needed some fresh air, nice and cold, to distract
him.

He grabbed his coat and walked out, not
putting it on until he could see his breath. He had to fight every
impulse and instinct in him not to track down Zainab’s apartment
and drive over there now. But he...he was at a loss for the first
time in a long time. He knew that a clock was ticking—he didn’t
know when it would go off, but he could hear it nonetheless. But he
didn’t know what he could do to fix this. He just knew it needed to
be fixed. Because he’d made a promise that it would be.

After all these years, he wanted to pick up
the phone and call Stephen. Nobody had made Alex laugh like that in
quite a long time.

Everyone said Michael had Stephen’s face.
Maybe, Alex allowed grudgingly, but Stephen’s face had been
narrower. Stephen had been much more active than Michael, although
he’d drunk much, much more. The biggest difference was the smile.
Stephen smiled freely—at Alex, Annabelle, Michael, at life in
general. Michael didn’t smile unless someone was being hurt. And
Miranda knew that. Why...?

Alex was nauseous. He walked into a store
just to steady himself. He hadn’t meant for anything like this to
get so far out of hand. Perfect justice, some might think; perfect
revenge. But the only people who would think that would be the ones
who had no idea of what the real truth was.

~~~

The day Alex Sheldon met Tatiana he’d gone to
visit Stephen. It was 1990, one of those beautiful, clear spring
days that still had a nip in the air, but just enough sun and new
green to promise good things to come.

He walked by the window and saw Stephen
embracing someone. She was too short to be Annabelle. Alex wasn’t a
true romantic, but he shook his head nonetheless. Stephen had been
faithful to his wife since the day she’d agreed to go on that first
date with him. Alex wasn’t fond of Annabelle—better to say that
their enmity grew with each passing day—but he could admit that
Annabelle was, by and large, good for Stephen. Even if she hadn’t
been, a return to Stephen’s promiscuity wasn’t going to do anything
for him. Lastly, in passing, he thought how unfortunate it would be
for Michael to grow up without his father, because of course
Annabelle would keep him with her, no matter what.

Alex was usually discreet and he would
usually have turned around and walked back home. He would have
called later, pretended he didn’t know what was going on, and then
trapped his victim into confessing. It was only fair if Alex was
going to help him protect his secret, his marriage or both. It
occurred to Alex that he should do this, but Stephen was his best
friend. He wouldn't get off so easily.

Stephen looked flustered when he opened the
door a minute later, but his hair wasn’t out of place, and there
were no tell-tale signs of lipstick on the collar. Alex grinned
nonetheless. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"Steve, who is it?" a voice called out.
Stephen smiled despite his annoyance, and two seconds later she
came to the door. For the first time in his life, Alex was
speechless. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She
was blonde—since when did Stephen like blondes?—and she had
porcelain skin. But her eyes were what Alex couldn’t stop looking
at. They were the most perfect shade of green he’d ever seen, not
too blue, not too yellow, not too dark. They were, he thought,
still staring, the color of the leaves just blossoming on the
trees.

Stephen cleared his throat. "This is,"
Stephen said, "believe it or not, my oldest and dearest friend,
Alex Sheldon."

"Oh, hi!" She had a sweet voice and fantastic
smile. Alex had an altogether different smile for her. She held her
hand out, and he shook it limply.

"And you are?" he said at last.

"Tatiana Hamilton." She looked at Stephen,
who seemed to be shaking his head. "Tatiana Hamilton," she
repeated.

"Tatiana," Alex repeated, and stepped into
the house. "What an unusual name. It’s beautiful, of course. Are
you...Russian?"

Tatiana laughed. "I don’t think so. I’ve
hardly been out of Massachusetts, much less the country." She
shrugged. "My mother was a bit of a Shakespeare nut, but my
grandmother thought Titiana was a bit too...Olde English?"

"Oh," Alex said, only vaguely aware that he
was still holding Tatiana’s hand. "
A Midsummer
Night’s Dream
. That’s my favorite Shakespeare play. Stephen,
isn’t that my favorite play?"

Stephen looked extremely annoyed, and Alex
came back to earth. He dropped Tatiana’s hand. She giggled and
grabbed her coat. "Oh, don’t leave on my account," Alex said
earnestly.

Tatiana laughed again. "Let’s talk more about
Shakespeare some other time. It will give you time to read up
on...
Othello
, maybe?" Before Alex could say
a word, Tatiana turned to hug Stephen and kissed him on the cheek.
"So I’ll see you next week?"

"Of course, just as I promised." Alex was
struck by the difference in his tone, so protective and...adult?
Maybe having a mistress would be a good thing for Stephen.

"And we’ll talk more about it then?"

"Yes." He gave her a peck on the cheek,
hugging her.

She turned around to Alex. "And it was nice
meeting you too, Mr. Sheldon."

"Call me Alex," he said, taking her hand
again. "I hope I get to see you again too."

"It will be my pleasure." He thought she
looked genuinely interested when she said that, but she left before
he could be sure.

Stephen looked after her as she walked down
his walkway. He had a sad smile, and he sighed as he closed the
door. Now that she was gone, Alex could sympathize with his friend.
Annabelle was good for Stephen, but maybe the marriage and
everything else wasn’t.

He looked back at Alex and smiled guiltily.
"So," Alex said at last. "When did you meet her?"

"It’s...sort of a long story."

"It usually is. And when were you going to
tell me about her?"

He put his thumb to his lips, as if deep in
thought. Then he smiled. "I guess I hadn’t worked that out
yet."

"And when were you going to tell
Annabelle?"

Stephen turned to Alex. "Never, Alex, I mean
it. I think; at least for now. This has to stay between you and
me."

Alex had never heard Stephen so serious.
"Whatever you say."

~~~

See you next week
, Alex had repeated
to himself that whole week. Which day? He could just ask Stephen.
Sometimes it was nice to share secrets with someone you already had
to share other secrets with. But this one seemed...different.
Veiled references in Annabelle’s presence were completely ignored
and not acknowledged even when Annabelle wasn’t there. This was not
a game; at least, not one Stephen wanted to play with Alex.

So Alex used his head, which had served him
well on so many other occasions. He didn’t know anything except
what he’d already seen. It had been around eleven when she’d left.
So she’d leave maybe around that same time again. Maybe it would be
the same day of the week? Maybe, but Alex couldn’t be sure. So he
took an early lunch every day the next week and drove around
Stephen’s block from ten-forty-five to eleven-fifteen.