Cul-de-sac

by Joy Fielding

  “This is Aiden, my husband,” Heidi says.

  “I understand you gave my wife weed,” Aiden says, his voice flat, expressionless.

  “Oh my God!” Heidi exclaims. She had no idea Aiden knew anything about that. What exactly has his mother told him? “Aiden, I…”

  Aiden turns, about to go back into his house, when the ball comes hurling through the air to hit him squarely in the back. He spins around, fists clenched, eyes filled with fury.

  “Sorry,” one of the twins yells out as Aiden advances menacingly toward him. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “Aiden,” his wife says, running after him.

  “Hey, man,” Sean says. “My son apologized. It was an accident.”

  “Easy there,” says Nick, edging forward.

  “Aiden,” Heidi says again, catching up to him and spinning him around. She stares into his eyes, but if he sees her, he gives no sign. “What’s happening, babe?”

  His eyes suddenly snap back into focus. “Sorry,” he whispers. Then more loudly, “Sorry, everyone.” He turns and walks briskly back toward his house, pausing for an instant in front of Mark. “Stay away from my wife,” he warns quietly.

  “I’m really sorry,” Heidi apologizes to Mark, then again to everyone, before following her husband inside their house and shutting the door.

  “Who’s ready for the best chocolate chip cookies you’ll ever taste?” Julia calls out, emerging from her front door just as Heidi’s door closes, a large platter of cookies in hand.

  “Perfect timing,” Nick says, relieved the unexpected drama has passed. “Come on, everyone. Dig in.” He looks toward his house to see Tyler leading Dani by the hand. “About time you guys got here.”

  Dani manages a wan smile.

  As if on cue, Maggie also steps outside. “Did I hear someone say chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Not to mention some delicious homemade lemonade,” Olivia says, depositing a large pitcher on her front stoop, along with a tall stack of plastic cups. “Come and get it, everyone.”

  Maggie sidles up to Dani Wilson as Olivia begins pouring the lemonade. Maybe Dani is just shy. Maybe if Maggie were to make more of an effort to get to know her…“I was talking to Tyler before,” she begins. “I mentioned that maybe he and my son, Leo, might get together one afternoon this week after school.”

  “They’re in after-school programs till I get home,” Dani says, refusing to meet Maggie’s gaze.

  “Well, there’s just one more week of school. Maybe after that…”

  “Maybe,” Dani says. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m really not feelin’ very well.”

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Nick asks, his voice radiating concern as she hurries away. “I’ll be in in a few minutes,” he calls after her. “I’ll talk to her later,” he says to Maggie. “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

  Maggie smiles, though she doubts anything will come of it. She wonders how such a nice man got saddled with such a cold fish.

  “I understand you came to my wife’s rescue earlier,” Sean is saying, suddenly at Maggie’s side.

  “Happy to help out,” Maggie says.

  “Anyone happen to have a tire pump?” Nick asks. “I noticed one of my tires was looking a little flat earlier.”

  “We do,” Olivia says, going back inside her house, then returning seconds later, car keys in hand, heading for the garage. “I’m sure you have one in your car,” she says to her husband, opening his trunk and reaching for the tire pump before he realizes what’s happening. “What’s this?” she asks, holding up the bag from Ferragamo. “Sean,” she says, peeking inside it. “What’s this?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Okay, calm down,” Sean says as Olivia paces angrily back and forth in front of him.

  They’re in their living room, Sean having ushered his wife inside at the first hint of a raised voice. Outside, the impromptu gathering has dispersed, the adults retreating to their individual domiciles, leaving only the children and Mark to continue playing ball in the street.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” Olivia counters over the sound of the children’s laughter. “What the hell is this?” She motions toward the bag at her feet. “A jacket from Ferragamo?” she says, answering her own question as she none-too-gently pulls the jacket out of the bag and throws it over the sofa. “For over three thousand fucking dollars?!”

  “If you would just give me the chance to explain…”

  “By all means,” Olivia says, plopping down in the nearest chair, waving the receipt in the air. “Go ahead. Explain.”

  “Okay,” Sean says. “Okay.” His mouth is so dry, he can barely put two words together. God, he could use a drink.

  “Well?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I bought the jacket.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Olivia snaps. “Your signature’s on the fucking receipt.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not okay. What else have you been buying?”

  “Nothing. I swear. Look. I get that you’re angry, but I had a good reason….”

  “Oh, please, do share. I’m dying to hear it.”

  “Do you think you could drop the sarcasm for a minute?”

  “Do you think you could speed this up a bit?”

  “Maybe if you’d stop interrupting…”

  “Maybe if you’d stop stalling.”

  She’s right, Sean acknowledges silently, taking another deep breath, hoping to still the wild beating of his heart. He has been stalling, trying to come up with a plausible explanation, a reason that would justify his spending over three thousand dollars on a jacket when he’s out of a job and they’re barely making ends meet. “You remember the initial interview I had at Advert-X last month?”

  “Of course, I remember.”

  “Well, I got there early,” he continues, growing more comfortable with the story he’s creating. “And I see all these guys walking around, and they’re young and hip and well dressed. I mean, really well dressed. European sports jackets over designer jeans. Hell, their jeans are even ironed, for fuck’s sake. You can tell just by looking at them that everything they have on cost an arm and a leg. And there I am in my black Dockers pants and jacket from Joseph A. Banks, and I know, I know, that there’s no way in hell that I’m getting this job. Not looking like that. Not in those clothes.” He pauses, trying to determine if she’s buying this, seeing a brief flicker of understanding flash across her eyes.

  “So, I excused myself,” he continues. “Like I said, I was early, and Ms. Pierce in HR was running late, so I had about forty minutes. I headed over to Worth Avenue to see what I could find. First, I went to Brooks Brothers, because you know I’ve always liked their clothes, but I could see right away that their stuff wasn’t going to cut it. And then I saw this jacket in the window at Ferragamo, and it was perfect. I mean, absolutely fucking perfect. So I went in and tried it on, and the damn thing fit like it was made for me—I mean, how often does that happen?—and I said great, I’ll take it, not thinking for a second that it was going to cost anything like three thousand dollars. I mean, I thought, eight hundred maybe. A thousand, tops. It wasn’t until I’m pocketing the damn bill that I glanced at the price, and by then, of course, it was too late.”

  “You could have told them…”

  “It was too late,” he repeats. “And to be honest,” he says, knowing he’s being anything but, “I was too embarrassed. Then I thought, I’ll just take the damn thing, hide the tags and wear it to the interview, then return it when I’m done.”

  “Clearly, you didn’t do that.”

  “I tried. But they only do exchanges. The best they could offer was a store credit. So I was screwed.” He pauses, watches her struggling to believe him. “The good news, and I know this doesn’t make up for my stupidity, is
that the jacket did the trick.”

  She takes a full thirty seconds to respond. “But why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “Because I knew how angry you’d be, and I felt like such a damn fool.”

  Olivia lowers her head. When she lifts it again, he can see that he’s gotten to her.

  “What else?” she asks.

  “What do you mean, what else?”

  “Not only was my credit card declined, Sean, so was my debit card. Which means that the money I thought was in our checking account—over five hundred dollars—is gone.”

  “I’ve paid some bills. There have been other expenses, things you’ve asked me to pick up during the week.”

  “That’s all?”

  “There have been no other purchases, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So, if I call the credit card company right now to ask about last month’s bill,” she says, pulling her phone from the side pocket of her skirt, “I’m not going to have any more unpleasant surprises?”

  Sean swallows the tiny bit of saliva his mouth has managed to manufacture. “You’re accusing me of lying?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m asking.”

  “Sounds a lot like the same thing.”

  “I think you’ve lost the right to be indignant,” Olivia tells him.

  “I’m sorry,” Sean apologizes immediately. “You’re right. It just hurts that you don’t trust me.”

  “Believe me, it hurts me even more.”

  “You know me, Olivia.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “You do. I promise.”

  “You promise that there are no other charges on that card?” she asks.

  He hesitates, trying to decide which carries the bigger risk, another lie or the truth.

  “Sean?”

  “There was a lunch at Ta-boo,” he says, opting for the truth. He almost laughs. He’s been lying for so long, it’s the truth that feels wrong.

  “A lunch at Ta-boo?” Olivia repeats, her voice flat, void of inflection.

  “After the interview. I was starving because I’d been too nervous to eat anything for breakfast, and I was so pleased with the way things had gone, I splurged on a nice lunch. It was selfish and it was a mistake, and I’m more sorry than you know.”

  Olivia shakes her head. “You’re having lunch at Ta-boo and I’m having to borrow money from a woman I barely know to pay for groceries.”

  He falls to his knees in front of her. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

  Olivia doesn’t answer for what feels like an eternity. “Is there anything else, anything else at all, no matter how small or inconsequential you think it might be, that you’re not telling me?”

  Sean searches his brain for something he can say that will erase the awful combination of pity and disappointment he sees on his wife’s face. It’s worse than the anger that was there before, worse than the hate he knows he deserves. It’s too much for one man to bear.

  “There is something,” he says, finally.

  “Oh God,” she says, bracing herself. “What?”

  Sean’s face suddenly breaks into a wide grin, like a child with a secret too big to contain any longer. “I got the job.”

  “What?!”

  “I got the job.”

  “The job at Advert-X?”

  “Of course, the job at Advert-X,” he says with such conviction he almost believes it himself.

  “You got the job?”

  “I got the job.”

  “I don’t understand. When did you find out?”

  “The headhunter called while you were out shopping. She said companies normally wait till Monday to call, but they’d made up their minds and they wanted to let me know right away.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  “I can’t believe it. This is so wonderful! But why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go on and on about that stupid jacket?”

  “Because you had every right to be angry. I did a very stupid thing. I deserved to be hauled on the carpet.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.”

  “How much are they paying you?”

  “None of that’s been finalized. I’ll know more next week. But whatever it is, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the price of jackets for a while.”

  “Oh God. I’m so happy for you. For us,” Olivia tells him, taking his face in her hands. “When do you start?”

  “End of the month,” he says. Surely to God, he’ll be able to find another position by then. Then he’ll explain that he and Advert-X were unable to come to terms on a number of important issues. Whatever. He’ll think of something. It isn’t important.

  What’s important is that he’s bought himself some time. What’s important is that hope and admiration have replaced the look of pity and disappointment on his wife’s face. At least for the time being.

  He’d rather be dead than see that look again.

  Or she be.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maggie knows the man is there before she sees him. She feels him walking toward her bed, the air around him parting like a curtain as he approaches. He stands over her for several long seconds, his eyes penetrating the darkness, as if waiting for her to wake up. She won’t give him the satisfaction, she decides, keeping her eyes resolutely closed, even as she feels him pulling back the covers and climbing into bed beside her. She feels his warm breath on her neck as his lips tease the side of her mouth and his fingers graze her breasts through the silk of her nightgown.

  Her body stirs, although her eyes remain closed, even as the man’s hand slips underneath the bottom of the nightgown to caress her, his fingers knowing exactly the right amount of pressure to apply and the exact spot to apply it. “Oh God,” she cries, as her body builds steadily toward climax.

  Which is when she wakes up, her eyes opening as she rolls onto her stomach, her own fingers replacing those of the faceless man in her dream, her brain making the quick leap from fantasy to reality. The man of my dreams indeed, she thinks with a laugh, as her body shudders to orgasm. “Thank you,” she whispers into her pillow. “I needed that.”

  “Needed what?” a voice asks.

  Maggie jumps, a scream escaping her lips as she lunges toward the nightstand beside the bed.

  “Mom?” her son asks before she can open the top drawer to get at her gun. “What’s the matter? What are you doing?”

  “Oh my God. Leo! You scared me, sweetheart.” Shaking, Maggie holds out her arms for him to come inside. “You can’t scare Mommy like that.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he says, fighting back tears.

  “I know you didn’t. I’m the one who should be sorry.” She kisses the top of his head as many times as he will allow before he squirms out of reach. My God, she thinks. Craig was right. If I don’t get a grip, I’m liable to shoot my own son. She shudders again, this time in horror, not pleasure. “What time is it?”

  “After eight.”

  “What?!” After eight! Day camp starts in less than an hour. And it’s the first day. How will it look if they’re late? “Shit. I forgot to set the alarm.”

  “It’s okay,” Leo tells her, his voice measured, not fully convinced. “We have time. I already had breakfast. And I’m all dressed.”

  Maggie sees that her son is wearing his new camp uniform—black shorts and a yellow T-shirt emblazoned with the camp logo, Silver Palm Day Camp—along with white socks and sneakers. The socks are clean and everything seems to be right-side out. Even his shoelaces are tied. “You had breakfast?” she asks, her eyes filling with tears of pride.

  “Jus
t some cereal. I spilled some milk on the table.”

  “Oh God. You’re such a sweet thing. I love you so much. You know that, don’t you?”

  He smiles. “What do you need?”

  “What do I need?” Maggie repeats.

  “Just before you started yelling, you said you needed something.”

  Maggie feels a blush building beneath her cheeks when she thinks of her erotic dream and tries to shake both the blush and the memory away with a toss of her head. “I must have been dreaming.”

  “Was it a nightmare?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  Erin is suddenly in the doorway, sleep clinging to her half-closed eyes, a frown dragging her lips toward her chin. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Maggie says. “You’re up early.”

  “Like you gave me any choice. What’s with all the racket?”

  “Mom had a nightmare,” Leo explains. “I got dressed myself and made breakfast.”

  “Well, whoop-dee-doo.”

  “Erin…” Maggie warns, climbing out of bed.

  Erin rolls her eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “I thought you were going to start looking for a job this morning.” Maggie regrets her words even before they’re out of her mouth.

  “Well, you thought wrong,” Erin says. “I told you I was taking some time off.”

  “School finished over a week ago. Another few weeks and it’ll be the end of June. You can’t keep sitting around all day, doing nothing.”

  “Why not? You do.”

  The words hit Maggie like a slap in the face. “Erin…”

  “Besides, how am I supposed to look for a job without a car?”

  “Mom,” Leo interjects. “We’re going to be late.”

  “You’re right. I don’t have time for this now. We’ll talk later,” she says to the now-empty doorway. Down the hall, Erin’s bedroom door slams shut.

  “I’ll wait downstairs,” Leo says.

  “I won’t be long,” Maggie assures him.