by Joy Fielding
“Is it waterproof?”
“Water-resistant,” Aiden qualifies. “I wouldn’t wear it diving or anything like that.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” the woman says. “My husband is turning seventy-nine. I think his diving days are over. What about that one?” She points to a rose-gold watch with a round brown face and a series of lines instead of numbers to indicate the hours and minutes.
Aiden removes it from the display case, thinking he’d never know what time it was. Which would drive him crazy.
Of course, there’s a good chance he’s already crazy, he concedes, thinking of the disturbing dream he had last night. In the dream, he was running down a deserted country road, pursued by an angry mob. Hands reached for his back, ripped at his shirt. He twisted around to confront his tormentors, only to discover that the mob had been replaced by a single man, a boy really, no more than ten or twelve.
The boy had no head.
“How much is it?” the woman asks.
“Sorry. What?”
“I was asking…”
Aiden’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it. There are only two people who call him at work, his mother and Heidi. And he isn’t up to speaking to either of them. He checks the computer as his phone goes mercifully silent. “It’s three thousand, four hundred dollars, plus tax.”
“Oh my, no. I said nothing too expensive.”
“Perhaps you could give me some idea of the price you’re considering,” Aiden says, trying to be helpful. “A thousand dollars? Five hundred?”
“Five hundred, tops.”
Aiden leads her toward the appropriate row of watches.
“I don’t like any of these,” the woman says, the lines around her mouth growing more pronounced as her lips purse with dismay, reminding Aiden of the look his mother gets whenever she looks at Heidi.
“What about this one?” He bends down to retrieve his favorite watch, the one with a round white face and a brown leather band. “It’s nice and sporty, and the big black numbers make it easy to tell time….”
But the woman is no longer there.
Clearly he has lost his touch where women are concerned.
Not that he ever really had one. His good looks and athletic physique have always been all that were necessary to attract the opposite sex. Good thing, because he’s not particularly charming. Nor is he a good conversationalist. He isn’t even all that bright. But girls, and later women, have always misread such deficiencies as shyness, assuming hidden depths where none exist.
Of course, he always disappoints them in the end.
He’s been disappointing women all his life.
His phone vibrates again. He pretends to be checking something in a lower drawer as he takes it out of his pocket, answering it without bothering to check the caller ID. “Hi,” he says, holding it tight against his ear as a knot forms in the pit of his stomach.
“You have to do something,” Heidi says instead of hello. “I hate that stupid chair.”
He sighs. “I know you do.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Okay, great. Tell her that.” She doesn’t have to state who she’s referring to.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“How about that while we really appreciate her generosity, we just don’t need another chair. Tell her that it’s too big for the room. Tell her that it’s hideous even without the god-awful fabric she picked out,” she continues, warming to the subject.
He laughs. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad.”
“It’s just a chair. We can get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t want it in our house.”
“Well, technically, it’s her house.”
A moment’s silence. “Look. Why don’t we just tell her to sell the damn place? We can find an apartment….”
“We can’t afford an apartment.”
“There must be something.”
“What? Where are we going to go?” he asks, hearing the frustration in his voice. He looks around, grateful the store is relatively empty. Heidi doesn’t have a shift today, so she’s at home. He wonders if she’s alone, then shakes away the disquieting thought. “Look. I know it’s hard….”
“It’s not hard,” she counters. “It’s impossible. And I’ve tried. I’ve tried and tried and tried. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Nothing I do is right. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“I know it feels that way….”
“It is that way. Your mother hates me, Aiden. She hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.” He hears her sniffing back tears. “Ah, babe. Please don’t cry.”
“I just feel so alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have me.”
“Do I? I’m your wife, Aiden. You’re supposed to stand up for me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Why do there have to be sides?”
“Because that’s the way your mother operates.”
“You don’t understand,” Aiden says, rising to his mother’s defense, as he always does. “She means well.”
“She means well? She means well?” Heidi repeats, her voice rising. “Is that why she told you that she walked in on me and Julia’s grandson, why she made it sound like she might have interrupted something?”
“You weren’t smoking weed?”
“Yes, we’d smoked some weed. I told you that.”
“Not till after she did.”
“Yes, and I’ve apologized a million times,” Heidi says.
“You understand how it must have looked to her,” Aiden says. “She walks in, finds you with some strange guy…”
“Julia’s grandson.”
“I don’t care who he is. I don’t want him in my house anymore.”
“You mean her house, don’t you?” Heidi says, throwing his earlier words back at him. “You know your mother won’t be happy until she breaks us up.”
“That’s crazy. She’s just looking out for me. I’m her only child….”
“You’re not a child! You’re thirty years old.”
“It’s not about age,” he argues. “Don’t you understand? I’m all she has. She had to be both a mother and father to me after my father left.”
“She didn’t have to be anything of the kind,” Heidi shoots back, tired of trying to be understanding. “That was her choice. She drove the poor man away, then denied him access and turned you against him—”
“Okay, let’s not go there,” Aiden interrupts, his head pounding, the knot in his stomach expanding, threatening to explode. “You don’t know what it was like. You don’t know what she went through when he left.”
“I know your mother! I know her need to control everything and everybody.”
“It’s just hard for her to let go, that’s all.”
“Are you sure it’s your mother who’s having trouble letting go?”
Silence.
Aiden pictures himself back on that deserted country road, feels the mob at his back, the hands ripping at his shirt. His breath escapes his lungs in a series of sharp, painful bursts.
“I just don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Heidi says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m tired of coming in second. It means that, at some point, you’re going to have to choose. Your mother or me, Aiden. Who is it going to be?”
Aiden runs an exasperated hand through his hair, glancing from side to side, catching a glimpse of his supervisor watching him from beside another counter. “Look. I have to go. Can you hang in there a little longer? I promise, I’ll make this right.”
She says nothing.
“Heidi?”
“Sure,” she says.
“Sure what?”
“I’ll hang in there a little longer.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Dani is studying her reflection in the small round mirror of her compact, checking on the status of the bruise under her left eye, when her intercom buzzes. “Mrs. McKay is here to see you,” the receptionist announces.
“Have her take a seat. I’ll be with her in a few minutes.” Dani dabs an extra drop of concealer on the bruise, hoping to diminish its mottled mustard-and-purple hue, then pats some powder over it.
She can still see it.
Not that it matters. None of her patients has noticed it so far, closing their eyes almost the second she reclines their chair, too wrapped up in their own issues to worry about hers. It’s doubtful that Maggie McKay will be any different.
She should never have agreed to fit her in. But then, what choice had she had? The woman had called her at home first thing this morning, frantic because a filling had fallen out when she was brushing her teeth and she was afraid she might have cracked the tooth. She was starting a new job tomorrow, and she didn’t have a dentist, was there any way Dani could see her sometime between when she dropped her son off at camp and picked him up again? She knew it was an imposition but she was desperate and yada, yada, yada.
So how could she say no? Especially if she ever needed Erin to babysit again. She presses the button on her intercom. “Take Mrs. McKay to room 3,” she directs the receptionist, taking a final glimpse at her eye before returning her compact to her purse. She closes the door of her small office and heads down the winding hall of the clinic she shares with two other dentists toward examining room 3.
She stops when she sees the beautiful blonde sitting in the chair. Is it possible she has the wrong room? she wonders, checking the number on the door. “Maggie?”
“Thanks so much for seeing me,” Maggie tells her. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Happy to help out,” Dani lies, approaching the chair where Maggie is reclining, her large purse filling her lap. “You look so different.”
“You like it?”
“It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”
“Amazing what a little hair coloring can do,” Maggie says.
“Well, it’s very lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“You said somethin’ about losin’…losing…a filling,” Dani says, careful to enunciate the final g. She sits on the stool beside Maggie’s head and starts adjusting her chair. “Why don’t we just put your bag over here, so it’s not in our way?”
“No, that’s okay,” Maggie tells her. “I can hold on to it.”
“I’m gonna need a little space. It’ll just be on the counter. Right over here. It’ll be perfectly safe. I promise,” Dani says, lifting the bag from Maggie’s lap. “My God, what have you got in this thing? It’s as heavy as a possum.”
Maggie laughs, although the laugh is more nervous than amused.
Dani continues lowering Maggie’s chair until she’s satisfied with the angle. “Why don’t you open your mouth and let’s have a look.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to the dentist.”
“So I see,” Dani says, manipulating a small mirror inside Maggie’s mouth. “Your teeth could use a good cleanin’, that’s for sure. Get the receptionist to make an appointment with the hygienist before you leave.”
“It’s the back tooth….”
“Yes, I see the problem. I’m afraid you’re gonna need a crown.”
“What? Can’t you just refill it?”
“No, I cannot. There’s barely enough tooth left to fill. Whole thing would just collapse.”
“But how many visits is that going to take? I mean, you have to take a mold and put in a temporary crown and—”
“Oh, my good Lord. It has been a while since you’ve been to the dentist. No, we haven’t done that in years. It’s all done by computer now.”
“By computer?”
“Computer takes a complete picture of your mouth, measures everythin’, the space between the teeth, all that stuff, then goes ahead and makes the crown, all by its lonesome. I just fit it in and make a few adjustments, if needed. No big deal. You’ll be out of here in a couple of hours.”
“You do this sort of thing often?”
“All day, every day,” Dani says.
“Wow,” Maggie says. “You’re so professional.”
“Well, it’s what I do.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“What exactly were you expectin’?” Dani asks.
“I don’t know. You just seem so different than when I’ve talked to you before.”
Dani shrugs, not sure how to respond. “Shall we get started?”
* * *
—
“So, how does it feel?” Dani asks Maggie when she’s done.
“Feels good,” Maggie tells her. “I can’t believe it was so easy.”
“The miracle of modern science. You’re good to go.”
“What happened to your eye?” Maggie asks.
“What?” Dani feels her breath catch in her lungs. Her hand flutters nervously to her face.
“That’s quite a bruise you’ve got.”
Dani forces a laugh from her throat. “Would you believe me if I told you I walked into a wall?”
“Is that what happened?”
Dani bites down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to tell Maggie the truth, that the bruise is the result of her face colliding not with a wall, but with her husband’s fist. “More or less.” Does Maggie believe her? It’s hard to tell. “I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom,” she continues, “and it was dark and my eyes were pretty much closed, and I misjudged where the door was and walked plumb into it. Poor Nick,” she adds for good measure. “I screamed so loud, the man almost had a heart attack.”
“And the one on your wrist?” Maggie says, voice quiet, eyes probing.
Dani’s head snaps toward her right hand, sees the large purple bruise peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her white lab coat. “My goodness. Didn’t even know that one was there.” She takes a step back. “You can settle up with the receptionist on your way out, and be sure to make an appointment with the hygienist. You gotta take care of your teeth if you want to keep ’em.”
“I will,” Maggie says, standing up and walking toward the door. “And thanks again.”
“Anytime,” Dani says, grabbing Maggie’s purse from the counter. “Don’t forget your purse.”
“Oh my God, no,” Maggie says, taking the bag from Dani’s hands and clutching it to her chest. “Listen,” she says, stopping in the doorway. “I’m around…I mean, I live right next door…if you ever need to talk…about anything.”
“Sure thing,” Dani says, keeping her voice deliberately light. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a patient waitin’ for me in the next room.” She walks away before Maggie can say another word.
* * *
—
Dani runs into her office and locks the door, collapsing in the chair behind her desk and laying her head in her hands. What is the matter with her? She’s such a strong, confident woman at work. Even Maggie, a woman she’s talked to only a handful of times in the past, commented on how different she is. So, what happens to her when she leaves the clinic and goes home?
Nick happens, she acknowledges, stifling a cry.
She wonders if she was able to fool Maggie, then wonders how long she’ll be able to keep fooling herself. How many times can she tell herself that, despite his bad temper, her husband is a good man?
The first time Nick hit her was right after she announced she was pregnant with Tyler. He’d apologized profusely and
begged forgiveness. He was under such enormous pressure, he said, crying copious tears, assuring her it would never happen again. She believed him. Nick loved her; she loved him. He’d never raised his hand to her before. He never would again.
Except, of course, he did.
At first, she’d tried defending herself, but that only seemed to enrage him more. His open palm became a closed fist, his blows carefully aimed where the bruises wouldn’t show. Eventually, he stopped crying, apologizing, promising, and transferred the tears, the apologies, and the promises to do better onto her. He stopped caring where his blows landed. She started rationalizing, deferring, walking on eggshells, afraid to say anything in case what she said might set him off.
Worse, she started accepting the blame. It was her fault that he felt compelled to lash out.
The periods of rage would be followed by weeks, even months, when Nick was the way the rest of the world viewed him: loving, compassionate, kind. During those times, Dani fooled herself into believing that the worst was behind them, that her husband was a changed man, that the beatings would stop. He loved her after all; she loved him. Their love had created two beautiful young boys.
And then the cycle would begin again.
First came the criticism: She could do nothing right. She was either a neglectful mother for going back to work within months of giving birth, or she was smothering her sons with her constant coddling, turning them into sissies; she was either too subservient or too willful; a penny pincher or a spendthrift; too ambitious or too lazy; too smart for her own good or too stupid to live; too friendly or too standoffish. Whatever she was, she was either too much of it or not enough.
Next came the excuses: He was exhausted. Emotionally drained. All he needed when he got home was a little peace and quiet. Was that really too much to ask?
Then came the blame: She was never satisfied. She could never leave things alone. She always had to be right. She was constantly at him about something, contradicting him in front of their sons, questioning his decisions, undermining his authority, pushing his buttons.