Cul-de-sac

by Joy Fielding

  “Not till ten. Why don’t you come inside and let me make you a cup of coffee? We can talk….”

  “No. I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I don’t have time.” She checks her watch. “I have an office full of patients waitin’….” She walks cautiously toward her garage, Maggie still hovering.

  “I’m not sure you should be driving.”

  “I’m fine. Really. All I needed was a little fresh air. I’m perfectly fine now. I promise. Don’t you worry your pretty little blond head about me.” She pushes through the lingering miasma and climbs into the front seat of her car. “And thank you,” she calls as she backs the Mercedes into the driveway and onto the street, using her remote to close the garage door. “You may have just saved my life.”

  * * *

  —

  She doesn’t go to work.

  Instead she calls her office and tells the receptionist she isn’t feeling well and to reschedule her appointments.

  What in God’s name had she been thinking?

  Had she really been giving serious thought to ending her life? To leaving her boys?

  She pictures Maggie standing in her driveway, staring after her car as she pulled onto the street, and doubts her neighbor was fooled.

  She’s seen your earlier bruises.

  She suspected then.

  She knows now.

  “What’s really going on here?” she’d asked.

  Why didn’t you tell her?

  Dani turns onto the ramp for I-95 and presses down hard on the accelerator, transferring to the passing lane and quickly edging the speedometer toward eighty miles an hour.

  She has no idea where she’s going until she sees the sign for the Forty-fifth Street exit, and she has to cut across several lanes of traffic in order to get into the proper lane on time. A barrage of angry horns follows her off the exit and into the eastbound lane. Less than ten minutes later, she reaches Dixie Highway. Two minutes after that, she’s pulling into the parking lot of Straight Shooters of West Palm Beach.

  “Okay,” she hears Nick say. “Everybody out.”

  She follows his silent directive, marching purposefully toward the gun shop’s front door. The No loaded firearms please sign still manages to elicit a wry smile as she pushes open the door. “Well, howdy, partner,” she whispers to the giant stuffed grizzly bear that serves as a greeter, then gives a subtle wave to the other dead animals watching through glass eyes as she approaches the counter in the middle of the large room.

  Barely nine o’clock in the morning and three of the ten stalls are already occupied, two of the shooters women. “Hi, there,” she says to the middle-aged man in the orange vest behind the counter. His brush cut is a tad longer than the last time she saw him, the tiny diamond stud still embedded in his left ear. “Good mornin’, Wes.”

  Wes’s brown eyes narrow as his head tilts to one side. “The doc’s wife, right?”

  “Dani. Right.”

  “Well, how you doin’?”

  Dani is so grateful for his relaxed pronunciation that she has to fight the urge to reach across the counter to hug him. “Doin’ great, thank you. You?”

  “Never better.” He looks toward the door. “The doc with you?”

  Dani’s heartbeat quickens as her head shoots toward the door. Is Nick here? Has he followed her? “No,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief when the door remains closed. “He’s workin’. It’s just me.”

  “Taking advantage of ladies’ day, are you?”

  “I guess I am,” Dani replies. She’d forgotten that ladies shoot for free on Mondays.

  “So, what’ll it be? Same as last time? A .22?”

  “If that’s what you recommend.”

  Wes lays the gun on the counter beside a box of ammunition. “Yeah, I’d suggest getting used to this one before moving on to something a little more powerful.”

  Dani takes a deep breath and lifts the gun into her hand, a groan of anticipation sliding from her lips.

  “Don’t you be nervous now,” Wes says, mistaking her excitement for jitters. “Just remember to hold the gun steady with both hands, like so,” he says, demonstrating, “and line your sights up to the target. Then just…”

  “Let ’em rip.”

  “Atta girl.” He lays the headphones and the protective glasses on the counter. “Same kind of target as last time?”

  “Yes. The male outline.”

  “Here you go,” he says, handing it over. “Why don’t you take stall number five, and remember to wash your hands real good when you’re done. If I remember correctly, I don’t have to worry about you chewing gum. Dentist, right?”

  “Good memory.”

  “Well, the doc’s one of my favorite people. I bet he’s pleased you’re taking this up.”

  Dani smiles, about to turn away when she stops, turns back.

  “We forget something?” Wes asks.

  “No, I think I have everythin’.” She hesitates. “I was just wonderin’ if you would mind not sayin’ anythin’ to Nick about my bein’ here.”

  Wes’s smile stretches across his face. “Hoping to surprise him, are you?”

  Dani’s finger curls around the gun’s trigger. “Yes, sir,” she says. “That’s what I’m hopin’.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Maggie watches Dani’s car until it is out of sight. There are things she knows, and even more things she doesn’t, but one thing she knows for sure is that Dani Wilson didn’t get that bump on her temple from accidentally banging her head against her car’s steering wheel.

  Which leaves only one other possibility, an alternative almost as hard to swallow as the lie Dani told: that Dani’s husband is responsible for the bump on her head, as well as the bruises she saw earlier on her face and arm; that the first-class oncologist, Dr. Nick Wilson, is also a first-class wife beater.

  “Shit,” Maggie says. “What do I do now?”

  You don’t do anything, she hears Craig say. You stay out of it. This is not your problem.

  I can’t just sit by….

  You can and you will. Have the past two years taught you nothing?

  “Everything okay?” a voice asks, interrupting the argument in her head.

  Maggie looks up to see Mark Fisher ambling toward her. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Just wondering if everything is okay,” he repeats. “You’ve been standing in the middle of the road for a while now, and your face has been going, like, a mile a minute.”

  “What? My face…? What?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quickly. “I should mind my own business. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” The words sound as false to Maggie’s ears as Dani’s earlier disclaimers. “How’s your grandmother doing?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “Much better, thanks.” He laughs. “She just overdid it a bit with the gardening.”

  Maggie nods, recognizing yet another lie in a morning full of them. You don’t spend a few days in the hospital because you planted too many impatiens.

  “I’m just heading over to Publix to pick up some things for Saturday night’s party. Can I get you anything?”

  Maggie is about to ask what party, then remembers Olivia Grant mentioning something about getting the neighbors together this weekend to celebrate the Fourth of July. “And my husband’s new job,” she’d whispered. “Although we won’t tell him that.”

  More secrets, Maggie thinks. More lies.

  Although she was obviously wrong about Sean, she concedes silently, picturing him leaving for work this morning, clean-shaven and looking quite dapper in his stylish linen jacket.

  “You need anything?” Mark asks again.

  “What? No. No, nothing. But thank you. It’s very sweet of you
to ask.”

  “Anytime.” He offers a slight wave as he walks toward his grandmother’s garage. “Say hi to Erin for me.”

  “Will do,” Maggie says, although she has no intention of doing so.

  Her front door opens as she’s reaching inside her purse for her key.

  “What were you talking to Mark about?” her daughter asks, waving to Mark as he backs his grandmother’s car out of the garage and onto the street. She stands back to let Maggie come inside.

  “Coming?” Maggie asks.

  “What were you talking to Mark about?” Erin repeats.

  “I asked him how his grandmother was doing.”

  “And?”

  “He said she’s doing much better.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He asked if we needed anything from Publix.”

  “And?”

  “I said we didn’t.”

  “And?”

  “And?” Maggie repeats.

  “Did he say anything about me?”

  Maggie sighs. One more battle she has no chance of winning. Might as well give up now. “He said to say hello.”

  “Thank you.” Erin smiles. “Was that really so difficult?”

  Maggie walks past her daughter into the kitchen. “He’s too old for you.”

  “Says the woman dating a toddler.”

  Maggie pours herself a mug of cold leftover coffee, then pops it in the microwave. “It was one dinner over a week ago. We’re most definitely not dating.” While she’d certainly enjoyed her evening with the handsome accountant, the truth was that she still loved her husband, that she wasn’t ready to move on.

  “Tell your husband I think he’s an idiot,” Richard Atwood had said after walking her to her car.

  “Will do,” Maggie agreed, although she hasn’t. “So,” she says to Erin. “What are your plans for the day?” She removes the coffee from the microwave and takes a sip, feeling it burn the tip of her tongue.

  Erin shrugs and rolls her eyes. “If you’re asking if I’m going job hunting, the answer is no. School starts again in, what, six weeks? Who’s going to hire me for six weeks? Besides, if you really wanted me to get a summer job, you should have gotten me a car. How am I supposed to get anywhere without a car?”

  “There is such a thing as public transportation.”

  Another shrug, a bigger eye roll. “I’m going back to bed,” Erin says. “Have fun at work.”

  * * *

  —

  “Wow,” she says, staring at the sixteen-hundred-foot wooden boardwalk that crosses the clear blue waters of Lake Worth Cove, located in the glorious John D. MacArthur Beach State Park. “This is fantastic. But where’s the ocean? I can hear it, but I can’t see it.”

  “It’s on the other side of the dunes.” He points to the other side of the long wooden bridge.

  “I didn’t even know this place existed. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Wait. You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Mark says.

  Erin smiles. She takes a quick glance around, half-expecting to see her mother pop out from behind one of the tropical trees that blanket the giant nature preserve. She’d be so pissed if she knew where Erin was. And with who, Erin thinks, her smile widening.

  “With whom,” she hears her mother correct.

  Erin’s smile twists into a frown.

  “Something wrong?” Mark asks.

  “No. Why?”

  “You made a face.” He laughs. “It’s the same kind of face your mother makes.”

  “What?”

  “I saw her this morning…. She was obviously upset about something….”

  “She’s always upset. Can we please not talk about my mother?”

  “Sure. Sorry.”

  “I’m nothing like her.”

  “Okay.” He shrugs. “You want to walk across the boardwalk or take the tram?”

  “Let’s walk.” As they fall into step beside each other, Erin insists, “I’m really nothing like her.”

  “You’re pretty like she is,” Mark says.

  “Oh. Okay.” She feels his bare arm brush against hers, feels her whole body tingle. “What’s it like, living with your grandmother?”

  “Great,” he says easily. “She’s sweet and she’s funny, and way more interesting than you might think.”

  “She doesn’t get on your case about everything?”

  “Nah. She pretty much lets me do my own thing. No judgment.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “It is.” A sudden breeze blows some hair into his face, and he pushes the hair away. “Although her being so accepting about everything makes it kind of hard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “I’m afraid I’ll screw it up.” Another shrug, another push of his hair away from his face. “Look over there.” He points over the right side of the wooden railing that encloses the boardwalk on both sides.

  “Oh my God!” Erin squeals with delight, watching a bunch of slender silver-colored fish as they leap in and out of the still blue water. “It’s like they’re jumping for joy,” she says, and Mark laughs.

  Her mother certainly wouldn’t be jumping for joy if she could see her now, Erin acknowledges. Still, this impromptu little trip to the beach hadn’t been her idea. She’d merely happened to step outside at the same moment Mark returned from the grocery store and decided it was only polite to inquire after his grandmother. Which was when Mark mentioned that his father had phoned to say he’d be stopping by this afternoon to talk to Julia, and he didn’t want to be around when his father got there, so he was going to the beach, and why didn’t she grab a bathing suit and a towel and join him?

  Why not, indeed?

  “This place is North Palm Beach’s best kept secret,” Mark tells her. “You can go kayaking, canoeing, snorkeling, bird watching, swim in the ocean, whatever your little heart desires.”

  I already know what my little heart desires, Erin thinks.

  “And they have a nature center and walking trails and a gift shop,” he continues as they reach the shade of a cluster of giant gumbo-limbo trees at the end of the boardwalk. “Not to mention…the main attraction. Are you ready to be blown away?” He takes her hand and leads her up the winding flight of wooden steps.

  Erin feels her heartbeat quicken as their fingers intertwine.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructs as they near the top landing.

  She closes her eyes, feeling almost dizzy from the combination of his touch, the ocean air, and the almost deafening noise of the waves crashing against her ears.

  “Okay. Now open them.”

  Erin’s eyes open to a stunning two-mile panorama of blue ocean and pristine white sand. “Oh my God. It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  “Told you.”

  Mark lets go of her hand to slip off his sandals, then skips down the stairs. “Careful,” he warns as she does the same. “The sand’s hot.”

  Erin feels the sand burn the bottoms of her bare feet as she hurries after him. They quickly lay their towels out on the sand and plop down on top of them. “I’m surprised there aren’t more people.”

  “Told you it was North Palm’s best-kept secret.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head, revealing the pale flesh of his bony torso.

  Erin squints into the sun, watching a group of surfers sitting on their boards in the distance, no doubt waiting for the perfect wave, while several teenage girls attempt to bodysurf the small waves closer to the shore.

  “You want to go in?” Mark pulls off his shorts to reveal the lime-green trunks beneath.

  Erin stands up and pulls her white lace cover-up over her head, her back to Mark, as she makes sure the pieces of her skimpy black bikini are firmly in place. Shoulders back, chest out, stomac
h in, she reminds herself before slowly spinning around.

  “Wow,” he says. “You look amazing.”

  She laughs and runs toward the water, Mark right behind.

  The water is warm, the small waves surprisingly powerful. Erin shrieks as the undertow pulls her down and briefly sucks her under. Mark is right beside her, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her back up. She watches him catch an incoming wave and ride it to the shore. Another wave hits him as he struggles to get back on his feet, and Erin laughs with delight.

  “Happy?” he asks, once again at her side. He grabs her hand and they ride the next wave together.

  “Stupid happy!” she tells him.

  They spend the next hour alternately riding the waves and relaxing in the sun.

  “I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Mark says, his face suddenly looming over hers.

  “I’d like that, too.”

  The kiss is soft and gentle. Don’t stop, Erin urges silently, never wanting the moment to end. “We should probably head back,” she tells him reluctantly, common sense reminding her that it would be wise to get home before her mother returns with Leo. She hasn’t decided whether to tell her mother how she spent her afternoon or not. The reckless part of her would like nothing better than to see the look on her mother’s face; the saner part thinks this is a look she should probably avoid.

  “You want to go for a walk before we leave?” Mark asks, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.

  They walk along the water’s edge, smiling hello at the people they pass, pointing out the various ships and boats on the horizon, laughing at the assortment of body shapes they see laid out on the sand.

  “Hey,” Erin says, suddenly tugging on Mark’s arm to stop him. “Look.” She nods toward a man lying on his back in the sand farther down the way. “Isn’t that our neighbor?”

  Mark brings his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and get a better look. “You mean Mr. Grant?” he says, squinting. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Should we go say hello?”