by Kaira Rouda
I take a step toward the stairs.
11:30 p.m.
22
It’s frustrating being forced out of the comfort of your cozy, designer-decorated family room by an irrational woman and her sidekick, the garden troll, but the circumstances leave me no choice.
As far as the mineral rights, Mia is correct. I want the rights in my name, and I’ve been working good old Uncle Derrick to help him see the light. We almost have a deal, Derrick and me, but Mia need not know that. Derrick is so easily manipulated. He believes everything I whisper in his ear about how close I am to his brother, Mia’s dad, and how I’m working for their brotherly reconciliation.
And, just as easily, when I tell him of his brother’s pretend betrayal, he’ll believe me and want to make sure no other Pilmer inherits the land. It’s a clean slate with a Strom, this Strom, in charge. I’ve almost tied up this loose end.
M. Pilmer. My wife signed her name that way at the Italian restaurant. I stop at the foot of the stairs. I suddenly see everything very clearly; my busy mind focuses on one thing. Mia.
I turn and look at my wife. She meets my gaze. From across the room, she says, “Paul, I’m leaving you.”
I shake my head. “No, Mia, you’re not. The mineral rights aren’t worth more than five hundred dollars a year at this point. It’s nothing. I was just simplifying things, getting a handle on them, and then I was going to share the good news,” I say. My heart is pounding. People don’t “leave” me. I “leave” people when I’m finished with them. She has gone insane. She’s jealous of the fabulous life I lead without her, and I’m to blame for that.
“It’s not about the mineral rights or Uncle Derrick,” Mia says.
I watch as Buck stands. He has positioned himself between my wife and me. I must lean to the right to make eye contact with her, to direct her and coach her as I typically do.
“Can you get out of our house now?” I ask, moving rapidly toward Mia. I cross the family room and find myself face-to-face with Buck who, instead of moving out of the way, has become a human roadblock between my wife and me. We are the same height, but I have more weight on me, and more anger. I have the fire.
Something has come between us, dear, I think, and it’s the fucking neighbor.
I take a step to the left. Mia is now directly in front of me.
“What is wrong with you, Mia? Do you need help again? Do you remember when we had to take you to that psychiatrist? Postpartum depression or whatever? You’re fragile and you need rest,” I say. I’m speaking with my kindergarten teacher voice. “I shouldn’t have given you so much freedom and space. You’re sick again. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” I’ve taken a step back, and I can see my wife clearly, even with the stupid neighbor between us. He isn’t budging. He hasn’t moved at all. I decide to speak to him, reason with him, man-to-man.
“Buck, my wife is bipolar. Well, the diagnosis is unspecified, um, but clearly with the delusions and the like, well, it is manifesting again. I’m sorry to be angry with you,” I say. I drop my gaze to his feet. I’m apologetic, contrite. “My apologies. And if you’ll excuse us, I’ll get her to bed.”
“How did I marry this?” Mia whispers to Buck. I hear her loud and clear. Her words are directed at me. Her words are about me.
I watch as Buck pulls her into his side, wraps his arm around her waist. Both of them now locked together, facing me. I am disgusted. I take a step toward my wife and Buck steps them back, as a unit, as if they’re going to backstep out of my cottage. They will not.
I look at Mia, at her shaking, whispering, sneaky, sweatshirt-and sweatpants-wearing self, and I am disgusted. How did I ever love that? Unthinkable.
“Look, Mia. You’re upset, and you have clearly gotten your bulldog Buck on your side here. Not sure what you did to earn that, but fine. I’m not going to imagine you two fucking. Instead I’ll choose to be glad you made a new friend. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going upstairs to sleep. In the morning, we will talk. No one is leaving anyone, you understand? What we have together is special. Think of our boys for once, why don’t you. We’ve had too much wine, too much stress for one day, that’s all,” I say. And then, I hold my hands up, as if I’m in a bank robbery, and take several steps backward. I hope I don’t run into anything.
“Come on, Mia, you’re strong, you’ve got this,” Buck says to my wife, who wipes a tear from under her eye. A black river rolls down her left cheek. She isn’t wearing waterproof mascara. Obviously, if she’d really known what she was going to be doing tonight she would have worn waterproof mascara. Poor Mia. She’s under Buck’s spell.
As if reading my mind, Buck says, “You’re in control now, Mia.”
Silly man. He doesn’t realize I hold the power for both of us. Her power doesn’t exist. I started taking it the moment we met.
Mia chokes out a sob, as if to confirm my thoughts.
She looks horrible. She has streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, and her nose is bubbly with snot. She opens her mouth, as if to talk, but nothing comes out. She turns and buries her gooey face in Buck’s LAKESIDE sweatshirt.
Why don’t they just fuck in front of me? I wonder. Whatever. I don’t really care at this point. I want to go upstairs, to my bedroom. I want to reconfigure some things. I have climbed three steps up from the family room when the blob speaks. I stop and turn my head to look at my pathetic wife.
“Paul. I’m worth more than this, more than the way you treat me. I have been a faithful, loving wife and mother. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, and more. I’ve given up my career, my friends, most contact with my family, all for you. I loved you once, Paul. Deeply and with my whole heart. But you don’t deserve that love anymore. I am leaving you, effective tonight. I have papers for a separation, there, on the coffee table. And I want you out of this house,” Mia says. She delivers these very strong words in a very tiny voice. She has pointed her finger at me, but the effort of that seems to have wiped her out. She’s again leaning against the anchorman. The garden gnome who put her up to this, I now realize. Of course, she would never have attempted anything like this without someone pushing her into it. That’s why I’ve kept her parents far away from us. Unfortunately, I underestimated Buck. In fact, I didn’t give him any thought at all. My mistake.
“Oh, Mia. I’m afraid your plan just doesn’t work for me. This is my cottage. You are my wife. Get control of yourself,” I say. I shake my head at the silly woman and turn and resume my climb up the stairs.
12:00 a.m.
23
I’m still shaking my head as I reach the top of the stairs of my lake cottage.
Of course Mia’s net worth is more than mine. Her daddy is worth more than you and me and the state of Tennessee combined. So what? Wealth can be measured by so many things: intelligence, social IQ, sales ability and, well, so much else. Intelligence is picking the right suit, the perfect car and the young wife, all designed to make you look your best. Virile. Enviable.
The goal is to find your soul mate, and then convince her that she has found hers, too. That Mia had money was a bonus, that’s all.
Oh, who am I kidding? We know each other so well by now. That Mia came from money was everything to me. I’m good at finding money, attracting money, as you can tell. I’m not as astute at holding money, building wealth. But now that I have Mia, I don’t need to worry about money ever again. That’s why I can screw around with beauty, even though Gretchen is poor. Mia is my golden ticket. So really, this minor weakness has been overcome. Of all the world’s weaknesses, it’s the one I’d choose. It’s not even a weakness, actually. I’m simply overly generous. And now I can afford to be, thanks to my little Pilmer piggy bank.
I stop at the top of the stairs. To listen. The walls of my cottage are quite thin, as I noted.
&nb
sp; What did Mia mean by her comments about me not treating her well? I have cherished her, provided for her, given her sons she adores. What is she trying to tell me? I hear Mia sob. Am I the weak one, running away? Perhaps I am, but Buck is to blame.
Why are they together, at what my Apple Watch confirms is midnight? How did I allow my family to get so out of control, out of my control, that my wife is with another man in my family room and my boys are not to be disturbed? How did that happen? And, in fact, now that it has, shouldn’t I, the responsible parent, be the one who returns home to claim the children?
If she abandons me, she abandons them. No one likes a mother who neglects her children, most especially not me.
“Mia, I’m so sorry. Let’s leave the papers. You can stay at my house,” Buck says, his voice quite clear from where I’m standing at the landing.
Nicely played, Buck. Although any man that would want my wife in her gray fatness and sobbing sadness is a weak, pathetic excuse for a male.
Mia says, “I have so much I want to say to him. What kind of man tells his fiancée he is having an affair with a client days before the wedding, but says he still loves her, that it was just a fling? He actually convinced me at the time that she forced herself on him. Who does that? And why did I still marry him? I never should have believed anything he told me.” I can’t see them but I imagine her pounding her fists into his chest, like the actors do on Days of Our Lives.
“How you treat your spouse is who you are. He is a bad man. You deserve to be cared for, supported and loved. Not controlled, deceived and stifled. You know this,” Buck says.
Well, actually, she doesn’t, Buck. There is a reason I selected her. And Lois. And Gretchen. I know their kind. It was as if I was bred with an extrasensory perception of people I can control. Specifically, women I can control. I can smell them, feel them. I know it the minute we bump into each other, the ones I can get. Just as I may be a type, so are they, only they don’t know it. By the way, I don’t tell anyone these things, so please don’t say anything or share my secrets.
Buck’s also wrong about another thing. It’s not how you treat your spouse that shows people who you are. It’s how you treat yourself, how much you care about yourself. Mia became selfless with me. It’s her fault, not mine.
“Paul. Please. I know you are listening from the top of the stairs. We’re over. I need to give you these papers, you need to sign them, and then I need you to leave. Otherwise, I’ll call the police,” Mia says.
For obvious reasons, I don’t want the cops here. Although I’ve never made their acquaintance, and small-town, hick-filled police departments don’t concern me, I’d just rather not have that type of encounter tonight. You know, you start to get on the radar of a police department, even if it’s tiny Lakeside PD, and it could become an issue. Mia’s voice is firm, threatening. Tonight, at this moment, I don’t think she is bluffing.
I have no choice. I start walking back down the stairs. This situation is uncomfortable. Made doubly so by the pretty boy in the corner. Pretty boys have haunted me, always. I was just as handsome, mind you, just not equipped with the right stuff. They seemed to know I didn’t have the right pants to wear for sixth grade dance club, or the money for the best equipment for football in seventh grade. My mom was different than the other mom volunteers, less put together, always nervous, inferior. My family was a step down from the rest of the families in my friend group. I was the poor boy. Even though my parents bragged about making the move to Grandville, buying their first home in what they thought was the best suburb in town when it wasn’t back then, I was acutely aware that we lived in the cheapest house in the neighborhood. I knew we were barely hanging on. With every beating I repeated to myself: I will never be the poor boy again. Never.
I feel my hands clench by my sides. I work to open them by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs. I stretch a smile across my perfect white veneers.
12:15 a.m.
24
Buck looks at me from a position of strength, preening like he’s a rooster winning the cockfight. He’s a fool. Doesn’t he know all the animals die in those games? He has resumed his position standing between me and my wife. I can’t believe both of them, wearing their stupid matching Lakeside tourist sweatshirts. Did they plan that, too?
“Paul, sit down,” he says. He points to the spot on the couch. I defy him, a little victory, and sit down in the closest blue club chair. I’m tired. And bored with them. I yawn.
“Are we boring you, Paul?” he asks.
“Cocky asshole, yes, you are,” I say.
Mia steps forward, closer to me. She’s back. I think I’ve won her back. I smile my most winning smile and feel her being drawn toward me. I’m a magnet. I can almost reach out and touch her arm as she points to the documents on the table. Her red, blotchy, tear-streaked face is hideous in the candlelight. But I still love her, poor thing.
“Paul. Here is the separation agreement. I need you to sign it, and then leave and go to the hotel room I reserved for you at the Lakeside Inn. All of your belongings have been taken there already,” Mia says. Her voice is quiet, shaky. I think maybe Buck has talked her into this whole ridiculous exercise. When I get her alone again, I’ll smooth everything over. She stands and backs away, stopping next to Buck. From there she adds, “Except I kept a couple of things you won’t be needing.”
How dare she rummage through my things? When did she even have the time? When I was at the store purchasing items for her, from her grocery list just to make her happy? Bitch. But still, there is nothing of note hidden in my belongings, I’m sure. A little folder about the Texas land, that’s all. I wonder again what else she knows, what is making her take this step.
“Mia, you surprise me. You’ve turned sneaky. Conniving. A planner. Everything you hate in the world. Bravo,” I say, raising an invisible glass in a mock salute. “I’ve taught you well.”
Mia shakes her head. I’m unsure what to do next. Has she gone through my briefcase? What does she have? For a moment my heart thuds in my chest as I remember the special envelope. I think back to the sink fire, relieved.
Mia walks back toward the table, coming closer to me, holding a pen. “You will keep the home in Columbus as your primary residence since it was yours when we married. The cottage will be mine. You’ll see I’ve been more than fair, about everything.”
I wonder how many of her daddy’s expensive New York City attorneys billed time against this document. It doesn’t matter, really. I know it will be airtight, unbreakable. I am signing the end to this gravy train.
If I sign.
I pretend Buck is not in the room, and address only Mia. “Look, honey, it’s late. We’re all tired, a little worked up. Why don’t I go on over to the inn and we can look these things over in the morning? How’s that?” I ask.
Mia looks at Buck, Buck stares at me.
He says, “No. That doesn’t work. We need this signed tonight. I don’t trust you to come back over. I don’t believe anything you say.”
“Who are you anyway, and why are you here?” I ask for the umpteenth time tonight, standing once more. Mia jumps back and hides behind Buck. The fire in my soul is starting to burn. “I want you out of my house now. This is between my wife and me.”
“Paul, calm down,” Mia says. She has stepped toward me again. Buck stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns and looks up at him. She’s a traitor.
“May I?” he asks her.
Mia looks at him like a lost puppy dog and nods a silent yes. Clearly my mutt needs a little retraining.
It’s Buck’s turn to take a step toward me, putting himself between Mia and me, his favorite position tonight. “Sit back down and I’ll tell you everything. And then you will sign, and you will leave. You can even go back to Columbus tonight, if that’s your preference.”
> It’s an interesting idea. Maybe I will do that. Head back home, enjoy the drive without Mia’s nonsense in the passenger seat. She can be stranded up here with Buck and her strawberry babies. I’ll be home by three, climb into bed and wake up with the boys in the morning. After Claudia leaves, I’ll begin explaining to them why they won’t ever see their mommy again. They’ll have a new, young brunette mommy named Gretchen. Or, if for some reason I can’t finagle anything out of Mia, perhaps I’ll find another woman with money. It’ll all work out. I know women. This is my favorite subject.
I think about that option. A new, wealthy lover. It’s enticing. Especially if I agree to leave, Mia will take most of the assets. I’m sure that’s in the document. She doesn’t know about the second mortgage on the Columbus house—I needed some emergency funds a while back. Without Donald’s Christmas gifts, or Mia’s seemingly endless gravy train from her parents, cash will be tight for the boys and me. Except, I remember, they have a trust fund. I smile and sit down in my favorite chair as Buck takes a seat in the other blue chair. Gretchen could work, as long as I have the boys’ trust fund. I have choices, many choices much better than this one.
Mia seems to be hiding in the corner, a trapped gray creature. She looks like a rat, a sneaky rat with shiny, beady rodent eyes. The room is hot, I feel sweat trickle down my back and I’m the only one not wearing a ridiculous LAKESIDE sweatshirt. Why isn’t Buck sweating, too? He seems calm, almost too calm. He leans toward me, resting his elbows on his thighs, his chiseled chin on top of his clasped hands. I fight the urge to deck him then and there.
Curiosity stops me from punching him just yet. I need to hear what good old Buck has to say.
12:20 a.m.
25
Buck says: “I know you have Googled me, trying to figure me out, isn’t that right, Paul? No need to answer. Mia told me you did it together. What did you find?”