“I felt a connection to him. We were both dealing with our obsessions that day, Dobson and I.” She makes her eyes wide when she says the last part. “We were both looking for someone. We were both so goddamn alone that we took a risk not to be. Are you disgusted with me?”
I smile and run my pinkie along Estella’s. “No, Duchess. Your ability to see outside the box and mentally align yourself with the scum of the world is why I love you.”
The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I glance at her face to catch her reaction, but there is none. Maybe she’s used to me professing my love by now. Maybe, she didn’t hear me. Maybe-
“I love you too.”
I catch her eyes and hold them, my heart pounding.
“Well, isn’t that beautiful. All the fucking inappropriate love.”
Our heads spin toward the door as Leah strides into the room. She doesn’t look at either of us as she walks past our chairs. She goes right to Estella. At least her priorities are right; I’ll give her that. I hear her intake of breath when she sees Estella.
“Shit,” she says. Both of her palms are pressed against her forehead, her fingers splayed out above them. If the situation weren’t so dire, I would have laughed. She lowers herself to her haunches, says “shit” again, and then stands back up too quickly. She wobbles on her heels then steadies herself on the bed.
She spins toward me. “Has she woken up? Has she asked for me?”
“Yes, and yes,” I say. On the other side of the room, Olivia stands up like she’s going to leave.
I mouth wait and turn back to Leah who has started to cry. I put a hand on my ex-wife’s shoulder. “She’s out of the forest. She’s going to be okay.”
Leah looks at my hand, which is still on her shoulder, and then at my face.
“You mean the woods,” she says.
“What?”
“The woods,” she repeats. “You said forest. Except you’re not in England anymore, you’re in America, and in America, we say WOODS!” Her voice rises and I know what’s coming next. “And if you’d stayed in America, this never would have happened. But, you had to run away because of her!” She points a finger at Olivia. If her finger were an arrow it would have wedged in Olivia’s heart.
“Leah,” Olivia says quietly, “if you point at me again I’m going to break that manicured finger right off your hand. Now, turn around and smile, your daughter is waking up.”
Leah and I both spin toward Estella, whose eyes are fluttering open.
I give a quick thank you glance at Olivia before she slips out the door.
The funeral is three days later. Sam comes to sit with Estella while we are gone. I have a sneaking suspicion that something is going on between him and Leah, but then I remember he told Claribel that Leah was in Thailand with a man. I wonder again bitterly if that man was my shithead brother and then I kill the thought. I am a hypocrite. I slept with Olivia while she was still legally married. To each his own. I toast my bottle of water to the ceiling of my car and press down on the gas. I asked Olivia to come to the funeral a few days ago.
“Your mother hated me,” she said, on the phone. “It would be disrespectful.”
“She didn’t hate you. I promise. Besides, your father would have hated me, and I still would have gone to his funeral.”
Her breath hisses across the line.
“Fine,” she says.
I’ve pushed every thought of my parents from my mind in order to give Estella what she needs, but when I walk through the doors of the funeral home and see their coffins, side-by-side, I lose it. I excuse myself from an old neighbor who is approaching me with condolences, and walk briskly to the parking lot. There is a low hanging willow to the rear of the property. I stand underneath it and breathe. That’s where she finds me.
She doesn’t say anything, just comes to stand next to me, taking my hand and squeezing it.
“This isn’t happening,” I say. “Tell me it’s not.”
“It’s happening,” she says. “Your parents are dead. But, they loved you. They loved your daughter. You have so many good memories.”
I glance down at her. She saw two parents die and no doubt only one of them provided decent memories. I wonder if she had anyone to hold her hand after Oliver and Via died. I squeeze her hand.
“Let’s go in,” she says. “The service is about to start.”
When we walk into the chapel, every eye is trained on us. Leah is sitting next to my brother. When she sees me with Olivia, it is a mixture of jealousy and rage. She quickly averts her eyes and steams privately. For now.
Doesn’t she know Olivia isn’t mine? What does it even matter that an old friend is comforting me? She’ll just drive home to her husband afterward. I take my seat near the front.
My mother’s favorite roses are — were — English Garden. There are several tasteful arrangements around her casket, as well as next to the blown up picture of her face, which is sitting on a large easel. Both caskets are closed, though Olivia told me that she had her dressed in a black Chanel dress that she chose from my mother’s closet. Steve had always jokingly said he wanted to be buried in his old baseball uniform. She blushed when she told me she took that and a suit to the funeral home, and when she got there she left the suit in the car. I reach out and squeeze her hand. She’s so fucking thoughtful, it’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t have even been able to walk in my mother’s closet, never mind choose an outfit I’d think she’d like. When the service is over, I flank one side of the door, and my brother takes the other. We don’t speak to each other, but do plenty of speaking to the people offering their condolences. It makes me sick. All of it. That they died. That Estella won’t know them. That it’s all my fault.
When the room clears out, we move to the gravesite. It’s so sunny, everyone is hidden behind sunglasses. It feels like a Matrix funeral, I think jokingly. My mother hated the Matrix. When my parents’ boxes are lowered into the ground and covered in dirt, Leah starts the fight.
It might have been seeing me with Olivia, walking so closely our arms were touching. Or maybe every once in a while, someone with that much venom can’t hold it in anymore and just erupts out of their person, burning everyone around them. Whatever the fuck it was, it came.
“Caleb?”
I stop, turn. Leah is standing next to my brother’s car, just a few spaces back. I was walking Olivia to her car before I drove back to the hospital. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be seeing her for a while, and I wanted to thank her for taking care of me. Olivia keeps walking for a few feet and then turns around to see why I’m lagging. The wind blows, flattening her dress against her and causing her hair to whip around her face. We are all spaced evenly apart. Leah and I are in the middle, with Olivia and Seth flanking us.
I feel it coming. I swear to God, confrontation has a taste. I hesitate before answering.
“What is it, Leah?”
Her red hair is up. I always thought that when she wore her hair up, she looked more innocent. I glance at my brother, who is looking at her with just as much curiosity as I am. His thumb is poised over the unlock button on his car keys, his arm extended outward. If we were all freeze framed, we’d look like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie. She opens her mouth, and I know it’s not going to be good.
“I don’t want you coming to the hospital. You’re a shitty, irresponsible father. And don’t think Estella will be making any more trips to see you.” She punctuates her sentence with, “I’m taking you to court for full custody.”
My retort is hot on the tip of my tongue, when I feel a slight breeze to my right. I see a flash of black and Olivia moves past me. I watch as she approaches Leah. She moves like an angry river, flowing across the black tar of the parking lot. I look on in frozen astonishment as the angry river lifts her hand and slaps Leah across the face. Leah’s head snaps to the side from the force and when it straightens, I can see a red hand print.
“Fuuuuuck.” I lunge toward them, the
same time as Seth. For a moment, my brother and I are united in an effort to stop Leah’s retaliation. Leah is screaming in anger, writhing to get out of Seth’s grip. That’s when I notice that Olivia is calm and still. My hands are on her shoulders so I lean down to speak in her ear.
“What the hell are you doing, Duchess?”
“Let me go,” she says. “I’m not going to do anything.” She’s still staring toward Leah and all I can see of her is the back of her head.
I let her go and she reaches across the space and slaps Leah again. Seth curses loudly. Luckily the parking lot is empty except for us.
“I’m going to sue you, you stupid bitch,” Leah screams.
Seth lets her go and she lunges for Olivia. Before she can get to her, I push Olivia behind my back and block Leah’s path.
“No,” I say. “You don’t touch her.”
Seth starts laughing. Leah spins on him. “You saw that, right? You saw her hit me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s our word against yours. And I didn’t see anything.”
Leah pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the red mark on her face. I shake my head. Was I really married to this woman? I’m distracted enough for Olivia to get past me and snatch Leah’s phone out of her hand. She throws it on the ground and stomps on it with her heel, cracking the screen. Once … twice … three times — I grab her.
“You really have a death wish today, Olivia,” I say between my teeth.
Leah’s mouth is open. “I’m going to destroy you,” she says.
Olivia shrugs. I can’t believe she’s being so calm about this. “You already did. There is nothing more you could do to me. But, I swear to God, if you fuck with Caleb, I’m going to put you in prison for one of your many illegal activities. Then you won’t see your daughter.”
Leah closes her mouth. I open mine. I’m not sure who is more shocked by this fierce defense of me.
“I hate you,” Leah spits. “You’re still the same worthless piece of white trash you always were.”
“I don’t even hate you,” Olivia says. “You’re so pathetic, I can’t. But, don’t think for a minute that I won’t revive your indiscretions.”
“What are you talking about?” Leah’s eyes are shifty. I wonder what Olivia has on her. It must be pretty good if she thought she could get away with two good slaps.
“Christopher,” Olivia says quietly. Leah’s face drains of color. “You’re wondering how I know about that, yes?”
Leah doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare.
“It won’t get you locked up for pharmaceutical fraud, but boy would this be better…”
Seth looks at me and I shrug. The only Christopher I know is a thirty-year-old transgender who works — worked — for Steve.
“What do you want?” Leah says to Olivia.
Olivia swipes the dark hair out of her face and points a finger at me. Actually, she jabs a finger at me.
“You don’t mess with his custody. You mess with his custody; I mess with yours. Understand?”
Leah doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t fight it either.
“You’re a criminal,” Olivia says. “And you’re actually looking kind of chubby.”
With that last bit, she turns on her heels and marches the rest of the way to her car. I don’t know whether to stay and watch Leah’s mortified face, or chase after her. Leah is looking a little chubby.
Seth nods to me, then tugs at my ex-wife’s arm, pulling her toward their car. I watch them go. I watch Olivia go. I stand for thirty minutes after they’ve gone and watch the empty parking lot.
Who the fuck is Christopher?
“Who the fuck is Christopher, Duchess?”
I hear music on the other end of the line. She must turn off the radio because a second later it’s gone.
“You really want to know this?”
“You just made Leah’s face turn as red as her hair. Yeah, I want to know this.”
“All right,” she says. “Hold on, I’m in the drive-thru at Starbucks.”
I wait while she orders. When her voice comes back on the line it sounds professional, like she’s briefing a client.
“Leah was having sex with her housekeeper’s son.”
“Okay,” I said.
“He was seventeen at the time.”
I let go of the steering wheel to run ten fingers through my hair.
“How do you know?”
We’re heading in two different directions down the 95, but I can feel her smirking. See it.
“Her housekeeper came to see me. Actually, not me — Bernie. Bernie ran a couple billboards last year in Miami, urging sexual harassment victims to come see her. You know, one of those god-awful advertisements where the lawyer is looking all serious and there is a gavel in the far right corner to symbolize your coming justice?”
I know exactly the type.
“Anyway, Christopher’s mother — Shoshi — happened to see it and scheduled an appointment at the office. When she filled out her client information, I noticed that she listed your address as her own. So, I pulled her in before Bernie could get to her. She wanted to talk to someone about her teenage son. She’d sometimes take him with her to work and pay him to do some of the harder things. Apparently Leah was so impressed with his work ethic, she asked Shoshi to bring him on weekends and she paid him to do stuff around the house. After a few months of that, Shoshi found condoms in his wallet and a pair of panties that she said she’d seen a hundred times since she folded them.”
I groan. Olivia hears it and laughs into the phone. “What? Did you think she was normal after that little Who’s my baby daddy? stunt she pulled on you?”
“Okay, so why was this Shoshi character coming to you about sexual harassment? Why not call the police and get Leah jailed for statutory rape?”
“This is where it gets complicated, my friend. Shoshi said her son was denying the whole thing. He refused to get Leah in trouble for sleeping with a minor since he was over eighteen by the time she came to me, but his mother did get him to agree to nail her for sexual harassment.”
“What did you do, Olivia?”
Her eyebrow was up. I knew it was.
“Nothing. Before I could do anything, Shoshi changed her mind. Sounds like Leah paid them off. But I could still get him to testify and she knows it.”
“Ah,” I say. “Well, thank God you’re cunning.”
“Thank God,” she repeats.
“You slapped her, Duchess.”
“Mmmm,” she says. “And it felt so damn good.” We both laugh.
There is a long, awkward silence. Then she says, “Noah and I are divorced.”
The world freezes for one second … two seconds … three seconds …
“Remember that coffee shop? The one we went to after we ran into each other at the grocery store?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
When I walk into the coffee shop, she’s already there. She’s sitting at the same table we sat at years earlier. In front of her are two cups.
“I got you a tea,” she says when I sit. I grin at the irony. This time it’s me asking about her breakup.
“So, what happened?”
She tucks the hair that has fallen into her face behind her ears and looks at me sadly.
“I got pregnant.”
I try to pretend that I’m unfazed by this little piece of news, but I can feel the awkwardness all over my face. I wait for her to go on.
“I lost it.”
Agh! So much pain in her face. Our hands are both resting on the table, so close, that I reach a finger out and stroke her pinkie with it.
“He agreed to have a baby with me, but when I lost it, he looked so relieved. Then-” she pauses to hide her watery eyes and take a sip of coffee, “-then he said maybe it was for the best.”
I flinch.
“We made it a few more months after that, then I asked him to lea
ve.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to go back to life as he knew it. He was happy and laughing. In his mind, we tried and it wasn’t meant to be. I couldn’t go back after that. It was my second miscarriage.” She looks up at me and I nod.
“Whoever thought the cold, heartless Olivia Kaspen would want to have children?” She smiles bitterly.
“I knew you would,” I say. “It was just a matter of time and healing.”
We finish our drinks in silence. When we stand up, I stop a few feet away from the trashcan with my coffee cup in my hand.
“Olivia?”
“Yeah?”
“If I make this shot, will you go out with me?” I hold my cup like it’s a basketball and look from her to the trashcan.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Yeah, I will.”
I make the shot.
This is the start of our life. This is our choice. We barely have our shit together. I terminated my contract in London, moved home and sold my condo. She sold hers too, and we moved into an apartment near both of our jobs. It’s not even a nice apartment — there is too much linoleum and our neighbors fight constantly. But, we don’t care. We just wanted to ditch the past and be together. We’ll figure it out. Might take some time. We don’t have a plan yet, we don’t even have furniture, but we are both okay with the surrender. We have little fights all the time. She hates that I don’t throw away my trash — water bottles, cookie bags, candy wrappers. She finds them all over the apartment and makes a big show of crinkling them up and throwing them in the trash. I hate the way she soaks the bathroom floor. The woman doesn’t dry herself. Goddamn if it’s nice to look at her soaking body as she walks from the bathroom to the bedroom, but use a fucking towel already. She always makes the bed. I always do the dishes. She drinks milk straight from the carton and that kind of pisses me off, but then she reminds me that she has to live with my snoring and I call it even. But, holy hell is she fun. How did I not know that we could laugh this much? Or sit in absolute silence and listen to music together? How did I live without this for so long? I watch her sit on one of our two chairs, one from her house, one from mine — her fingers clipping lightly across her keyboard. It still feels like I’m dreaming when I come home to her every night. I love this dream!
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