by A. J. Banner
Kieran rolled off the woman and she sat up, gasping, her red mouth in an O of surprise. I caught a glimpse of dark nipples as she clutched the comforter to her chest. Sculpted face, long red hair. Gray eyes, fake lashes black and thick. She was so thin, she looked breakable. And young. Her name hovered on the tip of my tongue—Diane something. Jasper. Diane Jasper. Kieran had hired her to stage his farmhouse, the home he was selling, now that he had moved in with me. I had met her only once, had thought her friendly.
Kieran leaped to his feet naked, shouting, “Elise, what are you doing here?” He was not a tall man, but his broad shoulders gave him an imposing presence. Those rough features, that unkempt hair, those penetrating eyes. He made me catch my breath, even now when I hated him.
“I live here,” I answered coldly.
“I’m leaving,” Diane said, scrambling out of bed, reaching for a pair of jeans that lay on the floor like deflated legs. She grabbed for a shiny tank top, breasts jiggling.
Kieran, not bothering to get dressed, tried to reach for me. I stepped back and held out my hand to keep him away. I took in the clothing tossed about, the massage oil on the nightstand. The complete disarray, the trespass. I was trembling. I dashed through the bedroom into the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. I could hear Kieran and Diane scrabbling around as I rinsed my mouth at the sink, splashed cold water on my face.
In the mirror my cheeks were flushed, my dark eyes glassy. A strange, wild-haired woman gazed back at me. The overhead light bulb flickered—a lacy black bra hung over the towel rack. I averted my gaze, drew another deep breath, thought to myself, Get a grip.
When I returned to the bedroom, Diane had pulled on a sweater, her hair caught in the collar. Kieran paced in his briefs. He might’ve been speaking, trying to explain, but his words blurred in my ears.
Diane slipped out the door and down the stairs in a whoosh of sandalwood. Without her lacy bra. I could have gone after her, but my legs wouldn’t move. My brain kept trying to erase what was happening. The music stopped; the front door slammed.
Kieran came up to me and rested his hands on my shoulders. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be home.”
You’re not supposed to fuck someone else, no matter where I am, I thought. My shoulders stiffened against his touch. What was that smell coming off him? Musk, his man smell, and something else—someone else.
“Where is your suitcase?” he said.
“Downstairs,” I said, shrugging away from him. What did it matter where anything was?
“When did you get back? You were supposed to come home tomorrow.”
“I took the morning ferry.” I was surprised at how detached I felt. I was far away, flying across the sea with the Thayer’s gull, catching an updraft into oblivion. Our marriage was over. So soon after it had begun.
“Why today?” he said, pacing, running his fingers through his hair.
“I wanted to surprise you. But you don’t get to ask the questions.”
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, as if to hold in his brain. “How long were you standing in the hall?”
“Long enough. But that was a question. Here’s one for you: What the hell is going on? Wait, don’t answer that. I think it was obvious.”
“There’s nothing between Diane and me—it was an impulsive thing, a mistake. She came on to me.” He tried to reach for my hand, but I slapped him away.
“I heard what she said. She wanted me to just be gone.” I paced, crossing my arms over my middle, where I felt a biting pain.
He shook his head, his face pale, and rubbed at his chin. “She’s the jealous type. I don’t feel anything for her.”
But he had brought her here, into our bed. “That’s even worse. You married me, but you can still . . . do that. With someone you don’t even care about?”
“That’s not what I mean—it was just . . .”
“What? Sex?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Patience,” I spat at him. “That’s what you said—‘patience.’”
He squinted at me, as if I’d just shone a bright light in his face. “I was trying to pacify her.”
“And what’s the ‘long game,’ Kieran? What do you want from me?” At the bed, I pulled off my pillowcase, threw it on the floor. It was contaminated now. I would wash the whole pillow, the mattress, the entire room.
“It was just talk. I don’t remember what I said. She’s . . . clingy. I was putting her off.”
“So you led her on, the way you’ve been leading me on?”
“No! You’re twisting things around. I love you.” He closed his eyes, pressed his hands to his temples, then reached out for me again. But I slipped around to the other side of the bed, whipped off his pillowcase, too, and threw it on the floor.
“Spare me,” I said. “How long have you been doing this? How many nights in this room?”
“Just today.” He picked up the pillowcase and dropped it on the bed. He hated anything left on the floor. But he hadn’t seemed bothered by Diane’s clothing strewn everywhere. His, too.
I grabbed the bottle of massage oil, threw it in the garbage can. A tiny voice in my head said, Be good to the earth. Recycle the container. I wished to recycle Kieran and Diane as well. Or throw them into a trash compactor.
“I don’t know what came over me,” he said, blinking.
“What, she ambushed you? You were hypnotized?” I yanked off the bedcover. The pillowcase fell onto the floor again.
“She wouldn’t leave me alone.” He looked genuinely pained, his face contorted. He stepped back, and this time he did not pick up anything off the floor.
“And you succumbed to her feminine wiles? What century are you living in?” I started pulling off the mattress protector, glad it was waterproof.
“But that’s the way it happened,” he said. “Look, Elise, stop. Do you have to do this now? You’re losing control of yourself.”
“Like you lost control of your dick?” I shouted.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, but they got stuck in the tangles. “You’re yelling.”
What had I become? What had he made me into? I could’ve demanded to know how he could say he loved me on the phone, then five minutes later sleep with Diane. Or maybe at the same time. I could’ve asked where they had done it, only here or in his farmhouse, too? Had he cheated before, on his ex-wife? All the declarations of love, the plans we’d made—had they all been lies?
The answers didn’t matter. I couldn’t dwell on what could not be changed. It was done. He had done it.
“Elise?” he was saying, shaking my shoulders.
I didn’t reply, realized I’d been standing by the window, swaying, the bedclothes in piles on the floor. “Let go of me. Don’t touch me.”
“You’re in shock. Sit down. We’ll talk. We can work this out.”
His voice receded, the buzzing of an insect in my ear. We will never talk, I thought, not now. Not ever.
“Go,” I said. “Get out of here.”
He rested his hands on his hips. “You don’t mean that. I can’t just go. My car is at the clinic. Diane drove me here.”
“I don’t care. Go.” My voice was soft, even. The window was open a little, the smell of smoke gone, replaced by the damp scents of moss and leaves.
“We have to talk—we have to work this out. Right now you’re angry. You have a right to be angry.”
“Get out of my house,” I said, stepping over the pile of sheets.
“I’ll go, okay, but let’s talk. It just happened, okay? Like I said. It’s not serious.”
I strode past him and down the stairs. I could hear his footsteps behind me, muted thumps as he was barefoot. He kept nattering on, apologizing, saying he loved me. Blah, blah. I walked back through the hall into the kitchen. He’d left dirty dishes in the sink.
My hand shaking, I pulled out a large knife from the wooden block on the countertop. I looked at the blade, gleaming bene
ath the ceiling bulb, and I floated outside myself again.
When I turned around, he was standing in the open doorway, his eyes wide. I brandished the knife. “Get out.”
“What are you doing? Put that down.”
“What part of ‘get out’ do you not understand?”
He raised his hands, as if I were pointing a gun at him. “Okay, I’ll go. I’m going.”
“Good.” I had no idea what I was doing. I needed to scare him. I needed him to leave. I needed a weapon against my pain. I advanced toward him.
He backed down the hall, his face white with shock. “Put the knife down. I’m leaving. I just need to get dressed, okay?”
“I don’t care what you need.”
He grabbed a coat from the front closet. “Here. I’m going, okay? I need to put on my shoes.”
“Hurry up.” I stepped toward him, my hand shaking. I knew I had lost my mind, but I couldn’t help myself.
He shoved his feet into his loafers, grabbed his phone and wallet off the table. Diane’s ballet flats and tote bag were gone.
“You don’t want to hurt anyone,” Kieran said, opening the front door. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you broke our vows.” I was screaming inside, but my voice came out eerily quiet.
“What about my clothes?” He was out the door in his briefs and coat and shoes. The cold, damp air wafted inside. “I have patients. I need to go to work.”
“So go to work. You’ll find something to wear, maybe a hospital gown? Or one of those paper drapes patients wear in the exam room.”
“Look, I can’t just . . . I’ll have to come back later. When you’re calm.”
“I am calm.”
“We’ll work this out. I’ll call you.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I said.
“I need my keys. I left them here somewhere.”
“You’ve got spares. You’ll survive.” But I wasn’t sure I would. My head was spinning. I held up the knife, and he stumbled down the walk toward the driveway. I watched him go, my heart pounding. He disappeared behind the trees, and I dropped the knife—it clattered to the floor. The thing was blunt anyway. Spots danced in front of my eyes. My legs weakened. I couldn’t catch my breath. The edges of my vision darkened. I stumbled into the living room toward the couch, and the carpet rushed up to meet me, the lights winking into blackness.
CHAPTER THREE
“Elise, Elise, wake up.” A familiar, feathery voice brushed at my ears. I looked up into the broad, elegant features of our neighbor, Chantal Gittner. Her crystal earrings glinted in the light, her emerald eyes wide and worried.
I lay on the carpet in the living room, a throw pillow under my head. She leaned over me, a swath of coffee-colored hair falling over her face as she tucked another pillow beneath my knees. I caught a whiff of her subtle floral perfume.
“What happened?” I said, blinking, looking around. I strained to focus on the sparse living-room furniture, the brick fireplace. The sunlight slanting in through the windows. My mother gazed at me from her photos on the walls—in each one she posed in a different country holding a rare, exotic plant. Even she looked worried. I avoided looking at the wedding photos.
Chantal flipped her hair behind her shoulder and frowned at me, her bottom lip protruding slightly. “What’s going on? I was out for a run, and I saw Kieran on his phone in just a coat, no pants!”
“It’s the new fashion,” I said, sitting up.
“He got into an old Prius.” She sat back on her heels. Her T-shirt, reading TECH NINJA, looked a size too small, accentuating her lean, sinewy muscles. The woman didn’t have an ounce of fat on her bones.
“Good riddance,” I said.
Her carefully plucked eyebrows rose like the arcing wings of a seagull. “Did you two have an argument? I ran up here and your door was wide open. Did he hurt you? You were out cold.”
I rubbed my head—no blood. That was good. “No, I’m okay. How long was I unconscious?”
“A minute or two? I don’t know.” Chantal’s gaze slid to the knife on the floor. Her mouth dropped open. “Did he try to use that on you?”
“What? No. I was the one holding the knife.”
She looked at me askance. “You were?”
I rubbed my forehead, took a deep breath. “I only wanted to scare him. I wasn’t going to stab him or anything.” The truth was, I didn’t know what I would’ve done if Kieran had refused to leave.
“Maybe I should call 9-1-1.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “I forgot, no signal here. When are you going to get the landline fixed?”
“The connections are rusted in the box outside,” I said faintly. “They need to be replaced.”
“What if you ever need to call someone?” She waved her cell phone in the air, this way and that, then tucked it into the back pocket of her jogging pants. “I’m not getting a signal.”
“We walk down the driveway to make calls,” I said. “But I don’t need to call anyone. I’m fine. I must’ve just fainted.” I got up and staggered onto the couch. “It was supposed to be a happy day, but . . .”
“Must’ve been a bad fight for you to threaten him with a knife.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said.
“I’ll get you a glass of water, okay? You relax.”
“You don’t have to get into the middle of this.”
“I’m your friend. It’s where I need to be, in the middle of this. Rest, okay? Can I get you anything else?”
“Just the water, thanks. Hey, I should be asking you. You’re the guest here.”
“I know where the kitchen is. Take it easy.”
“Thank you, Chantal. You’re a lifesaver.” I leaned back against the couch cushion. My limbs felt like liquid, fatigue pushing on my chest. As I listened to the faucet running in the kitchen, I looked at my favorite wedding picture, displayed on the mantel. The photographer had captured a perfect moment, right after Kieran and I had recited the vows we had written ourselves. The pale September sun reflected off his hair. My cream-colored lace gown looked almost golden. Kieran had worn a black patterned vest beneath a silvery tuxedo jacket. He had just slid the wedding band, with its intricate carving of a seafaring knot, onto my finger. He was still holding my hand, and we gazed at each other in adoration, my face upturned to his.
I tried to detect a trace of deception in his expression, in the downward tilt of his chin. In the way he held my hand so gently in his. In his half-lidded, intense gaze. But he looked . . . normal. In love.
Chantal returned with a glass of ice water. “You okay?”
“I will be one day, I hope.” I sipped, the cold water numbing the roof of my mouth. “You don’t have to babysit me. You can go home.”
“No way am I leaving right now.” She sat in the armchair next to the couch, adjusted her bracelet. Kieran sat in that chair when we entertained. Sprawled out, arms and legs open to indicate command of a room. He could hold guests enthralled with his erudite ramblings about history, politics, medicine.
The man could put on a show. I just didn’t know he’d been doing it with me, the whole time.
I got up, teetered a little as I put my glass of water on the table. Chantal jumped up to hold on to my arm, the stones clacking on her bracelet. She wore so many quartz crystals, she seemed more like a fortune-teller than a computer whiz. “You need to go to the clinic,” she said. “I’ll drive you.”
“I’m not stepping into the same building with Kieran. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“That’s because I caught him in bed with another woman.” There, I’d said it. I sat back down and exhaled.
She fell back into the armchair. “Wow. Seriously? They were actually—”
“Naked in bed. Yes.”
She touched the stones on her necklace and swallowed. “He sure knew how to fool you.” Her gaze drifted up to the wedding photo.
&n
bsp; A hollow space opened inside me, a deep well of grief. “He’s an actor as well as a liar.” All his words of love, the emotion in his blue eyes—had it all been spun from silk? I picked up my water glass again, swirling the ice inside. The cubes were in the shapes of tiny whales—the ice tray had been a gift from Kieran for my birthday.
She wrinkled her nose. “No wonder you fainted. That’s a lot to take. I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything. I don’t need sympathy.”
“Who was it? Diane Jasper, wasn’t it? The home stager?”
I nodded. “How did you know?”
She looked out the window, then back at me. “I was going to tell you. I saw the same Prius parked on the main road yesterday, just around the corner. Nobody ever parks there. I thought it was weird. Then I saw her walking through the woods toward your house. I don’t think she saw me out on the trail. She went to the back door and knocked, and then someone opened the door and she went inside.”
“Someone.”
“It must’ve been Kieran. I was too far away to tell for sure. I thought it was odd.”
My heart plummeted. “They were so sneaky. All for what? So that if you or someone else happened to stop by, there would be no other car in the driveway?”
“They were careful,” she said. “Or so they thought.”
I tried to imagine the deception, a woman traipsing through the woods to meet my husband, to sleep with him. “Doesn’t she have any morals? No sense of guilt?” I could feel the tears springing to my eyes. “Just coming over like that, sneaking around?”
Chantal flipped her hair over her shoulder again. She flexed the ropy muscles in her forearms. She had once entered triathlons; now she took long runs in the woods. “It takes two to tango,” she said firmly. “Kieran has to open the door, let her in, and do all the rest of it.”
“I know,” I said angrily. “But why would he risk everything? Why bother to marry me? Why would she do such a thing, knowing he’s married?”
“He did it because he could, because you weren’t supposed to be home yet,” Chantal said, pointing a finger at me. “And she did it because women do horrible things to hurt each other sometimes. She’s infatuated with him. Kieran is cute; he’s a doctor. Face it, he’s got the charm. You know, the way he kind of looks at you sideways, smiles a little like he’s thinking something naughty . . .” She stared off vaguely.