Jan. 17, 19--
Everything about this trip is perfect for my art! Today I explored the grounds with my camera and climbed high on the hillside to look out over the ocean. The water here is far more active than it is back home, and I imagine locals can surf every day—not just when a hurricane or tropical storm is bearing down on us.
The foliage is basically the same, though, bromeliads and palmettos surrounded by huge ferns that give way to towering palm trees. Hibiscus plants bloom all around, and the only alarming thing is the iguanas. I’m not a fan of the large lizards that camp out by the pools and eat the brilliant flowers. Marco assures us they’re harmless, but they’re the size of small dogs. I keep my distance.
My favorite part of the trip has been getting to see Meg so much. I thought about suggesting Bill find her a job at the office but reconsidered. Sometimes spouses didn’t work well together, and I’d decided to keep out of their marital affairs since that whole day in September.
I was happy having time with her. I remembered how close we were as little girls as I walked to her cabin. We were going on a souvenir shopping trip, and when I arrived, she was opening and closing drawers.
“What are you planning to wear today?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Shorts? A dress?”
“You should wear that red dress you got last spring.”
“OK,” I said.
“Would you braid my hair?” she asked.
I sat down and started brushing her shiny blonde hair. When we were kids, I’d gone through a macramé phase, and I was constantly experimenting with different plaits and designs on Meg’s hair. I felt like we were in middle school again.
“It’s so great here,” she sighed. “It’s like being in a tropical paradise. Don’t you think?”
“You bet. I’ve taken lots of pictures, and I think I’m going to try and work some of these ideas into one of the buildings. I’m sure Bill’s thinking the same thing.”
“He’s been meeting with Bryant and Marco every day, but Donna says they’re learning tons. I think they’re golfing this afternoon.”
“That sounds very educational.”
We laughed.
“Lexy?” Meg had that same curious tone from when we were kids. “Do you ever get lonely?”
“What?” I smiled, tugging her braid tight.
“Well, you’re here with Suzanne, and don’t get me wrong. She’s lots of fun, but it’s not like a date. And this is such a romantic setting.”
“Some people think where we live is a romantic setting.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
“I’m sorry.” I kissed the top of her head where I was making her braid. “I’m not trying to avoid your question. I have thought about that. And Suzanne was nice enough to bring it up the first night. I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I just… I can’t make myself feel something that isn’t there.”
“I’m going to help you.” Her voice had that scheming, matchmaker tone.
“Oh, please don’t,” I begged.
“Why not? Who knows you better than me?”
“You’re just like Miss Stella. She wants to drag me to mass every Sunday and hook me up with some good Catholic boy.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
I shook my head as I tied off her braid. “It just shuts down any interest I might otherwise have. I can’t fall in love when I’m being watched under a microscope.”
She sat up and faced me then, her eyes bright with her new project. “What if there’s no pressure? You just try a blind date, and if it’s a dud, we’ll move on to the next one.”
“The next one?” I rubbed my forehead. “Oh, Meg. Let’s just let it happen, okay? They say when you’re not looking, that’s when you find someone.’
“Well, you haven’t been looking for a while.”
“And I’ve been working nonstop. Maybe Bill and I can give it a rest and start having a little more personal time.”
She looked at her hands in her lap. “I’m all for that. But you’ll have to suggest it. If I say anything, he’ll think I’m nagging.”
“Done. And so is your hair. What do you think?” I held up a mirror.
Her eyes lit up. “Perfect! As always.”
Jan. 18, 19--
I know this is supposed to be a work trip, but I’ve been working on relaxing and having fun. I only saw Bill one other time after that first night’s dinner, and believe it or not, I’ve actually found myself missing my ole work buddy.
We bumped into each other at the pool one morning when he was on his way to memorize how the kitchen operated or whatever. I was lying out on a lounge chair in my bikini. He was distracted, but we had a nice chat. Suzanne came out and misread the situation as always. Then she suggested we go into town for dinner. It was a great idea. We both dressed up in short party dresses and caught the scary bus that took tourists down the hill into the tiny village that was a haven for Tango Sol tourists.
Inside the cantina, which was lined with rainbow-colored Christmas lights, Suzanne ran to the bar and ordered two shots.
“Tequila? No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I am not shooting tequila.”
“Stop being a party pooper!” she cried, eyes closed. “We’re in Mexico! We have to act like Mexicans!”
I squinted at her. “What does that involve?”
“Shooting tequila!” She slammed the thick little glass down in front of me and then lined up a salt shaker and a lime. “Lick your hand.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen a Mexican shoot tequila the whole trip!” I said, licking the side of my hand right beside my thumb. “And it’s very possible you’re being a racist.”
“Then we’ll act like American tourists in Mexico! Now, salt!”
It was a mistake, but I did the shot. Then we danced to the salsa band. Some fellows at the bar were checking us out, and Suzanne started flirting. Before long they were sending us drinks, and after a few hours, they had joined us by the bar. I was feeling dizzy, so I motioned to the waiter to get us a table.
“I need to eat something,” I told Suzanne. She stayed with the guys a few minutes longer while I grabbed a menu and ordered food.
I glanced up to see her speaking briefly to them and then heading in my direction wearing a frown. “See? That’s what you do,” she scolded, sitting beside me. “You’ve got to stop it.”
“What? Eating?”
“No. That guy was totally into you, and you just walked away.”
I took a chip and stabbed it in the salsa. “I’m about to fall over. I need food.”
“You need sex.”
“Oh my god! Shut up!” I nearly choked on the chip in my mouth. “I’m not hooking up with some guy I just met at a bar on our last night here. That’s just gross… and dangerous.”
“You don’t have to hook up,” she whisper-shouted. “You can just have fun. Make out with him down on the beach. In the moonlight…”
“That’s how women go missing, you know.”
“I’ve got my eye on you.” Then she did a little zig-zag wave.
“You’re not inspiring confidence,” I laughed. “And I’m sorry I didn’t notice Pablo’s advances.”
“It’s that Bill Kyser.”
“Would you stop with that?” I pushed her arm. “You’re wrong, and it’s irritating.”
“It’s irritating because I’m right. You’ve invested all your emotional energy in someone who’s unavailable. It’s safe. He’s your cocoon.”
I rubbed my eyes, placing my elbows on the table and trying very hard not to get mad at her drunk self. “I don’t even know what that means. But if you’re suggesting I’m after my best friend’s husband, then you don’t know me at all.”
“I’m suggesting you’ve got to stop spending so much time at work and open the door to other possibilities. How else do you expect to find someone? Remember how you were in Savannah? You were open then.”
“And I got ripped to shreds.”
<
br /> “Look, I told you that guy was a mistake. And Evan was right there just waiting to help you pick up the pieces. You fled the scene.”
“It was your idea!” I cried. Then I looked down. “Anyway, I think I made the right decision going to Atlanta with you. And now that we’ve eaten, how about one more shot!” I figured that would shut her up.
“You’re on!” She leaned heavily on my arm as we walked back to the bar.
“Here’s to being open,” I said, lifting the little glass.
By the time I reached the door of our cabin that night, the world was rocking like a sailboat, and I felt like I was going to lose my dinner. Then I looked down and saw I had lost something. Where was my shoe?
I walked back down the wobbly path, but half-way there I realized my mistake. It was too dark, and I couldn’t see a thing. Luckily, I ran into Bill. He was surprised to see me roaming around in the dark, and he convinced me to go back to my room. Everything was fuzzy, and I rested my head on his shoulder, holding his waist to keep from falling as we walked back. Holding onto him was unexpectedly warm and comfortable. He didn’t speak, and as we made our way up the path, I thought about what Suzanne had said.
For a long time, I hadn’t liked Bill very much. I didn’t think he was right for Meg, and I didn’t like that all he cared about was money and those developments of his. He had a sweet dad and good friends, but he was completely consumed with conquering the coast. Then I’d gotten to know him a little better, and I actually liked him. As a friend, of course.
But tonight, just for a moment, and strictly for comparison purposes—nothing more—I wondered how my life would be different if I had met Bill first…
I tilted my heavy head back on his shoulder and studied his profile as we walked to my cabin. He was funny and thoughtful, and while he was completely focused on his goals, he did care about his family. And this trip was proof he liked to pamper the ones he loved. How might things have changed if we’d wound up together?
It didn’t matter. I shook my head down. We were friends, and I wasn’t going to let my tequila-soaked brain or Suzanne’s imagination spoil that.
At my door, we shook hands, and I said something to him. I can’t remember what it was, but it made him grin. Then I went inside and fell asleep thinking about everything that had happened as the room slowly turned. One thing was for sure, I was never acting like an American tourist in Mexico again.
This morning I’m paying for our girls’ night. The sun is so bright, I had to put on my sunglasses to pack, and when the valet came for our luggage, I had to put on a hat to keep from crawling back inside the dark hut. One of my shoes was on the doorstep with a note.
Found it. Your friend, Bill.
I still can’t remember what I said to him last night. And I don’t know why Bill would have my shoe. I picked it up and stuffed it in my bag.
March 15, 19--
Me and my big mouth.
I knew the minute I said it back in September that I should never have advised Meg to fake an “accidental” pregnancy. I was angry at Bill for not taking her calls, and it was more an offhand comment than a serious suggestion.
Meg had just been sad for so long. Then after the Mexico trip, things had gotten better. Bill was being really great about spending time with her. He would cut us off at 5 o’clock every day so he could go home and be with his little family. Meg had stopped complaining, and I was actually getting to paint more.
Now things had gone south at an incredible rate of speed, and I felt horribly responsible.
Meg was having twins, and Bill was furious. I thought if she just went with it, pretended it truly was an accident, she might get away with it. I didn’t know they’d had a fight and she’d practically threatened him. This time he knew he’d been tricked, and he was madder than I’d ever seen him. I was almost a little afraid of him.
Weeks have passed since she told him, and the situation has only gotten worse. Bill never goes home, and I feel like I have to do something to make this right. Meg turned to me, and I advised her to do the one thing that could potentially end their marriage—or at least drive a permanent wedge between them.
Our no-overtime policy has ended, and we’re back to working as long and as hard as we want. Bill leaves for dinner, I guess he’s eating out these days, and then he comes back after we all leave and sleeps in his office. I don’t know how many nights he’s been doing it.
One morning I stopped off at the coffee shop on the way in and grabbed him a cup. I thought maybe if I focused on the bright side and helped him put things in perspective that would help. Maybe if I reminded him how much he loved her, he wouldn’t feel so betrayed.
Maybe there was some way to absolve myself of this guilt.
He seemed less angry after our coffee chat, but he still won’t go home. Tonight after working late, I decided it was time to own up. Pain gripped my insides thinking of what I was going to tell him, but I stuck my head in his office anyway. He was sitting on the couch looking at a book.
“Staying late again?” I asked, the smallest tremble in my voice.
He didn’t look up. “There’s always plenty to do around here.”
“Can’t it wait til tomorrow? You should call it a night and go home.”
“After while.” He continued reading, and I studied his light brown hair, messy and still a little highlighted from our trip. His skin tanned.
I took a deep breath and went over to sit beside him on the couch. Then he looked at me. “What’s on your mind?”
I wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead I focused on my nervous hands. “I have to tell you something, and it’s going to make you mad. But I’m hoping it’ll help you forgive Meg.”
“What is it?” His tone was sharp, and my stomach dropped.
“I told her to do it,” I said quietly, closing my eyes.
“What?”
My chest clenched, but I kept going. “The whole fake accident, the pregnancy. It was my idea. I told her to do it.”
For several long seconds the room was completely silent. I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt like it had stopped beating.
Then he stood and walked across the room. “Are all women selfish liars or is it just the ones I know?”
Tears sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them quickly away. He had to hear what I was saying. He had to forgive her. “I’m so sorry, Bill. I should never have interfered.”
“No,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have.”
“You have every reason to be as mad as you are, but can you at least forgive her now?”
He was quiet. For several long moments I waited, studying his back.
“You know my mom left my dad when I was a little kid,” he finally said. “She wanted to chase her dream of being a singer. It didn’t matter who she hurt, she was going to do it.”
I didn’t see the connection, but I didn’t say anything.
“You told Meg to lie to me, but she didn’t have to do it,” he continued. “She could have thought of someone else for a change.”
“I’m sure I influenced her decision,” I argued. “She always listens to me.”
He shrugged. “Well, thanks for telling me. I already knew you weren’t on my side.”
Tears flooded my eyes now. “Oh, Bill. That’s not fair.”
“No?” He turned and the smile on his face was no longer friendly. It was cold, and I wanted to die from how badly it hurt. All the progress we’d made as friends was gone.
“Meg and I had that conversation months ago. That day you didn’t take her call,” I said, touching my eyes. “So much has changed since then. I understand more, and I am on your side. I’m so, so sorry.”
He turned back to the window, and my gaze dropped. Tears fell onto my cheeks. But I wasn’t sure why I was crying now. If it was because Bill still wasn’t going home or if it was because he didn’t seem likely to forgive Meg.
Or if it was because now I’d hurt him, too.
“She’s not a child
, Lex,” he said, still looking out the window at the dark waters of the canal. “At some point she’s got to be responsible for her actions. And I can’t be worried about what you two are talking about all the time.”
“I promise you,” I said, looking up at him. “I will never open my big mouth again. It won’t happen.”
I watched him inhale deeply, then he turned back to me. “Go home. You’re tired.”
“So are you.” I tried one last time. “Please go home to Meg.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because it hurts me to see you like this.” I stood, wanting to approach him, but I didn’t. “I think of you as my friend now, too.”
“Right.” His brow relaxed. “The shoe.”
I blinked a few times, then I shook my head. “I meant to ask you what that was about.”
“Some other time.” He walked back to the couch and sat, picking up the book again. “You were being very sweet.”
I sat on the couch facing him. “So you’ll forgive me, but you won’t forgive her?”
“You had that conversation with Meg the day you left the office and came back so mad at me. Right?”
I nodded, also remembering what he’d said at the elevator. The day I realized he did care—as much about his family as about being manipulated. I’d sworn that day to butt out.
“That was ages ago, Lex,” he continued. “How many more times did you tell her to lie to me?”
My voice was quiet. “Just that once.”
“Well, Meg and I were having that conversation for the hundredth time in Mexico. I told her I’d change my schedule. I told her I’d be home more. The Mexico trip itself was part of me trying to make things better for her, but none of it mattered. She did what she wanted to do anyway.”
“But it did matter!” I said it, but my argument felt weak. “Maybe by then it was too late for her to change things.”
“Maybe.”
“So you’re not going back?”
“Back to what? To being another one of her pretty playthings?” His jaw clenched and he looked at the book. “My only purpose is to give her what she wants. But I have no feelings, and what I say doesn’t matter.”
Undertow (Dragonfly) Page 16