“Not exactly monogamous.”
“Even if we’re in relationships with other people, we always manage to end up with one another.”
“Is it love?”
“It’s deeper than that, it’s more like incest,” Ben said, and Chelsea’s eyes widened with increased interest. His relationship with Evangelica was the greatest bond he had ever felt with another person, but it was problematic. He was unsure how to verbalize his ambivalence in such a way as to do justification to his deep abiding feelings. “We know one another so well, we joke sex is like masturbation.”
“Sounds intense.”
“She calls me her psychic twin and mentor,” Ben said laughing. “It’s been mostly good times with her.”
“And the bad?”
“You know, she has borderline personality disorder. I can tell when her mood is about to change, even before she can.”
Chelsea poured him another beer and seated herself next to him. They positioned the bar stools, so they were facing one another with his knees on either side of hers. She observed, “It must be difficult loving a person like that.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes the hardest people to love need it the most.”
“Still, Ben, the mood swings must be difficult to deal with.”
“Here’s the thing, it never feels like I’m dealing with some big crisis,” he explained. “Her moods are on a natural cycle that fluctuate like the seasons.”
“Or PMS from hell.”
“Magnified,” Ben stressed. “She has a really irritating way of being apologizing if you spend any time with her, it’s like she feels sorry for you having to deal with her. I always wondered what happened, to make her feel like such a burden to the world?”
“Maybe it was because her father killed himself,” Chelsea suggested, “or because her mother married five different times.”
Ben silently stared into his beer for a few reflective minutes, “She called me last night.”
“And—
“And I didn’t even bother to pick up the phone.”
“Ben, you didn’t know.”
“I heard her crying out for help, and I did nothing,” Ben said without emotion, and he swallowed the last drop of his beer. “But she called me like that all the time, and she always claimed it was life-threatening, and I always rushed to her. Except this one time when she needed me most.”
“There was no way for you to know,” Chelsea said, placing her hand over his. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“What I blame myself for is her messing around with Nick,” Ben said. “Lately, things between us had become pretty tense, with the pregnancy and all, and this wedding. Also, Vange was sort of jealous at times of your mom, and then when she saw me hitting on Kate’s bridesmaid at the bar last night –
“She went a little crazy.”
“The weird thing is, I think I was trying to feel closer to Kate.”
“By sleeping with her matron of honor?”
“By being with someone from her world.”
“It was a callous thing to do, and Vange slept with Nick to get back at you,” Chelsea said, trying to comprehend the inner politics of their dysfunctional relationship. “Ben, it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why not? Our whole relationship doesn’t make any sense.” Playing with his empty mug, he said, “It’s like we’re both too stubborn to admit that we really care for one another, and now it looks as if she doesn’t mean anything at all, but that’s so not the case.”
“Benjamin, it sounds like you were both doing the same thing,” Chelsea said. Her attention shifted from his downcast eyes to his hands, which were in an odd sort of tug-o-war with a tattered napkin. “You can’t blame yourself. She made the decision to take those pills. It was her choice, and if you ask me, it was a pretty shitty thing to do. It’s seems so weak.”
“She’s the strongest person I know, but she counted on me to save her,” Ben said flatly. “I let her down, time and time again.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“All I know is if she happens to, well, you know. If that happens, then I’ve lost the one person who’ll always mean more to me than everyone else. And I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”
“I don’t know,” Chelsea said and sighed sadly. She empathized with his pain, and she felt compelled to give him a hug, but he remained dry-eyed and inconsolable, distant and unreachable. “You can’t carry this guilt around with you for the rest of your life.”
When she let go Ben rose to his feet and brushed his hair away from his battered face. It was time to go. She insisted on giving Ben a ride to his bike. From the foyer, he watched her pull the linen nightshirt over her head and let the tablecloth fall to the floor. Then she stepped her strong runner’s legs into the ratty jogging pants.
They left the lounge arm-in-arm.
Main Street was desolate and dimly lit for as far as they could see, and if they had wanted to, they could have rolled a bowling ball or shot a cannon through the middle of it. By the time Chelsea parked her car outside the newspaper building behind his bike, Ben’s hand had already reached for the door handle.
“I’m sorry— this probably wasn’t the most ideal one night stand.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. It’s not as if she necessarily desired a meaningless late night encounter.
“Um, thanks for putting up with me,” he said, lost for words. He gave her a slight peck on the cheek with his lips; in return, she abruptly kissed him full on the mouth and inadvertently bumped his sore nose.
“Oh, my nose.”
“Sorry.”
“I can’t believe Nick clocked me so hard,” he said, rubbing his watery eyes. “Maybe it’s broken.”
“I think so, but I’m no doctor,” Chelsea said, and they sat quietly for an uninterrupted moment. “You should really come with me to California. I’ve decided to skip the wedding reception and leave right after the ceremony tomorrow.”
“In your bridesmaid dress?”
“If need be.”
“Well, it looks like you’re all packed,” Ben said, glancing at the luggage and boxes that filled the backseat. He had never imagined her to be so carefree as to throw caution to the wind and follow her bliss. For as long as he had known Chelsea, it always appeared her life was consumed by too many obligations. It did not leave much room for any sort of freedom, which generally afforded the luxury of choices.
“I’ll finish packing when I get home,” she said. “I have to leave away from here, Ben, and it looks to me as if you could use a vacation yourself.”
“I don’t know, Chels, it doesn’t sound very feasible.” He explained, “We start painting a new house Monday. All those people are depending on me, and what about Vange? I can’t just skip town with her in a coma.”
“Thad had a long list of excuses too,” she said disappointed. “But for the life of me, I can’t remember what they were.”
“They’re not excuses, I think they’re called responsibilities.”
“Well, whatever you call them, there will always be plenty of reasons to keep you stuck here in this town forever,” she said solemnly, and waited for him to exit the car.
Ben made no effort to leave the quiet sanctuary of her Malibu, and he imagined her working as a waitress in California, flirting with surfers and hanging out. He pictured himself sticking it out in Portnorth while working away and occasionally having sex with her mother. Chelsea’s thoughts mirrored his, except it seemed unfair that her mother should enjoy such fantastic bedroom encounters with Ben, and she wished he would abandon his life for an excursion with her into the setting sun.
As Ben opened the car door, the interior light flashed on. In their dimly lit confines, he leaned over and gave her a good-bye kiss on the cheek. Seizing one last ditch effort to persuade him to change his mind, Chelsea grabbed hold of the back of his head and crushed her mouth against his neck. Her index finger toyed with his pierced nipple, and her mou
th traced a wet path over his jutting collarbone.
“Chels, it’s way late,” Ben pointed out.
Tossing her fierce dignity to the wayside, along with her nylon pants, she insisted, “I don’t care. Fuck me again. You’ll never have to see me again after tomorrow.”
“What, no-strings are supposed to make it all the more tempting?”
“Just shut up and unbutton your pants,” she ordered.
Chelsea climbed aboard his lap, and her eager hands gripped his wiry forearms for support. He raised his hips, lifted his butt off the seat and allowed her to tug his black jeans down to his knees.
“We’re right in the middle of town, almost under the red and green light,” he protested pointlessly to her small round breasts, which peaked through her nightshirt.
“What about yellow? Everyone always forgets about yellow, but Portnorth is the kind of town where a yellow light means slow down, not speed up,” she rambled. “Remember me always, Ben. Think of me, promise, whenever you slow down for the yellow light.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. When he felt her hand maneuvering him inside of her, he reminded her, “We don’t have another condom.”
“So what, or are you HIV positive?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone in Portnorth having AIDS, and she figured Portnorth was probably such an incestuously small town it easily could be wiped out by plague or petulance.
Ben shrugged, indicating he was safe as far as he knew. She laughed and chided, “Then I don’t care if you get me pregnant, our baby would be beautiful.”
“Okay, just watch out for my nose. If it weren’t for my shirt, Nick wouldn’t have gotten in so many good punches,” Ben said, and she placed an index finger over his mouth.
Chelsea gasped when she felt herself engulf his member in its entirety. As she slowly moved him in and out of her, her forehead pressed into his collarbone while her bobbed hair bounced against his bare chest. Sliding closer to him, one of her knees dug into the vinyl seat, and the other slapped against the door causing the interior light to flick on and off. His hands encircled her tiny waist, and he supported her rocking hips while his fingertips massaged the small of her back. His streaming black hair brushed anxiously against her breasts.
Headlights temporarily flooded the car, and Chelsea surged forward as the rising waves of satisfaction lulled against her inside. She faded against him, jolted by the jerking spasms of his moist thighs beneath her. The seat was slippery with their sweat, and she felt his wetness seeping from her. She remained straddling him while gazing deeply into his pleased, dark almond eyes.
“I love fucking you,” she said breathing hard into his ear.
“You’re not so shoddy.”
“Am I better than my mother?” she asked, and he grew rapidly flaccid inside of her. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
“Forgiven,” he said, and he generously kissed her frowning lips several times.
“Will you think of me next time you’re with her?”
“You don’t quit, do you?” he asked, smiling tiredly. Then he informed her it was probably time they said goodnight. Once again, headlights shone into the car, and he was graced with an up-close and personal view of her small athletic frame.
Chelsea climbed off of him, and she did not bother putting on her pants. Instead, she watched him pull up his black jeans, and while he buckled his belt, she leaned over and kissed his neck below the ear. Although her mouth lingered on his wet lips, he pulled away and left her sitting alone under the traffic light. She watched him mount his bike, wave casually and drive off in the direction of the highway.
For a long while, Chelsea sat there feeling strangely satisfied and yet hungry with longing. She regretted not having any excuses or responsibilities to tie her down in the place she loved more than any other in the whole entire world. The great wide open was hers to discover and conquer in solitude, but all she really longed for was a person to attach herself to, preferably one from her adopted little hometown where nothing ever changed, and everything remained comfortably the same.
chapter twenty-one
The hospital room was dimly lit from the outside streetlamps. Leaning against the window, Nick’s shadow loomed over Evangelica’s bedside. Jack dozed in a chair, and one of his scrawny arms lay across Vange’s waist. Their labored breathing sounded in unison throughout the room.
In the darkness, it looked as if Vange was sleeping so soundly that she would wake up in the morning fresh-faced and dewy eyed. Jack sat with his face in his arms on the bed, and his downward position concealed his many lacerations and bruises. Nick’s weary eyes roamed from Jack to the chair at the foot of the bed, where Kate sat stiffly gripping the arms. She remained fixed in this position ever since leaving Jack’s side.
Earlier, Nick found her protectively maternal suspended over her younger brother. While watching Kate run her fingers through Jack’s stringy blond hair, he saw a sense of nurturing responsibility stirring within his future wife. It occurred to him Kate, Jack and Vange all shared a common world-weary toughness; however, Jack and Vange’s matching hospital gowns served as testimony to their defeat, whereas Kate’s disheveled appearance was the hallmark of a true survivor.
Kate had not even glanced at Nick since he invaded the hospital room with a change of clothes for her, and she refused to offer a response whenever he quietly whispered her name. She continued sitting statuesque in the chair with her eyes downcast. Under the dim lights, the spots of her dress that were still white leapt out from behind the dried mud, blood, and wine stains. She looked like a ghostly corpse who had been mowed down by Mack truck.
The digital clock hanging above the monstrously huge hospital bed indicated it was almost three in the morning, and Nick found it impossible to believe tomorrow was his wedding day. He felt unnerved and exhausted, but there was no way he could plunge into sleep with so many issues unresolved between them. Unnoticed, he watched her, and he was impressed with her facade of resolute calm. He speculated the extent of her feelings of betrayal and guessed she was churning inside with bitterness, but he had no way of knowing her exact emotional state because she gave no indication of her feelings.
When Kate rose to her feet, she picked up the clothes he had set aside for her and walked dazed into the bathroom. He waited until she emerged wearing scrubs he borrowed from a nurse, and he followed her down the hall to the lounge, where she extracted a pungent cup of coffee from an unreliable looking vending machine.
Kate stepped around Nick as if he was an inanimate object, and she remained frozen when he reached out and touched her arm. Moving away from his grasp, she encircled him without speaking, and she fixated her gaze coldly on him.
“Honey, we need to talk,” he began.
“About what?” she asked, with determined intensity to sound calm and rational, which only made her seem insane.
“Don’t you think we need to discuss a few things?” Nick asked, and he continued pointedly, “Tomorrow is our wedding day and you’re acting like a complete stranger. How can we walk down the aisle like this?”
Unsure whether or not she wanted to be anything more than strangers, Kate said blankly, “I don’t know, you tell me.”
Nick motioned to the mauve, half-circle couch, and he invited her to sit down to discuss what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
“What’s there to talk about? You slept with her, and she tried to kill herself,” Kate said. “End of story.”
Nick sighed and regretfully shook his head. Still wearing his crumbled sandstone suit. His open chambray shirt revealed a too tight U of M T-shirt, and he seemed pathetic for the first time she could remember. His bloodshot eyes and look of loss compelled Kate to take a seat on the ugly sofa.
She refused to look up at him and demanded, “Well, start talking.”
“Why did you attack Ben like that?” he asked, swaying before her. “Especially when you saw me outside the door. What was that all about, some sort of revenge?”
Kate expelled a burst of ironic laughter. Her feet instinctively threatened to carry her away. “You want to discuss my behavior? I don’t think so.”
Nick sat and folded his hands together under his chin as if praying for everything to work out. “Please, Katie, we have to start somewhere.”
“Well, let’s start with this – do you know how worthless you’ve made me feel? Can you even imagine the humiliation?” Kate asked, and she sat back down across from him on top the coffee table. “Maybe that’s why I did what I did with Ben, to make you feel as small as I felt.”
“It worked,” Nick whispered. “I can’t believe I lost it so bad I slugged him like that. I feel horrible.”
“So what? Does this mean we’re even because you feel bad about punching out a high school buddy you barely talk to anymore?” Kate asked angrily. “Is that how this works?”
Nick moved to sit closer to her, and she shirked away as if he posed a threat of contamination. She was disgusted by the mere thought of him touching her. They remained silent for a long time while Kate sipped the coffee and Nick sat stooped over with his hands resting on his chin. The minutes dragged with the silent exchange of her animosity and his brooding.
Finally, he turned to her and said with complete sincerity, “I’m so sorry. You can’t know how much I mean it. There’s nothing I can ever do to make this up to you, but please at least let me try.” He did not understand what she was thinking or feeling, but he needed her to help him to understand. He paused and then added, “I never intended to jeopardize our future together.”
“The only thing you never intended was getting caught,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d have to deal with this crap until you were at least out of medical school.”
“Kate, I-I love you,” Nick stammered, and he leaned forward so he could look directly into her eyes. “Believe me, above all else I love you more than anything.”
Kate reached out for his unsuspecting hand and leaned into him. She rested her other hand against his chest and flattened her open palm against him. Then she balled up a fist and calmly slugged him several times.
Trying the Knot Page 31