by Tawna Fenske
“From the book?” Corrie’s eyes are wide. “The Maurice Sendak one? Where the Wild Things Are?”
I nod, recognizing amazement in her eyes that goes beyond a fondness for the children’s story. “Yeah. The right arm has that scene where Max is wearing his wolf suit and swinging through the trees and—”
“And the left arm has Max in his sailboat with the Wild Things on the beach?”
I stare at her. “How did you know that?”
“Because I stare at those arms for two hours every time I have my hair colored.” Corrie shakes her head and sets her mug down with a clank. “She’s a stylist at Luminescence. I’m like ninety percent sure her name is Jill or Jen or something. She has the station right next to the chick who does my hair.”
No way. In a city of 2.5 million, this can’t be possible.
I blink at her and set my latte down with a shaky clang. “Are you sure?”
She shrugs. “As sure as I could be. How many women are there with dark hair and blue eyes and Wild Thing tattoos on the exact same arms?”
“It’s Portland. Maybe a lot.”
Corrie frowns and looks thoughtful. “There’s a framed wedding photo at her station. It’s just her in a wedding gown, though, no groom. She’s wearing this boho, lacy number and has this soft-looking updo with little curls falling around her face.”
My stomach lurches. “It has to be her.”
We stare at each other for a few beats, neither of us wanting to say what we’re thinking. Or maybe it’s just Corrie who doesn’t want to say it.
So I do.
“I have to tell her,” I say. “She deserves to know what her husband did. I’m going to find her.”
My heart feels like someone’s grinding it under a boot heel as I wait outside Luminescence Salon five minutes before the end of Jill’s shift. I stopped myself from barging in during work hours, not wanting to make a scene. Corrie called to find out her hours and kept me distracted all afternoon while we waited for her workday to end.
Then my friend took a grudging step back and agreed to let me handle it alone. “Call me if you need anything,” Corrie had urged as she’d pulled up in front of the salon. “A pep talk, a shoulder to cry on, a shovel and a place to bury a body.”
“Thank you, Corrie,” I told her as I got out of the car. “I’ll catch an Uber home.”
“And I’ll pick up the packrat and meet you back at your place by five,” she promised. “Call if you change your mind about me peeing on his couch.”
“You’re a good friend.” I turned toward the salon, confident I was doing the right thing.
Five minutes later, I’m not so sure.
The door jingles, and I look up to see the woman from the photo. My heart stutters to a halt in my chest. I’d know her face anywhere, even if her bare arms didn’t ripple with familiar tattoos. Bright-blue eyes are scanning her phone, the same eyes I saw gazing up at Noah with a fondness that makes my chest ache even now.
My gaze snags on her diamond wedding band, and I wonder how Noah chose it. Was it a family heirloom, or something they picked together?
I tear my eyes off the ring and take a shaky breath. As I step forward into her path, my heart restarts with a painful squeeze. “Excuse me, are you Jill? Jill—um—Donovan?”
She looks up from her phone, surprised, then gives a guarded nod. “That’s right. What can I do for you?”
Crap. This is harder than I thought it would be.
I clear my throat, determined to do the right thing. Determined to tell Jill the truth. To save some idiot like me from going through this.
“Look, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it, okay?”
Jill frowns, and I watch as her expression turns quizzical. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, you don’t know me.” I swipe my hands down the front of my jeans, hating the weakness in my voice. “But I know your husband. Intimately, as a matter of fact.”
I pause there, hoping she won’t ask for details. Hoping she won’t make me spell it out. If he’s a serial philanderer, maybe this is old news to her. Maybe she expects it.
No such luck.
“What, are you an old girlfriend or something?” The little half smile she gives me is hopeful, and it breaks my heart to crush that hope.
I shake my head slowly. “No. I’m so sorry. Recently. As in—very, very recently. Like it just happened. Um, just happened.”
Her brow creases, and I hate that I’m screwing this up so badly. That I’m peeling the Band-Aid off with agonizing slowness instead of the fast yank I’d planned. None of this is right. “I’m so, so—sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me he was married, and I didn’t find out until afterward—”
“Wait, are you trying to say you slept with my husband?” She shakes her head, and I can tell she doesn’t feel any better saying those words than I do hearing them. “This has to be some kind of joke.”
“I wish it was. Were.” Shit, is now really the time to be worrying about grammar? “I’m sorry,” I say again for lack of anything better. “I thought you’d want to know. I’d want to know if I were you.”
She shakes her head, and I can see her face has lost the cheerful flush of a woman finishing a long workday. She’s pale and stricken and looks like she might throw up. I hate that I’m responsible.
“I’m sorry, but I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around this,” Jill says, shaking her head so the dark curls sway. “I’m not saying you’re a liar, but this—this—this is nothing like him.”
“I know,” I tell her. “He seemed like the world’s nicest guy. He rescued my packrat and took down a purse snatcher with a bratwurst.”
The look Jill gives me says I may have just docked a few points from my credibility score. I shove my hands in my jeans pockets, determined to get back on track. “I’m just saying I had no idea. You have to believe I never would have—”
“What was your name again?” she asks.
I realize I still haven’t told her, which probably seems weird. “Lexi,” I tell her. “Lexi Allison.”
“Lexi Allison,” she repeats, committing to memory the name of a home-wrecker whore. “I’m not saying it’s impossible,” she says slowly. “I mean, he does travel sometimes for work.”
“Right, he said that!” I say, not sure why I’m relieved that the details match up. It’s hardly a silver lining to this dark cloud.
Jill shakes her head as twin hash marks form deep grooves in her forehead. “Are you saying this happened in Spain, then?”
I frown at her and shake my head slowly. “Spain? No, of course not. It happened right here in Portland. Last night, if you want to know.”
She stares at me a moment, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. The wonder over where he really went when she dropped him at the airport for some fictional business trip. The feigned long-distance phone calls, the lies about paella, and—
“I’m sorry, Lexi—by any chance do you have some sort of proof? This is a big accusation you’re making, and I’m sure you understand why I’d trust my own husband over the words of some craz—some, uh—seemingly well-intentioned woman I’ve just met.”
“I understand,” I say slowly. I think fast, trying to come up with evidence. Something I’d only know if I were on intimate terms with Noah. “Um, okay. He has this fireplace. Gorgeous stonework with a river and mountains and trees all crafted from pebbles. There’s this grassy meadow made out of jasper, and even little daisies made out of the tiniest white stones you’ve ever seen.”
As I speak, I realize my voice has filled with reverence. Say what you will about Noah the cheater, but Noah the artist is talented.
It’s then that I realize Jill’s eyes have filled with something other than reverence. There’s a flash of ah-ha as she stares at me a moment, then pulls out her iPhone and flicks it on. Her eyes leave mine, and I watch as she scrolls across something on the screen, the flexing of her arm making Max and the Wild Things dance in the trees.
“Here,” Jill says, holding out her phone. “Is this the guy you’re talking about?”
I stare down at the screen into the face of a smiling man with broad shoulders and dark hair.
A man I’ve never seen before in my life.
I shake my head, not sure what’s going on. “No,” I say. “That’s not the guy from last night.”
A tiny flicker of relief blooms in me. Maybe I haven’t just ruined this woman’s life. Or maybe they have an open marriage. It’s Portland, after all, so that’s kind of a thing. It’s not my scene, but maybe it isn’t adultery if the spouses are swingers? Is that even the right term for it?
Jill is scrolling through her phone again, her expression peculiar and unreadable. “Here, look at this.” She thrusts out her phone with an odd, triumphant smile, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Noah.
My chest clenches tight around my heart as I stare down at that familiar deep-brown gaze. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, and I’d know those dimples anywhere.
“That guy,” Jill says. “Is that the guy you’re talking about?”
I nod slowly, not sure what’s going on. Not sure if Jill’s about to punch me in the face or invite me to a group-sex thing.
Instead, she laughs and puts a hand on my arm. “Congratulations, honey,” she says, smiling like someone whose senile aunt farted at Thanksgiving. “You fucked my baby brother.”
CHAPTER NINE
Noah
I’ve never felt like a bigger asshole than I do right now.
From the second I met her, I knew Lexi was skittish. That trusting someone didn’t come easily for her, and that I had to tread really, really carefully.
I can’t believe I screwed this up.
I almost don’t hear the knock at the door. I’ve got my head buried under the kitchen sink, even though I’ve already searched the space a dozen times since Lexi walked out.
The pounding comes again, and this time it sets my heart thudding, too.
Lexi.
She’s back.
I stagger to my feet and practically run to the door, tripping on the edge of the carpet. I have to explain. I have to hold her in my arms and tell her we’ll fix this together. That I’ll do anything to make sure—
“Hey, asshole.”
The redhead standing on my doorstep is definitely not Lexi. But she is pissed, judging from the fury in her eyes and the scowl on her face.
I stare her down, a little surprised when she doesn’t flinch. I get the sense this girl doesn’t scare easily.
But neither do I. “If you’re selling something door-to-door, your sales pitch needs work.”
“Har-har.” She regards me with a scathing look. “The charm might’ve worked on Lexi, but it’s useless on me. Especially since I know all about you.”
Lexi.
The sound of her name sends my heart lunging again, and I grab the leash to tether it to something more solid. “You’re a friend of Lexi’s?”
I hate the hopeful note in my voice almost as much as I hate the scorn in the woman’s eyes. “I’m her best friend,” the woman clarifies. “Corrie. And you’re lucky I haven’t already castrated you with the nail file in my purse.”
Ouch. Seems a little harsh, but fine. I did screw up.
“Before you read me the riot act, can I give you her shoes? They’re right there where she left them.”
She glances into the living room, and I see her eyes land on the fireplace. Her face registers surprise before going dark, and I wonder if Lexi said something about it to her.
“Man, that’s fucking ugly,” she says. “You really need to have that whole wall redone.”
I don’t know why, but this makes me smile. It means Lexi told her about me, about the fireplace. Corrie’s throwing the sharpest stones she can think of to wound me, and for some reason I’m flattered.
“And what’s with the empty patch right there?” Corrie continues, pointing toward the corner where the sun’s supposed to be. “Too lazy to finish the job? Oh, and speaking of finishing too soon, I heard about your performance in the sack—”
“Enough!” I say, surprised by the firmness in my voice. I square my shoulders and cross my arms over my chest. My instinct to make myself small and unthreatening has vanished, replaced by the urge to defend myself. To prove myself worthy of Lexi, even to her friend.
“Look, Corrie—I get that you’re pissed. And it’s admirable that you’re sticking up for Lexi. She deserves someone who fights for her.”
Corrie glares back, but I see her bravado falter just a little. She cares about Lexi, that much is clear.
But so do I.
“I’m really sorry about what I did,” I tell her honestly.
Corrie shakes her head, and it’s clear that doesn’t come close to making things better. “Lexi is the best person I’ve ever met,” she says, emotion making her voice quiver. “Do you have any idea how rarely she lets anyone in?”
“I do,” I say, recognizing with absolute certainty the gift Lexi gave me last night.
“I doubt it,” she says. “I doubt you have any idea how much damage you’ve really done.”
I take a breath and try not to let my resolve crumble. “I do understand,” I say. “It means more than you realize that Lexi let me get close to her.”
Corrie shakes her head, brow furrowing in disgust. “So why didn’t you just tell her? Why didn’t you come clean right away?”
“What, you want me to wake her up at midnight to announce it? ‘Hey, I know you’re sleeping peacefully and all, but I wanted to ruin your night by letting you know—’”
“No, you asshole,” she snaps. “The time to tell her was before you got her in the sack. Before she let her guard down and started thinking you were something special.”
I throw my hands in the air, too pissed now to care that I look like an angry gorilla. “What the hell are you talking about? It didn’t happen until after she fell asleep! And I spent the next six hours combing this house from top to bottom trying to find him so none of this would have to happen at all!”
I’m shouting now, and I see Corrie take a step back. I feel bad for scaring her, but goddamn it, I’m tired of cowering. Tired of making myself smaller when I need to stand up for myself.
Corrie doesn’t say anything for a second. She stares at me for so long that I start to wonder if I’ve startled her into muteness.
“Okay, explain to me what the holy hell you’re talking about?” she says. “Because I came here to confront you about the fact that you’re married. And I know Bartholomew is here somewhere, but—”
“Married?” I shout. “What the holy hell are you talking about?”
We stare at each other for what seems like forever. It’s possible we’d stare at each other for eternity if Lexi’s voice didn’t ring out across the driveway.
“Wait!”
The shout comes from down the street, but Lexi herself appears moments later. She’s breathless and panting and wearing ridiculous flip-flops with plastic bananas across the toes.
“Corrie! Noah! Stop!” She skids to a halt in front of us and looks from me to Corrie and back to me again. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding.”
“No shit.” Corrie stares at me for a long minute, then looks at Lexi. “Did you find Jill at Luminescence?”
Lexi nods, and I try to figure o
ut what the hell is going on here. “Why on earth did you need to find my sister?”
Both women turn and stare at me. “I thought she was your wife,” Lexi says. “I saw the photo in your guest room. The one of you standing beside her in a tux and her in a wedding gown, and I thought—”
“Oh my God.” I scrub my hands down my face, rewinding this morning’s conversation in my head and replaying it with fresh ears. “Jill’s wedding photo,” I say. “I was her bridesman. Her best man. Whatever the hell you call it when you’re a guy who stands up for the bride.”
“A man of honor,” Corrie says in a voice with all the venom leaked out.
“He’s not married,” Lexi says to Corrie, then looks at me. “You’re not married.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I shake my head anyway. “No. I’ve never been married.”
“And I’ve never been more sorry in my whole life,” Lexi says. She shakes her head as tears glitter in her eyes. “Noah, I’m so sorry. Sorry doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now. If I could take back everything I said—”
“Wait, hang on a minute,” Corrie says, throwing up her hands like a referee. “I’m confused. If you’re not married, what’s this big infraction you committed? What were you apologizing for? What’s this thing you meant to tell her earlier?”
Corrie’s questions hit me like pebbles in the face, yanking me back from this joyful reunion and reminding me that I really did fuck up. That Lexi really might hate me once she hears what I did.
But I have to tell her. I have to get this out in the open.
“Bartholomew,” I say. “I lost Bartholomew. For good this time.”
CHAPTER TEN
Lexi
I stare at Noah, trying to make sense of his words.