“Oh, and did I give you our bulletin of activities for the weekend?” she asks a young couple who stands off to one side. They’re not here for the wedding, so Lydia rattles off a quick list of activities. “There’s a croquet match on the front lawn at five. We like to make a few of the old Seafarer pastimes available to our guests,” she explains. For another family with young children, she presses the Seafarer bulletin into their hands, exclaiming, “There are so many fun things for kids to do here! There’s cornhole and a water-balloon toss at six o’clock. A three-legged race. Do you guys like horseshoes? There’s a place you can play out back. And the pool, of course. And, oh, don’t forget the Children’s Museum, practically around the corner—so much fun! There are some fantastic new restaurants in the neighborhood you’ll want to be sure to check out, too.”
She’s been grinning so hard, Jean-Paul thinks her dimples must hurt. Seeing her in action, he wonders why he’s had her manning restaurant reservations all this time when clearly she should be working the front desk or the concierge counter. She’s managed to deflect nearly every question about the camera crews outside. To another wedding guest, she says, “Relax, enjoy yourselves. And if you’d prefer to linger on the porch with a cool summer drink, please be our guest. Our staff is eager to provide you with whatever your heart desires.”
He’s not needed here, he realizes with a dart of relief. Lydia can handle everything at the moment. He’s about to head back to his office when an attractive woman, her dark hair pulled up in a bun and dressed in white jeans and a black top, pushes through the doors with a baby stroller. Not until she removes her sunglasses, her warm eyes skirting the room before they land on him, does he make the connection. It’s Marie, his wife’s familiar, tender face inviting his gaze like the rarest of flowers.
And it’s all he can do not to fall to his knees.
TWENTY-SIX
Earlier that day
When Jason gets out of the shower, Gwen’s standing there with her arms crossed, like she’s ready to ambush him. “So your phone dinged again, and I couldn’t help but notice that it was George. Texting something about a Charlie kid?”
Her words have bite to them, as if she’s waiting for him to let her in on some big secret. They’re just back from brunch in the hotel dining room. Blueberry pancakes, omelets, fruit, mimosas. Jason was relieved to see Gwen eating after yesterday’s cruise debacle. Over breakfast, they’d laughed about their jolly shipmate who seemed to take his job much too seriously, and afterward, they’d crept back up to the room to make love. He’d been thinking about his conversation with Claire last night, while the rain showerhead pounded on his back. What was it that she’d said about him and Gwen? Oh, right, basically that Jason was full of crap and should get his act together. He grins, thinking maybe he’ll actually do it. Maybe before they head back to New Hampshire tomorrow, he’ll propose. Of course, there’s the matter of a ring, but he’s pretty sure he could figure something out, maybe a stand-in for the real thing. But he’d had no idea of the tsunami building right outside the bathroom door.
“Oh, yeah, that,” he replies now, as nonchalantly as possible, and reknots the hotel towel more tightly around his waist.
He goes to his suitcase to retrieve his boxer shorts, his jeans and T-shirt, pretending this is just the beginning of an ordinary conversation. But they both know it’s not. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” she says. “Like it’s not only your dissertation you’re having second thoughts about.” She flops down on the bed, arms stretched out behind her. “What’s going on, Jason?” She lifts an arm, holds up a finger. “And before you begin, let me tell you that it would be in your best interest to tell me the truth. All of it.”
“What are you talking about, hon?” He’s trying to buy himself a few extra moments while he shimmies into his jeans. How best to present the news that a student is accusing him of assault only two days after she watched him punch a total stranger at the museum. Only a week after he’d grabbed her so hard that a deep purple bruise had bloomed on her upper arm. Because regardless of the fact that the whole Charlie thing isn’t true, he’s scared she’ll want to leave him if she finds out about it. And he can’t let that happen. Not when he’s just been thinking about how to get a proxy ring for a proposal.
“You tell me,” she says. “By the way, I already knew that you’d bailed on your classes. That wasn’t some big secret.” There’s an angry edge to her voice, the flirt of earlier this morning entirely gone.
“You did?”
“Well, I didn’t find out intentionally,” she says. “A few weeks ago I went to your classroom with a sub from Downtown Deli. I thought maybe I could sit in and learn something and, afterward, we could have a picnic. I thought it would be a nice surprise. But you know who I found when I got there? A young woman, one of your students, sitting at a desk with her laptop. By herself. When I apologized, said I must have gotten the wrong classroom, she corrected me, told me that, no, this was Professor Wadsworth’s room but that he’d canceled class a few days ago. She’d shown up, she said, because she was hoping maybe you’d change your mind and come back.”
Jason is completely blindsided by this news. Whether it’s because Gwen has been on to him this whole time or the fact that one devoted student actually kept showing up for his class, he can’t say. He wonders who it was. Probably Molly. She’d been the only student who’d seemed half-interested in the Bolsheviks.
“I was going to tell you,” he says, recovering, “but it never seemed like the right time. I wanted to get my own thoughts sorted out, you know? About my dissertation, about what I wanted to do instead of teaching, before I talked to you.”
She sighs heavily, as if talking to him suddenly exhausts her. “So we’re in this thing called a relationship?” she says condescendingly. “And usually people in a relationship talk to each other about what’s happening in their lives. They help each other through stuff, you know?” She pauses to tug a stray string off the hem of a pretty yellow sundress she’s wearing. “And it kind of feels like the past month you’ve been shutting me out.”
He pulls on his T-shirt, rakes his fingers through his hair, then slides open the balcony door to let in some air. “It’s complicated, hon. And unfortunately it’s gotten a lot more complicated in the past forty-eight hours. I’m not sure you really want to know, to be honest.”
“Try me. I’m a pretty strong girl.”
He hesitates. “Can we at least go out on the balcony to talk about it? Please?”
She pushes up from the bed and rolls her eyes, as if that’s not going to make the slightest difference in her reaction to whatever news he might possibly share with her. But she follows him out there, and they both peer out on the harbor that’s as calm and flat as a pond today.
“So,” he begins and takes a deep breath. “So, this Charlie kid that George has been texting about is one of my students.”
“Uh-huh.” Her lips are twisted into a knot, waiting for whatever’s coming next.
“And, well, he flunked his final exam, which means he flunked the class.”
“Wait, was he a senior?”
“No, freshman. So it’s not like I kept him from graduating or anything. The kid deserved it, fair and square.”
“I don’t get it, then. What’s the big deal?”
“A couple of things.” He grips the railing while considering how best to frame it. “First, it turns out that his dad owns Wiggam’s Sporting Goods.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, so there’s some money involved. Daddy’s probably a big donor to the college. I don’t know.”
“And? What else?”
“The last one’s a little more tricky.” A long sigh escapes from his lips. He doesn’t want to face Gwen when he tells her, but he knows he must. He turns and meets her gaze. “So, it turns out Charlie is also a gifted liar. He’s filed a
complaint with the university saying I assaulted him in the parking lot at Old Marley’s back in May.” The words come spilling out.
Gwen’s eyes narrow. “And did you?”
“No!” he says a little too loudly. “Absolutely not. The kid’s making the whole thing up. Says I punched him in the stomach completely unprovoked.”
“But were you there, Jason? Is there anyone who can place you there?”
“No, because I wasn’t there. It’s his word against mine.”
“Is he saying there were any witnesses?”
He has to stop and think for a minute. “I don’t think so. Actually, I think maybe the complaint says that he was there with friends. I don’t remember exactly.”
“So if he was there with friends, presumably they would have seen something.”
Jason shrugs. “I guess so. But I wasn’t there, so it’s not like they can confirm or refute anything.”
She’s leaning over the banister now, watching the people parading down below. She shakes her head. “Jesus, Jason. I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations.”
“But I didn’t do it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no situation. He flunked my class. What was I supposed to do? Pass him because he’s the son of some bigwig? Which, incidentally, I didn’t know at the time. Not that it would have made any difference.”
On her upper arm, the smudge of the bruise now resembles a small birthmark. If he didn’t know that this was precisely where his hand had grabbed her last week, he’d never guess it was a result of his fury. He’d caught her with that Gary guy again. Jason had come to pick Gwen up after class, and when she hadn’t been waiting outside the building for him, he’d run in to let her know he was there. But when he’d rounded the corner to her office, she was leaning against the wall, Gary’s head bent down while he talked to her, his arm outstretched above her. Jason had startled them both, and Gary had scampered off, saying, “Hey, Jason. Good to see you, man.”
He can still remember the look in Gwen’s eyes, fearful and pleading, when he told her he’d wait outside for her. He’d stormed back to the car, and a few minutes later, she’d come out of the building and climbed into the passenger seat. “Honey, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not at all what it might have seemed like,” she said.
He’d remained quiet, silently fuming the entire way home.
When they got back to their apartment, he’d headed straight for the kitchen and slammed the pot down on the stove while he waited for the water to boil for spaghetti. When Gwen had come in to help herself to a glass of wine, he grabbed her by the arm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Flirting with that idiot? Do you honestly expect me to believe nothing’s going on?”
“Jason, please,” she’d begged. “You’re hurting me.” But he didn’t care. He was going to get the truth out of her, no matter what.
“Tell me. Just tell me the truth, and we can be done here.”
“I swear to you,” she’d said, trying to rip her arm away, and his fingers had pressed more deeply into her skin, “we were just talking. Gary has a girlfriend. He doesn’t think about me that way.”
“Then why was he leaning over you like he might kiss you?” The image flashed through Jason’s mind, making him jealous all over again. Because the prospect of Gwen’s falling in love with someone else—which he understood made complete sense in the natural order of things (she should have been with someone else, someone better than Jason)—had scared the hell out of him.
“That’s ridiculous! He’d never do that. I’d never do that. How can you not know that? How can you not trust me?” And at that moment, the phone on the kitchen wall had started to ring. Something about the sudden noise jarred Jason from whatever rage had overtaken him. Just the simple noise of a phone ringing, as if he’d been jolted out of a dream. Kind of similar to the way he’d felt at the museum until he’d heard Gwen’s screams and saw the guy lying at his feet in a heap. When the phone rang, his hand dropped, releasing her arm. She’d immediately pulled it away, run into the bedroom sobbing and locked the door. And Jason had thought You idiot. What are you doing? His dad’s voice rang in his ears.
He thought for sure he’d lost her, that it was over. But no. There’d been heartfelt, tear-riddled apologies, makeup jewelry, makeup sex. He promised he’d never hurt her again. She said she loved him and wanted to stay together, so long as he got help. Jason promised he would. He still hasn’t.
But this, this is different. He didn’t actually do anything to this Charlie kid. God, the irony is priceless, he thinks. He’s now in the position of trying to convince his girlfriend whom he has hurt in the past, who has watched him punch another man, that he didn’t in fact hurt this kid. He feels like he’s caught in the story of the boy who cried wolf, except that Jason is the wolf—and no one’s coming to save the boy when he needs it most.
“Hmm...” she says quietly, suddenly thoughtful. “I’m not sure it really matters, are you?”
“Whaddya mean?”
Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “Just that it’s your word against his, and if his daddy is some bigwig, you’re probably going to lose.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Maybe it’s the push you need. You know, to cut yourself free from academia.”
“Maybe.” There’s a ferry churning across the harbor, and Jason watches the frothy wake spilling out behind it. “Anyway, it’ll all work out. It’s not like he’s pressing charges with the police department. He’s not that dumb.”
Gwen flips her hair over her shoulder. She’s so pretty, sometimes it hurts to look at her because it only underscores for him the odd happenstance that they’re together. She deserves someone so much better. Someone who will spoil her, who will give her the head-over-heels love she deserves and not get crazy jealous every time another male stands within six feet of her.
“I hope so. I hope it all works out for you,” she says now.
The way she says it, though, makes him think there’s more heft behind the statement than those eleven simple words. “Me, too.” He waits for her to say more, something about how they’ve already been through plenty and this is a mere hiccup, that Charlie will disappear once Jason calls his bluff. But there’s nothing. “It should,” he adds. “I’m not really worried. We should be fine.”
Which is when Gwen says something that sounds an awful lot like “Uh-uh.”
“Sorry, what?” he says.
“Uh-uh, Jason. This one’s not about us. I hope it all works out for your sake, I really do. But I can’t do this anymore. It’s exhausting. Wondering when you’re going to lose it again.” He thinks he sees her swipe at her eyes. “Because you will, you know. It’s like I’m living on the edge all the time. And even though you promised me you were going to get help—and you said again you would this weekend—why should I believe you? Half the time you don’t tell me the truth. Why would this be any different?”
“Babe, come on. You’re making mountains out of molehills. I’m going to get help. Really. I mean it. Especially now that I’m handing my key in to the university, I’ll have plenty of spare time on my hands. And you seem to be missing the key point here: I didn’t do it.”
“Really, Jason?” She’s looking at him with those big, sad blue eyes. “Is that the ‘key point’? I really want to believe you. But remember I was there the other day when you leveled that poor guy who did nothing wrong. I’ve seen your anger in full swing. It’s scary.” She rubs at her arm in the exact spot of the bruise, as if pushing away the ghost of his hand.
“I know. And I’m sorry,” he says, his voice softening. “More sorry than you could possibly know.”
She nods her head slowly. “And I’m so sorry that it’s not enough anymore.”
A switch flips on in him, maybe one that’s been dormant all
this time, since the day his father threw him across the living room and punched him in the eye for the first time. Who knows? Maybe it’s the same self-protective switch that kicks on anytime he’s feeling threatened. The same one that flipped in the museum. Because Gwen can’t leave him. She wouldn’t do that. Not after they’ve just spent this mind-blowing week together. Not after they’ve worked so hard to get to where they are.
“What do you mean?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t do this anymore. Your sorrys don’t cut it anymore. Don’t you get it? I’m scared of you.”
She takes a step back from him, and he can feel his heart twisting in his chest. Whoa. She’s scared of him? For a brief moment, he considers how to make this all better, how to reassure her that there’s nothing to be afraid of. That he’s the same old Jason, that he loves her like crazy and that she can’t give up on him—on them—now.
Instead he says, “You’re scared of me? Scared of the guy you made love to an hour ago? C’mon now, Gwen. Let’s not get dramatic.”
He gets that he can turn angry sometimes, but he’d never do anything to actually hurt her. Not really. Sure, he grabbed her arm a little too hard when he was upset, but it’s not as if he beats her up, punches her in the face like those losers who end up in divorce court for domestic violence. Nothing like what his dad did to his mom. No, Jason’s anger is usually directed at someone else, and typically on Gwen’s behalf! Almost everyone he has ever laid a finger on has been someone who was being disrespectful of her. He’s been protecting her. And now she’s going to conveniently overlook that fact?
“I’m not.” Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her. “Being dramatic.”
“Babe, I love you. You gotta know that.”
“I do.”
“So why do you want to break up all of a sudden?”
When she turns to him, her eyes are wet with tears. “All of a sudden? Really? This has been going on since that day last fall when you dragged me away from all my friends at the game because you thought Gary was hitting on me.” She shakes her head. “God, that was so embarrassing. And you grabbed me. Hard.”
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