by Britney King
“I’m sorry,” he says, checking his watch and then meeting my eye. “Are you closed?”
Technically, we closed two minutes ago but I remember the twenty dollar tip and his million dollar grin and I simply say, “What can I get you?”
“I was thinking about an Americano, actually.”
He smiles, and there’s something in his eye that lets me know, he hasn’t forgotten they aren’t on the menu.
“Decaf?”
He tilts his head as though it isn’t late, as though I’m crazy for the thought. “I never do things halfway.”
I nod, and then I swallow hard because he’s looking at me the way I’ve seen him look at her in the photos, and I never want it to stop. I gather the things I need and flip the espresso machine back on. It comes to life, and I busy my hands.
“Busy today?”
“Always,” I say, and it isn’t a lie. Today was abnormally busy. We’ve just gotten the first cool front of the season and suddenly everyone thinks run-of-the-mill coffee is a good idea.
“I hope you don’t mind, but there’s something I need to ask you…”
I look up then and meet his eye.
“It’s the reason I came back, actually. I just have to know…”
I swallow hard, because his stare is burning a hole through me. I’m pretty sure in all my years in existence, no one has ever looked at me this way before. I can’t speak. I can’t think. Somehow I manage to lift my brow.
He waits for a second before he speaks. He holds my stare. “Who was Joshua?”
Chapter Thirteen
Josie
Grant leans in and releases my hair from a ponytail. He tosses the hair tie onto the bathroom counter and then meets my eye. “I missed you today,” he says, as he runs his hands through my hair, fanning it out.
I study my reflection in the mirror behind him.
“All those women and you know what?”
I offer up a blank stare. It’s best to let him tell me. That’s how this game works.
He smirks, and I can see why my husband is so good with the women he’s just mentioned. “I couldn’t wait to get home to you…” he tells me. “You are so beautiful, Josie.”
I lean forward and throw my arms around him. He makes me believe, even as he’s adjusting my appearance to suit his tastes.
“Wow,” he says. “It’s good to know you feel the same way.” He’s playing smug, but I can see the exhaustion on his face. I can hear the weariness in his tone. Or maybe that’s just what I want to hear. Maybe I want to know he’s every bit as worn out as I am. Maybe if that were the case, we could slow things down a little.
I pull away and search his eyes. He looks like he used to back in residency, when the days were long, and the pay was little. Only now—the circles underneath his eyes are more apparent—the wrinkle between his brow more pronounced. Time has its way of doing that. I reach up and run my finger along the crease to smooth it out. You’d think as a plastic surgeon, that he might take care of any sign of aging. But not Grant. He says it makes him look wiser, more capable. He isn’t wrong.
“Thank you for working so hard for us,” I say to him, and I mean it. Despite everything that’s happened, this is true. It has to be. That’s why it works. I keep the emotions real.
He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then he takes my forearms in his hands and squeezes. This is what our life has become, I think. Stolen moments. Bittersweet truths. He glances around me toward the door. “The kids in bed?”
“Yes,” I tell him, knowing what he wants. This time I want it too.
“Perfect. Let’s have a bath.”
I don’t want to undress in front of him. I’m afraid he’ll know what I’ve done. In my mind, I imagine that he’ll see the grease from those potato chips glistening on my thighs.
“I’m a plastic surgeon,” he told me once after Avery was born. “It’s my job to notice small subtleties. What kind of doctor would I be if I couldn’t calculate exact measurements on sight?” I was having a hard time getting back in shape. It’s the only time he’s asked me to go under the knife. He knows I’m terrified of needles. This, in and of itself, was enough to push me in the right direction.
That’s when I learned the secrets of dropping weight quickly. They want you to believe that veggies and exercise will do the trick. And maybe they’re right. But starving yourself is easier. Also, if given the choice between broccoli and nothing, I’d just as soon go with nothing.
“In you go,” he orders once the tub is half full. He eyes me from head to toe. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am,” I say, but I don’t immediately budge. I don’t want to undress. I’m hoping he’ll leave me, even though I know he won’t.
“I was thinking,” he tells me. He’s sitting on the side of the tub, removing his cufflinks. “That maybe it’s time to update this bathroom.”
I watch as he unbuttons his shirt. It was a clinical day, which means he spent most of the day alternating between consultations and follow-ups. It’s surgery my husband prefers, and already I know the kind of day he had will make him edgy, restless.
“A remodel?” My husband likes to keep me occupied. He likes to ensure I don’t have a moment of peace.
“It’s a bit dated, don’t you think?”
I laugh. “This bathroom is less than five years old…”
“Yes, but things move faster these days. Plus, we can afford it, and it’d be nice to have a change of scenery—tell me you disagree.”
“No,” I say, glancing around the space. “I see your point.”
“Beth said the clubhouse looks absolutely stunning.”
My face reddens. There’s something about Beth knowing that I’ve spent the greater part of my day scrubbing floors that bothers me. What bothers me worse is that my husband has spoken to her about it. I’m careful not to let it show, because I know if I can keep him talking, if I can keep the mood light, then it will divert attention away from other things. “I’m glad she liked it.”
I begin to undress. “How was your day?”
“Tiring,” he tells me. “But good. Next month will be a busy one.”
I raise my brow. My husband’s business is booming most of the year. Just before the holidays, even more so. People rush in to have their inadequacies tweaked before they have to face them at family gatherings.
“Wonderful.”
He gives me the once over, but I can see his mind is elsewhere. “I was thinking we should get away soon,” he mentions without looking at me. “I think you need it.”
“A remodel and a vacation,” I say jokingly. He cocks his head to the side. “That sounds like a great idea,” I tell him, but as the words ooze out into the space between us, I can see we both know it’s a lie. I signed an agreement prohibiting this. I wait for him to remind me. He doesn’t. Not now. It probably helps that I’m naked and bath water doesn’t ask permission to turn cold.
He motions me forward, and then steps in after me. We take our usual positions, him in back, me facing opposite, the back of my head resting against his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t being honest with me, Josie?”
“I am being honest. I think a vacation sounds like a great idea.”
He smooths the hair on my head. He runs his fingers through it. He always finds the knots. “And yet?”
“And yet—the very idea of putting it all together feels overwhelming. Especially now. We have a lot going on. The kids have a lot going on…”
“It sounds like I come in last on that list of yours.”
I shake my head. “You don’t.”
He yanks the knot loose. I flinch. He cups my breast. Satisfied, his hand trails lower. I’m not in the mood but it won’t change things. “Prove it,” he says, pushing my head down, and so I do.
“Is there something bothering you?” Grant asks as I towel off.
My eyes water. “No. Why?”
“You just didn’t seem as enthusia
stic as you normally are.”
“I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“I don’t think you’re taking good enough care of yourself Jos—”
I shrug. It’s the wrong move and I instantly realize the mistake. My husband doesn’t like nonchalance.
“Step on the scale,” he motions. “I think we should take a look.”
My eyes dart toward the mirror. “It’s not time for my weigh-in…”
“I’m worried about you,” he says. Clearly, he’s going to call my bluff. “I know you have a lot on your plate.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Yes, but preventative care is the most important kind.”
I stand there for a moment, hands at my sides. We’re eye to eye, toe to toe. Tears prick my eyelids but I refuse to let him see me cry. “I’m not one of your patients, Grant.”
“I know. You’re my wife,” he says, resting his hand on my lower back motioning me forward. “The most important thing in my whole world.”
Eventually, I step on the scale.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, reading the number. “You’re ten ounces over.”
I throw my head back, stare at the ceiling, and then let out a long heavy sigh.
He seems to think for a moment, but it’s an act, he knows just what he wants to say. He’s making me sweat it out. Finally, he exhales loudly. “But then, your period is coming soon.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.” I step off the scale and glare at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m just retaining water.”
He rubs at his jaw and then stops abruptly. He runs his hands over my body. He’s inspecting me the way he does his patients. I stand there, naked and humiliated. Finally, he stops and takes a step back. “I want you to see Beth tomorrow. She tells me you aren’t sleeping, which is interesting…”
I slip my robe on. “I’m fine, Grant.”
He grabs my forearm and looks me directly in the eye. “I mean, to have to learn about my wife’s sleeping habits from Beth?”
“It was just an excuse I came up with on the fly. You know how Beth is. Always making mountains out of molehills.”
“Yes, I do know how Beth is,” he tells me condescendingly. “She and I both agree an audit would do you good.”
“I don’t need an audit.”
“Don’t question me, Josie. Not after this.” He points toward his dick and then he looks up at me. “You know how hard I work for us, and the best you can offer at the end of a long day is a mediocre performance and obstinance?”
I swallow hard.
“You know I’m not supposed to talk about these things but…you need to know this…you’re sponsoring Tom’s new wife for a reason. I need to know you understand what’s at stake here, Josie.”
I think long and hard about what I’m going to say next, and I steady my tone before I speak. “You’re right,” I say. “I understand.” And in that moment, I think I’m beginning to.
Chapter Fourteen
Izzy
Josie Dunn posted a picture of new running shoes to Instalook this morning. Isn’t my husband thoughtful? she wanted to know, and clearly, the answer is yes. Now, my most pressing dilemma appears to be that I need new shoes. Mine were worn out anyhow, and wow—she’s right. That man really knows his shoes. Instantly, I Google the brand and try to find out how I might get them, too. Funny thing, I’m not even a runner. But if I had those shoes, and the opportunity to get a body like Josie Dunn, I just might be willing to give it a go. Who knows? A bit of exercise might even do me good. Finally, I find the shoes and order me a pair. They aren’t cheap, not that I expected as much. You get what you pay for. And if I want the kind of life the Dunns have, then I have to play the part.
Hard work pays off. Or internet shopping. Same difference. An hour later she posts a shot of herself at a trail not far from Lucky’s with the caption Breaking them in.
I glance up at the clock, and I tell Stacey I’m taking a break. She doesn’t look at me funny, not like she should, because Stacey is clueless and wouldn’t know serendipity if it smacked her in the face. Trust me, I’ve thought about it. She’s still crying over her date, the guy who hasn’t called. Needless to say, she isn’t good with signs. She should be out hunting her next prey, I mean, date. But Stacey’s domesticated. Me, I’m working on it.
People are predictable. Until they aren’t. This is the best time to make your move. When they least expect it. I’ve never seen Josie Dunn post a picture from this trail before. This run-in will be perfect. She won’t be expecting to see me here. Better yet, she won’t be expecting not to see me here.
I’m not exactly dressed in workout gear, but this is Austin, so basically anything goes. Also, I’m in luck because the photo she posted shows me two things: her surroundings—A.K.A pretty much her exact location— and what she was wearing. Now, I know what to look for to find her. Even so, it takes me two tries to get her attention. The first time she’s too busy staring at her phone to notice when I drop my keys right in front of her. She sort of glances up when I lean down to retrieve them, but I can see that she doesn’t really see me because I can also see that she’s replying to Instalook comments with people over her shared love of running. I don’t miss the irony. She’s not even running. She’s sitting on a bench. And this is a prime example of why people don’t have real friends anymore.
The second attempt, I make sure to get her to notice me. I don’t just drop my keys. I drop my whole body. It’s less dramatic than it sounds. I’m practically a professional. My best friend and I, we used to do this thing where we’d pretend to fall down in order to get sympathy from people, which is how I learned the tricks of the trade. My friend once earned herself an ice-cream cone. Me, I got free rides when my mother didn’t show and my first experience with the likes of the Dunns of the world. I’ve had plenty of experience since then. But you never forget your first time. Just let yourself fall. It’s okay if it hurts.
“Oh my gosh,” Josie Dunn says, reaching out. She tries to catch me, but not hard enough. It’s okay though. It’s better this way. Guilt does amazing things to people. She looks at me sideways. “Are you okay?”
I squint into the sunlight. She looks like an angel. But I bet she isn’t. I grunt, and I clutch my ribs. “Yeah,” I wince. “I will be.”
“Here—” she says. “Let me help you.”
“It’s okay,” I counter, brushing myself off. “I’ll manage.”
She eyes me intently. My shades fell off on my way down. “Wait,” she gasps. “I know you. From the coffee shop.”
I search her face. I narrow my eyes. I pretend. It’s fun to fuck with people. “Coffee shop?”
She looks confused. “We met in the alley…yesterday.”
I cock my head slightly to give the impression I’m thinking hard.
She exhales slowly. I want to hate her. She’s just so beautiful and so concerned that I feel sorry for her instead. “But you probably see a ton of people…”
When I don’t answer, her expression grows more concerned.
She chews at her bottom lip. I watch as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. She glances right and then left. Josie Dunn is looking for a way out. She’s looking for someone else to take responsibly for the predicament she’s found herself in. People like her always do. It comes natural to them. “Do you know what day it is?”
I close one eye and focus hard on her face, her eyes specifically. “Monday?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No,” she says, sucking her bottom lip in further. “Is there someone I can call?”
I hold up one finger and reach in for the energy bar from my pocket. I tear the wrapper and stuff a piece into my mouth. Once I’ve chewed and swallowed, I start to take a second bite but she looks so stunned, so helpless, I give up the act. “I’m just fucking with you,” I say, and I bet no one speaks to Josie Dunn like that. “I know what day it is. And I remember you. You like Americanos.”
“Oh,” she says, and I see relie
f. Her body visibly relaxes. The creases around her eyes soften. “How strange running into you here…”
I laugh at her pun. She doesn’t get it. “Not that strange. I walk this route every day.”
She juts her bottom lip out.
“Nice kicks by the way…”
She glances down at her shoes. “Thanks.”
“They’re very clean…”
She blushes. “Forgive me,” she says, extending her hand. I’ve embarrassed her by pointing out my position. I’m beneath her. Not just figuratively, but literally. I’m still on the ground, inept and clumsy. She smiles, and she towers above me, giving the impression that she has the upper hand. Women like Josie Dunn like the upper hand and still they pretend they’re embarrassed by having it. “Here,” she tells me, shaking her head. “Let me help you.”
I take the hand she’s offered, and I’m surprised by how soft it is. Like it’s never seen a hard day’s work in its life. “Sorry,” I offer. “I’m new at this running thing.”
When we’re eye to eye, she checks her phone. I can see the notifications lighting up her screen. “Yeah,” she says, smiling at her phone. “It’s been awhile for me too…”
“Say,” I press my lips together and rub at my knee. “Why don’t you come by Lucky’s later?”
She’s still staring at the phone. I deepen my voice. “Coffee on me. Or a sandwich, if you’d like.” She looks up then. I shrug like it’s nothing. “That way I can thank you properly for saving my life.”
“I didn’t save your life…I hardly helped you to your feet.”
“No,” I promise. “It’s the low blood sugar thing. If you hadn’t been here…”
Her brow furrows. I study her face. I want to hate her. I want her to ask me to dinner. I want to be best friends. It doesn’t make any sense. These things never do.
“If you hadn’t been here, well, who knows if someone would have stopped. You know how people are these days…”