“Well, a good nurse is a great asset. If you ever need a change of scenery I’m always looking for a competent nurse on my team,” Troy said.
“Are you a doctor also?”
Troy nodded. “Plastic surgeon.”
I wondered if Troy had done any work on his wife. I tried to think of an appropriate comment, but nothing other than, “Wow, that must be interesting,” crossed my lips.
The servers called us up to the buffet line where we picked choices of swordfish and sole, coconut chicken and steak, linguini with clams, and shrimp and scallop scampi. Matt had certainly spared no expense this year. He must want to impress his clients.
The meal dragged on. Matt spoke with Doug and Blaine, asked them how their jobs were going, joked about their farmers’ tans, and so on. As the dinner wound down, Matt stood at the fireplace and gave his usual short speech of appreciation to his employees. He captured the room’s attention with ease. He was in his element, soaking up the admiration, returning it with praise and gratitude that inspired his employees to keep up their hard work. The bonus checks he gave out afterward didn’t hurt either.
After the speech, the Watermans excused themselves from the table and went to find Matt. I sat with Kyle and his friends, grateful the night neared an end.
The crowd thinned, and I headed for the restroom. I rounded the corner, but not before I noticed a couple in a dimly lit nook off to the side of the room. A nook that led to the kitchen perhaps. I recognized Cassie’s black dress. She leaned her head, shoulder, and half of her body against the wall. Again, one leg kicked up so that her high-heeled shoe dangled off her small foot.
My blood ran cold, and then gushing hot as I realized my husband stood on the other side of her. He also leaned against the wall. He didn’t see me, for he looked down at the hot little thing in front of him. A small smile pulled at his face. He didn’t seem to be able to tear his appreciative gaze from her. It hurt doubly to realize that the last time he’d looked at me like that, we’d probably been teenagers.
I wondered what she said to him. I tried to make excuses for him. Maybe Cassie planned a surprise for her parents in the landscape design. There could be a million reasons they needed to speak privately. They just looked so . . . intimate.
My legs weakened, and I grasped the smooth wood of the rail that led downstairs. I watched Cassie place a casual hand on Matt’s forearm. In turn, he cupped her elbow with his hand. Black spots appeared in front of my eyes. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his palm against her bare skin. All at once I saw other images of them in my mind’s eye. Laughing, playing golf, riding on the yacht, swimming . . . kissing . . . ?
The break Matt wanted. Did Cassie have anything to do with it? My worst fears confronted me on the crowded third floor of the restaurant.
My husband was having an affair. The question that plagued me most was, how far had it gone?
I couldn’t stay in the stuffy restaurant another minute. I couldn’t find the strength to walk back to our table and say good-bye to Kyle. I rushed down the stairs and pushed open the doors to The Red Parrot to breathe in the salty sea air. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot on the pavement in the direction of the parking lot. Without my heels, I felt short and stalky, clunky and old in an unfashionable yellow dress.
Cassie was a shiny new diamond rock, just the kind Matt liked. I was the plain old used ring he so often avoided. I should have seen it coming.
I ignored small pebbles piercing the bottoms of my feet. There could be a logical explanation for all of this. There could be, there could. She was just a flirty girl. Matt was controlled, honorable. I’m sure Cassie wasn’t the first sassy thing he had to fight off.
Though it didn’t look like there’d been a lot of fight in him in the restaurant.
I slipped on my shoes at the parking lot, covered in broken clamshells. I walked to the dock and sat. The sun had long since said its good night, and a sliver of moon shone on the water’s small ripples. I sat, watching their undulating movements, draining my thoughts to nothing.
I didn’t mind the water so much when my feet were planted on solid ground. It’s when I couldn’t trust what I stood upon that the problems began.
“That was rude.”
I drew in a breath at Matt’s voice.
“You didn’t even say good-bye to Kyle.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t feel well.”
He extended his hand to help me up. I didn’t take it, but got up myself and walked toward the Mercedes.
“What? What’s the matter?”
As if he didn’t know. Unless there was nothing to know.
“I’m just tired. Can we go?”
He didn’t open the passenger door for me. We slid in and he started the car. Elvis sang “Suspicious Minds” on the radio.
We drove up Memorial Boulevard and past his rental cottage. The lights shone behind slanted shades. Kyle must be home already.
Elvis’s voice faded and Mick Jagger’s took his place, singing of painting doors black and girls in summer clothes.
I needed to ask, or at least feel Matt out. I couldn’t go on like this for much longer. I waited until we were on the highway, the lights from Newport far behind us and the interior of the car enveloped in safe darkness.
“So Cassie seems nice.” I said it like I didn’t really mean it. Ugly jealousy dripped—oozed, rather—off every word.
“Stop it, Sarah.” I hated the way he spoke to me like I was a petulant child. Maybe I acted like one. But it was his fault for not filling me in on where this whole “break” thing was going. Everything I could have done for our marriage added up to a perfect equation of happiness. Why wasn’t the right side showing the result, then?
“And why should I?” My ire increased, as if my spoken words were the motor of a jet on a runway, and as I said them, they built momentum, more and more, until I wanted to burst off the ground. “Didn’t this break come right around the time you started the Waterman job? I’m not stupid, Matt. The girl’s hanging all over you. She golfs, yachts, has parents who are made of money and dripping all over you almost as much as she is, not to mention she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Everything that means success to you waiting for you to leave your homely little wife. Am I right?”
Matt pushed the accelerator, hard. We flew past cars and exits. I looked at the speedometer. Eighty-five, ninety, ninety-five. Matt never drove this fast, especially on a small byway like this. I knew I’d struck a nerve with my words, which made me feel all the worse. Right then, though, I didn’t care. In the heat of my anger I thought he could go one-twenty and kill us both. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with him or Cassie or any of this mess.
But then I thought of Kyle, reading a newspaper report of his parents’ deaths. “Slow down,” I said.
Matt ignored me. Anger built in my gut. “You know your son has a crush on her.”
He drove faster. The hedges and solid white line of the breakdown lane blurred on the side of me. Nausea swirled in the pit of my belly.
“Let me out. I’m not driving with you when you’re like this.”
He slammed on the brakes. The Mercedes skidded to a stop on the shoulder. I grabbed my purse, spat a curse at him for the first time in our marriage, slammed the door, and began walking north on the highway.
At least the cars would be able to see me in my yellow dress. It had been a good choice after all.
Matt peeled back onto the highway, and I stumbled forward, fury fueling my steps. He left me. He actually left me. And yet, I felt if I spent another second in the car with him, I’d go insane from jealousy and anger. Even now, I tested the boundaries of sanity.
Maybe we wouldn’t make it after all. Maybe we weren’t meant to be. Maybe Lila Rhineheart was right—it was time to move on.
Five minutes later I’d simmered enough to allow fear to replace some of my anger. I didn’t know how I’d get home, if I’d even make it to the next exit without getting hit by a drunk driver or
a frantic deer. I pulled my phone from my purse and brought up my Uber app.
Behind me a car slowed. Its headlights shone over my legs and my long shadow fell on the pavement.
“You cooled off now?”
I gritted my teeth as the Mercedes pulled alongside me, the passenger’s side window open. I flung the phone back in my purse.
“Are you?” I asked.
“Get in, Sarah.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
I thought I wanted to know. Maybe I didn’t.
“We’ll talk.”
I obeyed, but slammed the door. My breaths heaved, and I didn’t buckle but lay my head back against the headrest and looked out the dark window. A warm tear meandered down my cheek as Matt pulled out of the breakdown lane, this time at a normal pace.
“Yes, she’s attractive.”
Anyone with eyes could see the obvious, yet it still hurt coming from my husband’s lips.
“I enjoy Troy and Elise, and yeah, even the life they lead. But nothing has happened between Cassie and me.”
I exhaled. I hoped he told the truth, I wanted to believe he did.
“She likes you,” I whispered. “How can I compete with her? Especially now, when . . .”
He took the third exit off the highway. “You’re my wife, Sarah.”
“I don’t feel like I’m your wife. I feel like I’m some unwanted dependent you’ve gotten yourself strapped with.” I hated playing the “poor me” card, but if we were to be honest, I wanted to share my feelings.
We rode in silence the five minutes to the house. He pressed the garage door opener on the sun visor when we pulled up the long driveway. The door rolled open. When the Mercedes was tucked inside for the night, he pressed the button again. The doors shut, the rolling sound enveloping the garage.
Another slow tear slid down my face. Matt got out of the car. I stayed seated, not having the energy to face him again. He’d hop in his truck and leave now. I wouldn’t see him again until Kyle’s birthday.
The interior lights of the Mercedes flickered on when he opened my door. His hand appeared by my side, and it took me a second to realize he offered it to me. My insides quaked along with my body. I placed my trembling hand in his own calloused, solid one. He pulled me from the car, closed its door, and led me to the house.
A fuzzy sensation swept over my brain. I couldn’t comprehend his sudden tenderness. I followed him up the two stairs to the kitchen, and he closed the door behind us. Without hesitation, he turned to me and placed his hand alongside my cheek. I leaned into it and inhaled the scent of his deodorant and the mint on his breath, fainter than it had been earlier in the night.
He lowered his head. His mouth hovered over my own before, finally, he brushed my lips with his. I leaned in slightly, returned the act. Our mouths met in a soft clash of desire. An involuntary sob shook my body, and Matt ended the kiss to pull me firmly against his solid chest. My tears flowed harder, and I clutched him, relishing the feel of his hands traveling up and down my arms. The last remnant of my sobs quieted beneath his soft kisses against my ear, and then my jaw, and then finally my lips.
I drank him in, not thinking about what this meant for our relationship, not thinking about Cassie or the party or even the break we were supposed to be having. All I knew was this was how it was supposed to be. Me. Him. Us.
My mind numbed save for his possessive hands and arms and presence so near, the familiar scent of his aftershave threatening to drown me in pleasure. His body responded to me quickly and he swept me up in his arms with little effort and brought me up the stairs.
Chapter 17
The Keurig hissed and sputtered as it drained the last of my coffee into a mug Kyle had given me in the fourth grade that read #1 MOM. I’d need two cups today, at least half a cup before I could begin to sort through what happened the night before.
The house phone rang, and I tied my silky black robe tighter around my waist and padded with my slippers to the portable on the counter. Matt’s cell phone read on the caller ID.
I picked it up. “Hey.”
“Morning.”
“You were out of here fast this morning,” I said. “I could have made breakfast.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I had to check on a few things, and I didn’t want Kyle worrying when he woke up. You were out cold.”
Probably because it was the best sleep I had in a month.
“Listen, Sarah, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have let things get so far. I shouldn’t have come in.”
I couldn’t deny the naive hope I’d held that last night had fixed us, that last night had fixed whatever bothered Matt.
“Don’t be sorry.” My voice cracked. “I don’t regret it. I’ve missed you, Matt. I miss you now.”
A long sigh vibrated over the line. “I just . . . We can’t be doing that. We’ve always had trouble controlling ourselves—”
“Hey, it’s how the best thing in both our lives happened, right?”
He laughed softly. “Yeah.”
“Is what happened so bad? Why don’t you come home? We can work through whatever this is together, like a husband and wife should.” I sounded calm, rational. Reasonable. But my heart beat against my chest with the vigor of a jackhammer.
“I don’t think the problem is us. I think it’s me. I need to be away, Sarah. I have the rental house through September. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t want to push too hard. I wanted to support him, even in this. But the end of September? Three months away?
I swallowed down my deflated hope. “Okay. But I want to help.”
“Keeping our distance and not letting what happened last night happen again—I think that’s the only way you can help right now.”
My breaths quivered, and I moved my mouth from the phone so Matt wouldn’t hear them.
“I . . . Last night was great,” he said.
“Yeah, it was. Say hi to Kyle for me, will you? Tell him I’m sorry about not saying good-bye last night.”
“Will do.”
“I love you, Matt.”
“Love you, too.”
The line went dead.
I rubbed my face with my hands, ate my oatmeal, drank my two cups of coffee, and planned my day.
First item: call another clock repairman. Second up: return the black dress. Third: bury myself in Elizabeth’s story and try to find what Barb was so passionate about passing on to her daughter, and maybe to me.
And after the museum closed, if I had enough energy, I was having the sudden urge to hit a few golf balls.
May 26, 1675
Morning
Papa still sleeps from the doctor’s medicines. Mr. Tanner came back late yesterday evening and found me again in prayer by Papa’s bed. I scarce heard him knock. When I did not answer, he entered. I stood, brushed away my tears, and busied myself over the hearth. The least I could do was prepare him supper for his troubles.
I did not meet his gaze as I scurried around to stoke the fire and warm a dish of pea soup. He did not interrupt me but stared in that strange way of his that made me jumpy as a toad. I thrust the red-hot loggerhead into a mixture of cider and beer to make him a drink of flip. I gave it to him and turned to check on the soup, but he placed the flip on the table and grasped my arm.
“Elizabeth, stop.”
I obeyed, my skin tingling where his fingers gripped me.
“You need not work yourself so. This is a difficult time for you. I came here to see if you needed comfort, not to garner a meal.”
I sniffed. He loosened his grip. “I am well.”
“I only wish to help. ’Twould be easier if you opened your mind and heart to me a wee bit.”
I swallowed. I may very well be this man’s wife by the harvest. I should confide in him. And yet if I did I would have to tell the whole of the truth. I was not yet ready to voice my heart out loud, at least to him.
“Mr. Tanner—”
He
dropped his hand from my arm. “Caleb, Elizabeth. Have I not at least earned that much in your sight? In your heart?”
I closed my eyes. Part of me wished to reach up and touch his bearded face, to assure him of his goodness, of his right to a much finer woman than I. But I did not allow my hand to lift. “Caleb, I do care for you.”
’Twas not a lie. My feelings for Mr. Tanner were complicated. He did not make my heart flutter as Abram did, but I took comfort in his nearness, in the security he offered me. I wondered if I was drawn more to his protection than to him. For if Papa should pass, Mr. Tanner would be my only hope of a sound future.
I am a wretched creature.
“Why then will you not let me in?” he asked.
I stared into the pools of hazel that were his eyes and willed him to understand without my voicing the hurtful words out loud. He saw me in the woods with Abram. What had he seen? Could he see the bond that held us? Could he see how I looked at Abram? Did he wish I would gaze upon him in the same manner?
I felt he did know, and yet wished me to voice the words.
I could not.
I turned from him and spooned a hearty serving of pea soup into a bowl, proving I could perform at least one of the duties of a wife without the giving of my heart.
May 26, 1675
Evening
I no longer feel guilt when I steal away to see Abram. I know if a time comes that Mr. Tanner and I become betrothed, I will need to end our friendship, lest I betray my marriage vows, but that time is not now, and with Papa’s lifeblood draining from him day by day, I prefer to live in the present, not the future.
My friend was not at the rock when I arrived, so I sat and waited for him. From the pocket of my dress I pulled out the clamshell he gifted me. I drew pictures in the dirt with the blunt end so as not to break the delicate edges. If he did not come presently, I would trace a message for him.
The Edge of Mercy Page 13