A White Picket Fence

by Laura Branchflower

  The only problem was he wasn’t responding to her texts. Over the course of two margaritas, she’d sent him three.

  I’m sorry.

  I hope everything is okay with Emily.

  I wish you would text me back.

  She ordered a third margarita and fajitas. When her phone dinged her heart skipped, but it was Phil, not Nick. I’m sorry. I love you, baby. Come home.

  I need space, she texted back.

  Where are you?

  Drinking. Leave me alone.

  A few minutes later her phone rang, and she glanced at the display expecting to see Phil, but instead Adele was the caller. “Phil’s worried about you.”

  “He should be,” she said and then spent the next ten minutes telling her about the altercation in front of her house. “I’m in Baltimore,” she admitted when Adele asked her for the third time. “I’m drinking margaritas and texting Nick, but he’s ignoring me.”

  “Tell me exactly where you are.”

  Sizzling fajitas were set before Lina at the same moment her cell phone dinged with a new text message. This time it was Nick. I was apart from my phone. Are you okay?

  Are you home?

  Close by.

  She felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of him and Emily. Are you with her?

  A few minutes passed before he responded. Why?

  I want to see you.

  I don’t think that’s a good idea.

  I’m at our Mexican restaurant. Please.

  “What are you doing here?” Nick asked after lowering himself down into the chair across from Lina fifteen minutes later. His chest was rising and falling with his breathing, and it was obvious he had exerted energy to get there.

  “I came to see you.” Her eyes traveled over his face. She didn’t like the coolness in his eyes. “Don’t be mad.”

  “Why did you come to see me?”

  “I miss you.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  His eyes dropped to her almost-empty glass. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I’m not implying anything. I was asking.”

  “Leave if you’re going to be cold to me,” she said.

  “Lina—”

  “I’m serious. I don’t want this memory, and I’ll just pretend you never came.” She finished the remainder of her drink and intentionally turned her chair slightly so she wasn’t facing him.

  “I’m trying to maintain an air of professionalism with you, but you’re making it impossible.”

  “I don’t want you to be professional with me.” She turned her chair so she was once again facing him. “I don’t think of you as a doctor.”

  “That’s good, because I don’t think like a doctor when I’m with you.” He paused to order a scotch as a waiter stopped beside the table.

  “Are things okay with Emily?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Emily. This isn’t about Emily.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Lina, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to be your friend.”

  He laughed aloud. “We’re not friends. I shouldn’t even be here. You have a husband.”

  “I don’t know how to be without him. He’s all I know.”

  “Then you should be home with him, instead of sitting across from me.”

  “Right now I hate him, but I know it isn’t going to last. My mind can’t hold on to the anger. I think I can, and then something happens that reminds me how much I need him.”

  He blew out a stream of air. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Listen to you talk about how much you need him.” He met her eyes. “You don’t need anyone, especially not him. He betrayed your trust. He had a romantic relationship with another woman while married to you. He isn’t the man you seem to want to believe he is.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “So you keep telling me.” He paused as the waiter set a scotch before him. “But the truth is I do, which doesn’t speak very highly of my judgment when it comes to you, because I do know better.” He lifted his glass to his lips and took a generous swallow.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m incapable of thinking clearly when it comes to you. Instead of staying with a woman who loves me and dealing with the aftermath of the storm your husband’s words unleashed, I’ve left her, upset and confused, so I could come to you.”

  Lina’s heart leapt at his words. “Nick—”

  “Hello!” Adele stopped beside their table.

  “What are you doing here?” Lina frowned at her.

  “I didn’t like the thought of you sitting here alone.” Her eyes were on Nick as he came to his feet. “I’m assuming you’re the famous Dr. Drayton. I’m Adele, Lina’s unmarried and very available sister.”

  “Ignore her,” Lina said.

  Nick nodded at Adele. “I hate to run. There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  Adele touched her chest. “I seriously want you to stay. I’ve been hearing about you for months, and now I have you in the flesh.”

  “Another time.” He took out his wallet and threw several bills onto the table before shifting his attention to Lina. “Bye.”

  “Nick! Wait!” Lina was up and following him onto the sidewalk beside the patio. “Please.”

  “Lina.” He stopped, looking down at her. “I need to leave.”

  “But we weren’t done talking.”

  “Yes, we were.”

  She didn’t like the look of finality in his eyes. “No.” She closed the distance between them and hugged him hard. “Don’t be upset with me,” she whispered into his neck, running her lips along his warm skin.

  “I’m not upset with you.”

  “Then hug me back,” she whispered. “Just once.”

  “You’re killing me,” he said, but then, as if he had no willpower of his own, he engulfed her in his arms, squeezing her almost too tightly. “I love you,” he whispered against her ear. “If you leave him, come find me.”

  28

  “Happy birthday, baby.”

  Lina opened her eyes and looked into Phil’s. He was leaned over her, one hand on each side of the mattress. “Good morning.” She stretched her arms above her head. “What time is it?”

  “After nine.” He met her lips for a soft kiss. “Relax,” he whispered against her lips when she moved to sit up. “I turned off your alarm so you could sleep in. Everyone’s gone.”

  “Logan—”

  “I dropped him at his stop on my way to the bakery.” He straightened and picked up a bag with the emblem from a local bakery from her nightstand.

  “You bought me a chocolate croissant?” It was her favorite pastry.

  “Of course. And a coffee.” He lifted the coffee and then set it back down on her nightstand. “I wanted your day to start right.”

  “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

  “Not if I leave now. We have reservations at Fogo de Chao at seven thirty. I should be home by six.” He kissed her again before leaving.

  Lina propped herself on her pillows and brought the coffee to her lips, taking a swallow of the warm liquid. Before she could bite into the croissant, her phone was ringing. Over the course of the next half hour she received calls from her mother-in-law, Megan, Diane and finally Adele.

  “Happy forty-first! I hope that asshole husband of yours served you breakfast in bed.”

  “He surprised me with a chocolate croissant.”

  “Ah, he’s pulling out the big guns! Have you groped any handsome doctors in the past three weeks?”

  Lina groaned, the memory of her last interaction with Nick still eliciting a myriad of emotions, including guilt, embarrassment and, most distressing, longing. “Please stop reminding me.”

  “Like you could forget. Still nothing from him?”

  “I’m not going to hear from him.”

&nbs
p; Lina returned home from her annual birthday lunch with Alice to find a dozen red roses and a FedEx envelope on the front porch beside the door. She smelled the roses as she walked towards the kitchen, knowing without opening the card that they were from Phil. He gave her a dozen red roses every birthday.

  She set down the vase and opened the FedEx envelope. Inside was a smaller purple envelope, which contained a store-bought card that read “Happy Birthday” across the front in colorful letters. As soon as she opened it, the color drained from her face, and the card, along with the several pictures it contained, slid to the floor. She fell to her knees, gathering them up, her eyes looking from image to image. She covered her mouth as she struggled to her feet, barely making it to the bathroom before losing her entire birthday lunch. She kneeled in front of the toilet for minutes, tears clouding her eyes as she vomited again and again, until there was no possibility of anything being left in her stomach.

  Shakily coming to her feet, she rinsed her mouth out before making her way to the kitchen. She picked up the pictures and card from the floor and went up to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She crossed to her bed and sat down, spreading the four photos and the sonogram image on top of the comforter.

  Two of the pictures were of Phil sleeping. The first must have been taken in Kim’s apartment. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom that looked feminine, with floral sheets and white rustic furniture. He was lying on his stomach, completely naked with his arms slightly above his head, his face obstructed by the pillow, but there was no doubt it was him. It was one of his sleep poses. She’d seen him in it a thousand times over the years.

  The second was the one that made her lose her lunch. It was taken in their bedroom at their vacation home in Steamboat, Colorado. He was on his back, one arm flung over his head and the other on his stomach, the sheet barely covering his lower body. The picture had been taken from the other side of the bed, and a framed photograph of Lina and Phil on top of a ski trail was visible on the nightstand beside Phil’s sleeping form. He’d had sex in their bed with his mistress while her picture was displayed on the nightstand. She felt the bile again coming up in her throat. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.

  The third and fourth pictures were of them together. The first was in a bar she didn’t recognize. Kim was sitting on a barstool wearing jeans and a low-cut black top, her generous cleavage visible, and her blonde hair falling around her shoulders. Phil too was in jeans and a black collared shirt. He was standing beside her, talking to a man she didn’t recognize, his left hand resting on Kim’s upper thigh, his fingers practically touching the juncture between her legs. Lina’s eyes focused on his wedding band, and she wondered if people thought Kim was his wife.

  The last picture was the worst to her. Like the others, it was candid, but in this picture he was looking at Kim. They were on a dance floor, and Kim’s back was to the camera, her arms wound around Phil’s neck. Phil had one hand midway down her back, and the other was gripping her butt as he smiled down at her, dimples creasing his cheeks. The look in his eyes was what Lina couldn’t see past. He was looking at Kim with a look she thought was reserved for her. He was looking at her like she was the only woman in the world.

  She lifted the final item in the card—a sonogram picture of what she knew was Phil’s baby, with an arrow showing it was a boy. He was having a son. She stared at it for close to a minute, her mind almost in a fog, as she tried to come to terms with the fact she was staring at his son with another woman. She set down the slip of paper and focused again on the photo of Phil sleeping in their Steamboat condo. She took a picture of the image with her cell phone before crumbling it in her fist and squeezing it into a small ball. She did the same with the other three pictures before gathering the card, sonogram image and crumbled pictures and carrying them into the bathroom. She stuffed everything into the right pocket of Phil’s white terry-cloth robe.

  Twenty minutes later, Lina entered the kitchen with a small suitcase in her hand. She set down the case as her eyes focused on the roses. She reached into the vase, lifted out the flowers and carried them out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house, unconcerned with the water dripping on the floor. Seconds later, she was stuffing them in the toilet in the master bathroom.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Katie was coming through the mudroom door.

  “Happy birthday,” Katie said.

  “Thanks. How was school?” Lina’s words sounded forced to her ears, but Katie didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good.” Katie’s eyes fell to the suitcase beside the table. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “To the beach with Diane for the weekend.”

  Katie frowned. “On your birthday? Dad said I couldn’t make plans because we were taking you out to dinner.”

  “No.” Lina shook her head. “He forgot I planned this weekend. I didn’t realize it was my birthday.”

  “So you’re leaving us with him? I don’t want to be alone with Dad all weekend.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  As soon as Lina got in her car, she was calling Adele. “Please don’t say anything and just listen. I’m kicking Phil out.”

  “What?” Adele exclaimed.

  “I’m telling him to be gone by Sunday afternoon.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please stop by tomorrow and make sure the kids are okay.”

  “What in the hell is going on? Is he back with her?”

  “No—I can’t talk right now. Will you stop by?”

  “Of course, but where are you going to be?”

  “I have to go.” She ended the call and then pulled up Phil’s name. Moments later she was drafting a text.

  You ruined our life. I want you out by Sunday afternoon. I just left and will return after you’re gone. She covered her mouth as a small cry escaped, and then she was sending the message.

  She pushed her fingertips against her eyes. “You will not cry for him,” she said aloud. “You will not cry.” She took a deep breath before tapping on her phone display and bringing it to her ear.

  The small smidgen of strength Lina had remaining dissolved when Nick opened his front door. “It’s over.”

  He engulfed her in his arms. “Shh,” he whispered softly into her hair as she began to cry. “Shh.” He ran his hand over the back of her head.

  “I’m ruining your jacket,” she hiccupped against his chest.

  “Ruin it. I don’t care.”

  She released a shaky sigh. “I don’t want to cry for him anymore.”

  “Do whatever makes you feel better.”

  “Just hold me,” she whispered, taking comfort in the feel of his arms around her. “That makes me feel better.”

  Several minutes passed before he led her to his family room and sat beside her on his sofa, his arm stretched out behind her, his body turned in her direction. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “You must think I’m such a baby,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “I never used to cry.”

  “I think you’re upset.”

  “She sent me pictures of the two of them.”

  “Kim?”

  “Yes,” she breathed before describing the images now burned in her brain. “He cancelled our spring break this year, claiming he was too busy with work, but it was because of her. He had time to vacation with her but not his family.” Just voicing the words had her stomach clenching. “Steamboat was my favorite place. My kids learned to ski there, and I imagined taking my grandchildren there. And now I can never go back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I never wanted to be divorced. I never wanted to do that to my children.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Lina.”

  “Does it matter whose fault it is? They’re hurt just the same, aren’t they?”

  “I’m sorry.” He curved his hand around the back of her neck. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Just being near you helps. I feel calmer
around you. I always have.”

  “Good. Will you be okay for a minute? I’d like to change out of my work clothes.”

  It took thirty seconds for her unease to settle back in, and by the time he returned she was in the corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, trying not to cry. “Lina?” He crossed to her, sitting down on the edge of the couch beside her, his hand gripping her knee. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t even know how to be alone. I’m never alone.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She gripped his hand, resisting the urge to crawl into his lap. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. Just don’t disappear for long stretches.”

  “Okay. We’ll leave it for now.”

  “You’re being a doctor. I thought you didn’t think like a doctor around me.”

  “Statements like the one you made scream to the doctor in me.”

  “I’m pitiful, aren’t I? A forty-one-year-old that’s afraid to be alone.”

  “‘Pitiful’ is not a word I would ever use to describe you. Have you had anything to eat today? I could make you something.”

  “I don’t think I can.” She thought of the nice lunch she shared with her mother, which ended up in the toilet. “Maybe just a glass of wine for now?”

  “Alcohol is a depressant. I’m not sure if that’s the best—”

  “I’m not planning to get drunk. I just want a glass.”

  “Okay.” He patted her knee, and then he was coming to his feet. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “You can keep me company.”

  She sipped from a glass of wine as she watched him prepare a plate of appetizers, his hands deftly wielding a knife as he sliced cheese, a couple of apples and what looked like fresh pepperoni. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Phil slice anything. “You cook.” It was more a statement than a question, but he answered.

  “I do,” he agreed, fishing some olives out of a jar. “I’ll make something for you tonight if you’ll let me.”

  “What am I keeping you from? It’s a Friday night. You must have had plans.”