“What assurances do we have that the injury is even real?” Robyn hollered from the starting line of the three-legged race. “I think we should dock the Gardner family ten points!”
“She’s out of control,” Tracy said under her breath. “I mean, does everything have to be a competitive sport?”
While Riley and Tracy watched from lounge chairs on the back lawn near the tennis courts, Robyn was busy tethering the children together in pairs because with one of the adults out of commission, her plan to make the three-legged race one of the couples’ competitions had fallen apart. Not that either Chris or Shawn could have been counted on to participate anyway.
Cullen had been paired with Layla, Caitlyn with Cassidy, and Jasmin with her brother Kaden. Chris eldest daughter was shaping up to be quite the beauty, surprisingly tall, long-legged and delicately otherworldly, like a wood nymph. She was young enough to still enjoy the games, but old enough to want to pretend she didn’t. Robyn had whispered earlier to Riley and Tracy that Jasmin was saying she wanted to be a model, and that Chris was “low-key losing his shit” at the idea.
Well, he does know all about models, Tracy had quipped.
The men, sitting several feet away, were having their own powwow, and Jamal’s fiancée, Makayla was waiting by the finish line to judge the winner.
It was Friday, and the first official day of Sports-a-palooza, but so far it had been more of an SE reunion weekend with all the guys sitting around talking about “back in the day” by which Riley supposed they meant back when they weren’t all attached to a ball-and-chain.
“Ready, set, go!”
The children started off in lumbering, clumsy pairs, screaming and squealing while Robyn cheered. Everyone else looked on with something between bemusement and boredom.
Tracy took a slow sip of her piña colada. “D’you think we could persuade the guys to go to France next summer? I mean, I love the beach as much of anyone, but for a change of pace, maybe? And to escape the Robyn Scaife Olympics?”
Before Riley could answer, there was a loud shriek, which sounded different from all the other shrieks that preceded, and when she and Tracy looked up, they saw that Cass had face-planted in the grass and was looking up with a mouth full of it, wailing at the top of her lungs.
Riley jumped up and ran toward her daughter, ignoring the discomfort in her still injured foot, just as Robyn and Makayla were doing the same. All the other kids had crowded around as well, beginning to further loosen the ties around their legs.
Cass, now grass-stained and hysterical was in Robyn’s arms, but reached out to Riley as soon as she was near.
“Oh, baby, it’s fine,” she said. “Look, it’s fine.” She brushed grass and dirt off Cass’ little blue smock, and her white shorts. But she continued to blubber, and then twisted away from Riley, looking past her.
“Hey … what happened?”
Riley heard Shawn’s voice, and knew from his tone that he was speaking to Cass and no one else. He kneeled, and Cass leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Let’s go wash all the … turf out of your teeth,” Shawn said smiling at her.
Cass nodded and tried to smile back.
“Typical,” Tracy said dryly, taking a sip of her drink. “Daddy shows up at the last second and gets to be the hero.”
“Jesus, Riley. I am so sorry,” Robyn said. “I hope she’s …”
“No, she’s fine, I’m sure. Didn’t look like anything was bruised or bleeding.” Shoving herself up, preparing to stand, she saw an iPhone sitting in the grass. Shawn’s iPhone. Picking it up, she shoved it into the pocket of her shorts to give back to him when he returned with Cass.
“Maybe we should untie the children?” Jamal’s fiancée suggested.
Robyn cringed. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Riley helped untether the remaining kids, and Robyn shooed them off to go cool off by playing inside.
“Tying together the legs of people who’ve barely mastered their motor skills probably wasn’t my finest idea,” Robyn admitted once they were all gone.
“You think?” Tracy asked.
Robyn rolled her eyes.
“Maybe we should do what they’re doing,” Tracy suggested. “Just sit around and drink and gossip all afternoon.”
“Is that what they’re doing?” Makayla laughed. “I thought it was man-talk.”
“Same difference,” Tracy said.
In Riley’s pocket, Shawn’s phone buzzed. It may as well have burned red-hot, because she felt powerless to not pull it out. She did and glanced at the screen. A new email had come through from Kio Yamato with an attachment. The message was truncated on the notification screen, and said, ‘Check it out. Hit me up when you listen. This is the last two joints that we …’
Just as she was about to put it back in her pocket, it vibrated. It wasn’t another email, or a text message. It was a phone call. And the name displayed was ‘Kincaid’.
Riley didn’t think. She took a few steps away from Tracy, Robyn and Makayla’s chatter and answered.
“Riley…”
Shawn collided with her just as she was entering the house and he was leaving, having gotten Cass clean and settled with the other kids in front of the large projection screen.
“Have you seen my …?”
She held out his phone to him, and he took it, looking down at the notification screen. The email from Kio had come in.
“Thanks.”
“You got a call,” she said.
“I did?” He looked at the screen again, and not seeing anything he’d missed, checked the ‘Recents’. There was an incoming call from Kincaid. He looked up.
“You answered it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah.
Staring at her, Shawn tried to read her eyes. There was nothing there. They were like tightly-shut windows.
“What’d she say?”
“That you should look out for her email in a few minutes because she’s sending you the piece she did. That there aren’t any quotes, so nothing to worry about. And that she wanted you to see it before it goes live tomorrow.”
He nodded, still unsure of what Riley’s expression meant.
“How’s Cass?” she asked.
“Fine. A little bruising inside her lip where her teeth smashed against it, but … Did Kincaid say anything else, or …?”
Riley shrugged. “No. She thanked me for letting her … have you for so long. Apologized that it went on longer than it should have.”
She tried to brush past him, but Shawn held her shoulder. She didn’t flinch or pull away, but when she looked at him, it was almost as though she was looking through him.
“Riley,” he said. “You know I didn’t …”
“Yeah. That’s what you said.”
“That’s how it was.”
She shrugged again. “I’m going to check on Cass again. Just to make sure that lip looks okay.”
“I told you,” he said, not sure how to make her stay and listen to him, frustrated that he couldn’t, and not sure what else he would say if she did. “It’s fine. Considering.”
Riley gave him something that approximated for a smile. “I’m a mom. I have to see for myself.”
When she left him, he looked down at his phone and his index finger hovered above Livia Kincaid’s number. He could call her and ask her precisely what she’d said to his wife, ask her to recount the conversation word for word.
And then he could ask her again what happened between them that night in the studio. In the diner the morning after, she’d concluded her recounting of the previous evening in a frustratingly non-conclusory way. He asked again whether anything at all had happened between them, and she looked at him, almost amused.
Isn’t it funny that you’d need me to tell you though? Not funny that you wouldn’t remember, because you know alcohol … But that you wouldn’t be sure of yourself?
It was the recollection of that question that made him stop before d
ialing her number.
Did he really need Livia Kincaid to tell him that he hadn’t cheated on Riley? Drunk, high … it didn’t matter. Picturing himself with someone else, touching them, kissing them, undressing them …Or even letting them do those things to him?
Anything was within the realm of the possible, because a hard dick without a lucid mind attached was just a mindless, conscienceless muscle that would seek to do what hard dicks do.
But then he thought about his kids. His wife. His life, and what it would feel like if Riley wasn’t in it.
Nah. No way would he have risked that. No. Fucking. Way.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Shawn went to rejoin his friends.
Sitting on the beach in the dark, all Riley could see clearly was the intermittent white of the breakers hitting the shore. The weak light of the tikki torches a few yards closer to the house would be her only light when she was ready to go back in. She wasn’t ready now. After ending her call with Lorna, she needed a moment to re-center herself before she could go back inside.
Dinner was the usual rowdiness, once all the children were in bed, and Riley had found the noise overwhelming when all she wanted was to listen to her own thoughts.
She took her chance to escape when Robyn asked for help bringing out dessert. When Tracy and Makayla had gone to help, she instead slipped out of the sliding glass doors and across the rear deck down to the beach.
Lorna had answered right away, and Riley almost cried with relief.
What’s wrong, darling?
And with that, Riley did cry. Her mother was not one to use endearments carelessly. She could only imagine how just her ‘hello’ had to have sounded for her to have produced a ‘darling’ from Lorna.
Riley heard Lorna’s voice and everything she’d been holding inside burst out of her in a flood of tears, and fears, half-finished thoughts and semi-complete ideas.
Lorna listened. She didn’t interrupt, or even ask questions. She just let her talk. When she was done, Riley listened to the silence for a while.
I believe him, she said finally. I do.
Then what worries you? Lorna finally asked. What scares you?
Being stupid, being blind. Seeing only what I want to see. Riley felt the tears begin again. I don’t know what you do, she said, gulping and struggling for breath. What do you do, when you’re not sure if there’s something to forgive?
If you can’t offer him forgiveness, Riley, then all that’s left is for you to offer him … grace.
Afterwards, the ground beneath her was solid and sure again. She knew who she was, where she was going, and what she had to do.
Now, all Riley felt was calm. Calm, and a deep tiredness. Just a few minutes more and she would go back inside. She would eat the dessert, which was sure to be delicious and look forward to sleep, which would be even more so.
“What’re you doin’ out here all alone?”
Riley grabbed her chest and jumped at the sound of a voice so close behind her when she hadn’t even heard anyone approaching.
“Shawn! You …”
“Sorry.” He sat next to her.
She smelled him—the smoke of the cookout earlier in the day, the salt from the few minutes he’d spent in the surf, splashing and playing with their kids, the beer he had been drinking on and off all afternoon with Brendan, Chris and Jamal. And she smelled the scent that was just him. Just Shawn.
When he went back to traveling frequently, in those first months after Cullen was born, Riley often guiltily fished one of his shirts out of the laundry and draped it across her pillow just so she could sleep. During the pregnancy, she had grown so accustomed to having him around all the time, practically underfoot every moment of the day. So when he started traveling again, it was like losing a vital organ. But not just any organ. Her heart.
Looking at their infant son should have made it easier but didn’t. She looked at Cullen and she missed Shawn even more. She’d pretended otherwise, of course, because she knew how important performing was to him and any sign that she wanted him to come home would have made him do just that. Eventually, he had come home to stay, but by his choice. She had been spoiled over these past couple of years, thinking it would always be that way. Not only spoiled. She had been selfish.
“Sand-flies eatin’ you up out here?” Shawn asked.
It sounded like he was trying to make conversation.
“Nope. Those torches are working pretty well.”
“Riley …”
“Yeah?”
She felt his hand at her cheek. He gently turned her head, so she was facing him, though she couldn’t see much of his face in the dark. Then he leaned in. His forehead touched hers and rested there.
“I fucked up,” he said, his nose nudging hers. “And I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have even been in …”
“Let’s not,” she said. “Okay? I messed up, too. I’m sorry, too. We … we can’t be careless like that again, Shawn. Not with this. Not with our family.”
He kissed her, and Riley let herself fall into it. When he moved as though to push her gently back into the sand, she let him. He braced himself with hands on either side of her head, and Riley prepared to let herself float away on a cloud of feeling until Shawn flinched.
“Shit!” he said.
“What?” Riley sat up.
“Something stabbed me in the palm.” He picked at it, and tossed aside a pebble, or seashell.
“Making love on a beach probably isn’t as romantic as it sounds,” she said sitting up.
“And anyway, we did that already,” Shawn said.
“Oh yeah.” On their honeymoon in Jamaica. “We had a blanket that time. That helped.”
There were a million shared memories like that. Obscure, but meaningful.
“I know something else we could do, though.”
“What’s that?”
Shawn shifted his weight to one side and pulled out his phone. Before she knew what he was doing, he had put an ear pod in her ear, and the other end in his.
“We can listen to the new K Smooth joint.”
Riley smiled.
“You into it?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Just a couple rough cuts. Might make some changes, but they a’ight.”
She smiled wider. When he said ‘a’ight’ like that, with that subtle prideful cadence, she knew he liked it more than a little bit.
“Okay … so let’s hear it.”
“You ready for this?” he asked, finger poised over the ‘play’ symbol.
She nodded and looked at him. He looked at her, waiting for the final signal.
“You promise this is going to be good?” she asked, teasing him.
“I promise,” Shawn said, his eyes suddenly serious. “It’s gon’ be all good.”
Balance
1
Are you going to get home on time?”
“I don’t know. What does ‘on time’ mean?”
“Brendan. By seven. Or at the very latest, before eight. So, we can eat together, and … you know.”
“We can ‘you-know’ whenever we want. Even if I get there past midnight, you better believe I’m waking you up for some ‘you-know’.”
“Yeah, but the book says that we should do it within twelve hours of my temperature …”
“I don’t care what the book says, Tracy. We made the first one damn near by accident, so I’m pretty confident my boys can swim their way home with no directions.”
“The first time I was three years younger than I am now. I don’t want to take any chances. This could be it. This could be the cycle. And if you’re going to be all cavalier about it …”
Brendan could hear his wife’s voice reaching the pitch that came after Mildly-Annoyed but before Seriously-Pissed-Off. Talking her down once she got to Seriously-Pissed-Off was an exercise in futility. Once she got there, his only recourse was to let her wear herself out. Like Layla. Fu
nny how even at almost four years old, his daughter had such a distinct personality.
Layla had his tendency toward laughter and smiles, always treating them—and every passing stranger—to her toothy grin. But she also had Tracy’s fiery temper. When they first started having her get to sleep on her own, Tracy said the method that worked best was putting her in her crib while drowsy to teach her to calm herself down enough to get to sleep on her own.
Well, Layla wasn’t having that. She wanted to go to sleep the way she always had—on her mother’s or father’s chest. The Book that Tracy swore by, told them to let her “cry it out.” But the authors must not have met a baby like Layla Marie Cole. She cried herself hoarse.
First, it sounded like heartbreak, and Brendan had to leave the house to prevent himself from going in to pick her up. He walked around the block to the Korean grocer and took his time about choosing apples, and nectarines, organic strawberries, and grapes. The plan was that when he got home, his baby girl would be fast asleep, and he would have missed the worst part.
But it hadn’t worked out that way. When he got back to the townhouse, it was mayhem. Layla was still crying. And Tracy was too; pacing back and forth just about ready to pull her hair out and looking at him for help though she didn’t know exactly how he might provide it.
She won’t stop, Brendan. I thought by now she would stop.
Let’s go get her, then, he remembered saying as he dropped the bag with the fruit by the front door.
No, we can’t. Tracy stopped him with a hand on his arm. She has to learn how to do this.
Do what? he’d asked, feeling damn near desperate.
Self-soothe. And we have to learn not to always jump in and fix whatever’s hurting her.
So, he’d waited it out, with Tracy’s fingers digging into his arm. Brendan couldn’t tell whether it was to restrain him, or herself. It took a while, but he finally got past the sick, roiling feeling in his gut that his baby was hurting while he did nothing.
It took another twenty minutes for Layla to calm down completely. And then Brendan and Tracy had climbed the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards on that second to last step and peeked into Layla’s room. She was on her back in the center of her crib, sprawled out like a drunk after a bender, mouth open, her face tear-stained. But Layla was finally, and fully asleep.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 18