Miss Behave

by Wylde, Tara

  “Now, c’mon—you can’t really think I had anything — “

  “You’ll wanna stop right there.” I crowd in on him till I’m practically treading on his toes. “Just you I can think of, with skin in this game. Hell, you practically promised you’d do something like this .”

  The elevator dings. I shove Nasmith into it, hard enough to knock him on his ass. I’m about to follow him in, shit him up a bit more, when I hear running footsteps from reception .

  “Jim! Shit! What are you—who’d you just — ?”

  Tom.

  I turn my back on him. No way. Not today. If I’m going to get fired, I’ll do it in spectacular fashion. Finally got Nasmith where I want him. Nothing, no one’s gonna —

  “Jim! ” A firm hand descends on my shoulder. I shrug it off. The doors are closing. Gotta get in there; gotta —

  “Quit that !”

  I whirl on him. “Nothing you can say gonna — “

  “Okay! Okay! I won’t say anything! Just, for her sake, if not your own, come with me right now!” He’s reaching for me again. No. No way. It’s too late, anyway. Nasmith’s looking at me with raw triumph. I’ve already laid hands on the bastard. It’s over—We both know it. I reach out to keep the elevator from closing .

  Tom darts around me. “You and I both know you’re not going to hurt anyone. So, what are you going to do, go up there and make a scene? Turn a bad situation into a hopeless one ?”

  I hesitate, and he grabs my arm .

  “That’s right. C’mere. We’ll sit down, have a coffee, talk about how you’re going to come out of this smelling like a rose .”

  I snatch my arm back. He’s handling me. Lying to me. “How could I possibly — ?”

  “Sit with me, and I’ll tell you.” Hate that wheedly voice he does when he wants me to do something. Like any second, he might bust out with a “Here, kitty-kitty!”. I turn away, too late. The elevator dings and the car starts to rise, whisking Nasmith out of reach .

  I watch the lights blink on, one after another. “Guess you’ve left me no choice .”

  “You’re doing the right thing .”

  “The hell I am.” I follow him anyway, feeling like I’m being marched to the gallows. Seems like I’ve been having a lot of these meetings with Tom lately, and each one ends with some kind of horrible choice, something thrust on me too fast to think it over .

  Not this time. This time, I’m gonna —

  “Sit.”

  There’s a few tables set up alongside the coffee cart. I stalk over to the closest one while Tom gets us lattes. I’m pulsing with adrenaline. Caffeine might not be the best idea right now. I should go for a walk, or a run. Blow off some steam before I try to address whatever this is .

  Tom takes the seat across from mine and shoves my coffee across the table. “Just the way you like it .”

  I give him my best death-glare. “What is it, then ?”

  Tom cocks a brow. “Hm ?”

  “Your brilliant plan. What is it ?”

  “Calm down first. Have some coffee .”

  He might as well ask me to fly to the moon. I take a couple of gulps for show. “Fine. All calm. What have you got ?”

  “C’mon—a little more. Breathe .”

  I sip and breathe. The smell of the coffee’s warm. Soothing. I am starting to feel a bit better .

  “Okay—so your clinical trial ends next month, correct ?”

  I nod .

  “And it’s looking good? Everything promising ?”

  “Well, I—“ I glance up. Nasmith’s looking down at us from the fifth-floor walkway. Paranoia washes over me. There are security cameras everywhere. Can’t have him listening, knowing —my work’s not for him. “It’s a double-blind setup. Randomized .”

  “But you must have some idea — “

  “I don’t .”

  “Well, then.” Tom taps his wedding ring on the table. “Better hope you’re on track, because otherwise, pfft. ” He stabs the Formica with his fingertip, like he’s squashing a bug. Guess I get the message .

  “Assume I am. What’s the plan ?”

  “You distance yourself from all of this. Get that woman out of your house.” He holds up his hand when I open my mouth to object. “Now, listen—I know you’ve developed a certain fondness for her. And you’ve got your kid to think about. You know I’d never ask you to throw all that away, right ?”

  Wouldn’t he? Sounds like that’s exactly what he’s doing. I nod anyway, less confidently this time .

  “So, listen—this won’t be a real breakup. Just a little distance, till that groundbreaking research of yours hits the journals.” He squeezes my hand. I don’t have the strength to jerk away. “See? It’s not that bad. Couple of months from now, you’ll be able to do anything you want .”

  Anything I want... But —

  “But for now, you expect me to what? Let my pregnant wife face the firestorm alone, while I...twiddle my thumbs ?”

  “While you work your ass off. Buy a future for both of you .”

  It’s happening again. I massage my temples, trying to think through my gathering migraine. “That sounds... I don’t know ....”

  “It’ll be two, maybe three months out of your lives. After that, you got forever to make it up to one another. If she’s half the lady you say she is, she’ll understand .”

  “She’ll understand....” That’s the problem: I’m very much afraid she will. And not in the way he’s thinking .

  “Hey.” Tom pats my hand again. “You’ve given your life for this. Skipped your cousin’s wedding, your dad’s funeral, all in the name of progress. And now, well—“ He gestures wide. “Here you are. Knocking on the gates of greatness. This is your name in history. Your Nobel Prize. What choice do you have ?”

  This can’t be the choice. Can’t be .

  “Now, I can back you up here. Keep the mud off you. Nothing came up on her background check, so you’re fine there .”

  None of this is fine .

  “You step away now, express your shock and disgust, and the train stays on track. Libraries named after you. The King of Sweden hanging that medal around your neck .”

  “The...what? What?“ I don’t want Tom touching me. I’m on my feet in an instant, so fast my head spins. “This isn’t about prizes ! ”

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean—look, I’m just saying you’re doing a great thing. Not just for us, but for humanity. Sometimes, your personal life has to — “

  I turn my back on him. He’s right. No—he’s fucked . Who thinks like that? And now, I’m supposed to...what ?

  “Go home, Jim. Save your legacy .”

  My legacy. Funny word, that. Conjures up thoughts of what you leave to your family: lessons and memories and trust funds, treasured mementos, dreams. A legacy to humanity—hard to weigh the value of that against more personal bequests .

  “I don’t say this lightly: someone like you doesn’t come along every day. All those lives you could save—I’m in awe of you. I know you’re in a terrible position, but I promise you, I’m with you all the way.” Tom’s standing behind me, too close for comfort. “I’ll keep Nasmith out of your hair. All you’ll need to do is get through the next couple of months. Anything you need — “

  I step away sharply. He’s confusing me, turning my head all around. I need to get away, figure this out for myself .

  My phone buzzes, interrupting my train of thought. Diana—it’s Diana. And I can’t.... I don’t have the words .

  “I have to—I’m going home .”

  “Need a ride ?”

  I shake my head, already halfway to the doors. I need space. Time. A quiet drive home .

  My phone vibrates again, and I power it off, feeling like the worst kind of asshole. Outside, the sun’s riding high on a perfect summer morning. The doors rattle shut in my wake, leaving me to fight off the sudden, superstitious sense of leaving part of my life behind me .

  16

  D ian
a

  James isn’t picking up. Every phone in the house is ringing, ringing, but the one number I need to reach goes straight to voicemail .

  I pace the conservatory. This place has been my sanctuary, but the shiny dumb canes and bushy ferns that once sheltered me from the afternoon light now seem to crowd in on me. And that heron’s back in the koi pond, bold as you please. I flap my hand at it. It blinks its flat yellow eye, unperturbed .

  What happens now? Does this...end? Do I get a chance to explain? Or will James toss the shredded contract at my feet? Maybe a couple of fifties for good measure ?

  He wouldn’t. He’s never been cruel .

  Keys rattle in the front door. My face goes hot, even as my blood turns to ice .

  “Diana?”

  I freeze in place. Nowhere to run, even if I wanted to. “In here .”

  James stumbles over a flowerpot, almost losing his balance. He looks pale and sick, eyes squinting against the light. I reach for him without thinking, but he shies away. Like he can’t bear to touch me .

  “I’m—“

  “I’m so sorry!” He falls to his knees, so abruptly I almost grab for him again .

  “You’re sorry?” That, I wasn’t expecting .

  “I knew this would happen! All along—didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I try...?” He gathers his fists on his knees. “I made you a target, and now I’m supposed to shoot you down!” He sighs. “Tell me it’s all a huge mistake .”

  I can’t look at him. Can’t speak .

  “Then... It’s true ?”

  I can only nod .

  “Why?” He sounds wounded. Desperate. Like he’s begging for the explanation I can’t give, words that would make all this go away .

  “I guess I...wasn’t thinking.” I go to the French doors, pressing my palms to the glass. “The check—it arrived maybe a week before...before the end. And I forgot all about it.” My eyes start to sting. Even here in the shade, I can still feel the sweltering heat of the furnace, turned up all the way to compensate for the draft from the windows—for every window in the house, thrown open to the winter, and the smell of sickness still wouldn’t air out. Maybe it was all in my head—I could smell it everywhere I went, on everything I touched .

  “Diana?”

  I realize I haven’t said anything for a while. Long enough that my throat’s closed up. I swallow hard. “When Dad finally died, there was nothing, nothing worth doing—nothing I wanted, needed, cared about ....”

  “You don’t have to do this .”

  “Obviously I do!” There’s a small, furious part of me that wants to kill James right now. I squash it down hard. He didn’t open this can of worms. “I’m sorry. Sorry. Let’s just say there came a morning when I decided to get out of bed. Get dressed. Live again. So I did the shopping, shoveled the snow, went to the bank, and.... I ....”

  “You were going through the motions.” His voice cracks. I stare at the heron in the pond, hating it with every fiber of my being .

  “It wasn’t till months later, I realized what I’d done. And I didn’t have the money any more. Couldn’t pay it back. No one seemed to have noticed, so....” I blink hard, till the world stops swimming. “There’s no excuse .”

  “So he was...still alive when the check was issued ?”

  Still alive. “Yes .”

  “Not sure that’s even illegal. You were his caregiver. Paying for the last of his care.” There’s no relief in James’s voice, no indication anything’s changed. “But people are going to think what they think. Such a stupid thing—such a nothing moment, and for that ....”

  “And for that ...?”

  He’s crying. I can hear him, just the slightest hitch of his breath .

  “Just tell me.” I can’t breathe .

  His knees pop as he gets to his feet. I stand perfectly still as his arms circle my waist, perhaps for the last time. “I can’t do this ...“

  “Should I say it for you ?”

  I feel him shake his head. “I don’t have a choice. I’m—if I don’t distance myself from this, it’ll all have been for nothing .”

  My tears go dry, unshed. The heaviness in my heart’s being pushed aside by something white-hot and murderous. Irrational, maybe, but there’s no holding it back. All for nothing? Nothing? Our future, our child—nothing? “Go on .”

  “I don’t want to do this .”

  So don’t. “You have to think of your work. All those lives ....”

  “If I saw a choice—any choice—you have to believe me; I’d take it .”

  There’s always a choice! Always! “I know .”

  “I’m sorry .”

  Grow a fucking spine! “Stop saying that.” I draw myself up, stiff and proud. “This was always about your work .”

  He shivers, as though the chill in my voice is running down his spine. “I can’t see you for a while. But it’s not forever. Not — “

  James is still talking, but I can’t hear him over the rage buzzing in my ears. Can’t see me for a while? What does he think we’re doing, dating? And what’s a while supposed to be? I’m due in November—is he planning on being there for that, or is it...welcome to single motherhood ?

  “You’ll still have everything you need, anything—just name it; I’ll — “

  I wrench free of his embrace. “And meanwhile, what? You go back to your life, while I...while I walk around with a scarlet letter? Alone?—unemployable? I haven’t seen anyone outside your circle in months—and you think any of them will speak to me now? Who am I supposed to turn to, for...for anything ? ”

  James recoils like I’ve slapped him. “I didn’t....” He presses his palm to his forehead. “You can take Percy .”

  The dog? The fucking— “Oh, you didn’t just say that .”

  “What can I say ?”

  Good question. Maybe there isn’t anything. “Nothing. Just—nothing. Do what you want. I’ll ...”

  “Diana—“

  “What? ”

  “The money—you’ll still get — “

  My vision explodes in red. “Keep it. And choke on it!” I push past him, through the ballroom, the hallway, the east stairwell. He follows me as far as the living room, but there’s nothing to say, nothing to do, and he stops under the arch. Percy jumps off the couch and follows me into the foyer. I snap on his leash—goddammit, I am taking him. He likes me better, anyway, and now I see why .

  The blood thunders in my ears all the way down the driveway. Gutless!—he couldn’t even try to stand up for me? Couldn’t make a statement, plead my case to the board, anything ?

  Maybe he did. I didn’t ask .

  He could’ve waited. Given it time. A lot can happen in one news cycle. I could’ve given an interview—or a bigger scandal could’ve erupted, relegating me to the bottom of page nine .

  Maybe he wanted to .

  He didn’t have to bring money into it .

  For that, there’s no excuse .

  Except... Who doesn’t say stupid things in the heat of the moment ?

  Slowly but surely, the guilt creeps in. Percy’s not helping, looking at me with those big, confused eyes. Probably thought we were headed for the park. I scratch him behind the ears, but he’s edgy, nervous, pawing the dashboard .

  Maybe I’m angrier at the situation than at James. His work has always been his first love, and more than that—he’s genuinely close to something big. Something that could change the world. How’s he supposed to turn away from that? Our marriage might’ve started to feel a lot like real life, but standing at that altar, he was saying “I do” to his job .

  I pull over at the Comfort Maple. I need sun, space, a moment to breathe. Percy perks up, nosing at the window .

  “Walk?”

  He whines and hangs out his tongue .

  “Take that as a yes, huh?” I clip his leash back on and let him out. It’s a nice day. Feels like it ought to be storming, or at least spitting rain, but there’s barely a breeze to stir the branch
es. A few heavy clouds hang on the horizon, but it’s hardly end-of-the-world weather .

  It’s not too late to go back. I could swallow my pride. Hear James out properly. Have a sweet goodbye instead of a bitter one. And there’s the baby to think about—even if this is it for our romance, we’ll still be a family. We need to talk about visitation, if our separation lasts out the year .

  I should return Percy, too. James doesn’t handle loneliness well. Taking his dog seems...pettier than I want to be .

  By the time Percy starts to droop, I’m calm—or as calm as I can be, staring calamity in the face. A few raindrops finally start to fall as I turn the car around, but my head is clear. We’re going to talk this through like two people who love each other, no matter how it hurts .

  And then ....

  Well, I’ll think about that later .

  17

  J ames

  My first instinct is to pour myself a drink. Never did finish clearing out my liquor cabinet: It’d be the work of a moment to grab a bottle ....

  I don’t have it in me. Even getting drunk seems too much like work. Besides, Diana will be back...Won’t she? We didn’t resolve anything, and her clothes—she’ll have to come back for her clothes .

  Or not. I remember swinging by her place in Fenwick once, to pick up her favorite chair. She had half a closet of old shirts and dresses. “House clothes,” she called them. The sort of thing you might well wear to sit at home, licking your wounds .

  And she actually took the dog. Never thought she’d take Percy .

  I let my head droop. I’m starting to see spots. Haven’t had a headache this bad in a while. I can actually hear my head pounding, great noisy clangs, like a doorknocker. No—that is someone knocking .

  She must’ve forgotten her keys, running out the way she did .

  “It’s open!” I think about sitting up, putting on a brave face, but I feel like I might not survive moving my head .

  “Jim?”

  Tom. Fuck. What’s he doing here? It was his advice, his stupid advice, that —

  “Hey! You all right ?”

  I stifle a groan. Maybe if I don’t answer, he’ll go away .