“So nice to see you too, Irene,” Joe says, quickly, then adding pressure to his fingers, he guides me away but says, “I’m going to come over and visit that husband of yours. Maybe take him out for some shooting practice.”
Over my shoulder, I catch Irene nodding, her smile never wavering. “He’d love that, Joe.”
When we’re out of earshot of Irene, I lean closer to him. There’s not much room between us, what with him still holding the small of my back. I whisper, “You know Mr. Carleton? Cranky Carleton?”
Joe softly chuckles. “He’s not that cranky when you get to know him.”
“My son’s terrified of him.”
Joe slows. We’re heading in the direction of the stairs that leads to Eva’s bedrooms, a library/meditation room, and a workout room where Eva’s gotten me in a lot better shape in the last few months. Jamie has started to workout with two-pound weights, and my gorgeous Liv dances through with her grape juice-stained tutu.
Joe glances at me, surprise easy to spot. “That’s right. You have kids. As in plural? More than one?”
“I have two.”
I know if I talk about my kids, then there’s a chance that handsome, tall, and young Joe will stop touching me the way he is. But…I never like talking about my kids. Not to strangers. I’m probably overly protective or overly sensitive, but I never trust strangers with information about my children. How can I tell someone I don’t know well that I have two of the most extraordinary people in the universe under my roof? But I know society might judge them. Jamie is nervous a lot of the time. He wears his anxiety in an obvious way, making strangers think he’s an oddball. And Liv? She’s constantly having a tantrum of some kind. Her streak of independence is something I admire but often pray for more patience to not turn into a screaming parent, which is something I swore I’d never do.
I mean, I am human. I have yelled a few times. But I always apologize and there’s mommy consequences for when I mess up. There’s a no-yelling rule in my house, which technically my ex-husband owns. Anyway, I live there with my children and we don’t scream at each other. Or we’re not supposed to. Jamie, my little saint, doesn’t yell. But Liv’s set of lungs have made the house’s windows shake. Not necessarily in anger. She’s just…boisterous.
But how can I tell that to a stranger?
In short, I can’t.
So I never do.
But I should with Joe. I should to create a wedge between us. Something that would signal, Look, I’m over here on this mountain, and you’re all the way over there. Got it, buddy?
However…when he touches me the way he does, I wonder if he is on a different mountain. Or is he here with me?
I nod, though. Knowing I have to put some kind of distance between us, if not for Eva then for my own children’s sake.
“I have a six-year-old son, Jamie, James. And a three-year-old girl, Olivia, Liv.”
“Good names.”
“Thanks. They’re great kids.”
“Yeah? Did you get a babysitter for tonight?” He’s suddenly not looking at me, and a faint pink is climbing the thick tendon alongside his neck.
“No, they’re with their dad. It’s his weekend.”
“Ah…so you’re a free woman this weekend?”
I nod, not really thinking of what he just asked, but then wondering if he meant anything by it. There was something to his tone that…oh, it’s pointless to think if Joe might be attracted to me. He’s my best friend’s son. So I try to stick to the conversation about my kids. “Yeah, I miss them like crazy. I’m the world’s luckiest mom.”
The fingers on my back press a little more firmly into me, his smile warms even more. Not the reaction I thought I’d get.
He guides me to the stairs and rather than let me go ahead of him, he walks up with me, leaning down even closer. “Okay, here’s the situation.”
“There’s a situation?”
Joe smiles, but it’s turning forced, maybe a tad sad too. “My mom locked my dad in her room. With her.”
Lord. I sip in a breath, trying to convey I can handle whatever comes my way.
“She said she needed to talk things out with him, but Shane heard my dad say something about having a gun in the room.”
“Jesus.” I grip his arm, which, actually, my fingers don’t even come close to wrapping around. “Should we call the cops?” As I say this, I think more than likely she doesn’t have a gun. Well, this is Wyoming where everyone has a gun, children own guns, but I doubt she has a gun with her to converse with Sherman.
“I hope not.” Joe’s somehow calm, even after what he’s just said. “I hope Shane heard something…I hope he didn’t hear right.”
I nod, but my heart is thumping fast in my ribs.
“She said the only way she’ll let my dad out is if she sees you.”
I nod again, trying to steel myself.
Okay, everyone knows there’s ugliness in divorce. Yes. But most people, even movies and books, shy away from the craziness of divorce. Sometimes, there’s so much hurt it’s too much to take. So a person goes crazy. Why else would I turn to wine? It hid my craziness, the part of me that secretly hoped Tony would get in an accident. Oh, not a bad accident. But one where he’d end up hurting. As badly as I was.
I hated that part of me that wanted to see him hurt. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
“You’re okay with this?” Joe asks, suddenly stopping our progress.
We’re out of eyesight from the party people where the elegant stairs turn to the upper portion of the house. I know no one can see us, but still I worry. He’s so close. With my heels on, he’s not a foot taller than me. He would be, or more, if I didn’t have my wedges on. But with the height, we can stand close. Face-to-face. Kind of. He’s still towering over me. He’s lowering his head so we can talk quietly. And I’m sure it looks…well, I know I’m blushing. I know the heat from his body into mine is making me shake. And we’re touching. This is…we’re acting like we built a private world for only the two of us. We’re acting like there’s something to this sizzling, crackling space between us that has to be palpable to others.
I take my hand off his arm and nod. “I’ll do anything to help your mom.”
Only one side of his lips curls up. His gray-blue eyes focus on mine for a second. He swallows and nods. “Welcome to my dysfunctional family, then.”
He urges me on, climbing the remaining stairs. Finally, I make out Shane leaning against a door, one hand on the wall close to him, holding him up. It’s then that I see the boy Shane was. He was the first born, like my Jamie. The problem solver. Odd though, I’m the second born, but I always felt like my older brother, Mike, never had to solve a problem in his life. It was left to me to pick up the pieces after our dad died. To help our mum with her grief. And now helping my mother with her dementia. Mike is…living a problem-free life, calling twice a year to see how our mother is.
However, it’s then I realize that it was Joe who came and got me for Eva. So, maybe Joe is more like me than I think. And I don’t need to create some kind of fantasy where we have anything in common.
As Joe and I get near, Shane looks at me. His brown eyes are bloodshot. His mouth drooping.
“Why is she doing this?”
“Does she have a gun?” I ask. “Should we call the cops?”
Shane’s brows furrow. “I don’t know.”
Through the door, I hear a masculine voice say, “Don’t call the cops. There’s no gun. Jesus. We’re fine, boys. Nothing’s the matter.”
Shane thumps his open palm against the door. “Then why are you stuck in there?”
Eva’s told me how Shane hasn’t taken the divorce very well. But who can? However, he’s been avoiding her and if around her, he’s been confrontational and loud, making her think he’s chosen Sherman’s side. She did say a second later there really were no such things as sides because we were all grownups. Then she asked the million dollar question I’ve often wondered to
o: If there are no sides in a divorce, then why does it feel like it?
Shane glances at me again, his gaze following his brother’s arm. Joe still has his fingertips on the base of my back. Shane’s appearance goes from anguished to angry. He glares at his brother.
“Is that Moira I heard?” Eva’s voice is shaky. Small. Heartbreakingly sad.
“I’m here,” I call out through the door.
“Let her in,” Eva says. There’s a muffled discussion then a second later the door opens, Sherman standing in the way.
He does, to his credit, smile at me. It’s a feeble smile, but I know he’s trying to be friendly.
“Moira, my wi—ex—Eva would like you inside to help with our conversation.” He’s talking in short angry bursts, like gunfire. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
I nod. “I’ll…help.” I don’t know what this means, and maybe I shouldn’t rush in. But Eva’s hurting, and I’d like to stop that, if I can.
Sherman steps aside and, while I’m walking through the gloomy and darkly-lit bedroom, he says to his boys, “It’s nothing, sons. This is nothing. We just need to talk a little more. Go take care of your mother’s guests.”
“At one time,” Eva sounds stronger as I get closer, “they would have been your guests too, Sherman.”
Sherman’s shoulders hike as he closes the door, blocking any of the light from the hallway out. There is, however, a downcast beam from her en suite bathroom, illuminating mascara marks down Eva’s lovely and usually composed face. God, I hurt for her, which brings out the ache in me.
The craving starts in my arms, my fingers. I’d tear out my hair for a glass of wine right now. To be able to sit with Eva, who I haven’t admitted anything to, and just drink and laugh. To go numb with a buddy. Oh, to go numb.
I hug her and she embraces me, but she pushes me to her side, instantly talking. “Tell him—help me tell him how I feel.”
Okay, yes. I should’ve definitely thought this out more. She’s putting me in the middle, and in a divorce there’s no worse place. I swallow and look at Sherman who’s sighing. I don’t know how she got him to agree to this. He’s obviously a proud man. But for some strange reason he’s let me in at his wife’s request, making me wonder if he’s a much better man than I give him credit for, if he might respect Eva more than she’s told me.
“Tell him how I’m not the crazy one.” Eva’s grip around my waist is verging on clutching with a little too much force.
“And I am?” Sherman’s usually cool demeanor breaks as does his voice. But he immediately takes a breath. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Eva sobs. “You’re happy.”
“Not at this moment, dear.”
Eva lets me go and points a finger at her soon-to-be ex-husband’s face. “Don’t you call me that. You have no right to call me that. Those days are long over, Sherman. You made sure of that when you went gallivanting out with your girlfriend.”
“Gallivanting?” Sherman squares his shoulders. They’re so like Shane’s. Broad. Athletic-looking. And Joe’s are like that too. Just bigger. And I really should focus on the war zone I walked into.
Sherman shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t throw that rock, Eva. I asked you not to throw that rock.”
I glance at my friend, wondering what he’s talking about.
Eva, though, marches closer to Sherman, huffing, her finger still pointed at his face. “You just walked out on your family and you expect me to—”
“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t keep looking the other way, Eva. I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t know.”
Know what? I’m looking at the back of my friend, wondering what she did. In my mind, Eva’s a lot like me—gullible about our husbands’ charm, secretly knowing they were having a fling or many, but trying so hard not to know, because knowing means the end of a fantasy. But at one point, for me, I had to pop my own bubble. I knew Tony was running around on me. And I couldn’t pretend any longer.
Funny that Sherman’s just said something similar.
He looks over his shoulder and turns to open the door. Both Shane and Joe are standing there, looking miserable.
“I told you boys to go make sure the guests are okay. Your mother’s party…you know what this means to her. Go. Make sure they’re okay.”
Joe turns and obeys the order right away. Shane glances at me then his mother. The pain that crosses through his eyes, that heart-clenching pain, has me looking at Shane in a different light. For once, I want to hug him. I want to tell him everything will be okay, even though I know it won’t be.
3
Reluctantly, Shane leaves, and Sherman shuts the door. Running a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, he sighs yet again.
“Do we really need Moira here for this?”
Eva’s shoulders tense. “I want her here because you—”
“Because I what?”
“You always run me over. Our conversations, our discussions—” she’s making air quotation marks with a heavy sarcastic tone to her voice, “—they’re nothing more than you railroading me. Always.”
“I don’t—” Sherman again takes a slow breath. I’m glad someone is breathing because I’m not sure I am. He glances at me. “You’re right. I do that. I’m glad Moira’s here to stop me. I do want to hear your side, Eva. I’ve always wanted to hear you. I just—I’m so goddamned angry sometimes. I hate what you did. I know it’s my ego, but, god, that was humiliating. Years of hearing through others how you—”
“That was the town’s gossip.”
Sherman’s laugh is hard and dry. “We both know that’s a lie.”
Eva turns to me. “Maybe you should go.”
I see it in her face. Guilt. Shame. Remorse. Which means…
I assume it means she slept with other men. When she was married.
She lied to me. I was the schmuck who talked about how faithful I was, how stupid I was to be loyal to Tony. She nodded and said, “Me too. We’re such fools, aren’t we?” And I believed her. My stomach feels hollow.
Sherman snorts. “Awfully convenient, Eva. Ask your poor friend in here to talk for you, to ensure the fight is fair. But once we bring up what you did to our marriage then you want our mediator to leave so you can take off the gloves. Am I understanding this correctly?”
Eva’s lovely arching brows quiver while she’s looking at me. She’s so glamorous, like a movie star, while I’ve often felt like a country bumpkin next to her. But right now I just feel stupid.
She takes a step closer to me, reaching her arm out and just touching my shoulder. But then she makes a snarling face when she looks at Sherman. “Yes, I slept around. But who wouldn’t? You were never home. You never listened to me. You talked over me. I didn’t need much. I just wanted you to listen. You used to like listening to me. When we were dating, when we first had Shane, you’d listen to me. You thought I was smart and funny. But then—but then—you changed. You thought everything I said was stupid or not smart enough. Never good enough. I was nothing to you. By the time we had Joe, I was nothing. So, yes, I met other men. I had a need you weren’t filling.”
Sherman’s face contorts with rage, making his handsome features blotchy, red, and twisted. “Didn’t need much? Is this the story you’re telling yourself now? Because I distinctly remember you encouraging me—no, more like forcing me—to become more political, to get tenured faster, to become chair of the department, then dean. You wanted more and more prestige and money. So don’t you dare tell me that you didn’t want much, because I was there. I remember how I was content to just be a professor. I liked what I did. I don’t like who I’ve become now. Other than Bethany in my life—”
“Don’t say her name. Don’t you dare say her name.” Eva’s now standing closer to Sherman, yet again pointing her finger at him. “I’ve never dropped any name. So don’t you dare—”
“I love her, Eva.” Sherman stands taller. “I didn’t plan to—but I do love
her.” He clears his throat. “I want to marry her. I thought you should know.”
“Of all the fucking times—now you tell me? Tonight? Right now? You fucking asshole.”
Somehow my mind and my heart’s been oddly quiet, just listening to the bombs of divorce drop and detonate. After Eva confessed that she had slept with other men, I basically zoned out. But not really. I listened to every word but felt detached. Yet I can’t help but remember my own divorce. Tony and I fought like that a couple times. He lied to me and told me he wasn’t really sleeping around. But shortly after that I washed ten condom wrappers that he’d left in his jeans, which made me wonder if he actually wanted to be caught. We hadn’t used condoms since we’d dated. So I knew they weren’t for me.
After that, the divorce was amicable. He let me have the house and gives me huge child support checks every month. It’s nice not worrying about money. But our amicability is nothing like Sherman and Eva. I know under their animosity, at one time, was a lot of love. When love turns into hate, it’s so telling. Sherman and Eva had loved each other desperately, even changing who they were for each other.
Tony was and is himself. I was the one who changed. I tried harder and harder to remain the sweet, hot young wife he’d married. But through it all this monster was born. I don’t know what else to call it. I’m terrified of the thing and yet I know it offers me my freedom from the mask I placed on my face for the sake of my marriage, to be a wife to a cheater, and single mother without any help, to be a woman which I’m never sure if I’m feminine enough. Although this monster offers me so much, I can’t help but wonder at what cost?
I wanted Tony to fight me, like Eva and Sherman. I wanted passion and making love in a frenzy so I would never have to worry about him with another woman again. But instead, once caught with the proof, everything turned…amicable. Which was excruciating for me, making me wonder if Tony ever loved me at all.
“Yes.” Sherman nods. “I suppose I should have thought that through more, the timing of that.” He scrubs his face. “Eva, what are we doing? We used to be best friends. We don’t need to hurt each other like this.”
Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series Page 3