The sound of the wash cycle starting filled Tracey’s ears. She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered. She could start with what she heard from Ruthie. The nickname. The embrace. Or she could mention all the phone calls. The texts. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Sound bites of what her mother had said earlier flooded Tracey’s brain. She actually heard her mother’s raspy, nicotine-coated voice: You go around digging for garbage, you’ll find some.
Tracey’s nerve loosened. She gazed at the thick solid muscles in Brian’s arms and shoulders pressing against the fabric of his navy blue sweatshirt. Shoulders strong enough to carry an entire family. Firm shoulders that captured her heart the first time she’d hugged him. She wanted to wind her arms tight around him and beg him to tell her things were all right between the two of them.
And he probably would.
And that would be a lie.
“This friendship you have with Lisette. Um, you had more interaction with her than you told me about last night.” Tracey said.
“What makes you think so?”
She stopped. She didn’t feel comfortable saying she’d talked to Ruthie yet. That could mean trouble for Ruthie at the practice. So now Tracey was dancing with deception. Bad enough she’d been polling his employee for information, now she was tempted to lie about where she’d gotten it. She could try a different approach.
“Let me backtrack for a second,” she smiled. “Did you have a good day?”
Brian returned a half-smile. “It was okay.”
“Let me give you the rundown on my day.” No smile. “I saw Ma for a minute then talked to Monica for a bit this afternoon. Then I guess you could say I spent my time out and about thinking about what you told me yesterday.”
Brian’s jaw went slack. “Uh-huh.”
She kept rattling things off. “So I came home. Made dinner. Spent time with the kids. Put Brianna to bed. Called your office. Called your cell. Left messages. Rested for a minute. Got back up. Read through your cell phone records and saw two months-worth of calls between you and Lisette. Started doing laundry. Now here I am and I need more Tide.”
Brian opened his eyes so wide it surprised Tracey that his eyeballs didn’t pop out and fall on the floor. “Back up for a second.”
“No.” She kicked aside a pile of clothes to clear the pathway before she stalked over and stood in front of him. “Now where do you want to start?”
“First of all, it’s freezing down here. We should have this discussion someplace else.” The washer’s rattling sound accentuated the troubled look on his face.
Tracey glanced around at the concrete walls of the unfinished cellar. Kind of a Silence of the Lambs effect. Cold enough to see her breath. She’d been so heated with anger when she first came down lugging the laundry she hadn’t noticed how chilly the basement was.
“Well, since you don’t want to start with the good stuff, let’s go backwards. We can go to Walgreens. I told you, I need some Tide.”
Brian’s deep voice bounced off the walls. “Walgreens? Now?”
Tracey brushed past him and started climbing the stairs two at a time. “Yes. Let’s go.”
On their way to the store, Tracey sank deep into the passenger seat, keeping her eyes on Brian. He riveted his eyes on the road and stayed silent. He parked in front of Walgreens, and she jumped out, ran inside, bought two giant bottles of Tide because they were on sale at two for six dollars, came back, climbed back in the car and sat the bag by her feet. The bottles banged against her legs.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, Tracey said, “You have a nickname for her? You call her Troy. This is the same Troy who called you the other night, right?”
Brian didn’t answer. Eyes straight ahead. Driving.
“I’ve seen your phone call list. You’ve been dialing or texting her something like three times a day. Sometimes after midnight.” Tracey’s nose started to run. Darn it! She wiggled around in the seat and pulled a crumpled tissue out of the pocket of her puffer jacket.
“I can explain,” he sighed. “First, the Troy thing, that’s a joke, really.”
“A joke?”
“I started joking around with her one day when she came into my office, telling her she looked like an actress I’d seen once whose first name was Troy. She thought it was funny, so I started calling her that from time to time.”
“You thought it was better to lie to me about that?” Tracey said.
“You were already upset after I told you what happened in the office. I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“And all those phone calls?”
Brian looked like he was searching for words. He didn’t come up with any.
She went on. “Hugged up with Lisette? In your office?”
Crickets.
“I heard there are pictures of you with her.”
“Wait a second, you could only know that if …” He stopped, then said in a lower tone. “You talked to Ruthie.”
Tracey held up a hand. “Yes, I talked to Ruthie, but you can’t be angry with her. You had the opportunity to be truthful with me yourself last night. Right there in the kitchen. I’m a grown woman. You could have told me about the nickname, the pictures, everything. None of it has anything to do with Ruthie. All she did was confirm the truth when I asked.”
He shook his head. “You’re right. Okay. You’re right.”
“Thank you.”
“But you need to know about the picture. There’s nothing to it at all. Definitely nothing nasty. Lisette and her girlfriends were going out to listen to jazz one Friday night a few weeks ago. She stopped in my office and asked me if I wanted to stop by and listen to music with them. I decided to go over there after I left the practice.”
“Really? Tracey said.
“One of the her friends happened to get a pic of us when we were sitting at the table and texted it to Lisette’s phone.”
Tracey bit her bottom lip and looked out the window. All the ice on the streets had melted, but dirty piles of snow lay in drifts on the sides of the road. So Brian had been out having a great time and being silly with Lisette. Tracey sniffed and wiped her runny nose again. When had he stopped having fun with her, and why hadn’t he told her?
“Fault me for bad judgment. I got caught up. I shouldn’t have gone.” Brian’s voice grew softer with each word.
“What do you two talk about?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Life. American medicine. Children’s health issues. She’s planning on going back to school.” Brian cleared his throat twice. “I like talking to her.”
“You like talking to her.” Tracey breathed. “You really like this woman, don’t you?”
“I guess I do.”
Tracey swallowed, then bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Her husband just told her he likes another woman. Things definitely were not fine.
“You guess you do? Brian. I’m your wife.” She whispered. “This can’t happen.”
“I know.” He turned the car onto their tree-lined street then repeated himself. “I know.”
Now Tracey wished she’d stayed in the house. Too late. She gazed at the pulsating veins in his neck. “Call me stupid.” She shook her head and tugged at the tips of her gray leather gloves. “All these years I thought I could trust you. For months you’ve been hiding things from me. Months! Where did all this come from?”
“I can’t … I don’t …” He parked next to the Volvo in the driveway, but kept the car engine running. “Look, believe me when I say I love you. I cannot live without you. You’re an excellent wife and an excellent mother.”
“Then I don’t get it, Brian!”
Brian finally stopped staring through the windshield and turned to face her. “I’m not good at expressing myself for something like this, but I’ll try. Lisette and I, we connected in a way I d
idn’t expect. We had a lot of fun conversations and at first, we talked a lot about medicine and most of those texts you saw were just jokes going back and forth between us. But honestly I don’t want this.”
“I don’t want this either,” Tracey mumbled.
“It goes no further. I promise you that.”
“How far did it go to begin with?”
“We were friends. We got a little too close.”
“Is there anything else? Tell me now if there is.”
“No, and our friendship is over. From now on she’s only another person who works at the practice.” She watched as he shifted his body weight and unzipped his jacket. “I’m deleting her contact information right now.”
Brian held his hand up as if to signal her to what he was about to do then used his other hand to fish the phone out of his jacket pocket. He tapped the screen a few times then flipped the device around so Tracey could view the list of contacts on the screen. “Look here.” He pressed scrolled through the list as he held the device beneath Tracey’s nose. “No Troy. Not anymore.” He tapped the red Delete button.
Tracey hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Where was the screaming? The yelling. She’d expected him to become angry and defensive. Start covering things up. Maybe fuss at her for going behind his back to talk with Ruthie and find out about his connection with Lisette. Or even ask for a separation. None of that happened. Instead she saw him look over at her with remorse in his eyes, his phone resting loose in his palms.
Tracey guessed she’d won? “Am I supposed to go inside, rip all your clothes from our room and throw them out the window?”
“What?”
“Saw that in a music video once,” she mumbled.
“That’s why it’s in a video. That’s nuts.” He reached out and took hold of her gloved hand and sandwiched it between both of his. “Today I had a one-track mind filled with work I have to check on and patients to see. Some of my older ladies haven’t been to see me in months because the Medicare changes are driving them insane. Insurance paperwork is still driving us all nuts. At the end of the day, all I thought about was getting in a good sweat. I should have called you to let you know. I’m sorry.”
Tracey sniffed. Her skin still burned with anger, but what would be the point of blowing up now?
He squeezed her hand. “For better or for worse. We’re in this together and that’s how we’ll stay. I told you that when I asked you to marry me. I told you that on our wedding day. I do not change my mind.”
“So then what happened? What, Brian!” Tracey grimaced and snatched her hand away.
“I got caught up and I’m sorry. Tracey, I swear, this is the last you’ll hear about her, and I’ll never talk to her again privately. I mean it.”
She snorted, turning away and looking out into the darkness. But really, what could she gain by refusing to forgive him? More tension in the house they didn’t need. If she didn’t trust him they wouldn’t have much of a marriage. She’d become the enemy in his eyes. He’d become the adversary in hers. They’d draw battle lines, both end up wounded, and the casualties would be their children.
Tracey reached for the car door handle.
Brian grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Stay.”
She needed to move away from the hurt of the day. Her head throbbed, and she was sweating from wearing her winter jacket and hat and sitting in a warm car. Her forehead itched. She dropped her hand from the door, pulled off her gloves and tugged the hat from her head. Worn out.
Tracey gazed out the window. “The cracks in this driveway are getting worse.”
“I know.”
“We need to get them fixed.”
“We will.”
She turned to him and raked her eyes up and down his body. Raised her eyebrows so he could get the message she was talking about more than pavement.
“No more promises. Take care of it,” she said.
“Consider it done.”
6
Tracey woke the next morning with a dull headache, sore eyes, and aching muscles. As she rolled over in the bed she stretched her arm out and touched the sheets where Brian’s body usually lay. She sat up and looked over at the bathroom door. It was wide open. The bathroom? Empty and dark. She glanced at the top of the dresser. Brian’s silver watch was gone from his butler. He must have awakened, dressed quickly and headed out while exhaustion rendered her dead to the world.
Fine. Hubby could flee the house. It saved Tracey the trouble of trying to figure out how to relate to him with a blend of anger and hurt making her stomach churn. Brian is attracted to his nurse. Sure, he said it goes no further—whatever that means. Sure, he deleted the contact information from his phone. What about his heart? What about all the attention he gave Lisette this winter? The fun he had with her? How easy was it going to be to leave all that behind if he had no problem starting in the first place? Tracey’s stomach turned even more and her head ached as she thought about it.
And what could she do, really? She had already gathered information and confronted her husband. Now what? Should she ask friends in the women’s prayer circle to pray with her? Call the life group members? Call Pastor Downes? And then what? Sit around while people shook their heads in pity towards her because her husband wasn’t as interested in her as he was in the side chick at the practice?
Forget that! Three soft knocks on the bedroom door broke the silence, followed by a tiny voice. “Mom, are you up? Can I be up now? I’m hungry.”
Brianna. Oh Lord, the kids! Tracey had to be there for them. Feed them. Get them to their schools on time. She rubbed a hand over her face and swallowed hard. She reached for her robe on the bed post and pulled it on as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Come in sugar.”
The door swung open and a petite brown blur rushed over to the bed and wrapped herself around her mother’s legs.
“Hi Mommy!”
“Hi baby.” Tracey ran her hands over Brianna’s braids.
“Mommy, why didn’t you come get me?”
Tracey turned around to look at the clock on her nightstand. After seven already. Good Lord! Brian could have at least woken her up before he left. And why didn’t she hear
Tyler moving around? Never mind. Time to get moving.
“Can I stay home with you today?” Brianna squeezed Tracey’s legs.
Tracey peeled her off gently. “No, honey, this is a kindergarten morning for you. Let’s go.”
Up and moving. Good. She scratched her scalp and grimaced, her hair so dry she might as well have pushed her fingers into a haystack. One more thing had to go to her task list for the day: stop by Weave Me and see her sister-in-law, Charla.
Pink hair. Well, not completely pink. Charla’s hair tumbled down her back in a thick glossy black sheet with hot pink streaks scattered throughout the front.
“What did you do!” Tracey paced around Charla in a slow circle, gazing at her bold new hairstyle.
Charla wrapped her arms around Tracey in a long hug. When Charla let go and backed up, she winked and flashed her megawatt smile. “You know I like to change things up. I felt like 22-inch tracks this week.” She reached over and touched Tracey’s chestnut-colored locks. “Your hair feels dry again.”
Tracey slid out of her brown leather jacket and hung it on one of the stainless steel hooks mounted on the front red wall of the salon. “That’s why I’m here, sis.”
Charla clucked her tongue as she sauntered back over to her work station where a pretty young lady sat in the salon chair. Charla sat down on a stool behind the girl and began working the final touches on the stunning flat-twist hairstyle.
Charla directed her words to Tracey. “I asked you a month ago to start coming in here regularly. You never listen.” She shook her head, multi-hued hair falling about her small brown face.
“Come on n
ow, my hair’s not that bad,” Tracey said, settling down on the plush red love seat.
“Yes, it is. Last month when I did your hair I saw the same dry hair I see you have now,” Charla said. “Get in here more often.”
“I will,” Tracey said, as she glanced around the room. The white tile floors gleamed. The black sink bowls sparkled like always. Not a speck of dust appeared on the large artwork prints hanging on each tomato red wall. Ambient spa music played from hidden speakers and the whole room smelled like sandalwood. She closed her eyes and rested herself, soothed by the comfortable atmosphere. It wrapped around her like a comforting hug—a healing balm during a time of insecurity.
It took Charla less than fifteen minutes to finish her client’s hairstyle, lead the lady up front to settle up payment, sweep around her chair and call Tracey over.
Tracey followed her sister-in-law to the row of shampoo bowls. That’s when she zoomed in to pay full attention to her outfit. Charla wore a hot-pink poncho with a tight micro mini skirt layered over black tights accented by high-heeled black boots.
After Charla draped her with a cape, Tracey sat down in front of the shampoo bowl. She raised an eyebrow. “Does Ricky know you’re out in public wearing that skirt?”
“Girl please, that man loves this outfit,” Charla said as she tapped Tracey to ease her head back into the bowl. She adjusted the water temperature and pointed the nozzle onto Tracey’s head.
“And don’t those heels hurt your feet from standing all day?” Tracey asked.
“Real divas aren’t caught dead in flats, sweetie!” Charla laughed.
“Date night tonight?”
“That was last night. We tried the new Brazilian steakhouse in the city. You know the one where those cute waiters keep serving food to your table until you signal them to stop. The food … oh my goodness … food was incredible! I never tasted steak and chicken so flavorful. Even the side dishes were amazing! I can’t wait to go again.”
“You know what? Why don’t we all go out together sometime soon? It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.”
Broken Together Page 4