Dry as Rain (12 page)

“Eh,” I said.

“Now I know where Benji gets it.”

“Gets what?”

“Remember when he would come home from school, and we'd ask how his day was?”

I shrugged one shoulder and hummed an “I don't know” like he used to. We'd endured that maddening response for years.

She gave me a tired smile. “Really, baby, tell me about your day.”

“Much better now,” I said.

Staring at the television, I zoned out as I considered my options. I startled out of it when something touched me. I looked down to see Kyra's hand sliding up my T-shirt. Her touch sent jolts through me.

“You're awfully jumpy. Are you sure nothing happened at work today?”

I took her hand from me and kissed it. “The only thing about my day that matters is sitting here with you now.”

Her expression hardened. “If you don't want to tell me, fine.”

I sighed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She sat up, aimed the remote at the television, muting it, before turning back to me. “It means I'm interested in your day.”

“Since when?” I asked wearily. She was as interested in my day as I was in who was who in Scandinavian politics. I took the remote from her hand and pointed it at the TV. The room went black.

An annoyed voice rose from the darkness. “What's with you today?”

Her arm brushed against mine as she bolted up. I sat there numb, listening to her stomp away. After a few minutes, I made my way to our bedroom, wanting to fight but needing to make up. I crawled into bed beside her and—even though I knew I shouldn't—molded myself into the familiarity and warmth of her back.

I'd learned from experience that sometimes the right words had no syllables, but then again I guess sometimes the wrong ones did too.

After a moment she whispered, “Samurai, what's happened to us?”

Everything,
I thought. “Nothing,” I said.

She flipped over so that we were face to face. Her warm breath fell on my lips, and I wanted to kiss her at that moment more than I'd ever wanted anything.

“Something's really wrong, isn't it?” Her eyes searched mine. “Tell me.”

But how could I explain to her what I didn't understand myself? “Tomorrow's a big day for me,” I said. “Let's try to get some sleep.”

Fourteen

Tired from not sleeping well, I was even more drained than usual when I left the weekly sales meeting the next morning. Numbers were low, which meant so were the team's spirits. Mr. Thompson made sure of that by playing the “If this group can't produce, I'm going to have to start looking for one who can” card . . . again. All of his unnecessary bluff and bluster was getting more than a little old.

The man began his career pushing metal just like the rest of us. He knew as well as anyone that a bad day, week, or even month in the car sales business was bound to happen no matter how good you were or hard you worked.

Thompson waddled down the hall, a scrap of sales sticker flapping from the heel of his shoe like a backward flipper. As soon as he disappeared behind his office door, I yanked on my tie to loosen it. Even with it now dangling against my collarbone, I could still feel the phantom knot strangling me.

Turning the corner, I spotted Larry bent in front of the watercooler filling a paper cone. He gulped down the drink, crumpled the cup in his fist and made a two-pointer into the already-full garbage can.

When I slapped him on the back, he started coughing.

I grimaced. “Sorry.”

Catching his breath, he said, “I'm fine,” and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey, what'd you think of Thompson's little pep talk?”

We both already knew what one another thought of it, what we always thought of anything our boss had to say, but still we played the game. “Wow,” I said. “You know, I can't remember the last time I was this inspired. How 'bout you?”

He pulled a receipt from his pocket, examined it, then stuffed it back in. “Words are inadequate. I don't know what pumped me up more, being called lazy or having him compare me to a corpse.” He patted the side of his face. “My cheeks still red?”

To me, his face always looked a little ruddy. “Is that because you're mad or from all the hot air he blew on us?”

Larry nodded a
good one
. “You know, working with you makes this job almost tolerable.”

I gave him a tired smile. “Feeling's mutual.” He had a way of finding the humor in just about every situation. Without him, I would have snapped long ago, or at the very least, had to find a new profession.

Larry ushered me into my office and closed the door.

I groaned. “Please tell me it's not time for another lecture already.”

He pressed both palms on the edge of my desk, looking as serious as I'd ever seen him. “I saw Danielle this morning. Her eyes were red. You two need to talk.”

I crossed my arms, mentally preparing myself for an argument. “We already have.”

“You told her it's over?”

“Yes.”

He jerked his head back in surprise, giving himself a double chin. “Oh, well, good. Good job.”

“Yeah, thanks. We through here?”

Looking solemn, Larry leaned his shoulder against the wall and buried his hand in his pocket. “Does Kyra know yet?”

The mention of her name made my stomach feel like it was full of battery acid. “She doesn't know about Danielle.”

“No, I mean that you and she are—were—separated.”

Perspiration started to trickle down my back. I leaned over and stuck my hand in front of a wall vent. Sure enough, hot air met my palm. Thompson was so cheap, it could be a hundred degrees outside and rather than turn on the AC, he would insist on using the fan. As if circulating the same hot air would magically cool things off.

I slipped off my jacket and laid it across the back of my desk chair, feeling the dampness on my back and armpits. “Not yet. She's starting to remember. I think the doctor was right, and she's figuring it out on her own.”

Larry rubbed beads of sweat from his forehead, giving the vent a perturbed look. “Can I give you some advice, chief?” He paused like he was waiting on my answer. As if it mattered what I said.

When I raised my eyebrows, he said, “Come out with it. All of it. It's like one of those stupid TV sitcoms, where everyone's being goofy and covering up something when they could have saved themselves a mess of trouble if they just told the truth up front.”

I stared at him. Was he really comparing my failing marriage and infidelity to a poorly executed comedy? This wasn't some stupid TV show. This was my life. And it was more than a few laughs at stake; it was my marriage. My heart . . . and Kyra's.

“My point is, just tell her. It's bad no matter how you look at it. Rip the tape off fast. It's going to hurt either way, so why drag it out?”

I chewed on this a minute. He was right, of course. It would be bad, no matter what, but Kyra would probably remember in a day or two. Maybe figuring it out piece by piece on her own would make it easier for her to swallow.

But maybe she'd never remember just how bad things had gotten . . . or find out about Danielle. Then what? We'd live happily ever after. Why not? I'd never have believed a week ago that my wife would so much as look at me again, let alone gaze at me with that spark back in her eyes. I'd already been given a miracle. What was one more?

Larry licked his lips. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking into his grave eyes, I knew the question was going to be a heavy one.

He studied me. “Why wasn't she enough?”

I knew that what he was really asking was why he wasn't enough for Tina. “It wasn't her . . . and, man, it wasn't you. I mean, she's great and, Larry, you're great. It's just . . .”

He pulled the chair away from the other side of my desk and sat. As he studied me, it was no longer my friend's pain I was looking at, but Kyra's.

I pushed pens around in their coffee cup holder. “It wasn't her, but it wasn't exactly not her either.” I glanced up at him.

He pulled at his goatee, looking deep in thought.

“She stopped wanting me to touch her but wouldn't even tell me why. It was always a different excuse. Besides that, everything I said or didn't say irritated her. Nothing I did was right. Nothing. I stopped feeling like I was good for anything but bringing home a paycheck and taking out the trash. I stopped feeling like a man. You know?”

The truth will set you free.

“Yeah. Yeah,” I answered.

“Yeah, yeah, what?” Larry asked.

“The truth will set me free.”

He smirked. “Your conscience finally talking to you?”

“What?”

He laughed. “You're losing it, man.”

“Whatever. Listen, I'm going to do like the doctor said and see if Kyra will figure it out on her own.”

“The separation. But what about the affair?”

Affair?
I cringed at the word. It wasn't an affair. It was a one-night stand. A lapse in judgment. A thing. “One problem at a time.” I flipped through my desk calendar, looking for nothing in particular.

“You have to tell her.”

I said nothing.

Larry's face mottled. “Dude, you
have
to tell her. I've been on the other end of the stunt you're pulling, and it bites. I don't know, maybe if Tina had come clean herself rather than being found out, maybe I could have forgiven her.”

As I thought about what he was saying, I could practically feel the ulcers forming. What I needed was a guarantee. If only I could play out what would happen if I did tell her, then compare it to what would happen if I didn't. How was I supposed to gamble with our lives this way? But then I knew, of course, that I already had.

Fifteen

Before I stepped through the front door, I had one thing on my mind: to get to bed and fall asleep as quickly as possible. After Kyra greeted me in the foyer wearing a bedroom smile and long silk nightgown, soft wisps of hair brushing against her face, that mission became all the more imperative. If I laid a hand on her tonight, not only would Marnie let me have it, but it would add fuel to Kyra's anger later when she found out what I'd done.

When she leaned in to kiss my lips, it took everything in me to turn away and give her my cheek. Although she had to interpret my reaction as rejection, if I'd hurt her feelings, she managed to hide it. Her smooth, painted fingernails softly scraped my palm as she scooped the car keys from my hand. She set them on the table by the door, then took my hand and led me through the dining room, out to the screened porch. As we passed through the house, I caught a whiff of steak, asparagus, and something freshly baked.

Both excitement and dread filled me as I realized that my wife might be trying to seduce me. It had been years since she'd taken this kind of initiative. I knew what I should do if she indeed was, but the feelings she stirred in me made me afraid of what I actually would do when and if the time came.

The door squealed as she pushed it open. There, in the shadows, stood our patio table set for two. She'd adorned it with a tablecloth and the silverware she only dragged out on holidays. Cloth napkins fanned out from empty wineglasses, which were paired beside crystal goblets of water. Candlelight flickered up from the center of the table and the iron sconces that hung on the brick wall behind us. Balmy night air wafted in through the screen, making the flames bend and bow.

Candlelight danced in Kyra's eyes as she gazed at me for the longest time.

My heart lodged in my throat. “What's all this?”

She smiled at me, then the table. “Happy anniversary, lover.”

My mind raced. What was today? It was April. We weren't married in April. Were we? No, it was definitely October. The mistake was hers, not mine. “We were married in October. October twentieth,” I added, now confident. “You're a few months off.”