Dry as Rain (30 page)

“Don't even try it,” she hissed. “Don't you dare try to confuse me. I watched you rewind, pause, and replay the clip where she took her shirt off, over and over and over. How do you think that made me feel?”

I was about to tell her again that she was mistaken, when the lightbulb finally came on. “The beige lamp?”

She bent over, picked up two of the largest pieces of broken dish, and used them to scoop up the brûlée. “I don't remember the name of the stupid movie. I just remember your obsession with her breasts.”

“No, not the title,” I said. “The movie was
Just Another Murder in Mexico
. I'm talking about the beige lamp I was looking at. That's what I was rewinding and replaying the movie for, not some stupid woman.”

She stared me down.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized what had happened. “I couldn't pick the actress out in a lineup, but there's a beige lamp in that scene. It had a maroon flower on it one second and then the flower was gone. They must have spliced the scene, and the lamp got turned so the design wasn't showing or something. It was a blooper.
That's
what I was looking at.”

“Yeah right,” she said weakly.

I just stared at her, digesting the magnitude of what she was saying. All those nights I spent racking my brain to figure out what I could have done or said to turn her off.

Without warning, her balled-up fist hit me dead in the chest. She threw another weak punch, followed by another. “Get out,” she screamed, pounding my chest, harder and harder, screaming that she hated me.

I grabbed her wrists. “Stop it. I didn't lust after some actress on TV. Our issues started far before then and you know it. You can't blame your years of frigidity on one misunderstanding. You wanted nothing to do with me long before that movie even came out, so don't even try it. Put blame where blame belongs, Kyra. Admit that you stopped being attracted to me. And it wasn't because of some stupid actress.”

She let out a wail like a grieving mother. “How could you sleep with that girl?” Pulling free, she punched me again, but this time I grabbed her and pulled her against me.

As she struggled to get away, I held on like my life depended on it. “What happened to us?” I asked.

She tore away from me and thrust her arm out toward the fish floating upside down in his bowl. “That's what.”

Thirty-Seven

Today was the day I'd been working toward for the last six years. I would find out in the next fifteen minutes whether it would be me or Larry running the dealership from now on. All those twelve-hour, six-day work weeks, dragging myself in even when I felt like death and missed family functions—not to mention all of Thompson's bull I had to endure—it all came down to this moment.

But it was my wife, not the job, that took precedence in my thoughts as I sat at my desk, listening to phones ringing, incentive announcements blaring from overhead speakers, and the rest of the usual midday commotion.

Last night was all I could think of as I stared through the wall of windows at the showroom floor. I watched Larry slink out of our boss's office looking like he'd had his million-dollar lottery ticket stolen, which could only mean one thing—the job was mine. I should have been happy; I'd sacrificed so much for this. But instead, I just felt terrible for my friend, and in a way, worse for myself. The thought of spending the rest of my life here in this dealership, without Kyra to go home to, felt a little too much like a one-way ticket to purgatory.

Sitting alone at my desk, watching my coworkers scurry around like ants, I forced my thoughts back to rehearsing what I would say when Thompson finally offered me the job—promises to fill his big shoes to the best of my abilities, suggesting Larry be given my old job, if he hadn't already thought to offer it to him, and of course, I'd have to lavish the appreciation on him as thick as honey for choosing me.

As I tapped my pen against the desk blotter, my thoughts once again turned back to Kyra and our unraveling marriage. I doubted that we'd have any trouble selling the house and considered what I might do with my half of the money. With the raise I'd be getting, I could easily afford payments on a new condo. That meant that the proceeds of the house on Macabee could go into a special account set aside for the specific purpose of wooing back my bride. No matter what a long shot it was, I had to at least try.

Maybe I could begin by surprising her with a trip to a place she'd always dreamed of visiting, like Hawaii, Europe, or better yet, Israel. She'd always wanted to be baptized in the Jordan. We could do it together maybe. It could be symbolic of not just the change in me, but the change in us.

My mind reeled. If I was going to be the supportive husband I had made my mind up to be, I'd need to be at as many of her gigs as possible—the guy at the front table, clapping the loudest, whistling obnoxiously. I just didn't see how I'd be able to make that happen now, but I'd have to find a way. That was all there was to it.

When I glanced up at the wall clock, I noticed a young man dressed in a suit a lot like one of mine, standing by the front desk talking to the receptionist. It had been so long since I'd seen him cleaned up, I almost didn't recognize my own son. I hurried over to meet him.

Larry must have noticed him right when I had, because we both called his name at the same time.

“Wow, nice reception,” Benji said smiling between us. The suit he wore
was
mine. I couldn't believe just how well it fit him.

“Looking good, Ben,” Larry said. “You come to wish your old man luck?”

Benji gave me a questioning look. “Luck for what?”

“Today's the day,” I said, feeling self-conscious with Larry's eyes on me. “What are you doing here?”

“I decided to go ahead and set up an interview.”

“You did?” Larry and I asked at the same time.

Larry grinned at me and gave my arm a jovial punch. “You owe me a beer.”

I rubbed my arm. “What are you, twelve?”

“Do twelve-year-olds drink beer?” he asked.

A woman with a preteen in tow walked up to us. “Can one of y'all help me?”

I pointed to the closest salesman. “Phil, over there, will be happy to.”

She thanked us and dragged her son over to him.

“Hey, you should've let me have her,” Benji said with a wink in his tone. “I'm ready to make some moola.” Not only was he wearing my suit, he smelled like my cologne.

“You really want to sell cars?” Larry asked him.

Benji buried his hands in his front pockets. “I've got to make a living somehow.”

“It's not like this is the only way.” Larry gave me the same
do something
look Kyra liked to use.

There was something about seeing my son dressed like every other sales guy on the lot and standing against the backdrop of the busy showroom floor that made me realize the magnitude of this crossroad in his life.

I thought of how different my life might have turned out if I had never come to work here. If I'd given my family what I'd given this place. I also thought of Angelo and what his life might be like if he gave up being what he was called to do—to sit in a lawyer's office all day with his nose stuck in a book.

“He's right, Ben,” I said. “You don't want this. Selling cars isn't really your thing. The ocean is.”

He scrunched his face at me. “But you said—”

I set my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You can't listen to me. Your father's an idiot. For you, working here would be like a prison sentence; trust me. How about for now we keep your options open, okay? I'm sure we can find something you enjoy that you can also make a living at.”

He frowned. “What gives?”

“I just want you to be happy; that's all.”

His frown turned up into a half smile. “Really?”

“Believe it or not, it's what I've always wanted. I just didn't realize until recently that the path there might not always be paved with money.”

“So, you're not going to ride me about college anymore?”

“I didn't ride you. I just encouraged.”

He picked up pretend reins and made a giddyap clicking sound.

Larry nodded at me. “I like this kid.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “He's just like you.” I glanced at my watch. “Listen, Ben, I'll stop by the house tonight on my way to Larry's, and we'll talk about this some more if you want. Maybe set up a game plan for figuring out what you were put on this earth to do.”

Dimples formed on Benji's cheeks. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen them sink so deep. “Thanks, Dad. That's really cool.”

I shrugged like it was no big deal, but inside I felt like a hero. “Better go cancel your appointment.”

The bounce in his step as he walked into Ruby's office to tell her he'd changed his mind was worth more to me than the commission on a thousand cars.

Larry turned to me as we watched Benji walk out the front door. “Good call, man.”

“Thanks,” I said, giving my watch another glance.

“You better go in.” He nodded to Thompson's office. “Destiny's waiting.”

Thirty-Eight

When I stepped into Thompson's office, it reeked of that cheap cologne of his and cigars. One smoldered in the ashtray, already half smoked, as if he'd started the party without me. I couldn't blame him I guess. If there was ever a reason to celebrate, retirement would be it.

He lifted open the fancy wood box sitting on the edge of his desk, revealing a row of fat, brown cigars. Two were missing, which made me wonder if he'd already given one to Larry as a consolation gift. “You know, Yoshida, I've done a lot of nail-biting these past few weeks. Choosing who will run the business that'll be funding your retirement isn't for the faint of heart.”

I took the cigar from him and slid it under my nose. Rich and woody, it smelled like victory. As I rolled it back and forth in my fingers, I felt for the crunching of the tobacco inside, but it was smoother than I was used to, with just a tinge of oil to the casing. The band circling it even managed to look expensive with its fancy gold and red lettering.

He picked a fresh one from the box and inhaled it before gently setting it back down beside the others. “You'll be able to afford your own now.”

He slid a lighter from his front pocket and clicked out a flame. With my stomach already churning like a cement mixer, I was afraid smoking might make me hurl. “Thanks very much, Mr. Thompson, but would you mind if I save it for later?”

He let go of the button and the flame retreated. “I think you can guess what I'm about to say.” He motioned for me to have a seat, but I just stood there.

He raised his eyebrows, drawing my attention to that one unruly hair coiling up from the rest. “Yoshida, you've worked hard these past years. I want you to know that I appreciate it, even if I didn't always remember to say so. You've been the first one here and the last to leave. Sure, you've slacked off lately with your personal problems, but I've decided to overlook that,” he pointed the lighter at me, “with the understanding that you'll get your nose back to the grindstone.”

His beady eyes narrowed. “You will, won't you, son?”

As he stood staring at me, my life flashed before my eyes. I saw Kyra's father walking her down the aisle to entrust her to me, and the smile that met me when I pulled back the lace veil. I saw the beads of sweat pouring down her forehead as she struggled to push our son into the world and the tears she shed when we buried each of her parents.

I also saw the future I'd dreamed for us that would never be now. We might still retire to the ocean like we planned, just not together. Benji and our grandchildren would always feel pulled, splitting their time between us . . . and I'd always feel like half of me was missing.

Thompson slapped his hands together an inch from my face. “Snap out of it, Eric. This is the day you've been waiting for. I'm offering you up a six-figure salary and an office with a view. This kind of opportunity doesn't come around often for a man without a bunch of letters behind his name.” He slapped me hard on the shoulder. “You've done it, son. You've made it.”