“I love you,” he said.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, sometimes.”
“I know.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in a little smile. “Didn’t say I don’t like it,” she said. “A girl can’t complain too much, her husband banging her every time she turns around, even when she’s being a bitch.”
“Can’t keep my hands off a lovely cunt like you,” he said, grinning a little.
“That’s nasty,” she said. “I kind of like it, though.”
“The hands part, or calling you...?”
“Both,” she said. “I’ll be your cunt, Mick. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Told you I liked it,” she said.
They finished their beers. Mickey dumped the ice and stowed the empties and the cigarette butts in the cooler. Sandy got up and dusted her butt, but she’d been wet when she sat down and was covered in sand.
“You’re all sandy, Sandy,” Mickey said, which was what their daughter always said when it happened.
She patted the front of her shorts and said, “Not where it counts, hot shot.”
They laughed together and held hands, walking back to the truck. Mickey remembered the towel he’d brought for lunch the day before and found it behind the seat. Sandy’s bathing suit was rolled up in it. She gave him a look.
“I forgot,” he said, and it sounded weak.
“Sure you did.” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t strip me down again.”
“The nice policeman might have enjoyed it,” he said.
“Or busted me for indecent exposure.” She ran the towel over her arms and legs and scrubbed her hair with it.
“The bikini is dry,” Mickey said, getting into the truck. “You could change.”
“This is my back yard suit,” Sandy said. “It’s too small to wear in public.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I kind of like seeing most of you.”
It was fun to watch her trying to hide over in the dunes, peeking out when cars came by, scrambling to get her pants off when they went on. The bottoms to her suit weren’t the usual string tie. They had thin metal hoops so her hips were bare on either side. The top was just two small triangles with a dart, and strings.
“Happy now?” she asked, tossing her clothes onto the floorboards and climbing into the car. “This thing doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
“I’d be happier if you were naked,” he said, pulling out into traffic.
“I nearly am.”
“You got curves like a country road.”
“I’m not eighteen years old anymore, Mick.”
“You’re only twenty-four,” he said. “And trust me; I’ve been all over that body with a fine toothed comb. Damned thing is perfect, near as I can tell.”
“I wish that was true.”
Her eyes shone again with those sudden, unshed tears. He reached out for her hand. She dodged him, but he got it anyway.
“Slide over here and sit by me,” he said.
“I don’t want to.”
“Now would be a good time.”
Sandy gave him a dose of the big sigh but unbuckled her seat belt and slid over on the seat. The middle belt put her firmly against him, so she couldn’t keep herself from touching him. He put his hand on her left thigh when she was settled and they didn’t say anything to each other all the way home.
They had a quiet night. The little one was wound up tight when she came home, but frazzled from a hard day at the playground. She settled down with cartoons on the television and an armful of dolls. Mickey got the bills out again, and Sandy went over them while he took notes, and thought about things. She’d fretted and wept over the damned bills for so long that she knew them by heart. Talking about money had always been stressful, but this time was cathartic.
“All right,” he said at last. “We just need to figure how to do this.”
“Some of us already know
how
,” she said in a sad tone. “It’s the when part that’s killing us, Mickey.”
“I mean how we actually pay,” he said, and pointed with his pencil. “You make this much. I make...well, not so much, but maybe that’s changing. We have one problem and one question.”
“Is that all?”
“The problem is my income not being steady so we can depend on it. We had zip except your paycheck and the tips from the restaurant, and now I’ve got money coming in again. I think that may continue, so let’s figure it will. That leaves us with the distribution question, Sandy, and right now that’s up to you.”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean, distribution?”
“We can split the bills, or I’ll pay them. Whichever you like.”
“But I do that,” she said, surprised. “I mean, I do when I can.”
“And you worry yourself sick.” He sipped coffee and looked at her. “Here’s the way I see it. Either we divide the bills so that you pay what you can and I pay the rest, or you put your money in the pot and I pay the bills. Simple.”
“You’d...” She made herself stop, trying to hide the skepticism on her face. “You’ve never paid any attention to the money,” she said finally. “I took the responsibility a long time ago, Mickey.”
“Because I wouldn’t,” he said, understanding her point. He put the coffee down carefully on the table. “You don’t trust me with the money, babe. I know that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She was lying. Mickey knew she was. She didn’t trust him, and he wasn’t surprised in the least. Money had always slipped through his fingers like water. He tapped the pencil on the table, suddenly aware of how that mistrust had permeated their marriage and their...well, their friendship.
“Tell you what,” he said. “If you like, we can do a trial. I can do this, Sandy. I
will
do
it. But it’s like anything else. You have to trust the person with the ball point. We’ll pay bills together, and we’ll figure the budget every month sitting right here at this table. Then one day, maybe soon, you’ll be able to relax and I’ll take care of it on my own, and you can just forget about it.”
He felt like an idiot, having to concede all that, but even irresponsible idiots could learn new tricks. And he found that he really did want to take responsibility for their finances, and for other things, too. It was his job. Had been all along, and he hadn’t been very good at it.
“Why are you doing this?” Sandy asked, watching him.
“I want to be better,” he said. “You know, like Jack Nicholson said to Helen Hunt in that movie. You make me want to be a better man.”
“You
are
a good man,” she said, bending forward to grip his hand in hers. “Honey, I’ve never thought otherwise.”
Oh, yeah, Mickey thought, flashing on Linus Davidson and who the hell knew how many men before him? He wanted to ask her. Make her tell him how many times she’d slipped off with someone else during their life together. He had his suspicions. Looking back, he thought it might be three, with two more possibilities. Five guys including their high school days and the six years of their marriage. And here Mickey was making excuses, when he ought to be kicking her ass, or walking out the damned door. He looked over at Cindy on the couch, the three year old light of his life, and then he looked back at Sandy.
“It’s time,” he said finally. “Past time, maybe.”
She blinked. “Not past time,” she whispered. “Just tell me what you want, Mickey. All you have to do is talk to me. It doesn’t matter what about.”
Mickey drank more coffee and put the cup down again. Sandy released his other hand and propped her elbows on the table with her chin resting in her upturned palms. She had on a white blouse, unbuttoned and knotted under her breasts, and the position deepened her cleavage so that was about all he could see for the moment.
“Stop that,” he said. “I can’t concentrate.”
“Really?” She smiled at that.
“Yes, really.”
She sat back again and Mickey wondered how to tell her what he was really thinking. He was engaged again, but it was different this time. He was like anyone else. It was necessary to feel strong and confident, but he wanted her to depend on him. To trust him. He wanted her to need him, and above all, to trust him. And he wanted more than anything to be the man she could do that with, and do it without reservation.
One day, he would have to tell her about venting his rage on Linus Davidson. Not because of any catholic need on his part for confession or absolution, but because he didn’t like lying to her, even by omission. And because he wanted her to know how strongly he felt, and maybe, just a little, about how dangerous he could be. There was something about that inside, a straightening of the spine, the strong pulse of hot blood, the hardness of his cock – something tangible and provocative.
“Just tell me,” she said softly, looking very directly at him.
“I want you to be mine again,” he said then. “All of you, like it was when we started. And I want to deserve you.”
Tears spilled from Sandy’s eyes, but that was all. She turned away so that Cindy wouldn’t see her and after a minute got up without saying anything then went into the bedroom and closed the door. Mickey let her go.
Chapter Eleven
They went back to the Bob Graham beach on Sunday morning and took Cindy along. Sandy wouldn’t wear the black bikini, choosing something with a tropical print, instead. The bottoms tied at her hips and Mickey teased her because the one she insisted on was actually a little smaller and more revealing than the black one. She treated that dose of logic with serene indifference.
Watching her picking up seashells with Cindy was worth the effort. They ate hot dogs at from the concession stand for lunch, and Mickey paid for them with cash, which felt pretty good considering how empty his pockets had been for two months.
When it got too hot, they went home. Sandy took the little one in for a shower, and then went to Cindy’s room. Her mother got in bed with her to read about a hat wearing cat who spoke in lyrics, and Mickey left them to it. The phone rang just after two and Mickey answered. It was Linus Davidson.
“I need to talk to your old lady,” Davidson said. It was hard to understand him with his jaw wired like it was. He was talking mostly through his teeth.
“That a fact?” Mickey asked, surprised to hear the man’s voice, and even more surprised to note that his hands stayed steady.
“It’s business.”
“She doesn’t have any business with you, Linus.”
There was a long silence, with only the sound of painful breathing. And then Linus said, “So, it was you?”
“What was me?”
“With the baseball bat. I should’a known.”
“You still on morphine or something? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fucking pin in my leg says different,” Davidson rasped. “The docs say I gotta have a knee replacement, soon as I can walk enough for rehab. I’ve got six busted ribs, in case you were wondering, and I’m going to need a whole shit load of dental work.”
“Like I give a rat’s ass,” Mickey said. “Tell me what you want, or I’m hanging up.”
“I ain’t talking to you,” he replied. “Gimme your old lady.”
“Not happening.”
“Look, you pussy little fuck...”
Mickey hung up on him. In about twenty seconds, the phone rang again. He answered it for the second time and said, “Better say it quick, Linus. I’m short on patience, here.”
“Okay, shit head, here’s the deal. I need Sandy to work my lab for a couple of months. She don’t, I’ll lose every customer on the books.”
“I don’t care about your customers,” Mickey said.
“She does, though, and she’s the best there is at that stuff. A lot better than me. I’d split the money with her. She can work evenings in the office. Maybe couple hours a day, do some deliveries, that kind of shit. It’s good money, McCord. You know it is.”
“I’ll ask her,” Mickey said thoughtfully. “There won’t be any splitting the money though. She does the work, she gets paid, full boat.”
“I’m going to kill you one of these days.”
“From your wheelchair?”
“You don’t know who you’re fucking with, you really don’t.”
“That works both ways, pal.”
“I’ll take her away from you,” Davidson said.
“Better see about a testicle transplant, seeing as how you’re already in the hospital, and all,” Mickey said. “You don’t have the balls for this anymore, Linus.”
“We’ll see.”
“Better think about that, old man, while you’re drinking through a straw.”
Mickey went to the hospital without Sandy. Davidson was a mess, leg in a cast and suspended to hold the bones still while they knit, taped ribs, broken fingers. He glared at Mickey from the hospital bed and there was some serious hate in his eyes.
“Sandy says she’ll need the keys,” Mickey said without as much as a hello. “We’ll have a look at the books and see if there’s anything worth bothering about.”
“You stay outta my shit,” Davidson grated, pulling his lips back to speak. “She can go, but you don’t set foot in my place.”
“Okay,” Mickey said, and turned to go.
“Why you doing this to me, man?”
“Don’t be stupid, Linus.” Mickey stopped in the doorway and turned around and propped a shoulder against the jamb. “The way it is, you want something from my old lady, you go through me. That’s the deal.”
“Ain’t the way it is,” Davidson said.
“It is now,” Mickey said heavily. “Best you remember that.”
“Gimme a drink.”
Mickey went back over and held the flexible straw to Linus’s cracked lips. He even took the towel hanging on the bed rail and wiped the spillage off his cheek. Davidson drank half the glass.
“You owe me,” he finally said, panting from just the effort of drinking.
“I don’t owe you jack,” Mickey replied and put the glass back on the bedside table. “Lesson’s over, Linus. We’re square unless you’re dumber than I think.”
“Who ya’ think you are?”
“Nobody,” Mickey said. “Just a guy with a wife and a kid, trying to keep things in one piece.”
Davidson laughed and grimaced at the pain in his ribs. He wiped his mouth with the bandages over his left hand. “You ain’t done much of a job so far,” he said. “Bitch came to
me
. Wasn’t something I did. Just something I finished.”
“Got a funny way of asking favors, Linus. Don’t you?”
“Don’t like asking favors from a bastard like you.”