Social Lives (38 page)

Sara smiled as she turned to kiss him. “It almost killed me.”

“You were so pissed,” he recalled; then he laughed at the thought of the night they met less than four years ago. “Pissed and distraught, crying, but mostly you were mad as hell and I thought
damn
—I have to know what that's about.”

Sara closed her eyes and pictured him at the bar with one of his work buddies. They were downtown near their Wall Street office, and a few blocks from where Sara lived because it had been so cheap back then. She'd come in from the rain, drenched to the bone and reeling from events that seemed a lifetime ago.

“How he could have left you, I'll never understand.”

“He was a coward. Or maybe just selfish. I should have known.”

“His loss, my gain. You were hell-bent on finding revenge sex.”

“Ah!” Sara elbowed him, then turned around to see his face. “Is that what you thought?”

“No question. You had that look in your eye like you weren't leaving that bar without a man to go home with.”

Sara sighed. “Great. I'll have to remember not to have
that
look ever again. If I remember correctly, though, I went straight to the bathroom to clean the mascara from my face, then I ordered a beer and sat in the corner sulking.”

“Yeah, but that's what made you so intriguing. You made this grand entrance, then played hard to get. It's classic.”

Sara laughed with him. Maybe it was true. Maybe she had been hoping to pull someone in, to go home with him, screw all night, and the next day, until she could begin to forget the guy who'd left her standing in the rain as she begged and pleaded for him to stay. He was off to Afghanistan, where so many new journalists were flocking. She had not heard from him since. It had felt like divine intervention that Nick Livingston was the one who'd come to sit with her that night.

“I remember watching you walk over to me. You didn't have the slightest hint of insecurity.”

“Oh, I was plenty nervous. But I had a hundred bucks riding on it.”

“I still can't believe that's all I was worth. A hundred bucks to see if you could buy me a beer.”

“But you didn't want to drink. Didn't want the one you'd bought, didn't want me to buy you another. I lost the hundred dollars on that technicality.”

Sara laughed harder, then wrapped her arms around him. “You should have bet you could take me home if I looked so desperate for revenge sex.”

“Yeah. But I wasn't exactly caring about the money when you stood up and headed for the door.”

“But you just sat there.”

“Until you turned around and looked at me like I was a total idiot.”

“Did I?”

“Oh, yeah. Then you said ‘Are you coming?' And I was gone in a shot, left my coat, my briefcase.”

Sara kissed him on the neck and pulled him down around her on the sofa so they were lying together. She looked into his eyes the same way she had that night. “You never got any sex that night. After all that.”

“But I got to hold you. All night, and into the next day.”

“Yeah, and hear about another guy for hours and hours.”

“That's 'cause I knew if I listened long enough, I'd eventually get sex.”

“You did not!”

“Maybe not. But I hoped. And I was right.”

Sara nodded. “You were right. How could I resist a man who would do all that for a complete stranger.”

“You've never seemed like a stranger to me.”

“And I don't ever want to.”

She closed her eyes and drank in this feeling, this blissful tranquillity that all was as it should be. She loved her husband. They had a beautiful little girl, wealth, and comfort. She opened them again and kissed him, longer this time until he pulled away.

“Can we christen the couch? It's been weeks, and you drive me out of my mind, Sar.”

Sara sat up and pulled off the silk pajama top he'd left in her stocking.

Nick grabbed her, kissing her neck, her breasts. “I don't want this to be a mistake for you,” he said, breathless.

His words nearly killed her. Here she was, secretly back on her birth control pills, and he was concerned about making a baby. All because of her, because of her indecision and selfishness.

“Forget it. Forget everything, just for this one night. I've never wanted you more than I do right now.”

Nick looked at her to make sure she knew what she was doing, but she couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she tore off his sweater and shirt, the jeans and boxers until he was bare and against her on the sofa. They had so much waiting for them on the other side of this night, but she needed to be with him, to feel him the way she used to. Straddling his body, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him again and again, then whispered, “I love you.” And when she pressed her face against his, their bodies touching head to toe, she could feel the tears on his cheek.

 

 

 

 

 

B
Y MID
-J
ANUARY, THE WHOLE
of Fairfield County was in a deep freeze. The Christmas snowfall had melted down during two days of record highs, only to reappear with near record lows the week following. A thick sheet of ice was left in the wake of the erratic temperatures, and not even the relatively mild forty-five degree days in early January seemed to be helping. Roads had been cleared with salt and sand, but private drives, walkways, pipes, and fragile trees had caused a multitude of hassles for homeowners.

Jacks sat in her car outside the Wee Ones nursery school waiting for Beth, and watching Ernest Barlow. For the past few weeks, he had chosen to do the pickup for Mellie, and Jacks was beginning to understand why. He was driving the Mercedes station wagon now, and it was not in the pickup line, but instead parked in the lot. And that wasn't all. Barlow was not in it, but instead sitting in the red minivan with Sara Livingston. It was a daily routine that Jacks had noticed of late, and it had her worried. She had been the one to set Sara up, to make Rosalyn believe that Sara was Barlow's lover. And it had seemed perfectly fortuitous that Rosalyn had reacted by drawing Sara in and keeping her close with the trip to West Palm Beach. Now Jacks was beginning to wonder if both their plans had backfired.

It was not jealousy that she felt as she watched them laughing through
the window. In the fifteen years she'd known Barlow, she had never wanted him, never dreamed she would find herself making love to him in a hotel room on the outskirts of town. What she felt now was the same sense of helplessness and urgency that had propelled her down those stairs and into the wine cellar just a few months earlier, and it was back again after the trip to California. They had suffered through it, Kelly and Jacks, obsessively watching David, or the
absence
of David, all the while trying to stay uplifted and fun for the kids. They had managed to do it, and they both left feeling relieved that none of this had yet touched their children. But since their return, Jacks had been on a frenetic daily search for anything that would tell her what was happening to her husband, and consequently, to her and the girls. There had been nothing. No papers, no letters or calls. Nothing but David coming and going on schedule with that vacant stare. It was maddening.

Barlow held something for her in all of this. It was twisted and dark, but having him want her, need her, had given her a sense of security. If everything fell apart, Barlow would save her because he wanted to, or—God help her for thinking it—because he had to. And now it had been weeks since her return, and they had done nothing but exchange a few phone calls, mostly about Cait and making plans that he kept breaking. She had assumed it was all Cait, the guilt of being away when she crashed the car being too much in itself to add the weight of the affair. But now she could see she was wrong. Something was happening in that red minivan.

She pulled at the handle and swung open her door. The line wasn't moving yet, so she left the car in park and walked up to the van three cars ahead. As she stood by the driver's-side window, Barlow was the first to see her, and his face quickly lost its light expression.

Following Barlow's eyes, Sara turned her head to see Jacks standing there. She rolled down the window, smiling, and leaned her head out to give Jacks a Wilshire peck on the cheek. “Hi!” Sara said, honestly glad to see her friend. It had been nearly a month. “How was your trip? Christmas, New Year's, all of it?”

Jacks smiled broadly. “Wonderful. Everything was perfect. I love the warm weather. Can you believe this ice?”

“I know!” Sara responded, her tone genuine and friendly, making both
Barlow and Jacks uneasy. “Barlow and I were just saying that on top of all the hassles, the whole thing has brought out the climate-change naysayers who have just been
waiting
for a chance to plead their case.”

“I guess it's fitting that Wilshire's two greatest cynics have found each other.” Her voice was playful, but the message was delivered. And Barlow wasn't the only one who heard it.

“I should get in line,” Barlow said. “The mothers will have my head if I hold it up. See you tomorrow?”

Sara smiled. “Sure.”

“I'll walk you over. I want to hear how Cait is doing.” Jacks stepped away from the window but did not turn yet. “Sara, great to see you. Let's have lunch.”

“Great,” Sara agreed.

The line started to move, and Sara drove up in search of her daughter. Barlow, on the other hand, remained in the parking lot with Jacks. Standing in the cold, shivering, they tried to have their own conversation, careful not to come close to the obvious bond that Barlow had forged with the young Mrs. Livingston.

“It's been a little crazy,” Barlow said. “With Cait and everything. I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you.”

Jacks looked at the ice beneath her feet, which was beginning to chill her toes. “I know. It's all right. Is Cait still a mess?”

Barlow thought about the answer. The truth was, she seemed better than before. Her face had healed, the blood was long gone from their lawn, and things seemed pretty normal. Still, he couldn't think of another excuse. “I'm just keeping a closer eye on her.”

“And Mellie, I see. You've been doing a lot of pickups.”

Barlow was the one to look away this time. No matter what he said, the friendship between him and Sara was obvious to everyone, and his picking up Mellie was nothing more than an excuse to see her in a gossip-proof setting. So he lied. “Yeah. I'm trying to let Rosalyn focus on the speaker. She's in town next week, and then the big event is what, that Friday night?”

“Friday. Is Cait okay with it? Rosalyn said she wanted her to attend, but I'm not sending Hailey. I think I'll just go and bring the messages home that seem appropriate.”

“I don't know if she'll go or not. We haven't really discussed it. Rosalyn just spends all day going over the speech, figuring out the arrangements for the parking, and e-mailing the reminders to the parent body. It's a full-time job for her at the moment.”

Jacks smiled sadly. “She probably needs that right now.”

“Yeah. I guess. I'm not exactly the expert on what my wife needs.”

Jacks felt like touching his arm, and not to draw him back in, but as an honest gesture between very old friends. Still, she kept her hands in her pockets.

“I should get back in the car. Beth hates it when I'm last.”

Barlow let out a small chuckle. “Oh, I know. Mellie gives me an earful about it. They must talk about it while they're waiting. It's all about winning now. Who's first, who's last.”

“And it only gets worse from here.”

“True. Very true.” Barlow seemed nervous, like he knew he should say more, but couldn't, or perhaps didn't want to.

He started to reach for the car door, and Jacks felt the panic return. Wicked or not, she needed to hold on to him. Just standing there with him now, she wanted to fall into his arms and beg for help. But that was not her way. And it was not part of the plan that Kelly had made her promise to execute. There was so much at stake.

“Barlow . . . ,” she said, this time reaching for his arm. “I miss you.”

Her words stopped him cold. They hadn't been together in weeks, and although he missed the comfort of feeling warm hands against his skin, so much had happened in between. The night on the jet with his wife, then watching her turn back to stone. And now this delightful, innocent friendship with Sara Livingston. There was a lot stirring around in the pot, and he had no idea what an encounter with Jacks would do to him right now.

He turned to face her, to look at her. He owed her that much. “I miss you, too, Jacks, I really do. Maybe next week?”

Jacks smiled. She could see everything he wasn't saying. But she held on to his words like they were a solemn promise.