The Forgiving Hour (9 page)

Like a jag of lightning piercing the sky, an ache shot through her heart. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to fall to her knees and wail in lamentation, as for the dead. Because if something wasn’t already dead, it was surely dying. If not her marriage, then her dreams of what a marriage should be.

No. Please, no. Don’t let it be true. Oh, please, don’t let this happen to me. To us. I’d rather die.

NINE

“How about stopping for pizza?” Dave asked as they neared Boise’s city limits. “I’m starved.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Sara was glad he wasn’t taking her straight home. She was happier when with him, her fears silenced, at least momentarily. But she knew that once she was back in her apartment and was alone with too much time to think her doubts would resurface. She wasn’t ready to end what had turned out to be a perfectly delightful afternoon.

“I know a little hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor that makes the best deep-dish pizzas you’ve ever tasted. Great brew too.” He downshifted as he approached a stop sign, then flipped on his turn signal. “That okay with you?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine.”

“That’s what I like about you, Sara. You know how to make a man feel good about himself. No pressure. No worries. No strings attached.”

She wished those words sounded more like a compliment than they did.

At the parlor, Dave ordered a large, thick-crust pepperoni and sausage pizza, no olives, and a pitcher of whatever was on tap, as long as it wasn’t light. Then he ushered Sara to a booth in the back corner of the parlor. He filled a frosted mug with beer and slid it across the table.

A spark of rebellion left a metallic taste in her mouth.
I’d rather have orange soda with pizza. And I hate pepperoni.

Why didn’t she tell him so? She’d never been afraid to speak her mind to guys before. She’d always been frank with her brothers and boyfriends. So why was she afraid to speak up to Dave?

Because, she answered herself with brutal honesty, she was unsure how he felt about her. And if he didn’t love her, then …

“Why so serious, babe?” He took hold of her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze.

She couldn’t tell him, so she made up something. “I was thinking about Portland.”

“We’ll have a good time.”

Warmth wrapped around each of his words, tugging at her heart, giving her hope.

Softly, she asked, “Do you really think you want to move there?”
Will you want me with you then too? Will you ask me to marry you?

“I’ll just have to wait and see.” He shrugged. “Depends on the work I find.”

“It’s so gray and rainy near the coast.”

“Yeah, but not as cold in the winter as it is here. Hardly ever snows.”

“No, I guess not.”

He leaned toward her. His eyes were more ebony than blue in the dim light of the parlor. The corners of his mouth curved infinitesimally. “Would you miss me if I moved away?”

“You know I would.” Her reply was almost inaudible.

But he heard it. And seemed pleased by it.

She swallowed, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

He appeared on the verge of saying something. Perhaps he was ready to tell her he loved her. Maybe he was ready to ask that all-important question.

The address system crackled and sputtered, then a loud voice blared, “Number forty-eight, your pizza’s ready. Number forty-eight.”

“I think that’s us.” Dave glanced at the ticket stub on the table. “Yeah, it is. Sit tight and I’ll get it.”

Just inside the entrance of their favorite pizza parlor was a room filled with video arcade games.

“Can I have some quarters, Mom?” Mike asked as they stepped from daylight into the shadowy restaurant.

“Sure.” Claire plucked the coins from a zippered pouch on the side of her purse. “You want the usual?” She placed the quarters in the palm of his outstretched hand.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll come get you when our order’s out.”

“Okay.”

She watched as her son made a beeline for the Donkey Kong machine. He dropped his quarter into the slot and quickly positioned his hands on the controls as the familiar theme song began to play.

Claire felt her spirits lift. After all, how bad could things be as long as there was Mike, pizza, and Donkey Kong?

She walked to the counter and stood beneath a sign that proclaimed
Place Orders Here.

A teenage girl, wearing a narrow-brimmed baseball cap, a bright red shirt, and navy slacks, flashed a silver-metal grin at her. “Welcome to Pizza Den,” she chirped — for that was the only word that could describe the perky, almost annoying cheerfulness of her voice. “Can I take your order?”

“Yes. I’d like a medium pepperoni and sausage with black olives. Thin crust, please. One salad with Thousand Island dressing. And two mugs of root beer.”

The girl scribbled the order on a standard green-and-white form, then tore away the number at the bottom along the perforated line. “Here you go.” She handed the ticket stub to Claire, still grinning and showing the braces on her teeth. “We’ll call your number when it’s ready. You want your salad and drinks now or with your pizza?”

“With the pizza is fine, thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Claire was just turning back toward the arcade room when familiar male laughter reached her ears. Her breath caught in her throat. Her pulse went into overdrive. She turned slowly, searching the room.

His back was toward her, but she knew it was Dave.

And he was with
her.

The light was too dim, the corner too distant, for Claire to see clearly. It was more an impression than anything else, yet one that seared into her soul.

The woman was young. Painfully so. Just a girl. Pretty. Dark hair cut in a cap of short curls. Reed-thin. She was leaning toward Dave in the manner of one totally engrossed in another person, of a woman yearning for a man.

As if feeling Claire’s gaze upon her, the girl abruptly glanced in her direction. Claire stumbled backward, out of sight, ragged breaths tearing at her throat and lungs. She leaned against the wall, wondering if she was going to do something horrible like faint.

What should she do? Should she confront Dave and that … and that …

A torrent of vile names filled her head, and she wanted to screech them all. She wanted to rip that girl’s hair out by the roots. She wanted to drag her out of that booth and kick and scratch her.

Nauseated, Claire closed her eyes. She’d guessed Dave was having an affair, but seeing the proof of it before her eyes was worse than she could have imagined. She wanted to die. She wondered if she might die. Right here. Right now.

A momentary numbness washed over her. She felt disembodied, separated from herself, unable to move. Then the Donkey Kong music filtered into her brain, reminding her that Mike was just a few yards away, that Mike might see his father with that girl if Claire didn’t do something quick.

She pushed away from the wall and hurried toward the arcade. Her son was feverishly working the controls on the video game. “Mike, come on.”

“Boy, that was fast.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at the screen. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Now, Mike. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” He turned toward her, puzzled.

“Yes.” She held out her hand toward him. “Come on.”

“But what about the —”

“Now,
Michael Dakota.”

Mike understood what she was saying, just like every other kid understood. When a mother addressed her child with both first and middle names, it meant
Don’t argue with me
;
I mean business.
He followed her out to the car without another word.

Claire didn’t look at her son again, even though she knew he was casting furtive glances in her direction. It took all her concentration to maintain a facade of composure for his benefit. She didn’t want him to see her shatter into a thousand pieces. That would have to wait until she was alone. It couldn’t happen in front of him.

But in her heart, devastation reigned unchecked.

The minutes dragged by, late afternoon fading into evening, darkening into night.

Claire waited in the living room, all lights turned off, her hands folded in her lap, clenched so tight her fingernails bit into her flesh. She knew Mike had been alarmed by her behavior, but she couldn’t help it. She’d sent him to bed an hour ago and only hoped he would be asleep before his father returned.

If his father returned …

Honey-coated laughter echoed in her memory. It was a sound she knew well — or
used
to know well. Did Dave ever laugh like that around her anymore?

He’d loved her once. She could make him love her again. She was only thirty. That wasn’t old. She hadn’t let herself get fat. She was still attractive. It wasn’t hopeless. It couldn’t be hopeless. She wouldn’t let it be.

Headlights flashed against the window. Claire caught her breath and held it, listening as the truck rumbled into the driveway. The pickup stopped; the engine died. Silence. The truck door slammed. Silence again. Then the back door opened and closed.

Claire rose from the sofa, staring at the kitchen doorway, waiting.

Dave didn’t see her standing there until he flicked on the hall light. He stopped abruptly, looked at her, frowned. “What are you doing up?”

“Do you love her?”

“What?”

Louder, “Do you love her?”

“Love who? What’re you talking about?”

“Mike and I went for pizza.”

A vile curse assaulted her ears a split second before Dave threw a punch at the wall. The plasterboard crumbled, leaving a fist-sized hole.

Shocked by the unexpected violence, Claire stumbled backward. Her legs hit the sofa, and she sat down.

“Can’t you leave anything alone?” he shouted as he moved toward her, his posture threatening.

She shrank against the back of the sofa. Her gaze darted toward the hall. “Please, Dave. Mike’s asleep.”

He swore again, turning away while raking his fingers through his hair. His shoulders rose and fell with the drawing in of a deep breath. After a long while, he strode to the overstuffed chair opposite the matching sofa, turned, and sat down.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Do you love her?”

He frowned, shrugged, and then shook his head. “No, I don’t guess I do.”

“Then why?
Why?
”

“I don’t know. She’s young and pretty. She makes me feel good.”

She made him
feel
good? What sort of answer was that? What sort of reason for adultery?

“It just happened, Claire. I wasn’t planning it.”

She’d loved him from the time she was fifteen. She’d been his wife for nearly thirteen years. She’d tended him when he was sick. She’d borne his son. She’d cooked his meals and cleaned his house and shared his bed. She’d rejoiced with him when things went right and shouldered his burdens when things went wrong.

And she was forgotten because that pretty young thing made him
feel
good.

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to pound him with her fists the same way that he’d struck the wall. She wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like he was hurting her.

“I guess it’s too bad you wanted pizza.” One corner of his mouth turned upward, that teasing, you-never-could-hold-anything-against-me-for-long grin of his.

There was a cold, hard lump in the pit of her stomach. “This isn’t anything to joke about.”

“Look, it happened. I’m sorry.” His scowl returned. “Now let’s forget it and go to bed.”

“Not till we get this settled between us.” Her voice rose to match his. She’d forgotten Mike and the need for quiet.
Just forget it?
The desire to shriek at the top of her lungs was almost overwhelming.

“And how do we
settle
it?” he asked.

“I want us to see a marriage counselor.”

He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Not a chance. I’m not getting all touchy-feely with some crackpot shrink. You can go talk to whoever you want, but leave me out of it.” He stood and strode down the hall.