Trouble Won't Wait (24 page)

Baldwin’s mouth drops open and his brow furrows. He scribbles on his pad, and shifts in his chair.

I look away in case his sash proves faulty, rolling my eyes at Mike, who gives me the “Please cooperate?” look. I can’t even pretend for the sake of my plan to be cooperative. The fact that Mike finds this at all worthwhile makes me wonder if his head is screwed on tight.

“Michael?” Baldwin prompts.

I must have missed some question when I was thinking of Baldwin’s body hair, or wishing I was smoking a bowl instead of doing this.

“Mandy is doing things for me now, like making my favorite cookies, changing the sheets on the bed, sweet little things to show me she cares. She’s buying lingerie and getting waxed.”

“Waxed?” Baldwin interrupts, his eyes lighting up with the same horny look from the day of my solo session.

When Mike points at my crotch, I slap his hand, raising my eyebrows in warning, and he shrugs as if to say, “What? He’s a doctor.”

Again Baldwin shifts, and his legs are no longer crossed, so I refuse to look anywhere but at Mike from here on out.

“Michael, are you certain that Amanda isn’t getting waxed and buying lingerie for the benefit of another man?” The only smart thing Baldwin has said.

Mike’s eyes snap to my face and I raise my brows in challenge. “Of course, it’s your job to consider every possibility, Baldwin, but Mandy isn’t the type to cheat. She’s a good girl, devoted and in love with
me
.”

A good girl?

“She’s not a girl, she’s a very desirable woman, and you’d be wise to realize that other men will come looking to fill a need you leave unsatisfied.”

Okay, maybe there was one other smart comment from Baldwin.

For the first time, Mike must be considering the possibility that the would-be therapist did come on to me. He shoots Baldwin a dirty look. “My wife respects the vows of marriage, and knows that I’ll be the only one
satisfying
her, always.”

Good one Mike, haha.

Mike takes me by my left hand, suggesting on our way out, “Why don’t you shove that stupid little notebook up your zen-loving ass.”

* * * *

We’re driving home, and Contrite Mike says, “He did come on to you, huh?”

I start laughing hysterically. “Yeah, dumbass. You’re not the only guy who’s ever noticed me, just the slowest.”

“I’m sorry. You really do look great. Maybe I was wishing you didn’t.”

I didn’t look good enough to keep him from boning Lana!
Easy, girl
.

“It means a lot to hear you say that, Michael. Do you have any idea how much it hurt when everybody we knew noticed I was dropping pounds, and you didn’t? I did it for you as much as I did it for me, you know.”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I spent all of last night wanting to see you in that little nightie thing you bought Sunday. You know, you look better than any of our friends’ wives. Please, let’s make up.”

Oh, so repentant. Oh, so late.

Does he think just because he finally notices I’ve lost weight, I’ll forgive him for sleeping around? Like I’ll think, “Oh baby, I understand you were suffering from wife-blindness when you slept with another woman, and now that you can see me again, I know you’ll never stray.”

Swallowing the snotty retort I’d rather pop off, I go easy on him, portray an understanding wife. “I miss you, Mike, so much. I just don’t know what it’ll take to trust you again. Give me some time, okay?”

Sad thing is, I can imagine those very words genuinely coming from me a few months ago in the same situation. Or maybe even a few weeks ago, before I met Adam.

* * * *

Mike goes off to work, and I run the kids over to Kenna’s on the way to the salon. In the truck on the way back from counseling, I managed to “mix up” Mike’s phone and mine on the seat. Our phones are identical other than our names on the screen saver inside, so this is easy to do. I leave the phone in the Durango while I’m in the salon, not interested in answering any of his calls anyway.

I know what I’m walking into with waxing this time around, and it’s very similar to going into labor the second time: I’ll live through it, and the pain will be so severe my psyche will dull my memory. Over time I’ll say, “Oh, it didn’t hurt much, especially when you consider the end result.”

This time, though, I’m making them leave me some kind of patch up front. That totally bare business left me feeling like a little girl. Sick, man.

Finished at the salon, I’m driving home, and I’d just rather not think of the pain any more. I’m putting it out of my misery. Besides, it looks like Mikey missed a call from Loose Lana. I use his preprogrammed number one to check his voice mail. It’s her, all right. Her horny message sounds like something straight out of a porn flick. There should be cheesy background music twanging.

“Hi Mikey. It’s me, and I’m wantin you. I really need to get my hands on you before the weekend. Call me, kay?”

Slut.

* * * *

The kids want to go sledding after lunch, over by the cemetery. There’s a good sledding hill right across from it, catty-corner from Adam’s house. Some kids also like to slide down the mausoleum
in
the cemetery, which has to be as bad as my suggestion of a foot race over graves, but since they’re kids, they can get away with it.

Rachel and Ben take off with their sleds and I promise to join them at the sledding hill after I’ve walked around the neighborhood. The walking sucks today. I’d rather be running in my feather-light running shoes, feeling like I’m making really good time, nearly flying along. My heavy, clompy boots are like concrete pylons keeping me earthbound. I give up on walking and head to the sledding hill.

Ben and Rachel are just arriving, which I find odd. Ben says Rachel had to go to the bathroom right when they were leaving.

Hordes of kids slide everywhere; a couple of mommies help little ones on the less steep side of the hill. Squeals of delight mix with the shouting kids feel inclined to do outdoors, bringing a schoolyard cacophony to this usually quiet hillside. The sun has made a belated, though dazzling, appearance, glaring off a gorgeous white canvas behind the milling kids.

Somehow, Ben talks me into sliding down with him. With my adult weight, we fairly fly–in fact, for a bit after the bump we
do fly
–down the hill. Kids cheer wildly, thrilled by our speed. God, this is rough on an adult body. But it feels great to be out having fun with the kids.

Rachel wants a turn with me as well, and soon I’m getting a beastly workout trudging back up the hill to give Jake and the twins turns, also. There are too many of them, and too few of me to keep up.

I hear kids’ excited yells from the crowd, and see a grown man approaching with a giant plastic toboggan. The man is my very own Adam.

“Race?” he asks.

How can I resist the challenge?

With Jake and Ben piled on the big toboggan, he easily beats me and the twins going down. I cry foul, so the next trip, I get Jake and Rachel, and he gets the scrawny little twins. This race is closer, with me barely in the lead. We hand the sleds over to the kids, taking a breather to judge the next race from the bottom.

Ben approaches, a strange look on his face, and stands in front of me.

“Hi, Ben. I’d like you to meet Adam. He’s the man with the–”

“Treadmill,” Ben finishes. His mouth pops open. “Right? I, um, saw him walking from a house over by the cemetery.”

I nod while he looks befuddled. “Adam, this is my son Ben.”

They shake hands. “And that’s my sister Rachel, with the red coat like my Mom’s,” Ben says in the voice he used when he portrayed Lincoln in the school play last February.

Adam smiles benevolently at Ben. Is there some kind of synergy at work here, something Ben senses as a threat to his family? But he seems positive, not anxious.

When Ben returns to his sledding, I tell Adam, “He’s not always weird. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, maybe he senses something.”

“Seems pretty cool to me,” Adam replies.

Cool? It’s more weird for another adult to describe my preteen son as
cool
. Alrighty then.

* * * *

So Adam and I don’t get a minute of alone time today. We watch the kids sled, captain teams for a colossal snow-ball fight, and then go, wet and worn out, to our respective homes. Ben waves wildly at Adam from the last point up the street where we can see him. Well, Ben seems to like him, and Rachel acts so nervous when he’s near, it’s almost like she has a crush on him.

Mike is waiting for us when we get home. He helps gather up the kids’ and my wet outerwear, and takes it all to the dryer. Much more helpful than usual. Then he offers to go pick up Chinese for dinner, which we’re all ready for right now. While he’s gone picking up the food, I switch my phone with his on the kitchen counter top, then shower and carefully groom myself, striving to look my best.

During dinner, the kids regale Mike with stories of sledding, and the nice man who lives by the cemetery with the big sled. Mike pays little attention, however. His eyes seem to be fastened on me.

I wish I could blush, but I just can’t do it on cue.

* * * *

As we’re clearing the table, Mike tells me, “I have to go hunting in the morning before we go to Mom’s for lunch.”

“
Have to
?” I repeat, as I slam an all-but-empty container in the garbage forcefully enough to send rice spattering into the air.
God damn him. On Christmas Eve, no less!

“I mean, I’m going to. The last time this year. ’Til ten or so.”

“You should get your gun in the shop, I think.” Is it the last time he’s planning to be with Lana? Ever, or just this year?

“Why?” His lying brows draw together.

“You’ve been hunting how many times since Thanksgiving, and haven’t killed a thing?”
Except your last shot at our marriage, that is.

“I’ve been giving away my kills, since nobody likes it around here.”

“Oh?” I’m trying my best to sound casual here. “What have you been hunting, anyway?”

Did he suck in his breath? Nervously his hands dive in his pockets. “Waterfowl,” he says quickly, then snatches me against him for a fast kiss I don’t have time to stop. “I love you, baby. Think about that, will ya?” He backs away, hands back in pockets. Is he anxious about whether I’ll think of his love, or his lie?

Later, when I’m dressing for bed, Mike comes around the corner of my closet. He watches me, hunger in his eyes, and I let him. I move fluidly, making myself an exotic dancer in my mind.

It’s for a purpose. I’m not being exposed, I’m exploiting his weakness. Since he’s there watching, I put on a little baby-doll nightie with a thin, short robe. I’m playing with fire here. But I
will
scream if he scares me.

“Wanta share my surprise from the adult store tomorrow night when we get home?” His voice is gravelly, hope lights his eyes, and I can almost smell his lust, the way his skin heats up when he wants me badly.

I place my palm on the side of his face, feeling how smooth it is since his shower tonight. He shaved to go “hunting” tomorrow. But no thinking of that right now. “I want to, Mike. I’m just so afraid of being hurt again.”

“Oh, baby. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s gathered me into his arms now, like he would if I was sad, or had a terrible day. He holds me as if to protect me from the big, bad world, when in reality nobody has ever hurt me like he has.

I allow him to do this.

Indeed, my fool body revels in the feel of his hard, hot, shirtless body against mine. My
body
is having no trouble with this charade tonight. It’s my mind that keeps tossing out derogatory comments about Mike being slime and the worst kind of louse. I unleash my body, allowing it to ignore my mind, and lean into him.

He kisses me more tenderly than ever, turning even my mind upside down. I return the kiss, more hungry than he probably remembers. He’s crying, actually crying, he’s so happy to have me back. I feel his hands all over my bottom, and they feel good, really good. He thinks he’s going to take me right here in the closet–it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done the deed in here.

I bet I know how to put the brakes on.

When his mouth moves down to my breast, I sigh. “I better let you get to sleep, since you have to get up early to hunt tomorrow.”

His stupid, guilty head snaps up, and he mutters, “Oh yeah. I’m glad it’s the last time. It’s getting old.” Makes me hope he’s sick of Lana. Oh, I really do.

I parade past him to the bedroom door.

“Mandy, baby, I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I love you so much. I’m gonna make you the happiest girl in the world, I swear it.”

Maybe he’s planning to break it off with Lana. For my part, I’d like to break something off
in
Lana. Like a spear.

* * * *

Adam’s going to be disappointed when we talk tonight. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. We have a full day, with going to Mike’s mom’s for late lunch, then we come back to town, and we’re going to Brad’s. Brad’s daughter is here again, and he called Mike today and talked him into our family going over there tomorrow evening.