Trouble Won't Wait (27 page)

When I park in the garage, I’m crying full-force. The floodgates are wide open. I head to my dungeon with my bag, and Mike stops me in the living room, in essentially the same state.

He tries to hold me, but I push him off. “Go away. This is all your fault. All of it.” It’s easy to blame him, though the cause of my current pain is my own foolish, trusting nature. I knew so little about Adam. Damn, how could I be so easily fooled?

I stumble down to bed, not even bothering to lock the doors. Mike’s spirit is broken now. He won’t try anything.

Letting myself go, I cry my head off, until my hair is wet from lying on the tear-soaked pillow. It’s a long, long night. And when morning nears, I realize I need to pull myself together to face my kids for Christmas Day. Upstairs, I find Mike sitting up in the recliner, staring listlessly out at the darkness.

I have one word for him. “Santa.”

It spurs him into action, and we get our act together, performing the required tasks.

Afterward, I shower and try to think happy thoughts, though none come to mind, attempting to create a perky facade for the kids. I’ve succeeded in making Mike as miserable as I am, and now I actually miss the diversion he would have provided with his eternal pursuit. Today I don’t even feel happy about having hurt him.

The kids rise and open their gifts in an ecstatic frenzy, as always. Mike likes the stuff I got him, and I feel terrible opening all the things he got me. We exchange a look of mutual apology, an understanding.

The kids run and dress, then look at their father expectantly. What is going on? He finally nods, and he gets into some jeans.

Ben tells me, “Mom, we’re gonna go pick something up. Don’t peek out the window, okay?” He’s so excited, he’s all but running in place, and Rachel is swinging those arms.

God, I hope this isn’t another of Mike’s surprises.

They all leave in Mike’s truck, so I go in the kitchen to start the breakfast casserole I always make on Christmas. Later, we’ll go to Mark’s for lunch, which will be a welcome entertainment today.

Being the idiot I am, I miss Adam already. I guess his “visitor” was the reason he didn’t mind when I told him I couldn’t come by yesterday. Which would be why he didn’t really want me calling, either.

I hear the truck driving up, along with another, and then a ruckus as people go through the side gate. The door at the bottom of the stairs is closed, but they go in the door to the den down. They’re carrying something heavy in. More than one man grunts, along with the kids’ excited instructions for where to put the thing. Their voices carry up through the heat vents.

The other man tells Mike something about the cord being short, and I recognize his voice. Adam. Jesus, what is he doing here? He can’t just come in my house and, well, he can’t come here and
anything
!

“Now she can run when it’s snowy too.” Ben. “She’s worked real hard, but she looks good, doesn’t she?” My little Ben, my sweet, sweet son.

“She looks really good, Ben,” Adam answers. “Tell her Merry Christmas for me, okay?” Adam sounds normal, not torn up inside like I am. But
he’s
got Laura waiting for him at his house. He leaves as they all exchange Merry Christmases, then my gang troops up the stairs.

“Mom, surprise, Mom! Come downstairs!”

It’s Adam’s treadmill. I stare at it with no words to say. I hear how Ben and Rachel snuck over there Tuesday before the sledding and paid him for it. Ben had already called him, using the number from my phone. Adam managed to keep our charade up, not spilling my secret. Or the kids’. He probably felt bad and didn’t want to destroy my marriage, knowing he wasn’t going to be with me. Good guy-bad guy.

It’s a peach of a treadmill, not something from a department store. This thing cost in the thousands. Ben couldn’t have paid him much for it. He didn’t have much money.

Adam wanted me to have a treadmill so I wouldn’t go out when it was raining. Maybe he didn’t want me running past his house anymore. Probably. Oh God. That hurts. Why couldn’t he just break it off with me? Was I so persistent he couldn’t shake me off? I’m crying now, and doing my damnedest to make the kids believe they are tears of joy over their gift.

Ben tells me he contributed one hundred thirty-two dollars, and Rachel had sixteen. A hundred and forty-eight bucks. Ben says Adam is nice because he knocked off the two bucks they were short.

I hold my stomach all the way up to the bathroom, where I retch, the empty heaving spasms bringing more tears, these from pain. No, I don’t think bulimia would work out for me. Puking sucks.

When I’ve pulled the pieces of my shell back together, I get breakfast on the table for my family–my heartbroken husband, my son whose father is a fallen idol, and my daughter, who has no notion of the pain all around her, but will soon notice Mommy isn’t wearing Daddy’s ring anymore. And me, the one who caused every bit of it.

Yeah, it’s true. I could have forgiven Mike after that first time, and watched him like a hawk so it never happened again. None of this would be happening if I had.

And as for my own pain, well, who do I have to blame, but myself?

* * * *

Before we leave for Mark’s, Ben approaches me downstairs. “Mom?”

“Yeah, Bean?”

“I have a confession.”

Join the crowd, little man
. “What is it?”

“Mr. Kraft, Adam? Well, he gave me the money back this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “He said to give Rachel hers, and Merry Christmas from him to us.”

“All of the money?”

“Yeah. I felt bad, ’cause I know you think we spent all our money on your present, but we still have our money. I just wanted to be honest.”

“Thanks, honey.”
Please, always stay this honest
.

“Mom, he’s real nice, Mr. Kraft. Adam. Maybe you should go on a date with him.”

My hands are covering my face when I shake my head.

“Momma, he thinks you’re pretty. You are. You’ll get over what Dad did. People always get over broken hearts.”

This from one who’s gleaned his vast store of wisdom in matters of the heart from teen shows on Nickelodeon.

“I love you, Benny. Thanks for buying me such a nice present.” I hold him against me, but I’m pretty sure it’s him keeping us from falling over.

I need to visit the bathroom again before we leave. So now Mr. Kraft gave my kids their money back for his pricey treadmill. Is this a guilt offering, also? My breakfast makes a u-turn, back the way it came. This isn’t good. No more food for me today.

* * * *

At my request, Mark and Kenna are going to treat Mike as a guest in their home one last time. Kenna pulls me into her kitchen shortly after we arrive, and asks me how I’m doing. Word is all over town about our big scene last night.

I tell her my end of it, how I successfully deceived him into believing I wanted to reconcile. I wait for her judgment, expecting her to think I’m a cold-hearted bitch. Instead, she congratulates me.

Mark enters the kitchen, smirking conspiratorially. “No ring any more, huh? So are ya on the market, or did Kraft call dibs?”

“Shh, Mark! God!” I’m rolling my eyes, which I do too often around him. “No market, no Kraft.” I say it with my back to him so he can’t see my cringe.

But he’s giving Kenna some look, because she raises her brows and bites her lower lip in a “beats me” look.

I know he’s putting her up to asking, so I might as well get it out there. “Adam’s married, Mark. I just found out.”

“Married?” He sounds like he thinks I’m once again the believer of an incorrect rumor. “Nah, he’s single.”

Mark is so annoying. Thinks he knows everything, or at least more than I do.

“He has a girlfriend, then. A very
pregnant
one.” I know I sound destroyed, and he’s moved to face me beside Kenna now, so he can see the misery.

His eyes squint behind the fake glasses.

“Drop it, okay?” I say. “It’s Christmas. Make it my gift.” Tears well up even though I will them away, so Mark agrees.

I’m feeling sick again. I can’t afford to date another man. If I suffer another breakup, I will get too thin.

The day goes by quickly, if in a haze. We stay at Mark’s longer than usual, since neither Mike nor I want to go home and face our losses.

Dumb and Dumber, I mean, Dave and Danny, eat with us and add a pleasant element by flirting with me as much as Mark will allow. I’m sorry to say the flirting is one-sided, since I am woefully tired and still unable to keep any food down.

* * * *

At home, the kids want all their new clothes washed to take to Arizona tomorrow. I’m relieved I won’t have to keep up appearances once they’re gone, but scared of the time when I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I stay busy getting their things laundered and packed, and tucking them in bed.

Mike has been watching a lot of TV today. He finds me finishing up in the laundry room. “I’m gonna head out to Mom’s tomorrow, I guess.”

I nod. I was hoping he’d go without a fight. I’m not certain if I want this house, but it’s the kids’ home, and I’m the one who gets them to school and picks them up. It’s logistically impossible for Mike to do that.

“If you want me to keep on with the company books, I will.”

He’d spend a fortune replacing me, and the new person wouldn’t know what was going on most of the time. Of course, it’s in my best interest for his business to stay afloat.

Mike looks relieved when he leaves the room.

It’s another long night. I manage to doze here and there, but my sleep is haunted by gut-wrenching dreams. In one, I’m eating alone at the Mexican restaurant, while Mike and Lana are on a double date with Adam and Laura. Lana has all the wait staff laughing at me by the time I wake.

* * * *

Mark picked up Mom at the airport at some painful time like six this morning. She’s turning right around, loading the kids in Mark and Kenna’s minivan, and driving back to Phoenix today. Mom really, and I mean really, hates the cold. This works to my advantage, because with all the rush of getting five kids loaded up, she doesn’t have a chance to notice my lack of a wedding ring, or pick up on my woeful vibes.

Ben gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to call me every day, reminding me in a whisper that I should go on a date with Adam.

God, if he only knew!

Mike and I walk back into the house together, but worlds apart.

Inside, Mike turns and asks me accusatorily, “Did you trick me into falling in love with you again? Thinking you were taking me back?”

I look straight in his eyes and ask, “Did you trick me into thinking you only screwed Lana once?”

He wrinkles his nose, knowing he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

“One more thing, did you really get waxed?”

I smile. It will kill him. “Oh yeah, Mikey, I did. I’m very smooth.”

He hangs his head.

I hope he’s wondering who will get to enjoy it. I guess I am, too.

* * * *

Once Mike packs his meager little suitcase–I’m sure he’ll be back repeatedly for things he forgot, but I’m not about to help him with this–and leaves, the house takes on a very lonely demeanor.

I try to burrow into my bed downstairs, but keep thinking of Adam. Twice I almost call him, to yell and rant and tell him what a jerk he was. Each time, I get physically ill.

Now I’m ensconced–a word straight out of a historical romance,
ensconced
–on the couch. Nobody else is around to disturb me, so I should be able to rest just as well here as anywhere.

Noon comes and goes. My cellphone rings, but I won’t look to see who it is. The only calls I plan to answer are from my mom’s phone, in case the kids need me. I’m trying to read another romance novel, but I hate this heroine. I know she’s going to get what I’ve lost twice in one month.

* * * *

I slept the afternoon away, and now it’s evening. I ate some cereal earlier, and sure enough, couldn’t keep it down. The house phone has been ringing, but I’ve turned down the volume on the answering machine. I don’t want to hear from anybody today.

Dammit, somebody is at the door! I’m turning off the lights, hiding out. I hear a key turning in the lock.

“Mandy!” It’s Mark. Of course. He has a key for when we’re on vacation and he takes care of stuff, just like I have a key to his house.

I flip the lamp back on, but don’t bother to get up.

“You look like shit,” Mark says. Like that’ll boost my spirits.

“Fuck off.”

He thinks that’s funny. He ruffles my smooshed hair and yanks on a hunk of it. When he flops down on Mike’s recliner, he makes it look like one of Aunt Clara’s dwarf-size furnishings.

“Been callin’ all day.”

“Been ignorin’ the phone all day.” I know I’m scowling; I bet he thinks I look like a pouty little snot. “Kinda wanted to be
alone
!”

Another chuckle. “Aunt Clara called me. Said she couldn’t get you to answer. Wanted to see if you hooked up with ‘That Adam.’”