Undertow (15 page)

CHAPTER 28

“I’m going to explode if we don’t find a place we can be alone together,” Ethan tells me over the phone on Monday night.

“That’s super romantic,” I say dryly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “But if you don’t want to have sex against the shed or on the beach you’re going to have to start coming on business trips with me.”

I laugh. “That’d probably be a little more appealing if all your trips weren’t to Houston. See if you can get sent to Paris next time instead.”

“Do you want to go to Paris?”

“I like Paris, but it was just a joke.”

“Let’s go this weekend.”

I laugh. “We can’t!”

“Why not?”

I have no good reasons. “I don’t know. We just can’t.”

“Because you’re just dying to hang out at Oak for the 45th consecutive night?”

He has a point. I’m torn, although I’m not sure why. Surely not because I enjoy the strained silence of our house, where my grandmother and I continue to ignore each other. Not because seeing Nate out with other girls is any more tolerable. Suddenly Paris seems like a spectacular idea.

On Tuesday afternoon, Nate catches me in the side yard. “Going out tonight?”

“No,” I say, squirming a little. “I’m going out of town in the morning, so I need to stay in and pack.”

He holds himself very still. “Going home?”

I push my hair behind my ears, embarrassed on a number of fronts. Primarily because I feel like a spoiled little shit jetting off to Europe on a whim. “Paris, actually,” I say with obvious shame.

“With Ethan?” he asks quietly.

“Um, yes,” I reply. “It’s pretty uncomfortable around my grandmother right now.” It’s a lame excuse.

He calls me on it, with a smirk. “Sure, that’s how I deal with discomfort too. I run off to Paris with my boyfriend.”

“It’s just the weekend,” I shrug, not helping the situation at all.

“Have a good trip,” he says coldly, and he turns and marches off to his truck.

**

Ethan and I fly out separately and meet at the gate at LaGuardia. His smile is huge and unabashed when he sees me, and I fall into him. He feels safe. He is the one person this summer that I’ve been able to count on. The one person who hasn’t hurt me in some way. I sleep on his shoulder all night, and he never complains or moves me once.

The porter sets our suitcases on the luggage stands, and I go out to the balcony, looking over the Champs Elysées, watching morning rush hour unfold before me. He comes out and wraps his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. This is what it would be like to be married to Ethan. Just like what it was to grow up a Pierce – flying first class, staying at the best hotels, having things miraculously taken care of. Is it so wrong that I like these things? I like the lemon-scented hot towels in first class. I like not having to carry my own luggage, taking a limo in from the airport instead of the train. Perhaps it’s not the hearts and butterflies I imagined as a teenager, but doing this with Ethan is a hell of a lot better than doing this with my parents.

I rest against him. “Where to first?”

Laughter rumbles in his chest, and his hands slowly lower onto my hips. “I think we’ve got some things to take care of here first.”

“Did you seriously fly me across the Atlantic just to fuck me?” I laugh.

“Are you seriously surprised?” he grins.

We don’t get out of the room until it’s afternoon. We’ve both been to Paris before, so there’s no pressure to do much of anything at all. We wander the streets, hand in hand. I buy a ridiculously expensive dress for Catherine at Chanel, and we find a place where we can sit outside for dinner. We linger over it, and the night is really pleasant. In spite of all the great things I imagined adulthood would be, lingering over duck confit and a nice bottle of Côtes du Rhône on the Left Bank is probably as good as it’s going to get.

Over the course of the next two days, we spend so much time in bed that we might as well have stayed at his townhouse in Charlotte. It’s a lot of time and expense for something we could have done just as easily at home, particularly since it hasn’t been all that satisfying for either of us. I haven’t finished once all weekend. He hasn’t mentioned it, but I can tell it bothers him.

A few hours before we return to the airport, he lays beside me, wrapping a coil of my hair absent-mindedly around his finger.

“If we were married it’d always be like this,” he says.

I smile. “You clearly haven’t spent enough time with Jordan and Mia. If we were married I’d be pissed at you all the time for not helping with the baby, and you’d be pissed at me for not being any fun.”

He grins. “I’m not Jordan and you’re not Mia.”

“That’s how married couples always are.”

“Not us.”

“That’s because we’re not married.”

“Fine, when we do get married, it won’t be us.”

I say nothing. He’s venturing into dangerous territory, and I can’t think of a way to transition out of it.

“You know I’m going to propose eventually,” he says quietly.

“You know I’m leaving for Michigan next month.”

“I can wait. Or you could transfer back. There’s a law school in Charlotte.”

“I want to go to Michigan,” I say, feeling tension steal over me.

“That’s fine,” he replies. “Like I said, I can wait.”

“This is moving a little quickly for me,” I venture tentatively. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t help it. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

“I love you, Maura. We’ll go as slow as you want.” It’s the first time he’s said those words to me, and I can feel his expectation lingering between us. He’s waiting for me to say it back.

Of course I love him. I’ve known him my entire life. He’s practically family. It’s not a big deal to tell him I love him, to make him happy, is it? This is what I tell myself as I say it back, even as I feel the noose tighten further around my neck.

He rolls on top of me then, kissing me slowly, pulling up my t-shirt, gripping my nipple between his teeth. God knows he’s good at this, but it all feels distant somehow, as if he can’t really reach me. He isn’t going to stop trying, and I have a feeling there isn’t a single trick in his arsenal that’s going to work.

So, at last, I give in to the thing I’ve denied myself all weekend, the one thing he most wouldn’t want me to do. I think of Nate, and I come less than a minute after I allow him into my head.

CHAPTER 29

I get back to the beach fairly late on Monday night, but I slept for most of the flight home, so I have the driver drop me at Oak and take my bags on to the house. I don’t question the impulse to go to a bar and a group of people I’m somewhat tired of.

“Maura!” they all shout, as if I’ve been gone for months.

“Where’s your little beret and easel?” asks Graham sourly.

I arch a brow, a little surprised at the attitude. “In my suitcase.”

Nate is playing pool. The sight of him seems to heal something in me, some slight abrasion I tried to ignore all weekend, not realizing until just now how much it bothered me. I see him look over at us, and he lifts his hand in a tepid half-wave. He approaches with clear reluctance when I go to the bar, looking exhausted.

“You forgot to shave,” I tell him, touching a finger to his jaw line. He flinches and I withdraw my hand.

“How was your trip?” he asks. His voice is neutral, but he is grim and distant.

“It was fine.”

“Yes,” he says sarcastically. “That’s how people always describe Paris: ‘fine’.”

I smile. “Isn’t that the slogan? ‘Paris, the most adequate city on earth’?”

His smile is so slight it’s barely evident. “So no ring on your finger yet?” he asks, glancing down at my hand.

“No!” I say, astonished. “Is that what you thought? That we were going there to get engaged?”

It’s as if a storm has blown away, the way his face, his whole body, relaxes. “It crossed my mind,” he says. “Kind of the place for it. It’s the kind of thing he’d do.”

Nate is totally right. Ethan is sweet and romantic and thoughtful and generous. That would be just like him to fly me to Paris to propose.

“There is no ring. There will be no ring,” I say adamantly. “I’m leaving in six weeks. I don’t even want to get married.”

“To him, or to anyone?” he asks.

I don’t know why he feels the need to persist with this line of questioning. “To anyone. It’s a crappy, pointless institution. Just a lot of hype to disguise the fact that a year later, you the wife are sitting home by yourself with a squalling baby while your husband goes on like nothing’s changed.”

“You didn’t used to feel that way.”

I flush. He’s remembering, and I’m remembering, all of our plans. We’d named our children, settled out how we would watch them while we ran our architecture firm, all in the simplistic way of people who haven’t ever worked or discovered the harsh realities of parenting.

“That’s because I hadn’t seen Jordan and Mia in action then.”

“Not everyone is Jordan and Mia.” It’s the second time I’ve heard this in 24 hours. It makes me wonder if the words are somehow encoded in the Mayhew DNA.

“I’ll probably come around eventually,” I admit reluctantly. I suppose in a way the decision has already been made. I’m going to end up married to Ethan eventually – our conversation this morning was no longer about “if” but “when”. I’ll wait until after law school, but it’s going to happen. And it’ll be good. Paris was good. Certainly better than the time I’ve spent here. I’m stronger than Mia and Elise, strong enough to make a life in Charlotte that doesn’t involve giving up everything I want.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” he comments, meeting my eye.

I shrug. “It’ll be fine.”

His face clouds, suddenly. “So there will be an engagement. You’re just trying to tell yourself that you don’t have to face it right now because they’re letting you leave for school.”

“You make it sound like I’m imprisoned or something. No one is ‘letting’ me leave. I make my own decisions.”

“Right,” he smirks. “Tell me that next summer when you’ve deferred for a year to plan a wedding.”

Something in me hardens at his words. I want to tell him he’s wrong, and yet behind my anger is the fear that he is completely correct. The girl he was standing beside in the pool room is shooting me daggers. It’s a good time to leave before I say something I’ll regret. “You’d better go. Your girlfriend of the night looks like she’s about to break a bottle against the wall and stab me with the glass shards.”

He frowns, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by ‘girlfriend of the night’?”

Just thinking about it, looking at her, makes me angry. “You know, the parade of girls you bring in and out of the carriage house.”

“I’m not that bad,” he argues, still frowning.

“Please,” I snap. “You’ve fucked more girls so far this summer than most guys do over the course of their lives.”

His eyes widen slightly. He looks surprised and irritated and maybe a little ashamed. Then the look grows lascivious, the grin sly. The same look he gets on his face when he’s flirting with one of those girls. “You didn’t used to have such a dirty mouth, Maura. It’s kind of hot.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, and I stomp away.

CHAPTER 30

I go to Peter’s office the next morning.

“I haven’t heard anything,” I tell him. “But I was out of town, so I might have missed it.”

“You haven’t missed anything,” he says. “Only two of five access points are done. We’ve got a few weeks, I imagine. But I’ve already warned the guy on my end. We just need to say the word.”

“Is he a cop?” I ask hopefully.

“No, just someone pretty plugged in around here. He’ll stake it out once you have some idea when it’s going to happen,” Peter says. “He’s thrilled we’re getting inside information.”

I grow still. “You’re not going to tell him who it is, are you?” I stammer. “That would make things a little awkward on my end.”

He rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Maura. No one will ever know.”

I pray he’s right. Because it could make for a very uncomfortable summer if he’s not.

**

I am still not speaking to my grandmother. On Wednesday evening she stops me in the foyer as I prepare to walk out. “I’d like a word with you,” she says. It’s not a request.

“What?”

“In the parlor,” she says sternly, walking in behind me and pulling the pocket doors shut.

“How much longer is this going to continue?” she asks coldly.

“I don’t know, grandma. How much longer are you going to continue to act like you’ve done nothing wrong?”

“It was my duty to protect you and I did it. I have nothing to apologize for.”

“Did you not have a duty to Mary and Nate? He did nothing wrong but got yanked from his mother anyway. Mary did nothing but serve you for nearly two decades and in response you took her son away from her. He lost his scholarship. You devastated an entire family, all because you didn’t want me sullying myself with the help.”

I watch as my words wear away at her, watch a slight crack begin in her stern façade. “He’s done just fine,” she snaps. “He’s got a job and he’s living in my carriage house without paying a penny.”

“
His
carriage house, grandma. It’s his.”

“It shouldn’t be,” she hisses.

I want nothing more than to see that self-righteous look on her face shatter into a million pieces. “I’m glad grandpa isn’t here to see the person you’ve become,” I tell her. “Or maybe he already knew. Maybe that’s why he left the house to Mary.”

“Enough!” she screams. “How dare you speak to me this way, after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’m just telling the truth,” I say without emotion, turning to leave the room. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Your parents have supported every action I’ve taken!”

I freeze. “My parents knew what you did?”

“Of course they knew!” she says triumphantly, as if this fact alone trumps all else. “Do you really think they wanted you with
Nate
?”

It’s been five years since I felt so abandoned. My parents too. I’m surrounded by liars, by people who do whatever serves them, without remorse. She sees my shock, the look on my face that tells her I want to fall apart right now, and she thinks she’s won.

“I can send you home, Maura Leigh,” she threatens. “I’ll send you right back to Charlotte, and you will never be welcome here again.”

In an odd way, it’s freeing to no longer respect her – the complete lack of fear is nothing but a relief.

“You could, but you won’t,” I say icily. “Because you and my parents are desperate to see me end up with Ethan, and you know if I leave here I’m headed straight for Michigan, and if I go I won’t be back.” I fling the pocket doors open and glare at Stacy and Rebecca, who stand less than a foot away, listening, before I walk out of the house.

I am still fuming when I get to the bar. Nate sits at a table with a girl, the same darling, fragile little blonde he brought here a few weeks ago. Rage spirals in my stomach, now directed entirely at myself. I’m the one who gave him shit for sleeping around, and he listened. Now he’s going to date. He’s going to date this girl and marry her and I’ll be watching their darling blonde babies toddle all over the lawn of the carriage house in a few years.

Graham sees my mood and drags me onto the dance floor. I allow myself to be pulled along with my mind a million miles away. He brings me a gin and tonic afterward. “Looks like you could use it,” he says.

I give him a wan half-smile, and I pound it.

Graham wants to dance again, and I agree, but this time there’s a viciousness to it on my part. I brush past Nate and his future wife without glancing at them, knowing he’s seen me. When the song ends Graham leans in toward my ear. “Want to get out of here?” he asks.

I do, I definitely do. I do not want to watch Nate leave here with that girl, his arm around her back. I don’t want to lay in bed waiting to hear her giggles, her moans, coming from the carriage house.

But at the same time, I feel unnerved. I remember Nate’s warning and have to admit that the way Graham asks, the feeling of his breath on my ear and his hands on my waist, worries me.

“Let’s see if everyone wants to go to the beach,” I suggest as we walk over. His face falls.

No one wants to go to the beach, so we stay. I have another drink, and I watch Nate with that girl. I watch the way they laugh together, the way she keeps touching his arm. I hate to watch him fondling the girls he meets here. I hate even more that he’s
not
doing it to her, as if she’s special. There’s pressure building in my head and in my chest. I need to leave. I stand suddenly. “I’m going home,” I say, surprising even myself.

“I’ll drive you,” Graham offers, a little too quickly.

“That’s okay,” I say, waving him off. “I feel like walking anyway.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll walk you then.”

Oh my God, must we go through this every freaking night?
I look at him stonily. “Graham, that’s sweet but this is the safest town in the world. I’ll be fine.”

“Your brother would fry my ass if he found out I let you walk home alone,” he says, standing up and clearly not planning to budge.

I roll my eyes and walk out with Graham at my heels.

We walk and I think about Nate until I realize Graham is asking me about Ethan.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You and Ethan? Is it serious?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what you mean by serious.”

“Like, what’s the plan? Summer wedding? One boy, one girl, one dog?”

I laugh humorlessly. “No.”

“It sounds to me like you’re not that into him.”

I sigh. “We just started dating last spring. It’s too early to be deciding on anything, one way or the other.”

It’s too early for me, but is it too early for Nate? He has a job, he has a house. He might be totally ready to settle down, and maybe it’ll be the girl he’s with right now.

Graham’s still talking about Ethan. “I think if he was the right guy, you’d know by now,” he is saying. He’s right. I should know by now. Not that I should know if I want to marry him, but I should know if I even want to be with him.

“It’s just early,” I sigh. I’m hardly about to share my doubts with one of Ethan’s best friends, and my mind is elsewhere. I wonder if Nate has left. I wonder if he’s going to her house or if he’s bringing her to his. I’m not sure which would be worse, more devastating. I decide, finally, that it’s worse if he brings her to his. If he doesn’t come home I can imagine other possibilities. If I have to see her straggling out tomorrow morning with her underwear wadded up in her hand and just-fucked hair it’ll be hard to rationalize. Or even worse, maybe she’ll stay. Maybe she’ll make him breakfast and they’ll walk out around lunchtime, swinging hands on the way to his car.

Graham is stopping me. His hands are on my waist. It seems like his hands have been there a lot tonight, and it strikes me that this is not particularly big-brother-like. I don’t think Jordan has ever put his hands on my waist, unless you count punches.

“I’ve liked you longer than Ethan has,” he is saying. I try to back away, but his hands tighten and he leans toward me.

“Graham, don’t,” I protest, pushing at his chest. His hands are in my hair, holding my head so tightly that I can’t move.

His mouth is on mine. I refuse to open my lips in response, and I push against him again, but he doesn’t budge. He grinds his teeth against my lower lip. My surprise gives way to horror, as I realize that this isn’t some awkward incident with Graham I need to finesse my way out of.

I’m paralyzed by the realization, my limbs immobilized by fear. It’s not until I feel him pulling my dress up that I move, jamming my knee between his legs. I just make contact before he grabs my leg and yanks so hard that I lose my balance.

I hit the ground hard, unable to break my fall because he’s still holding my leg. I only make it onto my elbows before he is pinning me down, his hands gripping my wrists, his knee an immovable weight on my thigh.

“Get off of me Graham!” I shout. I try to lift my arms and my legs and it’s useless. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds. I begin to scream, and he presses down on my mouth and nose with his hand. I fight for air.

“Stop screaming!” he yells. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m gonna take my hand off but you’ve got to stop … ”

And then all I see is Nate’s face, his rage focused and fierce. Graham’s hand disappears as he goes flying backward. Nate throws him to the ground with so much force that I can feel the impact in the sand beneath me. Graham strikes back, but he’s no match for Nate, who is larger and more agile. Nate holds him to the ground with a knee in his chest and a hand around his throat, punching him in the face once, twice, three times. Graham stops fighting back, but Nate continues, his anger endless and all-consuming. I’m not sure if he even realizes that Graham is now motionless, and it’s only this that forces me to shake off my stupor.

I run to them, grabbing Nate from behind, throwing my arms around his. “Stop!” I feel him straining against me. He could easily throw me off if he wanted to. “You’re going to kill him!”

“Are you fucking protecting him?” he yells, jumping up and spinning to face me. His jaw is clenched, his hands still in fists as if the fight isn’t over.

“No, I’m protecting you! You’ll wind up in jail if you keep going!”

Suddenly the adrenaline has deserted me, and I sink to the ground. My whole body is shaking. I wrap my arms around my knees and curl into a tight ball to contain myself.

He falls to his knees beside me. “Oh my God. Are you hurt?”

“No,” I say weakly, still huddled. He pulls me into his lap, cradling me against his chest.

“Everything’s alright now,” he whispers. I feel his lips brush my hair. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.” I want to curl up into him until I disappear. I remember the feeling of Graham’s hand over my mouth, draw a panicky breath just to convince myself I’m okay.

“I couldn’t breathe,” I tell him, the only words I can say. I can’t stop remembering it.

“You’re okay now,” he soothes. “I’m never going to let him touch you again, Maura, I swear it.”

“How could he do that?” I cry. “He’s known me since I was a baby.” My throat is choked with tears I can’t seem to will away.

“He’s not the same guy he was when you were a kid,” Nate says. “He’s been following you around like a puppy all summer. Even back when we were teenagers he was always watching you.”

I shake my head. “I thought he was just trying to take Jordan’s place.”

“No,” Nate says. “He was trying to take Ethan’s place.”

I press my face into his chest, breathe him in, let him fix me because right now I could not be more broken. All the people I thought I knew – my grandmother, my parents, Graham – none of them are who I thought they were. And the person I thought had betrayed me the most is here now, keeping me safe.

“How did you know?” I ask. “How did you know to come out here?”

“I followed you,” he says quietly. “I didn’t trust the way he looked at you, the way he’s always trying to get near you.”

I start shaking again, and then weeping into his shirt in huge gasping sobs.

“Baby, you’re okay,” he croons, sounding a little desperate.

“I know,” I say, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself. “I just can’t believe how lucky I am. He’s taken me home so many times this summer but tonight was the night you knew to follow him.”

He stiffens slightly. “Not exactly,” he says.

I look at him in confusion.

“I’ve followed you every time he’s taken you home.”

“But why?” I gasp. “You hated me!”

“I never hated you, Maura,” he sighs. “I just wished I did.”

I feel as if I am rising up on top of a wave, weightless, suffused with sunlight. Nate still cares about me, even if he doesn’t know it. I lean into him, my face against the shirt that is wet with my tears. My shaking stops, but I stay in place, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his breath on my hair. I should let him get up but I want to hold on to him, just for one more minute.

I lean in farther, breathing him in, pretending this is a place I can stay forever, memorizing the feel of him, the smell of his soap. It’s the same soap he used when we were younger, when I’d run out the backdoor and find him waiting, straight out of the shower. For a
date
. My euphoria dies a sudden death.

“What happened to the girl you were with?” I ask.

He sighs. “I left her at the bar.”

I climb off of his lap and stand on shaky legs like a foal. He’s not mine anymore. “I should let you get back.”

He stands with me. “Not until I’ve gotten you home safe.”

I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him walking with me out of obligation while all he wants is to get back to her. “I’m okay now,” I say, taking a breath to steady myself. I still feel dizzy, slightly disoriented, but I take a small, staggering step away from him. Once he leaves I’ll find somewhere to sit until I can walk home. “Thank you so much Nate. I’m sorry I messed up your date.”

He grabs my elbow, looking incredulous. “Are you out of your damned mind? Do you really think I’m going to let you walk home alone after that?”

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound calm, trying not to sound bitter and jealous. “Your date is waiting.”