Chapter 25 #2
Leonard’s head turned slightly. But he only adjusted his sunglasses, then again looked back at the field.
The blond girl said something to him, and he put his arm around her, leaning close to better hear her.
I forgot all about Marcus Aurelius, staring at the tanned back of Leonard’s neck with so much burning contempt it seemed impossible he wouldn’t feel it.
“Come on, Lenny!” Buddy stood. “Hey! You rooting for the Braves? I’m guessing you can relate. They got a little red on their uniform, too.”
Other people started to turn around. Some of them were frowning, but it was hard to tell if they didn’t like what Buddy was saying, or if they were just annoyed because he sounded drunk and they were there to watch the game.
An older bald man, maybe five rows down, turned around and said, “Son, that’s enough of that. ”
“You talking to my friend?” Russ asked. His voice was so deep he didn’t have to shout. The bald man turned a little more, looked at Russ, then turned back again to face the field.
“Good decision,” Russ said, and he and Buddy laughed.
I think what happened then was that Leonard recognized Russ’s laugh.
He and Russ had never been friends, but Russ’s laugh, so unexpectedly high-pitched, was something a person might have to hear just once to remember.
In any case, when Leonard turned around, the girl beside him turned as well.
They were far away, but I saw enough of her to see she was indeed very pretty.
That’s not why I hated her. I hated her because she’d believed Leonard’s lie about me, and because if they weren’t married yet, they would be.
She’d be able to keep her child. No New Jersey for her.
She tucked her blond hair behind her ear, said something to Leonard, but he kept looking up at us.
He took his sunglasses off. Buddy or Russ were both waving, delighted they’d finally gotten his attention.
But Leonard looked only at me.
I took off my sunglasses and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. If I could have cursed him to hell with just my eyes, I would have done it, and I did my best.
I was so focused on Leonard, conveying my rage to him, letting him feel it and know it and maybe even fear it, that I didn’t notice that Russ had stopped waving and laughing. I felt his gaze on me before I saw it, the hair on my arms rising even before I turned to face him.
“Well, well,” he said, and nearly smiled. “Mystery solved.”
—
For the rest of the game, Russ said nothing to me and nothing more to Leonard.
The game ended without further incident, and Leonard and the blond girl stood and made their way to the aisle.
Russ remained seated, talking to his friends about the mistakes of the losing team.
After our group made our way down the steps, I stopped to use the ladies’—not just to pee but to splash water on my face and try to calm myself.
When I came out, Russ was still talking to Buddy about the game.
He asked if I was ready to leave, with no anger in his voice or expression.
I let myself hope that would be the end of it. Now he knew what he’d always wanted to know, and maybe he’d be satisfied.
But as soon as he and I were in the car, alone, he turned silent, and wouldn’t look at me at all. Because of the game traffic, it took twenty minutes just to get out of the parking lot, and that whole time, neither one of us said a word.
When we finally pulled out onto the street, he said, “I’m just curious how he managed it. He’d been gone almost a year before you went away.”
I didn’t answer at first. I got it in my head that I still didn’t have to tell him, one way or the other. But he flew through a red light, and the car coming on my side had to slam on their brakes.
“He came home for a visit.” I said all the words in one exhale.
Russ didn’t say anything to that. By then I’d learned, the hard way, that when he was in a mood, the smart thing was to stay quiet.
So that’s what I did, the whole ride back through town and out to Dolphin Drive.
When we got home, he walked in the house ahead of me, jingling his keys, and left the front door open.
I was hoping that he’d go right back out to his boat. And that he wouldn’t want me with him.
But when I walked in, he was there in the entry.
He pulled me close, one hand on the back of my head.
“You’re my wife,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.
“You’re my wife, you’re my wife, you’re my wife.
” This surprised me, though not in a bad way.
I’d take Russ amorous over Russ angry any day of the week, and though his kisses were sloppy from drinking, the same was likely true of me.
Things started to get pretty escalated right there in the entry, on the hard linoleum, so I suggested we go back to the bedroom, and he said he didn’t want to.
I suggested the couch, and he said that was fine.
But when I said I needed to go get my diaphragm, he acted like he didn’t hear me.
I said it again, and he shook his head and carried me to the couch in a bear hug, like we were slow dancing, but without my feet touching the ground.
I squirmed, then thrashed. I raised my voice. He didn’t let go.
Things got ugly quickly. I fought, probably longer than was smart.
We were both still a little drunk, but it seemed only I was the worse for it.
All I got for my trouble was a good smack across the face that hurt enough, and scared me enough, that I went quiet and still, and stayed that way until it was over.
As soon as he rolled off me, I got up and ran to the bathroom, locked the door, and washed off and out what I could.
I stayed in the bathroom for a long time.
Eventually, he got on the other side of the door and said he was sorry.
He said I needed to try to understand how it felt for him, as a husband, to be denied fatherhood by the woman he loved while looking at the good-for-nothing who’d abandoned me, who’d treated me like I was nothing, and knowing what I’d allowed with someone else.
He kept on, banging on the bathroom door, crying and telling me how he loved me so much that he couldn’t stand the thought of me ever being with someone else, even in the past. But I couldn’t leave him, he said. I just couldn’t. He knew I wanted to.
He was right. At the time, I didn’t think of what he’d done as rape. I’m certain he didn’t think of it that way, either. What I felt, sitting on the bathroom floor, was obliterated.
There was only one place I could go, and Shirley now slept in my old bed, sharing the room with Janet.
I would have had to sleep on the couch. And more than that: If I left my marriage and returned home, I would embarrass my family further.
All that together sounded even less appealing than just sticking things out with Russ.
Eventually I got hungry, and I knew if I made something for myself, I’d need to make something for both of us. So I came out of the bathroom, and he and I had dinner.
But before that, when I was still in the bathroom and he was crying and pounding, I stood and turned my back to the door, looking at myself in the mirror.
My jaw was slack, my eyes dull. I remember I did something strange.
I lifted my hand and waved at myself in the mirror, and I saw myself wave back, and my reflection smiled the small, sad smile of a consoling friend.
And I felt better, even as I knew it was just me waving.
It’s strange to remember this moment now, when I’m so much older. I was the wretched girl in the mirror, but I was also who I am now, the one who waved.
—
By the next morning, I had a plan. I didn’t want to wait and see if I’d been lucky or unlucky. I couldn’t bear the wait. And I remembered Carol saying that if a girl was serious about not wanting to be pregnant anymore, salmonella was her best bet.
I’m not saying it was a good plan. It wasn’t. But I already had some chicken in the fridge.