Chapter 29 #2
My voice was steady, my gaze direct. I thought of myself as a child, the yellow bow in my hair, staring down Mr. Pile.
But this story for Russ was so much stranger, so much harder to believe.
I had the strained feeling of walking too long in heels.
I leaned close, nuzzling his neck, his stubble sharp against my nose.
“Did he come into the house?” Russ’s neck moved against my cheek as he spoke.
I leaned back to look at him. “No,” I said. “Of course not.”
He watched me for several seconds, then tugged, gently, on the ends of my hair. “But you got in his car with him.”
“I felt sorry for him. He was pitiful.”
I could see it then, that he didn’t believe me. His staring eyes turned teary.
“I could always tell you didn’t really love me,” he said. “You say you do, but you don’t. It doesn’t matter what I do.”
Before I could speak, he stood up on the seat and stepped over the windshield, stumbling toward the prow. I cried out, sure he’d slide into the water. But he caught himself.
“Russ.” I spoke through chattering teeth. “Please come back. Please.”
“Like you care.” He pointed at me, and almost lost his balance again. “You’d just get all my money.”
I told him I didn’t care about his money.
I told him I didn’t want him to fall into the sea and drown.
All of that was true. But I was also thinking of myself, my own pounding heart.
The ignition key was in his pocket. We had no radio, no water, and we were miles and miles into the Gulf.
If he went in, the key was going with him.
I could drop anchor, but aside from that, I’d just have to wait, and hope.
“Russ. Please, come back and sit by me. I do love you. I do.”
He looked at me, bleary-eyed, and took another step toward the prow.
I thought, well, maybe we’ll just die out here, him and then me.
Who would care? It wouldn’t make any difference to the world, and neither one of us was happy.
But then Janet appeared, sort of hovering beside him, teary and plaintive.
She held Shirley, silent and staring, on her hip. My sisters.
I stood, holding the windshield for balance. “Russ. Listen to me.” I pressed my free hand to my heart. “You are the love of my life.”
He stumbled again, then righted himself, his arms spread wide. He looked at me, and I saw his wariness. It was wrong what I was doing. He knew it, and so did I.
You give up too easy. This from Mae, shaking her head.
I opened my mouth, desperate to say something, the right thing. “Russ,” I started. “Listen to me. I love only you,” I said. “I’m never going to love anyone else the way I love you. Never.”
He blinked, his face as open as a child’s. It felt like lying to Bambi. It really did. I could see how much he wanted to believe what I was saying. And I would only hurt him again.
Don’t be daft, Carol said. He’ll be fine.
He made his way over and crouched in front of the windshield. He reached for my hand, but instead of letting me pull him down, he started to pull me up.
“Come up here and sit by me,” he said. “We’ll just sit. Nora. I promise.”
I told him no, absolutely not. I tried to wrest back my arm, and I felt my body lift from the seat.
Commit, Mrs. Lifton said. You have to commit. I nodded. Okay, I thought. I still hated her. But for all her cruelty, all her lies, she was in the boat as well. She wanted me to be okay.
“I have to tell you something,” I shouted. “Just listen, Russ. Just wait!”
He let me fall back to the seat, though his hand stayed on my arm. “What?”
“You really want a baby?” I was fully in character. My smile was shy but bright. It was so mean, what I was doing. I was as bad as Mrs. Lifton.
No. This from Leonard. You’re not.
“You know I do.” His grip again tightened on my arm. “God, Nora. You already know that. Why would you ask me that?”
“Maybe we can talk about it.” I heard the softness in my voice, the sweetness in it. “I haven’t been fair to you. I know that.” I kept my eyes on his. “And just being around Leonard today…Well. It really showed me the difference. Things would be different with you.”
I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. He was still holding my arm.
“Come back in and sit beside me,” I said. There was nothing frantic in my voice. “We can just talk about it.”
“You’re not just saying that.” He let go of my arm to rub his nose. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t lie,” he said. “I’ve always loved that about you. You can’t lie. You don’t.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I don’t.”
He climbed back over the windshield, falling hard into his seat. He leaned forward to kiss me, and I kissed him back, though my teeth were chattering, still. I wondered how long we would stay out. It had to be his idea to go home.
I still don’t know if I had to take things that far, telling him we could have a baby.
But when he finally fished the key from his pocket and started the boat’s motor, I felt guilt, but not regret.
For even when we were back on our dock, walking hand in hand back up to the house, I was afraid of him.
Once inside, I went straight to the bathroom, saying I needed to pee, and I at least got my diaphragm in.
I was grateful for that, and, above all, I was grateful to be back on land, still breathing.
I was grateful, too, for the dark of our bedroom, as I’d walked on tiptoe all I could that night.
I couldn’t tell one more lie, even with my expression, even with just my eyes.
But what came to my mind in the darkness, unbidden as Russ labored above me, was that miserable dog Mae tried to save, still pressed up against the fence.
I didn’t think it was ugly. And I doubted it was dumb.
I had no doubt that if it ever got a chance—if a hole in the fence appeared—it wouldn’t sit around thinking what it deserved and what it didn’t.
It would run.