18
18
MISSION
T urns out, The Academy was right: being thrown into a passionate love affair did loosen the maternal bonds I had with my brothers. I felt more sister than mother, which felt both normal and abnormal at the same time. The closer Pete and I got, the further away my life at The Academy seemed to get. The primal haze of lust we had cocooned ourselves in fogged out the rest of the world, addled my brain, and clouded my judgement. I would walk through fire for him. And prayed I wouldn’t die while in the midst of this madness we created, so I wouldn’t burn in Hell. I still could not bear the thought of being torn from him and had no imminent plans to leave. Even though The Academy had the whole of my family that mattered. When I stayed still long enough to think about everything, I still felt discombobulated. It’s like I was sucked into some kind of wormhole time warp I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—get out of. And I didn’t even know which life was my real one anymore. So since I woke up next to Pete, and he was the love of my life, and since that dang clock was still ticking over our heads, I threw myself back into his world with wild abandon.
Inexplicably, the alarm hadn’t gone off. Yet . There it was, that dreadful three-letter word. I hated it and fought it off almost as much as my guilty conscious. I could almost not bear the thought of leaving Pete. That was the thought that kept me up in the middle of the night now.
I loved him so much I was choking on it. Sometimes, I would just lie awake, watching him breathe in and out, his face ethereal as an angel’s. I would stroke his arm and watch his eyelids flutter. Or run fingernails down his back and listen to him sigh deeply and reach for my arm to throw over his waist like a blanket. Sometimes, when I was in the mood, I’d caress the downy gold down to that awesome place, and he would rouse from his sleep in an aroused state. This would lead to middle-of-the-night sex, maybe my favorite. It was just so raw and pure—a reaching out and joining of our two bodies, nothing contrived about it.
And then I would force myself to fall asleep, because tomorrow was a busy day of working and working on not thinking about anything. So when I did find the escape latch from my alternate universe—next month, or year, or the next one after that, Pete would have his wad back. Or as much as I could give him to help jumpstart a new life. Again.
Because I knew my husband would seek the kind of vengeance on him that was reserved for serial killers and terrorists. I would be interrogated within an inch of my life. I was terrified for Pete. And that was another thought that kept me up in the middle of the night.
I had to get him a new ID.
So with this mission in mind, I began setting off for “The Farm” every day the second Pete drove off in his Jeep. I would jog through the stately neighborhoods, then take the Caltrain to the Palo Alto station on University Avenue. Get off and meander around the massive campus with a backpack loaded with Harlequin romance novels from the Eighties—Ruthie’s time warp. Then I would find a shady spot and alternately read and crunch on my apple while surreptitiously scanning around for another golden matinee idol. I’d been doing this all week, harvesting nothing at all; it’s like Stanford was in the middle of a drought.
It was the middle of August, on a Friday, so the campus was pretty empty because end of summer exams were over. I knew this from Pete, just like I knew he was presently at Coho doing business. I was just about ready to give up and go home when I spied a group of guys in mismatched jerseys laughing and meandering in and out of shadowy arches like boys playing follow the leader. It appeared they were in no hurry to practice, so I got up and followed them, automatically sizing up the leader. Unfortunately, he was tall and skinny as the palm trees lining the sidewalks. I would’ve pegged him for a basketball player if it weren’t for the lacrosse stick stuck to his hands.
It was the third guy in who really caught my eye. He was a little shorter and stockier than Pete, and his hair, what I could see of it beneath a maroon bandana, was more brown than blonde. Pete was more blonde than brown, but there would never be a perfect Pete doppelganger.
This guy was as good as it gets. I tossed my half-eaten apple in a nearby trash barrel and hustled to a point I thought our paths would cross. Shoot. I just chewed off my lip stain. Hopefully, my spandex would do its job. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and shook it out, unzipping my windbreaker to reveal the kind of athletic top that looked like I was just walking around in a bra, then sashayed down the sidewalk like I was late for a class that probably wasn’t even in session.
The boys hooked around a corner, so I took off at a run to catch up, slowing to a fast walk as soon as I’d closed the distance. They were razzing each other and tossing some white ball back and forth and catching it effortlessly in those nets attached to the end of their sticks. Not really paying much attention to me. Dadgummit. How do I get guys to notice me ? I wasn’t sure. They usually just did. But these guys seemed oblivious a female prowler had just entered their territory.
I started to overtake them a little, deciding to actually make the first move (a spy no-no) by smiling at one of the trailers who’d finally glanced my way. He smiled back pretty warmly before turning back to his friends as though embarrassed or shy. Or uninterested? Oh gah! My own face flamed. Then he glanced behind him again and lingered with a smile when I caught him looking.
Up ahead an imposing building with a mountain of stairs forced two separate paths: one to the left and one to the right. It looked like the lacrosse gang was hooking left toward a lengthy patch of grass. There were less people milling around in this area, so I thought it would look suspicious if I went left too. But I decided it was worth the risk so continued trailing behind them. I was striding past the trailer when he called out to me.
“Hey! You following us or what?”
I peeked over my shoulder. “How could I be following you when I just passed you?” I followed that little flirt up with a flirty smile.
This exchange caught the attention of the rest of the pack. Oh gah! Pete’s ID just glanced my way. I instantly flushed a guilty red. He smiled knowingly, like yeah, I’m a stud and I know it.
“Yeah, right Bollinger. In your dreams,” one of the guy’s scoffed at the trailer, but I couldn’t say which one. I was focused on stud number three.
This elicited some laughs at poor Bollinger’s expense. I smiled prettily and sashayed on by, trying to catch up to the frontrunner.
“Hey! What’s your name?” This from number four.
“Uh . . . Harley,” I threw over my shoulder, with my best smile, while sauntering forward. What can I say? I was inspired by my books.
“Well, Harley”—cocksure grin—“you can stalk us anytime.” This elicited more raucous laughter all around. They all paused, stacking up on each another, assessing the situation like a pack of hyenas who just realized a juicy gazelle was on the loose. And in their domain. Who would go in for the kill?
I smiled, naturally a little bashful by being the center of attention, especially by a pack of hungry dogs salivating at me like they were hungry. I was smelling victory in the air, because number three let his presence be known as the front runner. Of course, he was—he looked the most like Pete. A poor woman’s version, but he didn’t know that. He just stepped forward.
“Hey, Harley is it?” He flipped back an ear-long lock of hair and flashed his high beams at me.
I stopped walking and nodded, blushing at the same time.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Um . . . class.”
“I thought summer classes were over.”
“I have a final final,” I said so lamely anyone with half a brain would know it was a lie.
“A final final? Sounds so final,” he quipped.
I laughed like that was the cleverest comeback in the world, then smiled sweetly, trying not to fidget. And trying not to say anything else that would be an obvious lie. An awkward pause was threatening to overtake us, so I filled it.
“Are y’all part of the lacrosse team?”
“The part that counts,” he brashly declared. “I’m Nick, by the way.” He offered his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Nick by-the-way,” I quipped, shaking his hand. I noted it was calloused and warm, but the heat didn’t transfer to me at all.
He laughed like this was the cleverest comeback in the world. I laughed, too relieved it had gone over so well.
“Are you a freshman?” he asked, chin-nodding an acknowledgment at one of his buddies as if I was some score he was about to make.
I shook my head. “Sophomore.”
He nodded his head. His friends gave him some kind of insult-shout-out before moving along to leave him to it. I waved back at Bollinger, the disappointed trailer. Without his audience, Nick by-the-Way seemed to run out of things to say.
I drew in a breath. “Um, it really was nice to meet you, Nick.” I nodded vaguely towards the building over my shoulder. “But I’ve got that final final to get to.” Pause to smile and make meaningful eye contact. “Have fun with your sticks and nets.” And balls. I should’ve said balls.
He laughed anyway. “Yeah, good luck with your final final.”
I smiled. “Good luck with your lacrosse practice . . . maybe I’ll check out a game some time.”
He smiled broadly, revealing an unusual dimple beneath his right eye. “You should; I’m an attacker.”
“Sounds intense.”
He nodded and gave me the eyes. “It is.”
“Okay then. I’ll see ya later, Nick Attacker.”
He laughed, but I didn’t give him a chance for a comeback before turning around and sashaying away. I was the worst spy on the planet; I didn’t even get a last name. Just when I thought I’d bombed my mission, I heard him call my name. I peeked around my shoulder with a smile.
“What doya got goin’ on later?” he called out.
“Work, unfortunately,” I replied, not playing too easy to get.
“What do you say we celebrate your final final tonight?”
My smile broadened. “Sounds good.”
“Great. There’s a party off campus me and some buddies are going to. I’ll text you the address. Maybe you can swing by?”
My smile fell. I swallowed back irritation; I thought he was going to ask me out on an actual date, not some party invite with a bunch of people. I guess he noticed I was debating, because he shot me a winning smile, going for the goal.
“I’d love for you to come by,” he coaxed.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my feet planted. He was gonna have to come to me if he wanted my digits.
Then he did, jogging my way with his stick and cool confidence. I gave him my cell number and watched him program it in, noting he didn’t even ask for my surname, so I didn’t ask for his.
“Okay, Harley . . . See ya tonight.”
I gave him a sly smile. “Only if you promise not to attack me with your stick.” I blushed furiously but felt like I got it right this time.
He laughed at that one. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
I nodded with another smile and turned back around.
“I’ll look for you!” he called after my retreating back.
I just turned around, smiling coyly before sashaying back towards that interesting building with the red tile roof I wasn’t going to enter.
I’d just barely gotten back home when I heard the Jeep’s tires crunch gravel. A minute later, Pete walked through the door. Some latent guilt oozed out of me with his hug. He would so kill me if he knew what I was up to.
“Hey, girlfriend!” He pecked my cheek while sorting through some snail mail. “Wanna go for a jog after lunch?” A guilty look must’ve crossed my face because he said, “If you haven’t already gone.”
I frowned. “Actually, I did already go this morning. I’m sorry. I should’ve waited.”
“Nah. It’s fine. I can think of another form of exercise we can do right here.” He nuzzled my neck. “You don’t have to do a thing.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
He stepped away long enough to drop his backpack and toss his keys, cell, and sunglasses onto the island. He pulled me in for another hug, running his hands up my butt and giving both cheeks an affectionate pat. He shook his head at me. “It should be illegal for you to walk around in these.” He was referring to my leggings.
I shook my head at him before heading to the kitchen to poke my head inside the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“How ‘bout a turkey sandwich?” I wasn’t craving peanut butter anymore—must be getting sick of it since I ate it almost every day.
“Sounds great.”
I commenced to spreading mustard and mayo on bread, stacking turkey and cheese on his and faux turkey and cheese on mine. We ate in companionable silence for a while, halfway watching TV, halfway watching each other. Pete snagged the last of my jalepeno chips, and I felt weirdly unhappy about that.
“Want to go out for a hot meal after work?” he asked before polishing the last of his sandwich.
Pete usually picked me up at seven thirty, but tonight I needed him to not pick me up at all. “Um, actually tonight I said I’d stay late and babysit so the Dubois can go out.” My little announcement elicited an immediate crease between his eyes. I cleared my throat. “I think there’s some kind of art exhibit they’re goin’ to in the city.” I’d never lied to him before, and it didn’t feel good at all. I put down my half-eaten sandwich and went to the cupboard for more chips.
Pete picked up one of my grapes and tossed it in his mouth. “Did you forget about it or something?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I think it’s gonna be a late night too. So I agreed to it on the condition that they could drive me home.”
Pete quietly eyed me for a moment while I made a whole bunch of crackling noise with the chip bag. “Which Dubois will be driving?” he asked.
“Probably Mr. Dubois,” I admitted, coloring for a whole different reason than he imagined.
He nodded at me again, his lips forming a tight seam. I took in a breath, picked up our plates, and dumped the leftover food into a ceramic pot I was using to house our leftovers. Ruthie and I had started composting together, but I thought I might have to give it up because the smell was starting to get to me.
“This is gettin’ kinda full,” I announced. “I’m gonna go empty it into the bin. Say hi to Ruthie.” I paused to smack his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
He had nothing to say to this—a bad sign.
I hoofed it to the garden and dumped our rotting leftovers, recalling how I used to do this every day for our pigs. I guess Daddy was doing this chore now that he had no kids left to do his dirty work for him. A pang, I didn’t want to feel, reminded me of where the last kid was now. I wondered how Andrew was doing. Did he hate it like I did, or love it like Mikey did? Something in the middle?
Before my thoughts could spin into a breakdown, I hoofed it on to the red door and let myself in. “Hey, Ruthie! Bob?” I called out.
“In here, child,” Ruthie answered.
I’d caught her at her lunch hour. I’d planned this on purpose, knowing Ruthie watched her favorite soap at this time. And Bob usually snuck out for a fast food lunch that was forbidden on his cholesterol-free diet. I stayed long enough to catch up on the drama, before excusing myself to “go spend time with Ty before work.” She nodded her understanding, and I got up and pecked her on the cheek, holding my breath from her powdery perfume. Ugh. I loved Ruthie dearly, but her perfume was becoming a problem. After one of her sweet hugs I felt like I’d been fumigated with Jasmine.
I went to the door and opened it and closed it, remaining inside. Then snuck up the back stairs to the Henrys’ bathroom, feeling like I was leaving a trail of slime on their beige carpet. I dug around in their medicine cabinet for a while before coming up with something I thought would work. When I heard the water running in the kitchen, I tiptoed back down the stairs, careful not to slip on the slime, and slipped out the back door. I was doing the wrong thing for the right reason, I assured myself.
A minute of shallow breathing and guilt swallowing later, and I creeped back into our love nest. “Honey, I’m home,” I called out in a fake sunny voice.
Pete barely looked up from where he was sulking in front of his laptop.
I bypassed him to drop my contraband off into my backpack before plopping down next to him on the couch. It felt like a layer of frost had formed on him while I was gone. I stared at his profile while he stared at some motocross race on YouTube. He allowed me to pick up his hand but didn’t hold it back. So I began massaging it, working my way up his arm, loosening him up. He sat still and hard as the planes of his face. I couldn’t stand being out of the circle of his love for one more second, so threw myself under his arm.
“Please don’t be mad at me.” I squeezed his rigid frame to me. “I’m just tryin’ to make some extra money. I shoulda told you. I’m sorry I didn’t. But the truth is . . . I knew you would be mad. And I can’t stand for you to be mad at me, so I put it off.” I felt the sudden urge to cry.
Pete drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. He finally glanced down at me. “I also could’ve worked this evening, had I known.”
“I’m sorry, Pete. I should’ve told you earlier.”
“And the reason I don’t accept late hours,” he resumed in a curt tone, “is because I want to spend the evenings with you. We hardly see each other as it is.”
“I’m really sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?” I twisted my head up, trying to do my cute impersonation.
A slight smile played on his lips. A knowing one came to mine. I roved my hand from his chest down to cup him in my hand. He sucked in a breath and leaned his head back on the couch while I got to work.
“Wait, Kate,” he breathed out heavily. “Not that.”
I peeked up to see how serious he was. He removed my hand from his crotch. Pretty dang serious.
“Let’s take a trip together,” he said. He peered deeply into my eyes, holding on to my hand as I bit my lip, debating. “Now that we’re not in the red anymore, we can afford to take some time off.”
I instantly smiled. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”
His laugh turned into a groan as I leaned over his lap, getting back to work. “The end of Aaaa-ugust,” he gargled. The last word on the matter before nothing but pleasure sounds came out. I was very good at this particular job now.
Pete, no longer mad at me, went for a quick jog while I got ready for work. I showered and packed some makeup in my backpack and was just smashing up the pilfered pain pill into a fine white powder, when the hup, hup, hup of Pete’s feet on the stairs could be heard. I scraped the pile of snow into a baggy, feeling like a dadgum drug dealer. I was just slipping it into my backpack with the other contraband when the door slammed.
“Honey, I’m home.” Pete came in with the front of his faded T-shirt stained a deeper red from his sweat. His surfer hair held back with a headband, reminding me of my date (hook-up?) with Nick Attacker tonight.
A fresh wave of guilt stained my face the same color as Pete’s shirt. I went over and immediately attacked him with a hug.
“Give me a minute while I jump in the shower before you jump my bones. I’m all sweaty and smelly.”
“I love the way you smell.”
He gave a throaty chuckle and slapped me on the behind. “I love you in that shirt,” he tossed behind him on the way to the shower.
I hated, hated myself in that moment. For underneath the turquoise peasant blouse Pete had bought for me, was a little cashmere number of a different hue of blue. The one that had hitherto been hidden away in one of those drawers he’d built for me. The same one my “lunatic ex-husband” picked out for me to wear on the plane. To our honeymoon.
I deep sighed. Pete was still trying to get an ID for me, I reminded myself. I’m just doing the same for him.
Pete and I drove to the Dubois’ home in relative silence. When we got there, he pulled to the curb and threw the gear into park. After a long look, he leaned over to tuck a piece of my blown-dry hair behind my ear. “I can pick you up, because I’ll still be up waiting for you.”
I made a little face. “I know. It’s just . . . they offered to bring me home to sweeten the deal. I don’t wanna change it now.”
“I don’t want you to be alone with a middle-aged man who’s been drinking.”
I made a bigger face. “I can handle myself just fine. And Mr. Dubois is harmless . . . it’s Mrs. Dubois I’m afraid of,” I only half kidded.
He pursed his lips and shook his head at me. “Don’t forget to tell them about our vacation plans. This is almost a two-week notice, so it should give them plenty of time to find someone else to raise their kids for them while you’re gone.”
I nodded and half-smiled, my mind already on tonight’s mission. All day I’d been needled by a strong feeling I needed to get this done.
“You’re all mine from August twenty-third through the twenty-sixth.” His eyes twinkled at me. “I’m gonna teach you how to surf, California girl.”
“Well, I’ll look forward to that,” I replied, pecking him on the lips and unbuckling my seatbelt.
“It’s fun . . . once you get the hang of it.”
“I already know the hang-ten sign.” I flashed it at him, and a smile, before cracking the door.
He laughed at me. “You’ll love it, I swear.”
“I’m sure I will, but that water is c-c-c-cold!”
He chuckled at me. “We’ll buy you a wet suit, so you won’t be so cold.”
“I’ll still be cold?”
“A little, but you’ll look really hot.” I gave him a half-hearted smile, and his face fell. “You’ll at least try it, right?”
“I’d do anything for you,” I declared, my voice husking a little at the end.
“Even stay with me forever?”
I gave him a sad smile, then left him with the kind of kiss that musicians write songs about. He watched me climb two flights of stairs and waited until I opened the double doors. I waved and watched him drive off, creating a heart shape with my hands to frame him in.