947 A.M. #4
“Do you have any questions about the rest of the day? Because I’m not sure when I’ll be able to talk again.” She tugged her dress off over her head and tossed it on the bed, then undid her bra. If Travis came in search of her and she was already changed, she wouldn’t have to account for her time.
“I just wanted to clarify one thing. It says here pick-up is at 3:05 p.m., but I have to be there by 2:40?”
“Yes, or you won’t get a spot. I just bring a book or make sure my phone is charged up. Oh, also park in the upper lot or you’ll never get out of there in time for the kids to poop before their activities.”
“Dear lord, Mercy. Do you think the kids might be overscheduled if they don’t even have time for a nice poop?”
“This is how it’s done these days. The goal is to have well-rounded children.”
“What about just letting them be kids?”
“Bored kids are bad kids,” she answered, quoting her husband.
“Now, don’t forget to bring each of them a cookie and a chocolate protein drink from the fridge.
It makes the ride home SO MUCH easier. Otherwise, they’ll fight the entire time and you’ll be ready to crack open a bottle of wine by the time you get to the house, only you can’t because you need to have Rhett at baseball by 4:45 or his coach will make him sit out next weekend at the tournament. ”
“Sounds reasonable. Make a twelve-year-old child responsible for time management.”
“I don’t make the rules.” She was just tying the string around her neck when she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door. Her gut tightened. “I should go. Travis will wonder where I am.”
“You’re on a boat. Where would you go?”
“Faith, please.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m doing the best I can to keep everything together. I really can’t handle criticism right now.”
“I’m not criticizing you.” She put an extra emphasis on you, which was to say she was criticizing Travis.
Not that Mercy didn’t know he deserved it.
The whole pennies comment was still raw.
Being openly corrected as if she was a child was bad enough, but to do it in front of two people with doctorate degrees was a whole new level of humiliation.
She wondered what Ted and Antonia would make of it.
Surely they would be more bothered by his behavior than her error.
Part of her wished they would unleash a tirade on him—diagnose him as being a supreme asshole or something.
Controlling, manipulative, and generally awful.
Or would they diagnose her instead? Wondering what the hell was wrong with her to stay.
She longed to tell them she had no choice. Because she really didn’t.
“Did you figure out what this trip is about yet?”
“I think I have an idea, but I’ll have to wait and see. God, it’s such an awkward group. None of us have anything in common. It’s going to be a hell of a long week.” She heard the beeps of the code to the door lock, and whispered, “Gotta go. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Just make sure you come back.”
She hung up just as the door opened and flashed her husband her best leading lady smile. “There you are, darling. Are you going to come for a swim with me?”
“As much as I’d like to lay around on a chaise watching you in your bikini, I’m in the mood for a little healthy competition.
I’m taking the men on a fishing trip. Well, not Miguel.
He doesn’t seem like the type.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling in her in for a kiss that tasted like coffee and cigars.
“Mm,” she managed, pulling back with a smile. “What’s that all about?”
He gave her a boyish grin, and for a second, he reminded her of the man she fell in love with. God, was it possible that he was hiding in there somewhere, finally ready to come out?
Just when she started to let herself hope, he said, “Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you know I still want you. Indira fed me too much to screw right now, but when I get back from fishing tonight, I want to show you what you do to me.”
CHARLOTTE
Charlotte was slumped on a lounge chair on her tiny balcony, soaking in the sun.
She felt like hell and hadn’t touched the greasy-looking breakfast that Indira brought her an hour earlier.
It sat getting cold in her room while she kept her eyes closed and waited for her head to stop pounding.
She and Oliver had dropped some ecstasy, then stayed out dancing and drinking until the sun was up.
The beat from one of the songs repeated over and over in her mind along with flashes of her and Oliver going from bar to bar to bar, grinding on each other on the dance floor, not caring who saw them.
Then the walk back in the early morning light.
She’s swinging her purse in big circles to see how slowly she can do it without her stuff falling out onto the sidewalk.
Turns out, not very slowly. He’s killing himself laughing while she scrambles to chase down the Dior lipstick that cost her fifty bucks.
Only when she shouts, “Help me!” does he move, sprinting ahead and grabbing the tube just before it rolls into a storm drain.
She leaps onto him, calling him her hero, and they make out on the sidewalk.
They’re kissing, tongues and moans and all.
He slides his hand up the wide leg of her shorts and inside her panties, and she’s only vaguely aware that they’re doing this in public, and she is very much exposed like this.
She hears people laughing and someone shouts something, only she doesn’t understand because it’s not in English, but she knows it’s rude because the woman next to the guy who shouted it slaps him on his arm with the back of her hand.
They get up and she tugs her shorts down and adjusts her underwear.
Then they’re in his tiny cabin (she couldn’t risk Ted catching them in hers).
They’re laughing and she’s telling him she can’t feel her face and he’s asking her if she can normally feel her face and she’s saying no, maybe not, and that she can’t remember.
He’s undressing her and smiles at her nude form while he fumbles to get his own clothes off.
And now they’re in his single bed, and he’s on top of her and she wants this oh so badly.
Only, he stops after a few minutes and his face goes red.
“I’ve had too much to drink. Or something. ”
He tries to get up, but she pulls him back down, gripping his back. “No, let’s try again. I can get this to work.”
Only it doesn’t and, after a few minutes of sweaty awkward attempts, Oliver stands, turning away to tug his boxer briefs back on.
Charlotte feels suddenly exposed, laying on his bed splayed out.
And deeply disappointed. But beyond that, there’s shame.
Like maybe she’s not pretty enough for him.
Perhaps her breasts are too small or her hips too wide.
She stands and puts on her panties, then grabs her romper off the floor and quickly pulls it up her legs, sliding the straps onto her shoulders.
She’ll carry her bra because there is no way she can get that on right now, not with how out of it she is. “I’ll go.”
He wraps his arms around her. “Hey, it’s not you. I’m just too drunk.”
She feels as if her fragile ego has been rescued by a knight in shining armor. She gasps. “Ted has Viagra! I could go get one from him,” she says without thinking it through.
“What? Jesus, I don’t need that,” he says, letting go of her.
“Right, sorry,” she answers, feeling stupid again. “I can’t wake him up for that anyway.”
“Obviously not. He’s your boss.”
Her expression must give her away because Oliver lowers his face to hers. “Wait. How do you know he uses Viagra?”
She feels suddenly too hot and too cold at the same time. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it might.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “I’m not…in love with him. It’s just a thing, you know?”
He snort-laughs. “You’re screwing your boss? And your other boss’s husband?”
She covers her chest with one arm, clutching her left hand to her right bicep. “I don’t want to get into that. I’m…not happy about it.”
He scowls, tipping back and forth a little in his drunken state. “What do you mean? Not happy? Is he making you?”
Shaking her head, she says, “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I didn’t have to start and I can stop whenever. It’s just…wrong. I’m wrong. And I’m…drunk. I need to sleep.”
He nods, and she can see he’s considering his response carefully even though he’s inebriated.
In his eyes, she can see he is quietly judging her, and her body fills with shame like a balloon being filled by a helium tank.
Only instead of becoming buoyant, Charlotte feels like she could sink to the bottom of the ocean.
Finally, he speaks. “Do you want me to walk you to your room?”
“Better not. Just in case one of the old people is already awake.”
Oh God, why did she tell him? Why did she do any of that? It was all so awful. A young guy like him not able to get it up for her. She couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow her fault. How could it not be?
She opened her eyes just in time to see a small sailboat glide by in the distance. She wished it would turn around and pick her up. Take her away to somewhere else entirely. Her phone pinged and she slid it off the side table and saw a message from Ted.
Ted
You okay? I’ve been knocking, but you’re not answering.
She stared at his words, and suddenly that familiar rush of being cared for came back.
That’s why she wanted him. He wouldn’t have stood there laughing while she scrambled to pick up her things.
He would have immediately jumped to action because that was what a man would do. Not a boy. She quickly wrote back:
I’m out on the balcony. Be right there.