Chapter 23 #2
Rob’s staring at me from his still-prone position by the hearth. “If that’s what cleaning up looks like, I’m all for it.”
I throw his shirt and shorts at him. “Up! Fix me cheese!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I step into the lukewarm shower, I marvel at the change in my mood. So irritable and hot an hour ago, now so cheerful and feeling so much closer to Rob. That’s one problem with these meds — mood swings. Although I’m feeling better, I’ll swing downwards again. Still, one step at a time.
Rob is positively giddy at the grocery store, throwing all kinds of delicious items from the deli counter into the cart, more cheeses, cold cuts, olives, even buying a dozen oysters at the seafood counter. Fresh bread, eggs, and smoked salmon for breakfast. Two boxes of craft beers.
“I’m getting you drunk tonight,” he promises as he slips his arm around my waist and kisses the tattoo on the back of my neck. It’s like he’s been given permission to be in love again.
I revel in it, enjoying his happiness, but at the same time I’m wary, wondering how long it’ll last before I’m sucked back into negativity and guilt. I’m bound to say something to ruin it — it’s only a matter of when.
Mike and Hans are pulling up in their sports car as we arrive home around 6.45. “We drove like the wind,” Hans announces.
Mike is uncharacteristically flamboyant in his greeting, kissing us both on the mouth, his goatee beard tickling so Rob laughs.
“I do love to kiss a man with a beard.” Rob scratches at his own.
I kiss Rob on the cheek. “Me too,” I murmur in his ear.
We settle down with beers and oysters in the living room.
“How are you enjoying the house, having it all to yourselves?” asks Hans. “You better have not been doing it in our bedroom.”
I blush. “Of course not. We’re very happy in the guest suite. Wouldn’t dream of sullying your pristine sheets.”
The men laugh and Mike brushes sand from his bare feet. “Managed to bring a fair amount of sand in, didn’t you?” he says with fake severity. Rob and I smile at each other.
“Yeah, didn’t have a chance to clean up properly. Buying beer seemed more urgent than vacuuming.”
“Wow, you spread this stuff around,” laughs Mike, now inspecting the wide expanse of hardwood floor between the couch and the fireplace.
“What were you doing? Oh, I get it . . . You haven’t been doing it in our bed, but pretty much everywhere else?”
“Eww, that’s disgusting!” Hans is only half-joking as he jumps up from the couch. “Are we going to find stains? You two . . .”
We’re still laughing about the sand and which body parts it might have come from on the drive to the buzzing Oaklands restaurant for its Friday night Lobster Bash dinner.
We eat a huge amount of lobster, and I share a bottle of crisp white with Mike, while the others stick with beers.
Throughout dinner they are increasingly loud, Hans in a bright floral shirt, winding up his partner, Mike shaking his head in despair and giving me exasperated smiles.
I smile back at Mike, fanning myself with a cocktail menu.
I’m overheating again, and the rich food and wine are not helping.
I took my evening meds a half-hour ago, and the sluggishness is setting in.
I stifle an unexpected yawn and Mike catches me.
He raises his eyebrows to ask if I’m okay, and I nod.
“I’m stepping out to the deck to get some air,” I tell Rob, rising. “Back in a moment.”
“You good, baby?” He places a hand on the back of my thigh.
“Fine. Overheating.”
I kiss the top of his head, smile at the others and push my way out to the busy terrace, walking down the steps to the marina.
I take in the balmy evening, inhaling the air.
But it’s still sticky, despite being right on the water.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I wipe my hand across my tattoo.
Footsteps thud behind me, and I am relieved that it is Mike, not Rob, who has followed me outside. I smile at him.
“Too much booze and rich food. I’m on meds that make me kind of sleepy. Sorry if I’m a party-pooper.”
“Hell, don’t worry about it. I’m not crazy about the heat either. You’d think Hans would be the one to hate it, with his alabaster skin, yet he’s fine. But it saps me of energy.”
I pull a hairband from the pocket of my denim shorts, and pull may hair into a ponytail. “Exactly. Makes it hard to do anything. What’s it like in the city?”
Mike grimaces. “Vile. I heard it’s been hot out here, but you were right to leave, it’s been disgusting. That’s why it’s so packed in here tonight, I guess. Did Angie tell you the office air-con broke down? Everyone’s working from home.”
“Then I’m glad we left. At least the beach house is cool.”
“Yeah . . . also kinda steamy, from what it looked like,” Mike replies with a wink.
I laugh. “Well, we’re on vacation. Sort of. And . . . refreshing our relationship.”
“Hey, you don’t need excuses, you’re a married couple. Doubly,” Mike observes. His brow creases. “Everything fine with you two? Do I need to worry?”
“Oh, no. We’re okay. I’ve been having a hard time, and it spilled over into our relationship, I guess. I know you’ve noticed, at work. About which I’m very sorry. I’m having issues adjusting to these meds. They’re for anxiety and insomnia.”
He nods slowly, taking this in. “Are they helping?”
“Maybe.” I turn to the railing, looking out over the marina’s bobbing yachts.
“I think they’ve made some things worse — definitely at work.
One of the side-effects can be lack of clear thinking, and that’s an issue.
But they’re helping me sleep, which I was barely managing before.
They’re also making me sluggish.” I shrug. “I may have to try another brand.”
“Take all the time you need. Angie has been doing a much better job at covering you than last time. We’re thinking about moving her up into more of a permanent comms role and hiring a new assistant.
If you need more time, take it.” He pauses.
“Do you mind if I ask whether the anxiety is about anything specific? Are you getting help?”
“I don’t mind. It’s been under the surface since my accident.
It’s all to do with my . . . amnesia. My brother suddenly being dead, everything so different.
And yeah, I’m seeing someone about it.” I turn back to Mike.
“Thanks. I need to find my sense of balance. Reconcile my place in the world.” I laugh, drily.
“With a life as blessed as this, you’d think it would be easy. ”
“No, I get it. With your amnesia, it felt like you were ripped from the life you knew, thrust into a new world with a different job, a husband you didn’t recognize, a different home, and to top it off the brother you feel like you saw recently has been dead for years. It’s enough to freak anyone out.”
“Exactly. It did freak me out, completely, to start with — but then, well, I had this instant husband, and he’s so amazing.
I didn’t know him, but I fell in love with him, in love with this whole life — with all you guys.
For a while I was distracted from being freaked out, and embraced everything, and we had the wedding, which was wonderful but also another distraction .
. .” I shake my head. “But now the honeymoon is over, I’m trying to live as a regular person, but I still don’t have that understanding of who I am.
It’s weird . . .” I trail off, aware this is not a full confession, more like the half-truths I tell Dr. Weinstein.
Why bother to only half-confide? Nobody but Rob will ever know the whole truth.
I pull myself together, sucking in a breath of humid air. “We’d better go back. The guys will be wondering where we are.”
Mike nods, holding out his arm for me, and leads me back inside, where a local band has started up. I sit next to Rob and put a hand on his arm. He turns to me with a quizzical look.
“I’m fine, I needed air. I had a nice chat with Mike,” I say into his ear over the music. “I don’t think I can drink anything else tonight. Probably shouldn’t, with the party tomorrow.”
“You wanna call it a night? We can cab back.”
“Yeah, I need to sleep, but you don’t have to. If you want to stay with the guys, I can cab alone. I’ll only be going to bed. Stay and have fun.”
“Really?” Rob seems doubtful, but he has a whole pint of frothy beer in front of him and Hans has ordered dessert, so they’re not ready to leave.
“Absolutely,” I assure him. “You enjoy. I’ll call a cab and wait outside. It’s too hot and crazy in here for me right now.”
I get up and kiss him on the temple, then call across the table to the others. “Hey, so, I’m out — too wiped. Have fun, I’ll see you for breakfast.”
Hans puts down his drink and looks like he’s about to say something, but Mike lays a hand on his arm. Instead, Hans lifts his fingers to his lips and blows me a kiss. I wave goodbye and head to the front desk.
I’m at the beach house within twenty minutes. Most evenings since I’ve arrived, I’ve stood on the deck for a while before going to bed, listening to the ocean, trying to soak it in, thinking about my life and how I can make it work. How I can be happy as this person.
But tonight, I go straight upstairs and close the blinds. I insert premium-grade earplugs, anticipating the guys being noisy when they get home. Rob will smell like a brewery when he comes to bed.
Tonight, I don’t want to think. I want to sleep. And, hopefully, dream about nothing. After all, tomorrow will be another exhausting charade.
How much longer can I do this?