Dry as Rain Page 6

  “We’ll look at our schedules,” I said, knowing we’d both have something, anything, to do that night.

  “Fair enough, neighbors.” Bram took his gloves from his back pocket and slid them back on.

  I waved a good-bye, but the couple just stood there.

  “Well, okay then,” Kyra said, waiting, like me, for them to get the hint.

  When they didn’t, I ushered her inside, leaving them standing alone on the sidewalk. I shut the door and peered through the peephole. They were still standing there staring up at the door as if they expected it to fly open and be invited in. I shook my head and turned around.

  Kyra rolled her eyes. “Why do they think we would want to spend an entire day watching that spoiled brat—not only of no relation to us, but of no relation to them—prance around on her stupid pony with her nose stuck up the sky’s butt?”

  Heading for the kitchen, I heard her footsteps following behind me. I poured myself a glass of water from the tap and leaned my back against the counter. “They’re something else,” I said between sips.

  She pressed her body against mine and played with a button on the front of my shirt. I would have backed away if the counter weren’t preventing me. Instead I cleared my throat and gave her a dull look, hoping she couldn’t feel my heart pounding.

  “I thought you said you wanted to lay your wife down.” She trailed her hand down the front of me, giving me no room to misinterpret her intentions.

  I turned around to get away from her, giving her my back, and refilled my glass. I tried to gulp down a swallow of water but inhaled it instead. My body convulsed as my lungs tried to force the liquid out through violent coughs.

  “You okay?” She backed up to give me room.

  After a moment, my coughing subsided and I was able to catch a few breaths. “Wrong pipe,” I choked out. My glass clanked as I set it on the granite counter. “So, I guess I’ll be getting back to work if you’ll be okay.”

  She frowned. “Already? I thought you, we, might . . . I mean, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

  “Well, um,” I stuttered, probably wearing the same look I did when I was trying to get away from the Harringtons. “Mr. Thompson was kind enough to let me off two mornings to deal with this whole . . . but . . .”

  Her shoulders drooped. “Rain check, then?”

  I looked at the floor. “Sure.”

  “When will you be home?”

  I paused so long she probably wondered if I’d fallen asleep with my eyes open. What was I supposed to say? Maybe her memory would return while I was at work and I’d get an angry phone call. Sadly, that was really the best I could hope for. I decided to bide my time for now. “I guess it’ll be late. I need to take care of some business and catch up. You go on to bed.”

  She combed her fingers through the ends of her hair like she did when she was nervous. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe I’ll invite Marnie over.”

  She didn’t remember her sister was out of the country on business, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell her.

  “I’ll see if she can do dinner tonight,” she said and opened the refrigerator. It was nearly empty except for a few Styrofoam takeout containers, a head of browning lettuce still in its plastic wrapping, and a jar of dill pickles. She unscrewed the metal lid, dipped her fingers into brine, and lifted one out.

  As she crunched into it I thought of Marnie and wondered if she would already somehow have heard about her sister’s little adventure in Batten Falls. I didn’t see how. She’d been in France for a month and it wasn’t like they had any family besides one another to spill the beans.

  No, she probably didn’t know yet, but surely Kyra had called and told her that we were separated. I needed to get to her and let her know what was up before she got to Kyra. I wanted to believe my motivation was just following Hershing’s orders to protect her, but I knew that wasn’t entirely true.

  * * *

  With Kyra’s cell phone in my pocket and my heart in my throat, I backed out of the driveway of my once-more home. By the grace of God, ingenuity, or sheer luck, I’d successfully navigated my way through the land mines of my wife’s spotty memories and unpredictable emotions.

  I slid her phone out of my pocket, feeling a little guilty about leaving her without one, especially since we’d dropped the landline. But what was the alternative? She’d have called Marnie. Then what? The gig would have been up.

  I turned off Macabee and parked in front of a white colonial. A black cat perched in the window, watching me as I checked Kyra’s text messages. All were deleted except one to Marnie, which just said a simple, “Hurry home. Be safe.”

  I dialed her number and pressed the asterisk. When it asked me to enter the password, I didn’t really expect it to work, but surprisingly, it did. I couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought to change her voice mail password since we’d separated. I could have been listening to her private messages this entire time for all she knew. There was one message from Bill Parsons, our youth pastor, asking about Benji, and one from Marnie, asking Kyra to pick her up from the airport that evening. Apparently her fashion-scouting trip had come to an end. Since I had to get to Marnie before Kyra did, I had no choice but to meet Delta flight 8319 at five fifteen.

  I set the phone in my empty ashtray and shifted into drive, watching the cat watch me drive away. Thinking of the convoluted web I was weaving, I was more unsure than ever how to proceed with the medically-prescribed charade, or even if I should.

  Nothing had prepared me for the raw pain of being thrust into the past. Of being looked at once again by my wife with eyes of love. Over the years her feelings for me had seeped out in such a slow trickle, the leak was hardly noticeable, until the pool lay completely dry. Seeing it full again made me desperate to dive in. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed those waters. How much I missed her. But that wasn’t my motivation for keeping her in the dark. I wanted to protect her. She was vulnerable, and I was still her husband. At least for a little while longer.

  If only her accident had happened a year ago, or even a few days ago, how differently our lives might have turned out. I never would have believed how quickly she could stir up the old feelings in me with just one bat of her lashes.

  Maybe she could forgive me too. A spark of hope ignited inside me as I turned left out of our neighborhood—until words spoken long ago echoed in my ears: “Samurai, I’ll give you everything, forgive you anything . . . except that.”

  Had she considered for one second that someday it might be her in need of forgiving?

  Bloomless crape myrtles lined the side of the road, their multistemmed trunks reaching from the ground like gnarled fingers. I pulled along the shoulder and stopped beside them. A truck flew past, making my SUV tremble in its wake. I draped my arm over the steering wheel, lay my head down, and did what I had not allowed myself to do since my marriage fell apart. I cried.

  What was I going to do? I had to tell Kyra the truth before someone else did. Of course, no one—not even her sister, Marnie—knew that I’d gone to bed with Danielle. Sure, Marnie might remind her of our e-mails, either unknowingly or, in her case, probably knowingly, but she couldn’t fill her in on what she didn’t know herself.

  Kyra obviously had no recollection of the damage either of us had caused. What if she never did? I tilted the rearview mirror and checked myself. My dark eyes were puffy and red-veined, but they’d clear up on the drive to the dealership. After a Mazda Miata shot by, I adjusted the mirror, then eased onto the road.

  I lowered the window, letting the morning air lap my face. How had I gotten myself into such a mess? Maybe it would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Stranger things had happened. Maybe Kyra would never remember what I wished more than anything I could forget.

  The double yellow lines splitting the road blurred into one as I stared at them. Even if she never figured out how far we’d strayed, I still had Danielle to contend with. I knew all too well how unpredictable
a woman scorned could be. If I could explain things, make her understand the delicate situation and how sorry I was, maybe . . . just maybe . . .

  Ten

  “Danielle, you have a minute?”

  Her pouty lips curled into a sly smile, reminding me why I had been attracted to her. Part cheerleader, part sex kitten, she did have a way. I motioned for her to come in. Her gaze traveled the length of my body as she sauntered past. I eyed the windows making up the far wall of my office. Nothing like trying to have a private moment in a fishbowl. Even if the showroom staff could see our every move, at least they couldn’t hear what we said.

  Danielle touched her neck, drawing my gaze to the creamy hollow beneath her ear I’d focused most of my kisses on the other night. “I hear Kyra’s doing okay.”

  Word certainly did travel fast. I forced my eyes off her skin. “She’s back home.”

  She threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the windows. The staff appeared busy and unaware. “That’s good news. Hey, if you don’t already have plans later—” she inched toward me—“I was thinking maybe I could buy you dinner this time. Soho’s downtown is supposed to be amazing.”

  It had suddenly gotten uncomfortably hot. I pulled at my collar and stepped back. “See, the thing is—”

  Before I could finish the sentence, Larry busted in. “Hey, ladies.” Beneath his glasses, his gaze barely brushed Danielle before taking on a hardness and settling on me. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need boss man here to okay a deal so I can close.”

  With her back to Larry, Danielle fingered the top button of her silk blouse, trying to draw my gaze to her cleavage. “Yea or nay on my proposal, Mr. Yoshida?”

  Perspiration dampened my hairline as I fought to keep my eyes off her intended target. Uncertain whether to dismiss her or Larry, I settled on the less volatile choice. “Larry, give us just a second.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

  Trying my best to intimidate my friend into saying uncle and leaving, I stared him down. The mule didn’t budge.

  I turned my attention back to Danielle. “Okay, we’ll talk then.”

  Relief filled her smile. Red lipstick boldly framed white teeth. “Wonderful.”

  Larry watched her leave, then turned around. “Man, what’s wrong with you?”

  I walked to my desk and sat down. “Back off, Larry. I’m trying to let her down easy.”

  With lips pressed so tight they puckered, he shook his head. “Let her down, eh? I thought you were innocent on all charges?”

  Out in the showroom, someone tested a car horn with two annoying beeps.

  I opened my desk drawer and rummaged through the pens, papers, and miscellaneous forms, pretending to search for something. I found an old Post-It with the work number of a client we’d sold an LS 600 to weeks before. Remembering that I’d already transferred the number to my computer database, I crumbled it and dropped it in the mesh wastebasket next to my desk. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Good. Make sure you stay out of the mood.”

  I slammed the drawer shut, catching a paper in limbo. I yanked the knob and shoved the paper all the way in. “I thought you came in here to run a deal by me?”

  With arms still crossed, he now stood with his legs spread in a wide stance, looking like a nightclub bouncer. “You think you’re the only one around here who knows how to make things up?”

  Why wouldn’t he give it a break already? “What do you want?” An untouched copy of the Everson Times lay on the corner of my desk. I slid it over as though I intended to read it. After staring at it a moment, I realized it was upside down. I flipped it over and snapped it open.

  Naturally, he didn’t take the hint. “I’m just looking out for you, man. Someone has to since you’re doing such a sloppy job of it.” His tone softened. “How’s Kyra?”

  I lowered my paper and stared at a patch of razor burn dotting his cheek, unsure how to answer. She’s great except she doesn’t remember that she hates me. “Confused.”

  “I know she was, but I thought that doctor said she got her memory back.”

  Not having read the first page of the paper, I turned to the second. The headline stated, Children of Broken Homes More Likely to Try Drugs. I folded the paper and tossed it on my desk. “Not all of it.”

  When Larry uncrossed his arms, I was hit by just how much weight my friend had gained since his divorce. Though I saw him every day, he normally wore larger clothes that hid it a little better. The small white buttons of the dress shirt he sported today looked about to pop against his protruding gut. His ex-wife, Tina, might have been an unfaithful nag, but she did make sure his diet consisted of more than pork rinds and pop.

  “At the risk of sounding like a girl, you want to talk about it?” Larry asked.

  I squinted at him. “At the risk of sounding like your boss, buy a shirt that actually fits you, and get back to work.”

  Glancing down his chin at himself, he flipped up his striped tie and gave it a quick sniff. He scraped off whatever he’d discovered like he was working on a scratch-off ticket. He let the tie fall back to his shirt. “How about lunch?

  The phone rang. Thankful for the escape, I picked up.

  Larry glared at me. “I asked you a question, brother.”

  Pressing a hand over the receiver, I mumbled, “Yeah, whatever.” I uncovered the phone. “Eric Yoshida.”

  Whoever it was hung up.

  I shrugged and set the phone back in its cradle. “Must have been something I said.”

  Larry looked at his watch and grinned. “Hey, whadaya know? It’s lunchtime now.”

  Looking up at the wall clock, I felt my whole body sigh at the thought of an hour-long interrogation over burgers and fries. Larry was so much easier going before he’d found God. One little altar call had turned Dr. Jekyll into Mr. holier-than-thou Hyde. He was a good guy, but some days the religious routine was just a little too much, even for other Christians.

  I searched for an excuse that would let me out of the lunch date, but exhaustion had dulled my mind.

  Feeling like a prisoner being led to my cell, I followed him to his Jeep and slid into the passenger seat. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

  Larry sucked his teeth. “You just can’t stand not to be the one in control, can you?”

  The unexpected jab caught me off guard. “What? I just asked if you wanted me to drive.”

  As soon as we turned off the lot onto Main, he adjusted the rearview mirror. “Chill, dude. You’ve got control issues. So what? We all have something. Look at me.” He waved a hand over his stomach. “I eat too much.”

  Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t have control issues.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Where was this coming from all of a sudden? We had been friends for six years, best friends for five. I’d have thought it would have come up before now if he had a problem with me. “For example?”

  He flicked on his blinker and passed a wagon. “Never mind.”

  “You can’t even give me one.”

  “I could give you a hundred. How about this being only the third time in a year that you didn’t insist on driving.”

  I made a face. “That’s your example? I’m just a better driver.”

  “And you always have to pay.”

  “I make more money.”

  “You rearranged the furniture on the second day you moved in with me.”

  For crying out loud. “Your stupid couch was blocking the front door. What if there was a fire?”

  Larry glanced at me sidelong. “And you always insist on picking the golf course we play at.”

  “Please,” I said. “You picked the very first course we played together. Remember that? ’Cause I do.”

  Sudden recognition washed over his face as his skin mottled. “So tell me what’s going on.”

  Oh sure, now he wanted to change the subject. Typical. “That course catered to ninety-year-olds who’d never played
a day in their life. Even the caddies used walkers. I was growing old just waiting for the hearse to drive them to the next hole.”

  Larry’s nostrils flared as he sped up, passing a Buick. “Fine. Let’s just drop it. Spill what’s up with you and blondie.”

  Staring at the back side of his inspection sticker, I said nothing.

  Larry shook his head. “You slept with her, didn’t you? I knew it.”

  I looked out the window, watching strip malls and fast-food joints blur by, as I fogged up the glass with my breath. I braced myself for the inevitable lecture that was sure to follow.

  “Does Kyra know?” he finally asked.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Man, she doesn’t even know we’re separated.”

  “What do you mean she doesn’t know? How does she not know?”

  The traffic light ahead changed from green to yellow. An old Ford Ranger sped up, catching the red light halfway through the intersection. Lucky for him no cops were around to cite him. Larry slowed to a stop and looked at me, waiting for an answer. “The concussion.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I frowned. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  When the light flashed green, Larry passed through the crossroad, then pulled into the Wendy’s parking lot. He turned off the engine and faced me. “Let me get this straight. Your wife not only doesn’t know you’ve been playing doctor with Danielle, she doesn’t even remember you two aren’t living in the same house?”

  Over his shoulder, I watched a silver-haired man open a car door and help his wife out. I wondered if the woman took him for granted the way Kyra had me. When our eyes met, I nodded, then focused on Larry. “That’s right.”

  With hands the size of a small continent, Larry rubbed his temple. “What are you going to do?”

  It was a fair question. One I wished I knew the answer to. “No idea. I was hoping you might have some advice.”

  “Seems to me I gave you advice a few weeks ago, not to move out of your house. Then I gave you advice to stop flirting with Danielle. And then just yesterday, I gave you yet—”