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Authors: Randy Susan Meyers

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BOOK: Accidents of Marriage
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“Nice to be rewarded for breaking a glass, huh?” Ben kicked off his shoes. “Since I haven’t fallen or broken anything, what do I get for supper?”

Emma jumped up. “Should I make you eggs, Dad?”

“Thank you, honey. That would be terrific.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Gracie tapped his forehead. He blinked and gave her a tired smile. “What is it, cupcake?”

“Want me to cut up carrots for you?”

Maddy grabbed the laundry basket from where she’d dropped it in the corner of the living room and hurried out before she had to witness the girls wait on Ben. It drove her crazy watching them being trained in the fine art of placating an angry man, but try explaining that one. What, a child couldn’t feed a hungry father?

After throwing in a white wash and rummaging through the crowded shelves for fabric softener, she dragged over a small dusty step stool and climbed up, stretching to reach behind the jumble of cleaning supplies. She pulled out a dusty Baggie that held a few tablets, took out a yellow one, bit off half, and swallowed it dry. Sometimes she wondered if she could remember all of her caches. Keeping them
scattered around the house gave her a convoluted sense of peace and safety. She might reach for one pill in a week; she might reach in every day. Either way, knowing that they were never more than a few steps away comforted her.

•  •  •

Back in the kitchen, remnants of Ben’s eggs and carrots littered the countertop. She cleared the debris to one side to make sandwiches for the kids’ lunch boxes. Trying to spread cold peanut butter made her hate Ben’s mother. Frances had spent the past forty-six years appeasing Ben’s father’s neuroses by keeping a spotless house and refrigerating peanut butter, on constant guard against food poisoning, bacteria, and dust.

Because of Frances, they ate hard peanut butter.

The bread tore. She folded it around the wad of Skippy and shoved it in her mouth. Then she got a fresh slice and began making the sandwiches again: grape jelly for Caleb, blueberry for Gracie, and for Emma, Maddy’s mother’s homemade orange preserves.

Anger exhausted her. She waited for the kiss of Xanax to kick in, Prince Charming bearing a sheath for her nerves.

Ben hadn’t cared if they ate hot mayonnaise and slept on typhus-encrusted sheets when they’d met, not while they burned off the searing heat of their early years. He’d been exciting, her Ben, a public defense lawyer demanding the world give his wrecked clients a break—a little justice, a fair shot. She could barely breathe around him, some part of her always needing to touch some part of him. Her hand on his shoulder. An ankle casually leaning against his calf.

Ben dwarfed everyone, racing through life with exclamation points coming out all sides. Poverty to the right?
Boom!
Racism?
Pow.
Dirty landlords?
Gotcha!

Who knew all that passion and rage could be directed at a late car payment? A missing button.

Her.

CHAPTER 2

Ben

Ben hit the off button five minutes before the alarm buzzed, satisfied at beating the clock. Each weekday began with a win or loss, depending on how well his unconscious did its job.

Maddy slept curled on her side, facing away from him, her head buried in her arms. He turned off the second alarm, hers, so she could sleep another half hour, and then he crept out of bed to make coffee—he’d wake her by waving a steaming cup under her nose as he once did Monday through Friday.

Making Maddy happy was so easy, and yet he disappointed her at least once a day. It made him feel like shit. She thought he was unaware of his crimes and misdemeanors, when in actuality he only committed about a quarter of his sins without complete agency. It wasn’t that he didn’t know he was wrong. He was selfish. Or he chose expediency.
Why do you yell?
Maddy would ask, but he couldn’t tell the truth: Saying “because it works” made him sound like a monster. He couldn’t pretend shouting or screaming was kind or loving—that made him sound insane. So mostly he muttered and shuffled away.

After showering, he crept downstairs, not wanting to wake the kids, desperate for quiet so he could plan his schedule and steal time
to read the paper uninterrupted. He had to get in early to meet with Elizabeth, his current favorite intern. This afternoon they’d present the motion to suppress evidence she’d prepared for B-bird, whose stand-up-guy routine had captured Elizabeth’s heart, despite the client’s murder charge.

Ben supposed he coddled Elizabeth, letting her spend an inordinate amount of time on that manipulative con artist. No doubt she’d lose her sympathetic glow toward clients soon, but right now, as clearly as she’d carried her Ash Wednesday smudge, she demonstrated her belief that those who grew up in the projects carried an inherent holiness.

Sweat rose on Ben’s forehead as he ground the coffee. Barely six fifteen and the kitchen already felt uncomfortably warm. He snuck the radio dial from Maddy’s NPR to hard rock, not that he could actually enjoy the music when it played at such low volume. He grabbed the paper from the porch. Scuffling came from the second floor, but at this hour it was probably just one of the kids peeing and then shambling back to bed.

“Dad?” Emma appeared in the doorway, brushing her long brown waves off her sleep-swollen face. “Mom needs you in Caleb’s room.”

“I’ll be right there.” He shook coffee into the filter.

“She said to come now,” Emma said.

He poured in the water, turned on the pot, and then hurried up the stairs to his son’s room, where he found Caleb whimpering in Maddy’s arms. He knelt and rubbed Caleb’s shoulder. “Hey, cowboy. What is it? Nightmare?”

Caleb winced and pointed at his foot. “It hurts.”

“Let’s take a look.” Ben gave Maddy’s knee a reassuring squeeze.

Gracie padded in as Ben unwound the white bandage. “What’s wrong?”

“Caleb’s foot,” Emma said. Gracie moved close to her sister, transfixed as Ben revealed hot-looking pink skin puffing up around his wound.

“It could be infected.” Maddy rested her cheek on top of Caleb’s
head, pressing soft kisses on his messy hair. “He needs to go to the doctor.”

Caleb shook his head. “
Noooo.
I have to go to camp. Today’s color war. I’m the green captain.”

Pride surged at the thought that his son was a captain, though he was surprised they still had color wars in camp. By now, he’d figured, they’d banned all competition and had color love day. He gently turned his son’s foot, checking for red streaks.

“What do you think?” Maddy asked.

Ben pressed his lips together and ran a finger along the unbroken skin next to Caleb’s cut.


Ouch!
” Tears trickled from Caleb’s eyes.

Maddy touched Caleb’s head again, as though his fever might have spiked in the last ten seconds. “I don’t like how this looks. I’ll take him to the doctor. You drive Gracie to camp,” she said.

Ben touched Caleb’s arm again. It was warm, too warm, but not hot. “Can’t you drop her off on the way?”

“Triage opens at seven and I want to get him right in. Camp doesn’t start till eight forty-five.”

Ben stood. “Then take Gracie with you. My day is packed.”

“I’m scheduled back-to-back.”

Maddy’s tit-for-tat tone chipped at his patience. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have a prep meeting before eight.”

The younger children looked from him to Maddy and back. Emma left with a small puff of disgust.

“What time is your case being heard?” Maddy took a tissue and wiped Caleb’s nose, running from his tears.

Jesus. The negotiation just went on and on and on.

“When?” she asked again.

“That’s not the point. I have to prepare. Take Gracie with you. Please.” Why did she have to start on everything?

“Can we talk in the hall for a second?” Maddy lifted Caleb off her lap. “Gracie, get some juice for your brother, okay? And could you read to him, sweetheart?”

Ben knelt in front of his son and saw deep brown duplicates of his own eyes. “You’ll be fine, cowboy,” he said. “Be a tough guy, okay?”

“Mommy?” Gracie glanced at Ben before speaking. “I can go to camp, right? I’m an assistant captain.”

Maddy patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll work it out.” She didn’t even give Ben the courtesy of a glance before walking out.

Terrific. Snafu time again, folks. Situation normal, all fucked up. Welcome to another morning with the Illicas. Ben followed Maddy into their bedroom, where she yanked underwear and a bra from her dresser.

“Ben, I can’t take her with me. The wait might be hours.” She pulled a light-pink sundress from her closet. “I can’t even take a shower.”

“What’s the big deal?” Ben took off his robe and grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser. “Gracie only needs a book to be happy.”

“Nothing in this house is a big deal to you, is it, Ben? Not like your cases, right?” She went into their bathroom and banged the door shut.

Ben slammed his palm against the closed door. “A kid’s future is up for grabs,” he yelled over the running faucet.

The water stopped. Maddy burst out of the bathroom, wiping her face with a towel. “My first client is a pregnant crack whore who’s already lost three children. Her kids will become your precious clients if something doesn’t change soon, so it actually begins here. With me. Nevertheless, I’m calling my office to reschedule. I’m just asking you to be one half hour late.”

“Why can’t someone watch her?” he asked.

Maddy sat on the unmade bed, red sandals dangling from her right hand. “It’s six thirty in the morning. Exactly who do we leave her with?”

“I’m not suggesting auctioning her off as a child bride, just leaving her with a neighbor.” Ben grabbed a pressed shirt and riffled through the closet for a matching tie. Then he frowned at his own absurdity. “Forget that idea. Stupid. I know.”

Maddy brushed her hair with a few hard strokes and pulled it back into a large brown clip. “Please, can’t you just drive her?”

Ben heard her hesitation and knew he’d gained the edge. “Not with a court date—I just can’t wait until camp starts.”

“Mom. Mommy.” Gracie stood in the doorway, twisting the front of her oversized purple nightshirt. Ben could barely hear her words. “I don’t have to go to camp.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Maddy said. “We’ll get you there. Get dressed super fast, okay?”

Gracie nodded. “Do you want me to make breakfast cheese sandwiches to take?”

His daughter’s false eagerness cleaved Ben in half.

“That would be great.” Maddy turned to him. “Good luck today.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you.”

She smiled too big for his small gesture.

Gracie raced over and hugged him hard around the waist. “I love you. Good luck, Daddy,” Gracie said.

“I love you too, cupcake. Sorry I can’t drive you.” He bent over and kissed her head, smelling the baby powder Gracie had taken to sprinkling all over herself.

“That’s okay. I hope you win when you go to the court.”

•  •  •

Ben smiled briefly at Mrs. Gilman as he walked to the garage, avoiding eye contact. If he let her catch him, she’d talk for ten minutes straight about everything from the trash the postal workers dropped when they cut through their street to her wishes that they could fence off the road completely.

Their hidden road, a private way behind busy Centre Street, was only fifteen minutes from downtown Boston, but if you never left their porch, you wouldn’t have a clue that they lived close to the heart of the city.

Their large house was barely in his salary range when they bought it before they married, but now it was worth more than four times what they paid. Maybe higher. Each year Jamaica Plain, which everyone called JP, became more desirable for being diverse and hip. In his estimation, when the new people moving in said
diverse
, it was code
for living with people who were admirably different in skin or church while comfortably similar in bank accounts. You didn’t see them screaming to diversify their way into the housing projects half a mile away. He’d grown up here in JP and hated listening to residents of two years who knew exactly what “they” needed.

Before leaving, he used an old library card to scrape off the damn bird crap that ended up on his window every morning. He kept telling Maddy to pull up so he could get out from underneath the tree that seemed to be home to every sparrow in the city. Maddy called his car his mistress—and he laughed—but she couldn’t be further from the truth. Nobody would consider a V8 female. Not only was the car a guy, it reminded him of the kids he’d grown up with in Jamaica Plain, before JP became cool. His parents’ house was in Moss Hill, the rich part of the neighborhood, but Ben hung out near the not-affluent Monument. He still remembered the afternoon one of his friends’ brothers drove up with a brand-new 1985 Camaro IROC-Z and took them out on the expressway. Jesus. The ride felt closer to flying than driving.

Two years ago, when he came home with his own airborne car, he couldn’t predict whether Maddy would scream or smile. He hadn’t told her he planned to celebrate his promotion to senior attorney by buying his own flying Camaro, a 2010 SS V8. An entirely inappropriate car—one that didn’t safely fit the whole family—but damn it, he could fly from zero to sixty in less than five seconds. In thirteen seconds he’d be over 110 mph. None of which he told Maddy, instead passing the Camaro off as a friendly fun car. The kids will love it! Look at how magnificent! Imagine the two of us zooming to the Cape when the kids are with your parents!

He didn’t mention how those sexy looks, that long beveled hood, made the car drive a bit big, hardly perfect for twisty skinny roads, and forget checking over your shoulder or counting on the rearview mirror. Changing lanes was sometimes a point-and-go affair, but the Camaro had muscle.

He’d given Maddy his love-me-I’m-just-a-kid grin. A Jewish girl who grew up in leafy prosperous Brookline, surrounded by books
and good intentions—how could she understand his Boston-boy romance with a car like this one?

BOOK: Accidents of Marriage
7.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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