An Ex to Grind (32 page)

"Not me," I said, waving her off. "I never cry."

"Maybe that's why you're alone," she said and disappeared inside her apartment.

What did she know, I told myself. Besides, I wasn't going to be alone for long. There were only three weeks to go before Dan would lose the spousal support and I'd be there to comfort him and Desiree would be there to comfort Leah. A nice, tidy ending.

On Saturday flight, I was home working when Mrs. Thornberg called. She asked why I hadn't come by to see her lately. She said she missed me.

"I miss you too," I said, because in a weird way I did. She was one of the few people I hadn't alienated, and stepping up and taking care of her when nobody else would mitigated how crappy I was feeling about myself.

"I'm about to make egg salad, and I always put a few secret ingredients into it," she said. "I could fix you a sandwich and we could eat and watch TV together."

Okay, maybe she
was
a mother figure. All I can say is I didn't hate being with her, so I took her up on her offer and went to her apartment.

She kissed me hello and told me I could afford to lose a few pounds and asked me to open the new jar of relish that she'd been struggling with for an hour. (The relish was one of her secret ingredients; the other was celery salt.) We ate the sandwiches on tray tables in front of her tiny television set.

"Your ex is still hot and heavy with the dope fiend," she said during a commercial. "I heard them go out a few hours ago. I thought about telling them to quit slamming the door every time they leave, but I was too tired."

"I have a feeling they won't last much longer," I said with a smug little smile.

She turned down the volume on the remote and looked at me. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a hunch." I wasn't about to blurt out the truth, given the negative reaction I'd gotten from Evan.

"I don't know that I agree with your hunch," she said, shaking her balding head. "They're still breaking the sound barrier at night, if you get my drift."

I laughed. "I get your drift, but I wouldn't put much stock in it," I said.

Of course he's still having sex with her, I thought. Guilty-conscious sex, because he'd rather be making love to me, given the choice. If he only knew how I felt—if I came right out and told him—he'd be overjoyed and we'd be back together and he wouldn't have to fake orgasms anymore.

Well, I just assumed that's what he was doing.

After Larry King's weekend show was over, Mrs. Thornberg's eyelids began to get heavy. I helped her up from her chair, eased her into her nightgown, tucked her under the covers, and plopped her dentures into the cleanser.

"You want to stay in the guest room again?" she gummed, gripping my hand so hard it hurt.

"I've got to get home to my dog," I said, "but I'll stay until you're asleep."

"You're a good girl."

I sat at her bedside for another fifteen minutes or so. By then she was off to dreamland and the circulation in my hand had returned.

I leaned over and adjusted the covers just the way she liked them, then tiptoed out of the bedroom, through the apartment into the foyer.

I had only opened her front door a crack when I heard Dan's voice.

"I've never had such a great time sitting in a dark movie theater," he said between laughs. "I didn't even mind that the movie stunk."

Leah responded with her own ha ha ha. "You didn't see the movie, Swainy. You were too busy making out with me."

The vein in my temple bulged—my Dan vein—and I felt a rush of jealousy until I persuaded myself that Dan had only engaged in guilty-conscious making out; that he would much rather have been making out with me, given the choice.

I opened the door a little wider so I could take a peek at my ex and his cohabitator. He was fumbling in his pocket for his keys while she was hanging all over him.

"I think we should plan to stay home every night next week," she said. "We'll have Buster, and I know how you value your time with him. Mel may leave him alone a lot, but we don't have to."

The nerve! Mel did not leave Buster alone a lot! Mel was not an unfit mother! Mel took better care of her dog than Leah ever could!

Okay, so I'd left him alone that night, but he was happy with his toys and his food and his comfy bed. And I was only gone a couple of hours. How dare she!

I waited until they were inside the apartment before scurrying out of Mrs. Thornberg's, into the elevator, down to the lobby. When I got home, I hugged Buster and gave him one of his favorite biscuit treats and told him how much I loved him no matter what anybody said. He responded by having a coughing fit. I asked his forgiveness for involving him in my devious plot to get Dan back, and the coughing subsided.

I woke up Sunday morning, went into the kitchen to make myself some coffee, and found Buster standing near his food bowl coughing again.

"Did something get caught in the old windpipe, Busty?"

Just as I kneeled down to check him, he collapsed. Collapsed! I swear to God, it was the most terrifying sight I'd ever witnessed, and I screamed like a person whose beloved dog had just died. As far as I knew, he had died.

I lay on the floor next to him and ran my hand along his chest, on his heart, feeling for a beat, a pulse, a breath, something.

Yes! There was a pulse! He was still breathing! But how could he have fainted? He was healthy. I'd only pretended he wasn't.

I called Dan, hysterical. He came over in a flash. By the time he arrived, Buster had revived but was still a little out of it.

"You probably don't believe me after all the false alarms," I said, "but he was coughing one minute and out cold the next." I was being punished for my Manchausen by Proxy, I just knew it. Watching my dog nearly die was my penance for all my misdeeds. My wake-up call.
I
should have been the one who was struck down, not poor, innocent Buster.

"Of course I believe you," said Dan, because I'd done such a good job of keeping him in the dark. "Let's get him examined."

When we brought Buster in, Patrick Kelly, our vet, was waiting for us, along with his wife, Olivia, his nurse and trusty right hand. It was heartening that there was at least one doctor in America who actually answered his pager on a weekend. Even more heartening was that he didn't treat me like the lying, scheming, wolf-crying psycho I was, but rather listened intently to my description of Buster's symptoms, nodding solemnly, and then assuring me he would run every relevant test.

"Can we be in there with Buster while you examine him?" I asked, clutching Dan's hand as fiercely as he was clutching mine.

"Why not let me have a look at him first," said Patrick. "He'll be okay, I promise. It may be a while, though, so try to relax. Both of you."

Dan and I sat alone in the waiting room, which was wallpapered with cartoonlike shapes of animals. There were no other anxious pet parents sitting beside us. Just us and the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

I turned to my ex. "I won't be able to handle it if I lose Buster."

He pulled me to him, wrapped me in his arms, and said very softly, "Neither will I, but we won't lose him. We can't."

We remained like that, holding each other, for what seemed like forever, the way it always does when you're waiting for word of a loved one's medical condition. As we sat in silence, I berated myself over and over for exploiting my dog. It was my fault that he was sick. I had caused him to collapse by my willful, selfish behavior. If I had just gone along with the divorce settlement as Robin had advised, if I had stopped being bitter and angry, if I had focused less on the money I was losing and more on the reasons my marriage had failed, Buster wouldn't have collapsed on my kitchen floor.
I
was to blame, but it was time to make things right.

I glanced at Dan as he continued to hold me and thought, If I'm truly sorry for what I've done, I need to tell him the truth.

No, not the truth about tricking him out of the alimony—I couldn't even contemplate losing him
and
Buster—but the truth about my feelings for him. I couldn't wait for the alimony to terminate. I didn't care if the alimony
did
terminate. All I wanted was my man—the first and only man I'd ever loved—and this was the moment to reclaim him; this moment when I needed to believe that my world wasn't crashing down around me.

"Dan?" I began. I pulled away so I could face him.

"I know," he said. "I'm scared shitless too."

I nodded. "But it helps to have each other to lean on, doesn't it? I mean, if you have to go through something like this, it's a little easier when you have history with the other person, right?"

He squeezed my hand. "No question. And we had some first-rate history, darlin'."

I smiled, hopeful. "The thing is, we've been getting along so well lately that I'm almost wondering why we ever split up."

"It
has
been nice these past couple of months. Can't argue with you there."

Okay, I told myself. He's clearly on the same page as I am. He's been burned by me in the past, so he's not about to come right out and tell me he still loves me. It's only natural that I'll have to be the one to reach out to him. Only fitting.

"Dan," I began again, "I hope you know how excited I am about the L.I.U. job and how proud I am of you for going after it."

"I've always wanted to make you proud of me. When we were married, that's practically all I thought about."

"What about now?" I said tentatively. I didn't realize how difficult it would be to just spit it out. I was more afraid of rejection than I realized.

"Now?"

"Do you think about me even though we're not married anymore?"

"Of course I do. You're the mother of my dog." He laughed. "And he's gonna be fine. I'm telling you."

"He is," I said. "But, Dan, I was referring to the two of us. I know
I was the one who walked out of the marriage and up until fairly recently I was very angry at you, but—"

"I gave you good reason to be angry."

"Yes, but I let my anger blind me to the amazing person you are. You had your problems, granted, but you also put me through school and took care of me and introduced me to potential clients."

"I did it out of love, Mel. Simple as that."

"Right. And while we're on the subject of love, there's something I need to say." My mouth was dry and my armpits were soaked. I was a nervous wreck. Not only was my dog's life hanging in the balance, but so was my own. Or so it felt.

"Say whatever's on your mind. You can tell me anything."

"Can I?"

"I'm still here for you, Mel. I always will be. Have I done and said hurtful things to you? Yeah. But underneath it all, I still care. Never doubt that."

He still cared. He said it. All I had to do was tell him I wanted him back and we'd live happily ever after.

"I still care too," I said.

He gave my hand another squeeze. "I'm glad. This is so much better than fighting."

"It is," I said, growing frustrated with all the buddy-buddy stuff, "but I'm not sure you understand what I mean."

"I think I do," he said. "We've got the history. We've got the bond. We've got Buster. So from now on, we're playing on the same team."

Nope. He didn't understand.

I took a huge breath, cleared my throat. "Okay, Dan. Here it is, in a nutshell: I want us to reconcile."

On the word
reconcile
, a fire truck came speeding past Dr. Kelly's ground-level office windows, its siren obliterating all other sound.

"You want us to
what
?" said Dan, cupping his ear and reminding me of Jed Ornbacher.

"I want us to get back together," I tried again. Louder. "I love you. Still. Now. Always. Please tell me you love me too, so we can rip up the divorce papers and start fresh."

He shook his head and shrugged helplessly. Two more fire trucks had whizzed by during my declaration, and he hadn't heard a single syllable I'd said.

I waited several seconds until I thought the coast might actually be clear, and tried yet again. "I want to be your—"

"Melanie. Dan." It was Patrick.

Dan and I jumped up. "How's Buster?" we asked in unison.

"Stable," he said. "I've got one more test to run. Then we'll talk. I just came out to make sure you were both okay."

We bombarded him with questions, all of which he promised to answer shortly. After he was gone, Dan and I sat back down. He turned to me. "You were about to tell me something."

"Right." I prepared myself for the big speech. Again. "I—"

"Mel." He took my hand in his. "I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

"Sure. But you don't have to keep apologizing. The blame cuts both ways. We were a couple of crazy kids who didn't have a clue how to be in a marriage. We did the best we could."

Not exactly what I was going to say, but he did mention marriage, which was a place to start. "And now that we're older and wiser," I persevered, "we can have another crack at it."

He beamed. "Wow. You totally read my mind."

"Oh, Dan. Really?" Now it was my turn to beam.

"You bet. I've decided I
can
have another crack at it."

I lowered my eyes shyly.

"With Leah," he said.

My head jerked up. "
What
?"

"I wasn't planning on telling you today," he went on, "but maybe my good news will cheer you up."

"What good news? I'm not following you," was all I could manage. I was suddenly very cold. I felt my teeth begin to chatter.

He gave me another high-wattage grin while I started playing with my hair, twisting it, curling it, tying the ends in knots. "You know how you kept asking me if Leah and I were getting serious and I kept saying no way?"

Not only were my teeth chattering and my fingers getting tangled in my hair, but there was a stabbing pain above my right eye, sort of like an ice cream headache.

"Well, we
are
serious," he said, without waiting for me to respond. "So serious we're engaged."

"
Engaged
?" This wasn't happening. It simply wasn't happening. I had envisioned several scenarios but never this one.