December Boys (7 page)

My mother-in-law was the worst cook I’d ever met. Every meal she made the same: indiscernible variations of low-sodium boiled meats in bland, pale gravies. The woman seemed to have a real aversion to flavor.

The condo spread out in typical condo fashion, condensed quarters cut up for single-person living, a place where old people could enjoy pastel and things not meant to be touched well into their golden years. Best I could tell, there were about fifty units in the complex. I’d bet dollars to donuts, they were all decorated like this one, with ugly paintings of giant watercolored lilies in gilded frames, fake Greek columns and too many mirrors.

I sat down in the chair. Lynne had family photographs propped up on glass end tables. Pictures of Jenny. Pictures of Aiden. Pictures of Jenny and Aiden. I saw one with me in it, out of focus, relegated to the background.

“Jenny says you two have been having trouble? Can I get you coffee? Tea?”

“No. Thanks. And I wouldn’t say we’ve been having trouble. We’re happily married.” I knew the “happily” was a stretch. Right then “married” felt like pushing it. “The year’s been stressful. New job. Moving.” I didn’t add the part about witnessing my brother’s violent death.

“Of course marriage is hard,” Lynne said. Then after a slow pause, “Although without the misery of marriage, one can’t know the joy of divorce.” She laughed.

“No one’s getting divorced.”

“Relax, I wasn’t talking about you, Jay.” As if my inference was out of left field. “Just a joke I heard a comedian make the other night. I was talking about me. The best years of my life came after I divorced Jenny’s father.”

“Jenny doesn’t talk about her dad much.”

“Why would she? He’s worthless. As a husband. As a father. As a man. Couldn’t hold down a job for more than a year without screwing it up.” Lynne smoothed her hands. “By the way, how is your new job? What are you doing? Selling insurance? Jenny says you aren’t happy there.”

“Claims investigations,” I corrected her. “That’s why I wanted to see Jenny, actually. Tell her the good news in person. I solved a big case. Saved the company tons of money. I’m up for a promotion. We’ll be relocating to the main office down in Concord.” I couldn’t resist rubbing her nose in it, even if I was jumping the gun. This woman had sold me short since the day we met.

“That’s wonderful,” Lynne said, though her dour expression didn’t match the cheerful encouragement. “I’m so glad to hear that, Jay.”

“I thought you’d be upset.”

“Why would I be upset?”

“Concord is pretty far. Won’t get to see Jenny and Aiden as much.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’ll find a way. Besides, I want what’s best for my daughter. I don’t think someone her age—especially a mother—should be a cocktail waitress, do you?”

The door pushed open, and I heard my son’s voice, followed by my wife’s.

“Is that Jay’s truck outside?” Jenny said from the condo landing.

My son ran in the room. “Daddy!” Aiden shrieked and jumped into my arms. I gave him a big dad hug.

“Hey, little man. You miss me?”

He nodded.

“How much?”

Aiden squinched an eye. “Um. Infinity plus sixty-one plus seventy-four plus ninety
-nine
!”

I pulled back, flabbergasted. “Whoa. That much? That’s a lot!”

My son wrapped his arms around my neck super tight. Only a couple days had passed but just feeling his skin against mine made me whole again. I was feeling great. Kicking ass at work. Center of my boy’s world. When I saw Jenny’s smiling eyes, like she was actually happy to see me, I felt like nothing could bring me down.

Then I saw him.

Clean cut, strong chin, commanding presence. He reminded me of that smug prick Adam Lombardi, the way he stood there in his crisp collar, oozing self-confidence.

“Hi,” he said, slipping past my wife. “I’m Stephen. You must be Jay.” He held out a hand.

I set my son down, and stared at my wife. I turned back to Lynne, who practically tittered with satisfaction.

“I thought you said Jenny was out with a friend?”

“Yes,” Lynne offered without apology. “Stephen lives upstairs.” She waited. “He’s an investment banker. At Morgan Stanley.”

Stephen shrugged his broad shoulders, dismissing the no-doubt hefty six-figure salary. He flashed me a megawatt. “So Jenny tells me you . . . sell insurance?”

“No. I don’t sell insurance. I investigate insurance claims.”

Stephen and my mother-in-law exchanged a look, eyebrows raised, like I was missing the joke. I hated when people did that.

“Jenny,” Lynne said to my wife. “Jay has good news. He just—” My mother-in-law gazed at me in earnest. “I’m sorry. What did you say? Solved a policy?”

“I told you. I don’t sell insurance.”

“My bad,” Lynne said, then back to Jenny: “But he did do something good, I remember that.”

Lynne and Stephen laughed.

“What the fuck is going on?” I said.

Lynne gasped, like she’d never heard the word fuck before. No way some guy hadn’t dropped a few f-bombs on her before now.

Jenny gave me the death stare. I didn’t care. I was the odd man out, the third wheel in this scenario. Me, the husband. This was bullshit.

“I should be going,” Stephen said.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that, Stephen.” I stressed his name, which was a stupid name for guy. Your parents saddle you with that one, you go with Steve. Nobody called him “Stephen McQueen.”

The bastard locked on eyes with me. Not long, fleeting. But long enough to issue the challenge. Consider the gauntlet thrown down, fucker.

Then, right there in front of me, the sonofabitch had the nerve to take my wife’s hand. “I had a nice time today.” He gazed back at me with manufactured civility. “Nice meeting you, Jay.” But the nail? He called over Aiden,
my
son, who didn’t know better. Crouching down eye level with him, Stephen said, “Next time we’ll work on keeping your eye on the ball, slugger.” Then he tousled his hair. Put his fucking hand right on my kid’s head.

I’ve never been good at regulating emotions in the heat of the moment. Especially where other men were concerned. Once that lizard switch gets tripped, there’s no going back.

Wedging by my wife, I took Stephen by his fancy-boy collar and shoved him against the wall.

“Jay!” Jenny shouted.

I got in his face. “Listen, asshole. You stay the hell away from my family.”

Stephen held up his hands. “Hey. Whoa. I think there’s been a—”

“Don’t play that bullshit with me.”

“Aiden, come with Grandma in the kitchen,” Lynne said, like she hadn’t orchestrated this entire scene. My boy stared up at me, eyes widened in confusion, as my mother-in-law dragged him away from his lunatic father.

I drew back my clenched fist, ready to break Stephen’s jaw. Maybe I’d have only punched the wall by the side of his head to scare him. I don’t know. Probably the first one. But Jenny grabbed my cocked fist and pulled me off before we had the chance to find out.

“I’m going to go,” Stephen mumbled, fumbling for the knob, squeaking outside.

“Yeah, you do that, asshole.” I panted, overheating, a bull.

When I turned around and saw the mix of horror and disgust on my wife’s face, I knew I’d fucked up.

Jenny didn’t need to say it. But she did anyway.

“Jay, you need to leave. Now. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk to you again. Until then, I don’t want to hear your voice. I don’t want to see your face. Stay away from me.”

I
SPED ALONG
the winding, tortuous route east as light snow began to fall. A dusting coated the roads, sweeping small pirouettes across the empty lanes. I lit a cigarette and punched the wheel, back tires fishtailing with the blow. I accelerated around a hairpin, tempting fate. What the fuck was I doing?
When you’re standing on thin ice, you don’t jump up and down.

Even though I knew Stephen, if given half the chance, would try to sleep with my wife—because he was a guy and that’s what guys do—my opinion on the subject didn’t matter. You can see whatever you want to see—if nobody else sees it, what good does it do you? Invisible trees get chopped down in the forest all day long.

Out the window, Douglas firs and evergreen tips bowed with the wind. The spare change in my cup quaked as the earth shook. I couldn’t tell if a storm was brewing or I was driving way faster than I should. My big Chevy block thrummed, rattled. I checked my speedometer, needle pushing fifty around tight curves intended for twenty-five. I saw a call come in on my cell in the center console. I glanced down and ignored it. If Jenny wasn’t on the line, I didn’t give a shit.

Donna Olisky had badgered me all afternoon, ringing every hour on the hour, forcing me to put the phone on vibrate. I knew keeping her in the dark was lousy, and that I’d have to talk to her sooner or later. But you can’t report back on what you don’t know.

My botched afternoon in Burlington wasn’t Donna’s fault, but favors still cost extra—you don’t get to look out for someone else’s well-being until you’ve taken care of your own.

Didn’t help that my defense was inadmissible. As sure as every winter up here promises misery, I knew Lynne had manipulated that whole charade. A plan had been set in motion months ago: wait for a vulnerable moment to unleash the young, urban professional upstairs, whose pump Lynne had surely been priming since the day she moved in. And I’d played right into the trap. But you can’t prove intent, and lunch is still lunch. I couldn’t accuse Jenny of anything other than being hungry.

Coming up on the 302 split, I fought temptation to flip a bitch and bull my way back to Lake Champlain. Stand my ground until Jenny heard me out. If given enough time, I could usually stumble across the right words. If the extra rope didn’t hang me first. Saner instincts prevailed, and I stayed the course.

Even though my wife had thrown me out of her mother’s house, I still had faith I could repair the damage. Jenny was good about accepting apologies. When she calmed down. I needed to stay away for a while, bite my tongue, wait till she returned from enemy soil.

What pissed me off most, I hadn’t been able to give Jenny the good news about my promotion. Which had been the whole point of going up to Burlington in the first place. My mother-in-law had bowled my legs from under me, shortchanging my big score, and leaving me no choice but to split, a loser.

My cigarette died out. I lit another. My phone buzzed again. I picked up the cell and saw the name on the screen. But it wasn’t Donna, and it wasn’t my wife. Sometimes I wondered if the universe delighted in screwing with me. I put it to my ear.

“Hey,” said the cool female voice. “It’s Nicki.”

I didn’t respond right way, molars powdering enamel to keep from screaming.

“From the courthouse?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“So, you free to grab that drink now?”

I had to end this now. Nothing good could come of it. I’m a happily married father. I don’t screw around.

“Listen,” I said, attempting tack. “You seem like a nice girl, Nicki. But I’m married—”

“Yeah. I know, I saw the ring. Sorry about that.” She laughed. Well, less a laugh and more a mocking jeer. “It was shitty of me.”

“Sorry?”

“Y’know, how I was with you earlier, playing. I thought interning at a courthouse would be fun. Or at least a good experience. Get course credit, walk away with a few stories to tell. But it’s
so
boring. All I do is sit in that little box, filing paperwork. All. Day. Long. Can’t even check Facebook on my phone. The only way I can pass the time is hitting on old married guys. Lame, I know. But it’s entertaining watching how nervous they get.”

Old? I’m not old. Since when is thirty-one old?

“Not that you’re old,” she added.

Talk about a bitch slap. I’d gone from worrying about how to let her down easy to getting batted around like a wounded mouse for the amusement of a house cat. I could practically hear her licking the blood from her claws, satisfied with another kill.

“I want to show you something,” she said. When I didn’t respond right away, she added, “We can meet in a well-lit, public place if you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried. I’m busy.”

“I have information about your friend, Brian.”

“Where is he?” My self-worth had taken enough of a hit for
one day. I wanted back in front of my TV, sweats and a tee, beer in hand. Pop in a DVD and forget this whole rotten day. Mocked by yuppies and college girls. Does it get any worse?

“Place called the North River Institute.”

“North River?”

“Listen,” Nicki said, “it’s too complicated to explain over the phone. So here’s what I’m going to do. I am stopping for a drink at the Chop Shop. It’s a steakhouse slash cocktail bar a few blocks from the courthouse. Corner of Main and Laramie. If you want my help, I’ll be there for the next hour. Or until I find something better to do. If not, nice meeting you, Jay.”

* * *

Nicki sat at a small table by the bar, twirling the tiny umbrella between her fingers. Being allowed in the bar meant she had to be at least twenty-one, not that Longmont County cared any more than the rest of New Hampshire when it came to following the letter of the law. But if she was working at the courthouse, I couldn’t see her using a fake ID. She might be brazen, but that con was short-lived. She spied me and took another sip of her fizzy pink cocktail. A tall, untouched pint sat across from her. I wondered if I was interrupting something. The rest of the bar was empty.

“You strike me as a beer guy.” She slid over the glass. “Crowd will pick up in about fifteen when the courthouse closes for the day. Good luck getting a drink then.”

I stared down at the beer, then at her, still deciding whether I wanted to sit with this girl.

“Truce,” she said, nudging forward the frothy pint.

“I didn’t realize we knew each other well enough to be fighting.”

Nicki cocked her head. “Not yet,” she cooed, before biting a lip. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

A giant picture of a dissected cow hung on the wall behind her, illustrating the various cuts of beef.

“Have a seat. I won’t bite, promise.”