Housebreaking (13 page)

“No. I figured you would want to do that.”

Benjamin nodded. “I'll tell them at Thanksgiving.”

Judy looked at her watch. “I have to get going.”

“Yeah. I should get back to the party.”

“Don't you want to talk to the nurse?”

“No. You're right,” said Benjamin. “I'll hire a Polish girl.”

“Don't forget to ask for one over eighteen.”

He frowned.

“I'm joking,” said Judy quickly. “Don't make that face. You're too old for au pairs anyway.”

“What face?”

“You look like the Italian soccer players when they hold their arms out after a penalty flag.
Why me
?
”

She was right; he'd seen himself with that very look in photographs. She'd spent more time looking at him than anyone else. Who else knew him as well as Judy?

She went off toward the elevator. He waited for her to turn and wave. But the bell rang, the doors opened, and she was gone.

* * *

BENJAMIN HEADED HOME
with the taste of lemon meringue pie on his lips. Turning in to his driveway, he noticed Franky DiLorenzo coming toward him, waving to get his attention.

Benjamin rolled down the window.

“Did you hear about Juniper Lane?”

“No,” said Benjamin. “What happened?”

Franky DiLorenzo was what the salesmen called a space invader; he got very close to you in conversation. “Somebody broke into half the cars and garages on the street. Took everything that wasn't nailed down. They kicked in Syd Goldman's back door and set off his alarm.”

“Did they catch him?”

Franky shook his head. “You gotta keep everything locked up around here, ever since that Stacks kid moved into the neighborhood.”

“You really think he's the one?”

“I got no proof. But it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. I hope he tries something at my house. I really do.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“How's your dad?”

“Much better. They're moving him to a rehab place.”

“That's good news.”

A long silence followed with Franky DiLorenzo standing by the driver's door, his eyes passing over the front yard. What did he see with those
intense dark eyes? Things Benjamin wouldn't notice—something out of place or needful of repair: a lack of mulch, a patch of uncut shrubs, a dog turd left by some negligent neighbor to stink and harden.

“Well—” said Benjamin, and at the same moment Franky said, “You said you went to high school with Audrey Martin?”

“Yes, the same.”

Franky lowered his voice. “She came by with her dog when you weren't here.”

“When was this?”

“A few hours ago.”

“We're old friends,” Benjamin blurted.

Franky nodded, but Benjamin suspected he wasn't convinced. Would Franky mention this tidbit to anyone? It made for good gossip, something Franky might find hard to resist. Franky's eyes were still on him, so Benjamin added, “I've been trying to patch things up with Judy.”

Franky seemed satisfied. “Say hi to your dad for me.”

“Will do,” said Benjamin.

Benjamin pulled into his garage. He wondered if it was true:
Was
he trying to get back together with Judy? Was such a thing possible, even if he wanted to? Seeing her at the hospital had rekindled a desire for her, had alleviated a weight that had been creeping over him. In her presence he had felt his old sense of equilibrium. Yes, he'd fucked up his marriage with his
behaviors
(as their therapist had put it), which had caused
marital stressors
, so in theory he should be able to win her back with some
good behaviors
. But did he even want to? True, he missed his kids, his house, his life. But did he miss
Judy
or the idea of her—the idea of their family? If he wanted her back, he'd have to work. He wondered if he had the energy for all that. That, and he'd lose his freedom, and everything that came with it. Audrey Martin, for one.

Inside the house he picked up the phone.

“Are you free?”

* * *

THEY ARRANGED TO
meet at Starbucks in Wintonbury Center.

He got there first and ordered a coffee and settled at one of the tables in the back. A minute later she came through the door. Benjamin folded the newspaper and pushed it aside. “You look incredible.”

She wore a clingy tan dress and heels. “No panties, as requested.”

He grinned. “I guess it's true, what they say: You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops.”

Audrey took the chair beside him with a little sexy frown. “You don't think I'm a nice girl?”

“That's a line from a song,” he explained. “Tom Waits.”

“Oh.”

A man wearing a Red Sox cap passed by their table, barking into his cell phone: “I don't need anyone to tell me that. I know that all by myself, amigo.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Hell is other people with cell phones.”

“Another song lyric?”

“A line from a play, sort of.”

“We know different stuff.”

“You know the good things.”

“Like what?”

“Manners, for one. You put down your newspaper when I came in. My husband hasn't done that for twenty years.”

He smiled. “What else?”

“How to look at a woman.”

“How do I look at you?”

“With a sort of reverence. Like I'm still eighteen, still perfect.”

“You are perfect.”

“Hardly.” She moved closer to him. “If you had such a crush on me back then, why didn't you ask me out?”

“I couldn't muster the courage. But you talked to me on two different occasions.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “I remember it like yesterday. The first time I was sitting on the stone wall behind the chapel, playing ‘Hotel California' on my Gibson. It was springtime. You walked by and hesitated for a half second and said, ‘That sounds really good.' I nearly fumbled my pick, I was so nervous.”

“I always liked the Eagles. What about the other time?”

“Well, that's a sadder story,” he said. “It was winter. I was waiting for my mom to pick me up in the courtyard after school, freezing my ass off. You came out of the entrance and looked around and asked me, ‘Have
you seen Hal Nance? Did he come out here?' You didn't have a coat on. You were crying and wiping your nose. I shook my head and asked, ‘Is everything okay?' and you said, ‘No, everything is definitely
not
okay.' Then you turned around and went back into the building.”

“Hal Nance,” she sighed. “He broke my heart so many times.”

“All the girls liked him. Although I have no idea why. He seemed pretty obnoxious to me.”

“But he looked so good in his lacrosse uniform. There's something about a man wearing short shorts and a funny helmet.”

“I was always a baseball cap sort of guy.”

“Could I have been any dumber? And there you were, right under my nose, playing your Gibson.” She reached under the table and felt for his crotch. She rubbed until his cock got hard. “Should we go to your place?”

“Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said.

“Is your dad back?”

“No. But my next-door neighbor—”

“The skinny guy?”

“Yes, Franky DiLorenzo. He saw you come to the house—”

“He's always watching! Every time I step outside he waves to me.” She glanced out the window at the people passing on the sidewalk. Wintonbury had a busy downtown, particularly during the early evening hours: couples going into restaurants, young professionals tromping from bar to bar, husbands and wives strolling with their kids, window-shoppers, the stray loner. “What did he say?”

“Nothing specific, but I think he suspects something's going on between us.”

She searched his eyes. “Are you keeping something from me?”

“Of course not. I just thought you should know. This is a pretty small town. It might seem bigger than it really is.”

“I see.” She seemed lost in thought for a few moments. “Thanks for telling me. For looking out for me.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should care, but I don't. I don't know anyone here. I haven't met a single soul besides you.”

“What about your husband?”

“Andrew?” She laughed. “That's the last thing I'm concerned about.”

“Past that stage?”

“Exactly.” She smiled. “Where are we going?” she asked, rubbing his cock through his pants again. “A sleazy motel would be nice.”

“Somewhere closer, I think. It's getting to be a bit urgent.”

“I can tell,” she said.

From the bathroom came the sound of the toilet flushing, then the door opening and the cell phone guy coming down the hall, his voice growing louder. “Tomorrow's no good,” he said. “I got a two-thirty tomorrow.”

After he passed, Audrey got up. “I'm going to the ladies',” she whispered into his ear. “Give me one minute.”

She left, not looking back. He heard her go inside the bathroom. The coffee shop was crowded, every chair filled—the high school girls bunched together at their table, the servers at their stations, the customers lining up to order. Reggae music pulsed, bass-heavy and repetitious. No one seemed to be watching him.

He got up and went down the back hallway and took a sip of water at the fountain. When he knocked, she opened the door immediately and pulled him inside and locked the door behind. The bathroom was bright, smelling of ammonia. He opened his zipper and took out his cock, the head bulging.

“Bend over,” he said.

She raised her dress and grabbed the handicap bar with both hands, her legs spread.

Halfway through someone rattled the door handle. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.

“Shhh,” whispered Benjamin.

A minute later there came a knock at the door.

Audrey called out, “Diarrhea. Sorry.”

Whoever it was went away.

* * *

BACK AT
their table, he said, “I really needed that.”

“I could tell.” She straightened her dress and wriggled a bit in her seat. “What's next,” she asked. “Dunkin' Donuts?”

He could feel his face taking on a vacant after-sex expression. “Maybe a motel next time. What do you think?”

“Don't worry about me. Your place is fine. If you don't mind, that is.”

“It's fine for now. But my dad will be coming back soon.” Before the idea fully formed he said, “I could rent an apartment in town.”

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever works best for you.”

He smiled, the thought growing on him. “And you could still bring the dog, of course. I'll find a place that allows pets.”

Her eyes widened and she straightened in her chair, looking past him toward the street. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” He turned to follow her gaze. “What's the matter?”

“I can't believe it.”

“What? Tell me.”

“Andrew just walked by.”

Benjamin tensed. “Your husband? You're kidding, right?”

She laughed. “No.”

“Did he see you?”

“No. He was with some guy I've never seen before.”

“Maybe he followed you.”

She shook her head. “He was at the office when I left home. He called to say he'd be working late.” She started giggling again.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It just seems funny, him walking by, looking so serious. And you just fucked the daylights out of me. I'm still tingling all over.”

“Seriously. Should we go?”

She scoffed. “We're fine. Even if he came in here and ordered a decaf, he wouldn't notice me.”

“I doubt that.”

“If he did notice, I'd tell him you're my vehicular adviser. But he's not coming in, so stop worrying. Even though you look kind of sexy with that furrow.”

He sat back in his chair, his heart beginning to calm. “You're pretty terrific, Audrey Martin.”

“So you tell me.”

* * *

SHE CAME BACK
to his house later that evening, so that he could make love to her properly, and he saw her the next night and the night after that and nearly every night over the next two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. They dropped most of the formalities: the den, the fire, the red wine, the small talk. Instead, they went straight to his bedroom, undressing on the way up the stairs. Sometimes she would stay for only ten or fifteen minutes, leaving him naked and out of breath on his twin bed, the sound of
her footsteps trailing down the stairs. Always, she brought the malamute. She rejected the motel idea. For now, it was easier for her, she said, to make the little detour up his driveway on her nightly walk. He enjoyed the secrecy and the anticipation. It came to seem almost routine—this stretch of days that would later seem so manic and vital and extraordinary to him—racing from work to the rehab center to home, taking a quick shower, turning off the exterior lights so no one could see her heading up the driveway, keeping a lookout for her from the front window. The moment she stepped onto the porch, he would swing open the door and pull her into his embrace, the same way she'd pulled him into the Starbucks restroom. He knew it couldn't go on like this. His father would be home soon, and he needed to make arrangements, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything outside of the moment, this
Audrey
moment. After making love, if they had time, he would run his hands over her—caressing, massaging, kneading; he loved the feel of her—but if he tried to tell her how much he cared for her, or direct the conversation away from the commonplace, she would stiffen and cut him off. And after her first meltdown, he didn't want to risk another by provoking her. Besides, it was enough having her beside him nearly every night, possessing her, even if only for a short time.