Leaving Amy (Amy #2) (10 page)

“Jim, I’m so sorry. Your mom is so sweet. No one deserves that.”

“That’s why your dad was going to help my mom.” He picked at his jeans. “She went to him to ask questions about a divorce. Dad found out and gave her a busted lip.”

I noticed his hands balled into a fist.

“She said she tripped on the stairs in the basement.” He shook his head. “All those times, I never put it together. What a fool I was.”

I rubbed his shoulder as he lightly pounded his head with his fist.

“Why would you think anything different?”

He continued. “She said when your dad found out, he began seeing her secretly. You know, trying to help her.” He looked me in the eyes. “She said before they knew it, they were in love and he was the only one who could save her.”

I scrambled my brain for verification of any of these things he was attesting to.
Did Dad seem to be in love with another woman? What did he look like on Tuesday evenings?
I imagined him coming into the kitchen backdoor and dropping his briefcase before walking over to the cupboard and getting a glass to pour him some brandy.
Oh my God! Was he trying to drink away the fact he had to come home and pretend we were happy? Weren
’
t we happy? Was I just imagining the times he gave Mom a kiss and they both laughed at something she said? Did he have a mystery man trapped himself inside like Wesley did?

“I’m sorry; it’s just so hard for me to believe this.” No offense, but he was taking a knife to all my childhood memories of a perfect family.

“I wasn’t going to ever tell you, Amy. But when I saw you twice in the same month, I thought it was like a cosmic sign to share this. I don’t know who else to go to about it.” His eyes glassed up.

“What can I do for you, Jim? What does telling me about this do for you?” I was having a tough time formulating anything but shock in the purest form.

“It’s why I haven’t moved away. Yet I can’t go home for Thanksgiving.”

Okay, I saw his mom and dad come into work, so I know they’re still together.
Was that the problem? Was his dad still
…
?

“My mom told me that your dad was going to tell your mom about them. He knew what my dad was doing to her.”

“Did he?” My heart quickened. “Did my dad tell my mom?”

“He was going to when they went to Colorado. Then he was supposed to take Mom and move away with her. Somewhere Dad couldn’t hurt her anymore.”

Colorado.
That’s when their plane crashed. When they both died. Him before her.

“Of course he never made it back.” His head dipped down. “So Mom had no way out. That’s why I can’t leave. When I became older, I begged her to come with me and we’d go anywhere, but she won’t. I stay around to make sure Dad knows that I’ll knock the shit out of him if he goes near her with a raised hand.”

I held my head in my hands. I was caught somewhere between hearing him and believing him. Jim wasn’t the type to lie. Why would he? But if I believed my dad cheated, then my entire picture of him was crushed. Like Wesley’s.
Was there anyone left who I could trust?
Strangely, none of this made me hate Dad. But I didn’t understand him, either.

“Jim, I’m going to take a walk.” I stood up and dusted off the back of my pants. A slight woozy feeling made me second step.

“Amy, I’m sorry.” He got up and rubbed my arm.

“It’s okay. I’m just really confused right now. I’ll be back.”

I raced up toward the house, my thoughts running faster than me.
What if Dad came back and left Mom? Did Mom have a suspicion of Dad? Did I? Are we just stupid, naive women? Is it in our DNA? To be left, or to be cheated on? If I hated Wesley for what he did, do I hate Dad? I knew our problems; did I know Mom and Dad
’
s?

I opened that refrigerator, poured me a full cup of that rocket fuel and chugged. Tonight I didn’t want to think any more about it. I just wanted to drink this paradise and eat of its fruit. After the third cup, I didn’t remember anything else.

I felt cold.
Was I in the bathtub with water that
’
d sat too long? Was I asleep? Was it still dark outside?
Questions tapped on my subconscious, trying to get me to open my eyes. The muscles in my brow raised, helping my eyelids to do the rest. One at a time. The first attempt was blurry. I didn’t recognize the walls. Dark and not my apartment’s by any stretch of the imagination. Then I began to focus on what was in front of me. Another set of eyes. Brown ones. Watching me with a matching smile on his lips. I jumped.

“Wesley!” I looked down and saw a sheet. No wonder I was cold. I couldn’t feel any clothes on my body. I slowly opened the stiff percale sheet to see what I was praying wouldn’t be true.
Yes!
My bra was there. I was pretty sure I felt cotton underwear, too.

“Amy, I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”

I held the sheet taut to my body and searched his body for clothing. The top portion of him was clearly naked.
Please don
’
t tell me
…

“Don’t worry. I know what you’re thinking.” He opened the sheet and gave me a quick peek. Yep, that would be his tighty-whities.

“What happened?” I stretched my mouth, trying to shake the feeling of fuzz on my tongue.

“Well, for starters, you’re a complete lightweight when it comes to alcohol. You should know that.” His brow furrowed. “I found you on the kitchen counter, singing to some dude playing a guitar.”

I grabbed my mouth. “No way.”

“Yes way. That’s when I threw you over my shoulder and carried you to the Jeep. It’s a good thing you didn’t puke in it. You waited until we got back here.”

I rubbed my aching head. It was pounding. “Was I at least singing well? Like, were there people enjoying it?”

“Amy!”

“I know, I know. That’s not the point. It’s just that I’ve always wanted to be a singer.”

“What?” His head jutted forward, his face contorted in disbelief.

“What?” I asked with a hint of innocence. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“Obviously. You don’t even sing in the car.”

“That’s because I don’t know the words to Def Leppard songs.”

“Point taken.”

I searched the blank walls for some type of recollection of the night before. It figures I was probably having fun, yet can’t remember a snippet from it. Although, now that I think about it, I did remember the guitar. Yes, there was a song I liked and then I recalled holding something, pretending it was a microphone. A longneck beer bottle? Oh my gosh, I could never see these people again. Not that that was something I feared. Half were still in college, I presumed.

“Care to tell me about the tattoo?”

I edged up on the pillow. “Care to tell me how I got this way?”

“Well, it turns out not only are you a lightweight, but a volatile little drunk. You must’ve hit me a dozen times trying to get you out of the clothes you’d puked on.”

Yes, it was all coming to me. I remembered someone pulling at my clothes. But I thought I was in a band.
What?
That was Wesley pulling me off stage, er, the kitchen counter?

“I wasn’t about to endure the hits in trying to get your pajamas on. I just left you to sleep in your underwear.”

My lips pouted. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“That’s quite all right. Now, back to your pretty little Wonder Woman stamp.” His eyebrows lifted.

“Why? Were you looking? I thought you were dressing me for bed, not performing an inspection.”

“I couldn’t help it. It’s right there.” He pointed to the sheet.

“It’s my alter ego.” I said it high and mighty-like, a little snoot of my nose turned upward.

He laughed. “Wonder Woman?”

“Yes. Now stop laughing.” I pulled the sheet higher, wishing he’d never seen it. That was my secret weapon. My empowering insignia.

He covered his mouth and used those pleading eyes again. “When did you get it?”

“After we split up.” I tried to be vague.

“Obviously. I didn’t know you had it in you to do something so…outrageous.”

“Well, if you must know, my friend and I did it together.”

“Oh Lord, don’t tell me you and the doc did it. What, did he get Captain America? Are you going to be linked to this guy forever, with matching superpowers?”

“No, it wasn’t Mark, thank you very much.”

He was puzzled. “Who then? The last time you went out with someone from your work it was that girl with all the makeup. Don’t tell me it was her. I don’t know what you have in common with her. She probably has them all over her body. Did you think it was cool or something? I bet you’re regretting it now.”

“For your information, it was not Sonja. And no, she does not have tattoos. Although she would think it was cool that I did.” I tried to straighten up in the bed. “You don’t know him.” I wiggled my legs. If I were clothed, I would’ve gone to the bathroom and avoided this little interrogation. Now I needed to wait for him to turn his head. He didn’t have the privilege anymore to see me.

He sat up, too. “Him? Who? Amy, tell me.” His tone changed to husband-like.

“Tom. Now look away so I can go to the bathroom. My bladder is aching over here.”

He cocked his head. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Wesley. I have friends you don’t know.” I put a leg out of the bed.

“No, about me turning my head. Amy, you’re my wife.”

“Only technically. Now, please.” I pointed to the wall.

With pinched lips and flared nostrils, he turned.

I ran to the bathroom, squeezing my legs as tightly as possible.

I made it and boy, did I have a gallon to release. Chill bumps sprung up on my arms and legs as I washed my hands. I looked around and to my disappointment, there was no towel and no robes hanging on the hook. I’d have to go out again in the buff. I turned my body slightly and saw my body art, thinking back on that day. Thinking about Tom. I felt bad for not calling and telling him where I was. I hoped he was still planning to go to his friend’s house for dinner. I hated thinking about him home alone for Thanksgiving.

“I need to come out and get my clothes, Wesley,” I called from behind the bathroom door.

Suddenly he appeared, like from a cloud of smoke. I had no time to react. He had conveniently left his clothes behind. We stood there, staring at each other—Adam and Eve in underwear. It would’ve been awkward to hide behind the door. But when his eyes crept down the entirety of my body with the speed of dried-up syrup being forced from a bottle, I froze. Like shallow-breathing froze. This was new for us.

“You’re beautiful.” He finally found a resting place for his eyeballs, looking directly into mine.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I wasn’t sure whether it was this moment that was making my stomach turn, or the fact my liver was still sifting through whatever I drank the night before.

“Wesley, what are you doing? I need my clothes.” I tried to get by him, but he touched my arm. A spark of electricity buzzed.

“Amy, this time I want things to be different between us.” He lowered his stance to penetrate his stare in my eyes. “I want to be able to look at you, to touch you, to make love in the daylight. I want…”

“Wesley.” I backed up into the doorframe. “I never said we were getting back together.”

I needed to slow down this runaway train. All the talk about touching, looking, making you-know-what in the you-know-where. It was freaking me out.
What happened to this man?
It was like he went off to war, aka Violet, and came back a changed man. What on earth happened while he was with her? Never mind; I didn’t want to know. I didn’t even want a hint.

“What would be the reason we wouldn’t? I’m alone. You’re going to be alone now. The doc’s going away, you have no apartment…the only solution would be for us to get back together.”

Okay, having this conversation after a night of binge drinking was one thing. Having this conversation at all was another. But having this conversation while half-naked was all too much. I needed a barrier of clothing, and fast.

I slipped out of his hold and ran to my suitcase. I pulled out a fresh pair of panties and my outfit for the day. After a shower and a mask of clothing, I’d be ready to talk. Maybe.

“I have to shower, Wesley. Is there any way you can use the bathroom in the hall while I get ready? We’ll have to talk about this when we leave. Margaret is probably waiting for help with the meal.”

“Amy.” He touched my hair and I quickly retreated to the tiled side of the floor. With the door closed, I’d have fifteen good minutes for myself to sort this out.

I gently began closing it, pulling my head from his reach. “I’ll be out in two shakes.” I stared at his puppy-dog eyes and held up two fingers with my other hand.

How did I get here?

I went downstairs and could not imagine I’d be seeing the person I saw sitting on the sofa with Wesley.
Mark!
I nearly tripped on my way and luckily white-knuckled the banister to catch my clumsiness. Wesley saw me first. His eyes grew in size and tried to say what his mouth couldn’t:
Houston, we have a problem
.

Mark stood as I finished off the last step more gracefully than the other fifteen of Frankenstein-style walking. Wesley rose to his feet, too. Tyler sat, unfazed by the pending atomic bomb about to detonate, and Claire pulled candlesticks off the dining room table, a keen but semi-tipsy eye being kept on the action unfolding.

“Honey, look, it’s Dr. Reilly. He was in the area and stopped by to see us.” Wesley practically spit as he shouted out the falsified information.

I heard my throat muscles swallow loudly in my ears. My eyes never left Mark.

“Hello.” I wanted to get closer. His hair looked a bit whipped, his beard was scruffy, and his tie dangled from his neck like a loose tooth. He must’ve been running on coffee, because as I got closer I could see the multiple intersections of blood vessels in his eyes.