Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives (26 page)

“Everyone—even you, Ted—thinks they know him, but they don’t. They put themselves in his shoes, and they don’t like what they see.” I reach out to stop him. “That’s it, isn’t it? If you were him, that is what you’d do, right? Tomcat up and down the street?”

Now it’s his turn to think of a safe answer, but he knows I know him too well. “Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it. I’d go for it. I’d see it as getting even.”

I let this roll over me. “Gee, nice to know. To get even for what?” Then it hits me. “Oh! So I take it you think she had an affair, too!”

“Huh?” Realizing I mean DeeDee, Ted stops cold. “I—how would I know?”

“That’s just it. You’re presuming the worst, of both of them.” I push past him, into the house. “And of me.”

“Damn it, Lyssa! Look, enough of this! Okay, let me make myself clear: I don’t want him anywhere near you! Okay?”

“No. It’s not okay. I should be able to choose my own friends. And you should trust my judgment.”

“Sure, then, have it your way. You’ve now made your choice. I hope you can live with it.” He dumps the tree sideways in the foyer and stalks off to the bedroom. A moment later I hear the Warriors game play-by-play.

No surprise there.

The kids stare at me, then disperse to their favorite pouting places.

My anger gives me the strength I need to pull the tree upright and move it into place at the base of the stairway.

Then I cry.

Not because he doesn’t trust me, but because I don’t trust myself.

“Love is a gross exaggeration of the difference
between one person and everybody else.”

—George Bernard Shaw

Monday, 9 Dec., 3:18 p.m.

Your kid makes a cute snowflake,” murmurs Biker Mom. She points over at Olivia, who is positioned in front of her seven-year-old daughter, one of the stately sugarplum fairies rehearsing for Madame Nadia’s production of
The Nutcracker
, albeit the only one with a diamond stud in her nose.

I smile my appreciation, but shake my head at the white chocolate drops she proffers. “Sorry, as tempting as those are, they aren’t on my diet.”

“What, yogurt-covered raisins?” She stares in mock astonishment.

“Oh, is that what they are?” Still, I hesitate before sticking my hand out. Old habits die hard, and I’ve been warned about taking candy from strangers.

And according to Brooke, there is no one stranger than Biker Mom.

“Yum! These are pretty good.”

“Yeah, and addictive. I think I’ve gained five pounds since I discovered them. You can find them at Trader Joe’s. It has much better prices than what you’ll find at the Heights Market.” Biker Mom tries to pinch an inch through her tight, shiny purple jeans, but no go. “You’re Lyssa, right? My name is Summer.”

I stop licking my fingers in order to shake her outstretched hand. “Nice to finally put the name with the face. Your reputation precedes you.”

She breaks out in a raucous laugh. “Aw, jeez! I can just imagine what that Brooke person has said about me! Hey, don’t worry, Cody and I don’t eat the heads off of snakes or anything. It’s not on
our
diet. We’re vegetarians.”

“Oh—no! Not Brooke. I meant Harry Wilder. He’ll be happy we’ve finally met. But I know what you’re saying. Brooke can be a bit of a snob.”

“Try ‘bitch.’” She wrinkles her nose. “Semantics aside, welcome to the other side.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“You know: to the land of the Undesirables.” She gives me a knowing smile.

“Oh, so you know about that? Harry shouldn’t have told you.” I feel my cheeks flame up.

“He didn’t. I’d already heard about it. Marcus let it slip.” She shakes her head. “He’s a sweet kid. Not half as insecure as his parents, so they must be doing something right.”

Suddenly it hits me that Temple isn’t here. “Where are Harry and Temple, anyway?”

“In court. DeeDee is making a big play for the house and child support. I guess she’s hoping Jake’s suspension works in her favor. But the judge wanted the kids’ input too.”

“That makes sense.” Of course I’m concerned for Harry, but I’m somewhat put off that I have to hear about this from Summer instead of directly from him. If she knows this much about his schedule, then apparently their friendship is closer than I presumed.

It makes me wonder what she thinks about my relationship with Harry. Brooke, my so-called closest friend—and let’s not forget my husband—thinks the worst about Harry and me. So why not this
perfect stranger?

I hate being paranoid. But I’d also hate being a pariah to both sides of the Heights—the self-described Desirables and the Undesirables.

So that she won’t think I’m too curious about Harry, I think it’s best to change the subject. “Listen, Summer, about Brooke: she really doesn’t mean any harm. Frankly, I think it’s a self-defense mechanism.”

“I can see that.” Summer gives a spot-on imitation of Brooke, arched brow and all.

I can’t help but laugh. This earns us a cross look from Madame Nadia. Between the clumsiness of the sugar canes and the ADD of the ten-year-old boy recruited to play the village burgermeister in her annual holiday show, she has her hands full, and we both know it. Summer nudges me to follow her outside, to the same bench where Harry and I often take refuge.

“I’m not going to apologize for Brooke. She is who she is, that’s all there is to it. And I hope I’ve never given you the wrong impression—you know, that I didn’t think well of you or anything—”

Summer bursts out with a guffaw. “You? Nah. We knew you were harmless. At least, compared to the rest of the Coven.”

“What did you say? The . . . Coven?”

“Yep. That’s what the rest of us call your old pals, because they’re all so great at practicing bitchcraft.” She studies her nails, which, except for the rainbow glitter sprayed across her middle fingernail, are lacquered the same shade of purple as her jeans. “In fact, Mallory Eisenstadt—she’s the one the Coven calls Activist Mom—she actually named each of you, I mean
them
, after fairy-tale witches. Your queen bee is Maleficent. The horny one who’s always got workmen at her house is Bellatrix Lestrange, and that psycho one is called Ursula. You know, like in
The Little Mermaid
.”

I feel the raisins rising in my throat. “Man, that’s harsh!”

“Really? Think so?” She stops for a moment as if contemplating that. “But you didn’t think it cruel to call me Biker Mom.”

“Of course I did.” What I don’t say, but we both are thinking is,
Not that I ever said anything to shut them up.
“I’m almost afraid to ask. What was my nickname?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah. Go ahead, I’m bracing myself.”

“Hah. I’m surprised Harry never told you. It was Sleeping Beauty.”

I’m confused. “But she isn’t a witch.”

Summer smiles. “That’s the point.”

4:41 p.m.

“Your hair. You cut it.” That’s Harry’s way of telling me that he doesn’t like what he sees.

We’ve run into each other at Trader Joe’s. Since eating Summer’s yogurt-covered raisins, I’ve been craving them. Besides, it’s easier to shop where I know I won’t run into the Coven. Okay, yeah, that nickname works just fine for me.

In fact, I wish I’d thought of it first.

“Yep, I let my hairstylist go for it. Chop, chop, chop. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was going for something sleek and sophisticated.” I give my hair a self-conscious pat. “I guess you can’t win over all of the people all of the time. At least Ted likes it.”

“That’s what counts, right?” Harry busies himself squeezing a few of the melons from the bin in front of us. He’s trying to be casual, but his tone tells me that this is too much information for him.

That’s fine. I have no desire to talk about Ted. I wonder if he feels like talking about DeeDee with me, or if that’s a privilege he reserves only for Summer.

Damn it, now I’m thinking like Brooke. Still, there’s one way to
find out if that’s the case. “How did court go?”

“Oh, you know about that?” As he shrugs, he tosses the melon he’s holding into his cart. “But of course you do. You and your girls know everything.”

“If you’re referring to the Coven, let me assure you that I’m no longer its official mascot.”

He lets out a surprised chuckle. “So you know about that? Wow, you really do have great sources.”

“Just one. Summer. She’s my new best friend.”
And apparently yours too,
I want to say, but I know better. Friends aren’t jealous of other friends.

Of course, rivals are a different story.

I break open the container of the coveted yogurt raisins and gulp down a handful before offering it to him.

“Thanks, but no thanks. In my book, the term ‘healthy snack’ is an oxymoron.” He picks up the canister and stares at the ingredients. “But I may have to change my mind between now and the next court date. When the judge asked Temple what was her very favorite meal her dad ever made, she said, ‘Kellogg’s Variety Pack.’ I guess nobody will confuse me with Wolfgang Puck.”

I consider this. “You’re right. What else did the judge say?”

“Let’s put it this way: if Jake strikes out once more, it’s me who’s out—on the street. Bethany’s mantra is that I’m an unfit dad. She says it so loud and so often that I’m starting to believe it myself.”

“Why would you, when you’re doing your best? Yes, you’re the provider. But you’re more than that. You’re their father, too!” I shake my head in wonder. “I’m beginning to think DeeDee is one of those deadbeat moms.”

Just then, Temple and Jake come around the corner. Harry puts a finger to his lips. He doesn’t have to. I’ve already shut my big mouth.

“Hi, guys. Care for some yogurt raisins?” I hold out the container to them.

Temple digs in, but Jake wrinkles his nose and waves them away. Like father, like son.

“Mrs. Harper, would it be okay if I come over and study with Tanner tomorrow night, after practice? He’s better at geography, and we have a test the next day.” Jake’s concern is impressive. Apparently the court proceedings sobered him up.

“Yes, of course.”

“Great! . . . Aw, I forgot. We have to be at the gym early that day. Coach Shriver wants us there for our team photo.”

Count on Pete to choose the most ungodly hour for that. Something about the natural light at that time of morning. “Look, I have an idea. Why don’t you just sleep over? I know it’s a school night, but I have no problem dropping you both off at school early that morning. That is, if it’s okay with your father.”

Harry nods his approval. “Sounds like a plan. But remember, study doesn’t involve Wii.”

Jake nods solemnly, then reaches down and picks up his sister, who has been climbing his legs for attention.

For once the tension goes out of Harry’s shoulders. He sees the future, and it might actually be okay.

I hope Jake sees it too.

I am convinced this is the case when, later that evening, Jake calls to tell me he won’t be coming over after all. Apparently he’s already memorized the names of the South American countries that were tripping him up. And besides, Temple is so fussy lately. . . .

Don’t worry, I assure him. Family comes first, with study a close second.

As I hang up the phone, I wonder if Tanner will ever be as mature as Jake.

“Only choose in marriage a man whom you would
choose as a friend if he were a woman.”

—Joseph Joubert

Wednesday, 11 Dec.

The crash outside my window has me bolting upright in bed. My eyes go to the clock on the nightstand, where the digitized numbers
1:13
stare back at me. My first thought is to shake Ted so that he can see what damage has been done to the live oak in the front yard.

But he isn’t here.

Then I remember he was working late. Again.

Or maybe he’s sleeping in the guest room. Again.

I’m wrong. Ted isn’t sleeping at all. He’s in the kitchen, helping himself to the leftovers from our dinner. He too has heard the crash and is headed for the front door, a roasted chicken leg still in hand.

The car wrapped around the tree is Harry’s. The front end is smoking ominously.

Behind the wheel, unconscious and bleeding from his head, is
Jake.

“Call 911! Call Harry! His number is on the fridge.” I rush to open the car door, but the frame is too bent up to give way.

Ted runs inside, but is back out by the time I’ve moved the poor kid out through the passenger door. Then I wonder if I should have left Jake alone, in case he has any broken bones. When the flames roar out of the hood, I realize I’ve done the right thing.

Ted rushes back into the house to pull the fire extinguisher out of the kitchen. By the time he comes back with it, a police car, a fire truck, and an ambulance are already here.

But no Harry.

“Didn’t you call him?” I glare at Ted. Of course he knows whom I’m referring to.

“I forgot.” He feigns interest in the medics, who are strapping Jake to a stretcher.

Liar.

I snatch the cell out of his hand and dial Harry’s number. Harry’s voice comes out as a faraway murmur. “Who is it? . . . Lyssa? What’s up?”

“Harry, you’ve got to come over here now! It’s Jake! He’s crashed the car.”

“What?” He’s loud, anxious, and angry. “What time is it? Lyssa, why would you let him drive your car?”

“Not my car, Harry!
Your
car. He was driving your car.”

“But . . . that can’t be. My car is in the driveway—” I hear the receiver drop. A moment later, he’s back on. “I don’t understand! Did you send him home? Why didn’t you let him stay at your place?”

“
My
place?” I feel as if I’m talking a different language. “Harry, Jake never came over here after practice. He called and said he’d changed his mind.”

His silence is long, his words heavy. “I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll survive this divorce.”

“Ted and I are leaving now to follow the ambulance to the hospital. We’ll swing by your place and pick you up.”

He groans anxiously and hangs up.