The Summer of Good Intentions (13 page)

She'd sprained her thumb and was worried it was broken. It was such a stupid thing, but she'd driven herself to the ER in the middle of the afternoon to get it checked out. She had been walking, yes walking, on her way to the sandwich shop for lunch when she managed to stumble. For a brief second, the world had tilted, not taking Virgie with it, and she lost her balance. Any normal person would have twisted her ankle, but not Virgie. She fell as ungracefully as she could, catching herself on the sidewalk, her hand scraped and bloodied, her thumb swelling by the minute. A nice woman helped her up and asked if she should call 911, but Virgie declined. It wasn't necessary. She was fine. It was only a few scrapes and bruises.

But by the time she got back to the office and washed the blood off her hand, her thumb was throbbing. It didn't look broken, or dislocated, but what did she know? She told Larry she was going to get it checked out. “Damned high heels!” she said, trying to make light of the fact that the pain was so bad now she wanted to cry. She drove herself to the ER, where she waited what felt like hours to see someone. It was Jackson who'd come to her rescue. By then, she probably would have fallen for anyone willing to help. He ushered her into a room, offered to get her a drink of water, and gazed at her with those understanding eyes while he ticked through his checklist of questions.

When the X-ray revealed no broken bones, the doctor came in to wrap the sprain. It was still painful as hell. But Jackson returned as she was leaving, handing her a prescription.

“These should help with the pain,” he said, pressing the small paper into her palm. “I wrote instructions for when to take them on the back.”

She hadn't connected the dots, but eventually, while she waited in line at the pharmacy to hand over the prescription, she flipped the small white paper over. On the back, Jackson had written:
I think you're beautiful. Call me? 206-555-0882
.

Virgie hadn't considered that such things happened in real life. She assumed things like guys leaving personal notes on the backs of painkiller prescriptions happened only in the movies. Plenty of men hit on her when she went out to the bars with her girlfriends. But a telephone number on the back of a prescription? That was a first. She was intrigued. She called. “How's the thumb?” Jackson asked, as if they talked every day.

“Much better. Thanks.” A few days had passed, and it
was
feeling better. The painkillers, though, were making her a bit loopy. She blamed it on the medicine that she had the guts to call in the first place. “You were very kind,” she said.

“It's what I do.” An awkward pause followed.

“So, will you have dinner with me?” he asked. She thought of his dark, wavy hair, his blue eyes, his gentle touch on her hand.

“Um, yes?”

“Right answer,” he said and laughed. “Tomorrow night? I'll pick you up at seven?”

And from there, she handed over her address to a perfect stranger, though he didn't feel like a stranger. That night she tossed and turned, wondering what she'd just done. What if he was a stalker who watched her on the news and now she'd given him her home address? What was she thinking? She should have asked him to meet her at the office.

But when the night actually arrived, Jackson showed up at her door with a dozen pink roses.

“For your thumb,” he said. And Virgie knew he was all right.

“Earth to Virgie?” someone was saying. Virgie pulled her eyes away from the ocean. Maggie was looking at her strangely.

“I was just telling Mom and Gio how amazing your last segment on homeless kids was.” Virgie had sent her sisters and Arthur the clip. She was proud of the piece, which spotlighted a group of Seattle children who often went without breakfast before school.
How can we expect these kids to focus on their schoolwork when their stomachs are growling and they've had next to no sleep? Could
you
do
your
job?
she asked the camera.

The show had garnered a shower of praise, and as a result, the station had raised nearly ten thousand dollars for the local shelter. It was those types of stories, Virgie thought now, that made her job worthwhile. It seemed almost silly, sitting on the deck with a glass of lemonade, how important the Liz Crandle case had been back in Seattle. Here on the Cape, Virgie couldn't care less that Liz had told her story to Thomas. It wasn't going to be a life changer, any way she sliced it. The firm would most likely settle, and Liz would go her merry way with a boatload of money. Where was the inspiration in that?

“It sounds amazing, honey,” Gloria said and patted her hand. “I can't wait to see it.” Virgie braced herself for her mother's follow-up punch. Something along the lines of
Well, isn't it wonderful that you're finally doing some
real
reporting?
But she'd already moved on.

“How's the book coming, Arthur?”

Virgie realized with a start that none of them had thought to ask her dad that very question. They'd all been so focused on getting the house presentable for Gloria, taking marching orders from Maggie after breakfast—that they'd completely forgotten to inquire about Arthur's writing. She felt a pinch of guilt.

“Good,” said her dad. “It's coming along. Due in a few months.”

“That's wonderful! Arthur is an author,” her mother explained to Gio. “He writes mysteries.”

“You must be a very smart man,” Gio said. Virgie could feel Maggie and her dad exchange glances, as if to say,
How cute. He thinks you're smart.
But no one said anything, only nodded their heads. It was, Virgie thought, a bit of a conversation killer.

“So, Gio, do you like to fish?” Mac asked, breaking the quiet.

He laughed. “If only I knew how.”

“We'll have to get you out on the pier with a fishing pole,” said Mac. “Fishing is one of the easiest things in the world.” And the way he said it, Virgie almost believed him. “We've got some great bass around here.”

“I look forward to your lessons,” Gio said just as the kids appeared at Virgie's side.

“Aunt Virgie, want to go swimming?” Teddy asked.

“I wondered where you all disappeared to. Absolutely,” she said now and got up from her chair to grab a towel off the deck railing. “Mom, Gio, we'll see you later?”

“You bet, honey.” Her mother winked. “We'll be around all week. Besides”—she drained the rest of her lemonade—“we were just leaving. We need to check in before they give our room away to someone else.”

“That's smart.” Mac stood as well. “You never know, this time of year. Those New Englanders can be sharks.” Gloria laughed and patted Mac's arm.

“We'll see you kids tomorrow, then?”

“You bet,” Jess said.

“Can't wait,” said Maggie, as she got up to follow her mom and Gio to the door. Virgie had to hand it to her sister as she headed down to the beach. Maggie actually managed to sound sincere.

“So that was weird,” Jess said when she walked into the bedroom. She was referring to the introductions between Arthur, Gloria, and Gio. “Mom and Dad with another guy in the mix?”

Tim, freshly showered after his run, appeared to consider it for a moment. “I don't know. Your parents have been divorced for what? A year and a half now? It doesn't seem so strange that your mom is moving on.”

He tossed his sweaty socks in the laundry basket and slid his flip-flops from underneath the bed. Neither of them had talked about last night, when Tim had kissed her eyelids, run his hands along her body before falling asleep. Jess wondered if he even remembered. Perhaps he'd been too drunk.

She slipped out of her shorts and top and pulled her swimsuit off the drying rack. Tim paused to look at her. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just haven't seen that in a while.”

“That?”

“Yeah. You. Almost naked.”

“Oh,” she said. “That.” She felt strangely awkward, like a teenage girl being checked out.

“It's nice.” He offered a small smile and pushed up from the bed. He walked over to her as she pulled up her suit, her breasts still revealed, white discs against her newly browned skin. His fingers grazed her nipples and he gently began to kiss her neck.

“Tim,” she whispered. “The kids.”

“So what?” he mumbled. “They're all outside with Virgie. Can't we have a little fun?”

It was one-thirty in the afternoon. Jess couldn't remember the last time she'd fooled around with her husband in the middle of the day. Maybe the day that Teddy was conceived? It was quite possible it had been that long ago.

She held his head in her hands as his lips made his way down to her breasts, circling her nipples. Jess waited. She waited for something to spark in her. It seemed she'd been waiting for months for her husband to realize she was in the same room. But there was nothing.

“Honey, come on.” She shrugged him off and tugged at her bathing suit straps. “What's gotten into you?”

He gave her a hangdog look. “Never mind,” he said brusquely.

“Hey, don't be pissed.”

“I'm not pissed. Just because my own wife doesn't want to fool around with me.” He grabbed his sunglasses off the bedside table without looking at her. “I'm going to take the kids for a bike ride.”

“Tim, come on. It's not the best time, you have to admit.”

He opened the bedroom door, his hand resting on the handle. “Yeah? Well, when is the best time, Jess? You act like you don't even want to be in the same room with me anymore. Am I really that bad?” His voice trembled with anger, and she watched his free hand clench into a tight little ball.

“Tim, not here. Not now,” she tried, looking past him down the hallway, worried someone might hear.

“When then, Jess?” He unfurled his knotted fist. “You're the one who's all about ‘open' communication.” She watched him hook little sarcastic apostrophes in the air. She sighed. He was right. But she didn't feel like airing their dirty laundry for the whole house to overhear. He gestured around him. “Don't worry. There's no one around.” His voice was laced with judgment, as though that was all that mattered to her.
The appearance of normal.

His eyes locked with hers, and the way he looked at her, she almost told him. How easy it would have been to say that there was someone else.
Had
been someone else—someone who cared deeply about making the world a better place and who gave out-of-this-world back rubs. Or to say that Tim had been missing in their marriage for so long he couldn't just expect her to turn it on at a moment's notice. But his voice carried a dare, a threat even, as if everything that had happened in their marriage the past year—the breakdown in communication, the thwarted trips to the therapist, the lack of touch—was her fault. She was the one, he seemed to imply in his simple stare, who had made things impossible for them.

“Jesus, Tim. You can't pretend that you're not part of the problem here—” But he cut her off.

“You think I don't know?” His face was beet red. “You really think I'm that big of an idiot? Like I don't notice how Cole is at our house every time I get home late from work? Like I don't see the empty wineglasses on the counter?”

She was struck silent, speechless.
He knew? He knew.
Here she'd thought they'd been so secretive, so careful. What a fool. “What did you say?” She needed a minute to recover, to process the accusation freshly delivered.

“How far did it go, Jess? Is it
still
going?” he demanded, the words shooting like tiny arrows.

“Tim . . .” Her voice escaped her and she collapsed on the bed. “How did you know?” she asked, almost a whisper.

His arms dropped by his sides. “I didn't for sure. Until now.”

“Oh,” she said. Then, “Oh, no.” She swallowed hard, her throat cottony. “I never meant for it to go anywhere.” She paused, grasping for a way to explain. “He kissed me . . . and it just sort of happened. But it's over.” She felt tears well up. “Completely, totally over.”

Her husband stared at her, as if willing himself to believe her. “When?”

“Right before we left for vacation. I broke it off.”

He inhaled, turned away. “And what exactly do you mean by
it
?” She could tell it took every ounce of strength in his body to ask this question. She owed him an honest answer.

“We didn't sleep together, if that's what you're asking.”

He waited. “We kissed,” she explained moronically. “He gave me back rubs. We talked. It was pretty innocent, actually.”

Tim made a coughing sound. “Innocent? Really?”

She realized how absurd she must sound. There was nothing innocent about it. It was duplicitous, deceiving, unfair. Wrong. She'd betrayed her husband. How to explain? “He made me feel attractive, Tim. He
talked to
me. He listened. When you went missing from our marriage. Where
did
you go, by the way?”