Triangles (20 page)

So without actually thinking

it through, I told him, “Sure,

I’ll go with you. I’m a whole lot

more than talk, baby.” Something

I’m discovering more and more

is true.
Really? Then I want details.

Should we play Truth or Dare?

“Okay. I’ll go first. Truth or Dare?” He chose Truth, and I asked, “Have

you ever cheated on your wife?”

Lies come easily to men, so I was

surprised when he admitted,
Many
times. But I’ve never had an affair.

Third mojito polished off, I sort of sputtered, “What’s the difference?”
Emotional attachment. My turn.

Have you cheated on your husband?

369/881

“Once.” I would say it was a fib,

but Grant will never count. I did add,

“With a woman,” omitting the part

about her being a mutual acquaintance.

But somehow he knew.
Another

writer, perhaps? Oh, don’t be shocked.

Sahara is a voracious woman—

an omnivore, if you know what

I mean. And yes, I speak from

experience. Be very careful of her.

That emotional Velcro I mentioned?

That’s what she’s hungry for, not that
I can blame her. She’s been used
and abused, and if she was ever loved,
it must have been a very long time
ago.
His last remark ignited a flicker of guilt. I am loved. But there was zero judgment in his observations, and that realization extinguished the spark.

Drinks finished and Truth or Dare

370/881

enlightening us both, Bryan settled the check and walked me to my car.

WHAT HAPPENED THERE

Goes into my journal now, not as

an
Essential Oil,
but simply as memory.

And beneath an indigo sky, beaded gold like Versace, he cupped my jaw in plush-leather hands, lifting my chin

so our eyes connected. “You are stunning,” he said.

Then he kissed my forehead, kissed my eyelids closed.

And when his mouth covered mine, there was nothing tentative

about the way his tongue parted my lips, reached inside.

Jace has never kissed me like that, not even when our love

was brand-new. That’s how our kissing felt too. Young.

But Bryan’s kiss was knowing. The kind of knowing that made me wonder just when I’d revealed so much.

No one could assume to understand the part of me I’ve worked so hard to keep hidden …

A door slams.
Mom!
Brianna’s footsteps slap the hallway tile. I shut the cover of the journal, stash it away.
I hate her!

It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything.

I can’t help it if he likes me. Mom!

Uh-oh. Boy problems? Since when?

372/881

I slip out of “temptress,” downshift into parent. Guilt grinds the gears.

Priorities. I can’t ever forget about those.

PARENTAL PRIORITIES

Are generally unpopular,

all the way around. And yet,

they are integral to keeping

family peace. A

Top Five

list can be useful, if agreed

to by all parties, then posted

in a prominent place, lest

someone forget one or more

prohibitions.

Try organizing in order of

importance. For instance: No

sneaking out,

particularly if said activity

is meant to accommodate

unsupervised parties,

and most especially if said

partying will be enhanced

by the illicit use of

drugs and alcohol,

which invariably lead to

unsavory outcomes, perhaps

374/881

the very worst being

unprotected sex.

Marissa

NOT THE WORST DAY

Not the very best either, although it was mostly good, I guess. And, for once, the bad wasn’t in my ballpark.

It was a shame Andrea had to run out on the party. But I understand. Your kids must come first, no matter how much fun you’re having without them. Or maybe she wasn’t having fun. Maybe she

was relieved to get called away.

Mom’s offhanded comment about

her murky paternity really seemed

to bother her. I thought she knew

or at least suspected that communal hooking up meant everyone on the farm belonged to everyone else, in some

fashion. I quit worrying about it years ago. Pretty much, anyway. What good does it do? But even without Andrea, I enjoyed 376/881

spending time with Mom. The movie

was a tearjerker. The shopping netted three new outfits, like I have anywhere special to wear them. Should something come up, they’re there. Oh, and I got a makeover—new cosmetics to enhance my natural “beauty.” What a joke. But hey, the just-barely-out-of-high-school

department store “expert” managed to sell this “in need of advice” middle-aged hag three hundred plus dollars’ worth of lotions and creams, which do make my skin feel plumped and moisturized. Plus concealer, foundation, blush, liner, shadow, and mascara, which definitely highlight my cheekbones and bring out my eyes. Not that I’ll remember how to apply them or find the need to. But Mom is content now that she spent the requisite number of hours with me to assuage her own guilt about not being around more, or her possible genetic input into Shelby’s condition. But considering the whole commune thing, 377/881

who can say where the mysterious factor came from? And at this point, who cares?

STILL, AS WE MOTOR UP

The last hill toward home, I ask,

“So, Mom. Any regrets? I mean

as far as Oregon and the farm.”

What good are regrets? she snaps.

The echo of my own sentiment,

in a voice so like mine, is

unnerving. Yet I persist. “If you

could change one thing about

those years, what would it be?”

You really want to know? Okay,

then, I wouldn’t have stayed.

I would have left your father.

The momentous admission

is not what I expected at all.

“So … tell me, why did you stay?”

She hesitates, but not for long.

This will probably sound stupid,
but I stayed to spite my mother.

She told me things would not

work out. I was determined

to prove her wrong. Sheer

379/881

stubbornness kept me there

on the farm. That, and making

sure you and Andrea were safe.

I mull that over as I make the last left to home. “But everything

worked out okay with you and

Dad, right? So why would

you do things differently now?

How would things be better?”

I can’t say things would be

better. But I wouldn’t have

invested my youth in someone

who didn’t cherish me. Your

father loved me in his own

way, I guess. But it was selfish
love. I didn’t see that for years.

And when it became clear, it was
too late to go looking for something
new. He’s tried to make it up

to me, but only because he’s

afraid of being old and alone.

“But if all that’s true, how can

380/881

you stand living elbow to

elbow with him in an RV?”

She shrugs.
Once you’ve given

up on filet mignon, chuck steak
isn’t so hard to put up with.

HAVE I BEEN ASLEEP

All these years? Navigating coma?

So holed up in my own little surreal world I never bothered to venture

beyond its nightmarish boundaries?

What else have I closed my eyes to?

“God, Mom, I am so sorry. I swear,

I never saw it. I mean, I know you

two used to argue …”

Oh yes, that we did. But don’t

apologize. You weren’t supposed
to be privy to the ugly details.

Anyway, we don’t argue much

anymore. We finally found a way
to compromise our divergent points
of view. I hope you and Chris can
manage that too. But if you can’t,
don’t wait too long to change things.

After a while, you’ll settle. And you
deserve better
. She gives me the old tongue cluck as the house rolls into view.

I pull into the driveway just as the sky on the western horizon blazes tangerine 382/881

grandeur. If I believed in God, I might think he was trying to tell me something.

I STEP OUT OF THE CAR

Into the breezeless evening.

The first thing that hits me

is the scent of hickory-tinged smoke, and it’s coming from my backyard.

Smells like the boys have dinner
started, comments Mom.

“I … uh … didn’t even know

we still owned a barbecue. It’s been so long since …” Since lazy summer

cookouts, Christian and I sipping drinks with friends, Shane and his buddies doing laps in a low wading pool.

Shane wanted to surprise you.

He’s a pretty great kid, you know.

“I do, actually.” Even if he does piss me off pretty regularly. I can hear him laugh, and he isn’t laughing alone.

For the first time in hours, I think 384/881

about Shelby. They haven’t neglected her, have they? I leave the shopping bags in the car, hurry into the house, start down the hall toward her room.

The door is open. The room is empty.

Unreasonably scared, I turn on one heel, practically run toward the backyard noise, on the far side of the living room glass. But as soon as I reach the door, I stop. I would say this is a scene straight out of some television family drama. Except it’s more like a sitcom.

Dad is scraping the grill while Shane and some strange boy push Shelby

in her stander back and forth between them. I may not have ever seen her

look so happy. The barbecue puffs,

and I know the smoke isn’t good

for her, but the boys seem to have her upwind, and how can I possibly bring 385/881

her inside when she is enjoying

herself in such an elemental way?

I think back to Christian.
She’s failing.

Wish he were here to see her now.

BUT NO

Instead, he’s in New Orleans,

schmoozing clients. Or maybe

he’s on his way home. I’m pretty

much the last person to know

if he’s coming, going, or touched

down somewhere for a layover.

Mom comes up behind me,

carrying a platter of marinated

rib-eye steaks.
Can you believe
they got everything ready, all on
their own? Shane must be more

organized than his grandfather.

“Not usually. Guess we should

join the party?” I open the door

for her, and at the sound, everyone’s attention turns our way. Shelby

sees me and gives a little squeal,

approximating
Hi, Mama.

I go over to give her a kiss

and, when I straighten, find

myself looking the unfamiliar

387/881

boy in the eye. He is tall but

narrow-boned. Handsome.

No … pretty, with emerald eyes

and Irish black hair and a killer

smile, which he flashes at me.

Hi. I’m Alex. Great to meet you.

Shane starts to stutter some

explanation, but it is Dad who

says,
Alex is Shane’s boyfriend.

Bam. Shane has never brought

anyone home before, and when

his eyes finally connect with mine, I find something brand-new in his.

Pride. Still, the situation makes me uncomfortable, and I might have

a harder time with it if not for

the way my parents act so accepting, like it’s just another day at the Trasks’.

Probably a good thing Christian isn’t here after all. “Uh, good to meet you too, Alex. And thanks for helping

Shane entertain his sister.” Kind

388/881

of a lot to ask of a new relationship, come to think of it. Alex must be

a pretty good kid himself. God,

look how far I’ve come—light-

years, in the last fifteen minutes.

HOW FAR

We claim to have come—

accepting all men as created

equal. Gender being the requisite

qualifier, as women

are