Triangles (34 page)

sure. “Thanks for letting me know.

I should go. Thanks again.” Oh my

God. Why didn’t I …? Wait. Before

I freak out completely, I’d better

go find out if this news is accurate.

It might not be. (But then Bri

wouldn’t have said anything to

Harley if she wasn’t sure.) But maybe she heard wrong. (Come on, Holly.)

Now I really want that drink.

Except I don’t think my lurching

stomach could keep one down.

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I start toward Mikayla’s room,

but passing the hall bathroom,

I hear the unmistakable sound

of someone throwing up, just

on the other side of the door.

I knock. “Mikki? Are you okay?”

A fresh round of retching, and

then a tiny-voiced answer.
Do

I sound okay? No, Mom, I’m not.

Snappy, but morning sickness

can make a girl bitchy. I try

the door. Locked. “Can I come in?”

Just a minute.
Movement.

Water in the sink. Finally,

the door opens and Mikki stands

back. Her sleep-mussed hair

is plastered around a very pale

face. Why tiptoe? “So, it’s true.”

What’s true?
Defiant. But the look on my face must tell her I know.

Who … who told you?
She crumbles, and when I open my arms,

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she collapses into them. “Doesn’t

matter. What’s important is that

you don’t make any hasty

decisions. How far along are

you? Do you have any idea?”

LISTEN TO ME

Half mom, half clinician.

Half emotional, half logical.

Half very pissed. Half very scared

for my daughter. But no more scared than she has to be. She trembles

as she nods against my chest.
I’ve missed
two periods. At first I thought no way.

I can’t be. But I took a test. Two blue lines.

She starts to cry.
Dylan says he’ll pay
for an abortion. But I don’t know if
I can do that. But I don’t know what
else to do, e-e-either.
She stutters to a stop. “Mikayla, I know the idea of an abortion is distasteful. But

you’re only seventeen. Having a baby would … impact your life.”

She rips herself out of my arms.

No shit! Jesus, Mom. I’m pregnant,
not stupid. I’ve thought and thought
about this. Abortion is more than
distasteful. It’s kind of murder. This
is up to me, not you. And anyway,
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when did you decide to play mother
again?
Leveled. With nothing but the truth.

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

Simple enough to claim

that’s what you want,

when you’re dissecting

lies.

The truth, in its entirety.

Not abridged. Not groomed.

Not embroidered.

But complete candor

can be

like a mountain trail.

Steep. Rutted. A precarious

slide, reaching a too-often

unhappy conclusion.

Easier,

sometimes, to gulp

down giant spoonfuls

of uncertainty than it is

to swallow

throat-clogging capsules

of what really is.

MARISSA

THE TRUTH

Hasn’t exactly set me free.

I’m more tied up in knots

than I’ve been since I found

out about Shelby’s illness.

Christian has done his level

best to try and win me over.

He’s still camping out in

the guest room. My choice.

But nine days and counting,

he’s shared the dinner table

every night with Shane and

me. And sometimes with Alex,

whom he manages to converse

with in a civilized fashion. As if

that weren’t enough, he’s also

making a concerted effort to

slow down his drinking. Not

stop, not completely. But as far

as I know, he doesn’t touch

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a drop until after dinner, and

then, it’s a nightcap or three.

He’s clear. Articulate. From

time to time, even funny.

Almost the Christian I fell in … for.

I CAN’T BRING MYSELF

To use the
L word. Don’t want

to combine that emotion and Christian in the same jumble of thoughts.

Don’t want to remember when

it wove us together, or how we once lay in each other’s arms, saturated with it. Can’t bring myself to consider how he so cavalierly gave it away

to someone new. Someone beautiful

and young. Someone not me. I’m not

sure if there is even the smallest seed of it left. Some spore that, driven by fire or rain, might find just enough life force inside to sprout and grow anew.

The morning after our fireworks night, I thought there might be. Or did I?

Wasn’t any small spark of hope, really, extinguished by a downpour of doubt?

In the short term, what does any of it matter? I still have to care for Shelby.

Still have to worry about Shane.

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For the foreseeable future, my life is not going to change a whole lot.

In the long run, who knows?

EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION

About what I should do. And they all seem to want to make Christian pay in some fashion. Andrea made her view

clear immediately, and she hasn’t changed her mind.
Take him straight to divorce
court. Nail him for child support
and alimony, which a judge would
award you instantaneously. That man
wouldn’t seem nearly as attractive
without a big, fat bank account.

I should have known she’d tell Mom, though I asked her not to. Not a big deal. Mom would have found out

sooner or later anyway. By the time she called, she had already thought through what she wanted to say.

I can’t tell you what to do, or even
offer advice. But I want you to know
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a couple of things. The first is, this
idea of your father and I traveling
together in a little trailer had nothing
to do with money. Believe it or not,
we managed to invest enough along
the way to assure a comfortable
retirement. This was a last-ditch effort
to keep our marriage intact, despite
too many years tiptoeing around extramarital relationships. Mostly your dad’s.

But I am not guilt-free. Sometimes you
cheat for revenge. Sometimes it’s all about
boredom. But often people stray because
something is lacking or someone is hurting
and can’t find solace in their partner.

I’ll tell you this. Had I known, at your age,
the depth of one or two of your father’s
peccadilloes, I would have hauled off out
of there. By the time I found out, I was
too old to move on. Scared of searching for
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new love, with boobs flopping to my belly
button and skin like sun-broiled leather.

SPONTANEOUSLY

My right hand strayed

to the corners of my eyes,

where daily, it seems,

the shallow lines trench

a little deeper. A question,

both small and large, surfaced.

“Was staying together worth it?”

In some ways, yes. I’m not

alone, and your father and

I understand each other. We

don’t fight much anymore,

but then, we’re pretty much

argued out. Life has taken on

a simple rhythm. I’m content.

Content. Not happy. Major

difference, when you stop

to think about it, and I did.

Then again, I haven’t been

happy or content in a long

time. One more question.

“But do you love Dad now?”

That one took longer for her

to answer. She almost labored

to find the words she wanted.

Damaged love is like injured

skin, I guess. Sometimes a

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wound will heal completely.

Other times, it leaves a scar.

IT WAS AN EVASION

And I didn’t pursue it further.

What she said was enough,

the meaning of her words clear.

But she wasn’t quite finished.

Here’s the thing, Marissa.

I don’t think you’re in a good

position to shake things up

anymore than they’re already

shaken. Your plate is more than
full, just taking care of Shelby.

Chris is paying the bills right
now, and that’s important. But

keep your guard up. I’d hate

to see your hurt compounded.

And keep your options open.

Don’t stay until it’s too late to leave.

That message too was spring-

water clear. She left it at that,

let me know she and Dad will

be here for my birthday. Two

days from now, I will turn forty-

four. Another year dissolved

into a stream of duty and doubt.

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Another year passed away.

THE LAST PERSON

To weigh in on things was Drew,

who happened to stop by a couple

of days after everything blew.

He knew something was wrong.

I mean, we’ve been friends forever.

At that point, everything had agitated in my head long enough to build

a full kettle of steam. I was more

than ready to vent. Shane wasn’t home.

Shelby was full-on into
Dora the Explorer.

So I let go. Told the story. Halfway through, I cried. By the end, my voice was just shy of a wail. I think I scared Drew a little. But he took it all in.

And when I finished, he had this to say.

I always thought he was a bastard.

You deserve better, M’issa, but I’ve
told you that before. I hope you
know I’m always here for you …

His hand lifted, came to rest against my cheek.
My door is always open.

And here’s the deal. Chris has enough
resources to hire an outside caregiver.

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If nothing else, I’d make him do that
for you. You deserve a little freedom.

He cupped my chin in the palm

of his hand, lifted it until I had

to look into his eyes. At that moment, I was vulnerable. Fragile. Had he

straight kissed me, my defenses

might have crumbled. Surrendered

to the overwhelming need to be

cherished. Instead, it was Drew

who retreated. He did kiss me.

But gently, and on the forehead,

his lips a pout of fog, cool

on my skin.
I’d take you out

of here right now if you would

come. I know you can’t. Not yet.

I love you, M’issa. Now. Always.

He might have kissed me then,

the way we used to in our youth,

but the mood was interrupted

by the sound of a key in the lock.

We edged apart, just as Christian

came through the door, home

early.
Hey, whose car …?
It was then he saw Drew, sitting close to

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me. His eyes grew dark. But he said,
Oh, hello. Good to see you again.

AS MUCH AS HE HATED

Drew being there, what else could

he say? And what could he do but

pretend to be totally okay with it?

I liked that. Liked that slender rush of power. Pretty much since our

wedding day, Christian has made it clear that he was in charge, leaving me

on the verge of impotent. Lacking

control. But that is no longer the case.

And yes, I like how that feels. I brew this morning’s coffee dark and strong, the way I learned to love it. Christian prefers a lighter roast. But he does not complain when he joins me in the kitchen now.

Instead, he pours a cup silently, doctors it to acceptable. He turns.
I’m hoping
to convince you to take a short trip to
Monterey this weekend. For your birthday.

I looked into hiring someone for Shelby.

She has great references, and your mom
agreed to oversee. Think about it.