She cut him off before he had a chance to finish. "It hurts? Did you ever stop to think about my feelings when you saw the journal? That I might have been hurt? That maybe I didn't tell you because I don't like to remember what happened? That it was a horrible period of my life, and I never wanted to relive it again? It has nothing to do with trusting you. It has nothing to do with you at all. I got pregnant. I had a miscarriage. So what? People make mistakes, Jeremy."
"You're missing my point."
"What point? That you wanted to pick another fight this morning and were looking for any excuse to start one? Well, you did find one, so congratulations. But I'm getting tired of this. I know you're under stress, but you don't have to keep taking it out on me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"With your writing!" she said, throwing up her hands. "That's what this is all about, and you know it! You can't write, and you're taking it out on me, like it's somehow my fault. You've been blowing everything out of proportion, and I'm on the receiving end. A friend is in trouble, so I talk to him, and all of a sudden, I don't trust you. I don't tell you that I had a miscarriage four years ago, and it's because I don't trust you. I'm sick of being made to feel like I'm the bad guy because you can't come up with an article."
"Don't blame all this on me. I'm the one who made the sacrifice to come down here--"
"See!" she said. "That's exactly what I mean! You made the sacrifice." She practically spat out the word. "That's exactly how you've been acting! Like you ruined your whole life by moving down here!"
"I didn't say that."
"No, but that's what you meant! You're stressed about writing, and you take it out on me! It's not my fault! And did you ever stop to think that I'm stressed, too? I'm the one who made all the wedding plans! I'm the one who's been in charge of renovating the house! I'm the one who's doing all this while carrying a baby! And what do I get? 'You didn't tell me the truth.' Even if I did, even if I'd told you everything, you still would have found another reason to be mad at me! Nothing I do is right anymore. It's like you've changed into a person I don't even know."
Jeremy felt his own anger flare again. "That's because you don't think I do anything right, either! I don't dress right, I don't order the right foods, I want the wrong kind of car, I didn't even get to pick the house I'm going to live in. You've been making all the decisions, and my ideas count for nothing!"
Her eyes flashed. "That's because I'm thinking about our family. All you think about is yourself!"
"And what about you?" he shouted. "I'm the one who had to give up my family because you wouldn't. I had to risk my career because you wouldn't. I live in a piece-of-crap motel surrounded by dead animals because you didn't want people in town to get the wrong impression! And I've been the one paying for things you want--not the other way around!"
"Money? You're mad about the money, too?"
"I'm going broke down here, and you don't even notice! We could have waited on some of these renovations! We didn't need a five-hundred-dollar crib! We didn't need an entire dresser full of clothes! The baby's not even here yet!" He threw his hands in the air. "So you can see why I'm stressed about writing. It's how I pay for all this stuff you want, and I can't do it here. There's no news to draw on, there's no energy, there's nothing here!"
When he finished, they both stared at each other for a long time without speaking.
"Is that what you really think? That there's nothing here? What about the baby and me? Doesn't that mean anything?"
"You know what I mean."
Lexie crossed her arms. "No, I don't. Why don't you tell me?"
Jeremy shook his head, suddenly exhausted. All he'd wanted her to do was listen. Without a word, he started off the porch.
He walked toward the car, then decided to leave it. Lexie would need it; he'd figure something out later. He fished the keys from his pocket and threw them near the tire. Heading up the drive, he didn't bother to look back.
Eleven
Hours later, Jeremy sat in the easy chair at his parents' brownstone in Queens, staring out the window. He'd ended up borrowing Doris's car earlier that afternoon to change clothes and grab his things from Greenleaf, then rushing to the airport. Noting his expression, Doris hadn't questioned his request, and during the drive he'd replayed the argument a hundred times.
At first, it had been easy to stay angry at the way Lexie had twisted the facts to her own advantage, but as the miles rolled past and his emotions settled, he began to wonder whether she might have been right. Not about all of it--she had some responsibility for the way the argument had escalated--but certainly on some counts. Had he really been angry about her lack of trust, or was he reacting to the stress he was under and taking it out on her? If he was completely honest, he might admit his stress was part of the equation, but it wasn't only work-related stress. There was still the matter of the e-mails.
E-mails meant to make him question whether the baby was his. E-mails intended to make him suspicious of Lexie. E-mails that seemed to have served their purpose. But who had sent them? And why?
Who knew that Lexie was pregnant? Doris, of course, which again made her the obvious choice. But he just couldn't see her doing that, and according to Lexie, she didn't even know how to use a computer. Whoever had sent the e-mails was an expert.
Then there was Lexie. He remembered her expression when he'd told her that he'd seen her name. Unless her confusion had been faked, she hadn't known her name was in the journal. Had Doris ever told her that she knew? Had Lexie ever told Doris? Depending on when the miscarriage had happened, neither one may have said anything at all to the other.
So who knew?
He placed a call to his hacker friend again and left a message, telling him it was urgent and that he really needed the information. Before hanging up, he asked him to call his cell phone as soon as he came up with anything.
In an hour, he'd be heading out to the bachelor party, but he wasn't in the mood. As good as it would be to spend some time with Alvin, he didn't want to get into all of this with him. Tonight was supposed to be fun, but right now having fun didn't seem possible.
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?"
Jeremy saw his father coming in from the kitchen. "I am ready," he said.
"What's with the shirt? You look like a lumberjack."
In his haste to pack and get out of town--and realizing he'd sweat through the clothes he'd worn earlier at the closing--Jeremy had pulled the flannel shirt off its hanger. Glancing down, he wondered whether it was a subconscious effort to admit that Lexie had been right. "You don't like it?"
"It's different, that's for sure," his father remarked. "You buy that down there?"
"Lexie got it for me."
"You might want to talk to her about style. Now, I might look good in something like that, but it just doesn't seem right on you. Especially if you're going out tonight."
"We'll see," Jeremy said.
"Suit yourself," his father said, taking a seat on the couch. "So what's going on? You have a fight with Lexie before you left?"
Jeremy raised his eyebrows. First the mayor, now his father. Was he that easy to read?
"What makes you say that?" he asked instead.
"The way you've been acting. She mad about you having a bachelor party?"
"No, not at all."
"'Cause some women get mad about that. Oh sure, they all say it's okay, that it's tradition, but deep down they don't like the thought of their fiances gawking at beautiful women."
"It's not going to be that kind of party. I told Alvin I didn't want that."
His father made himself comfortable. "Then what was the fight about? You want to talk about it?"
Jeremy debated whether or not to tell him, then decided not to. "Not really. It's private."
His father nodded. "Always a good idea, by the way. Take it from me. What a couple fights about should always remain private. If it doesn't, there's hell to pay. But that doesn't mean I
can't give you some advice anyway, does it?"
"It's never stopped you before."
"All couples argue. That's what you've got to remember."
"I know that."
"Yeah, but what you're thinking is that you and Lexie argue more than you should. Now, I can't tell you whether you do or you don't, but I met that young lady when she came up here and I'll tell you straight up that she's good for you and you'd be dumb if you didn't try to resolve whatever problems there are. She's one of a kind, and your mother thinks you got mighty lucky. So does everyone up here, by the way."
"You don't even know her. You only met her once."
"Did you know she's been writing to your mother every week since you've been down there? And your sisters-in-law?"
Jeremy's face registered his surprise.
"That's what I thought," his father said. "Been calling, too. And sending pictures. Your mom has seen what she looks like in her wedding dress, what the cake looks like, how the house is coming. She even sent some postcards with a picture of the lighthouse on them, so your mom knows what that looks like, too. All that so your mom and the rest of us feel like we're part of what's going on. Your mom can't wait to go down there so they can spend some more time together."
Jeremy was silent. "Why didn't I know about this?" he asked at last.
"I don't know. Maybe she wanted you to be surprised at the wedding, and I'm sorry if I blew it. But my point is that most people wouldn't do all that. She knew your mom wasn't happy about you leaving, but she didn't take it personally. Instead, she just went about trying to make things better. It takes a special person to care like that."
"I can't believe it," Jeremy mumbled, thinking that Lexie was full of surprises. But this time it was okay.
"Now, I know you've been married before, but you're starting all over again. The one thing you've got to remember is to see the big picture. When things get tough, remind yourself why you fell in love with her in the first place. She's a special woman, and you were lucky to find her, just as she was lucky to find you. She's got a heart of gold, and you can't fake something like that."
"Why do I get the sense that you're on her side and you think the argument was my fault?"
"Because I've known you all my life," his father said with a wink. "You've always been good at picking fights. What do you think you've been doing when you write those articles?"
Despite everything, Jeremy laughed. "What if you're wrong about me? What if it was her fault?"
His father shrugged. "Well, then I'd say it takes two to tango. My guess is that both of you are right and both of you are wrong. That's the way most arguments go, anyway. People are who they are and no one is perfect, but marriage is about becoming a team. You're going to spend the rest of your life learning about each other, and every now and then, things blow up. But the beauty of marriage is that if you picked the right person and you both love each other, you'll always figure out a way to get through it."
Later that night, Jeremy was leaning against the wall of Alvin's apartment with a beer in his hand, surveying the crowd, many of whom were watching the TV. Mostly because of the tattoo connection, Alvin was a big Allen Iverson fan, and as fate would have it, the 76ers were facing the Hornets in the play-offs. Though most of those in attendance would probably have preferred to watch the Knicks, they'd played on Wednesday. Nonetheless, people were around the television, using the bachelor party as an excuse to watch the game with a rowdiness not normally permitted by the wives they'd left at home. If they had wives, that is. Jeremy wasn't so sure about some of them, who were as heavily tattooed and pierced as Alvin. But they seemed to be having a good time; a few had been drinking since they'd arrived and were already slurring their words. Every now and then, someone would suddenly seem to remember why he was at Alvin's apartment in the first place and wander toward Jeremy.
"You having fun?" he might say, or, "How about I get you another beer?"
"I'm doing fine, thanks," Jeremy would answer.
Though he hadn't seen these people in a couple of months, few seemed to feel the need to catch up, which made sense considering that most of them were more Alvin's friends than his. In fact, as he scanned the room, he realized that he didn't recognize half the people here, which struck him as somewhat amusing since it was supposed to be his party. He would have been just as happy spending the evening with only Alvin, Nate, and his brothers, but Alvin was notorious for seizing any excuse to have a good time. And Alvin seemed to be having a great time, especially considering the 76ers were leading by two halfway through the third period. He was among those whooping and hollering every time the 76ers scored. As were Jeremy's brothers. Only Nate, who'd never been much of a sports fan, seemed uninterested in the game; he was busy loading his plate with another slice of pizza.
The party had started out on a good note; he'd stepped into the room and had been greeted as if he'd recently returned from war. His brothers had crowded around and bombarded him with questions about Lexie and Boone Creek and the house; Nate had been kind enough to bring a list of possible story ideas, one of which concerned the increasingly popular use of astrology as a way to invest. Jeremy listened, making mental notes, and admitted to himself that it was original enough for a column, if not an article; he thanked Nate, with the promise to keep it in mind. Not that it would do any good.
Nonetheless, it had been easy to forget his problems for the time being. Distance had a strange way of making the aggravations of Boone Creek life seem humorous; while telling his brothers about the renovations, they couldn't stop laughing at his description of the workers, and Jeremy found himself laughing as well. They roared at the fact that Lexie made him stay at Greenleaf and pleaded with Jeremy to take pictures of his room so they could see the stuffed critters themselves. They wanted a photo of Jed, too, who in the course of the conversation had grown to almost mythic proportions in their minds. And they begged, just as Alvin had, to let them know as soon as he went hunting so they could hear all about it.
In time, they drifted toward the television along with everyone else, getting in the spirit of the evening. Jeremy felt content to watch from a distance.
"Nice shirt," Alvin commented, coming up.
"I know," Jeremy said. "You've already told me twice."
"And I'm going to keep telling you. I don't care whether Lexie bought it or not. You look like a tourist."
"So?"
"So? We're going out tonight. We're going to storm this city, party it up in honor of your last few nights as a single man, and you're dressed like you just spent the afternoon milking cows. It's not you."
"It's the new me."
Alvin laughed. "Weren't you the one who was complaining about the shirt in the first place?"
"I think it grew on me."
"It certainly grew somewhere. But I'll tell you, my friends are getting a kick out of it."
Jeremy lifted his beer and took another sip. He'd been nursing it for an hour, and it was getting warm. "I can't say that bothers me. Half of them are wearing T-shirts they bought at rock concerts, and the other half are covered in leather. I'd look out of place no matter what I wore."
"That may be true," Alvin said with a grin, "but notice the energy they're bringing to your party. I couldn't imagine having to spend the whole night with just Nate along for the ride."
Jeremy spotted his agent across the room. Nate was wearing a tight three-piece suit, the top of his head was shiny with perspiration, and there was a spot of pizza sauce on his chin. He seemed more out of place than Jeremy. Noticing Jeremy's stare, he waved a slice of pizza.
"Yeah, that reminds me... thanks for inviting your friends to my bachelor party."
"Who was I supposed to invite? I tried the guys at Scientific American, but they didn't seem all that interested. Other than them, the only names I could come up with, besides your brothers and Nate, were females. I didn't realize that you were such a hermit while you lived here. And besides, this is just the pre-party to get u
s in the proper mood for the evening."
"I hesitate to ask what's on the agenda later."
"Don't bother. It's a surprise."
A roar from the crowd erupted as people high-fived. Beer sloshed here and there as the replay showed Iverson sinking a long three-pointer.
"Hey, did Nate talk to you yet?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because I don't want him ruining the evening by talking about writing all night. I know that's a sore subject with you right now, but you're going to have to leave it behind when we hit the limo."
"Not a problem," Jeremy lied.
"Yeah, sure. That's why you're over here leaning against the wall instead of watching the game, right?"
"I'm preparing myself for the evening."
"Looks more like you're pacing yourself so you don't get in trouble. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're still on your first beer."
"So?"
"So? It's your bachelor party. You're allowed to cut loose. In fact, you're supposed to cut loose. So how about I get you another beer and we'll get this party started."
"I'm fine," Jeremy insisted. "I'm having a good time."
Alvin studied him. "You've changed," he said.
Yeah, Jeremy thought, I have. But he said nothing.
Alvin shook his head. "I know you're getting married, but..."
When he trailed off, Jeremy stared at him. "But what?"
"This," Alvin answered. "All of it. The way you're dressed, the way you're acting. It's like I don't know who you are anymore."
Jeremy shrugged. "Maybe I'm growing up."
Alvin began peeling the label off his beer bottle as he answered. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe."
Once the game ended, most of Alvin's friends lingered near the food, doing their best to finish off the last of the pizza until Alvin finally shooed them from the apartment. When they were gone, Jeremy followed Alvin, Nate, and his brothers down the stairs, where they piled into the waiting limousine. Another case of beer was on ice inside, and even Nate was getting into the spirit of things. A lightweight when it came to alcohol, he was swaying after only three beers, and his eyelids were already at half-mast.
"Clausen," he was saying. "You need to do another story like the one you did with Clausen. That's what you need to find. You need to bag another elephant. Are you hearing me here?"