37
A dozen cars were parked in front of the store as Katie trailed the kids up the stairs to the house. Josh and Kristen had whined most of the ride home about how tired their legs were, but Alex ignored it, reminding them periodically that they were getting closer. When that didn't work, he simply commented that he was getting tired, too, and didn't want to hear any more about it.
The complaining ended when they got to the store. Alex let them grab Popsicles and Gatorade before they went upstairs, and the burst of cool air as they opened the door was ridiculously refreshing. Alex led Katie to the kitchen and she watched as he drenched his face and neck at the kitchen sink. In the living room, the kids were already sprawled on the couch, the television on.
"Sorry," he said. "I thought I was about to die about ten minutes ago."
"You didn't say anything."
"That's because I'm tough," he said, pretending to puff out his chest. He retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and added ice cubes before pouring water from a pitcher he kept in the refrigerator.
"You're a trouper," he added, handing her a glass. "It's like a sauna out there."
"I can't believe how many people are still at the carnival," she said, taking a drink.
"I've always wondered why they don't move up the date to either May or October, but then again, the crowds seem to come no matter what."
She glanced at the clock on the wall. "What time do you have to leave?"
"In an hour or so. But I should be back before eleven."
Five hours, she thought. "Do you want me to make the kids anything special for dinner?"
"They like pasta. Kristen likes hers with butter, Josh likes his with marinara, and I've got a bottle of that in the refrigerator. They've been snacking all day, though, so they might not eat much."
"What time do they go to bed?"
"Whenever. It's always before ten, but sometimes it's as early as eight. You'll have to use your best judgment."
She held the cool glass of water against her cheek and glanced around the kitchen. She hadn't spent much time in their home, and now that she was here she noticed remnants of a woman's touch. Little things--red stitching on the curtains, china prominently displayed in a cabinet, Bible verses on painted ceramic tiles near the stove. The house was filled with evidence of his life with another woman, but to her surprise, it didn't bother her.
"I'm going to go hop into the shower," Alex said. "Will you be okay for a few minutes?"
"Of course," she said. "I can snoop around your kitchen and think about dinner."
"The pasta's in the cupboard over there," he said, pointing. "But listen, when I get out, if you want me to drive you over to your place so you can shower and change, I'd be glad to do it. Or you can shower here. Whatever you want."
She struck a sultry pose. "Is that an invitation?"
His eyes widened and then flashed to the kids.
"I was kidding." She laughed. "I'll shower after you're gone."
"Do you want to pick up a change of clothes first? If not, you can borrow sweats and a T-shirt... the sweats will be too big for you, but you can adjust the drawstring."
Somehow the idea of wearing his clothes sounded extremely sexy to her. "That's fine," she assured him. "I'm not picky. I'm just watching movies with the kids, remember?"
Alex drained his glass before putting it in the sink. He leaned forward and kissed her, then headed toward the bedroom.
Once he was gone, Katie turned toward the kitchen window. She watched the road outside, feeling a nameless anxiety come over her. She'd felt the same way earlier in the morning and assumed it was an aftershock of the argument she'd had with Alex, but now she found herself thinking of the Feldmans again. And about Kevin.
She'd thought of him when she was on the Ferris wheel. As she'd scanned the crowd, she knew she hadn't been searching for people from the restaurant. Not really. She'd been looking for Kevin. Believing for some inexplicable reason that he might be in the crowd. Thinking he was there.
But that was just her paranoia surfacing again. There was no way he could know where she was, no way to know her identity. It was impossible, she reminded herself. He never would have connected her to the Feldmans' daughter; he never even spoke to them. But why, then, had she felt all day like someone was following her, even as they left the carnival?
She wasn't psychic and didn't believe in such things. But she did believe in the power of the subconscious mind to put together pieces that the conscious mind might miss. Standing in Alex's kitchen, however, the pieces were still scrambled, without shape or order of any kind, and after watching a dozen cars pass by on the road out front, she finally turned away. It was probably just her old fears raising their ugly head again.
She shook her head and thought of Alex in the shower. The thought of joining him made her flush hot with anticipation. And yet... it wasn't quite that simple, even if the kids hadn't been around. Even if Alex thought of her as Katie, Erin was still married to Kevin. She wished that she were another woman, a woman who could simply move into her lover's arms without hesitation. After all, it was Kevin who had broken all the rules of marriage when he first raised his fists against her. When God looked into her heart, she was pretty sure that He would agree that what she was doing wasn't a sin. Wouldn't He?
She sighed. Alex... he was all she could think about. Later was all she could think about. He loved her and wanted her and she wanted, more than anything, to show him that she felt the same way. She wanted to feel his body against hers, wanted all of him for as long as he wanted her. Forever.
Katie forced herself to stop picturing herself with Alex, to stop dreaming about what was to come. She shook her head to clear it and went to the living room, where she took a seat on the couch next to Josh. They were watching a Disney Channel television show she didn't recognize. After a while she looked up at the clock, and noticed that only ten minutes had gone by. It felt like an hour.
Once he finished with his shower, Alex made a sandwich and sat beside her on the couch as he ate. He smelled clean and his hair was still wet at the ends, clinging to his skin in a way that made her want to trace the line of dampness with her lips. The kids, glued to the screen, ignored them, even after he put the plate on the end table and began to run his finger slowly up and down her thigh.
"You look beautiful," he whispered into her ear.
"I look terrible," she countered, trying to ignore the line of fire burning its way up her thigh. "I haven't showered yet."
When it was time for him to leave, he kissed the kids in the living room. She followed him to the door and when he kissed her good-bye, he let his hand wander lower, past her waist, his lips soft against hers. Obviously in love with her, obviously wanting her, making sure she knew it. He was driving her crazy, and he seemed to be enjoying it.
"See you in a bit," he said, pulling back.
"Drive safely," she whispered. "The kids will be fine."
When she heard his footsteps descending the steps outside, she leaned against the door for a long, slow breath. Good Lord, she thought. Good Lord. Vows or not, guilt or not, she decided that even if he wasn't in the mood, she definitely was.
She peeked up at the clock again, certain that this would be the longest five hours of her life.
38
Damn!" Kevin kept saying. "Damn!" He'd been driving for hours. He'd stopped to buy four bottles of vodka at the ABC store. One of them was half gone, and as he drove he saw two of everything unless he squinted, keeping one eye closed.
He was searching for bicycles. Four of them, including one with baskets. He might as well have been looking for a specific piece of plankton in the ocean. Up one road and down the next, as the afternoon wound down and dusk settled in. He looked from left to right and back again. He knew where she lived, knew he would eventually find her at home. But in the meantime the gray-haired man was out there with Erin, laughing at him, saying, I'm so much better than Kevin, baby.
He screame
d curses in the car, pounding on the steering wheel. He flipped the safety on the Glock from the off to the on position and back again, imagining Erin kissing him, his arm around her waist. Remembering how happy she'd looked, thinking she had tricked her husband. Cheated on him. Moaned and murmured beneath her lover while he panted atop her.
He could barely see, fighting the blurriness with one eye. A car came up behind him on the neighborhood streets, tailgating for a while, then flashing his lights. Kevin slowed the car and pulled over, fingering the gun. He hated rude people, people who thought they owned the road. Bang.
Dusk turned the streets into shadowy mazes, making it difficult to see the spindly outlines of bicycles. When he drove past the gravel road for the second time, he decided on impulse to turn around and visit her house again, just in case. He stopped just out of sight of the cottage and got out. A hawk circled overhead, and he heard cicadas humming, but otherwise the place seemed deserted. He started toward the house but could see already from a distance that there was no bicycle parked out front. No lights on, either, but it wasn't dark yet, so he crept to the back door. Unlocked, just like before.
She wasn't home, and he didn't think she'd been home since he'd been here earlier. The house was sweltering, all the windows shut tight. She would have opened the windows, he felt sure, would have had a glass of water, might have taken a shower. Nothing. He left through the back door, staring at the neighboring house. A dump. Probably deserted. Good. But the fact that Erin wasn't home meant she was with the gray-haired man, had gone to his house. Cheating, pretending she wasn't married. Forgetting the home that Kevin had bought for her.
His head throbbed in time with his heartbeats, a knife going in and out. Stab. Stab. Stab. It was hard to focus as he pulled the door closed behind him. Mercy of all mercies, it was cooler outside. She lived in a sweatbox, sweated with a gray-haired man. They were sweating together now, somewhere, writhing in sheets, bodies intertwined. Coffey and Ramirez were laughing about that, slapping their thighs, having a good old time at his expense. I wonder if I could do her, too, Coffey was saying to Ramirez. Don't you know? Ramirez answered back. She let half the precinct do her while Kevin was working. Everyone knows about it. Bill waving from his office, holding suspension papers. I did her, too, every Tuesday for a year. She's wild in bed. Says the dirtiest things.
He stumbled back to his car, his finger on the gun. Bastards, all of them. Hated them, imagined walking into the precinct and unloading the Glock, emptying the clip, showing them. Showing all of them. Erin, too.
He stopped and bent over, vomiting onto the side of the road. Stomach cramping, a clawing in his gut like a rodent was trapped inside him. Puked again, and then dry heaves and the world spun when he tried to stand. The car was close and he staggered to it. Grabbed the vodka and drank and tried to think like Erin, but then he was at the barbecue holding a burger covered in flies and everyone was pointing and laughing at him.
Back to the car. Bitch had to be somewhere. She'd watch gray-hair die. Watch them all die. Burn in hell. Burn and burn, all of them. Carefully, he climbed in and started the car. He backed into a tree as he was trying to turn around, and then, cursing, tore out on the gravel, spinning rocks.
Night would soon be falling. She came in this direction, had to be down this way. Little kids couldn't ride far. Three or four miles, maybe five. He'd been down every road this way, looked at every house. No bicycles. They could be in the garage, could be parked in fenced yards. He'd wait and she'd come home sometime. Tonight. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. He'd stick the gun in her mouth, aim it at her breasts. Tell me who he is, he'd say. I just want to talk to him. He'd find gray-hair and show him what happened to men who slept with other men's wives.
He felt like he had been weeks without sleep, weeks without food. He couldn't understand why it was dark and he wondered when that happened. Couldn't remember when he got here exactly. He remembered seeing Erin, remembered trying to follow her and driving, but wasn't even sure where he was.
A store loomed on the right, looking like a house with a porch out front. GAS FOOD, the sign said. He remembered that from earlier, but how long ago he couldn't say. He slowed the car involuntarily. He needed food, needed to sleep. Had to find a place to stay the night. His stomach lurched. He grabbed the bottle and tilted the bottom up, feeling the burn in his throat, soothing him. But as soon as he lowered the bottle, his stomach heaved again.
He pulled into the lot, fighting to keep the liquor down, his mouth watering. Running out of time. He skidded to a stop alongside the store and jumped out. Ran to the front of his car and heaved into the darkness. His body shivered, his legs wobbled. His stomach coming up. His liver. All of it. Somehow, he was still holding the bottle, hadn't put it down. He breathed hard in and out and drank, using it to rinse his mouth, swallowing it. Finishing another bottle.
And there, like an image from a dream, in the darkened shadows behind the house, he saw four bicycles parked side by side.
39
Katie had the kids take a bath before getting them into their pajamas. Afterward, she showered, lingering under the spray and enjoying the luxurious feeling of shampoo and soap rinsing the salt from her body after a day in the sun.
She made the kids their pasta, and after dinner they sorted through the collection of DVDs, trying to find one that both kids wanted to watch, until they finally agreed on Finding Nemo. She sat between Josh and Kristen on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, their little hands reaching in automatically from either direction. She wore a comfy pair of sweats that Alex had laid out and a worn Carolina Panthers jersey, tucking her legs up under her as they watched the movie, utterly at ease for the first time that day.
Outside, the heavens bloomed like fireworks, displaying vibrant rainbow colors that faded to pastel washes before finally giving way to bluish-gray and then indigo skies. Stars began to flicker as the last shimmering waves of heat rose from the earth.
Kristen had begun to yawn as the movie progressed, but every time Dory appeared on-screen, she managed to chirp, "She's my favorite, but I can't remember why!" On the other side of her, Josh was struggling to stay awake.
When the movie ended and Katie leaned forward to turn it off, Josh raised his head and let it fall to the couch. He was too big for her to carry, so she nudged his shoulder, telling him it was time for bed. He grunted and whined before sitting up. He yawned and rose to his feet and, with Katie by his side, staggered to the bedroom. He crawled into bed without complaint and she kissed him good night. Unsure whether he needed a night-light, she kept the light in the hallway on but closed the door partway.
Kristen was next. She asked Katie to lie beside her for a few minutes, and Katie did, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of the day beginning to take its toll. Kristen fell asleep within minutes, and Katie had to force herself to stay awake before tiptoeing out of the room.
Afterward, she cleaned up the remnants of their dinner and emptied the bowl of popcorn. As she glanced around the living room, she noticed evidence of the kids everywhere: a stack of puzzles on a bookshelf, a basket of toys in the corner, comfortable leather couches that were gloriously spill-proof. She studied the knickknacks scattered about: an old-fashioned clock that had to be wound daily, an ancient set of encyclopedias on a shelf near the recliner, a crystal vase on the table near the windowsill. On the walls hung framed black-and-white architectural photographs of decaying tobacco barns. They were quintessentially Southern, and she remembered seeing many of these rustic scenes on her journey through North Carolina.
There were also signs of the chaotic life Alex led: a red stain on the runner in front of the couch, gouges in the wood floor, dust on the baseboards. But as she surveyed the house, she couldn't help smiling, because those things, too, seemed to reflect who Alex was. He was a widowed father, doing his best to raise two kids and keep a tidy, if imperfect, house. The house was a snapshot of his life, and she liked its easy, comfortable feel.
She tur
ned out the lights and collapsed on the couch. She picked up the remote and surfed TV channels, trying to find something interesting but not too demanding. It was coming up on ten o'clock, she noted. An hour to go. She lay back on the couch and started watching a show on the Discovery Channel, something about volcanoes. She noticed a glare on the screen and stretched to turn off the lamp on the end table, darkening the room. She leaned back again. Better.
She watched for a few minutes, barely aware that every time she blinked, her eyes stayed closed a fraction longer. Her breath slowed and she began to melt into the cushions. Images began to float through her mind, disjointed at first, thoughts of the carnival rides, the view from the Ferris wheel. People standing in random clusters, young and old, teens and couples. Families. And somewhere in the distance, a man in a baseball hat and sunglasses, weaving among the crowd, moving with purpose before she lost sight of him again. Something she'd recognized: the walk, the jut of his jaw, the way he swung his arms.
She was drifting now, relaxing and remembering, the images beginning to blur, the sound of the television fading. The room growing darker, quieter. She drifted further, her mind flashing back again and again to the view from the Ferris wheel. And, of course, to the man she'd seen, a man who'd been moving like a hunter through the brush, in search of game.
40
Kevin stared up at the windows, nursing his half-empty bottle of vodka, his third of the night. No one gave him a second glance. He was standing on the dock at the rear of the house; he'd changed into a black long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. Only his face was visible, but he stood in the shade of a cypress tree, hidden behind the trunk. Watching the windows. Watching the lights, watching for Erin.
Nothing happened for a long while. He drank, working on finishing the bottle. People came through the store every few minutes, often using their credit cards to buy gas at the pump. Busy, busy, even out here, in the middle of nowhere. He moved around to the side of the store, gazing up at the windows. He recognized the flickering blue glow of a television. The four of them, watching TV, acting like a happy family. Or maybe the kids were already in bed, tired from the carnival, tired from the bike ride. Maybe it was just Erin and the gray-haired man snuggling on the couch, kissing and touching each other while Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts fell in love on the screen.