Before the Storm (26 page)

Fourth of July?
”

“I don’t know anything about either of them,” I said. “Put

on whichever is lighter.”

He inserted
When Harry Met Sally
into the VCR and sat on

the opposite end of the sofa from me. We kicked off our shoes

and put our feet up on his heavy wooden coffee table. I’d forgotten to put socks on and my feet were cold, so he loaned

me a pair of his. They were too big and, as I wiggled my feet,

the toes flopped back and forth.

I slid down on the sofa and lost myself in the movie. It made

me giggle. When was the last time I’d giggled? Right after Meg

Ryan faked an orgasm in the restaurant, Marcus said he was

hungry again, so we stopped the movie while he made popcorn

in the microwave.

“So what d’you think about the message in this movie,

Laurel?” Marcus set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table

and handed me another wine cooler.

“There’s a message?” I giggled again.

“Can men and women be friends without letting…you

know…sex get in the way?”

“Of course!” I said. “You and I are friends.”

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“But you’re my sister-in-law, so that’s different.”

“Well, I still think it’s possible.” I took a handful of popcorn.

More Styrofoam, but it went down easy with the wine cooler.

The image of Meg Ryan faking an orgasm in the restaurant

slipped into my mind. “Speaking of orgasms,” I said impulsively, “I had my first ever on the back of Jamie’s bike.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “That really happens? I thought it

was a myth.”

“Oh, it happens all right. There’s something about fourth

gear.”

He laughed. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not.” But I was and I knew it and I was grateful for it.

“Are, too.” He grinned. “I like you drunk, though. Been a

while since I’ve seen you look this happy.”

I leaned forward for another handful of popcorn, but missed

the bowl by inches. It swam in front of my eyes. I tried again,

but moving my head made the room spin. Before
I’m going to

be sick
was even a conscious thought, I threw up on Marcus’s

coffee table.

“Shit!” He sprang to his feet.

“Oh my God.” Hands on either side of my head, I looked in

disbelief at the pool of grits and masticated shrimp and wine

cooler on his coffee table. “I’m so sorry.”

Marcus darted for the kitchen.“My fault,” he said.“I let you

drink too much.”

I was going to throw up again. I stood up, but fell against

the side of the couch. Marcus came into my field of vision, a

roll of paper towels in one hand, catching me by the arm with

the other.

“To the bathroom,” he said, half dragging me toward the hall.

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I just made it to the toilet. He held my hair back as I got

sick. When I was finally able to sit on the f loor, my back

against the shower door, he cleaned my face with a cool washcloth.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I made a mess in your living

room.”

“I’ll clean it up. Stay right here.”

I tried to say I’d help him, but the words wouldn’t come out.

I must have fallen asleep—or passed out—because I woke

up in a strange bed in a strange room. The door was closed,

but I saw a line of light beneath it.

I sat up, my head pounding. “Marcus?”

In a moment the door opened and I winced against the

light.

He walked into the room.“How d’ya feel?” he asked, sitting

down on the bed.

“Did you have to carry me in here? Is this your bed?”

“Guest room.You know, the bedroom in the front of the

house? And I only had to half carry you in here.”

“What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.”

“Why are you still up?”

He laughed. “I was afraid you were going to die on me. I

told Jamie I’d get you to eat. He didn’t say anything about

getting you to drink, though.” He patted my leg through the

covers. “Can’t hold your liquor, girl.”

“I liked how I felt up until the time I threw up.”

“Yeah, it was fun till then.”

“What a mess. I’m really sorry.” I giggled again, the sound

surprising me, and Marcus smiled.

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227

“C’mere, you,” he said, gently lifting me into a hug. “You

gotta promise me something, Laurel,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“You’ll try to work things out with Jamie. Because I want

you to always be in my family.You’re the only one who ever

treated me like I was worth something.”

“That’s not true,” I said into his shoulder. “Jamie treats you

well.”

“He kicked me out.”

“You were a little shit.”

Marcus was quiet for so long that I nearly fell asleep with

my head on his shoulder.

“You’re right,” he finally said with a sigh.“We know our roles

and we play them well. Jamie’s the saint and I’m the sinner.”

That night was the start of a new chapter in my life. Marcus

and I ate dinner together at The Sea Tender or Talos most

evenings, then watched TV or a movie, and I learned how

many wine coolers I could drink so that I felt good without

getting sick. Marcus usually cooked, but I shopped for any ingredients he needed, which felt like a huge step forward to me,

since I hadn’t grocery shopped in months. The outings to the

store in Sneads Ferry wore me out and I usually napped when

I came home, but I was no longer sleeping in my clothes or

going for days without a shower. I looked forward to my

evenings with him, although I worried at first that he felt the

need to babysit me. I gradually realized he was choosing my

company over that of his friends. We were proving
When Harry

Met Sally
wrong, I thought. Men and women
could
be good

friends and nothing more.

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I started worrying about him. I felt scared when I’d see him

out surfing alone, knowing he was probably wasted. I didn’t

want to lose him, not only because he was my brother-in-law

and my friend, but also, frankly, because he was my drinking

buddy.

The alcohol loosened my tongue, and I talked to Marcus in

a way that I couldn’t talk to Jamie or the therapist I’d seen or

Sara. He was the only person I told about my fear of hurting

Maggie.

“D’you miss her?” he asked me one night. We were curled

up on opposite ends of the sofa at Talos.

I hugged my knees with my arms. “I miss…” There was no

easy answer to his question. “I miss the woman I planned to be

with her,” I said. “The mother I expected to be. I thought I’d

be such a great mother. Instead I’m the worst. I’m horrible.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m actually
relieved
not to have her with me anymore.” I

plunked my forehead down on my arms. “I know that sounds

terrible.”

“You’re too tired to take care of her,” he said.

“That’s not why I’m relieved.” I looked him in the eye. “It’s

because I was afraid I was going to hurt her.”

He laughed, but then realized I was serious.“You?” he asked.

“You won’t even go fishing because you think it’s fish abuse.”

“I know it sounds crazy,but I’d get frustrated with her and…I’d

picture myself hurting her.” I didn’t want to tell him of the ways

I’d imagined myself doing it. Those unwanted images that flew

into my mind when I least expected them and made me feel both

crazy and dangerous. I didn’t want him to have to see them, too.

“Just believe me,” I said. “She’s safer not being with me.”

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* * *

Tender. She was a beautiful child, with Jamie’s large brown

eyes and dark hair that already fell in silky waves over her

delicate shoulders. I didn’t see myself in her face at all. Maybe

that’s why she seemed more like a friend’s child than my own.

I wanted to feel love for her. When I’d see her get out of the

car with Jamie, my heart would swell with a kind of longing,

but it was as if the closer she came to me, the less I felt. I pretended, though.

“Hi, Maggie!” I’d say, in a voice that rang false to my own

ears. “Would you like to play with your blocks? Or we could

put together one of your puzzles?”

She’d cling to Jamie’s leg, yet keep me in her field of vision.

It would take all my energy and false cheer, but I could usually

engage her in an activity if Jamie played along with us.

One day, Jamie gave me his usual hug when he arrived, then

drew back with a quizzical look.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked.

My breath had given me away. “Just a wine cooler with

lunch,” I said.

“Be careful.” He rested his big hand on Maggie’s head. “You

know alcohol’s a depressant.”

“Oh, I know.” I brushed the comment aside. “You don’t

need to worry.”

He smiled at me then. “You do seem a lot better these

days,” he said.

Alcohol might have been a depressant for most people, but

it was having the opposite effect on me, I thought. It took away

the ache inside me and let me feel a little bit like myself again.

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The next time Jamie came over, I brushed my teeth and

gargled with mouthwash. It sent a shiver up my spine to see

my own deception. To realize I was drinking enough that I

needed to hide it.

I was careful around Sara, too, in case Jamie told her to be

on the lookout for my drinking. She’d occasionally bring lunch

over, and I had the feeling she and Jamie had worked out some

sort of schedule for their checking-up-on-Laurel visits.

One balmy November day, Sara suggested we go for a walk

on the beach after lunch. “It’s gorgeous out, Laurel,” she said.

“Do you feel up to it?”

My first thought was to plead exhaustion, but when I looked

out the window, the sand sparkled and the sky and sea were

the same rich shade of blue and I suddenly wanted to be

walking in the sunshine.

“Sure,” I said. “How chilly is it out?”

She was momentarily speechless at my response. “It’s

barefoot weather, believe it or not.” She kicked off her tennis

shoes and started tugging off her socks, leaning against the

kitchen counter for support.

I took off my slippers and together we walked out on the back

deck and down the steps to the beach. I felt a surge of happiness. How much was due to the splendor of the day or to the

wine cooler I’d had before lunch, I couldn’t say. I curled my toes

deep into the cool sand as we started walking south on the beach.

“Bare feet in November!” Sara said. “I’m
never
going back

to Michigan.”

“Good,” I said. “I’d hate for you to leave.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, but things
are
about to

change.” She glanced at me, smiling. “I wanted to tell you

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231

before it became obvious.” She rested her hand on her

stomach.

“You’re
pregnant?
”

She nodded. “Four months. Due in May.”

“Congratulations!” I tried to get some oomph in my voice,

but found myself suddenly consumed by envy. Sara would be

a terrific mother—a mother filled with joy at the birth of her

baby. “Is Steve excited?”

Sara laughed. “As excited as Steve gets. You know him.

Always cool, calm and collected. That’s why the military loves

him, and he loves it.”

Actually, I didn’t know Steve very well. He was quiet and

reserved and serious, and I sometimes had the feeling Sara liked

it better when he was away on temporary duty, but maybe I was

only projecting my own recent need to be apart from Jamie onto

her.

I had a sudden thought. With a baby on the way, would Sara

and Steve still want Jamie and Maggie living with them? I’d

only been to their house once, and it was small. I was trying

to formulate the question when Sara spoke again.

“You know that Jamie doesn’t really want to be living with

us, don’t you? That he’d rather be here with you? He still loves

you. He only left because you wanted him to.”

“I know.”

“Do you still love him?”

I blew out my breath and tipped my head back to search the

sky for an answer. “I don’t even love myself right now, Sara,” I

said finally, although an image of Marcus flickered in my mind.

The warm gratitude I felt toward him was the closest feeling

I had to love these days.

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“I’m not sure it’s the right thing for him not to live here. To

separate you from your daughter.”

I could read the writing on the wall and hated the way my

heart sank. “Does he have to get out right away?” I asked. “You

must need his room for the nursery.”

“Actually, no,” she said. “Maggie’s in the third bedroom

right now, but the baby will be in our room at least for a while,

so it’s not a problem. For the first week that we have the baby

home, my mother will be coming from Michigan, so we’ll

need the room then, but other than that, Jamie and Maggie are

welcome to stay as long as they want. Frankly, the rent helps.