Borrowing Trouble (10 page)

***

“So, did it ride well for you?” asked Eric, his mouth full of donut and some powdered sugar clinging to his reddish beard.

“Yes.”

“Good. I helped Trip pick out the frame and I plundered his garage for some parts. Those Zipp wheels were special ordered though.”

“You made this?”

“That’s what I do. I own the bike shop on Union.”

I nodded like I knew of Eric’s shop. “Cool.”

“Are the grips okay? I had to go with some I had on hand.”

I nodded again.
They are handle bars and grips.

“Because the set with the sparkly streamers coming out of the ends was on back order. Should be in next week.”

“I’m sorry. Sparkly streamers?”

“Again, I’m sorry. I told him I could get rainbow streamers in time, but he said they needed to be sparkly.”

“Did he tell you why he wanted sparkly streamers?”

Eric paused. “Because they would look badass?” he guessed with a shrug.

“Do I look like a sparkly streamer kind of girl? Maybe when I was eight.”

“Beats me,” Eric shrugged again, popping the last bite of donut in his mouth. “He’s Trip. I don’t think anyone ever really knows what he’s doing.”

“Trying to take the piss out of me for some reason.”

“It’s a really nice bike.”

“Yes, at this rate, I’m going to have a half dozen before the end of the year.”

“There are others?” Eric asked with a pause.

“Just one. A carbon fiber Cannondale hybrid he bought me to keep at the beach. He said this one is a road bike though.”             

“Hey, guys.” Eric’s voice boomed throughout the garage and everyone turned to him. “Trip here has been buying Runner Girl bikes. Nice bikes. Two Cannondale carbon fibers. And check out the components. We all know that even that KGS isn’t too fancy for a kid trailer.”

“Damn, Trip,” whistled Sid. “You know a ring would cost less.”

“Out,” Trip declared, pointing at the open garage doors with an Allen wrench. “Out.”

“Trip,” I said, waving my hands. “We’re good here. Plus, it’s really nice to see you blush for a change.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Can we do this again next weekend?” asked Trip, as he watched me shove dirty clothes in my Longchamp tote.

“Were you serious about that? I go from a weekend where we barely leave your house to a weekend in Europe?”

“That sounds like a completely natural progression to me,” he smirked.

“Part of your plan to seduce me, Mr. Brannon?”

Trip shrugged. “Not exactly, but I’m not ready for this weekend to end.”

“Me either. I like this little bubble.”

“Shall we take this little bubble international, then? Passport valid?”

“Yes, my passport is valid. That’s not my hesitancy. I don’t want your dad to think I’m taking advantage of you or the freedom he gave us. I’m going to bet money that you haven’t taken other girlfriends on business trips.”             

Trip paused in thought. “You’re right about that. I’ve never wanted to before you.”

I finished packing and wrapped my arms around him. “I’d like to go, but how about we do New York as a compromise? I can fly up and meet you there.”

“This eliminates the whole seven hours stuck in first class with you.” He pulled me snug against his chest.

“If you remember, we’ve ticked that box. And I’m sure as shit not having sex on a commercial flight.”

“Fine. New York. Think we both can make it in time for a late Friday night dinner?”

“You mean a New York time dinner.”

“Yes, no five-thirty supper up there. I’ll have Jenny figure out flights.”

“I’m paying for mine.”

“But—”

“No. Trip, I’m not looking for you to take care of me in that way. That’s not why I’m seeing you and I don’t want anyone to think it is.”

“Fine. I’ll get Jenny to figure everything else out. She’ll email you details.”

“Can I just do it, so your assistant doesn’t know about it?”

“Jenny knows everything about my life. She pretty much runs it and it is no secret that we’re an item.” He looked down at me with a wink. “Best office gossip ever. Because it is completely true.”

“I give up.” I shook my head and leaned into his chest.

“Good. It’s for the best. Trust me.”

“Okay, so I’m really going home. What time is your flight out?”

“Tonight around six. It’s going to be a long week.”

“A long week, bookended by great weekends, that’s my life, too.”

Trip planted a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m a lucky bastard.”

“That you are. Okay, are you going to let me go so that we can both hurry up to get to next weekend?”

“No,” said Trip, tightening his hug.

“How about this. Let me go and I’ll bring you a present in New York.”

“A present?” He instantly released me.

“You are an eight year old,” I laughed, walking to my car. “Yes, a present. Not a bike.”

***

I spent Thursday just across the state line in Mississippi, interviewing people at a shipping warehouse about alleged religious harassment. After my fifteenth twenty-minute consecutive interview, my mind was mush and all of the employees had merged in to one giant mistake.

Did everyone there really think that “teasing the new guy” would be best accomplished by wearing yarmulkes made from construction paper and fake sidelocks fashioned from an old Cher wig? What the hell is wrong with people? It’s a freaking shipping warehouse, not a secret society. Why tease the new people at all?
This is going to be an expensive case to get rid of.

My phone rang, snapping me out of my angry thoughts.
Erica. I need a laugh.

“Erica!”

“Marisa?” Erica croaked.

“What is wrong? Are you okay? Are Simon and Miriam okay?” Erica just bawled harder. “I need you to tell me. Are you at a hospital?”

“No. I’m home,” Erica snuffled. “My mom has them at swim practice.”

“Is it Josh?”

“Yes. I got into his Gmail account.”

Fucker better not be cheating on her.
“Can your mom keep the kids tonight?”

“No. She and my dad leave in the morning for a cruise.”

“Okay, then here is the plan. Text your mom. Get her take them out for dinner before bringing them home. I’m on my way. We can talk then. Why don’t you take a warm shower? I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

I let myself into Erica’s house and found her hiding under a striped duvet on the master bed. “Honey, oh, sweetie,” I whispered, sitting next to the large lump. “Want to tell me about it?” I cooed, petting the blubbering bulge. “You can stay in there for as long as you need okay? Are you okay?”

Erica’s head popped out from underneath the covers at the foot of the bed. “You can stop trying to feel me up.”

I held my hands above my head in surrender. “Can’t blame me for trying to cop a feel.”

Erica snorted, wiped her wet and splotchy face on the duvet, and released a big puff of air. “I hacked into his Gmail account. Hacked isn’t the right word. I know his passwords. Well, I know his home passwords.”

“So, you saw an incriminating email?”

“I saw dozens.”

“And you think he’s cheating on you?”

“With a woman named Stephanie Bellamy. The shiksa! Sorry, Marisa, I know you’re technically one, too. I Googled her. All blonde and gorgeous. Like a model. She’s like an older version of the women Josh dated before me.”

“Are you
sure
about what you saw?”

“I mean, it’s not like there were naked pictures or anything. Thank God. Just all of these messages about places to meet. Then I Googled those, too. Out of the way places. Small restaurants in Brooklyn and Queens, mainly. Josh isn’t cool enough to go to Brooklyn and he’s too much of a snob to go to Queens. He doesn’t leave Manhattan. He even met her for coffee in freaking Long Island. He took the fucking LIRR to meet her! I would pay money to see him on a commuter train to the suburbs.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s necessarily cheating on you.”

“Argh! Don’t say that! Don’t say that! It hurts too much!” Erica retreated under the covers.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I hugged the lump of bedding that sheltered my best friend. “I’m sure there is an explanation.”

What’s the explanation, Josh?
I was entirely at a loss.
Please say you’re not ruining everything for a fuck. If you and Erica can’t do this, then no one can.
             

“I can’t talk about this anymore. The kids are due home in a bit and I just want to stay in bed.”

“Okay, so you do that. You stay in bed. I’ll stay here. I’ll tell your mom and the kids you’re not feeling well.”

“That’s the truth. I don’t feel well. I feel like punching my husband!”

“Don’t. I’ll bring you a plate for dinner and a glass of wine.”

“I don’t feel like eating.”

“Well, too bad. I feel like taking care of you. I also noticed you didn’t turn down the wine. I’ll be right back.” I closed the bedroom door behind me.

What the hell are you thinking, Josh? Staying in New York, ignoring Erica, rendezvous with another woman. I hope for everyone’s sake there is something totally rational about a grown man being MIA and sneaking off to have meals with a woman who is not his wife.

Yeah. Like that’s likely. I’m going to get Erica the best damn divorce lawyer in the state and then we’re conflicting out everyone else who knows their ass from a hole in the ground. Good luck getting a decent lawyer. Fuck you, Josh. I thought you were one of the good guys.

***

After getting the kids to school with some help from Erica, and a quick change at my condo, I was at my desk by nine, with my carry-on packed and waiting in my car. I buzzed Jane into my office.

“I need you to find out whatever you can about a woman named Stephanie Bellamy. New York City area. Blonde and pretty. Probably looks like a model.”

“Oh! Another mystery! I love it. Is she suing a client?”

“Not exactly. Just let me know what you can find out before the end of the day. Practice your sleuthing skills.”

“I’m not a pro, yet,” Jane said with a smile, as she popped into my office hours later. “But, if it’s the same Stephanie Bellamy as Stephanie Margot Bellamy, then I’ve got a lot for you.” My hand shot out across my desk, snatching the papers from her.

Fuck. An online dating profile. She is really pretty. Dear God, please say this isn’t what it looks like.

As I stared at the profile, noting an allergy to horses and a penchant for art house films, before turning to the other pages in the stack, Jane continued. “She’s a very attractive blonde. Lives and works in Manhattan. Upper West Side, but her office is in Midtown. She’s with an international firm where she—”

“Practices white collar criminal defense law!” I finished, dropping the papers, including her law firm’s professional biography, on my desk. I felt relieved that there was an explanation that didn’t involve cheating on Erica, but at the same time I began to panic.

Josh is into some major shit to hire that firm as his criminal defense lawyer. What the fuck has he gotten himself into? No wonder he’s avoiding Erica. He’s probably scared shitless to talk with her.

The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, which Jane eventually ventured to break. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just a reminder. It’s almost four. I’m not sure when you’re planning on heading to the airport.”

“Thanks. Have a good weekend.”

My cell phone sat next to my keyboard and I stared at it, lost in thought.
Do I tell Erica? This is big. I’ve never kept anything from her before. But Josh must have his reasons. She’s in meltdown mode. Is it better for her to worry that he’s cheating on her or for her to worry about him going to jail? Jail. Jail is infinitely worse. Both would suck for Erica, but jail would be harder on the kids and she’d freak out even more.

Okay, so let’s go with Josh is a cheating bastard while I go track him down this weekend and smack some sense into him. He’s got to tell her something. She’s falling apart. Fuck, please say she doesn’t do something stupid. How do I keep her from doing something stupid? Stay here this weekend?

I’m supposed to leave for the airport in thirty minutes. Trip is probably in the air. Okay, Marisa. Game time. Breathe. Call Erica, assure her that everything is fine. If she’s a mess, I need to stay here. If she’s surviving, then door number two it is – Trip with a side of beating Josh’s ass.

Chapter Eighteen

“Erica, how are you doing?” I tentatively inquired, literally crossing my fingers and closing my eyes for good luck.
Please let her be full of piss and vinegar like normal. I really don’t want to bail on Trip.

“I’m hanging in there.”

“Hanging in there?”

“No, I’ve been crying all day, if you want to know the truth. I nearly throw up every time I see my rings on my finger. I love him so much. Listen, I need to go. The kids are home from school and I don’t want to start crying again. Miri is watching cartoons and Simon is playing on his tablet. I hope they want delivery pizza tonight because I’m still in my pajamas.”

She did school runs in her pajamas? Fuck. She’s in a bad way. Why not take out a full-page ad in
The Commercial Appeal
that says “My marriage is on the rocks” or “I have a substance abuse problem”? Gossip would spread more slowly that way.

Sorry, Trip
. I sent up a silent prayer for his understanding, knowing it would be too great to expect
. I hate to do this to you. I hate to do this to us, but Erica and the kids need someone and, with her parents out of town, that someone is me. If you don’t understand this wouldn’t have worked out in the long run, but it still will break my heart. At least then Erica and I can eat ice cream straight from the container together. Silver linings, right?

“I’ll bring dinner with me.”

“But aren’t you off to New York?”

“I’m not anymore. With traffic, I’ll be there in an hour. I love you, you know.”

“Thank you,” Erica answered hoarsely.

“If you want to thank me, take a shower and put on real clothes before I get there.”

I ended the call and stared at my iPhone.
Now comes the heart breaking part of the day. This is not what I wanted to be doing right now.
I clicked on the airline’s app and quickly cancelled my reservation.
Okay. That was almost too easy. Decision made. Move on to next step.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Trip Brannon. Please leave a message.”

Fuck. He’s probably already in the air. He’ll be pissed I’m bailing. I’d be pissed if he bailed on this weekend. Please, Trip, please understand. I could leave Erica like this. She can handle it, but Miri and Simon – I’m not doing that to them.

“Trip, it’s me. I’m in Memphis. I’m okay. Erica is not. She’ll be fine. No one is in the hospital or anything. I just have to stay here and help with Miri and Simon this weekend. I hope you forgive me and I hope you’ll call me when you get this. I’m sorry. I truly mean it.”

There. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. At least I’m packed for the weekend and don’t have to run home before heading to Germantown.

An hour and a half later, I arrived at Erica’s house, a sack of groceries on my hip and my carry-on suitcase trailing behind me.
She did this for me when I broke up with Paul, leaving Josh with two toddlers for a weekend. I will do this for her. I will do this for Simon and Miriam.
I used my key to open the front door and called into the house. “Hey, y’all!”

Miriam scampered around the corner. “Shh! Risa! Mommy is sick. She is in her bed. We are supposed to use our inside voices and be good for you. Mommy said you will feed us dinner and that it is okay if I watch any Disney movie I want!”

“Right. We’re going to do just that. Can you help me get Simon to the kitchen? We’re going to eat at the island tonight.”

“On the really high stools?” I nodded. “Awesome!” She bounced up and down with delight.

I went to work carving the rotisserie chicken I’d picked up at Kroger. I set a drumstick on each child’s plate and accompanied it with some roasted vegetables I knew they would avoid.
I’m trying here.
I then fixed plates for me and Erica, filled a plastic party wine tumbler to the brim with Erica’s favorite chardonnay, and headed upstairs. I knocked on the door before opening it. “Food. Wine. I’m here for whatever you need. Talk. No talk. I’m just going to make myself at home.”

“Thank you,” replied the sad lump in the bed.

I was nearing the bottom of the stairs as my phone began to ring.
Shit.
I raced toward the kitchen and around the island, my stockinged feet giving way, leaving me smarting on the floor.

Shit. That hurt!
Grabbing onto the countertop, I hoisted myself to a stand, rubbed my sore hip, and snatched the phone. Just as the call rolled to voicemail, I saw Trip’s name flash a final time. I called him back immediately and got his voicemail.
Dueling voicemails. Great.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed your call. I’m feeding the kids dinner. They should be fast asleep by ten, if you want to call then. Again, I’m so sorry.” I ended the call and tried back, but got sent to his voicemail again. My voicemail chimed and I tucked my phone under my ear to listen as I poured the kids glasses of milk.

“Hey, I’m sorry that New York isn’t going to work out. No worries. They are closing the cabin door. I’ve got to go.”

Damn.

My phone chimed again, announcing a text message.
See you when I get back.

Double damn.
That’s breezy, but at least I got a phone call and a text. And he doesn’t sound pissed, so that’s a plus.

“Kids! Simon! Miri! Dinner!” I shouted as I settled down in one of the high cane-backed stools at the kitchen island.
It’s not the dinner at Momofuku I’d thought I was getting. And Erica’s guestroom isn’t a luxury hotel, but at least it does have a comfy bed.
The kids ran into the kitchen and I lost myself in the whirlwind.

Saturday morning I found myself not breakfasting on the rooftop terrace of the Gramercy Park Hotel, but in borrowed pajamas and trying to figure out how to turn on the coffeemaker.
Fuck you, Josh. Your damn Italian machine is too complicated to operate without being caffeinated. Worst Catch-22 of my life. I don’t know what else you’ve done, but this is a criminal offense.

I stomped my foot in frustration. The family’s golden retriever SpongeBob whined at me. “Okay, a quick walk around the block while the kids are gorging on Nutella covered Eggos and cartoons.” I found his leash and shouted up the stairs to Erica before I walked out the front door. “Erica, I’m taking Bob around the block. Kids are happy. I’ll be back.”

***

I stood speechless with Bob’s leash in one hand and a bag of fresh poop in the other, gazing at Trip’s silver Mercedes in front of Erica’s house.
He’s here? He’s supposed to be in New York.
Surely he didn’t come here to break up with me, right? That would just be a huge waste of effort and just be weird because he knows I’m keeping the kids. This has to be a good thing. It’s a good thing.

I walked through the garage, dumping Bob’s present in the garbage before entering the house. In the mudroom I kicked off my leopard print kitten heels that I’d packed, intending to explore Manhattan in them, and padded into the house. I found Miriam, Simon, and Trip crowded around the island, stuffing their faces with donuts out of a box from Gibson’s.

“Risa! He came back! Your friend Trip and fall down came back and brought donuts!” Miriam shouted with glee, delighted with the donuts and her attempt at a joke. Simon gazed in awe at Trip like he was a superhero.
Whose superpower is plying children with even more processed sugar
.
They are going to be out of control from the sugar rush.

“And milky coffee,” said Trip, pushing back from the counter and offering me a gigantic travel mug.

“What are you doing here?” I asked full of curiosity and amazingly thankful at the same time. I took the mug from him and drank a long sip.
He’s too good to me. Too good to be true.

“We were supposed to spend the weekend together. I can’t do that in New York.”

“Listen, I’m sorry.”

Trip shook his head at me, cutting me off. “Erica let me in. She’s getting dressed. I told her that we’d take the kids today and she can do whatever she wants. She said she wants to go to her studio and work. Sounds reasonable to me. I was thinking the zoo or The Pink Palace for the kids’ museum. I haven’t been to either place in over twenty years. What do you think?”

“What do I think? Come here and let me tell you what I think.” I retreated to the mudroom with Trip on my heels. “I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this. Thank you, but it isn’t necessary. You’ve had a long week and have another big week plus a transatlantic flight. You don’t need to be spending your one free day with me and the kids.”

“As I keep telling you,” he said pulling me into him. “I don’t
need
to do anything. I want to do so many things. Starting with getting you out of these flannel flower pajamas. Are these my present?” said Trip eyeing the excessively colorful sleepwear that I’d borrowed from Erica.

“They are the replacement for part of your present,” I teased, placing my index finger on the tip of Trip’s nose. “That part is not exactly family-friendly,” I purred, dragging my finger slowly down his face and neck and placing my palm firmly on his chest above his rapidly beating heart. “But we shouldn’t talk about that. We cannot have the kids walk in on that.”

Trip cleared his throat and slightly loosened his grasp. “I’m hating we’re not in New York right now.”

“Nah, you’re hating that you don’t have your present.”

Trip nodded solemnly. “I am like an eight year old. I was really looking forward to getting a present.”

“I wouldn’t know why. I told you it isn’t a bike.”

“This is so much better than a bike.”

“So, by tonight someone should have her act together enough to parent again and then I can give you your present.”

“I’m holding you to that promise, Miss Tanner. I fly out tomorrow around lunch time.”

“That’s one promise I won’t have a problem keeping. I mean it. But until then, let’s go be the world’s most expensive babysitters.”