Broken (6 page)

He turned, slowly. Our eyes met. I drew in a breath and held it. The look he gave me was a challenge of some sort.

“Because it didn’t matter.”

Maybe her name didn’t matter, but his reason for not asking did. His story comforted me. This was the Joe I knew, the teller of tales and splitter of peaches. Not the man who last month had threatened to upset the balance of our relationship by wanting to change.

“About last month,” I said finally. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “You were right.”

I nodded, as if he’d made a longer explanation. Not even when we first met had our silence been so uncomfortable. I had to look away, at last, afraid my face showed too much of what I couldn’t say.

“I wasn’t even planning on going home with her,” he said after a minute. “Or with anyone.”

“So…why did you?” I couldn’t help the fascination.

“C’mon, Sadie. You know how it is.”

“No, actually. I don’t.”

Joe let a puff of air seep from his lips, not quite a whistle. “You’ve never?”

“No. Never.” I shook my head to further emphasize my point.

“You’ve never been with someone only once.” His tone sounded disbelieving or envious, I wasn’t sure which.

“I’ve only been with one man.” The admission wasn’t shameful, just…the truth. It seemed to shock Joe, who probably couldn’t comprehend my experience any more than I could his.

“Only one.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head a bit. “Good for you.”

I laughed a little. “You’re avoiding the question. If you weren’t planning on going home with someone, why did you?”

“Because I could. Because she asked. Because…I always do.”

I made a small noise, shaking my head as I unwrapped my lunch. Joe looked over at me as he unscrewed the cap on his bottle of soda. He took a long, slow drink. I imagined him tasting like lemon and vodka and kept my eyes carefully on my sandwich.

“Haven’t you ever done something just because it’s easier to do it than not?”

I didn’t have to think long before answering. “Of course.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not as exciting as your story, Joe.”

He smiled, leaning forward. “No? That’s too bad. Tell me, anyway.”

I was used to giving people what they wanted. Joe was used to getting it. I told him.

“When I was growing up, my sister and I fell into these…stereotypes, I guess you could say. I was the smart one. She was the pretty one. We kept it up through college, and I guess even now. It’s stupid, but you know how families are.”

“Try being the disappointing one.”

I leaned back on the bench to study him. He was impeccably dressed, as always. Today his shirt was blue, his favorite color. It made his eyes seem greener than usual. He was the epitome of a clean-cut businessman. Whatever he did, he did it too well to be a disappointment.

I laughed. “Oh, you aren’t. You can’t be. Look at you, Mr. Successful.”

He shrugged, smiling. “My parents aren’t impressed with fancy suits and expensive ties.”

I knew he had a sister who was married with children and a brother who’d died. This was the first time I’d heard him talk about his parents.

“As far as ties go, it’s a very nice one,” I told him. “Even if they don’t like it, I do.”

He gave me a one-eyed, squinting grin that made me laugh. “Yeah? You’re impressed by this tie?”

“Keep in mind my knowledge of men’s haute couture is pretty limited.”

He stroked the fabric. “I like this one, too.”

The silence between us wasn’t awkward this time.

“Sometimes,” Joe said after a bit, “it’s just easier to keep being what everyone expects you to be. Even if that’s what you’re not, anymore.”

I nodded, agreeing, and he got up to toss his trash into the pail. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back, after what I said.”

“I couldn’t stay away. I thought about it all month. Just not showing up.”

“So…why did you?”

A slow, hot smile spread across his mouth. “Because I always do.”

I was trying to decide between two mugs of the same shade but different shapes, my concentration entirely focused on my choices, when the distinct sensation of a foreign gaze on the back of my neck prickled my skin. I glanced up, but the man across the aisle appeared as engrossed in his shopping as I was. A look to either side showed us as the only two customers in housewares. Convinced I was imagining it, I bent back to my decision.

Again, I sensed someone staring. This time, instead of looking up, I let my eyes shift from side to side. Nothing. A gradual turn of my head revealed my fellow mug aficionado had moved a bit closer. He picked up a flowered coffee mug, turning it to and fro, then set it back on the shelf.

I turned back to the selection in front of me, but couldn’t concentrate. I wanted something new for my bathroom. It wasn’t brain surgery. I needed to pick one, just one, and yet my every sense now strained toward the man standing behind me. I grabbed up one of the mugs, finally, and stuck it in my cart. I looked over my shoulder.

He was looking at me.

“Excuse me,” he began.

Time slowed as I turned, expectant of something benign. A question. “What’s the time?” or “Do you work here?”

“Are you available for dating?”

My face must have shown my shock. “What?”

Details registered. He had long hair, more than a bit unkempt. He wore a shapeless fatigue jacket and matching, slightly ragged pants. Oh, lord. He was probably part of some outpatient program at the V.A. Hospital.

“Well, I didn’t see a wedding ring…”

I looked automatically to my left hand, where I was, indeed, wearing my wedding ring. I was so stunned by this, the first outright proposition I’d had in as long as I could remember, that I couldn’t even speak. I could only stare.

He moved closer, looking hopeful. “So? Are you?”

“I’m…no, I’m not.”

The man took off running down the aisle. I looked after him, the absurdity of the situation giving the entire experience a surreal flavor. I paid for my purchases, fumbling with my change and laughing too hard at the cashier’s unfunny jokes.

I’d carried myself as a married woman for such a long time, I’d considered myself under the radar of outright flirtation. Either men didn’t notice me, or I didn’t notice them noticing. After the ineloquent come-on, though, I kept my eyes open a little wider. Was the man in the next car checking me out? Was the guy holding the elevator door for me doing it to be polite or was he giving me a once-over when I reached to push the button for my floor? Even if they weren’t, the possibility that they might be preparing to accost me with the offer of a night on the town kept me smiling.

Adam didn’t find it so amusing.

“What did he say to you?” I paused in showing off the new mug. “I told you. He asked me if I was available for dating.”

“He asked you on a date? In the middle of the store?”

“Well, to be honest, I think he was a little off, Adam.” I put the mug back in the bag.

Adam maneuvered his chair away from the computer desk so we were face-to-face. “What did you say?”

“I said I wasn’t.” Even now, the memory made me laugh. “And really, if you’d seen him—”

“What about him?”

I described the man, exaggerating a little to make the story better, but not too much. “I think he was probably on outpatient leave from a mental program. He had that look. Poor guy, his therapist probably told him to go out and take a chance, ask a woman out, and I shot him down. I probably set him back months in his progress.”

Adam didn’t laugh. “Right.”

“Adam,” I said with a sigh. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Some guy comes on to my wife and it’s not a big deal?” Agitated, he swung the chair around. It was big and heavy, and though he could operate it with agile grace, it still needed room to move. He nudged the edge of the desk and let out a curse when his papers fell down.

I bent to gather them up. A few lines of text caught my eye, phrasing from his lectures. I put them back in the folder.

“Honey, he wasn’t even cute!”

The look he gave me was long familiar, sardonic, verging on mean. “What does that mean? If he had been cute, you’d have taken him up on it?”

A snappish response teetered on my tongue but managed to cling to the inside of my mouth without spitting itself out. “Don’t be silly,” I said instead.

Adam grunted. His version of pacing was to rock the chair back and forth in small arcs. The room wasn’t big enough for him to move more than that, the chair too bulky to allow for the tight turns he’d need to crisscross the space.

“Adam, it was a funny story. I thought you’d like it. I’m sorry I told you.”

His eyes flashed. “What does that mean, Sadie? You won’t tell me about it again?”

“I’m sure it won’t happen again,” I replied with a sigh. “C’mon. It was just a fluke.”

He grunted again and stopped the pacing. “Were you wearing that outfit?”

I looked down at my clothes. “I was, yes.”

He’d always been a master of expression, with words or without. His snort made his feelings very clear. “Well, no wonder he hit on you.”

That made me laugh out loud. “Oh, really? Because this outfit is so sexy?”

My work clothes were the farthest thing from sexy I could ever imagine, most of the time. Then again, so was I. The Beatles might have written about Sexy Sadie, but that wasn’t me.

“I don’t like men hitting on you, that’s all.” Adam sounded less fierce, more what Mrs. Lapp called
grexy
.

I went to him and kissed his cheek. “You have nothing to worry about.”

He wasn’t so easily appeased. “Weren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”

That was it. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes. I was! You act as if I was out trolling for business! Stop it!”

Maybe I shouldn’t have told him the story, which had been amusing and a bit of an ego boost to me. Adam was moody on the best of days. It wasn’t difficult to figure out why, but once he’d had a much better sense of humor. It was hard to remember he wasn’t the same man I’d seduced with a red ribbon stuck in a book of poetry.

He stopped talking. He went back to his computer and ignored me. I took my mug and left the room.

If he’d been cute, would I have taken him up on the offer? Gone out with a stranger I met while buying a mug? Maybe gone home with him, to his bed, or to a hotel room, to a car, to a back alley where he’d push me against a wall and merge his flesh with mine in anonymous passion?

According to Joe, things like that happened all the time, to him. But Joe never came on to me. I only listened to him talk about it, month after month, and wondered what it would be like to be asked and answer, “yes.”

“V
alentine’s Day is the pimple on the ass of the year.”

My patient’s blunt statement made me laugh. I know her well enough to understand she was using humor to cover up insecurity, but that didn’t matter. What she said was funny, anyway.

“Why do you say that, Elle?” I poured us both another cup of tea.

“It’s a martyr’s holiday.” She added sugar and cream to her cup.

Sometimes, patients are ashamed of me, or rather, their need to see me. Sometimes they embrace me so fully it compromises our working relationship. Elle, whom I found to be bright, funny and compassionate, had managed to strike the perfect medium. We were friendly but not quite friends—with friends the sharing of trouble goes both ways and with us it was necessarily one-sided. Still, our sessions had taken on the tone of two girlfriends chatting, rather than of a doctor counseling a patient. It showed me she was comfortable with me. It had taken her a long time.

I added lemon to my cup. “Ah, yes. Poor St. Valentine. But it’s not that anymore.”

She sipped and gave me a familiar raised eyebrow. “Sure it is. The search for the perfect gift? The despair if you don’t get just the right thing? The depression of not having someone to buy for, or having someone to buy for but not the person you want.”

“I’m sensing some anxiety over Valentine’s Day.” How easily I put on the doctor’s cap. Girlfriends or not, Elle was there to talk, and I to listen. She didn’t always take my advice but then, not all of it was good.

The way she tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair meant what I’d said was true, but I didn’t push. Some of my colleagues favor a more antagonistic approach, call my methods the “soft and fuzzy” school of psychology. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I can only do my best.

“I do love him.” She spoke low, but not hesitant. “It’s not that I don’t.”

A year before she wouldn’t have admitted that much. I offered a smile. “So then, what is it? You’re afraid to buy him something?”

“It’s so much pressure.” Elle shrugged and spun her spoon around in the cup. “And I think…I think he’s going to make this a big one.”

“More than flowers and candy, you mean.”

She nodded, her face shadowed. “Yeah. I think so.”

“We’ve talked about this.” I sipped my tea, watching her. “How relationships grow. It’s part of change.”

She laughed, ruefully. “I know. Dr. Danning, I know that.”

I knew she did. Elle had been with her boyfriend for over a year. She danced around the idea of marrying him and having children, of making what she called a real life. She had other issues, bigger ones, but it all came back to that in the end. Marriage and children, whether she could take what he offered her or not, whether the past had any right to influence her future any longer. She’d come a long way in the year she’d been seeing me, but sometimes it’s the sunshine that frightens us more than the big black shadows.

“It’s just hard.” She sounded ashamed. “It shouldn’t be. He makes it so easy. But it’s hard, anyway. Even when I fight with him, he just comes back with something so perfect I can’t chase him away.”

“Do you really want to?”

She sighed. “No. But do you know how hard it is to be with someone who’s perfect?”

“Nobody’s perfect, Elle.”

She gave me a look. “Some are more perfect than others, Dr. Danning.”

I laughed a bit. “Yes, that’s true.”

She stirred her cup as if she could dissolve her troubles the way she dissolved the sugar in the tea. “I keep thinking…”

“Yes?” I asked, when waiting for her to continue failed to prompt her into speaking.

“What if he’s the last man I’ll ever sleep with for the rest of my life?”

I fussed with my own tea to create distance from a question that hit too close to home. “Would that be so awful?”

Elle put her cup on the edge of my desk and rubbed the arms of her chair, her face angled away from mine. “No?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

The look she gave me was pure, vintage Elle Kavanagh, stubborn and self-effacing with a hint of snark. “I anticipate the rest of my life being a very long time.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I told her, and we both laughed.

“I don’t want to cheat on Dan. But I’m afraid I might. Just because.”

“Those things don’t happen by accident.”

She seemed chastened by my sterner than usual tone. “I know.”

I studied her before saying, “The offer still stands, if you want it.”

She looked up. “See both of us. I know.”

“Dan’s a wonderful man and he’s been good for you. You know putting the onus of your happiness on someone else isn’t healthy. But neither is refusing to allow someone to help you gain it.”

“I know, I know, I know!” She groaned, tipping back her head. She grimaced. “Bleah! I know! Stupid fucking Valentine’s Day!”

“Maybe you’re getting yourself too worked up. What are you doing for him?”

She straightened in her chair. “Heart-shaped meatloaf. With asparagus. And some sex.”

I meant to answer right away, but sudden immobility stifled my words. I filled my cup with tea. I didn’t want to cover the fact I couldn’t speak. The teapot rattled against the cup and I had to force my hands to steady.

I envied her. Fiercely. Suddenly. Horribly. I envied Elle for her meatloaf and plans for lovemaking to celebrate a holiday she hated. I envied her fear that she had something to lose.

“Dr. Danning?”

I put on the doctor mask. I owed her that. We might laugh and drink tea, and I might be privy to her deepest, darkest secrets, but we were not friends.

“It sounds lovely. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”

She nodded, slowly. “Yes. I think so.”

“And whatever happens after, Elle, remember that he’s doing it because he loves you. And it’s all right for you to love him back.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d cried in front of me, but this time her tears made my own throat close in sympathy. Or perhaps I wanted to weep for myself, and not with compassion for her. Either way, when I handed her the box of tissues, I took one for myself, too.

“When does it stop?” she asked, as though I had all the answers.

“I don’t know, Elle. I wish I did.”

It wasn’t the first time I didn’t give her the answer she was looking for, but it was the first time I felt I’d failed her.

When did it stop? That was the question of the day. When did the fear go away, when would I stop longing, when would I cease wanting something that was wrong?

It was easy for me to sit in my doctor’s chair and counsel Elle not to cheat on her lover, but what right did I have to be so smug? I could give my patients advice but couldn’t take it from myself. If I’d been in front of me, I’d have counseled myself to understand that my feelings were normal and natural. That my marriage had undergone tremendous strain and changes because of Adam’s disability. That wanting and missing sex was natural and normal, and the desire to be held, to make love…yes, even to fuck, that was normal, too.

I was normal.

But I also would have counseled myself to stop seeing Joe. That the emotional infidelity was as real as if I’d gone to bed with him, and perhaps worse because merely sating a physical need was one thing but the inevitability of what was happening was something else, entirely.

Just because Joe and I never touched didn’t mean we weren’t having an affair.

I knew it. I didn’t want to stop it. Frankly, I couldn’t stop it. The first Friday of every month, our lunches, his stories and the relief they gave me were a bright and shining thing in the otherwise gray palette of my existence.

It was wrong, and I didn’t want to let it go.

The ringing of my cell phone distracted me from my navel-gazing. I took the call at once, fearful as always it would be from one of Adam’s caregivers, telling me there was a problem.

“Sades, it’s me.”

My sister Katie. She sounded tired. She usually did, now.

“How are you?”

“Fine. Did you get my messages?”

For one shameful moment, I actually thought of blaming Mrs. Lapp on my lack of response, but in the end good morals won out over self-preservation. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.”

“Tell me about it. I know what you mean.”

I couldn’t. She didn’t. It was just something she said, not a literal invitation. I made a noncommittal noise.

“What’s up, Katie?”

“Oh, the usual. Haven’t heard from you in a while, that’s all. Thought I’d check in.”

That meant she needed to talk. “What’s going on?”

Her muffled sigh made me frown. “Oh, the usual. Lily’s been driving me crazy and Evan’s no better. He’s been out of town traveling and just doesn’t seem to get that staying home all day with a cranky toddler is not the best way to get me in a good mood. And I’m still feeling sick almost all the time. First trimester sucks.”

I made my voice as soothing as I could. “I can imagine.”

“I really need a night out.” Katie sounded close to tears. “Can you come to the movies with me?”

“I wish I could, but—”

Going to the movies meant juggling Adam’s care schedule. It meant staying out late when I had to be up at four in the morning the next day so I had time to get ready myself before helping to get him started on his daily routine. It meant having to put on the happy face for my sister, who had problems of her own and didn’t need mine.

“Oh, Sadie, c’mon.”

“Katie, I can’t. Okay? I just can’t.”

Her sigh punched my eardrum. “How’s Adam?”

“He’s fine.”

“You have big plans for V-Day?”

I cleared my throat. “Same old thing.”

“Are you guys coming over for Dad’s birthday?”

“I’ll be there.” I’d already arranged for Dennis to be available on Saturday for a few hours.

“Just you? Not Adam, too?”

Sisters always know just how to push. “If he wants to, Katie, but I don’t know how he’ll feel.”

She didn’t call me on the lie. I already knew Adam wouldn’t want to go to my parents’ house. He didn’t ever want to go anywhere anymore, even though he could.

“I could come over there and watch a movie, if you can’t go out. I just need to get out of the house, Sadie, you can’t even imagine.”

When I didn’t reply, she stopped, maybe embarrassed. “Hey, if you can’t, that’s okay.”

A good big sister would have been there for Katie. I wanted to be the good big sister I’d always tried to be, but in the end the thought of it was simply too daunting.

“Maybe next week, okay?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I wanted to be there for Katie, the way I always had. I wanted to listen to her troubles and offer advice. Make a difference. Do the right thing. I wanted to help her the way I helped my patients, but when it came right down to it, I couldn’t. I was afraid.

Not that I couldn’t help her, because I was pretty sure she just needed a compassionate ear. I was afraid listening to my sister’s woes would prompt me to reveal my own, and I couldn’t risk it. Putting a voice to my feelings, saying aloud the thoughts that gnawed daily at my conscience, would make them real in a way I was certain I didn’t want them to be.

I’d spent the past four years wearing a brave face, convincing myself by convincing everyone around me that I was fine. That we were fine, Adam and I, as fine was we could be. If I didn’t have that façade, I wasn’t sure what I would have.

Joe was right. It’s easier to keep being what you are, even if the only person who expects you to be it is yourself.

Adam and I didn’t share a heart-shaped meatloaf. Mrs. Lapp cooked a pot roast and potatoes in butter and parsley, which I ate in his room with him at a table lit by candlelight. I cut his food into tiny pieces and fed it to him, bite by bite.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” His smile was as bright and charming as he could make it. The smile I’d fallen in love with.

I toasted him with champagne in a glass that had been a wedding gift. We talked about our day. About Dennis, who’d left earlier for a big Valentine’s Day party at the Rainbow.

“I told him not to bother coming home early.” Adam wiggled his eyebrows. “Told him I had big plans.”

“Oh, really.” I settled back in my chair. Champagne had made me giddy. Lighter. “You think so, huh?”

“Oh, I know so.” He looked toward the wardrobe in the corner.

I’d found it at a flea market, covered in dust and cobwebs, the handles broken and the door off its hinges. I’d fixed the door, polished the wood and replaced the broken handles with authentic ones I’d bought from an online auction. It was my favorite piece from our bedroom suite and had once contained my frilly lingerie and pajamas. Now medical supplies filled the drawers.

“Look in there.” He jerked his chin, the extent of his ability to gesture.

I got up and crossed to it, giving him a backward glance. “Adam? What did you do?”

“Just look and see.”

I opened the door. A box wrapped in red foil waited for me. I lifted it out, my heart thumping as fast as it had the first time he’d handed me such a gift. It was large but not heavy, and a giggle bubbled out of my throat.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

I hesitated, looking toward him. He looked hopeful and a bit mischievous. I’d seen that combination in him before. He’d been on one knee at the time, a much smaller box in his hand.

All at once, I was afraid to open the package, afraid to see what my husband had bought for me. I caressed the smooth wrapping. It felt cool under my fingertips, and slippery.

“Open it, Sadie.”

I took the box back to my chair and fussed with the table, pushing it out of the way so I could sit and hold the box upon my lap. It weighed far heavier on my legs than it had in my hands.

“C’mon.”

I couldn’t put aside his eagerness any longer. I slid a fingernail beneath the taped edge and the paper fell away. The box under it was plain and white, without markings. I lifted the lid.

“Oh, Adam.”

He laughed. “Do you like it?”

I lifted the sheer red fabric and held it to my chest. I wanted to cry but didn’t. I forced a dry tone.

“Who’d you buy this for, you or me?”