Deep Down True (26 page)

Jack reached up to her wrists. He pulled one hand down to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Hey,” he said with a proud little grin, “no one TPs
my
girl’s house.”

And then she was up on her tiptoes to kiss him, pressing herself against him, wanting to be claimed by him. His thick, powerful arms drew her in tight, his hands running up and down her back. She kneaded her fingers into the rope of muscle across his shoulders. He kissed her harder, and his teeth clacked against hers, a momentary snag in the silky feel of wanting him.

He unbuttoned her blouse; she responded in kind, untucking his polo shirt and pulling it off. He had a handsome face, yes, but this was nothing in comparison to the masterpiece that was his chest. Smooth, unmarked skin, chiseled pectorals, and a navel anchored like a perfect little boat among the gentle swells of his abdominal muscles. Dana’s fingers traced across the magnificent chest. A gratified growl rumbled from his throat, and she knew she had delivered a signal, and the signal had been received and decoded, and that sex would happen in the very near future. And that was fine with her.

She did feel a tingle of anxiety about how it would go, and what it would imply, and what would happen afterward. But mostly she thought,
It’s time. Time to be claimed by someone new.

A few minutes later, she was naked (or mostly naked—her socks were still on and her bra hung by one strap from her shoulder). The soft nap of the couch fabric pulsed against her from below, as Jack Roburtin did the same from above.
Kenneth and I never had sex on the couch,
she mused.
We were never in so much of a hurry that we couldn’t wait till we got to the bedroom
.

And she wondered if she should be insulted that Jack Roburtin had a condom so handy he barely had to break away for more than a moment to reach it. But at least she wouldn’t have to worry that she was, at that very moment, contracting AIDS or, God forbid, getting pregnant.

Might Alder walk in? She’d said they were going to an eight-o’clock movie, and it couldn’t be much past nine. Plus, East Hartford was twenty minutes away. Probably safe on that score.

Dana knew she should be focusing more. She would never achieve a climax if she didn’t, and she was certain Jack would be disappointed if there was no tangible, audible evidence that she was enjoying herself. No matter how many times she’d tried to assure Kenneth that it didn’t indicate some failure on his part, he tended to sulk if she didn’t hit the high note.

And yet it was like reading that book: her mind kept wandering around like a hummingbird, flitting from one thought to another. Maybe she had adult-onset attention deficit disorder.

For Pete’s sake, focus!
she told herself.
Pay attention!

What she noticed was that Jack’s cologne, pleasant at normal distances, was a little overpowering with her nose so close to his neck. His hand cradled her head, and she thought that was nice. His protectiveness was very appealing, and the more she thought about that—the way he’d handled that awful toilet-paper-throwing boy, his voice saying,
IF I EVER
—the more aroused she became. Eventually she was able to achieve her goal, just moments before Jack exploded with groans that signified his satisfaction.

Phew!
she thought.
Just in the nick of time.

 

 

She and Jack lay on the couch together. She was on the outside edge facing the windows as he curled around her from behind. “Was this too soon?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It was just right.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Dana. I think about you all the time.”

It took her a moment to know how to respond, but before the silence turned awkward, she said, “I feel so comfortable with you.”

This was true, she realized. She’d spent so much time trying to be a good wife and mother, puzzling out what each member of her family needed from her. But she never found herself doing that with Jack. He seemed only to want to be with her, and though her presence wasn’t always easy to provide, she didn’t think about it much.

Eventually they put their clothes back on, averting their eyes modestly from the other’s buttoning and zipping and buckling.

“Alder will be back any minute,” she said, generating a little sigh of regret.

“I should probably get out of here, then, huh?”

“Well . . .”

“But we’ll see each other on Sunday. It’s the last game of the season,” he reminded her.

They kissed good night. And then he left. Dana took a shower, put on pajamas, and got into bed. When Alder came in, she was reading her book.

“How’d it go?” Alder asked, studying her.

“Fine. How about you? Were you distracted enough?”

“As much as I could be, I guess.”

“Were you with Ethan last year?” Dana probed gently.

Alder slumped down onto the side of Dana’s bed. “Yeah. We went as Franny and Zooey.”

“The brother and sister from the J. D. Salinger story?”

Alder nodded. “No one got it. Not one person could guess. I never even told anyone until now.” Her jaw tightened. “Asshole probably did. Probably told everyone.” Dana reached out and stroked the back of Alder’s hand. “I’m glad I’m here,” Alder said wearily. “But being anywhere kinda sucks right now.” She turned her palm upward, and Dana continued to run her fingertips across it.

Dana wanted to say something, but everything that came to her sounded hollow and false. She watched Alder stare into middle space and continued to stroke her upturned hand. After a minute the tension in the girl’s face seemed to ebb, and her shoulders slid a little lower into their sockets. Alder gave Dana’s hand a gentle squeeze, rose, and left the room. Soon Dana heard the water run in the bathroom downstairs, then the bleating of the springs on the pullout couch.

She propped her book against her bent knees and began to read with renewed focus, as if it were important, as if it might solve something, even though she knew it would not.

“
C
AN WE DO THE ROUTE THAT GOES BY VILLAGE Donuts?” Dana asked Polly on their walk the next day. “I’ve been craving a latte since the moment I woke up this morning.”

“Yeah, nobody smokes anymore,” teased Polly. “They just have a post-sex coffee drink.”

Dana groaned. “Do you think I jumped the gun? I’ve only been dating the guy for a week!”

“I lay the blame squarely on Tina.”

“
What?
Why?” said Dana, startled into breaking stride. “I mean, I’m all for blaming Tina—as far as I’m concerned, she’s responsible for global warming, world hunger, and athlete’s foot.”

“Right.” Polly grinned. “And for turning you into a sex-crazed dental receptionist.”

“No, really,” said Dana, slowing to look at Polly. “I don’t want her to be the reason for
anything
I do. I can barely stand that she exists.”

“Exactly. She’s . . . she’s like”—Polly squinted in concentration—“ like a
factor
out there. And you were kind of pretending she wasn’t.”

“I was not!”

“Yeah, and then when she turned out to be real, you threw caution down the garbage disposal and slept with your boyfriend. It breaks that last tie with Kenneth. Makes a ton of sense.”

“Polly!”

“What? I’m serious.”

“I do not base my personal decisions—or
any
decisions—on the existence of that bimbo!”

Polly pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Okay, new subject. How’s Morgan doing?”

Dana took a few more irritated strides, then sighed. She could never stay mad at Polly. “She’s better, I think. This friendship with Kimmi Kinnear has given her a lot of confidence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to . . . you know . . .”

“Puke.”

They didn’t talk for a few moments, the thought of their beloved Morgan heaving up the contents of her stomach sobering them into silence. “She definitely seems happier now,” Dana said finally. “She slept over at Kimmi’s last night. And went to a party in the neighborhood—some girl in their class named Devynne.”

“What’s the last name?” asked Polly. “Maybe I know them.”

“Oh, I never got a last name. I figured if Nora was okay with it, they must be a good family.”

“So you didn’t call and speak to the parents? Because you really ought to do that, you know. Sometimes the parents are completely out of the loop.”

“In sixth grade? Isn’t that more of a high-school thing?”

“Well, yes and no,” said Polly. She told a story about her son, Peter, going to a friend’s house to watch a
Stargate
marathon one Saturday afternoon when he was in middle school. “It was still daylight, for crying out loud!” said Polly. The parents were at a sibling’s track meet and were gone for hours, never suspecting that a bunch of preteen boys were sampling their Grand Marnier and peach schnapps.

“How did you find out about it?”

“One of the boys threw up chunks of red, and they thought he was about to die and called 911.” Polly gave an exasperated head shake as they arrived at Village Donuts. “Turns out he’d used the booze to wash down a jar of maraschino cherries. He was a straight-A student, too! It’s amazing how dumb these very bright kids can be.” They ordered their coffee and sat at one of the faux-wood booths, sipping down their drinks before going back out into the stinging breeze.

“Well, I’m sure everything went fine,” said Dana. “I called over there this morning, and the girls were still asleep. Nora would have told me if anything had happened.”

Polly took another sip and gazed out the window. “I’m sure she probably would,” she said.

 

 

On her way to the Kinnears’ to retrieve Morgan, Dana called Kenneth. The evening had gone well, he said. They’d gone house to house in the West End, passing UConn Law School in their travels. “He loved seeing the law students wandering around in crazy getups.” Kenneth chuckled. “This one guy was SpongeBob SquarePants, and he actually had about a hundred yellow sponges stuck to him. Grady couldn’t get over it.”

“I’m just wondering when you’re bringing him back,” said Dana.

“Oh, well, maybe I should hang on to him until his game tomorrow. I’ll be coming to Cotters Rock for that anyway. Saves me a trip.”

Tomorrow?
thought Dana.
I let you take him for a night—Halloween, no less—and you keep him for the whole weekend? I don’t think so.

“What does
Grady
want to do?” she said, biting back the urge to add that she didn’t give a flying fig about saving him a trip. Grady was already in his swim trunks, Kenneth reported. Dana could hear him in the background muttering, “Come
on,
Dad!” They were on their way to the health club. Dana talked to Grady briefly, his answers monosyllabic and impatient.

She was about to hang up when Kenneth got back on the phone. “Just one more thing . . .” he said, sounding as if he were gathering his courage to deliver something unpleasant. “I’m bringing Tina to Grady’s football game tomorrow.”

“No you’re not,” she warned.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am. It’s the last game of the season, and he wants her to see him play.”

“Goddamn it, Kenneth . . . god
damn it.
”

“I know,” he said. “If it helps, I’m not exactly looking forward to it either.”

“No, it
doesn’t
help!” she yelled. “Nothing helps!”

Kenneth was quiet for a moment. Then he murmured, “Tina’s not going anywhere, Dana. Trust me on that one. She’s here, and we have to do this, and we have to make it look normal for the kids’ sake.”

For the kids’ sake? The kids would have been better off if their father hadn’t screwed around with his goddamned lady
barber
and left the family!
she thought. Her breath rushed in and out of her mouth. Kenneth knew enough to keep his own shut.

“Fine,” she muttered.

“We’ll keep it brief.”

“Yes,” she said, pulling in to the Kinnears’ driveway. “Do that.”

 

 

When Nora opened the front door, she said, “They’re still sleeping, can you believe it?”

“What time did they go to bed?” asked Dana, still rattled from the conversation with Kenneth.

“Oh, who knows!” Nora fluttered her long fingers and started up the stairs. “Those two could talk the oxygen out of a spaceship.” She turned back toward Dana, still standing below in the foyer. “Well, come on,” she said, grinning mischievously. “I have a present for you.”

Dana followed her up to a large master bedroom swathed in hues of gold and cream: lemon- and butter-colored striped wallpaper, sheer ivory swag curtains, a king-size bed loaded with a satiny amber down comforter shot with threads of gold and mustard. Nora disappeared, apparently swallowed whole by her own decor, but then she emerged from a walk-in closet. She held out a gold- and black-checked shopping bag with PERFECTUA printed in red up one side. “Okay, it’s not a true gift-gift because I got it at work, but when I saw it on the samples rack, I knew it was meant for you.”

Dana carefully removed the tissue-swaddled item. It was a blouse, a creamy champagne color. The collar was wider than she usually wore and came to sharp points. The cuffs were long and tight, with three small, flat mother-of-pearl buttons at each wrist. Darts running up from the bottom hem to each breast emphasized a narrow waist and ample chest. The tiny tag inside the collar said simply PERFECTUA—SOIE.

“This is so . . . It’s . . . Are you sure?” Dana stammered.

“Sure?” said Nora, as if the word were unfamiliar to her. “Of course I’m sure. Try it on.” She crossed her arms over her narrow rib cage and waited.

For a moment Dana didn’t know what to do. Was she supposed to disrobe in front of Nora? Nora wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t offering the privacy of her bathroom, so Dana pulled her gray cabled turtleneck over her head, her upper half now clothed only in her worst, most stretched-out purple bra.