Now it was just her, and with whatever sort of hiatus Lillian had taken from her job, I was curious at how my increasingly detached wife was spending her days. So, for the first time in more than a year, I’d logged in to the GPS app and began to track her activity.
I had Heather block off my entire day so I could follow her. It was a good thing I did, because apparently I was now married to a common wharf rat, one who scurried around boats in cutoff shorts and T-shirts and hauled bags of ice and groceries for strangers.
The mother of my child had dropped to the lowest social class. Someone handed her a tip, and she stuffed it into the back pocket ofher shorts as if she were a busboy. For lunch, she walked down to the gas station at the corner and bought a hot dog and a soda, and ate both on a bench next to a fish-cleaning station.
It was embarrassing, what she was doing. What she thought she was getting away with. Sam was right, with his concerns about her. The woman she used to be—successful and admired—had gotten lost in the last few years. She’d been reduced to this ... and thiswasn’tthe woman I agreed to spend the rest of my life with.
I’d let her have her fun for a little while, let her work out whatever midlife crisis she was exercising, but then I’d pull the plug, if she didn’t fall back into line on her own.
She wouldn’t understand or appreciate it, but then again, she never did.
CHAPTER 25
LILLIAN
David was away for the week, back in Fresno, and the docks felt empty without him. I worked less and stayed home more, putting in my dues and catching up, guiltily, on what Jacob was doing. With my new lack of career, there was no reason I wasn’t more involved in his life, yet I’d been MIA most weekends and evenings, ever since I started working at the dock.
“Mom.”
I jumped at the sound of my son’s voice and turned to see him standing in the doorway, his backpack over one shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’m going over to Shawn’s. I’ll eat dinner over there.”
“Oh.” I tried to think of an excuse to keep him home. I looked down at the oven, which had twenty minutes left on the timer. “I made eggplant parmesan.”
He made a face. “Yeah, I think we’re going to do pizza or something. You need me to pick up anything on the way home?”
He was so thoughtful. Mike always said that we spoiled him, but we had done something right, because he never spoke back or raised his voice, even with all the teenage hormones supposedly turning kids his age into rage machines. “No, I don’t need anything. Thanks.”
“Okay, love you.”
I repeated the sentiment. He turned to leave, and his bag bumped along the wall and knocked the picture of the three of us at the Hoover Dam slightly askew. I considered it, then left it alone.
By the time the eggplant was done, I was two glasses into a bottle of white zinfandel. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the awareness that David would be gone for a week, but when Mike came into the kitchen, I didn’t stiffen with distaste. He deposited two grocery bags onto the counter and kissed me on the cheek. I let it happen and glanced at the bags. “What’s that?”
“Jacob said you were fixing eggplant. I stopped at Houston’s and got the cheesy bread you like and a few pieces of pie.”
I tried not to smile but was touched by the thoughtfulness of a gesture that he used to do with regularity. “Thanks.”
He retrieved one more item from the bag. “And ... for you.”
It was a bundle of books. Three new hardcover releases. One of them I’d already read, the novel tucked beside a pair of boat shoes in my trunk, but he didn’t have a way of knowing that.
“I’ve noticed that you’re reading more.” He tapped the top one. “The guy at the bookstore said this one is going to be a TV show.” He met my gaze and he was so confident, so at ease. It was annoying, but also attractive. That confidence was what had first pulled me to him.Same with David.Maybe I had a type, though David was a thousand times more chill than Mike, and at least twice as fun.
“Thank you.” I smiled, reluctantly, at him, appreciative of the gesture and ready to call a temporary truce. “Want a glass of wine?”
We ate in silence, but it was a comfortable one, my nerves mellowed from the wine, the glow of Mike rose-colored in nature. He had lost some weight, looked exhausted, and I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t brought all this on himself.
“I heard that theTimesdid a round of layoffs.” He broke a piece of the bread in half. “Any of your friends lose their job?”
It was a kind statement, but I’d never had any friends in that building and he knew it. My personality was not one that collected relationships, especially since I had always, even before everything went virtual, worked from home. “No, no one I’m close with.” I took a sip. This would be a great segue to mention my own firing. The opportunity was right there—all I had to do was take it. But that conversation would lead to others about job hunts, interviews, and options.
I wasn’t ready to lie about all that, and I wasn’t ready—might never be ready—to tell him about the marina.
“Any chance you’ll do Maurice Grepp?”
I looked at Mike blankly, and tried to understand what he was asking about the Beverly Hills tycoon. “What do you mean?”