He grabbed my fingers and pried them off his wrist, bending them backward until I was forced to let go or risk a broken finger. “Yeah, how are you going to do that, Mom? You don’t even understand social media. You going to go to school and fight the assholes for me too? This can’t be fixed, and no one’s ever going to forget it. Ever.”
He climbed the first few steps and then paused, looking down at me. “Oh, and Mom?” He spat out my name like it was the most despicable thing in the world.
“Yeah?” I asked weakly.
“Screw you for cheating on Dad.”
He stomped up the stairs and I just stood there, my fingers throbbing from his rough handling. All those words inside me, and I had nothing.
CHAPTER 38
LILLIAN
I spun a pill on the table, then placed it on my tongue, then leaned forward and spit it out. I could feel myself slipping, and I needed Mike to be home, needed him to pin me in place and yell at me to take my damn pill and stop feeling sorry for myself.
I called his cell and hung up when I got his voice mail. I took a shower, then checked the video—still up—and headed for the good liquor, which Mike kept locked in a hidden and climate-controlled cabinet in the pantry. The key was hidden in a fake can of pumpkin filling that Jacob wouldn’t touch if he were on a deserted island. I made sure that his car was gone, then popped out the false bottom and stood on a case of bottled water to open the cabinet. I was reaching for a bottle of tequila when I saw the wooden box at the back, tucked behind a row of whiskeys.The twentieth-anniversary bottle of Benromach.Mike had bought the special-edition bourbon when we were on a weekend trip to San Francisco, and we were waiting to open it on our own twentieth anniversary, which was still two years away.
I grabbed the wooden box and pulled it out, staring at the label and remembering how in love with him I’d been on that trip. It had been three weeks after the miscarriage, and he’d been especially accommodating and loving. I remembered him cradling me in bed and telling methat he’d protect me from anything, that he’d love me forever, and I had clung to both promises with pathetic and needy claws. Now I ran the edge of my nail along the box’s seal, then folded back the top.
Well, it was open now. I might as well pull out the bottle and take a sip. Mike would be hurt. Furious. I warmed to the idea, to the middle finger that it would give to our marriage. While I should have chugged it the night I confronted him—that would have been more poignant—it wasn’t too late to do it now. I pulled out the bottle, twisted off the lid, and took one small, vindictive sip. Mike was the reason we were in this situation, I reminded myself.Him. David and I, while wrong, were a side effect of his cheating, his dismissal of me, of a hundred nights when I was ignored and he was with her, or them, or however many women there had been.
I took my pill with another sip, returned the bottle to the box and placed it inside my purse, then locked the cabinet and rehid the key. There was a cemetery five blocks down, one with big trees and wooden benches. It would be the perfect place to toast the end of my marriage.
Screw you for cheating on Dad. No, Jacob. Screw him for cheating on us.
Halfway to the cemetery, I grew thirsty, my mouth dry, a side effect of taking my medication without food. Waiting at a crosswalk, I opened a granola bar and crunched it as I walked, my steps increasing in speed as I saw the arched gates of the cemetery lot. This was an older one, moss covering many of the stones, the plots abandoned by families and forgotten by most. Unlike Lenny’s, this lot didn’t have a full-time caretaker, though I occasionally saw a city worker making the rounds with a grass trimmer in hand. It was a place I often came when I wanted some solace. I climbed a small hill to my favorite bench and took a seat. Pulling out the box of Benromach, I called David through the app.
“Hi, love.” He sounded like he was smiling, and I could picture him walking down the dock, one hand in his pocket, that easy smile on his face, his sunglasses on against the bright sun.
“Someone filmed a video of us and posted it on social media.” I flipped open the box and slid the bottle out. Placing the box on the ground, I twisted off the lid and took a swig.Was it you?I wanted to shout, but accusing David was stupid. Why would David do that, unless ... unless he was trying to break up my marriage. It was a valid possibility, and I pinched my eyes shut and tried to forensically analyze his tone.
“What kind of video?” Wary. Concerned. Guilty? Maybe.
I cleared my throat. “It’s from the night we went to dinner. It’s of us dancing on the boat deck. We’re kissing and there’s some petting. They set it to music and referenced my son in the comments. His friends are having a field day.”
“Are you or I tagged in it?” If I’d expected him to be concerned about Jacob—and I had expected that—I was wrong. David’s focus had flipped right past my son’s emotional and social standing and landed on himself. Himself and, I guess, me. The video had Jacob’s full name on it, I reminded myself. David had never asked my last name, and I wasn’t sure whether I’d ever referred to Jacob as anything other than “my son.”
“Are you or I tagged in it?” he repeated.
“No.” I pushed my sunglasses up on the bridge of my nose. “So Mike and I will, ah ... handle it from here. We’re meeting with an attorney today to see what our options are. It’s already been reported, so hopefully it’ll be down soon.” No need to mention theMore to comedescription on the video.
“Do you know who filmed and posted it?”
My suspicions that he was involved waned at his innocent—yes, most definitely innocent—tone. Tilting the liquor back, I took a long sip before answering. “No, we don’t know.”
“But you don’t need me to do anything? Can you send me the link?”
Talk about embarrassing, for him as well as me. “Yeah.” I grimaced. “It’s bad. At least it is for me. You probably won’t care.” Maybe he’d even enjoy it. Proof of his playboy lifestyle.
“What did Mike ask about me? Did you tell him who I was?” In the background of his call, I heard the familiar beep of the ship forklift and felt a sudden pang of nostalgia. Already, I missed it. Already, it was gone.
I pushed the emotion aside. “I told him your basic details. His focus is on Jacob and getting the video down. But I won’t be coming back to the marina for a while. I have to see how this plays out.”
“Of course.” He sounded relieved, and I took another sip from the bottle to distract me from the way that made me feel. That was the problem with my medication. It could swing me gushy or emotionally vacant, with no predictable path. “Absolutely.” He sounded almost cheerful, and the tone made me want to crawl through the phone and slice off his tongue.
“Okay. Bye.” I hung up before he had a chance to respond, because I was terrified that he wouldn’t respond—that he would just hit “End,” and that would be the last word on our affair.
We’d been together over six weeks, and it felt like he’d just tossed me aside like a bad one-night stand. I took another sip and placed the bottle on the bench, then opened his contact on my phone. I scrolled down to the “Block” button and clicked it.