Julia looked at her mother-in-law. She had never been overprotective of her son, had never seemed to be one of those overly Oedipal mothers who resented wives and girlfriends and any other female intrusion into their boys’ lives, but that was the way she was acting now, and Julia wondered if the same forces that she was so worried about affecting everyone else had gotten to her first.
She had no intention of leaving Gregory in this town if she could help it. If he wanted to stay, that was different, but Julia was determined to give him a choice and a chance and ask him to come with them back to California. He seemed to have been the most affected by living here, the most influenced, and if his mother was right, he should be okay if he got away from this town.
If he was still alive.
No, Julia agreed with Agafia there. She did not think Gregory was dead. Injured, perhaps, out of commission temporarily, but alive.
Could he be with another woman?
The possibility threw her. She had not thought of that before, and she was surprised at herself for not even considering such an obvious explanation for his absence. Their sex life certainly hadn’t been lighting up the skies lately, and it was entirely possible that another woman could be at the root of his disinterest.
She pushed that thought away before pictures started forming in her mind. There was too much to think about right now, too many other things going on. She would get her family out of McGuane and back to California, and then she’d try to sort everything out.
“I’m still going to try to find him,” Julia said, heading toward the stairs.
“He stay here!” Agafia called after her in agitated English.
Thank God Gregory had not taken the van yesterday. Julia found the keys on the top of their dresser in the bedroom, slipped on some tennis shoes, and went outside.
Where to begin?
She didn’t know, but the café seemed as good a place as any. She started the van, executed a three-point turn, and headed up the dirt drive, turning toward downtown.
She was glad the kids were at school. It would give her time to pack, give her time to prepare without having to answer a thousand questions and explain everything she was doing. She would find Gregory, they’d get everything together, pick up the kids at school, and take off. The kids could ask questions on the trip.
The café appeared to be closed, and she had no problem finding a parking place in the front. The door was unlocked, though, and she pushed it open, walking inside.
It hit her all at once. She had not really had time to grieve, had not allowed herself the luxury of experiencing the feelings she needed to experience, but entering the closed café, seeing the fallen lights and the destroyed stage, the mess that had not been cleaned up, it was as if an emotional tidal wave slammed into her, crushing her. Her family’s dissolution, Deanna’s death, Gregory’s growing distance. The cumulative weight of all that baggage came crashing down on her head, and the walls she’d set up to deal with it, the barriers she’d erected to keep the feelings at bay and allow her to think and act clearly until she had time to sort through the emotional wreckage, came tumbling down. She was very close to tears, very close to complete paralysis, when she heard Paul’s voice from somewhere across the darkened room. “Deanna?”
She squinted, her eyes adjusting. “Paul?” she said gratefully.
He walked over, across the floor toward her. “He didn’t come home last night, did he?”
Julia shook her head, wiping away the tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheek.
“He was at a bar most of the evening—and most of the day—with Odd, both of them just sitting there and getting plastered. And then he went home with Odd, spent the night at his place.”
“He was at Odd’s?”
Paul nodded.
“I called there and no one answered.”
“Maybe they were passed out. Or maybe they just didn’t want to pick up the phone.”
The fear and uncertainty were replaced swiftly with anger. She felt her strength coming back. “He could have called. He could have let us know he was all right.”
“He should have.”
At least it wasn’t another woman, she thought. At least he was alive.
But, damn it, how could he be so inconsiderate? Paul was almost up to her, but he kept coming closer, showed no sign of stopping. She felt nervous all of a sudden, and then he reached her and put his arms around her shoulders, hugging her.
They had never touched before, and she felt uncomfortable with this close contact. This was no doubt a friendly hug, a chaste and harmless gesture of support, but she wasn’t one of those touchy-feely people who went around hugging everybody in sight, who squandered personal contact on virtual strangers, and this sudden intimacy not only surprised her but made her decidedly ill at ease.
The hug continued a beat or two longer than it should have, and she tried to casually pull back, to move out of his grip in a way that seemed natural and inoffensive, but though he shifted position, let his left arm fall away, his right arm remained around her shoulder.
“Maybe he’s still there,” Julia said. “I should see.” Paul stroked her hair. “He doesn’t treat you the way he should.”
She wanted to back away, wanted to tell him to stop… but she didn’t. She felt dizzy, almost light-headed, and she didn’t know why she was letting him do this, but she said nothing as his hand roamed from her hair to her shoulders, rubbing over her breasts.
What was going on here? She was not at all attracted to Paul, and he had never indicated that he was remotely interested in her. Perhaps, she rationalized, it was Deanna’s death that was the impetus behind this inappropriate behavior.
What was behind her acquiescence? She knew that what he was doing was wrong, and she told herself she wanted it to stop, but she made no real effort to end it or to move away from him. It felt good to be touched again, felt good to have a man’s hands on her in this way. And Paul was right. Gregory had been a jerk lately and he hadn’t treated her the way he should. She deserved better.
Paul proceeded slowly, and she let him unbutton her pants, let him slide his hand down her panties. His fingers felt strong and sure, and she gasped as he cupped her, as his middle finger slipped easily and gently inside her.
And then Gregory walked into the café.
Time stopped. She was suddenly aware of everything: the ticking of the clock across the room, the sound of a pickup passing by on the street outside, the far-off cry of a hawk, her own pounding heart, and the silence as she held her breath. Her senses were heightened, and she felt with extraordinary sensitivity Paul’s hand pulling out from her underwear, saw too clearly the blank expression on Gregory’s red face, heard her own huge exhalation as though it were the sound of a monsoon.
What happened next seemed surreal and not quite believable. There was no argument, no fight, no histrionics. Paul simply turned and walked back across the café to his office and Gregory held his arm out silently. She buttoned up her pants and took his hand. She still felt light-headed, and she wanted to apologize, wanted to explain, but her thoughts were foggy and couldn’t seem to make the trip out of her brain and down to her mouth.
Gregory held out his hand for the keys, she gave them to him, and, still not speaking, they walked out of the café to the van.
He didn’t hit her until they got home.
The house was empty. Gregory’s mother was gone, the kids still in school, and the two of them walked silently inside. They had not spoken once during the entire trip home.
She looked around the empty house. They never kept track of anything anymore, she thought. They used to know where everyone in the family was at all times, but like the rest of the supposedly stable building blocks that had been the foundation of their relationship, that had broken down here, too, and now they’d reverted to a more primitive monitoring system, noticing only whether someone was present or absent, not knowing or caring about anything in between. Even after Adam’s arrest, they had not kept the close tabs on him that they’d promised him and themselves.