What's Not True Page 13

  “What? Are you worried? I’m not. We might jump, but not off the bridge.”

  The sun had set as they left the Tower, and the moon was on the rise. The hot, sticky July day had lingered into the evening, giving tourists and Parisians alike a reason to stroll Pont Neuf, as if anyone ever needed a reason to do so.

  Never the shy one, Chris stopped midway across the span and pressed Kassie against the stone wall. She allowed her arms to wrap around his neck, and he kissed her deeply, with a passion befitting the moment. Her left ankle collapsed outward a bit. How did I ever let a year go by without you? He held her in this embrace, kissing her forehead, and then turned her so she could see Paris from his vantage point. He enclosed her body with his arms, and they swayed to their own music.

  “What are you humming?” Chris asked.

  “‘Something’s Coming’ from West Side Story.”

  “That’s weird. We’re in Paris?” Chris spun her around facing him but didn’t let her go.

  “Not so weird. Being here with you and my meeting tomorrow. It’s all grand, don’t you think?” Kassie looked deeply into his eyes, feeling their souls unite. My life doesn’t get any better than this.

  “You’re right. With you, it is all grand and absolutely perfect. Over the last twelve months, I hardly lived. I hardly breathed. Without you I am nothing.”

  Chris dropped to one knee and a red box magically appeared in his right hand. “Marry me, Kassandra O’Callaghan.”

  She leaned down and massaged the top of her right foot. “Fuck. Pomegranates.”

  18

  Come Again?

  “Is that a yes?” Chris steadied Kassie, preventing her from falling to the pavement. Could ‘pomegranates’ be an unfamiliar French way to say, ‘Absolutely, I’ll marry you, love of my life’?

  “Not a yes, or a no. It’s . . . get me back to the hotel. I’m starting to itch like hell. Can we talk about this later?” Kassie returned the box to Chris’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  Chris was sorry too. Until that moment, he’d pretty much rate the day five stars. Kassie’s reaction when she opened the Tiffany box at lunch and found an Eiffel Tower pendant, not a ring, was priceless. By deliberately asking the salesperson to put the delicate diamond-studded Tower in a ring box, his ruse worked. He’d knocked Kassie off her game. Her need to control the situation, every situation, was foiled.

  He thought he’d gotten her good, right where he wanted her. Especially because he knew the rest of the day would be a humdinger. Boy, would she be surprised.

  Except he was the one surprised when his phone rang at dinner. He hadn’t talked to Lexi in a month, not since they’d mutually agreed to end their long-distance relationship, giving him an open runway to conspire with Annie about Venice. Time would come when he’d tell Kassie about Lexi, but not that night of all nights.

  Things went downhill after that call. He looked the other way when Kassie pilfered a fork at dinner. Had she become a kleptomaniac over the last year? Or was this an innate urge of hers he’d ignored over their years together because he was blinded by his love. And what was with pomegranates? So much for believing he was the master of the moment, or that he really knew this woman he just asked to marry him. What a cluster.

  Chris grabbed Kassie by the arm, guided her through a bottleneck of folks out for their evening stroll, ensuring she didn’t bump into man, woman, or heaven forbid, baby carriages—though he stubbed his toe on an unforeseen part of the sidewalk that was an inch higher than the rest. A metaphor for the day.

  Making matters worse, there were no taxis in sight, and Tanya had told him when she’d dropped them off at the Tower that she was off the grid for the rest of the night.

  “Can you make it back to the hotel if we walk? Or do I need to call . . .”

  Kassie kicked off her shoes, pointing toward the direction of the hotel. “Let’s hoof it.”

  And so they walked. Every two hundred paces or so, Kassie stopped to rub pebbles off the bottoms of her feet.

  Waiting to cross an intersection with chattering pedestrians and honking traffic, she leaned up and yelled through tears Chris could see streaming down her face, “You’ll have to work your magic with the concierge. I need some antihistamines and a cream too.”

  As he swung the hotel door open, Chris tapped his palm to his forehead as if he should’ve had a V8 juice. “You’re allergic to pomegranates? Is that what this is all about?”

  “Ya think?”

  “But you didn’t have—”

  “My bad. One of the cosmos, I bet. Probably at lunch. I felt something weird at dinner, before I drank that one. Damn it.”

  Chris told her he’d meet her upstairs. A night-duty concierge, not the one he’d made nice with since they’d arrived on Saturday, just had to make Chris a hero and help him turn the evening around. Chris touched his pocket. The ring was still there. Thank God.

  The concierge disappeared into the back room and reemerged with salvation—a six-pack of Avil tablets, betamethasone lotion, and two bottles of water. Grateful they were in Europe, where medications could be obtained in a heartbeat, Chris placed ten euro on the desk, said “merci” to the concierge probably six times, and continued giving thanks as he bounded the stairs two at a time.

  “Here, take one of these.” He handed Kassie, who was stretched out on the bed still dressed, the package and water, which he unscrewed for her.

  “What is pheniramine?”

  “It’s the French answer to antihistamines. More effective than ours, I bet.”

  “And this isn’t cream. It’s gel.”

  Chris grabbed the tube and massaged the translucent goo onto the top of Kassie’s feet, which looked raw and bubbly.

  “Better?”

  “Better.” Kassie inhaled and exhaled loudly. She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed next to her.

  “I’m sorry, Chris. You didn’t expect all this. I’ve ruined . . .”

  “All is not ruined, unless you want it to be.” Leaning toward her and brushing the hair off her face, he gave her a kiss that was both sweet and intimate. He reached into his pocket and placed the box on her lap.

  “Not as romantic as Pont Neuf—” Chris held her hands as her eyes gave him permission.

  “Tell me again. . . .”

  He’d memorized the speech he’d given earlier, but considering the location and events of the last hour, he knew he had to make some adjustments.

  So he began, “When I’m with you, nothing in the world is ruined. The whole world is unspoiled. The air I breathe is filled with your essence.” He paused, hoping his setup words were sinking in. “Over the last twelve months, I hardly lived. I hardly breathed. Without you, I am nothing. You are my oxygen.”

  He paused and lowered his head, his tongue circling his upper teeth. He feared Kassie would find a reason to change the subject, flee the moment, or need to pee for the eightieth time that day.

  “Is that it?”

  19

  What’s Fair Is Fair

  On days like that Sunday, Karen longed not just for Charlie but for Elephant Butte. Like the Cape, it had sandy beaches and boats and fishing. Year-round, for that matter. As the largest state park in New Mexico, tourists were the lifeblood of the two thousand or so folks who were proud to say they were from Elephant Butte. Jokes be damned.

  What it didn’t have was the never-ending traffic and congestion in and around Boston that made getting from one place to another, whatever time of day, a friggin’ nightmare. You’d think it’d take ten minutes to drive from Newton to Charlestown on a Sunday evening. Karen slammed her hands on the dashboard as she rolled to a stop behind a line of red taillights that looked a mile long.

  Bored and anxious, never a good combination when driving, Karen picked up her cellphone she’d tossed on the passenger seat and turned it on. Creeping along at less than ten miles per hour enabled her to see she had two recent calls and two voicemails. No text messages. Though she would’ve liked
a flirty message from Charlie, she was relieved he finally honored her plea not to take the chance Mike would see it.

  Wouldn’t you know, just as she was about to listen to the voicemails she was sure were from Charlie, traffic rolled. She plopped the phone in the open storage compartment below the dashboard. My hot Charlie will have to wait.

  And there was another thing she hated about Boston. If you didn’t live in a house with a driveway or attached garage, like Mike, parking was an event unto itself. And not a pleasant event. Oh, her apartment complex had a secure garage, inconveniently located the length of a football field away from the front door of the building.

  “Think of it as exercise,” Chris had said. “If you walk back and forth a couple of times a day, you won’t have to go to the gym.” Like that was going to happen.

  Karen decided to keep the place longer than originally planned. The one-bedroom second-floor flat provided an oasis away from Mike if and when she felt a noose tightening, and a perch from which to spy on Chris. Though he said he wasn’t seeing Kassie, Karen wasn’t so sure, especially since he hadn’t told her about Lexi.

  On that Sunday evening the apartment was a staging area in anticipation of Monday, when it would transform into a love nest. For once she was glad Chris was away so there was no chance he’d bump into Charlie.

  She dragged her roller bag over the bumpy slate pavement, keyed in the front door code, and backed in through the glass entryway. When she entered her apartment, a sour smell whiffed up her nose. She hadn’t been there in a week. She fiddled with the thermostat until the air conditioning clicked on. The place was in need of a significant airing out. Thank goodness she hadn’t waited until Monday to take care of it.

  She opened the refrigerator, hoping there was something refreshing to drink. Just water. As she leaned on the counter and peered through the opening to the dining/living room area, the pungent odor cloud still lingered. Good Godfrey. It was her, not the apartment.

  Time to shower. Get the dirt and sweat and all things Mike and Cape Cod off me. But before I do that . . . Karen looked around for her phone. Not in the pocket of her suitcase. Not in her purse.

  She stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, reconstructing in her mind where she had it last. Crap. She grabbed her keys and the water and hoofed her way down the carpeted hallway, only to have to wait for the elevator. The stairway beckoned her, but she flipped it off. Pushing through the glass exit doors, she held them open for a young couple she recognized as tenants and marched her way to the garage, mumbling all the way, “I’m hot and sweaty and I stink. Charlie’s messages better be good.”

  By the time she retrieved her phone and headed back, pearls of salty sweat dripped from her hairline into her eyes. She poured what was left in the bottle of water over her head, which didn’t help clear her vision. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand allowed her to see she’d received three, not two, recent calls. One from Bill, Charlie, and Mike, in that order. The two voicemails weren’t both from Charlie, but from Charlie and Bill.

  She had a hunch why Bill had called, so she clicked on Charlie’s message first as she waited for the elevator, wet head and all. She scrunched her eyebrows, as if that would help her hear Charlie, whose voice was barely a whisper. “Loverly Lady, how are you this spectacular Sunday morning? Such a drag not spending the day with you. Sarah quickly arranged a brunch for us with some of her museum blowhards. At least it’ll pass the hours until—”

  As she stepped off the elevator onto her floor, she pulled the phone away from her ear as Charlie came through loud and clear, “Sounds like a plan, Harry, see you tomorrow.” Ah, Sarah must’ve walked in on him. Made her laugh. “Yes, you will see me tomorrow.”

  Entering the apartment for the second time, she latched the dead bolt and headed for the bedroom. She stripped off her capris and prepared to listen to Bill’s whining. As she laid the phone on her bed, she noticed the call had come in while they were way out on the Cape without cell power. Yes! Just as she hoped. She took a deep breath. This was going to be good.

  “Hey, Karen. Couldn’t reach Mike, so I’m trying you. We’re at the house. We looked under the mat by the front door and the one in the back. No tickets. We’ll wait ten minutes. If you get this, please call back. Thanks.”

  Poor Bill and Nancy. No free tickets. He better get used to no free lunch once I’m Mrs. Ricci.

  Before jumping in the shower, she listened to Charlie’s message three times and deleted Bill’s.

  Toweling off, it occurred to her that Mike hadn’t left a message. She checked. Indeed, he’d called while the phone was in the car. Too bad. She guessed he and Bill had probably connected. No way she’d call him now and get into a pissing match. She’d wait and cross that bridge tomorrow night. Charlie had to come first.

  Which he did, the next day. Twice, in fact. She did too, just not as quickly as Charlie. His mature, experienced hands made sure he finished what she’d invited him there to do.

  He didn’t need the little blue pill he’d placed in the palm of her hand when she greeted him at her door.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Just in case. It’s kept Sarah happy . . . and me a kept man . . . for years.” Charlie swatted her ass as he entered the apartment.

  Karen put the pill on a napkin in the kitchen and the white wine he’d brought in the refrigerator. Now with the dirty deeds, plural, behind them, she uncorked the wine and tossed the pill in the trash. We won’t be needing that today.

  She curled up on one end of the dark blue couch, Charlie stretched out at the other end with his feet resting on the coffee table. They clinked their wine glasses.

  “Nice place. Similar to Chris’s upstairs.”

  “He’s got a better view of the Harbor.” Karen walked to the big picture window. “It’s okay. Serves its purpose until I totally move in with Mike.”

  “And . . . how is that going?”

  “Oh, Charlie. I have so much to tell you. You’ll be so proud of me.” She returned to the couch, curling up alongside him, caressing his neck and shoulder with her fingers.

  “It’s official. He asked me to marry him. On the dunes yesterday. And I’m gonna get a big fat diamond.”

  With that as a backdrop, Karen monopolized the conversation, recounting the highlights of the trip to the Cape the day before, leaving out the episode in the back seat of Mike’s SUV.

  “They thought I was a movie star. Imagine that?”

  “The hair. It’s the hair.” He ran his fingers through her red hair. “I like it. Makes you look even younger than you do already. Takes me back to our first—”

  “My God. That was decades ago. We did it twice, remember? But not at the same time, like today, you horny toad. Maybe if you got out more, you wouldn’t need . . .” She rubbed his thigh.

  “Nah. I’m pretty contented with Sarah. Don’t want to rock the boat too much, blow a good thing.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Same reason you are. Just grateful Sarah’s museum gig gave us the reason to be here in town. I was getting tired of fantasizing about you and our time way back when.”

  “We did have fun in school, even if it was only twice.”

  “Twice.” Charlie gazed at the ceiling. “Yeah, I’ll never forget the first time. You were the lucky gal who grabbed my key out of the bucket at that frat party.”

  “The other time. In the back of your car. You cheated on Sarah then, and you’re cheating on her now.”

  “That makes us even . . . again. You’re cheating on Michael now, just as you did then. Only difference is you had his son, who I raised.”

  Karen backed away from Charlie, not wanting to reenact the scene from breakfast on Saturday. “And I’ll always be grateful to you . . . and to Sarah.” She fiddled with her fingernails.

  “Not sure she knows that, Karen. You treat her like shit.”

  She poured herself another glass of wine, ignoring Charlie’s empty glass
and his honest assessment of her treatment of his wife.

  “If you truly feel that way, why are you here?”

  “I’m a lawyer. You need a lawyer—that is, if you really are going to marry Mike.”

  Karen said she was going to marry Mike if it was the last thing she’d ever do. It was time for payback. She’d given herself to Mike, twice. First, she gave him a son, and then a kidney.

  “You actually gave me his son.”

  “But he’s got Chris now. Ricci and Son, remember?”

  “True.”

  “And what did I get? You’ve seen his house and the life he made with Kassie. And his business is thriving. And it’s wrapped up in him and Kassie, with a little something for Chris and that asshole, Bill, probably.” Her tears were forming.

  Charlie put his arms around her, reminding her that once she married Mike, he’d help make sure all the legal paperwork was drawn up on the business and the house and his investments. He’d be sure she got her fair share of all of Mike’s worldly goods.

  Karen raised her fist and pounded his chest. “Fair share? I want more than a fair share.”

  20

  Eyes Opened Wide

  Mike didn’t spend Sunday evening fretting over the baseball tickets, nor did he leave a message when he called Karen to find out what the hell happened to them.

  As he changed for bed, thoughts about the whole weekend bombarded his mind. Charlie’s key game suggestion still gnawed at him forty-eight hours later. Why would a grown man propose such juvenile behavior? Maybe times had changed more than he realized over the three decades he and Kassie were married. “If only we’d had a wider group of friends,” he said to the bedroom’s four walls as he tossed his clothes toward the hamper. He shook his head at the futility of that thought. Why waste time on if-onlys and what-ifs? There was no way to go back, to get her to come home. As he leaned to pick up the striped boxer shorts that had fallen short of the basket, he grabbed the edge of what had been Kassie’s bureau to prevent himself from falling.