What’s Not True: A Novel Page 7

  She stepped into her capri jeans and held a red scoop neck short-sleeved shirt in front of her. She groaned. No can do. It clashed big time with her new hair color. For sure Sarah would tell her she should’ve thought about that too.

  She swapped her black bra for a nude one and slipped on a white V-neck T-shirt. “Hmmm. Better.” Inserting the half-carat diamond studs she’d bought with the thousand-dollar monthly stipend Mike had sent her after Barry’s death, she laughed, recalling how Mike had asked her if they were real. “Hell, no. I can’t afford diamonds on my income,” she’d said without bothering to cross her fingers. Dressed, Karen admired herself in the mirror, ran her hands through her hair, and gave herself a wink of approval.

  Thank goodness Mike wasn’t there to witness her earlier exchange with Sarah. Whose side would he have taken? She needed to keep him in check, on her side, focused on making her Mrs. Michael Ricci.

  The weekend thus far was kind of a bust. Dinner and their smoke fest weren’t too bad, and certainly the midnight snack was intriguing, but this morning was a disaster. Why had she agreed to host these guys? Except for Charlie, she couldn’t give a hootie-toot about any of them. But the weekend was still young. She had until Monday to make nice with Sarah and make it with Charlie. Finally, again.

  “Are you ready?” Mike said as he huffed and puffed into the bedroom.

  “Almost. Where’d you go earlier?”

  “The bank. The post office.” He leaned against the bathroom door.

  “Why?”

  “Business stuff.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited till Monday? You left me alone to entertain the whole lot of them.” Karen tried to insert a positive lilt in her voice, careful not to give Mike any inkling coffee wasn’t the only thing that brewed while he was out.

  “I’ve decided I’m not going into the office Monday. Taking the day off. To be with you.” Mike snuggled behind her.

  As she put the final touches on her makeup, she could feel his body pressing against hers, but her focus was on how she needed a full makeover to go with her new hair color. She’d have to figure a way to get to Nordstrom that day or the next. Before Monday.

  “We should do something special.”

  “When?”

  “Aren’t you listening? Monday. Our guests will be leaving and—”

  “I can’t. I have to work.” She wasn’t ready to surrender an entire day to Mike when she’d already committed an extra-long lunch hour to Charlie.

  Mike cupped her breast. “No, you don’t. I’m the boss, remember.”

  Clang. Clang. Click. She cocked her head. “Must be Sarah and Charlie back from their walk.”

  Mike thinks he’s the boss? We’ll see about that. Suddenly, the idea of having sex with Mike while Charlie was downstairs made her horny as hell. She wanted more of what she’d started during the night, even if it wasn’t with the partner she’d been dreaming about. Karen turned her body toward Mike and unbuckled his belt.

  “Can’t it wait till tonight? We’ll be late.”

  Karen slipped off her capris, rubbed her scar, and guided Mike’s hand into her black lace panties. When he’d taken care of her desire, she knelt and tugged his pants to the floor.

  “You know what we can do Monday?”

  “Besides this. Can’t think of a thing.” Mike moaned.

  “Let’s purge Kassie’s office.”

  “Don’t even go there, missy.” Mike pushed Karen away and yanked up his jockey shorts and his slacks.

  “Why the hell not? I could turn that room into something for me.”

  “Like what? You don’t have any hobbies that I’m aware of.”

  “Not yet, but I could if I had a place to call my own. I used to knit.”

  “You need a whole room for needles and yarn?”

  “As a start. Please, Mike, I don’t ask for much, do I?” He didn’t notice her rub her right earlobe.

  “That’s true. But it’s still Kassie’s house. She doesn’t have to move her things out until after the divorce is final. In fact, if you’re not careful, she could ask you to remove your belongings or claim half ownership of them.”

  “You’re kidding. She’d never do that.”

  “You’re right, Kassie never would.” Mike walked out of the dressing area into the bedroom.

  Karen got Mike’s message loud and clear and swallowed the “fuck you” she wanted to say to him. She vowed to bide her time. Soon Kassie’s office, the house, part of the business, and Mike would all be hers. And Chris would come around in time too.

  When she closed the vanity drawer with more oomph than necessary, Mike returned and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’ll talk with her when she gets back from Italy if it’ll make you happy.”

  Look who’s the boss now? Karen gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a pat on his chest. “I’ll let you know if I’m free Monday. Let’s get going, our guests are waiting. Quack. Quack.”

  Karen led Mike down the stairs. She would’ve skipped down them if she could. They found Charlie and Sarah standing in the family room with their luggage.

  “What’s this?” Mike lifted his palms in the air and glared at Karen as if she knew what was happening.

  “Charlie called a cab. We’re going to a hotel.”

  9

  Memory Lane

  Without a word, Charlie picked up his suitcase and headed for the front door. Mum as well, Sarah was close behind, rolling her bag across the carpet and into the tiled foyer as Mike stepped in and took it off her hands.

  “What the hell? What’s going on? Did something happen while I was out?” Mike moved aside and ushered Sarah ahead of him through the front door.

  “Karen can fill you in,” Sarah said as she thanked him for managing her luggage.

  “What hotel are you going to?” Mike hustled to keep up with Sarah, who made fast tracks to the black sedan idling in the driveway. “Wherever it is, you don’t need Uber to take you. I’ll drive you.”

  Charlie finished loading their bags in the trunk. “Thanks, man, but we’re all set here.” He shook Mike’s hand.

  “Wait. Wait. What about our plans? The duck boats? The concert tonight?”

  “I think we’ll pass.” Charlie slammed the trunk closed.

  “But you’ll come to the game tomorrow? We can pick you up. I’ll call and let you know—”

  Charlie looked to Sarah. She shook her head from side to side and let out an audible sigh.

  “Sorry, bro. It was fun while it lasted.” Charlie signaled Sarah to get in the back seat, while he climbed in the front.

  “Wait right here. Don’t leave yet,” Mike said, pressing his hand downward toward the pavement.

  Mike heard Karen come up behind him before he turned and passed her on his way into the house. “Stop, you guys. Really, no reason to leave,” Karen said to no one in particular.

  Charlie turned his back on Sarah and walked over to Karen. He said something in a voice only the two of them could hear. She tapped him on the arm, slipped her hands in her pockets, and kicked a small rock out of the driveway onto the lawn.

  “What’s this?” Charlie asked as Mike handed him two Red Sox hats, one navy and one pink.

  “Planned to give these to you tomorrow. Before the game. Take them anyway. You can fight over who gets the pink one.” Mike tried to make a joke, though he wasn’t in a laughing mood.

  Karen waved as the car backed out of the driveway and slipped her arm through Mike’s as they headed up the slope to the house.

  Mike unhooked Karen’s arm as they entered the foyer and closed the front door. She jumped and glanced back at Mike as the bells on the doorknob clanged louder than usual.

  “Did Charlie tell you where they’re going?”

  “Nope.” Karen headed for the kitchen.

  “Well then, darlin’, why don’t you tell me why they’re going wherever they’re going? What did you mean, no reason to leave?” Mike stayed close on her heels.

/>   “I think it’s Sarah. She said something about having a headache. Bacon will do that, ya know. She probably didn’t want to be a drag on the weekend.”

  “Ridiculous. But you’re right. She could’ve skipped this afternoon, taken a nap, and then joined us this evening. You women—”

  “How about those donuts?”

  The rest of their Saturday went as originally planned, but with just the two of them. Mike called Bill to see if he and Nancy would like to use the Gaineses’ duck boat and concert tickets. Bill reminded him they already had plans with their sons.

  “What gives with Charlie and Sarah?” Bill said.

  “Beats me. Karen said Sarah may have gotten a headache after eating the bacon.”

  “Really? If she had a headache, it came on from the time Nancy and I walked out of your house till the time you walked in. Sarah never mentioned a headache. And she didn’t eat any bacon. You can take that to the bank.”

  Mike checked to see whether Karen was nearby before he said, “If not the bacon, what? You were here. What do you think happened?”

  “Could’ve been my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “I mentioned Chris. Conversation seemed to go downhill in a flash after that.”

  “Poor guy. He’s not even here, and he’s causing trouble.”

  “Sorry, pal, if I said something to mess up your weekend.”

  “You didn’t.”

  If Chris was the topic of conversation that caused a falling-out, Mike was certain Karen was involved in some way, shape, or form. Bill may have fueled it, but Karen lit the match. He decided to let it pass for now. Let it all die down. He’d check with Charlie before they headed back to Chicago. Smooth things over if need be. Life was too short to allow something out of his control ruin his weekend. He’d just let things ride the tide and enjoy the day, such as it was, with Karen.

  Which he did. Especially the duck boat tour. Without Charlie and Sarah, he and Karen each had their own row in the boat, allowing him to spread out and relax. He might even learn something new about Boston.

  Later that day, he breathed a sigh of relief when Karen suggested they head over to the concert early. It was her first time at the Hatch Shell, so she wanted to get a good seat, or blanket space, as it were. Going early had its advantages. Parking wasn’t the usual chore, and their slow walk to the esplanade on that hot, muggy July night was less taxing on his body, though his light blue shirt with the little green alligator on the pocket did little to hide the sweat circle forming under his arms. Luckily, he had a handkerchief to wipe off his brow.

  The humidity seemed to have the same effect on the folks sitting so close to them it was impossible to distinguish one’s body perfume from another’s. Everyone was equally soaked in sweat, so no one noticed his embarrassment.

  “Once the sun goes down, it’ll be better,” Mike heard more than one concertgoer forecast. He hoped so, feeling moisture gathering around his waist. Wearing khakis clearly wasn’t a good idea, but his wearing-shorts-in-public years were far behind him.

  That said, Karen wasn’t bothered by the heat. Her sleeveless white knit knee-length dress looked as crisp as when they’d left the house.

  “Your hair,” Mike said. “The sun bouncing off it. Amazing, like the rocks of Sedona.” He squeezed her waist and pulled her closer to him despite the heat. Was he mistaken, or did his compliment catch her off guard? She reached for his hand and put his finger in her mouth, his middle finger. Nice. Down boy.

  “I thought there’d be more young people here.”

  “It’s an oldies concert!” Mike shouted in her ear as the band’s tune-up reverberated through the speakers. He kissed her cheek after he gave her a hand so they both could stand. So much for the blanket. “Baby boomers!” he bellowed, swayed, and cupped his ears.

  After an hour of standing and singing to Aerosmith, Rush, and The Doors, Mike felt the urge to pee.

  “You okay if I go search for a porta potty? Or do you want to come with. . . ”

  “I think I’m good till we get home. I hate those things.”

  “At least I don’t have to sit.” Mike said he’d be right back.

  He would’ve been too, except for the line of guys who all had the same urge when there was a break in the music. He passed the time in line by estimating there were about twenty fellows ahead of him, and given the pace it was moving, he could be shifting from one leg to the other for at least ten minutes.

  “Hey, Mike!” someone yelled as he felt a tug on his arm.

  “Hi, Annie! What are you doing here?”

  “Duh. Best concert of the season. Where else would I be?”

  “In Italy with Kassie. You back already?”

  “Uh, Mike, this is my friend Jack. Jack, this is Mike, Kassie’s husband.”

  “Hi, Mike. Thought Kassie was—” Jack reached out his hand to Mike.

  “Okay. Gotta run.”

  Well, that was weird. She didn’t answer my question. Crap. Should’ve told her to look out for the package I sent to her house. Or maybe Kassie’s back. Oh, well. My turn to hold my nose.

  His zipper was down before he’d flipped the sign to occupied.

  Hoping not to step on anyone’s foot, Mike shouldered his way through the crowd toward the area where Karen was holding court. Along the way, he scanned the jumping crowd on the off chance he could pick Annie out of the throng. He gave up when the rowdy bunch started singing “Sweet Caroline,” though it was worth a shot. Truth be known, as the band played the Eagles and Foreigner, Mike’s eyes continued to wander as far as he could see. Even if he hadn’t run into Annie, he knew he would’ve been thinking about Kassie. Mike sighed deeply when the band played “Don’t Stop Believing” as their final number.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Mike interrupted Karen’s humming when they finally made their way through the departing crowd to the parking lot and the quiet confines of his car.

  “I did. Lots. So many of the songs reminded me of Barry. Those were good times.”

  He raised his eyebrows as he pulled out of the garage. She rarely mentioned her late husband. Not the response he’d expect, especially after the nice day they’d had. He caught himself short from a tit-for-tat and saying many of the songs reminded him of Kassie. No need to hurt her. Fact was, he and Karen’s music history was limited. They were only together for a short time in college, whereas he and Kassie had more than thirty years together. Made sense his and Karen’s memories—music or otherwise—would be grounded in their first marriages. He’d have to do something to change that.

  It didn’t take long. On the way home from the concert as they drove past the Citgo sign, Mike brought up the idea of blowing off the Red Sox game the next day and instead taking a drive out to Provincetown. They could walk the dunes, another first for Karen.

  “Great idea. I second that. You know how much I love baseball.”

  “We’ll need to get up early if we want to buck the traffic on Route 6.”

  “Works for me.”

  “I feel guilty about not using the tickets. They’re great seats. Behind home plate. You sure you don’t want to go? You just might change your mind and like baseball.”

  “I think I’d like the Cape better. Isn’t that where you found all the shells in that lamp?”

  “You noticed the lamp. Yes, along the beaches out there.” Mike felt a memorable twinge in his chest and gazed straight ahead as he drove the rest of the way home, deep in thought.

  As he walked in the house, Mike called Bill. This time Bill accepted the offer of the baseball tickets for his whole family. Since he and Karen were heading out early in the morning, Mike offered to leave the tickets under the mat by the front door.

  “What do I owe ya?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could think about treating Karen with a little TLC. She’s not so bad when you get to know her.”

  “For you, Mike, anything.”

  With his legs tired from standing at the concert, Mike
filled a glass with ice water from the refrigerator spigot and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Karen.” Mike threw his voice loud enough to find its way into the family room, where he assumed she’d curled up on the couch and was at that very moment clicking through the TV searching for something to watch.

  “Hey, lady, would you do me a favor?” he asked once she walked in the room. “Could you go into my office and get the Red Sox tickets? They’re right there on top of my desk. And an envelope in the right-hand top drawer. Please.”

  “How come?”

  “Bill’s gonna take his family to the game tomorrow. I just told him I’d leave the tickets under the mat.”

  While Karen was off doing what she was told, Mike rummaged through the clutter in the small built-in desk in the kitchen. He found a notepad he kind of liked, one of Kassie’s custom-printed Post-it notes notepads, and stacked the other five on the desktop.

  “What are you going to do with those?”

  “Give them to Kassie. They’re hers. She loves them.” He scribbled a note to Bill about having a good time and a beer on him, which he stuck on top of the tickets, then shoved everything in the white envelope. “We’ll have to get you some of these,” he said, adding the last pad to the pile.

  “You look tired, Mike. Why don’t you head upstairs? I’ll close up down here.”

  “Good idea. I’m beat. Maybe too big a day for this old body. I’ll just put—”

  “Let me. . . .”

  About twenty minutes later, Mike was drifting off to sleep when he heard the bells on the front door clang once and then again. The tickets.

  He lifted one eye as Karen passed the bed, heading toward the bathroom.