Cul-de-sac Page 10

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, her voice quivering. “It happens.”

  “I’m just so tired. I guess I didn’t realize how much those interviews today took out of me.”

  She smiles through the tears he sees forming. “No problem. I understand.”

  “We’ll try again another time.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She retreats to their en suite bathroom, and when she comes out a few minutes later, her face has been freshly scrubbed, and she’s wearing a shapeless cotton nightshirt. She climbs into bed beside him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before turning away from him to lie on her side. He hears her sniffling quietly under the covers, pretending everything is all right, that it’s no big deal. Too polite to say what she’s really thinking: that he’s disappointed her yet again, that she will simply add his shortcomings in bed to his ever-expanding list of failures.

  He waits until he knows she’s asleep before climbing out of bed, going back downstairs, and pouring himself another drink. He wonders again how long he can keep lying to his wife, and how Olivia will react when she discovers the truth. How understanding will she be then?

  Although she bears at least part of the blame for his falsehoods, doesn’t she?

  Maybe if she’d pushed more, told him to get his head out of his ass and face reality sooner, insisted he take whatever crappy job he could get his hands on, then none of these lies would be necessary. Instead, she encouraged him to take his time, dream big, not settle. And she’d looked so hopeful when he landed that initial interview at Advert-X. So, how could he disappoint her?

  Except that’s exactly what he’s done, he knows, picturing her standing beside their bed in an outfit that, at one time, would have driven him wild.

  He grabs his laptop from the kitchen counter and logs in to his favorite porn site, finding a buxom young woman who looks vaguely like his young neighbor, and quickly brings himself to orgasm. Feeling a fresh wave of self-loathing, he closes the computer, returns the bottle of vodka to the freezer, and goes back upstairs to bed.

  He climbs in beside Olivia, his arm reaching across her waist to pull her close, his nostrils inhaling a trace of the perfume she was unable to wash away. “Forgive me,” he whispers into the nape of her neck. “There is no job. I’m a liar and a fraud.”

  “Hmm?” Olivia murmurs, her voice coated in sleep. “Did you say something?”

  A second of silence follows.

  “Just that I love you,” he tells her.

  He feels her smile. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She’s dreaming about being stuck in an elevator with a group of women she doesn’t know. They are speaking a language she doesn’t recognize or understand, and seem blissfully unaware they’re not moving. “Excuse me,” she tells them, trying to push her way through the crowd to the doors. One of the women swivels toward her. “You’re wearing very strong perfume,” she chastises her in perfect English. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” The doors to the elevator suddenly open and the woman pushes Heidi into the wire-filled black abyss.

  Heidi bolts up in bed. “Holy crap,” she says when she can find her voice. She takes a series of deep breaths, feeling the nightmare break into pixels around her, until there is nothing left but the dark hole she fell into. “Aiden?” she whispers, peering through the darkness for her husband, seeking the reassurance of his strong arms.

  Except he isn’t there.

  Heidi reaches over to turn on the lamp beside the bed. The lamp looks like a rectangular block of ice topped by an oblong black shade, and Heidi has never liked it. It’s too modern for her taste and the black shade guarantees very little light escapes. “It’s more than enough light,” Lisa had insisted when she selected it over the white-shaded, floral porcelain lamp that Heidi preferred. “It’s a bedroom. You don’t need it too bright.”

  “What if I want to read in bed?” Heidi recalls asking.

  Lisa hadn’t bothered to respond. Her dubiously raised right eyebrow said it all.

  “Aiden?” Heidi says again, looking toward the bathroom. But the bathroom door is open and it’s obvious Aiden isn’t there. Which means he’s probably downstairs watching TV, something he often does when his own nightmares keep him from sleeping. But it’s almost four a.m. If he doesn’t come back to bed soon, he’ll have a hard time getting up in the morning, which would make him late for work, putting yet another job at risk.

  And what would Lisa, sleeping off too much to drink at dinner in the bedroom down the hall, say about that? Whatever it would be, Heidi was sure she would get the blame.

  She lies back down, trying to clear her mind of all things Lisa. But Lisa is as stubborn in the abstract as she is in the flesh, and she isn’t about to be so easily dismissed.

  They’d ended up ordering ribs for dinner.

  “Please don’t be mad,” Aiden whispered to his wife out of his mother’s earshot. “We’ll have what you made tomorrow. It looks really good.”

  Heidi watched Lisa devour her entire order of ribs, the fact that they were loaded with garlic not seeming to bother her in the slightest. Then she carried the bottle of wine into the living room and plopped herself down in front of the TV, insisting they watch some boring documentary on the Second World War, before drifting off when it was only halfway through.

  Heidi had tried to change the channel, hoping to salvage at least part of the evening by catching the last half of The Real Housewives, when Lisa suddenly sprang to life. “What are you doing?” she’d demanded. “I’m watching that.”

  “You were asleep.”

  “I was just resting my eyes. One can listen with one’s eyes closed, you know.”

  One can also fuck off, Heidi thought, having to bite her tongue to keep from saying it out loud, remembering her resolve to win Lisa over.

  “Is there something you’d rather watch?” Lisa asked her son.

  “No,” Aiden said, deliberately ignoring the obvious plea in Heidi’s eyes. “This is fine.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn a little history,” Lisa said to Heidi. “Wasn’t it Winston Churchill who said, ‘Those who ignore history are condemned to repeat it’?”

  “Yes, I believe he did,” Heidi said, although the truth was that she had no idea what he’d said. She wasn’t even sure who this Winston Churchill guy was.

  Of course, by the time the show ended at eleven o’clock, Lisa announced she was too tired and too drunk to drive home and would be spending the night in one of the spare bedrooms. “I might as well get used to it,” she’d said on her way up the stairs.

  “What did your mother mean, she might as well get used to it?” Heidi asked as soon as she and Aiden were alone.

  “You know,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She’s moving in for a few weeks.”

  “What?”

  “I told you.”

  “You never did!”

  Aiden glanced toward their closed bedroom door, as if afraid his mother might be eavesdropping in the hall. “Don’t go getting all upset. It’s just for a few weeks, while her kitchen’s being renovated.”

  “Shit!” Heidi exclaimed. “When is this happening?”

  “Not for at least another month. Probably July.”

  “July,” Heidi repeated.

  “It’ll just be for a couple of weeks.”

  “Renovations always take longer than they say they will. She’s liable to be here all summer.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Aiden asked, helplessly. “She’s my mother and she paid for this place. The house is in her name. You want me to tell her she’s not welcome?”

  That’s exactly what I want you to tell her, Heidi thought, knowing her husband could never do this. “Okay,” she sai
d. “Well find a way to make it work.”

  “You’re the best,” Aiden said, snuggling up against her in bed.

  Heidi immediately flipped over to face him, her hand reaching out to stroke him. There was no reason for the night to be a total waste. And the marijuana had made her horny.

  “I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” he said, stilling her hand.

  “Why not?”

  “You know…” Again he looked toward the hall. “She could hear….”

  Heidi flipped back onto her other side. “I might as well get used to it,” she thought, Lisa’s words echoing in her ears as she drifted off to sleep.

  No wonder I had a nightmare, Heidi thinks now, glancing at her bedside clock and noting that another half hour has passed and Aiden still isn’t beside her. She gets out of bed, throws a short robe over her naked body, and pads down the hall, stopping at the top of the staircase, listening for the muted sounds of the TV. But she hears nothing. “Aiden?” she whispers as she reaches the bottom of the steps and proceeds into the living room.

  But the room is dark and the television is off. “Aiden?” she calls again, approaching the kitchen. But he’s not there either. Is it possible he went outside?

  She opens the front door and looks around, the warm night air wrapping around her shoulders like a shawl. The moon is a gorgeous yellow crescent in the sky, shining a spotlight on the quiet neighborhood. Of course it’s quiet, she thinks. It’s four-thirty in the morning. Everyone is asleep.

  Except Aiden.

  Where the hell is he?

  Lisa’s car is in the driveway, which means that their Hyundai is still in the garage. Which means that unless Aiden is out somewhere prowling the streets in his underwear, he’s somewhere in the house.

  Maybe even back in bed, she decides, ascending the stairs. But a quick peek into their bedroom reveals he isn’t there. She moves to the smaller of the two other bedrooms, but the double bed in the center of the room is untouched and empty except for a dozen decorative throw pillows atop its billowy white comforter.

  She proceeds slowly to the last bedroom, reluctant to open the door, lest she rouse her mother-in-law. Lisa will no doubt blame her for Aiden’s disappearance. Still, what choice does she have?

  Slowly, quietly, Heidi opens the bedroom door.

  She sees him immediately.

  He is standing at the foot of the queen-size bed, staring at the woman sleeping on her side under the covers, unaware of his presence.

  “Aiden?” Heidi whispers, tiptoeing toward him.

  He doesn’t move, his gaze locked on his mother’s face.

  “Aiden, honey. What are you doing?” She moves to his side, recognizing from the blank look in his eyes that he is in some sort of trance, that he likely has no idea where he is or what is taking place. Probably back in Afghanistan or some other godforsaken place. “Let’s get you back to bed,” she says, stepping behind him, trying to guide him from the room. Her fingers reach for his.

  Which is when she feels the gun in his hand.

  Oh God. What’s happening?

  What the hell is he doing? More important, what the hell is she supposed to do now?

  She thinks of running, of leaving Aiden to his mother and whatever crazy thoughts are going through his brain. Is he really thinking of shooting her? Then, in the next second, she decides that this is all part of her nightmare, that none of it is actually happening.

  Except it is happening, and she knows it. This might be a nightmare, but it is no dream. The gun in Aiden’s hand is real. And as much as the thought of a world without Lisa is very appealing, the thought of her husband spending the rest of his life in prison is not.

  “Aiden, honey,” she says, her voice as soothing as her panic will allow. “Give me the gun, sweetie. You’re safe here. You don’t need this.”

  Several excruciating seconds pass until the grip of his hand on the gun loosens and she is able to pry the weapon from his fingers. He smiles at her as she slips it inside the side pocket of her robe and leads him from the room.

  “What’s going on?” he asks as she is tucking him under the covers of their bed.

  “You had a bad dream,” she tells him.

  “Did I?”

  “You were sleepwalking. You don’t remember?”

  He shakes his head. “Not a thing.”

  Heidi removes the gun from her pocket and returns it to the case in the bottom drawer of their dresser. She climbs into bed beside her husband and surrounds him with her arms. “Get some sleep,” she says.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nick Wilson pulls his car into the parking lot of Straight Shooters of West Palm Beach, located near the intersection of Dixie Highway and Forty-fifth Street, and shuts off the engine. “Okay. Everybody out.”

  Ben immediately scrambles out of the backseat, racing toward the front door of the squat ecru-colored building.

  “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Dani asks her husband. Despite his threatening to do this for weeks, she’d kept hoping he’d think better of the idea. She glances back at Tyler. The boy has remained seated, his eyes reflecting a similar concern. In fact, he looks terrified.

  “I thought we settled that once and for all this morning,” Nick says, his voice weary.

  “I know, but…I’m thinkin’ they’re still so young, and Ben’s no bigger than a minnow in a fishin’ pond….”

  “He’s as tall as required, and you’re never too young to learn how to defend yourself. What’s happening back there, Goldilocks? Why are you still in the car?”

  Tyler hesitates. “I can’t undo my seatbelt.”

  “Really?” Nick leans over the top of the seat, reaches behind him, and unsnaps the belt. “Was that so hard?”

  “Nick, honey,” his wife whispers as Tyler is closing the door behind him, “you know he doesn’t like it when you call him Goldilocks.”

  “You trying to tell me how to talk to my own son?”

  “No. I’m just sayin’…”

  “Well, don’t. Just shut up and get out of the car.”

  Dani’s eyes fill with tears. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him all over again. Her cheek is still stinging from the slap he delivered this morning when she’d suggested possibly going to the beach instead, a slap so hard her ears are still ringing.

  “What happened to your face?” Tyler asked as she was preparing breakfast.

  She tried to shrug it off. “I walked into the side of the bathroom door. You know me, I’m so clumsy.”

  “You’re not clumsy,” Tyler said.

  “Come on, everybody,” Ben calls now from the front door of the gun shop.

  “Don’t question my judgment in front of the kids ever again,” Nick warns as he comes around the passenger side to grab Dani’s elbow and pull her from the car.

  What’s the matter with me? Why do I deliberately provoke him? Dani wonders as he slams the door after her, then stops suddenly.

  “Shit,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Tire’s looking a little flat.”

  “Really? It looks okay to—” She stops when she realizes Nick is already walking away.

  The sign on the front door reads, No loaded firearms please, an irony that manages to elicit a small smile from Dani despite her discomfort. The smile tugs at her wounded cheek.

  The first thing she sees upon entering the enormous square-shaped room is a giant stuffed grizzly bear with an accompanying sign warning visitors not to touch. Why? she wonders. Will it bite? She quickly discovers that the whole place is filled with the stuffed remains of dead animals: dozens of antelope heads mounted on the walls, entire bobcats, ibexes, and wolves standing guard at multiple intervals along the concrete floor.

  And guns. Guns of every shape and size. Guns everywhere: on the
walls, on the shelves, in countless display counters throughout the store. The tune to “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” begins wafting through Dani’s brain.

  Here a gun, there a gun, everywhere a gun, gun.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Nick says, interrupting the silent refrain and approaching the long counter that loops through the middle of the room. Two men stand in the middle of the loop, serving customers on both sides.

  Dani marvels that, at just past ten on a hot and humid Saturday morning, the place is already crowded.

  “Hi, there, Doc,” the older of the two clerks says in greeting. The name tag on his orange vest identifies him as Wes. He’s about fifty and sports a barely there brush cut and a tiny diamond stud in his left ear. “I see you brought the whole family with you this morning.”

  “Been meaning to do it for a long time,” Nick tells him, motioning toward Ben. “Just waiting for this one to get tall enough to see over the railing. Ben, get over here. Say hello to Wes.”

  “Hi,” Ben says. “This is a really neat place.”

  “Thank you, son. You gonna learn to shoot like your daddy?”

  “Yup,” Ben says proudly.

  “And this is my wife, Dani, and my older son, Tyler.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Wes says. “We all gonna hit the range today?”

  “That’s the general idea.” Nick hands Wes his membership card. “We’ll need four guns for one hour. Two stalls should do it.”

  Wes glances toward the shooting range behind the glass wall opposite the counter. “I think we can manage that.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “I’m assuming both kids are under twelve?”

  Nick nods.

  “Then it’s seven-fifty each,” Wes says. “Fifteen for the missus. You should come on Mondays,” he tells Dani. “Ladies shoot free on Mondays.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Think these .22 handguns would work best for the wife and kids,” Wes says to Nick, laying three such guns on the glass countertop, along with the appropriate ammunition. “They’re lightweight, not a lot of recoil. Should be pretty easy for them to fire. Just got to line your sights up to the target,” he says, leaning over the counter to demonstrate to Dani and the boys how it should be done, “and then just let ’em rip. And watch out,” he warns, “ ’cause the bullet casings go flying all over the place.”