Lakeside Park

His voice broke again and my chin trembled.

"I need to think about it," I lied.

He agreed, because of course he did.

I watched as he packed a small suitcase and booked a room at a motel in the next closest town. Already he was trying to be on his best behaviour; if he stayed in Minwack Falls, people would talk, and he knew how much I would hate having that kind of gossip surrounding us.

When he went to leave, I reached for him without thinking and he reacted just as instinctively. His hand was almost caressing my cheek the way it always did when he kissed me goodbye before I realized what I was doing. I stiffened and he stopped, guilt flashing across his face as his hand dropped to his side.

"Talk to you tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, unable to look at him. "Sure."

"I love you," he said. "Whatever you think, I swear I love you."

For a long time after he left, I sat at the kitchen table. My hands were folded in front of me as I tried to convince myself to leave him. And I tried, I really tried. I conjured up an image of Monica with her eyes wide and her tits thrust forward, shock across her face with my husband inside her. I forced myself to remember it, forced myself to picture that moment and relive it again and again until I had buried my head in my hands, my palms digging into my eyes as I tried to convince myself it was over.

That was how I was sitting when the door opened and Ramona walked in.

"Mom!" she called, and I jumped violently and straightened up.

"Hey, Ra-Ra," I said, my voice high-pitched. "How was school?"

"Good!" She burst into the kitchen and hugged me, her thin arms wrapped tighter than usual as I was reminded of what had brought me home early in the first place. "I missed you."

My heart cracked.

"I missed you too," I whispered.

She let go of me and excitedly tore her backpack open, thrusting her school agenda at me as she pulled out a handful of track-and-field ribbons. Her eyes sparkled as she relived every moment I'd missed in a way that made me feel like I hadn't missed a single thing. When she was done, she thundered up the stairs to her bedroom to get changed and I distracted myself by opening her agenda. The teacher always sent home newsletters and other important things that Ramona would tuck into the little coil book for me.

That day, there was a newsletter, a form asking for fundraising volunteers, and a sealed green envelope that meant yet another birthday party invitation. The school's policy was to send invitations home discreetly so the kids who weren't invited didn't feel bad when some kids got invitations, so they always came in unmarked envelopes that the students were told should only be opened by their parents.

I'd never been so thankful for that rule as I opened it.

GAME ON!

Ramona Roth, you've been TARGETED for a LASER TAG MATCH to celebrate Ashton Halliday's 9TH BIRTHDAY!

I stared at the words, bile rising in my throat. Before Ramona could return, I tore the invitation in half, then in half again, then a third time before hiding the pieces at the bottom of my purse.

That night, I told her Daddy had to go on a business trip and wouldn't be home. I tucked her in and brushed chestnut brown hair off her forehead so I could kiss it as she slept. I left her bedroom door open a crack the way she liked it, a sliver of warm light cutting through her room so her dreams were bright and cheerful.

I left the door to the guest room open the same way, open just enough that the light from the hall kept too much of the darkness from overtaking me. I slept in that unfamiliar bed and looked out that unfamiliar window and after sending Ramona to school the next morning, I called Scott.

"Liz," he answered, breathless hope hidden in his voice.

"If I take you back, I need three things," I said.

"Name them. Whatever it is, I--"

"First, no more cheating," I said, speaking over him.

"I swear."

"We go to counselling."

"Absolutely," he agreed.

I bit my lip. "And I want another baby."

There was an almost-imperceptible moment of silence.

"Anything," he said. "I'll do anything, Liz."

**

A gale of wind gusted through the garage door as I wrenched it open, nearly knocking me off my feet.

In theory, opening the overhead door should have been easy. It had taken less than a minute of Googling to find instructions on disengaging the opener so I could use the bypass handle to manually lift the door.

In practice, however, it was a pain in the ass.

I struggled with it for longer than I'd like to admit, but neither Scott nor Ramona had so much as texted me back. There was no other option; no one had responded to my overly formal Facebook post that just barely veiled how panicked I was that my daughter wasn't home, and I wasn't about to publicly admit that Scott still wasn't home after his last stop at Mallory's. Still, when I finally got the damn thing open, I was so caught off-guard by the sudden spray of rain that blew into the garage that I almost fell.

I grabbed the side of my car, managing to steady myself as my heart sent adrenaline shooting through my body. The rain was a cool mist on my flushed face and I could feel my hair dancing around my head, tossed and tangled by twirling, howling wind.

It was a good thing I took that moment to catch my breath and look out at the blackness that made up the world around me, since as it turned out, Ramona hadn't gone far.

Her parking spot was the one directly in front of the living room window so that Scott and I could park in the garage. For reasons that became incredibly clear as a lingering flash of lightning filled the sky, she had pulled her car off the driveway, but parked on the street just past the end of our property.

The rain was heavy on the roof of the garage and heavier still as it splashed on the concrete. The only thing I heard above the pounding rain was the wind, and the only thing I heard above that was the slamming of Ramona's car door.

I caught flashes of moments I wasn't supposed to see: the sight of my blue-haired daughter popping out of the back of her car, helped by a tall, good-looking boy with familiar eyes and a bright smile.

I couldn't hear the laughter pouring from her mouth, but I could see her head thrown back as she giggled, rain streaking down her face as Ashton Halliday pulled her close and kissed her.

The lightning faded and the world went black, and the next time it brightened, both of them were clutching their clothes to their chests as they ran completely nude across the street towards the Halliday's house.

That flash of lightning was thankfully much, much shorter, meaning that as I completely froze with shock, I didn't actually have to see much more than a quick glimpse of my naked daughter and her... what? Her boyfriend? Were they... she'd never mentioned him. As far as I knew, they weren't even friends anymore and hadn't been for years. Part of me felt guilty for that fact; it wasn't Ashton's fault his mom was a homewrecker, but... well.

It was hard to be around him when he had the same eyes that were burned into my mind after that day.

I was so caught up in my shock about seeing her with Ashton that I barely had time to have an existential crisis about the fact that my daughter was old enough to be having sex. I had just enough time to panic about the fact that she was doing it in her car right on the street in front of our house and hope to God that she had used protection or birth control or something before Scott almost hit me with his truck.

I had plenty of warning, of course. His headlights were on and as the only source of light besides the flashes in the sky, he wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

I, however, was standing in a dark garage with the overhead door open, and he apparently didn't wonder even a little bit why the door was open before pulling forward into his usual spot. If I hadn't jumped out of the way and slammed myself against my car door, he would have probably crushed my foot.

"Liz?" he asked as he jumped out of the truck. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I... I was going to look for Ramona," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Her car is right there."

"I know that now," I said, my voice cracking. "She went out to charge her GameBoy and she..."

The rest of the words got stuck in my throat.

"She what?" he asked.

"I know where she is," I managed to say. "So it's fine."

"So you freaked out about where our adult daughter was. If you would've just waited--"

"Waited?" I repeated. "I tried calling you multiple times and--"

"I was out helping half the town warm up their bottles and run their sump pumps and open their fucking garage doors," he snapped. "Like you wanted me to, remember?"

"I asked you to help Mallory," I said. "You chose to stay out and help everyone else."

He sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I can't win with you, can I? You want me to go out and help people. Then when I do, it takes too long and--

"Don't put words in my mouth," I said. "You didn't answer your phone, so I did the next best thing I could. I never said--"

"You were thinking it and you know it," he said.

"I was worried!" I snapped. "You and Ramona were both out and it was storming and neither of you even bothered answering your phones. All I knew was you were going to make one more stop at Mallory St. John's and that it apparently takes three times as long as any of your other stops to heat a bottle for her baby to go to bed."

His eyes glimmered in the dim light from the lantern and when he spoke, his voice was low and wary. "What are you trying to say, Liz?"

My hands were shaking as I curled them into fists. "Nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

"I don't want to fight with you."

He stared at me steadily. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

A muscle in my jaw twitched. "What do you want me to say?"

"What you're thinking," he demanded. "Ask me the question I know you're dying to ask. Just fucking say it, Liz."

My lips were trembling so badly I almost couldn't spit the words out.

"Why were you with Mallory so long, Scott?"

The switch from calm to explosive was almost instant.

"For fuck's sake!" He slammed a hand against his truck and I stumbled backwards. "How many times are you going to throw this in my face? It's been ten fucking years, Liz. Ten years and I haven't so much as put a goddamn toe out of line, and yet any time I don't pick up the phone as soon as you call or get stuck in traffic or spend a little too long taking a goddamn shit, you lose your mind."

"What else do you expect?" The dim light swam in my eyes as they began to water. "You cheated on me, Scott. It's hard not to wonder if you'd do it again."

"I fucking told you I wouldn't. I fucking said--"

We had never fought about it like that before.

We had cried over his affair, multiple times. We had gone to counselling and reopened those wounds, again and again, ensuring that the scars would always be there even if we thought everything had been healed. We tried to come together again; for years, we worked at it, trying to get past what he'd done, pretending like we were stronger than ever even though both of us were shattering inside.

But we'd never fought about it like that.

He hurled words at me. Horrible things, hateful things, things that I couldn't bear to remember, let alone repeat. Words I'd never dreamed I'd hear anyone say, much less my husband. Things that confirmed every fear I'd ever had: that he'd stopped finding me attractive, that he resented me, that I'd made him feel lonely so he'd sought comfort with someone who actually wanted him. That it was my fault, that I'd been neurotic and stringent and impossible to live with. He picked at all those scars, gesturing at the pieces of me that I hated about myself.

"You should have ended it with me back then," he said at one point. "I don't know why the fuck you didn't. Both of us knew it was fucking over."

"You begged me not to!" I shouted back. "You said you'd do anything!"

"And I did everything I could!" he snapped. "I didn't so much as look at Monica fucking Halliday again, I went with you to the fucking counsellor and did all the goddamn role reversals and talking stick bullshit and that didn't fix anything."

Those words made me recoil. "It fixed a lot."

"It didn't do shit," he said bluntly. "You know I could've fucked Mallory tonight, right? I didn't. I didn't so much as fucking touch her even though she wanted me."

"Would you like a ribbon?" I asked sarcastically. "Congratulations, you upheld your marriage vows. Shall I get us a bottle of champagne, too?"

"You know, I thought I wanted things to work out, but I didn't think I'd be signing up for ten years of you being suspicious and not trusting me to wipe my own ass. I should have fucking known as soon as you gave me your conditions. What kind of person says she wants a friggin' baby when our marriage is on the rocks?"

"You don't get to decide how long it takes to trust someone after they do that to you," I choked, my anger and my tears spilling over at the same time. "I thought you loved me and that you'd understand it would take some fucking time to get over seeing you fuck another woman and you promised me we'd have another baby and--"

"I had a vasectomy."

Everything stopped.

The wind stopped.

The rain stopped.

My heart stopped, at least for a moment.

The words had fallen out of his mouth. Whether it was unintentional or he had pushed them, I didn't know, and it didn't matter. He stood in front of me, not surprised or regretful or ashamed but stubborn, heartbreakingly stubborn as he folded his arms across his chest.

I don't know how he expected me to react. To be honest, I don't think he knew either. For a long, long moment, the world turned around us and I stared at my husband as I tried to process what he just said.

"When?" I finally asked.

"What?" he replied.

It took another long moment for me to get the words out. "Before or after you promised me we'd have another baby?"

The stubbornness on his face faded then; finally, something resembling shame flashed across it. Whether it was shame for his actions or for the fact that he'd told me something he probably intended to take to his grave, I didn't know.

"Why?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Why do you want to know?"

My mouth dropped open. "Because... because I deserve to know."

Scott looked pained. "It doesn't matter, Liz."

"Fuck you it doesn't matter!" I shrieked, so sudden and so loud that he winced and stumbled backwards. "Fuck you! It absolutely fucking matters. Did you start lying to me before you cheated and make that promise knowing full-well I wouldn't get pregnant, or did you get it after you promised me another baby so you didn't have to go through with it?"

"Having another kid was a terrible idea but I didn't want to lose--"

"Before or after, Scott?"

He leaned against his truck door and looked up at the ceiling of the garage.

"After."

**

The joint was long gone, the flashlight from the phone was off, and until he spoke, only the subtle sound of Justin's breathing and the surreal sensation of his presence in the darkness indicated that he was still there.

"This may be the understatement of the year," he finally said. "But your husband's a dick."

I half-laughed. "Ex-husband."

He was silent, then a hesitant hand found mine in the dark. His sweaty palm tenderly embraced my fingers as his thumb swiped gently back and forth along my knuckles. Aside from the movement of his hand and the breeze rustling the willows around us, the world was still.

His touch was strangely nostalgic. There was a haunting familiarity to the way it made my heart flutter and my skin tingle, drumming up a vague memory of comfort and safety. At the same time, I felt like it should bother me, the way he was touching me. This was a man--a young man, a man just a bit older than my daughter--who I had only just met, whose name I had only just found out, who was now comforting me.

I felt like I should think it wasn't quite right.

But I didn't.

"So you left?" he asked gently.

I stared at the space in front of me, my lips pressed together, almost blind in the darkness as a hot tear finally trickled down my cheek.

"No," I whispered.

Justin's thumb stopped moving. "You didn't, uh, kill him, did you?"

There was a beat as the world turned and I processed what he'd asked, and then I nearly fell off the bench of the picnic table as I started howling with laughter.

"No," I giggled. "I didn't... of course not."

"I mean, I just had to check," he said, laughing as he squeezed my hand. "We've already wasted a ton of time smoking weed and chatting, so if we still have to go hide a body, we should really get on that."

"I didn't--Jesus, Justin, I'm not a murderer." I wiped my cheek with the hand he wasn't holding, then frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'we'? You'd help me hide a body?"

I felt him shrug beside me. "Not that I'm condoning killing people but, like... I dunno. I feel like you could use someone in your corner, you know?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, then half-laughed again. "That's... sweet of you."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm super glad you didn't kill anyone. I just..." He paused, then sighed. "What... what happened next?"

That was the end of the laughter. I felt it fade from my body, tugged away by his words as the subtle judgement in his voice returned.

"He said he got a vasectomy because he didn't want a divorce but he thought I was crazy to want another kid as a condition for not leaving him," I said. "Which... I mean, he's not wrong. I just..."

My voice caught and Justin squeezed my hand. After a moment, I cleared my throat.

"I just... I didn't even know what to say. We tried, you know. After we... after. He must have gone right away because he... I wanted some time. But we tried. We tried for years. I saw doctors. And all that time he was lying." Another hot tear streaked down my cheek. "He said he was going to leave and we could talk in the morning. I told him if he left, he could consider our marriage over. He said I needed time to calm down. I asked if he was just saying that so he had an excuse to go fuck Mallory St. John." My voice caught again and I coughed. "I shouldn't have said that but I was so--"

"--pissed, I get it," he finished. "To be honest with you, Liz, I think you're allowed to be."

I smiled sadly. "Well, he stopped and looked at me. Then he said, 'You know what? Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.' And then he got back into his truck and drove away."

Justin's thumb wasn't moving across my knuckles anymore. There was a stiffness through his body, so tense that he was almost indiscernible from the wooden bench beneath us.

"So I just... watched," I continued softly. "He drove off and I sat on the floor in the garage and just watched the storm. I didn't know what else to do. When the rain stopped I just... I needed to be somewhere else."

"So you came here," he finished.

I nodded and for a while, neither of us spoke. I doubt Justin knew what to say and honestly, I couldn't blame him. He was... well. At his age, I was a new mom, but everyone had said I was too young and too immature and too irresponsible to be married and starting a family at that age. I should have been in school. I should have been starting a career. I should have slept around and met guys other than Scott and had fun and discovered who I was without him. Instead, at Ramona's first birthday party, I was twenty-three.

Just twenty-three.