Dry as Rain (26 page)

Benji didn't look up. “I just wait for them to make it official and then get to work on plan B.”

“Ant bites? Man, that must have been one heck of a reaction.”

“I swelled up like a water balloon.”

“That's scary,” Larry said. “I wouldn't think on a ship you'd run into too many fire ants, though.”

“That's what I said, but they told me we didn't know what I'd be running into in the line of duty. I wouldn't be out to sea a hundred percent of the time.”

“You'd think they'd just let you carry around one of those shot pen things like I do for bee stings.”

Benji turned over a miniature corncob with his chopstick. “You'd think.”

The waiter came by and filled our water glasses even though none of us had taken more than a sip. We each mumbled a thanks.

“So, what's plan B?” Larry said with his mouth full.

“I guess I'll go to college.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“It's not what I planned, you know?”

“You ever hear that saying that we make plans and God laughs?” Larry twirled lo mein onto his fork.

Benji finally took a bite, probably so he wouldn't have to talk.

“What will you major in?” Larry asked.

Benji looked at me to answer for him.

“He's thinking about getting his MBA.”

“Why?” Leave it to Larry.

“Why what?” Benji asked.

“Why business?”

“Because he's a whiz at it,” I said.

He locked eyes with Benji. “Ben? Why business?”

Benji took a sip of his Sprite. “It's as good a field as any. At least I'll have the potential to support a family someday.”

“Wow,” Larry said.

“Wow, what?” I asked.

Overhead, Asian instrumental music cut in suddenly when a second group of patrons entered the restaurant.

“Wow, that's so not what your son wants,” Larry said, looking serious.

My fork clanked against the plate as I dropped it. “How can you say that? You don't know what he wants.”

“MBA—wasn't that
your
dream, Eric?”

Why was he picking another fight? “No, it wasn't my dream, Larry. It's something I wanted him to do before he decided on the Navy, but—”

“Guys, please,” Benji said. “MBA is fine. It's not like I have a better plan.”

“Oh, come on,” Larry said. “There's got to be something that fires you up.”

If Larry wanted to be a parent, he should have his own kids. What did he know about making sure his family's future was secured? He needed to step off, and I was about ready to tell him so.

“I like the ocean,” Benji mumbled.

Larry shoved another bite in his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and swallowed. “Okay. Great. Oceanographer. What about that?”

“What's that?”

I was suddenly a third wheel completely out of the conversation.

“It's a . . . Well, I don't know but I'm pretty sure it has to do with the ocean.”

“Huh,” Benji said, considering it.

“Or a marine biologist. They study the sea creatures, I think.”

“I don't want to study them,” Benji said. “I kind of just want to catch and eat them.”

I pasted on a smile. “There's no jobs out there for seafood eaters, Ben.” I ripped my teeth into a bit of spring roll. I could kill Larry for trying to get Benji on this rabbit trail when he'd finally decided on school.

“Maybe not,” Larry said. “All I'm saying is you need to find your passion. Life's too short to spend most of your waking hours in a job you're miserable in.”

“Dad does,” Benji said.

“I do not.”

Benji finally broke apart his chopsticks and held the two, now separate, sticks the way I'd taught him long ago. “Yeah, you do. You've said it yourself. You only do it for the money.”

I felt heat rising up my neck. “I love cars.”

“Yeah, just not selling them,” Benji mumbled.

Larry furrowed his brow. “You don't like what you do?”

“I wouldn't say that.” I glanced at my watch, hoping it was time to go. We still had a little time unfortunately. “It just doesn't inspire me.”

Larry gave me a funny look. “Really?”

How the conversation suddenly turned into an attack on my job preference, I didn't know, but I was suddenly feeling under attack for the one thing I was actually doing right in my life. “Be honest, Lar. Does it inspire you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it does.”

Yeah right,
I thought, but I didn't say it. I was sick of fighting, and if he wanted to pretend to be inspired by pushing metal, let him.

The way I figured it, inspiration was for artists and dreamers, and apparently Larry. Perspiration would have to do for regular people like Benji and me.

Thirty-Two

Somehow Benji and I had beaten Kyra home. When she finally came in, instead of greeting me, she went straight to the kitchen and returned carrying a dust rag and bottle of furniture polish. Looking over the top of my newspaper, I watched her place books back on the shelf she'd just dusted.

I took it she didn't get the job.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “You'll be happy to know they rehired their old pianist.”

“Why would that make me happy?” It was true that I didn't want her working in those kinds of places. It was like seeing a Monet hanging in a fast-food restaurant. But I certainly wasn't happy that she was upset.

She slid off her suit jacket and looked around the house as she laid it on the back of the dining room chair. “Where's Benji?”

“Upstairs.” I folded the paper in half and set it on the end table beside my chair. “Why were you gone so long?”

I braced myself for her to tell me that once again she was painting the town with Marcello. I'd had quite enough of that man.

“I was out with Cello.” She stopped dusting long enough to study my reaction. “I was helping him buy a new car.”

“Is that right?” She had managed to hit two of my hot buttons with one stone, and she knew it. “Why didn't you tell me your boyfriend needed a car? That is, after all, what I do. It's what pays for your little outings and European vacations.”

Her eyes turned into slits. “I took him to your dealership,
darling
, but you weren't working today, remember?”

“If he's buying a car, that means he's staying in the States?”

“That's right,” she said smugly.

I immediately thought of Danielle. Blood rushed to my face so fast I thought I'd pass out. I just prayed they hadn't talked. The only thing I could do was play it cool until I knew for sure.

“Who sold you the car?”

“Stan Jacobson.”

“Did he give you a fair price?”

“Better than fair. He cut him a deal and Marcello insisted he split the commission with you.”

“How thoughtful of him.” So, Mr. International thought he could buy me off? I thought of my wife showing up at my place of business with a handsome Italian in tow, instead of me, and how that must have looked to the guys. It hurt my pride and ticked me off at the same time, but I knew it would have been hypocritical to say so.

When she crossed her arms, I knew I was in trouble. “Guess who took his check?”

I was still picturing the two of them touching and laughing right out in the open where everyone could see them when I remembered that Danielle was now F&I.

Kyra's face distorted in anger. “That's right. Your girlfriend, Dani. You know what that tramp had the audacity to ask me?” She stared at me expectantly as if she really expected me to guess.
“If I knew.”

I could barely hear her over the pulse pounding against my eardrums.

“If I knew,” she repeated as she rubbed her rag hard enough against the wood to take off the finish.

Feeling light-headed, I covered my face.

“I told her very calmly that yes, I did.” She turned around. “You should have seen the look on her face. She didn't expect me to say that, I can tell you that. She thought she was going to shock me, I guess.”

I sat there waiting helplessly for the guillotine to drop.

“I told her I'd forgiven you, and we were doing better than ever.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “Her jaw hit the floor.”

I dared to peek at her. “Really, that's what you said?”

Her eyes shot laser beams of death at me. “I lied, Eric. Just like you did.”

She threw her rag down and began pacing the floor, her ankles wobbling every so often in the heels she seldom wore. “How old is she? Is she even Benji's age?” She shook her head. “It all makes sense now. Why your jacket smelled like watermelon the day you brought me home from the hospital. You'd probably come straight from her bed! How could you? How could you carry on these past weeks as if that hadn't happened? How could you act like everything was fine between us, when you'd already destroyed our marriage?”

Knowing anything I said could and would be used against me, I chose to remain silent.

I caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye and turned to find Benji standing in the kitchen doorway. He'd heard every word.

Kyra turned to see what I was looking at. “Benji, your dad and I need privacy.”

Benji walked over and picked up each of our hands, just like he used to do when he was little and found us arguing. “Mom, I know what he did was awful, but trust me, so does he.”

She gave him a hurt look as she slid her hand from his. “Your father cheated on me, Benjamin. I'm entitled to be mad.”

Benji stepped back, looking unsure.

“Kyra, please,” I said. “This isn't his fault. You're embarrassing him.”

She looked on the verge of tears. “
I'm
embarrassing him? You're the one who did this. You're the one who's embarrassed our family. You know how stupid I felt to find out you cheated on me with that girl?”

Kyra covered her face and began to sob. I motioned with a nod for Benji to go to his room.

I watched my wife for a moment and then took a chance and pulled her to my chest. I held her as she cried into my neck.

After a few minutes, she pulled back and wiped the tears and mascara from under her eyes. She looked up at me and touched the tears I hadn't even realized I'd cried, with the saddest expression. When she laid her hand on my cheek, I thought she was going to say something to comfort me, utter forgiveness or an apology of her own.

Instead she whispered, “Please leave.”

Thirty-Three

I looked over my shoulder at Larry, who had just walked through the door carrying a grocery bag.

“What a circus,” he said.

“When isn't work a circus?” I asked. “Hey, thanks for letting me move back in.”

“Mi casa es su casa.”
He walked the bag to the kitchen and I followed.

I watched him put away a bunch of diet food—protein shakes, rice cakes, diet soda, and even carrot sticks and a bag of apples. “What ya got there?” I asked.

“Just decided it's time to make a few changes.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Wow. I never thought I'd live to see the day Larry Wallace went on a diet.”

With his hands buried in a place I doubted they'd ever been before—the fruit and vegetable drawer of his refrigerator—he turned and gave me a harsh look. “Not a diet. I'm just trying to eat a little better. We're not going back to work and announcing I'm on a diet, understand?”

“But you are.”

He stood and closed the fridge door. “You want to get a hotel room?”

“Fine, you're not on a diet. So, how'd the two-day sale treat you? You make some serious bills?”

He grabbed a diet soda and set it on the cocktail table, before kicking off his dress shoes into the pile by the door. He performed his version of the moonwalk, then made a V for victory on each hand, raising them high above his head. For the finale, he hung his head with the Vs still raised to the ceiling. Sweat stains marked his armpits.