by Robyn Carr
“You think I don’t ask? I shoulda just gone to the frickin’ bar tonight, had my one beer of the day there. Never mind—I don’t mean to unload on you tonight. Listen, I’m home if you need me. If you have any problems, call me. I can get here in two minutes.”
“How much sleep have you had?” she asked.
“I got in eight,” he said.
“Eight hours after twenty-four on the job? If I have any trouble, I’ll call the police,” she said.
“Fine, do that. Then your next call is to me.” And then he grabbed her shoulders gently and put a brotherly kiss on her forehead. Steve looked up at him, wagged his cropped tail wildly and whined. “I am not kissing you!” Billy said to the dog.
“Aw. He needs a kiss,” Cassie said. “He knows his mommy’s upset about something and he needs a little reassurance. It wouldn’t kill you.”
“No. I don’t kiss dogs or boys or boy dogs. You try to trick me into this all the time.”
“Steve doesn’t ask for much,” Cassie said. “He has no male role model except you. He adores you, can’t you see that? How can you be so ridiculous about it? Just a little peck on the head—that’s all it will take to make him happy. I mean, come on, it’s Steve! He’s like a son to you! Or at least a nephew!”
Billy, hands in his pockets, bent at the waist and kissed the gray top of Steve’s bony head. And Steve, contented, sat for him and put up a paw to shake.
“You kiss boy dogs,” Cassie said with a laugh.
“Jerk. Lock me out. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
And he was gone. Cassie looked at Steve and said, “Good job. Humble him every chance you get.”
Cassie changed into summer sweats and searched for something on TV. Steve curled up beside her to watch an old movie. He had the bunny, the frog and the octopus curled up with him. The movie wasn’t sad—it was a comedy—but within fifteen minutes, tears began to run down her cheeks.
She had a job she loved, great friends who’d been close for many years, two families—Julie’s and Frank and three half sibs. She was independent, completely self-supporting…and lonely. So very lonely at times.
At the end of the day, it was always like this—Cassie and Steve on the couch, just the two of them. She’d had very few relationships over the years, all of them excruciatingly short and, in retrospect, none of which held any potential for permanence. Some had ended by mutual consent, but the majority had seen her dumped, her heart shattered, her expectations destroyed. She didn’t like to think of herself as one of those pathetic single women who was always looking for a man, but there was no way around it. Every time she met a new guy, she got hopeful. Her thoughts always went to the same place—please, let him turn out to be the one, a good guy who wants to have a wife and children, who loves me and treats me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. But she hadn’t even come close. She’d never even lived with anyone.
Tonight had been worse than heartache—it had been terrifying. She kept going over it in her mind, wondering if she should’ve known. He’d been a little on the eager side, but that had been kind of fun when it had seemed innocent. There was no way she could’ve known he’d turn out to be what he turned out to be. There was a chance that without the rescue he might’ve backed off when she proved too much trouble, but in her gut she felt there was an equal chance he could’ve turned into a rapist.
Is this what it’s come to? she asked herself. Is it not enough to be let down, disappointed, that I have to be scared to death and real damn close to being a victim? Is that what looking for the right man gets you? It’s utter madness—and it has to stop. I have to quit looking for the right guy. I just can’t take it anymore. The heartbreak is just too much.
Single women of twenty-nine never admit to anyone, not even their priests, that what they fear most is being alone forever, dying alone someday. Since she was about twenty-five, her greatest fear was that she’d never find a partner. Cassie wasn’t independent by conscious choice, it was by default—she had no real family. She knew women her age who’d had a couple or even a few false starts before they found the one, the forever guy, but Cassie’s longest relationship had lasted maybe four months. Four terrible months. She didn’t know anyone like herself—with no living parents, no close relationships with siblings, no one. All she wanted was someone permanent who loved her, wanted children with her, a family man. She even wanted the bickering that went with all the regular adjustments—bickering that ended with making up and great sex. She hated it when someone said, “But you’re still so young. There’s plenty of time!” Plenty? She would be thirty in six months and she had yet to meet someone who lasted six months with her. Or, “He’ll show up when you least expect it….” And then they’d tell a story of meeting their own lifetime mate, but they were never more than thirty with a bad track record. If there was anything harder than facing the terrifying truth, it was having that fear not taken seriously. “You’re beautiful and smart—you’ll find the right guy.” Well, it wasn’t happening.
Her mind was jumbled with numbers. If I’m thirty when I meet him, give it a year to see if we’re in sync, a year-long engagement, and then if I don’t get pregnant easily, am I thirty-five before that first baby’s coming? And always: What if he doesn’t come along until I’m thirty-five? What if he never shows up? Really—never! I can get together with girlfriends and say, yeah, it would be great to find the right man, but, hey! If I don’t, I have a lot more fun than you girls. After all, I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men….
“Steve,” she said in a tearful whisper. “I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men.” She rubbed his floppy ears. “Do you still respect me?”
She had sex the first time at seventeen. She had been soooo in love. She’d had sex the last time five months ago. In thirteen years of sexual activity, it didn’t take long to get to a couple dozen, or the vicinity; she couldn’t actually count them without writing them down, an act that repelled her. Even so, she didn’t feel promiscuous. She felt, frankly, completely lost.
Steve turned his beautiful black eyes up to her and made a sound. Then he licked her arm. He would never leave her.
But he would, she reminded herself, and Steve was her only real family. Big dogs didn’t last long. The life span of a Weimaraner was twelve to fourteen years and Steve was five. What would she do without anyone special, without her mom, with a life so solitary? She had her girlfriends—Julie, Marty and Beth—but everyone else had parents, brothers, sisters, spouses.
The tears came harder. She missed her mom so much sometimes; they had been best friends. Even though she hadn’t gone to live with her when she’d moved away, they’d still talked all the time—two or three times a week for an hour at a time. And she’d been with her mom for the months preceding her death, caring for her, loving her into the next world.
Since she’d been just a kid, she’d been on her own. And all she’d ever wanted was to have that kind of connection happily married women had—the loving commitment her mom had had too briefly with Frank, that Jules had with Billy, Marty had with Joe. A good, strong, solid guy to lean on who’d share the responsibility and joy. Was that so much to hope for? Why was that asking so damn much? Didn’t everyone have a soul mate somewhere?
There were times she thought life just wasn’t worth living without some kind of deep love and intimacy. The thought of growing into an old woman without ever having that kind of reliable connection was unimaginable. Another ten years of looking for the right partner, being let down again and again, was simply more than she could bear to think about.
Two
Even though Julie and Cassie were best friends, they belonged to a foursome of girlfriends who’d hung tight since junior high. Marty and Beth were their two other close girlfriends. They’d all been cheerleaders together in school and had been tight ever since. Beth was the only one who wasn’t socially available that often; she was a brand-new doctor and her schedule was horrible.
The rest of them had remained relative neighbors since high school graduation, getting together regularly. They also had larger gatherings including still more friends from the past. The tradition started when Julie and Billy, as newlyweds, threw a small party, and it grew from there. Some years after high school Billy introduced Marty to one of his firefighter pals and they ended up getting married. Now the friends’ parties—potlucks held four or five times a year—included some firemen and their wives or girlfriends, plus whatever old high school chums were around.
The Fourth of July party this year was at Marty and Joe’s house, in their rec room. It was a big room, complete with bar, pool table, a pinball machine, state-of-the-art stereo equipment, plenty of seating and standing room. They lived in a mansion by Julie’s standards, and she looked around the rec room jealously. They had lots of toys—quads, a boat, Jet Skis, an RV. Joe made a little more money than Billy, since he was a few years senior at F.D., but their lifestyle was probably even more affordable because they hadn’t married right out of high school, had only one child and Marty worked full-time. True, she was a hairdresser—not a high-ticket career field—but she had a full roster of regular clients and Julie certainly couldn’t afford her cuts and colors.
Julie had managed a part-time job after Jeffy was born, while Billy worked and finished college before getting a job with the fire department. They went through years of tough schedules, school loans and scrimping by. With Billy barely on the F.D. payroll, which was modest to start, they had a lot of debt to clear. But then Clint came along and, a year later, Stephie. It ate up the toy money pretty quick. Hell, it ate up the food money.
Joe was an established firefighter who had his own house when he met Marty. They didn’t get married right away; by the time they did, they were able to sell Joe’s house and buy a bigger one. Their little boy was now three and while Joe complained he wanted more kids, Marty said that was it for her. It seemed to Julie that when other people didn’t plan on kids, they didn’t have them. Julie and Billy didn’t plan on them and had them, anyway.
It felt as though everyone had come a long way in twelve years, except Julie and Billy—voted couple of the year in high school. They had a decent little home they couldn’t afford, drove somewhat reliable cars with tons of miles on them, had a house full of kids, big bills and no extras. No grown-up toys, no vacations. Also, no nice dinners out, weekend escapes for just the two of them, and they avoided hiring sitters—sitters were very expensive. If Julie’s mom or Cassie couldn’t watch the kids, they just didn’t go out. Julie cut out coupons constantly, haunted the sales and even thrift shops, paid the minimum balance, put a sheet over the couch to keep the worn fabric from showing. When she was crowned homecoming queen, this was not how she envisioned her life. She’d had her fifteen minutes of fame when she was seventeen.
Tonight, to add to her overwhelming feeling that she was in a steady decline, another one of the old cheerleaders had shown up—Chelsea. She made an appearance every year or two, just to establish she’d hung on to her tight body, perky tits and effervescent smile. In fact, quite a few of her physical traits had greatly improved since high school. Julie suspected Chelsea’s breasts were even perkier—high, full, prominent and aimed right at the eyeballs of men. Chelsea had been cute as a button before, and she was better put together every year, while Julie felt she was sliding too fast into old age. But, if you’d asked her at seventeen which way she’d like to go—blossoming in her late twenties or having it all at seventeen—Julie would still have taken seventeen. Stupidly.
So she watched Chelsea from across the rec room, doing what she did best—flirting with Billy. It was amazing how long your nemesis could follow you without ever losing interest in your man. Julie had threatened Billy with unspeakably painful things if he ever touched Chelsea, if he even accidentally brushed up against her. Thus, Billy’s arms were crossed protectively over his wide, hard chest, laughing at absolutely everything Chelsea said. Now and then she’d put a hand on his forearm and gaze up at him, chatting away, making him grin like a fool.
“Some things never change,” Cassie said, climbing up on the bar stool beside Julie.
They watched together as Joe joined Billy, passing him a beer. Then he leaned down a little and asked Chelsea something: Can I get you a drink? She just shook her head and laughed, drawing Joe into the conversation. Then a third man joined them. Hmm. Chelsea had three good-looking men cornered, holding them captive with her cleavage. Yet again she put her hand on Billy’s forearm.
“If he laughs at her once more, I’m going to throw a dart at him,” Julie said. “Then I’ll chop him up in little pieces.”
Cassie sipped her wine. “Maybe you should have a drink. Loosen up a little.”
“I’m the designated driver. And I’m going to designate him right out of here in about ten minutes.” Then she said to Cassie, “I’m just not fun anymore, am I?”
“Well, you’re not a lot of laughs right now. But there have been fun times….”
“Did I ever flirt like that?” Julie asked.
“I’ve known you to have a flirt or two, but usually with your own guy,” Cassie said. Then she glanced at Chelsea and said, “How does she make never getting married look so good and I just make it look so…fat?”
“Cassie, you’re not fat. You’re…”
Cassie gave her a second and then put a hand on her arm and said, “Don’t. When you have to search for the right word for longer than three seconds, you’re just going to come up with a synonym. And I’ll hate you.”
“We used to do some really fun things. We stole a port-a-potty and put it in the football coach’s front yard. That was fun. Wasn’t it fun?”
“I think it spilled and violated us….”
“We laughed till we peed,” Julie pointed out.
“Yeah. We were idiots.” Cassie sipped her drink. “We went on that all-girl camping trip once,” Cassie said. “But there was a leak and it didn’t stay all-girl too long. I lost my virginity for the third time that weekend.” She sipped some more. “Maybe we should do that again. An all-girl camping trip. And this time, keep it to ourselves.”
“Can’t. If Billy ever finds out I’m willing to camp, my life is over. Sleeping on the ground is about the only vacation we can afford.” She sighed. “I’m not fun anymore,” Julie said. “I’m a drudge.” Billy came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. Julie turned and looked up at him. “Did you touch her?”
“No, Jules. I’ve gotten really attached to my balls. But if she’s going to keep rubbing those tits on my arm, I’m going to need a lot more to drink.”
“Funny,” she said. “How much longer do we have to stay?”
“Joe has some fireworks,” he said.
“There could be fireworks right in this room if I have to watch Chelsea gaze at you like a lovesick puppy for one more second….”
“Everyone else is having fun watching her flag her butt and preen. What’s wrong with you?” he asked with a grin.
“I admit, it’s been entertaining as hell, but I was thinking maybe there’s a Law and Order rerun on TV. It’s a tough choice, but I might have to go with the rerun.”
“Isn’t this just a rerun?” Cassie asked, laughing.
Although it wasn’t late—eleven or so—Julie and Billy said their goodbyes and left the party. They drove by Julie’s mom’s house, scooped up three sleeping kids and went home. While Julie made sure everyone was tucked in for the night, Billy turned on the TV. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. Before she could fall asleep, he was shedding his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and getting in beside her. She could feel him naked and primed against her thigh.
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered.
“What? You wanted to come home early. You didn’t turn on a rerun…”
“Billy…”
“Tell you what—just for fun, let’s not fight. Let’s just do it. That always puts you in a better m
ood.”
“Did Chelsea get you all spooled up?” she asked him.
“Chelsea?” he asked, laughing. “How many years are you going to ask me that, Jules? I don’t want Chelsea.”
“I can’t…. Come on…”
“Why? You on the rag or something? Cramps?”
“Late,” she said.
He rose up on an elbow and looked down at her. “It’s not that late….”
“I’m late,” she said. “My period’s late.”
Shock was etched into his handsome features. Then dawning. “Oh, so that’s what’s got a bug up your ass lately. We’re caught again? We can’t be.”
“If we are, I’m going to kill myself. Then you.”
He grinned at her. “We could use another girl to even things out.”
“What we could use is a vasectomy!”
“Yeah. I guess. After this one….”
“Billy!”
“What?”
“We can’t have another baby!”
“Well, you act like this is my fault!”
“It wasn’t the UPS guy!”
He grinned into her eyes and brushed a little hair away from her brow. “I bet I know when it was,” he said, his voice thick and husky. “We had dinner with your folks and you liked me. I didn’t fuck up all night, which is a miracle, huh? Then after the kids were in bed, you liked me a lot. Kind of took me by surprise, but I think I stepped up to the plate pretty good there.” He gave her a kiss on the nose, on the lips, on the chin. “I did such a good job, maybe you popped about ten eggs and one of ’em slipped right by that IUD….”
Her eyes welled with tears. “We can’t afford another baby. We can’t afford the ones we have.”
“We get by okay. It won’t be a struggle forever.”
“It will if you keep knocking me up!”
He chuckled. “You’re so damned knock-upable. I just can’t help myself. And it’s not like I planned it. I’m just so potent.”