A Cross to Bear (2 page)

Gabby sniffled into a tissue and wiped her nose. “Derek is cheating again.”

Maggy pulled her tight and stroked her hair. “Of course he is, sweetheart. They’re all the same. I’m sorry you have to learn the hard way.”

“They can’t
all
be like that. That’s bullshit,” Gabby said with a pout.

“Sure, and good luck finding one.” Maggy let out a sigh and sat beside her. “Listen, Gabs, I’ve shaken my tits for married men, single men, priests, schoolteachers, and the goddamn smiley-faced full-of-shit mayor. Don’t take it so hard when a dog turns out to be a dog. They just like to be petted by someone besides their owners sometimes.”

Gabby blew her nose and stared at her, aghast. “Is this supposed to be helping?”

The kettle gave a whistle, and Maggy jiggled her perfect boobs over to the stove. She came back and poured water over the tea bags. “So you drank all night and skipped work?”

“Yeah, I just couldn’t go back there today.”

“I wouldn’t shed too many tears over that dumb ass.”

“Look,
Naggy
, I know you hate him, but you mind if I grieve a little? We are freaking married you know. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Maggy. “You know I hate that name.”

“Sorry,” said Gabby.

“I just know you could do so much better than that dickless dumb ass.”

Just then, a naked guy walked out of Maggy’s room, looking bleary-eyed and about twenty years too young for her. Gabby froze in the middle of blowing on her steaming tea when she saw the incredible specimen swaying with his athletic swagger.

“Oh, hey,” said the sleepy stud. His playful smirk swept across the two of them, as though this could possibly be a surprise ménage à trois. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

He apologized, but he did nothing to hide his gold-medal junk—he was uncircumcised, and the extra layer gave him an exotic look.

“Sensitive moment, honey. Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll make you some eggs?” Maggy told him.

The sleepy stud muffin smirked at Gabby and swaggered toward the living room. Gabby couldn’t take her eyes off his milky bottom.

“Sweetheart, the bathroom is next to the bedroom,” said Maggy, blowing on her tea.

“Oh, right,” said Stud Muffin as he turned around.

Gabby forced herself to turn her head when he sauntered by again. When the bathroom door had shut, she glanced at her smirking sister. “What?”

Maggy’s smile widened. “You look like you could use a shower.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Honey, I’ve seen that look in a woman’s eyes before. You might think that men and women are nothing alike, but you’re wrong. We’re just better at acting civilized and not as easily amused. Your husband thinks he can run around town screwing every hussy that smiles at him the right way. That must mean you can too. See how the fuck he likes it.”

“You’re out of your mind,” said Gabby, though she couldn’t help but smile at her animated sister. She had that blonde pinup girl beauty from the 1950s that made boys want to join the army to prove they were men.

“What? He’s a good enough guy. Came in last night. Clarissa would’ve milked him dry had I not saved his dumb ass.”

“I don’t care if he’s a good guy or not. I’m not having sex with a stranger in your shower. Besides, his thing looks as thick as my wrist. It should be illegal.”

Maggy purred. “You don’t know the half of it, sister.”

Gabby laughed, slapping Maggy’s shoulder weakly. “I’m trying to pout here.”

Maggy hugged her again. “You’ll be all right, babe. This is the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll see.”

Gabby spent the day with Maggy, lying around and watching French movies. Around noon, they popped the top on a five-year-old pinot noir that her sister had sitting around and watched
The Well-Digger’s Daughter
. By two o’clock, the bottle was gone, only to be replaced by a crisp white that Maggy said cost $400.

The regulars at the strip joint liked to bring the girls presents now and again, and while some girls chose jewels, cars, or clothes, Maggy chose wine. Therefore, she had a cellar full of the good stuff. Two more movies and two bottles later, Gabby and her sister had completely forgotten about the television screen and were deep into a “men suck” bitch fest of epic proportions.

“No matter what,” said Maggy, raising the bottle, “we gotta stick together. You just say the word, and I’ll give Derek the Kenny treatment.”

Gabby groaned at the memory.

The “Kenny treatment” was what they called the incident with one of Maggy’s ex-boyfriends, who had put the moves on Gabby when she was only sixteen. When Maggy had found out, she’d gone berserk. The next day, the authorities had found Kenny tied to a light pole, all beat up and wearing a three-roll duct tape diaper.

After that, Maggy had never gotten serious with a guy.

Gabby had always kind of blamed herself. She
had
flirted with him, just a little.

“You don’t have to give him the
treatment
. I just want to be done with it. I need to move on. The truth is . . . it’s been over for a long time. I guess I’m just the last one to admit it.” Gabby nearly broke down again but found her strength by downing the rest of her wine.

“You’re staying with me,” said Maggy, topping her glass off with an eight-year-old Dal Forno Romano Valpolicella. “I’ve got the extra room—”

“You’ve had it waiting for me for two years.”

Maggy laughed, exposing her wine-stained teeth. “I know.” She lost herself to the giggles and fell back on the carpet. She began to cry tears of laughter, and then she sprang up with purpose. “It’s going to be great, babes. Just you and me. Screw those meat-stick–swinging apes. I’ll show you how to be an alpha female.”

***

When Gabby woke up, she felt like anything
but
an alpha female. She reached for her phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Then she remembered: under Maggy’s command, they had both locked their phones in a safe.

The sun shone through the blinds at just the right angle to torture her sore eyes. Outside, birds sang a happy morning tune. Gabby wished she could shoot them all.

“What time is it?” Maggy groaned from the other end of the sectional.

“I don’t know. You locked up our phones.”

“Oh, yeah.” Maggy giggled but then moaned and held her sore head.

After a time, they finally roused themselves off the couch. Gabby put on a pot of coffee, and Maggy went to get their phones. When she returned, her scowl wasn’t just from the hangover.

“The psycho left you like five hundred messages,” she said, tossing her the phone.

Gabby scrolled through her messages. There were twenty-seven. They started with
Hey babe, where you at?
at nine o’clock in the morning, and ended with
This shit isn’t funny, Gabs
at three in the morning.

She groaned.

As if to mock her dread, tires screeched to a halt outside.

“Stay in the house!” Maggy told her and grabbed a baseball bat from behind the door. She marched outside like a soldier in her short shorts and tank top, and Gabby couldn’t help but run to the window to see what was going to happen.

“Gabby! I know you’re in there!” Derek yelled.

She parted the curtain and saw Maggy blocking a very pissed off—and drunk—Derek. Their voices were muffled through the glass, but she could make out the conversation easily enough due to their screaming.

“I want to see my wife!”

“She doesn’t want to see you!”

“Get the hell out of my way, whore!”

Gabby winced when Maggy clocked Derek over the head with the bat. She nearly ran to the door to tell her to stop, but she was enthralled. When Maggy got going, all you could do was sit back and watch the show.

Her big sister kicked Derek in the balls when he was down and proceeded to smash his headlights, side mirrors, and windows in the span of five seconds.

He lurched to his feet and scrambled into the truck, spitting curses and promises of vengeance. Then he put it in drive, squealed the hell out—and slammed into the side of a passing car. Maggy came running back into the house like a little kid who had just pulled an outrageous prank and dove onto the couch next to Gabby. They both watched out the window.

The man driving the car was cursing out Derek and calling someone—presumably the police—on his cell phone. It was quite apparent that Derek was drunk. He kept lurching forward to take the phone, but the bigger guy kept pushing him back and threatening Derek with a meaty fist. Neighbors from the apartments across the road emerged from behind screen doors. It was turning out to be quite a spectacle. When Derek noticed the crowd and realized the trouble he was in, he jumped back in the truck and peeled out.

And how Maggy howled.

“That dickless fuck is in
big
trouble now!” She laughed like a mad scientist—and Gabby was glad that she had never made enemies with her sister.

“Oh my God,
look
!” Gabby screamed.

The cops had come from the direction Derek was headed in and were parked sideways in the street, ordering him out of his truck. They even drew their guns.

“Oh, shit!” Maggy yelled, enthralled.

Derek finally got out of the truck and was quickly slammed to the ground. Gabby couldn’t help but wince.

Maggie clucked her tongue. “That dude done screwed up now.”

***

When the chaos died down after Derek was taken away and his truck was towed, Maggy poured them coffee and whipped up a ham and cheese omelet.

“That crazy son of a bitch is gonna be in jail at least until tomorrow. You should head over to your place and clean it out. I’d go with you, but I’ve got an appointment with this filthy rich dirty boy from the city. I can’t pass him up. One night with this prince pays two months’ rent.”

“I’ll be fine. Like you said, he’ll be in for a while,” Gabby assured her.

“Get what you need to last you a week, and I’ll get my lawyer to work out everything else. When we’re done with that dickless wonder, you’ll even get half of his freaking pension.”

“I don’t want anything from him. I just want to get out.”

Maggy was already shaking her head. “Screw that noise. You’re going to get whatever the great state of Illinois says you are. And trust me, babe, between your cute little innocent smile and my lawyer’s teeth, he doesn’t stand a chance.” She regarded Gabby with deep consideration. “You still have that pic on your phone from when he beat you up and blackened your eye?”

“That wasn’t like all that. We were both drunk. I threw a chair at him!”

“
So!
Did
he
have a black eye?”

“Well . . . no. But—”

“But my ass. He’s a dickless pussy. Quit sticking up for him.”

Gabby left it at that. She didn’t want to argue when her sister was so worked up.

“All right,” said Gabby, hoping to placate her. “I’ll get my things, and then we’ll figure it out.”

Maggy kissed her on the forehead and headed to the front door. “Best thing that ever happened to you, babe. You’ll see.”

“I love you, Maggy.”

“I love you too, Gabs. It’s all going to be different from now on.”

Maggy gave her a wink and headed out into the sunlight.

After her sister left, Gabby sat at the island in the kitchen and methodically drank the entire pot of coffee while she mindlessly scrolled through Facebook and updated her blog. She didn’t want to go get her stuff. Sure, she had talked about leaving Derek for months, but she never really thought she would go through with it.

When the pot was gone, she sighed and snatched up her keys. She might as well get it over with.

During the entire ride, the radio played songs to remind her of her plight. She flicked from “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” by Led Zeppelin to “Irreplaceable” by Beyoncé. Even the commercials mocked her. “Need representation in a divorce? Shafter, Shafter, and Percy are here for you.”

By the time she parked her car in front of their house she was out of tears. Luckily she hadn’t bothered with makeup, knowing that it would just run all over her face, making her look like some kind of CoverGirl zombie.

Reluctantly she got out and went into the house. The place was dark, and judging by the bottles strewn about the living room and kitchen counter, Derek had downed about a case since getting home the morning before. He was working the four-on, three-off shift, and he usually spent the long weekend hammered. There was a time, back before everything got fuzzy, when she would have been right there with him. They used to get shit-faced and have the best sex in the world. She sighed; it seemed like such a long time ago.

Every picture she looked at reminded her of the way things had been. But life was not lived in pictures. Now, looking at them, Gabby felt as empty as the fake smiles made for the photographer. She turned from the pictures and went to her room. In the bedroom, she stuffed clothes into duffel bags and collected a ridiculous amount of toiletries.

When she had gathered her things, she went to her broken jewelry stand—one that they had found on the back deck in the snow after a particularly hairy night of boozing. Neither knew how it had gotten there. She lifted the lid and took out the only thing worth two shiny nickels—her mother’s sapphire pendant.

“What are the bags for?”

Gabby gave a cry and guiltily stuffed the necklace in her pocket. “Derek . . .” Her mind raced. How had he gotten out of jail so fast?

“That’s my fucking name. Answer me!”

“Look, I’m just getting my things . . . just let me leave, and I’ll be out of your life. You can go around screwing whoever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

Derek seemed to take up the entire doorway. He was one of those tall, stocky guys made for football, tailgating, country music, and raising hell. Gabby found herself eyeing the glass door to the back porch.

“What the hell are you talking about? Why did you spend the night at your whore sister’s?”

Anger flared inside her, and she tried to summon some of Maggy’s strength. “I’ve got a tracker on your phone. You weren’t working overtime. You were out screwing some dirty slut.”