On a Night Like This (21 page)

“I’ll be right back,” Blair said, heading toward the kitchen.

Luke sat down on the couch, and Emily slid back into the armchair.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Blair didn’t return with the water. Luke sat up straight, as if that would make him less drunk.

“This is what you wanted,” Emily finally said.

Luke looked at her, baffled. She opened her arms and showed him the cottage.

“I didn’t know what I wanted till I found it. I wanted you for a long time. Remember that.”

“I remember,” Emily said. “I’m having a hard time forgetting that.”

“You forgot it for three long months.”

“I never forgot it, Luke.”

“Gray Healy was there to comfort you.”

“Is this about anger?” she asked, pointing to where Blair had disappeared. “To do to me what I did to you?”

Luke shook his head slowly. “No. Blair was an accident. A wonderful accident.”

“Goddamn you.”

Emily put her head back on the chair. She closed her eyes.

“I don’t want to have this conversation here,” Luke said. “It’s not fair to them.”

“I don’t give a damn about them,” Emily said wearily.

“I know that, Emily. But I do. Let’s go for a walk.”

Luke stood and offered her his hand. She stared at it for a moment, as if it were something unrecognizable. Then she took it and stood. He turned and walked toward the door, then held it open and let her pass in front of him. He waited a moment, hoping that Blair would return, but when she didn’t, he followed Emily out of the house, closing the door behind him.

They walked quietly for a while. He turned away from the direction he had just come with Blair. Minutes ago, he and his girlfriend were walking, kissing, bumping shoulders, giggling. Now he and his wife walked solemnly, side by side, not touching.

“I want a divorce,” he said finally.

“No,” she said.

“Please, Emily. I don’t want to hurt you. This has been painful enough.”

He stopped walking and waited. Emily turned back to him.

“You know what I figured out?” he asked. “You were right to leave our marriage. You were incredibly brave. I would never have been bold enough to do what you did.”

“Stop, Luke—”

“No, listen. We both need something that we can’t get from each other.”

“I need you,” Emily said.

“No,” Luke told her gently. “You’ll be better without me, I’m sure of that.”

She was quiet, and he could tell she was crying. They walked again, slowly, and he felt his mind becoming sober, clear, and his body seemed weightless, his limbs fluid and smooth.

“I’m sorry about the baby,” Emily said. “Isn’t it possible to forgive me?”

Again he shook his head. “I don’t need to forgive you, Emily,” he said.

She looked at him, confused.

“What I think or don’t think doesn’t matter,” Luke said.

“I want our lives back,” she said.

Luke didn’t say anything for a while. They walked along deserted streets, away from the noise of the Haight. He felt lost—they had turned so many corners that he no longer knew which direction he was headed.

“I’ll call a lawyer and we’ll move forward,” he finally said. “You won’t have to worry about money.”

“That’s not what I want,” Emily said.

“It’s what I want,” he told her. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

A man was walking toward them, a huge hulk of a man dressed in motorcycle leathers, and Emily pulled close to Luke, wrapping her arm around his. He felt the heat of her body, the weight of her rounded stomach pressing against him, and he held her for a moment, until the man passed. Then he let her go and felt, with an ache, the hard stomach, the soft arm, the smell of her, pull so far away that he thought he might topple over, as if he had lost his own balance without her.

He stopped and straightened up. She looked at him.

“Which way back?” he asked.

“Are you OK?” she said, concerned.

“I want to get back to the cottage.”

“It’s straight ahead. Another couple of blocks.”

“Where’s your car?”

“On Haight.”

He started walking again, and she hurried to keep up with him.

Then she grabbed his arm and stopped him, pulling him back around to her.

“Luke,” she pleaded. “I want to talk—”

“I’m done talking, Emily.”

“Will you have a family with her?” she asked.

Luke shook his head. “I wish I could,” he told her.

Emily looked at him for a moment. “I really lost you,” she said, her face darkening. Then she turned and walked away. He waited until she was out of sight before he made his way back to the cottage.

Blair was sitting on the porch, her legs dangling over the edge. From a distance, as Luke approached, she looked like a little girl, her legs kicking back and forth. Then she took a swig of beer, her head tilted back so it caught the light of the moon, and she looked like Blair again. Luke wolf-whistled at her.

“You coming back to me?” she called out.

“I never left you!” Luke shouted back. He neared the cottage and looked up at her. She tossed down a bottle of beer, which he caught and opened. “Why sober up?” he asked.

“She’s beautiful,” Blair said.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her.

“No. I’m interesting. She’s beautiful.”

“You’re interestingly beautiful. And I love you.”

“She still loves you. She wants you back.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Come sit next to me.”

Luke climbed the stairs and squeezed in next to Blair on the ledge. He leaned over and kissed her, slowly, tasting the beer in her mouth.

“If you pack up your things and leave, I’ll understand.”

“What would you understand?” Luke asked.

“Real life. Wives, babies, the future. That sort of thing.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You think you’re in love.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“I’ve never been in love before.”

“Really?”

Blair shook her head.

“Neither have I,” Luke said.

“What was that between you and the tall, gorgeous blond woman?”

“Something else. Something completely different.”

“Not love.”

“Maybe it was love,” Luke said. “But it was nothing like this.”

“I’m drunk,” Blair said.

“Me too,” Luke told her. “Can we sleep out here?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s nice to sit here.”

“What’s Amanda doing?”

“Homework,” she said. She breathed deeply. “I’m going to miss all this.”

Luke slipped his arm around her. They stared out into the dark street, legs dangling, sipping their beer.

In the morning Luke headed for the kitchen to find Advil and water. Blair was still sleeping. He wore his boxer shorts, no shirt. As he opened the cabinet door, he felt someone standing behind him, and he turned around.

“Good morning,” he said to Amanda, who was standing there, dressed for school, backpack on her back.

“You should get dressed before you walk around here,” she said.

“I thought it was the middle of the night,” Luke said. “I’ve got a headache.”

“I read your story,” she said.

“What story?”

“On the computer. The one about you and the girl.”

Luke turned back to the cabinet, took out the bottle of Advil. He poured three into his hand, then filled a glass with tap water. He took the pills, then drank the glass of water. And his slow, groggy mind tried to process this information: She read the story he had written about a man who has sex with a young girl. When he put the glass in the sink, he turned back to Amanda.

“You shouldn’t be reading something on my computer,” he said calmly.

“Well, I did,” she said.

“The story wasn’t about me and a girl. It was fiction. Made up.”

“Did you have an affair with a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“No. And it’s none of your business.”

“Which answer.”

“Both.”

“I bet you did.”

“Amanda—I’m upset you read my work without asking.”

“Yeah, well, I’m upset you write about having sex with young girls.”

“That wasn’t for you to read.”

“Too private? No one should know what you do?”

“It wasn’t about me. I told you that.”

And then Blair was standing in the doorway, watching them.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “I have a roaring hangover.”

“I’ll get you some Advil,” Luke said. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He knew Blair must have heard some of the conversation because she wasn’t moving.

“What are you two fighting about?”

“We’re not fighting,” Luke said.

“I read his story.”

“Without my permission.”

“Did he ever tell you about some bartender’s daughter out in the woods? Some sixteen-year-old babe he had sex with.”

“Amanda!” Blair said.

“Maybe he didn’t mention it.”

“Go to school, Amanda,” Luke said. “I’ll talk to your mother about this when you leave.”

“Don’t tell me where to go. It’s my house. You’re not my father.”

“If I were, and you read something private, I’d punish you. Right now, I don’t quite know what to do,” Luke said. He held on to the kitchen sink—his head was pounding.

“Yeah, I know what you’d like to do—”

“That’s enough,” Luke called out.

“Clue me in,” Blair said, leaning back on the wall.

“I wrote a story,” Luke said. “Fiction. Made up. Invented. About a man who falls for a sixteen-year-old. Amanda read it.”

Blair nodded. She looked at Luke for a moment, then at Amanda, who then pushed past her and out of the room. Luke and Blair waited a few seconds, then heard the slam of the front door.

Still, they waited, watching each other.

“Fuck,” Luke said. He leaned back against the sink.

“What was it?” Blair asked.

“A story. A story that she shouldn’t have read.”

“Did it happen?”

“No!” Luke poured himself another glass of water, then held the cold glass against his cheek. “I have never had an affair with a young girl. Believe me, Blair.”

“Where’d the story come from? Desire? Lust?”

“I don’t know. I’m living with a sixteen-year-old who happens to be beautiful. The thought crosses my mind that a man could fall for her. I fell for a woman ten years younger than I am. She was a kid, unformed. I must have wanted that. So in my story, I throw a man into a relationship with a girl. It’s a way of playing it out in my mind. Not doing it. Not even wanting to do it. But it’s something to explore.”

He finished talking, and she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t looking at him—instead, she watched her hand run across the countertop. He felt nauseated—by the hangover, by the image of Amanda up in the middle of the night, reading his story.

“Christ, Luke,” Blair said. She sat down on the floor.

Luke walked over, slid down the wall and sat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never thought about her reading it.”

“She doesn’t trust you anyway,” Blair said softly.

“I know that.”

“How much did we drink yesterday?” Blair asked, her hand on her head.

“Too much,” Luke said. He put his arm around her and drew her close.

“You have to believe me, Blair. I would never—”

“I know,” she said.

“Take the Advil,” he offered. “It’s either that or a Bloody Mary.”

She reached for the bottle, took a couple and swallowed them with Luke’s glass of water.

“I’m scared I’ve lost her,” Luke said quietly. “We had become friends. Or so I thought.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“No. It’s between her and me,” Luke said. “I’ve got to work it out with her. I can’t stay with you and have her against me.”

Blair nodded.

“I’ll talk to her tonight,” Luke said. “I’ve got to make her understand.”

“I’m going to quit work today,” Blair said.

“Good,” he told her. He watched her, pulling her close to him.

“It’s the last thing I want to do,” she told him.

“I know.”

“Maybe it will give us more time. If I’m not so tired.”

Luke nodded. Blair put her head on his shoulder.

“Can I come eat in your restaurant?”

She looked up at him, smiling. “If you promise to fend off Philippe and Rianne. They’ll both try to seduce you.”

“I only go for sixteen-year-old girls,” Luke said.

Blair punched him in the arm.

“Bring her for dinner,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” he said. “If she’ll let me.”

Luke waited for Amanda on the street in front of her high school. Throngs of kids left the building, lighting up cigarettes the moment they were out the door, throwing arms around each other, waking up from a day spent listening to teachers talk at them. No Amanda. Luke stayed in his truck, Sweetpea at his side, and waited.

When the kids were all gone, Amanda came out alone. She walked slowly down the long stairway from the school, seeming to get heavier and slower with each step.
She doesn’t want to leave,
Luke thought.
She doesn’t want to go home.

She looked up finally, at the bottom step, and saw the truck. She turned away, took a step, then stopped again. She waited a moment.

Luke stepped out of the truck.

“Amanda,” he said. “Come for a walk on the beach. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, not looking at him.

“Then come walk Sweetpea. Please.”

Reluctantly Amanda turned back toward the truck and opened the passenger door. Sweetpea jumped out, hopped up in front of her, pranced around. Amanda leaned over and nuzzled the dog, then climbed into the truck. Sweetpea settled in at Amanda’s feet.

Luke got in, started the truck, drove toward the beach. He let Amanda fiddle with the radio.
I have to win her,
he thought.
All over again.
He felt exhausted, not quite over his hangover, confused about who should be courting whom. She shouldn’t have been reading files on his computer.

They drove in silence, and when they parked at Fort Funston, Amanda jumped out of the truck and led Sweetpea down the long stairway to the beach before Luke could begin to catch up.

He let them go. He stayed behind, watching her transform from depressed teenage girl to delighted kid romping with her dog at the beach.
She needs this,
he thought. And then he surprised himself with the next thought:
She needs me.