Savage Lane (18 page)

When Mark’s cell rang he was so excited he almost dropped the bar of weights on his head and crushed himself to death. He managed to rack the bar, and then rushed to his phone that he’d put on the ping-pong table, disappointed that it was Stu, not Karen.

“Hey,” Mark said.

“You okay?” Stu asked.

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“You sound, I don’t know… down, man.”

“I was just lifting weights,” Mark said, as if that explained it. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in on you,” Stu said. “I saw what happened at the club today and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“The club?” Mark was lost, still disappointed he wasn’t speaking to Karen right now. “Oh, that, sorry. Yeah, I’m okay, thanks. It’s just a lot of stuff’s going down with me and Deb, and I’m trying to deal with it, you know?”

“Trust me, I know what it’s like when things get weird at home, bro,” Stu said. “If there’s anything you need, give me a call.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Mark said. “See you on the train Monday.”

Mark resumed bench pressing, thinking about what Stu had said, about knowing what it’s like when things get weird at home. Were Stu and Janet having trouble as well? That would be a big surprise, if it were true—they seemed so happy—but you never knew what was going on in other people’s lives.

Mark’s cell rang again, and he rushed to it, thinking this time it had to be her, but it was from a restricted number.

“Hello?” he asked excitedly, hoping Karen was calling from another phone, maybe from a friend’s cell.

“Mark?” It was a woman, not Karen.

“Yes,” he said, feeling the letdown.

“He just wet himself,” the woman said.

“Who’s this?” Mark asked.

“Sarah Waxman, Andrew’s mother. Justin just wet himself.”

“Seriously?” Mark was surprised; Justin hadn’t wet himself in years. “How’s he doing?”

“Not well,” Sarah said. “He’s extremely upset actually.”

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Mark said.

Mark felt bad for Justin, the poor kid. On his way out, he called Karen and after four rings got her voice mail, though there was an extra tone after each ring meaning that she was on another call and wasn’t getting off to speak to him. He thought this was strange, but it didn’t necessarily mean something was
wrong
. She had her kids this weekend, right? Maybe she had an emergency with a kid or had some other crisis she was dealing with. She’d probably call him later or at least text him.

When Mark arrived at Andrew’s house his mom, Sarah, looking nervous, said, “Come in, he’s very upset.”

Then Mark went further inside and saw Justin sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, his head bent over between his legs, shaking, maybe crying. His knapsack was next to him.

Crouching, holding Justin’s hand, Mark said, “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. Don’t worry, I promise it’ll be okay.”

Justin, continuing to shake, didn’t respond.

Sarah whispered to Mark,
Can we talk for a sec
?

“We’re going home in two minutes,” Mark said to Justin. “Two minutes, okay?”

Then Mark went with Sarah toward the kitchen, far enough away so that Justin couldn’t hear, and then stopped.

“I had him take a shower and change into the clothes he brought with him for tomorrow,” Sarah said.

“That’s great, thanks,” Mark said.

“It was very difficult for him,” Sarah said, “and I’m afraid the other boys weren’t very nice to him. Andrew, especially, wasn’t very nice, and I just want you to know he’s going to be punished for it—severely.”

“What can you do?” Mark said. “Shit happens. Or, in this case, piss happens.”

He smiled, trying to make a joke out of it, but he knew he’d misfired.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “I mean, I don’t want to make a big deal about it, you know? I mean, something like this is hard enough already, you know, psychologically.”

Mark wasn’t sure he was making sense. He just wanted to get Justin home, in bed, and then hopefully have a nice relaxing chat with Karen.

During the car ride home, Justin was crying a lot, and Mark said all the right things, like, “It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” and, “It happens to everybody,” and, “You’re a big, strong kid, you’ll get through this.” Meanwhile, Mark was bummed because Karen still hadn’t gotten back to him. He was dying to talk to her again, just to hear her voice.

At home, Justin was still having a hard time. Mark tried to get him to talk about it, asking him if he was upset because of things the other kids had said, and he said that was part of it. He also mentioned that it had happened a few times before and that Deb knew about it. This wasn’t the only time Mark had felt in the dark about a situation at home. When Riley was having trouble in school last year and was in danger of failing a couple of classes Mark didn’t find out about it until he happened to pick up the phone when the school guidance counselor called. Deb was also behind on taking the kids for physicals and dental appointments. Mark had no idea what Deb was doing with her free time, but she had certainly let the household go to hell.

Mark tried to get Justin to bed, but Justin was still saying, “I didn’t want to go to the party. You and Mom made me go, why did you make me? Why? Why?” and Mark snapped, “I didn’t make you—your mother did!” This made Justin cry even harder. Mark apologized, but Justin was still upset. After a while, Mark got into bed with him and held him until he calmed down and fell asleep.

The kids needed Mark, that was for damn sure, and not just because he brought home a paycheck every two weeks. They needed him because he was a father, a caretaker, and he needed a woman who appreciated him, didn’t take him for granted. When was the last time Deb had asked him anything about work? Yeah, it was true, Mark hated talking about work at home, but it would still be nice if she asked once in a while, said, “Hey, anything new at work?” just to show she wanted to care even if she actually didn’t. And he needed some taking care of himself sometimes. Like when was the last time Deb came into the shower and gave him a blowjob? Years ago, when they were dating, and before Riley was born, she used to blow him in the shower all the time.

Later, Mark left Justin’s room, his neck sweaty from where Justin’s head had been leaning on him. There was still no message from Karen. Just so she knew that he was thinking about her and cared he texted:
Can I call you to say goodnight???

He expected her to text or write back with
Yes
!! or
Of course
!! or maybe she would just call him. But fifteen minutes, then a half hour, and an hour went by and she hadn’t responded. It was almost eleven o’clock. Maybe she’d turned her phone off or fallen asleep. She’d had that late night last night, ran this morning, and she always complained that she was wiped out on weekends after long days during the week working with autistic kids. He waited for a while, watching the rest of the golf tournament he’d TiVo’d. He wanted, no
needed
, to hear her voice, but he wanted to do the smart thing. If he called now, she might get the wrong idea, think he was pressuring her.

In bed, Mark watched more golf. At some point Riley came back from wherever she’d been, and he heard her go into her room. He was surprised Deb wasn’t back yet. She hadn’t told him where she was going, but she probably went out with a friend. Maybe Kathy; was she still friends with Kathy? She’d probably stay out late, to try to make him jealous. Yeah, right.

Mark must have fallen asleep because when he checked his phone he saw it was past three a.m. He was upset that Karen hadn’t texted—it made him unsettled. Then he realized that Deb wasn’t in bed next to him. She’d probably come home and gone to sleep in the guestroom, or crashed drunk in the living room.

“Fuck it,” he said to himself, as he lay back in bed, clutching his cell phone.

“C
RABS!”
K
AREN
screamed so loud her ears stung. “You have
crabs
?! Fucking
crabs
!”

She jerked onto the steering wheel, veering into the oncoming lane, and then veering back when she realized she was speeding toward oncoming headlights.

“Well, actually pubic lice,” Steven said. “I mean that sounds better… I guess.”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Karen said, touching herself over her jeans; suddenly she was itching like crazy.

“I’m sorry,” Steven said. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“
Sorry
?” Karen said, thinking,
Oh, my God, I have crabs. Crabs, insects, are
living
on me
. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s unlikely you have it,” Steven said. “I mean, my doctor said it’s not a definite thing that you’d get it too and that you definitely shouldn’t panic.”

“You’re joking.” Karen was lightheaded, felt outside herself. She heard herself say, “This is a sick joke. Please tell me this is a sick joke. When women break up with you, you tell them you have crabs as some kind of payback, right?”

“I wish,” Steven said. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Her rage overflowing, she screamed, “Fuck you, you stupid fucking prick! How could you do this to me? I have children. I’m a schoolteacher, not a hooker.”

She felt like she was losing control, not making sense.

“I didn’t know I had it,” Steven said. “I mean that. Honest. I had no idea. When I was peeing last night I saw one of them. I mean it, like, crawled onto my hand.”

Totally disgusted, Karen said, “I have to go to a doctor.” Then, thinking out loud, she said, “It’s Saturday, how am I going to find a doctor?”

“You can go to an STD clinic, they’re open twenty-four hours a day,” Steven said.

“How do you know their
hours
?!” Karen screamed at the dashboard, hating that it was displaying: STEVEN; it might as well have been displaying: CRABS. “How are you a fucking STD expert? Have you gotten STD’s before?” She swerved again, narrowly missing a collision with a speeding, honking car. “What’s that?!” She hadn’t heard the last thing Steven had said because of the honking.

“I said I know you’re upset, but there’s no reason to get hysterical,” he said.

“Don’t you dare tell me how to act,” she said, imagining big, black, disgusting crabs with their pointy claws and snapping mouths infesting her vagina. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is a fucking nightmare.”

“Look, this is difficult for me too,” Steven said. “You think I want to have this? You think I’m
enjoying
telling you this? I don’t know how I got this, it just happened, and I’m just trying to do the right thing, notifying all my recent sex partners.”

“
All
?” Karen had to get a breath; she was starting to hyperventilate. Then she said, “All? Exactly how many women were you fucking?”

“I just meant the women I’ve been with the past couple of months.”

Karen couldn’t believe this. “Who
are
you?” she asked.

“Relax,” he said. “I don’t deserve this.”

“
You
don’t deserve this?”

“We never had a conversation about exclusivity.”

“Oh my God,” Karen said. “Oh my God.”

She didn’t remember how the call had ended—she’d probably hung up on him—or much else of the car ride home. She didn’t even remember entering her house—she just seemed to wind up sitting on the toilet seat, her jeans and panties down, legs spread, holding a compact mirror over her vagina. She didn’t see anything unusual there, but would she see, actually
see,
them? What if they were microscopic? What if there were thousands, no
millions
, of little bugs down there, sucking her blood, eating her alive? She didn’t have much hair down there, just a landing strip. She’d thought about going bald. Fuck, why hadn’t she gone bald?

Though she couldn’t see any bugs, she could
feel
them. The itching was getting worse and worse; it was almost unbearable. She tried reminding herself that at least some of this was in her head because she hadn’t been itching at all before Steven had called, but she was so frantic that logic was useless right now.