One Perfect Morning Read online

Chapter 35

  Robin

  SUNDAY MORNING

  Ryan had woken up in tears – again – which led to Willow breaking out in hysterics over the police questioning her brother. Of course, Lucas saw all of the crying and felt the need to join in, which led to a house full of weeping children when Collette’s pink little face turned purple with empathy wailing.

  ‘I’ve got to get out of here or I’m going to lose my mind,’ I told Grant while I headed for the door. ‘I’ll pick up some Dunkin’ Donuts for everyone.’

  ‘Wait, Robin! You can’t leave me here with four screaming kids,’ Grant whined.

  ‘Welcome to my everyday life.’

  I handled it for hours each day. Grant could handle it for a few minutes. I headed out of the winding neighborhood plan, blasting Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper’s ‘Shallow.’

  The lyrics gave me chills, because exactly like they said, I too was diving in to the deep end, not knowing if I’d ever surface again. But I’d be wearing a little black dress when I took the plunge. The secret ‘date’ was confirmed for tonight, the dress hanging in my closet, the stilettos polished and shiny, everything in place for a night of marital self-destruction. By this time tomorrow I could be short one friend and one husband.

  I’d thought about Mackenzie a lot over the past couple days. Not just because of the Aria–Ryan drama, but because she was the one I wanted to talk to about Grant. Whenever I brought the subject up with Lily, she grew withdrawn, which wasn’t like her. Lily had opinions on everything from politics to pasta. To now have nothing to say about my philandering husband? It was odd, but I tried not to overthink it. If I could count on anyone as my sounding board, it was Mackenzie. If I could count on anyone to man-bash for me, Mackenzie again.

  Her house was only a couple minutes out of the way, so I decided to take a little detour. I don’t know why I wanted to torture myself by driving by, not that I planned to actually stop. We weren’t on speaking terms, and it broke my heart. But something about seeing her house, where I imagined her sipping coffee in her silky pajamas, brought her closer to me.

  As I arrived, I realized why my gut had insisted on passing by. An ambulance was parked in the driveway, and two cop cars squatted crookedly along the street out front. Oh, God, no … please let my friend be okay.

  I pulled in behind one of the police vehicles, parked, and jumped out of my car. As I ran up the driveway, two EMTs wheeled a black body bag out of the house, down the sidewalk, and past me. No no no.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I yelled. ‘What happened? Is someone – dead?’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to say,’ the tech at the rear of the stretcher replied.

  I needed answers. I needed to know Mackenzie was okay. My vision grew disoriented with the flashing lights, the milling police, the burgeoning crowd of people collecting on the sidewalks. My heart thrummed wildly, deafening me against the din of speculating onlookers. And then I saw her through the parting bodies – Mackenzie, plodding behind a policeman with Aria tucked under her arm.

  I ran up to her, crying happy tears. ‘Mackenzie, you’re okay! I thought … I thought that was you on the gurney.’ Tears streaked down my face as I grabbed her in a hug. I had never felt so relieved in all my life.

  Mackenzie stood stiff in my arms, but I couldn’t let go. I would never let go again. As I held her, her body loosened, relaxed, then she hugged me back halfheartedly.

  ‘Owen … he died.’ Her face was flushed and blotchy. Aria wilted next to her, sobbing, and for a brief moment I absorbed all of their sadness, all of their pain as if it was my own. I wanted to reach into the raging waters that Mackenzie was drowning in and pull her out.

  ‘Oh, Mac, I don’t even know what to say.’ I didn’t care about the damn fight, or the charges, or anything else in that moment. All I cared about was my friend who was hurting.

  I nestled her head on my shoulder like a child, and she limply let me.

  Then she looked up at me with watery eyes and said the strangest thing: ‘I don’t feel anything anymore. I think I’m broken for good.’

  ‘No, honey, you’re not. We’ll piece you back together, I promise.’

  Mac wiped away a streak of tears and I helped clean off a black smudge under her eyes.

  ‘Whatever you need, I’m here for you,’ I vowed.

  I had left her to die once before, but I’d be damned if I did it again.

  2001, BEAVER FALLS, PENNSYLVANIA

  Mac and I had skipped all our classes together in a day of no regrets. We were more than just girls in a dorm, arranged together by some administrative coincidence. We were destined to be friends. Destined for greatness together.

  If Mackenzie was solid ground, I was rushing water. She was steady and reliable while I was always moving, always flowing. But we worked, chaotically beautiful like a Wassily Kandinsky painting.

  Our dorm was cluttered with clothes, makeup, papers, books. Somehow our shared closet had exploded all over the sofa and two chairs that furnished our living room. I could lie and say that we were too busy studying to make time for cleaning up after ourselves, but the reality was that without parents dictating chores, we did what we wanted. And tidying up hadn’t made the list.

  It should have, though. Maybe if it had, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

  ‘You want some mac ’n’ cheese?’ I offered while Mackenzie fell onto her bottom bunk. Her blond hair splayed around her head like a halo, and her arms flung open like an angel. Quite fitting, actually.

  ‘Sure, I’ll eat some,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to take a quick nap, though. I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me. Someone dragged me all over Pittsburgh today without telling me I should wear more comfortable walking shoes.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to hit every store in the South Side! You have only yourself to blame for that.’

  ‘Whatever. Wake me when the food’s ready.’

  I shuffled to the kitchenette and grabbed the last box of Kraft mac ’n’ cheese in the cupboard. The countertop was littered with papers, so I moved them aside and grabbed the only pot we owned. After setting the water to boil, I opened the fridge to discover we were out of milk. I was pretty sure Sharon one floor down always had milk and butter on hand; the girl was a tireless baker and I loved her for it. Especially when she came around delivering homemade chocolate chip cookies to our dorms.

  Slipping into flip-flops, I headed downstairs to see Sharon about the milk. Twenty minutes into bitching about our professors, the smoke alarm started screeching throughout the building.

  It took a minute for my brain to process the events. Then I remembered.

  ‘The stove!’ I ran up the stairs just as the sprinklers activated throughout the dorm. I had forgotten all about the pot of boiling water that was likely now bone dry, the papers sitting next to it. Girls fled the building in hysterics and the shrill wail of a fire truck’s siren grew closer as I reached my suite.

  ‘Mackenzie!’ I yelled, choking on the smoke pouring out of the kitchen. I glimpsed her through the fumes, arms covering her face.

  ‘Help!’ she cried. ‘Robin, help!’

  By now the fire had spread into the hallway, blocking Mackenzie in and me out. The heat was intense; I couldn’t get close enough to help her. Suddenly a flame burst high, licking the ceiling, and Mackenzie screamed.

  The next few minutes blurred as the smoke suffocated and blinded me. A firefighter barked at me to get to safety, but I couldn’t leave my friend. The next thing I knew, a pair of strong arms dragged me away as I watched Mackenzie disappear behind the blaze.

  SUNDAY EVENING

  The silk of my black dress felt like a cool, rich second skin. I’d picked this dress for the irony. I’d worn it on our honeymoon, and Grant could barely keep his hands off me when he saw me in it. Three times – we had made love three times that night all because of this dress.

  What with the extra poundage I’d gained after birthin’ four young ’uns,
as Mac used to quip, it was a miracle the dress still fit fifteen years later. Maybe it was a miracle if the nuts and bolts of any marriage still fit together fifteen years later. Couples got restless, complacent, needy, didn’t they? To give it all up now, after all we’d been through, seemed a waste – our early years of financial struggle, surviving on ramen noodles, building a medical practice from the ground up and all the pain that went with it, raising four kids, Willow’s lacrosse games, Ryan’s baseball games, pool parties, vacations with six people squeezed into two bedrooms, sporadic date nights, sexless months, births, deaths, love, loss … we’d gone through it all together. I couldn’t imagine not having Grant to go through it with.

  Life could be taken away at any moment, I had learned today. After empty consolations while Mac grieved Owen’s death, I had nothing left to offer other than my company. She turned it down, wanting to be alone. I knew she needed space to mourn, just as I needed confrontation to find truth.

  I arrived at Boot Scooters fifteen minutes before our scheduled rendezvous. I had intentionally picked an out-of-the-way place – no chance of running into anyone we knew and blowing my cover. The bar was a real dive, like one of those seedy joints you see in the movies but doubt really exists. There were tacky neon sculptures of cowboy hats, motorcycles, and naked women on the dark paneled walls. Country music – not rockin’ contemporary, but old-school ‘tear in your beer’ stuff – blared from a battered old Wurlitzer jukebox. I stood out like a nun in a whorehouse – another funny Mac-ism – but I looked damned sexy in that dress, if I did say so myself. Making my way to the bar, every male head turned.

  ‘I’m meeting somebody,’ I said to the barkeeper, ‘and I want to surprise him.’

  ‘Got a booth in the back yonder,’ he said, gesturing languidly.

  I looked. It was in a dark, private corner, away from the noisy jukebox and the main crowd, which was thin at this early hour.

  ‘My date will be coming in any minute now. He’ll ask for me.’

  While pouring two beers from the tap, it was a full five seconds before he answered. ‘What name?’

  I told him.

  The bartender studied me, his eyes flashing with sudden interest. ‘Seems like I’ve heard that name before.’

  I chuckled softly. ‘Yeah, maybe you have. Here’s a fiver for your trouble.’

  As I walked away, I made a point of swaying my hips. I felt the bartender’s eyes glued to my ass the whole time. I have to say, it felt nice to be ogled, even by a sleazy barkeep. I settled into the booth with a good view of the full room. The only light was a tea light in a small frosted vase on the tabletop. If I leaned back, my face was hidden in shadow. Perfect.

  A few minutes later Grant entered, his dark brown hair neatly combed but curling at the ends. He wore a nice jacket over a collared polo, and it looked good. He always looked good, even if I didn’t tell him often enough. He didn’t fit in here either. He walked up to the bar and spoke to the bartender. Grant seemed confused by the man’s big grin then walked toward me.

  ‘Anastasia?’ he asked as he neared my dark corner.

  ‘Good evening, Grant.’ I spoke in the husky voice I’d been practicing and fancied I sounded something like Demi Moore.

  ‘Dark in here,’ he said as he reached to shake my hand.

  ‘I like the dark,’ I said, rising from my seat. ‘Fun things happen in the dark.’

  That was the moment he saw my face. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. ‘Like what you see, you cheating bastard?’

  ‘Holy crap! Robin! Honey, I can expl—’

  ‘Save it, Grant. You know, you really shouldn’t use your real name on dating sites. It makes it too easy to find you.’

  The bartender came over with the drinks Grant must have ordered, a white Russian – my favorite – for me, a pint of Guinness for him.

  ‘You two gettin’ acquainted? Good. Now, don’t be doin’ any kinky bondage crap.’ Chuckling, he headed back to the bar.

  Grant slapped his forehead with his palm. ‘Anastasia Steele! Now I get it. No wonder the bartender looked at me so weird when I asked if you’d come in yet. God, I’m such an idiot!’

  ‘No argument there.’

  It was hilarious that he hadn’t recognized the name of the main character from Fifty Shades of Grey that I’d adopted for my alias. We had watched the movie together – and made fun of it – a couple months ago. I didn’t admit it then, but I was jealous that we could barely get a passionate kiss in, while Anastasia and Christian were at it like rabbits.

  As we settled into the booth, I felt unusually calm, given the circumstances. I drove here prepping for a fight. I had imagined myself beet-faced, screaming, crying. Nope. Instead I adopted a calm, centered veneer. We could talk this through, figure it out, because I had laid my rage to rest. I just wanted answers so that I knew how to move forward. No matter what, I’d be okay. I was a survivor … hell, I was a thriver. I conquered my past, raised four great kids, helped build Grant’s medical practice … if I could do all that, I could do anything with or without a man.

  I lifted my glass up in a mock salute. ‘Why’d you order my drink for your ho?’

  ‘I don’t know. Habit, I guess.’ He waited for me to speak, but when I didn’t, he said, ‘I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here, Robin.’

  ‘The truth would be a good starting point.’ I gulped half the drink because I had a feeling I’d need it to endure this.

  ‘You want the truth? Okay, here it is. I’m miserable. You haven’t touched me in months. You realize it’s been several months since we last had sex – before Collette was born. I have needs, and sometimes my hand just isn’t enough. I need physical contact. With another human. So am I sorry about hurting you? Yes. But I’m not sorry for wanting more from you.’

  More from me, huh? As if I wasn’t giving every part of me away already.

  ‘Why didn’t you talk to me? I had no idea you felt this way. But going outside our marriage, Grant – that’s unforgivable.’

  ‘Is it as unforgivable as hiding almost fifty grand in debt from your husband?’ He stared at me, his gaze hard and calculating.

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Long enough. You’ve been lying to me, Robin. Just like I lied to you. That’s when this all started – the first time I saw the credit card statement about a month ago. When our mortgage payment got declined, I began looking into our checking and savings accounts. Empty, Robin. You spent every damn cent we had. And on what? Stuff we don’t need. So naturally I checked the credit card. Maxed out at over forty thousand dollars. I was so angry I didn’t know what to do, so I talked to a female friend about my stress. I didn’t bring up the debt, just bullshitted about how I was feeling inside – inadequate, unattractive, feminine shit like that. Then it led to flirting … and …’

  I waved the rest of his excuses away. ‘I’ve got it, I’ve got it. You don’t need to go into detail.’

  ‘There hasn’t been a slew of women, by the way. Only one time with one person. That’s it. This dating app thing – I only just opened a profile. I was feeling … lonely, I guess. I needed a release after everything going on with Ryan and the debt. But you – or Anastasia – were the first person I connected with, and as you can see, I’m not very good at it.’

  One time with one person. Was that worth divorcing over? Was it any worse than my spending problem?

  My thoughts wandered to the home-wrecker. I wondered who she was. Was she prettier than me? Younger than me? Better in bed than me? Was it just sex or was there a meaningful emotional connection? Once I knew, I couldn’t unknow it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to carry that burden.

  ‘So if it wasn’t me who showed up tonight, would you have slept with her?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was tempted by the idea of it, only because I’ve just been a mess, totally inside my head all the time, stressed out over the money and everything going on. I just wanted to bang it out, you kn
ow? But you’re really the only person I want to bang it out with.’

  I laughed. Not because anything about this was funny, but because the tension was so high I needed to loosen it. ‘That’s the most romantic thing you’ve said to me in months.’

  He chuckled, but it held the regret of a guilty man.

  ‘You have every right to be furious, Robin, to leave me. But I want to fix us, if you’ll forgive me. I want to try again, do better. But I need you to put us first just like I need to put us first. We need to connect physically, emotionally. And you need to stop going crazy with the spending. Are you willing to try again? To forgive me?’

  He searched me with soulful eyes that had seen so much over the years. They had lusted after me in our youth. They had adored each baby I’d birthed for him. They took pride in me when I did something grand. They gave me comfort when I needed it. They sought wisdom from me during life’s big decisions. Was life worth living if Grant wasn’t watching?

  I tossed back the rest of my drink, letting the smooth liquor run down my throat. Could I really forgive him for sleeping with another woman? Maybe I could forgive. But I could never forget.

  Chapter 36

  Mackenzie

  SUNDAY EVENING

  Detective Bill Rossi could smell the fear in me. I saw it in the way he aimed his beady eyes at me and lobbed question after question, trying to trip me up.

  I shivered in my seat as the vent poured cold air over my bare arms. The air conditioning was set too low for Western Pennsylvania balmy May weather as it blasted through the interview room. That’s what Detective Rossi called it, as if I was interviewing for a job, but I knew it for what it was: an interrogation room. The room where they would pull apart my statement, searching for holes and inconsistencies and any trace of a lie.

  I hugged my arms, rubbing my hands up and down until the goose bumps settled back into my skin. The lukewarm black coffee – they were out of creamer and sugar, he said, as he placed the Styrofoam cup in front of me – did little to warm me. Beside me sat Aria, zombified with grief, and Detective Rossi sat opposite us holding a pen and pad of paper. I asked if I needed an attorney, to which he replied, ‘Not if you don’t have anything to hide.’