I know he’s trying to nudge a smile out of me, but I’m in no mood for jokes. A gust of wind lifts my hair, and I shiver. “He’s having an affair, Max.”
He rubs his hands briskly over my arms. “Let’s go to the truck. You’re freezing.”
“Oh! Your jacket! I left it with the hostess.”
“I’ll get it. You wait here.”
“No. I’ll get it.”
“Jillian, let me. Don’t torture yourself.”
“I just … I need to know for sure. Besides, I’m not standing on this corner alone.”
He surveys the darkened street. Down an alleyway, a man in layers of filthy clothing emerges from behind a Dumpster, pulling a wagon of worldly treasures behind him. Max grimaces. “I’ll come up with you.”
“The two of us will attract too much attention. Please, go get the truck. I’ll be right back.”
He looks torn, but then he lays a kiss on my cheek and jogs down the sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot. I hurry up the stairs to the Yellow Door.
Max’s jacket hangs from the corner of the hostess’s podium. She hands it to me. “I thought you might be back for this.”
“Thanks so much,” I say, keeping my voice low. I scan the faces in the glowing restaurant as I pull Max’s jacket around my shoulders. Stranger, stranger, stranger …
They all go blurry, save one distinct and very significant man. What I see, the only thing I see, is my father. His smile is enchanting—he hasn’t appeared so happy in months. He slides his hand across the table—free of the notepads and documents and pens that might indicate a work meeting—to cover his companion’s.
Her back is to me, but I gather every observable detail, greedily stashing data for future analysis. Only the crown of her head is visible over the top of her tall seat, but I note her sunrise hair. A high-heeled shoe—black patent leather, pointy toe—peeking out from beneath the tablecloth. Her hand, small and manicured, turning over, opening, accepting my father’s. Her fingers, wrapping around his palm.
My stomach heaves.
Dad looks up, right into my eyes. He stares for a second, like he’s trying to reconcile my presence with the backdrop, and then his mouth forms a perfect circle of shock. He snatches his hand from the woman’s, reeling backward, moving to stand.
I whirl around.
I run.
30
MAX’S TRUCK IDLES AT THE CURB, ENGINE rumbling.
When I throw the passenger door open, I find Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” blasting from the stereo—a fitting soundtrack for the last few minutes.
“Go!” I say, and he does.
When we’re safely on the freeway, I tell him everything.
“You have every right to be pissed,” he says when I’ve finished.
“I’m not pissed.”
“Then you’re in shock.”
I sit quietly, breathing in and out, watching the freeway fly by. My emotions sink and settle, silt in a creek bed. How do I feel? Dazed, certainly. Sad for Meredith, and sad for Ally. And I’m filled to bursting with hate—I can hardly think of anything but hate, hate, hate.
How could my dad be so selfish, and lie so blatantly? How could he jeopardize our family in the name of getting a piece? Because that’s what’s happening—he’s sleeping with that woman, the woman with the rose-gold hair. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
“Okay, maybe I’m pissed,” I admit, “but I’m not going to freak out and scream and cry.”
“That would be okay,” Max says.
“I won’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Are you one hundred percent sure about what you saw?”
I turn to give him an incredulous look. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Jilly … I’m really sorry.”
I am too, I think, scooting across the seat to assume the position of redneck girlfriend. Max uses his free hand to rub my shoulders, and as his fingers knead away clusters of tension, I think about Bill. He’s facing a lifetime of immobility and dependence, yet he’s indomitable in spirit. He would never cheat on Marcy.
Why is my dad such an asshole?
Max exits the freeway. “Do you have any idea who she was?”
“I only saw her from behind, and at a distance. Young, old, pretty, hideous … who knows? She could’ve been a work associate. A friend of a friend. Someone he met pumping gas. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s screwing around on Meredith.”
“Are you gonna tell her?”
I don’t answer right away—I hadn’t considered that breaking the bad news might fall on my shoulders. “God, I have no idea what to do.…”
“You can talk to my mom,” he offers. “Or Zoe.”
“Thanks, but I feel like Meredith should know before anyone else.”
He nods and drives on. He doesn’t head straight for our neighborhood. Instead, he cruises around town, twisting and turning up and down hills, touring neighborhoods and our quiet river road. He’s stalling, which is fine with me. I have zero desire to be at home.
“Jill?” he says after a long space of silence. “Maybe I’m a jerk bringing this up now, but has it occurred to you that we’re kind of doing the same thing your dad’s doing?”
I sit back so I can see his face. “Having an extramarital affair? Not exactly.”
“No, but I cheated on Becky with you, and I’m not proud of it. We’ve been sneaking around. Hiding out. Keeping secrets.”
“Max—”
“No, hear me out. I go along with our little arrangement because it’s what you want, but I don’t like it. I’ve got enough going on with my family, and now you do, too.” His words puncture my deceit-filled bubble. It sputters and hisses, disillusion leaking out, evaporating into the truck’s artificially balmy air. I find myself listening, really listening.
“Keeping something this huge from my parents sucks,” he says, gentle but persuasive. “What’s the worst that’ll happen if your dad finds out? He’ll be mad, but who gives a shit? Better than holing up in my truck every time we want to hang out. Better than creeping around like we’re doing something wrong.”
It hits me hard, how unfair I’ve been.
“Okay,” I say softly.
“Okay … what?”
“No more secrets.”
He looks from the road to me, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
He pulls me toward him again, and I nestle beneath his arm, closing my eyes. I feel good about my decision; the more dishonesty I can expel from my life, the better.
The truck rumbles onward, eventually into our neighborhood. Max pulls into his driveway and kills the engine. I lift my head to look into his uncertain eyes.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he whispers, brushing my hair back. We glance at my house at the same time, a cloud of foreboding suspended over the truck. My dad’s Durango’s still gone, but all the same, I hate the thought of walking across the street.
“Do you have to go home?” Max asks as I say, “Can I stay with you awhile longer?”
He flashes me a smile, amusement and mischief and arrogance squished into one. “You can stay with me all night if you like.”