She thought about Ben in the middle of it, that was true, but only for a fleeting moment. She didn’t think about what Owen was doing or who he was doing it with, only that she hoped he was happy. She hoped he was getting what he needed.
They were three months in. Three months down, three to go. Everything was working out just the way they’d planned. Better, even. It was like this haze that had covered them for years now had not only started to lift but had actually burned off, and the day ahead promised nothing but blue sky and sunlight glittering off an open sea. It’s not that Lucy woke up each morning with a huge smile on her face, but she no longer woke up consumed with dread. And from what Lucy could tell, Air-Conditioner Cat-Hair Lady didn’t seem like much of a threat to their marriage.
Later, of course, Lucy wondered what would have happened if they had just stopped. If, in the middle of the night, she had reached over and touched Owen’s shoulder. If she had shaken him, gently, until he woke up. If she had softly said, Honey?
If they had just stopped.
Thirteen
Thirty-five years ago, I attended a talk on marriage by M. Scott Peck, the author of the blockbuster The Road Less Traveled. He said the only reason to get married was for the friction. Everyone in the packed lecture hall laughed. Nothing I’ve seen or experienced since has proven him wrong.
—Constance Waverly
WaverlyRadio podcast #63
Gordon Allen’s lap pool was enclosed inside a large outbuilding that Gordon had had built for just that purpose. The pool was forty meters long, fresh water, and chlorine-free, and it was maintained at such a careful pH balance that it was home to three turtles (Reagan, Nixon, and Goldwater) and a couple of large, slow-moving fish.
About six months after construction was completed, Gordon lost interest in swimming in the pool, although he still liked to give tours of it to guests. He liked to wow them with the turtles. Kelly hated the pool, and Rocco was uninterested in it, so Gordon had more or less given Dirk the bee guy the run of the place. It would help, come winter, simply to have somewhere warm to shower. And Dirk loved it. When he did his laps each day, the Republican turtles swam right alongside him like old friends. This is what a few billion dollars feels like, Dirk always found himself thinking. And I’m the one enjoying it.
Dirk let himself in through the side door that opened onto the changing room. He put on his bathing suit and took a quick shower. The guy who took care of the pool, Gordon’s turtle guy, had told him to shower before he got in, and there was a special kind of soap and shampoo there just for that purpose.
When he opened the door to the pool area, he realized something was off. The lights were on, and Gordon Allen’s wife—Kimmy? Carrie?—was in the pool, naked, floating on her back.
“Oh, sorry—” Dirk turned away from her. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“No worries,” she said.
“I’ll just grab my stuff and take off,” said Dirk.
“No, don’t go, I was just getting out.”
“Still, I’ll wait outside till you’re done,” said Dirk.
“Don’t be crazy,” she said. She climbed slowly out of the pool and picked up a flimsy robe and tied the sash around her waist.
“Gordon told me you never use the pool.”
“I don’t, usually,” she said. “But I thought today I’d give it a try.”
“How was it?”
“Not great,” she said. “The fish and the turtles creep me out.”
“They’re the best part.”
“Now you sound just like Gordon,” she said.
She walked over to the little sitting area off to the side of the pool and opened the refrigerator.
“Have a quick drink with me,” she said. “You must get bored out there in the woods all the time.”
“Okay,” he said. “I guess I can do that.”
She handed him a beer and took one for herself too.
“Can I ask you something? Do you get stung by your bees?”
“It happens,” said Dirk. “Not often. And it doesn’t bother me very much.”
“I get stung all the time,” she said. “I keep begging Gordon to get rid of the bees, but he won’t listen to me. Maybe you could talk to him.”
“Well, I can’t argue in favor of getting rid of the bees, because then I would be out of a job,” said Dirk. “And a place to live. So you’ll have to handle that one on your own.”
“He doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t care if I get stung.”
“I use tea tree oil,” said Dirk. “I’m pretty sure that’s what keeps the bees off me. I can bring you some if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
“I gotta warn you, it doesn’t smell great.”
“Honestly, I don’t care at this point,” she said. “Gordon told me you live inside a school bus.”
“That’s right.”
“Is it yellow?”
“It is. I might paint it, I just haven’t gotten a chance to do it yet.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you drive it around town?”
Dirk laughed.
“Right now, it’s technically broken down. I’m trying to see if I can make it through the winter in it. I’m weatherizing it, and I just put in a rocket stove. Your husband’s finding me a snowmobile so I can get in and out when the weather’s bad.”
“I’d like to see it sometime,” she said.
“I’ll have you and Gordon out soon,” said Dirk.
She looked him in the eye. “I’d like to see it by myself.”
Dirk nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll have you and Gordon out sometime,” he said. “I think Rocco would get a kick out of it too.”
Dirk was that rare type of person who could pinpoint the moment everything, everything, in his life changed.
It all began with a blind date.
“Make yourself comfortable,” his date said when he arrived at her apartment, “I’m almost ready.”
Dirk sat down heavily on her couch and leaned back and put his feet on the Lucite coffee table. He pulled out his phone and checked his e-mail.
“I’ll be just a minute,” she called from the other room.