Bess smiles even as tears fill her eyes. She can’t believe how happy she is because of a few words. He was with a bunch of kids.
You’re supposed to be the good example in this scenario? she types in response. Poor kids. JK. Travel safe.
Bess thinks to text her mom (I see you! Step away from the Mayhews’!), but remembers it won’t get read until sometime next week. She chucks the phone onto her bed, tosses on her ratty espadrilles, and then books it downstairs and out the front door, bedclothes and all.
Bess stalks across Baxter Road. As she gets closer to Chappy’s, Bess notices there are lights on inside, which means Cissy’s operations are not covert. A confrontation, possibly? Her mother wouldn’t physically harm the man, Bess doesn’t think.
Soon she is on the property, tramping through the yard. Rose stems prickle Bess’s skin as she winds between the hedges and flowers. It’s foggy. The air and ground are wet, her ankles already filthy. After lunging over three low plants, Bess sidesteps some type of open-trench situation before ultimately steadying herself on a windowsill.
Bess glances down to see scratches crisscrossing her legs. Her palms are scuffed up and her nightgown looks like she’s been locked in an Appalachian barn for twenty years. But Bess will not remember the minor abrasions. When evaluating that particular night, these discomforts will prove the least of the damage.
Traumatic brain injury is nothing to joke about, but there’s no other way to describe Bess’s emotions after looking at the window and the appalling portrait it frames. Here is a real-life shot of Chappy Mayhew, stark naked and bucking, jamming an equally naked, very willing Cissy Codman against a wall.
46
Saturday Afternoon
“You’re back.”
Bess stands in the open doorway as the wind sends sheets of drizzle sideways into the house.
“Yes. A day early,” Evan says. “We laid a big fat egg in the tournament. I thought we’d at least make it to Sunday. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m more upset than they are. You’d expect nine-year-old boys to be more cutthroat. Haven’t they read Lord of the Flies? Can I come in?”
Bess stares at him. With so much to say, she doesn’t know where to start.
“I hurried back,” he tells her and holds up his phone. “Because of your um, slightly grumpy text. Came straight from the ferry. Is everything okay? And what is it I didn’t tell you, exactly?”
“Are there multiple options to choose from?”
“Ummm…”
Bess looks around, though she is the only person at the house. She hasn’t seen Cissy since that morning, when she saw way too much.
“Did you know?” Bess asks.
“Know what?”
“About Cissy. And your dad.”
“Shit.” Evan closes his eyes and lets out a small groan. “She finally told you.”
“She didn’t tell me crap. I found them. Going to town. Not, like, Nantucket Town.”
“Pound town?”
“Gross.” Bess scowls at him. “Not funny. But yes.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, chuckling. “Maybe it is kind of disturbing. They’re usually pretty discreet. Where were they?”
“They were in his house. It was … I saw them through…” Bess shakes her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Your dad and my mom are having an affair, which you were apparently aware of. We’ve had some pretty intimate conversations and meanwhile…”
“Can I come in?” he asks again.
Bess looks down. The strip of hardwood between them is now completely slick with rain.
“Fine,” Bess says, and ushers him inside. “Just so you know, I’m pretty pissed off.”
“Noted.”
They walk toward the living room, most of it now boxed up.
“You know what I’m thinking,” Evan says as he takes a seat beside Bess on the floral couch.
She promptly moves to the light blue settee.
“I was thinking,” he goes on, pretending not to notice the relocation, “I’m ahead on my project on Codfish. After the holiday weekend, I can bring my guys in to help with the rest of the packing. You’ve done a lot but this place still feels very … lived-in.”
“Well, yeah, because it is very much lived-in. I’ve practically set down roots.” Bess exhales loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me about them? Good grief. Cis’s archnemesis. No wonder you thought my parents were divorced! Poor Dudley.”
“I don’t think your dad is being duped or anything.”
“So they have some sort of arrangement? Well, that’s fabulous. What a great example. I guess my divorce isn’t shameful after all.”
“Shameful?” Evan smirks. “As far as I’m concerned, your divorce is one of your better qualities.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Listen, Bess, I thought you knew. At first. And when I realized you didn’t, I decided it wasn’t my news to tell. Our parents are entitled to their private lives, same as we are. You’ve kept a couple things from your mom.”
“So not the point.”
Bess laces her hands together and sighs. Cissy and Chappy. Always at odds, always mired in some squabble or battle of wills. You’re an asshole, you’re a bitch. And what about the restraining order? Bess isn’t the most experienced person in the world, but she knows you generally have to be within fifty yards to have sex with someone.
“So their arguments,” Bess says. “They’re a fa?ade?”
“Hell no. They’re like a pair of not-very-mature teenagers. Breaking up, getting back together. Screaming matches. Restraining orders. It’s exhausting. But there’s a load of love there. They respect each other’s passion. Neither one is a pansy.”
“You’ve got that right. God. I can’t believe it.”
“It’s pretty sweet when you get down to it,” Evan says. “Even if the last few years have been extra teenagery given the bluff situation.”
“How long has this been going on?” Bess asks. “That you know of?”
Evan thinks about it for a minute.
“Fifteen years?” he says, an estimate, but close enough.
“Fifteen years!”
“Around that. It started when I was in Costa Rica.”
“Costa Rica,” Bess grumbles. “Of course it started when you were in Costa Rica.”
Evan squints at her, mystified.
“Um, not really sure what you mean by that,” he says. “And I don’t know the details about how it began. But when I got back they were already several years in.”
“So. Gross.”
“You might not want to hear this, but I’m glad they have each other, broken marital vows notwithstanding. They are happy together, in their own bizarre and twisted way.”
“It’s so incomprehensible,” Bess says. “My brain can’t process…” She grabs the sides of her head. “It’s as though you’re telling me one thing, and my mind is just spitting it back out, like a wonky dollar bill in a soda machine. ‘Do Not Accept.’ Jesus. Fifteen years. Well, at least Cis had the decency to wait until after my grandmother died to commence the sinning. Ruby would’ve been horrified.”