Bad things, p.19
Bad Things, page 19
But .. it never happened again. Graduation was just weeks away, and Nick and his friends were completely preoccupied with it. Nick did say “Hi” to her in the halls and gave her his big smile, but it was clear that would be as far as it went. She was seized by the terrible feeling he regretted making love to a freshman, because that’s what it was: making love, for her at least. And Nick Radnor soared from being a cute guy she wanted to be with to the Love of Her Life. Period.
Marcia was crushed by Nick’s rejection. All the other guys wanted her. All she had to do was crook her finger and they followed after her, tongues hanging out, but not Nick. It was disheartening really, especially when Nick graduated and left Edwards Bay entirely. Some said it was because of Lisette. Well, maybe. It was sad what had happened to her, but she did it to herself. It was no one’s fault but her own.
It took five more years and a trip to Palo Alto before Marcia saw Nick again. She learned his address. She followed him on Facebook, though he rarely posted. For a guy in the tech industry, he seemed to have no use for social media, but she’d wheedled his address out of Forrest, who wanted a little nookie payback, which grossed her out. She deigned to give him a kiss before sliding away and eluding him for fucking weeks afterward.
She went straight to Nick’s condo and pretended she was in town on business and thought she’d look him up. He answered the door and was totally surprised to see her. Unfortunately, he’d had a woman over that night. Marcia had seen past Nick to her crossed legs as she sat in a chair in a room at the back of the house. That vision was burned in her brain. Those crossed legs in front of windows that looked over a panoramic city vista. Nick was happy to see her, however. “You’ve got to come in,” he invited, opening the door wide.
“Oh, no. I can’t. I’ve got a meeting. But maybe later this week? While I’m still in town?” She was damned if she would share him with that woman, whoever she was!
“Sure. Give me your number.”
She asked for his as well, even though she had it from Forrest. She pretended she knew his address from something she’d seen online rather than admit she’d all but stalked him. He wanted to know who, what, and where his personal information was out there, but she said she couldn’t remember. Or maybe someone told her? She made out that it was a long time in the past and she’d just written it down.
He let it go, though she could see he filed the information away. She should have paid more attention, because she learned that was Nick’s superpower, the filing and retrieving of information that could come back and bite you in the ass if you weren’t on your toes. And she hadn’t been. On her toes. Not enough to keep the marriage going.
He did remember to call her, though it took several days during which Marcia paced her hotel room, paid for dearly with her limited funds, but she had needed to strike the right chord. No freeway motel for her while she was visiting Palo Alto. A nice business hotel with a nice restaurant and bar. They agreed to meet at her hotel for a drink. She hoped he was paying as she’d looked at the cost of drinks and practically choked.
As it turned out, he did pay. Easily and without much fuss. She’d practiced her “sort of ” lies enough that she almost believed them herself: that she’d just left a job with one of the premier banks in Seattle—actually, she’d been phased out, a nice term for we-don’t-want-you-anymore, though they gave her glowing references—that she’d been approached by the Bank of Edwards Bay—more like she’d camped out on their doorstep and practically begged for a job, one that hadn’t materialized—and that she’d been out of the relationship with Audra’s father for more than a year, when in reality she’d gone back to Craig several times because she was stone broke, though his wealthy family had cut him loose years earlier, a fact he’d hidden from her and which she only found out after she was pregnant. She didn’t know then that Nick was cataloging the information. He didn’t check up on her until much later, after the marriage, because, as he confessed to her later, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe in something.
Well, okay. She was happy to be that something. The woman at his condo that day? A business associate. And even if she was something more, Marcia never ran into her again.
And then she found out she was pregnant with Nick’s baby. Hurray! She hurried to tell him. He was surprised but happy. Fantastic! But he wanted confirmation, so they made an appointment at his clinic and his doctor, who confirmed the diagnosis and referred her to a local gynecologist. They were both thrilled. Nick questioned how she became pregnant when she was supposedly on the pill. Well, the pill is only 99 percent effective, she reminded him. That 1 percent was still out there, to which Nick casually pointed out that 1 percent was likely caused by human error.
Well ... yes. She never told him that she’d quit taking the pill from the moment she first visited him, though he might have suspected. That was Nick. But they were having such a good time! Marcia had really worked on being the fun girlfriend, the one game to do anything, the one who didn’t let things bring her down, the one who could handle whatever life threw at her.
Maybe he wondered why the job with The Bank of Edwards Bay fizzled out. Maybe he knew half of what she said or did was bullshit, put on for his benefit. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he just wanted to be married and have a baby like she did. Her miscarriage scared her to the bone. She couldn’t tell him. Not while everything was going her way. She would just get pregnant again, as soon as possible. That way she would be pregnant by the time he learned the truth and all would be well.
That was the plan when they decided to elope. Just got in his car and drove to Vegas . . . after signing a prenup that really hurt her feelings. Still, she believed it would all work out in the end. She told him she loved him, over and over again, and he said the words back to her, though only when she said them first. She convinced herself he would grow to depend on her, find he couldn’t live without her, really, really love her. She would make sure of it.
Nick traded in his condo for a palatial home they lived in happily for a couple of months, and then she told him about the miscarriage. Nick wanted to meet with her doctor, but she was so bereft and sick with disappointment—an Oscar-winning performance fueled by the fear he would leave her—that he seemed to let it go. She wanted to get pregnant right away again, but it didn’t happen. Her doctor told her to relax and it would likely happen for her, because she’d conceived twice already.
Nick seemed to take the news in stride, but it was never the same for them. After the miscarriage, Nick and Marcia as a couple were over. Even his love for Audra—because he did love her, that was a fact—couldn’t keep them together. Nick was gone. Checked out. No longer hers.
She was devastated at the loss of their closeness, but Nick seemed blasé. In fact, it was his commi ci, comme ça attitude that had made her lose her temper in the first place, and once she lost it, she couldn’t seem to find it again. It was out there, flying free, hitting everyone with zingers and sneak attacks. Her change of attitude, the dropping of her congenial facade, was the end for them. Nick filed for divorce and Marcia was cut out of his life.
End of story. Except now Gil Barnes, Nick’s lawyer, had asked her to be at the reading of the will. She could scarcely stand to wait. If Kerry and Jerry had their druthers, she’d be left out in the cold, she was sure of that, but she wasn’t having any of it.
Would Nick really leave you anything? The fucker took back the ring, remember?
In the mirror, her mouth quivered. It took a few moments, but then she tightened her lips into a hard smile. Actually, she’d thrown the ring at him. Just hurled it across the travertine entryway and watched it glance off his forehead and skitter across the polished stone. A foolish move she now wished she could undo. Where was it anyway? Had he sold it? Pawned it? Given it to some undeserving California blond bitch?
Or had he left it for Kerry? God. That would be the limit.
Or Taryn? Or Diana?
Grinding her teeth together, Marcia snatched up her clutch purse and headed to the bar. To hell if the A-Team—God, how she hated that name!—hadn’t invited her. It was a free world, wasn’t it? She was going to join the party whether they liked it or not.
When she walked into the bar they were in a huddle at one of the tables, but that cretin, Egan Fogherty, upon spying her, strolled over, a man on the hunt. He wasn’t all that bad-looking. He was just weird. And unlikable.
She walked past both Egan and the rest of them and took a stool at one end of the bar.
Egan was persistent and slid onto the stool beside her. “Can I buy you a drink?” His voice held a promise of more to come.
Oh, brother. Marcia turned to the bartender. “A Bombay Sapphire martini, straight up, three olives.”
“Whoa. A woman who knows what she wants.” Egan leered as the bartender went to make her order.
“That’s me,” she agreed, not looking at him.
“And what is it that ‘me’ wants?”
She wasn’t going to answer at first, but then she said what she really felt. “Nick. I want Nick back.”
“Well, yeah, sure . . .”
More pointedly. “And if I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone.”
He shrugged that off, apparently used to bald rejection. “Oh, who knows? Maybe you could use a stand-in. Just to get over him.”
“I don’t think so.”
He ignored the icy chill in her tone. “How’s Miss Seashell doing anyway?”
She refused to answer that one as the bartender slid her martini across the bar, its surface shimmering with teensy ice chips. She took a swallow. This was an occasion that called for something more than her usual single glass of white wine.
“You know I’m moving up to captain,” Egan said. “Been working my way up.”
Goody for you. “Break out the brass band.”
“Soon to be a captain on the very ferry you came over on.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” She tried to close him off, but he was a spigot that just kept gushing.
“My uncle was in the coast guard. Just retired. Our whole family’s been on the water. In fact . . .”
There followed a mind-numbing recount of every fucking member of his family and a few friends, along with a list of their accomplishments. Marcia turned around on her swivel seat to keep an eye on the rest of the A-Teamers, who had split into twos and threes. Josie was in an animated conversation with Chad, Nick’s ex-partner. Chad and Nick’s “amicable” split had looked like a cold annulment from where Marcia sat; she’d thought Nick had gotten the lion’s share of the business in the end, though she didn’t know for certain. Chad had held on to a portion of the company and then sold out to another tech business who’d swallowed up his idea, according to him. Marcia and Nick had been apart by that time, but she thought Chad had done all right. She gave him a considering look. He wasn’t nearly as good-looking as Nick, and he didn’t have his savoir faire either. That didn’t appear to be stopping Josie, whose husband had vamoosed from the service a while ago. In Marcia’s biased opinion, Josie looked like she wanted to lay down on the table and spread her legs for him. Was that how it had been with Nick? Though everyone assumed Nick and Josie were an item, Marcia knew her ex well enough to sense that maybe that wasn’t so. They could have had a one- or two-night stand, she supposed, but Josie was married, and maybe that didn’t mean anything to her, but it would have to Nick. Marcia eyed closely the girl next door who seemed to want to cheat on her husband.
Well, Chad’s single, so good luck, girl.
Egan had switched subjects. “. . . none of their wives showed up, but then, they weren’t in to the high school football scene. Those old guys just can’t let it go, though, huh? Glory days and all that. They sure liked the high school girls back then.”
Marcia said, “All old guys like looking at high school girls.”
“These guys were more than looking.”
“Leering, then.”
“They were kinda handsy back in the day,” Egan revealed carefully. “You must know about that.”
Well, yes, she could remember jabbing one old lech in the rib cage when his hands slid around a little too much when he went in to hug Miss Seashell. “If I was one of their wives, I wouldn’t show up either,” she said.
“Wonder if any of them knew.”
“That they were horny for teenage girls? Of course they did.” Marcia snorted.
“Well, and the rest of it.” Egan had ordered a beer, and when he was served, he dragged the sweating glass toward himself across the bar, leaving a wet trail.
“Okay, I know you want me to ask, so I will. The rest of what?” Marcia was growing really tired of Egan and they’d been talking, what? Ten minutes? Felt like an eternity.
He gave her an assessing look, then, glancing around, he and Killian made eye contact. Something seemed to pass between them and they both looked toward Miami, who was at the other end of the bar, ordering a glass of wine.
As if believing Egan had extended him an invitation, Killian moseyed over, putting himself between Egan and Miami, who hadn’t even seemed to notice he was there ... or maybe she was pretending.
“What are you two talking about?” Killian asked.
“The horny geezers here tonight,” Marcia said, knocking back the rest of her drink.
“My old man one of those ‘horny geezers’?” Killian’s smile was indulgent.
“Guess so,” Marcia said. “Egan was saying how much they wanted to get into the high school girls’ pants.”
“I was saying they were into football,” Egan denied hotly.
“And that their wives aren’t here because they didn’t want to see their men’s tongues hanging out over all your A-Team ladies.” Marcia waved a hand in the direction of their table.
Taryn, who’d been hovering around, moved within earshot. “You talking about the dads? They’re even more disgusting now than they were then.”
“My dad isn’t disgusting.” Killian still wore the smile, but it was fixed in place.
Marcia waved a hand at him. “It was just an observation.” Jesus, these people were intense. She slid off her stool.
And just at that moment Angie Starr threw her drink in another woman’s face and shrieked, “Leave my husband alone!”
Chapter Thirteen
Kerry sat at her kitchen table, dunking a tea bag systematically in and out of her cup of hot water. She’d made herself a peanut butter sandwich on wheat bread, which she’d cut into quarters. She was nibbling on the second quarter but pushed the rest of the food away. She’d filled up a plate at the memorial service, but then had been too upset, annoyed, and busy to eat anything. Now she was too tired and fretful to finish the sandwich.
It was too early to go to bed. She tried television, switching through channels, then reading a novel, but she couldn’t keep her mind on it, so she tossed the book aside and paced from the bedroom to the kitchen.
Maybe she should go back to the hospital.
No, Jerry needed his rest.
Maybe she should check the motel? Take a walk?
But it was raining and dark.
She thought back on her conversation with Cole. She had the deflated feeling that Cole had just been being polite to her. He seemed to give her more attention than some of the others, but it was because she was Nick’s sister and close to Jerry rather than because they’d once been in love. Well, at least she’d been in love. Maybe he’d never felt quite the same way, but she’d had stars in her eyes from the start. And if she was honest with herself, she felt a little bit of it still. That jolt of her pulse when she saw him. The prickle of heightened awareness when she heard his voice.
“Oh, stop,” she muttered, washing off her plate and putting it in the dishwasher.
Why was it that Cole had to be the one for her? Honestly, it was a real pisser. She’d love to feel that way about someone else, anyone else. Her attraction to Vaughn hadn’t even come close to scaling the same heights; she could admit that now. Half of her attraction to him had been because she’d felt something. Call it lust. Or maybe just a yearning for what she’d had with Cole. Either way, she’d let herself be taken away by it, and she’d paid the price in a very unhappy marriage.
Shivering, Kerry reached for her jacket. She was still in her dress, but she slipped on the pair of black clogs she kept by the door to wear when she was walking the grounds, and stepped outside.
There was a light on in the unit farthest from the office, number twelve. Not the first time the workers had forgotten to hit the switch when they finished. She’d left the master key in her unit, so she turned around and returned to the office reception area, which was an adjunct to her apartment, currently open to her rooms during renovation because the outside door to the office had been boarded shut. Hurrying back inside her apartment, she slipped into the reception area and the safe with the electronic code that held all the keys. She punched in the number, and the safe’s door whirred open. Grabbing the master key from the small tray inside, she headed back through the misting rain to number twelve. She peered in the window first and saw the place was empty.
Sighing, she let herself in and flipped the switch, sending the room into darkness. She locked the door on the way out, then checked all the other units. Two other doors were unlocked. Damn. She was going to have to talk to the workmen.
Bending her head against the light rain, she had a sudden feeling of impending doom. She looked up. Her lungs felt compressed, starved for air. She quickly gulped some in. It felt like she was suffocating.
Jesus.
Back inside her apartment, she hurriedly threw the dead bolt and pulled the chain on both the front and back doors. Then she returned to the office and replaced the master key in the safe, listening to it whir shut. Her heart was pounding like she’d run a marathon. Taking in several deep breaths, she sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and put her head between her knees.
