The One That Got Away (11 page)

Shuddering involuntarily, he looked at her, feeling a cocktail of pleading and hunger within. “Now look, w-we talked about this.”

“I know,” Serena said, leaning over as Tony involuntarily followed her every navigation. Up ahead lay a Super Wal-Mart just shutting down for the night, its lot empty save the cars of
employees finishing the night's close. “Go straight, then we'll hook around to the back lot,” she whispered, her voice the coo of a young mother.

When he had pulled into a space in the lot's dark, deserted corner, Tony sighed before leaning over and kissing Serena lightly. “I mean it,” he said as he pulled away, knowing in reality that she had him wide open.

“Oh, I know you mean it,” Serena said, pulling Tony's chin back toward hers. “We've talked about plenty tonight. Enough with the tell, Tony; I'm ready to
show.
”

W
hen he awoke the next morning in his hotel room, Tony was alone but in no ways lonely. Wiping his eyes and yawning with contentment, he felt a rise in his spirits as he smelled Serena's perfume, still thick in the air. Running a hand over a pillow matted with squiggly strands of her hair, he inhaled deeply as an image from the night before hit him.

Seated in his car's passenger seat, he had braced himself as she hiked her skirt, lowered her panties, and straddled him. Momentarily freed of the pain in his leg, he'd let years of experience and his dormant familiarity with her body take over. With each stroke, lick, and tickle, the truth in his heart rang with added clarity.
I'm home.

He was now too much of a gentleman to dwell on it, of course, but it wasn't lost on him that he'd stepped up to the plate quite well for a brother who'd kept it in his pants for five months. There with Serena, parked in the corporate shadows of the Super Wal-Mart, he'd come off the bench and nearly matched their teenage glory days.

He didn't believe for a second that this was an accident; no, this was meant to be. Those who loved him most thought he was out of his mind, and for his first two months in Cincinnati it
seemed they might be right. Against all odds, Tony told himself the past twelve hours proved them wrong.

Rising from the bed, he grabbed his silk boxer shorts from the floor and stepped into them, drawing the undies up over his narrow hips. Quickly, he searched the apartment for any hopeful sign Serena's absence might be temporary. Seeing no such evidence in the bathroom, front room, or kitchenette, he shrugged confidently. She'd be back. She did have a family to tend to.

Returning to the bathroom, he went to the sink and drew back the mirror covering his medicine chest. That was where he saw Serena's handiwork.

Propped in front of his can of aloe shaving cream was a card in a red-and-white envelope. It was a sign of just how dull his senses were that his immediate reaction was joy. Snaring the card between a thumb and forefinger, he smiled sheepishly, wondering what creative words she'd used to praise his performance last night. When his smile faded, it disappeared in small bits and pieces as he interpreted the hastily scrawled words.

I love you, but I can't promise ANYTHING.

L
ucky for Serena, she'd always been a light sleeper. Her eyes popped open at the slight squeak caused by the turn of a key in her front door. As her vision came into focus, she stared first at the eggshell-colored ceiling overhead, then lowered her gaze to the disheveled clothing covering her exhausted body.

“Uhh.” Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked over her shoulder to see her purse and heels lying on the floor a few inches away. Rolling her tongue around the inside of her mouth, she tasted the residue of cigarette smoke and instantly knew she'd relapsed. From the way she was sprawled out in her living room, it had clearly been one of those nights where you did well to find your own home, get the key to work properly, and collapse just inside the door.

As her ears filled with the creaking of the front door, Serena began a ritual she'd hoped to leave behind: cleaning up after a manic episode. Her doctor always stressed that her episodes were really hypomanias, far milder than those experienced by most of his patients, but that was a small comfort. It did, however, mean that Serena more quickly recognized the wreckage she left in her own wake, and that was why she was ready now to cover her tracks.

“Hello!” The giggling of the girls in the background, her mother's voice echoed through the house as Serena hopped to her feet and crept up the back staircase. “Serena! Your babies are here!”

Nearly at the top, Serena hustled up the steps and rounded the corner. She didn't say a word until she'd crossed the doorway of her master bedroom. “Hey!” Gripping the bedroom door and swinging it halfway shut, she leaned through the opening. “I was just about to get in the shower! Be right down!”

Slamming the door behind herself, she bit her lower lip and tried to catch her breath. Already she could hear Sydney's light footsteps flitting up the stairs. Turning the lock, Serena jogged into her dressing room and began stripping off the very clothes Tony had pushed past hours earlier. The very thought rewound her to the first moment when he entered her, to the exultant, thrilled look in his eyes. The purity of his desire for her was intoxicating, intensifying the heat flooding her body as they rocked that poor Passat in a way Volkswagen never intended. She'd lost count of how many times she'd slammed her palms against the car's ceiling, her hands flailing in uncontrollable ecstasy.

“Mommy!” Sydney tapped eagerly at the door. “We're home! Let me in.”

In nothing but bra and panties, Serena stared into a mirror as she hastily removed her earrings. “Give me a minute, baby. I just came out of the bathroom.”

Sydney's tapping turned into solid knocks. “Mommy! Come on, I want to show you what Granny bought me. I helped pick it out!”

Serena stared over her shoulder, smiling at her little girl's loving impatience. “Okay, baby, here I come—” Turning her head away from the mirror, she was cut short by the sight of a scar on her neck. Distracted, she asked out loud, “What is that?” Leaning closer toward the mirror, her heart dropped as she realized this was no scar. It was a pure, undeniable passion mark, the sort little Willie Johnson always left behind after their junior high make-out sessions. In his fevered state, Tony had left an oval-shaped hickey inches below her left ear. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

Sydney's knocking hadn't slowed yet. “Mommy!” Her voice took on a distant quality, as if she were shouting back over her shoulder. “Granny! Mommy's not answering me!”

“Sydney!” Serena hustled to the other side of her door, leaned against it. “I'm coming, baby. Just be patient.” As the words spilled from her, she hopped over to her dresser and yanked out a thin red turtleneck.
Lord Jesus, it's high school all over again.

When Serena finally flung her bedroom door open, well concealed beneath the turtleneck and a matching pair of nylon sweatpants, Sydney jumped into her arms before taking a step back to strike a pose. Her movements showed the grace her ballet instructors had been drilling into Sydney for the past year. Clad in a pretty blue-and-white-striped jumper, the child was stylin' and proud of it. “See?” She asked, beaming.

“Ooh, Sydney, look at you.” Serena placed her hands against her hips and frowned playfully. “You trying to match your momma or something, looking so good? You didn't really pick that out all by yourself, did you?”

“Granny will tell you she helped me,” Sydney replied, winking confidentially, “but it was really all me. She just paid for it.”

“Oh, child, listen at you.” Jan snuck up from behind Sydney, peeking her head into the bedroom but staying at the threshold. She raised her eyebrows at Sydney before smiling at Serena. “She did find it first, though. I guess she gets her fashion sense from you. I'd have her and Dawn dressed like schoolmarms if it was my call.”

“Mark that on the record,” Serena replied, chuckling and feeling the sweat on her brow dry. “You said it this time, not me.”

“Well, that doesn't mean you get a pass on saying it again,” Jan said, crossing her arms. Her smile faded slightly as she asked, “Sleep well last night? You must have been knocked out when I called you. Both times.”

Serena drew Sydney up against her and played lovingly with her baby's long locks of hair. “I went out for a few hours,” she said. There'd been a time when she would have taken her mother's invitation to lie and accepted it with open arms. She was a grown
woman now, so she decided to take a pass on that. She might be picky about how much truth she'd share, but she wouldn't tell outright stories.

Jan shut her eyes momentarily, then looked at Sydney. “Will you go get your sister for a minute? I need to talk with your mother about big-girl stuff.”

As Sydney strode past Jan, Dawn's name on her lips, Serena felt as if she was losing a protective shield. She tried to smile without straining herself. “So, is this going to be a grand inquisition?”

Jan adjusted the fit of her wire-rimmed glasses against her narrow nose. “I'm just sensing an evasive spirit, Serena.” She crossed the threshold and came to within a couple of inches of her daughter. “You've suffered a stressful event, honey, learning about Jamie's child. Any woman would have a difficult time handling that.”

Serena stepped around Jan and reached for the bedroom door, which she shut with carefully restrained force. Turning back toward her mother, she didn't blink back the tears forming. “And if ‘any' woman would have a tough time, certainly a nut with my issues would, is that it, Mommy? You think I'm manic, again, don't you?”

“Serena, don't start trying to make me feel guilty for asking.” A bead of sweat rolled off of Jan's nose as she crossed her arms again. “Don't forget I have walked a few miles in your shoes.” The best explanation Serena had for her own depression was her mother's experience with what today would be called postpartum episodes. “You can handle
anything
if you do the right thing about your medication,” Jan said. “You
are
still on it, aren't you?”

“Of course.” The rattle in Serena's voice traveled down her throat into the pit of her stomach, and she swore to herself that she'd get back on the lithium this very morning. She felt as if her mother had X-ray glasses and could see through her turtleneck and sweatpants, as if Jan was well aware of the passion mark and even the DNA Tony had left inside and outside her body. The guilt pushed her to make another internal resolution; Monday morning she'd call Dr. Kristos and schedule an appointment to confess her relapse.

Jan reached a hand forward, a familiar look of loving pity rising in her eyes. “Serena, honey, let me—”

Serena turned away, her hands on her hips. “I said I was fine, Mommy.” She raised a hand, waving anxiously. “Thank you for watching the girls, but I'm fine now.”

Silence filled the room and Serena could feel her mother calculating the right reaction. “I'm here when you want to talk,” Jan said finally. “You know we love you very, very much.”

Still unable to face her mother, Serena waved a hand again. “I love you, too, Mommy. Bye.”

Serena spent the rest of the morning and afternoon attempting to atone for her wild night. She was too thrown off her regular schedule to get to church with the girls, but after taking her medicine and napping for an hour she fixed them lunch and then suggested they play outside. As the only nonathlete in the family, playing any sport with her daughters was Serena's ultimate sacrifice. Whether in tennis, volleyball, or kickball, Dawn and Sydney had become her superior by the respective ages of four and six. That wasn't even getting into basketball, the sport Dawn most excelled at and one Sydney was strong in in her own right.

As humiliating as the experience was, Serena stayed out on the family's driveway basketball court for nearly an hour. As she missed one shot after another and watched her girls sink the majority of theirs, a pinch of her morning unease wore off. The physical activity focused her mind unexpectedly; as she ran in panting pursuit of her daughters, the foolishness of her escapade with Tony slammed home. It wasn't even about loyalty to Jamie. It had nothing to do with him, really. She'd earned the right to relieve herself with someone else, in exactly the way he'd done for years.

No, it was all about the girls and her parents. None of them deserved the humiliation that would come with Serena's impulsively taking up with an old boyfriend. First, the girls would suffer the traumas of a broken home; then both they and Serena's parents would have to endure all the “told you so” comments from people who'd looked down on her back in the day. For people who defined Serena Height by her years of boozing,
drugging, and just plain being “common,” the disintegration of her ten-year marriage would fit right in. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The rising determination in Serena's spirit powered her as their game of twenty-one drew to a close. She guarded Dawn as closely as she could, matching her taller daughter's pace and keeping her from getting a clear shot off.

“Ah, you think you bad now, huh, Mom?” Laughing and pulling her hair back into a tighter ponytail, Dawn backed up to the edge of the court. “You can't handle this.”

“Maybe not,” Serena laughed, awaiting Dawn's next move on the balls of her feet. “I'll die trying to, though, so come on with it.” They had gone at it with this snappy patter all afternoon, and it felt so good. Dawn's attitude about everything had brightened in the days since she'd been enrolled at Rowan. Serena's optimism about the school had only increased after her opening conference with Audrey Jacobs, the school principal. As long as she could keep Tony from getting in the midst of things, Serena was confident she'd made the right decision.

As Dawn scored a three-pointer over her outstretched arms, Serena looked over her shoulder and saw a gleaming black Acura pull into their long driveway. The waning beams of sunlight bouncing off the car's front windshield, she couldn't make out the driver. Leaving the girls to take each other on for a minute, she walked out toward the front of the driveway. When she got a better look at the driver, she crossed her arms defensively.

Fritz X's car rolled to a stop. As Serena glared toward him, he gave a curt head nod before opening his car door and stepping onto the pavement. Short and skinny—more similar to Serena in build than to Jamie—her husband's best friend had apparently come straight from the local mosque. He had removed his bow tie, but otherwise Fritz was still clean enough in his white shirt, gray single-breasted suit, and black wingtips to sell
The Final Call
s on the nearest corner.

“Sister Serena,” he said, nodding his head ever so slightly in veiled deference. She and Fritz had talked many times about her
distaste for the false modesty she felt the brothers in the Nation showed women, and Fritz knew to go lightly with her. “You look like you're trying to ball something serious today.”

“You know me, Fritz,” Serena said, frowning playfully but staying rooted where she was, a good twenty yards from Fritz's car. “I'm just getting myself spanked out here, but a girl can use the exercise.”

“Well, that's a mature attitude,” Fritz replied, swinging his car door shut and strolling toward her. His hands clasped respectfully in front of him, he looked at her with smiling eyes. “What's new?”

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.
Serena didn't know why, but even though she didn't buy into an ounce of the Nation's theology, she always felt like she was in the presence of God when Fritz was around. A childhood friend of Jamie's and a former hanger-on who'd followed her husband to Cincinnati years ago, Fritz had converted to the Nation in the mid-nineties, while serving time for a drunk driving charge. The little fella had always been oddly cool and calm, but stripped of his most obvious bad habits he radiated a Zenlike calm. Serena didn't know anyone who was more patient, more open, or more apparently thoughtful.

“Serena?” By the time she realized she had never answered his question, Fritz was nearly whispering her own name into her ear. “Are you okay, sister?”

“Oh. I'm sorry, Fritz.” Serena cleared her throat and took a step back, reminding herself she had every right to show some 'tude right now, even to Fritz. “As you of all people should know, I've had a lot on my mind this week.”