Barefoot: A Novel

“You have to have dinner with me. Please?”

“You don’t get it, Peter. You hurt me. You broke my heart. You destroyed my trust in you.”

“I know, Mel, I know. I’m trying to tel you it’s over and I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. Just let me stay and have dinner with you. That’s al I’m asking for. Dinner with you. Please, Mel.”

“Fine,” Melanie said. “But we eat here.”

“With Vicki? And . . .”

“Her sister, Brenda. Yes.”

“Ahhhh,” Peter said. He didn’t want to have dinner with Vicki and Brenda, of course he didn’t, but this was the first test. “Okay. Sure thing.” He hoisted his overnight bag. “Would it be okay if I changed my clothes?”

“Peter!”

Melanie ground her molars together as Blaine launched himself into Peter’s arms. Here was something Melanie hadn’t considered. Vicki and Brenda might not mention Peter’s presence to Josh (she would ask them not to, for what reason, Melanie had yet to conjure)—but Blaine would tel Josh immediately, first thing.

Peter laughed. “At least someone is happy to see me. How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Good,” Blaine said.

Peter set Blaine down. “You’re getting tal . How old are you now? Seven?”

Blaine beamed. “I’m four and a half.”

“See? You’re so tal I thought you were seven.”

“Did you come with my dad?” Blaine asked.

“No,” Peter said. “I came by myself. I wanted to see Melanie.”

Blaine looked puzzled. “What for?”

“Melanie’s my wife. Remember?”

“She is?”

“Wel . . . ,” Melanie said.

“What?” Peter said. “You are my wife.”

Vicki and Brenda were as quiet as thieves in the kitchen as they pul ed dinner together. They had been shocked by Peter’s presence, but Melanie couldn’t tel if they were happy for her that her husband had come back, or if they were angry and disapproving. Brenda had been more visibly stunned, Vicki more openly cynical with Peter, but she had known him a long time.

“And the baby in here,” Peter said, patting Melanie’s bel y, “is my baby and Melanie’s baby.”

“It is?” Blaine said.

“Amazing,” Brenda said from the kitchen. Her voice was just loud enough for Melanie and Peter to hear.

Angry, Melanie thought. Disapproving.

“Peter brought some wine,” Melanie said. “Brenda, would you like some? Vicki?”

“Yes,” Brenda said.

“Yes,” Vicki said.

Melanie poured three glasses. She was dying to take a sip herself, but no, she wouldn’t.

Blaine said, “Want to go outside and throw rocks with me?”

“Sure,” Peter said. “I love to throw rocks.”

The front screen door slammed behind them.

“I’d like to throw some rocks at him,” Vicki said.

“Vick . . . ,” Melanie said.

“Sorry,” Vicki said. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“I don’t feel sorry,” Brenda said. “You spent so many weeks feeling miserable because of that jerk, I think we have a right to be angry. I mean, what is the deal with the show-up-out-of-the-blue tactics?”

“He knew if he asked, I’d say no.”

“You should have told him to go to hel ,” Brenda said.

“He’s not staying here,” Melanie said.

“He got a hotel?” Vicki said.

“I think he’s planning on staying out by the airport,” Melanie said, though she knew Peter had done nothing about booking a room. And not only that, but Peter’s overnight bag was resting possessively on the other twin bed in Melanie’s room.

“I see they gave you the nun’s quarters,” Peter had said when he walked into Melanie’s room. “Do you and your lover share a twin bed?”

“I told you, he doesn’t stay here.”