“I can see why,” Peter said. He’d proceeded to make himself comfortable, changing into shorts and a polo shirt right in front of Melanie. Watching him undress had seemed strange, and she’d nearly excused herself from the room. But he was her husband. How many times had she seen him undress before? Hundreds. Thousands.
“Who is it?” Peter said. “Some rich guy with a house on the beach?”
“I’m not tel ing you who it is,” Melanie said. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“It does concern me. You’re my wife. You’re carrying my child.”
Melanie poured herself a club soda. What would she do about Josh? Would she go to him tonight? Would she tel him? Was Melanie prepared to go back with Peter? She felt like the answer should be no, but he was her
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Melanie said to Brenda and Vicki. “And I’m going to ask you to respect that. I’m playing this by ear. I’m going to hear what the man has to say for himself. I’l think about it. I’l make him go home tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Vicki said.
“And there’s something else I want to ask you.”
“What?” Brenda said.
“Please don’t tel Josh that Peter came here.”
“Why not?” Brenda said.
“Why not?” Vicki said.
They were both looking at her.
Melanie took a sip of club soda and fervently wished for some vodka.
“Al the things I’ve said to Josh about Peter, he’d feel like you two do, but he’s young, you know, and he’s a guy. He won’t get it.”
“You have feelings for him,” Vicki said. Her eyes were so dead-on certain she could have dril ed holes through a two-by-four. “You have feelings for Josh.”
Brenda’s expression bloomed with what looked like childish delight. “You mean
Melanie could feel her face turning the color of the tomatoes in the Caprese salad. She forced a laugh. “For God’s sake, Vick. Would you please give me a break?”
“Am I wrong?” Vicki said. Her tone was more curious than judgmental, but that would change if she knew how far things between Melanie and Josh had progressed.
“Just please don’t mention it to Josh, okay?” Melanie said. “Please keep Peter’s visit between us.”
“
“Brenda,” Vicki said.
“What? You’re the one who said it.”
The front screen door slammed. The women al turned. Peter said, “Oops, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”
There was conversation at dinner—Melanie may even have participated in it—but afterward, she didn’t recal a thing that was said. Her mind was whol y occupied with the enormous mess she’d made of things. It was a bal of yarn, tangled in her lap. Slowly, she thought, she would have to unravel it.
After dinner, Peter did the dishes. Vicki excused herself to give the kids a bath, read them stories, and put them to bed. Brenda lingered in the kitchen for a while, finishing up the bottle of wine, watching Melanie a little too closely. Final y, she gave up, much to Melanie’s relief. Melanie and Peter were polite to each other—washing the dishes, drying them and putting them away, wiping down the Formica, wrapping up the leftovers—
they were too boring for Brenda.
“I’m going to read,” she said. “Good night.”
It was nearly nine o’clock. Dark outside, now that it was August.
“Want to go for a walk?” Peter said. “I’ve been here al day and I haven’t seen the beach.”
“Have you cal ed for a hotel room?” Melanie said.
He walked toward her, wrapped his arms around her waist. “No.”
“You’re not staying here, Peter.” Melanie tried to lean back, away from him, but he hugged her tight. She held her body rigid, resisting. In an hour, she would have to sneak out to see Josh.
“You have two beds. I’l just sleep in the other bed. Al very innocent.”
“No,” Melanie said. “The answer is no.”
“I love you, Mel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He bent down and kissed her hair. “I’m sorry about Frances.”
“I can’t even stand to hear her name, you know that?” Melanie said. “Thinking about her makes me want to vomit. It makes me break out in a rash.”
