Barefoot: A Novel

“No?” Vicki turned around.

Josh shook his head, or he meant to shake his head, but he was too busy staring at Peter Patchen, who was very tal , who was eating blueberry pancakes that in other circumstances would have been meant for Josh. Peter Patchen’s hair was wet, his hair was very black, it was Chinese-black. The man was Asian. So this couldn’t be Peter Patchen because Melanie had never mentioned that Peter Patchen was Asian. Though why would she? Peter Patchen was wearing a white T-shirt with writing on it, some kind of event T-shirt, Corporate Chal enge or some such. And shorts.

Regular khaki shorts. He was in bare feet. So he was staying here, he had stayed here, he had showered here. Josh cast his eyes around the room

—he was a detective, looking for clues, and too, he was looking for Melanie. Where was Melanie? He wanted to see her. She couldn’t keep a secret and she didn’t know how to lie, so her face would tel him what was going on. But come on! Josh told himself. It was apparent what was going on—Peter Patchen, the cheating husband, was here on Nantucket, here in this house, eating pancakes meant for Josh and buddying up to Blaine—asking him about his Matchbox car, which, it just so happened, was a miniature Shelby Cobra that Josh had bought for Blaine when Vicki was so sick with her fever. Peter was holding the car now, turning it in the light, whistling with admiration.

It was very, very hot in the kitchen.

“Hey, Josh.” Brenda passed by him, lightly touching his back, on her way to her coffee. “You met Peter? Melanie’s husband?”

“Yep,” Josh said. Be careful was flashing in neon lights behind his eyelids, and this flashing was accompanied by a high-pitched ringing, like an alarm. But stil , he couldn’t help himself. He said, “Where is Melanie, anyway?”

Both Vicki and Brenda turned to look at him. He could feel them looking, but his eyes were trained on Peter Patchen, Melanie’s husband.

If he answers, Josh thought, I will beat the shit out of him.

But everyone was quiet—extra quiet?—and al Josh could hear was bacon sizzling in the pan, hissing and spitting like it was angry.

Blaine looked up. “She went for a walk,” he said.

What to do? Josh had taken care of the boys for seven weeks, and yet he stood in the kitchen with Vicki making breakfast and Brenda fil ing her thermos with coffee, and Porter and Blaine, and Peter Patchen, who was devouring pancakes like some kind of hungry animal—and Josh couldn’t imagine what his next word or deed should be. Continue on as normal? It was impossible.

Vicki brought a plate of bacon, draining on paper towels, to the table. “Josh, are you okay?”

“You look sick,” Brenda said. “Do you feel al right?”

“Fine,” Josh said.

“Do you want to get stuff ready for the beach?” Vicki said.

“Beach!” Blaine shouted. He looked at Vicki, then at Josh. “Is it al right if Peter comes?”

If Peter comes? Josh thought. He should tel everyone he was sick. He should go home.

“I just went to the beach,” Peter said. “And I have to leave today.”

“Leave today?” Blaine said. “You just got here.”

“This was a quick visit,” Peter said.

“To see Melanie?” Blaine said.

“To see Melanie,” Peter said.

One more word, Josh thought, and I’m going to kill him.

Vicki took Josh’s elbow. “Why don’t you get stuff ready for the beach,” she said. Her voice was kind and indulgent.

She knows, he thought.

“Okay,” he said. “Right.”

Towels, cooler with lunch, snacks and juice, lotion, umbrel a, blanket, orange shovel, pacifier, buckets, change of clothes, extra diapers. Josh knew the routine by heart, he could do it in his sleep, and yet it took him forever to pul it al together. Blaine was chomping at the bit, Porter was in a smiling mood; it should have been ful -steam ahead. But Josh dragged his feet. He was waiting for Melanie to get home. Where was she? He tried to surreptitiously peer into the black overnight bag behind the couch. This was Peter’s bag? Josh felt grateful that it was behind the couch and not in Melanie’s bedroom. Josh wanted to say something to Peter before he left—but what? Peter was stil at the kitchen table yapping to Vicki about this person and that person, friends and enemies back in Connecticut and “the city.”

Josh stood at the front door. He tried to hoist an arm. “Okay, we’re going.”

Vicki looked over. “Okay.”

Peter did not acknowledge Josh’s impending departure. You’d better not be here when I get back, Josh thought. Or I will kill you.

“Do you need anything from the market?” Josh asked. “On the way home?”

Vicki smiled mildly. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Josh said. Where was Melanie? “See you.”