Barefoot: A Novel

Brenda reached into her bag and grabbed a book—one of the nearly impossible to find paperbacks of The Innocent Impostor that she had ordered for her class—and flung it. She threw it, she told the university counsel in her deposition, just to throw something. Have you never thrown anything in anger? Have you never felt that impulse? Brenda was not aiming the book at Augie Fisk or Mrs. Pencaldron or the painting. But hit the painting it did. (Lower left quadrant, three-quarter-of-an-inch “divot” or “gouge.”) Brenda sucked in her breath, horrified, and Mrs. Pencaldron shrieked, and Augie Fisk said, “Oh, shit. You’ve real y done it now.”

Mrs. Pencaldron said, “I’m cal ing security. Block the door, Augie. We are not letting her leave. She has to answer to this.”

Brenda gazed at the painting through her tears. She understood it perfectly now. The splatter, the mess, the tangle, the chaos. That painting was her life.

Settle, she thought. It was a word with multiple meanings. On the one hand, it was comforting. The matter would be settled, final y. Cleaned up, laid to rest. Champion University v. Brenda Lyndon would become another file in the law offices of Brian Delaney, Esquire, closed away in a drawer.

But settle also meant doing without. She would have to settle for a life excluded from academia, and for a life without Walsh.

Her heart longed for him, her body ached for his arms around her. She wanted to hear his voice; it didn’t matter, particularly, what he said. But Brenda couldn’t make herself cal him; her relationship with Walsh was intertwined with the loss of her career, her life’s work. Brenda hurt now, but it would hurt more to talk with Walsh, to relive, day in and day out, the humiliation of that afternoon with Suzanne Atela, Bil Franklin, Amrita, Augie Fisk, Mrs. Pencaldron, and, final y, campus security.

Where was she going to find the money? Could she declare bankruptcy? Would she be forced to ask her parents? In Brenda’s mind, a hundred and twenty-five thousand dol ars was no different from a hundred and sixty— they were both unattainable. She would have to sel her half of the cottage, but she couldn’t drop that on Vicki now—and what if Vicki and Ted, for whatever reason, didn’t have the money to buy Brenda out? Would Brenda force a sale of the whole property? She could just hear the thoughts of Vicki and her parents: Brenda is book smart, yes, but she has no common sense. She is unable to make her way in the world. We always have to bail her out.

How to defend herself? What else could she do? One thing. There had always been only one place for Brenda to hide. Lowly Worm, bookworm, nose always in a book. She pul ed her yel ow legal pad out of her bag, poured a cup of coffee from her thermos, and started to write.

It was nothing he would ever be able to use on his resume, but Josh was proud of his Wiffle bal pitching ability. Josh gave the bal perfect arc and speed—and in addition, Josh had taught Blaine stance and swing so that Blaine hit the bal nearly every time. Yes, the Wiffle bal was satisfying, it was one of the things Josh would miss most about babysitting, and he was glad that he’d been able to show off his pitching prowess for Vicki.

Vicki was feeling better, she looked healthier and stronger, and Josh found himself wanting to spend more time with her. She was his boss, yes, but she was also his friend and he found her easy to talk to and fun to be with. Josh’s relationship with Brenda had basical y been whittled down to pleasantries and an occasional short conversation about the progress of her screenplay—and Josh’s relationship with Melanie had morphed into a whole, huge, complicated and secret thing. Josh’s feelings for Melanie were running amok; they were growing like some crazy, twisting vine, strangling his heart. He wanted to talk to someone about Melanie—and strangely, the person who came to mind was Vicki. But this was out of the question.

Melanie was thirteen weeks pregnant. Her stomach held the slightest swel —rounded, smooth, tight. She was luminous—always smiling, radiating good, sweet, sexy Melanie-ness. He was crazy about her, he couldn’t wait for the day to pass, for night to come, for his father to switch off the TV and retire to his bedroom, because this was when Josh left the house, driving out to ’Sconset with a sense of fervent anticipation. Melanie.

Since the beginning of August, his longing for her had intensified. One night, she didn’t come to meet him at al . Josh waited patiently in the beach parking lot until eleven o’clock, then he drove, as stealthily as possible, past the house on Shel Street. The house was dark and buckled up for the night. In the morning, Melanie told him in a quick whisper that she had simply fal en asleep.

Simply? he thought. What had developed between them was wel beyond simple.

She admitted to him that she was talking to Peter. Not just the one time and not just to discuss “household matters.” He knew about the baby; she had told him.

“I had to,” she said. “He’s the father. He deserves to know.”

Josh disagreed. “Is he stil having the affair?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Wel , what does he say when he cal s?”

“He says he misses me. He asks when I’m coming home.”

“That’s just because of the baby,” Josh said. “He cares about you now because you’re pregnant.”

Josh said these words without realizing how hurtful they were. Melanie’s eyes widened in shock. Right away, he knew he should apologize, he did apologize, and Melanie said, “No, no, you’re right. I can’t trust him. I don’t trust him. He’s only cal ing me because I’m pregnant.”

“He’s stupid,” Josh said. And when Melanie didn’t respond, he said, “It might be better if you didn’t tel me about the phone cal s anymore.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sure thing. I just don’t want to keep anything from you.”

But this wasn’t exactly true. What she kept from Josh was how the phone cal s made her feel and what she intended to do about Peter once the summer ended and she returned to Connecticut. Peter was her husband, yes, but was she going to take him back? Melanie never said, and Josh was afraid to ask. He needed someone to talk to,