was horrified by how awful he looked. The whole left side of his face was bruised and swollen, and his upper lip was badly swollen and looked purplish blue.
He was on his way down for more ice when the front doorbell rang, five or six times in rapid succession. It was probably Dana, who’d rushed out of the house without her keys. He hoped she hadn’t actually gone to Sharon’s house, that she’d done what he should’ve done earlier- taken a walk around the neighborhood to calm down and get hold of herself. He had no idea what he’d say to her, if there was anything left to say.
Without looking through the peephole, he opened the door and saw Sharon’s husband, Mike.
Mike looked enraged- eyes widened, jaw clenched- and there was no mystery why. He was a big, stocky guy- he’d been on the wrestling team in college at Stony Brook- and Adam feared he was in for another beating.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he said, resorting immediately to begging. “I’m so, so sorry. Please, please don’t hurt me.”
Mike looked slightly horrified now, as if he’d noticed what Adam’s face looked like, and he said, “How’d your face get like that? Your psycho wife do that to you?”
Adam didn’t know why Mike thought Dana had beaten him up, but he didn’t feel like getting into the actual explanation. “No, it wasn’t Dana,” he said. “It was… I’m just so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
Mike glared at Adam hard and then said, “You’re both pathetic. And you better tell your psycho wife to stay away from my wife, because next time she shows up at my house, next time she even rings the bell, I’m calling the fuckin’ cops.”
“Oh, no, what did she do?”
“She tried to strangle my wife, that’s what she did.”
“Oh my God,” Adam said. “Is she okay?”
“Sharon’s fine, but your wife should be locked up at fuckin’ Bellevue.” Mike poked his index finger hard against Adam’s chest. “And you better stay the hell away from my wife, you son of a bitch, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
He let that not exactly veiled threat linger for several seconds, keeping his index finger right where it was, jamming it in with more force for emphasis, and then he stormed away without looking back.
Adam remained there with the door open for a long time- he wasn’t sure how long- and then he shut the door, feeling thoroughly distraught.
Marissa was still up in her room, blasting music now. Adam had no idea how he was going to rebuild his relationship with his daughter, how he’d ever regain her respect and trust. His relationship with Dana seemed even more hopeless. When she came home, if she came home, what could they say to each other? He felt like his marriage was almost certainly over. He knew from experience that when two people behave so hurtfully toward one another, they reach a point where reconciliation is impossible, and he and Dana had gone way, way beyond that point.
In the kitchen, Adam saw the note from Tony on the counter. He read it again, in a calmer, less emotional mood than he’d been in before. While the note still angered him and made him feel extremely manipulated and victimized, he was able to read it more objectively. Earlier he’d realized that the note looked almost exactly like the threatening note that had been left at the house- it was on the same plain white paper, was written in the same way- and he’d thought that Tony had only left the earlier note to scare him. But what if there was more to it than that? What if Tony really had been the second intruder in the house that night? Maybe there was some connection between Tony and Carlos Sanchez. Or maybe Tony had been over to the house sometime and met Gabriela and conspired to rob the house with Carlos.
The idea that Tony knew Gabriela and Carlos seemed far-fetched, but the facts were that a note had been left at his house, possibly by the person who’d participated in the robbery, and now an identical- looking note had been left by Tony.
Adam did what he should’ve done right away, before he’d confronted Tony and before he’d acted out so selfishly and thoughtlessly with Dana. He called Detective Clements to let him know about the possible lead.
Her dad and Sharon Wasserman having sex? Marissa was at her desk in her room, staring blankly at her PC monitor, mindlessly scrolling through her iTunes playlist, trying to picture her dad and Sharon doing it. The idea of her dad having sex with anyone was hard to believe, and not just in the way all kids get disgusted by the idea of their parents having sex. With her dad it was actually hard to believe. He was such a serious, analytical person; Marissa just couldn’t imagine him letting loose, having that kind of passion. Especially recently, the last several years, he’d seemed totally asexual. It was particularly hard to imagine him having an affair-a one- day stand- with Sharon Wasserman, of all people. Sharon was so laid- back, so outgoing, so cool, so totally unlike Marissa’s father. And Sharon and Mike had always seemed like the perfect happy couple. Why would Sharon throw all of that away?
Marissa’s cell rang. It was Hillary saying, “Did you just call?” “Yeah, I got your voice mail, but I didn’t leave a message,” Marissa said. “Where are you?”
“The city,” Hillary said, “having drinks at Wetbar with Brendon. What’s up?” Brendon was some supposedly very cute guy Hillary had met one night in the city whom Marissa hadn’t met yet.
“Did you hear what’s going on?” Marissa asked.
“What’s going on with what?”
“I guess not then.”
“What is it?”
“I have some bad news for you,” Marissa said. “Well, not bad news… weird n ews.Fucked- up news.Veryfucked- up news.”
“Can you tell me already?” Hillary sounded very concerned. Figuring she might as well just come out with it, Marissa said, “My dad and your mom had sex.”
Saying it out loud, it seemed even more absurd, almost laughable. There was a long silence, then Hillary said, “No way.”
“Way.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“Swear to God, I just found out. It’s so fucked up. My dad found out about my mom and Tony too. My parents looked like they wanted to kill each other.” “I don’t believe you,” Hillary said, sounding a little edgy.
“Why would I call you up to lie about-”
“I don’t know, but it’s not funny.”
Marissa tried to sound ultraserious. “I am not lying.”
“I have to go,” Hillary said coldly.
“Hill, come on, don’t-”
“Bye,” Hillary said and ended the call.
Marissa was pissed off that Hillary had hung up on her like that- talk about shooting the messenger- but she could understand her reaction. The affair was hard to believe, and it had to be even harder for Hillary to accept because her life had always been so perfect. Her parents had always gotten along so well, and her family had always been one of the least dysfunctional families in the whole neighborhood.
“Welcome to the club,” Marissa said, and then the doorbell rang. She went to the edge of the landing and kneeled down to get an unobstructed view of the front door, where her father was talking to- holy shit- Mike Wasserman, Hillary’s dad. He sounded like he was threatening her father- oh no, this day was going from bad to worse. Marissa hoped her dad wasn’t going to get even more beaten up; who’d beaten him up the first time, anyway? Did her mom do that to him? She’d seemed angry enough to beat him up, that was for sure.
Marissa returned to her room and clicked on a random song on iTunes- ironically and annoyingly, Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel,” a song about a guy cheating on his girlfriend.
She turned down the music and called Xan.
“Hey,” Xan said.
It was so great to hear his voice, the voice of a rational person. “I know you’re busy painting, and I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s some crazy stuff happening here.” She told him about how her father had found out about her mother’s affair with Tony the trainer and then had confessed his own affair.
“It’s been a total mess,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Man, that really sucks.”
