Vicious

drive her home. I—I wasn’t comfortable about it, because clearly she was flirting with me at the restaurant. But we’d taken her car, and I didn’t want her to get in an accident….”

“Always the Good Samaritan,” Susan murmured numbly. She didn’t like where this was going at all. This wasn’t like Walt. She kept waiting for him to burst out laughing and say it was all a joke—a very, very stupid joke. But he was still standing over by the door in his underwear, gazing down at the floor.

“I parked in front of her place over in Wallingford, and she invited me in to wait for a cab.” Walt finally looked at her. “But I said no thanks. I gave her the car keys and I was just about to climb out of the car, and that’s when she kissed me.”

“On the lips?”

He nodded glumly.

“Did you kiss her back?”

“For only about five seconds,” he whispered. “Then I pulled away and got out of the car.”

Dazed, Susan stared at him. “But you kissed her back,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry, honey.” He shook his head. “I told her I was happily married and very much in love with you, and that this wasn’t ever going to happen again. Then I tried to make some kind of joke, because it was just so damn awkward, and I got the hell out of there….”

He kept saying he wasn’t interested in Melissa. He didn’t mean to kiss her back, it “just sort of happened.” He was sorry he didn’t tell her about it, but he didn’t want to upset her over something that meant nothing to him. But the trouble was Melissa had called him at the office the next day to apologize. Then she’d wanted to buy him lunch just to show how sorry she was. He’d given her a polite “No thanks, not a good idea.” But Melissa wasn’t giving up that easily. She was on a campaign. And that was why he didn’t want to go to the damn Fourth of July party.

Susan sat there in a stupor, growing angrier and angrier. She still couldn’t believe he’d kissed that woman back—and for five seconds. It probably went on longer than that, but he didn’t want to admit it. If they hadn’t been invited to this party, would he have ever bothered telling her any of this?

She finally got to her feet. “I need to get out of here, I need to be alone,” she said in a low voice. “You can serve up the kids their dinner. Make up any excuse you want for where I’ve gone. I promised Michael I’d help with his math homework. So you’ll need to do it now. I’m not sure when I’m coming back—”

“Wait, Sue, please,” he said, moving toward her.

She shook her head. “Get the hell out of my way,” she growled, brushing past him as she headed for the door. “I need to be alone. I need to get out of here before I hit you or something….”

Then Susan hurried out of the bedroom. She ducked out the kitchen door, so the boys didn’t see her leave. She drove to a lookout point on Fifteenth, near Lakeview Cemetery. The little park had benches and a panoramic view of Husky Stadium, Lake Washington, and Bellevue. Directly below the park was a wooded ravine with trails. It was just the kind of remote spot she wouldn’t have taken Michael during the heyday of Mama’s Boy. But that night, Susan sat there for three hours. She managed to cool off. It wouldn’t be easy forgiving Walt, but she would. And going to that Fourth of July party would be terribly uncomfortable for him.

But go they would—Walt, the boys, and her. Susan saw to it.

Driving to the O’Maras’ on July Fourth, Susan balanced the Tater Tot casserole in her lap and tried not to kick the two six-packs of Redhook India Pale Ale at her feet in the front passenger seat. Though she and Walt had pretty much made up, he’d been tense and taciturn all day. Clearly, he saw going to this party—with his college friends and Melissa in attendance—as some kind of punishment. And it was. Except for when he yelled at Michael for teasing Mattie in his car seat, Walt said nothing for the duration of the ride. Susan didn’t utter a word either.

She looked for Melissa when they got to the O’Maras’ home, but the pretty redhead yoga instructor wasn’t yet among the thirty or so guests. The O’Maras had a large wooden deck off their living room, and that was where Jim was barbecuing. Though only on the second floor, the condominium stood on a hillside, so the deck was at least four stories above the ground. They looked over the treetops at the Space Needle on the horizon. An occasional skyrocket or firework from some other private party burst against the darkening sky.

Walt opened up a Pale Ale, while she had a Coke and watched for new arrivals. After three doorbell rings and three more couples made their entrance, Melissa finally appeared—in a clingy blue and white striped halter-top dress that she’d accented—no doubt, for Independence Day—with a red belt. She had her stupid 7-Up cake with her—in a Tupperware cake container. Making her way to the kitchen to unload the cake, she smiled and waved at Susan—one of those, Hi-haven’t-got-time-to-talk-now deals. But minutes later, Susan watched her hug Walt out on the deck, kiss his cheek, and then whisper something in his ear.

“She said, ‘Why haven’t you called me?’ and ‘We really need to talk, handsome,’” Walt told Susan under his breath during dinner.

“She called you handsome?” Susan whispered. “She was flirting with you while the kids and I were right there across the room?”

She waited until after the horrid 7-Up cake was served for dessert (even the kids didn’t like it) before she approached Melissa, who, in a rare moment, stood by herself near the guest-room door. She was sipping a glass of red wine. “Melissa, can I show you something?”

“Why, sure, Susan,” she said with a big phony smile. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all night long. I just had a smidge, but your Tater Tot casserole was to die for!”

“Well, thank you.” Susan opened the guest-room door, then nodded toward the bed. A pretty, brunette teenager was sitting there with an open book in her lap. Two toddlers sat on one side of her, and Mattie was curled up on the other side, just starting to doze off. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to really see my boys,” Susan whispered. “That sleepyhead is our two-year-old, Matthew….”

“Oh, he’s a darling,” Melissa said.

“Isn’t he though?” Susan replied, quietly closing the door. She pointed to Michael, out on the deck. Holding a sparkler, Michael turned and smiled at her. “And that’s our eight-year-old, Michael. He looks a lot like his dad, doesn’t he?”

“He sure does,” Melissa agreed. “And just look at those eyelashes. He’s going to be a real heartbreaker.”

“Speaking of breaking hearts,” she said, pulling Melissa to the corner of the living room. “Now that you’ve seen my children and talked a little bit with me, I hope you understand what I’m about to say, Melissa. If you come near my husband or try to call him again, I’m going to come after you. And you’ll have a very difficult time teaching your yoga class with two broken arms.”

Melissa let out a bewildered laugh. But then she must have seen the seriousness in Susan’s eyes, because the smile vanished from her face.

“Do you understand?” Susan whispered. “I know what’s been going on. Walt told me everything. I’m only going to say this to you once. Lay off.”

Melissa stared at her and nodded. “All right,” she murmured. Her hand was shaking a bit as she gulped down the rest of her wine. Her eyes avoided Susan’s. “I—I’m really sorry….”

“I’m sorry, too,” Susan said quietly. “And I’m sorry you’re going through a difficult time right now. I hope you figure out some other way to cope with it.”

Susan patted her arm and headed toward the deck to join Walt, Michael, and several others who were waving around sparklers. Walt eyed her nervously. To take the edge off, he’d consumed at least three India Pale Ales. She wasn’t sure of the exact count, but he was feeling no pain. “Is everything all right, my love?” he asked. He’d just started to slip into his fake British accent, which he took on whenever he got tipsy. That was how Susan knew he was too drunk to drive. He didn’t stagger, or slur his words, or get loud; he just got British. And it was the worst imitation of Brit she’d ever heard. His old college friends were used to it, and like Susan they knew, when Walt started referring to other guys as blokes, it was time to cut him off. He hadn’t gotten that far along just yet.

“Everything’s peachy,” she said, sliding an arm around him. “Don’t look now, but I believe Melissa is making her excuses.”

The redhead was indeed talking to their hostess and moving toward the door with an empty Tupperware cake container under her arm. She glanced over her shoulder at the two of them. Susan just smiled and nodded.

“So all is forgiven?” he whispered.

Susan just nodded.