Hostage

13

Friday, 8:46 P.M.

JANE

Her heart pounding, her lips tingling from the kiss, his voice a whisper in her ear there in the dark, parked outside her house.

“We would be good together. I’ve thought that for weeks, the two of us, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.”

He was a doctor at her hospital, newly divorced, two boys in high school, one a year older than Mandy, the other a year younger.

“You know it would be good.”

“It would.”

She loved the warm hardness of him, something that had been missing so long; this large male body, holding her, hers to hold. And a nice man. A nice man. They had the same sense of humor, wacky and sarcastic.

“Come home with me tonight. For a little while.”

Her first date with another man since Jeff moved out, almost a year; Jeff up there in Bristo, Jeff who had simply shut down on her, stopped feeling, pulled back, withdrawn, disappeared, whatever the hell. It felt like cheating.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t want the night to end. We don’t have to do anything. Not for at least five minutes.” She laughed. Couldn’t help herself.

He kissed her, and she kissed back, the sensuous play of lips and tongues. She felt drunk with it, and so SO alive.

“I told Amanda I would be in by now.”

“I’ll cry. Worse, I’ll sulk. It’s terrible when I sulk.”

Laughing, she put her hand over his face and pushed him away. Gently.

He sighed, and now they were serious.

“Okay. I had fun.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow. I’ll drop around the floor, find you.”

“I’m off tomorrow and the day after.”

“Thursday, then. That would be Thursday. I’ll see you then.”

She kissed him a final time, a quick peck, though he wanted more, then hurried into the empty house. Amanda was sleeping over at her friend Connie’s. She hadn’t told Amanda that she was going out, let alone that she would be in by now. That had been a lie.

The next day, Jane changed her hair color, going with the dark red, the red that’s almost black, wondering if it made her look younger, wondering what Jeff would think.

Everything that night, it had felt like cheating.

“Earth to Mom?”

Jane Talley focused on her daughter.

“Sorry.”

“What were you thinking?”

“If your father likes my hair.”

Amanda’s face darkened.

“Like you should care. Please.”

“All right. I was wondering if that mess is going to blow up in his face. Is that better?”

They had stopped at Le Chine, a Vietnamese-Thai place in a mall near the freeway, ordering pho ga, which was a rice noodle soup, and crispy shrimp, which was, well, crispy shrimp. They ate there often, sometimes with Jeff. Jane had toyed with the plain white rice, but that was it. She put down her fork.

“Let me tell you something.”

“Can’t we just go home? I don’t want to be here, anyway. I told him that.”

“Don’t say ‘him.’ He’s your father.”

“Whatever.”

“He’s having a hard time.”

“A year ago it was a hard time, now it’s just boring.”

Jane was so tired of keeping all the balls in the air, of being the supportive nurturing mother, of waiting for Jeff to come to his senses, that she wanted to scream. Some days, she did; she would press her face into the pillow and scream as hard as she could. A flash of anger shook her so deeply that if Mandy rolled her eyes one more time she would snatch up the fork and stab her.

“Let me tell you something. This has been hard on everybody; on you, on me, on him. He’s not like this. It was that goddamned job.”

“Here we go with the job.”

Jane called for the check, so livid that she didn’t trust herself to look at her daughter. As always, the owner, a woman named Po who knew they were Talley’s family, insisted that there was no charge. As always, Jane paid, this time quickly, in cash, not waiting for change.

“Let’s go.”

Jane walked out to the parking lot, still not looking at Amanda, her heels snapping like gunshots on the pavement. She got behind the wheel but did not start the car. Amanda slid in beside her, pulling the door. The night air smelled of sage and dust and garlic from the restaurant.

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“I’m trying not to kill you.”

When Jane figured out what she needed to say, she said it.

“I am scared to death that your father is finally going to give up and call it quits. I could see it in him tonight. Your father, he knows what this is doing to us, he’s not stupid. We talk, Amanda; he says he’s empty, I don’t know how to fill him; he says he’s dead, I don’t know how to bring him to life. You think I don’t try? Here we are, split apart, time passing, him wallowing in his goddamned depression; your father will end it just to spare us. Well, little miss, let me tell you something: I don’t want to be spared. I choose not to be spared. Your father used to be filled with life and strength, and I fell in love with that special man more deeply than you can know. You don’t want to hear about the job, fine, but only a man as good as your father could be hurt the way that job hurt him. If that’s me making excuses for him, fine. If you think I’m a loser by waiting for him, tough. I could have other men; I don’t want them. I don’t even know if he still loves me, but let me tell you something: I love him, I want this marriage, and I goddamned fucking well care whether or not he likes my hair.”

Jane, crying, saw that Amanda was crying, too, great honey drops inflating her eyes. She slumped back in the seat, bouncing her head on the headrest.

“Shit.”

Sharp rapping on the window startled her.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

Jane rolled down the window, just an inch, two. The man seemed embarrassed, leaning forward, one hand on the roof, the other on her door, his expression asking if there was anything he could do.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not my business. I heard crying.”

“That’s all right. We’re fine. Thank you.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“Thank you.”

She was reaching for the key when he jerked open the door, pushing her sideways into Amanda, the smell of donuts suddenly strong in the car.

Later, she would know that his name was Marion Clewes.