Page 21 of The Cabin
“It’s bullshit. You deserve to know.”
“One time, when we were first married, he lied about being sick. Toughed it out, pretended he was fine. And then his appendix burst and he almost died. I was so mad at him, Tess, you don’t even know. He wasn’t sorry at all. Not a word of apology. Told me he did it for me and he’d do it again. And he has, our whole marriage. He refuses to let me nurse him. Says I do it enough for work, so he’s going to be my husband, not my patient.”
“Wow.”
“Won’t even cop to having a damn cold.” I speak like I have a stuffed-up nose: “He’d dalk lide dis, and have the balls to be like, naw, I’m fine. Just a stuffy nose. Flu? Waits till he can’t stand up before admitting he’s sick, and then he locks himself in his office with a water bottle and an iPad and doesn’t come out till he’s on his feet again.”
“I knew he was stubborn, but damn.”
“So I guess I should expect this from him, but…” I shake my head again. “I have no proof that’s what it is. I just know he’s not okay.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t make him tell me. I mean, I can put down an ultimatum or something but…I don’t want to do that.”
“So you’re just gonna wait him out?”
“He’s not lying out of malice, or…or to like, hide something he shouldn’t be doing. It’s not a white lie, because that’s bullshit anyway, but it’s…I don’t know. He has good reasons, in his mind. I don’t know, Tess. I just don’t.”
We both cry, then.
“What a pair we are today, huh?” Tess says.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “No kidding.”
“Call in tomorrow,” she suggests. “Get hammered with me.”
I shake my head. “I think I have to start saving up my liver function. Just a hunch. Plus, we’re already short-staffed tomorrow, that’s why I’m working a double—I’m covering for Rachel.”
“Fine. Lame-ass.”
“Not lame—responsible.”
“Lame.”
“Shut up.”
A companionable, sorrowful, angry silence.
“I’m gonna sell the house. Get a condo downtown.” She flaps a hand. “It’s too much house for one little old lady.”
“Little old lady my ass.”
“It’s too much house.”
“I know.”
“Nads?”
“Tess-icles?”
“You know I’ll be here for you. No matter what.”
“I know. Same.”
“Am I allowed to be angry at him for you?”
“No.”
“You’re too nice.”
“He’s my husband.”
A sigh. “Yes, he is.”
“Condoms, Tess. They’re not just for pregnancy. You also don’t want syphilis.”
“Shush. I know. I’m forty-two, hon, I know how safe sex works.”
“You do not. You’ve never slept with anyone but Clint.”
“Have too.”
I sit up and look at her. “You have? Who?”
“We were on a break.” She snickers at the Friends reference. “It was freshman year of college. I fucked a guy on my debate team.”
“Oh. Oh god. And how was that?”
She snorts. “There’s a reason I went back to Clint. He’s a douchebag, and I’m realizing he always has been. But god, the man can screw like nobody’s business.”
“Well, like more than just your business, it seems.”
“Too soon, Nads. Too soon.”
“No it isn’t.”
She snickers. “No, it’s not.”
I sigh. “I’m gonna go.”
“You should wait a bit longer. It’s only a few blocks, but still.”
“I’ll walk.”
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“We could borrow Rufus. Toby is always awake till at least two.”
Toby: Her gay next-door neighbor owns Rufus, a Rottweiler the size of a 747. The dog is sweet as sugar to Tess and me, but to anyone else? Don’t get too close, is all I’m saying.
“Good plan.”
Toby answers the door wearing a pink kimono, sipping something vividly orange from a martini glass. “Ladies? Here to party, are we?” His voice is deep, smooth, and masculine—not a hint of a lisp or affectation. You wouldn’t know his orientation from talking to him, or seeing him in his business suit at nine in the morning.
“We already did our partying,” Tess says.
He glances up and to the side, thinking. “Oh. That party.”
“Right.”
“And you’re out of booze? I’m making these martinis. I could whip up another batch.”
“Actually, we just need to borrow Rufus so we can walk Nadia home.”
“Ah. By all means. Rufus!” He calls the dog like you’d call for a person in another room. There’s a scrabbling of paws on hardwood, and a short-furred brown bear appears next to Toby. “You want to go for a walk?”
Rufus barks, and I feel the bass of it in my gut.
“Say his name, pat your thigh, and tell him to heel,” Toby tells Tess. “He’ll stick right by you.”
I eye the dog nervously. I’ve only been with him around Toby. “Um. Do we need a leash?”
“Nah. A cat could run in front of you—unless you tell him to go, he’ll stay on your heel. I paid a shitload of money in dog training, but it’s worth it.”
“And if someone makes trouble?” I ask.
He laughs, a morbid chuckle. “You call me, and we get rid of the body.”
