A Way to Get By Page 14

  My skin was on fire, more from Eddie’s touch than the heat of the day. I arched my back to meet his hand, scraping my fingernails over his shoulder blade. “More than anything.”

  He pressed his hips against mine, already hard, but holding off, waiting. “I need you too, Bren. Now. Bad.”

  The look on his face was pure longing. Half-lidded eyes staring right through me, slack lips quivering as he fought for restraint. I loved when he held out like this. From past experience, I knew that he could do so indefinitely. I knew he planned on exploring every inch of my body—teasing me into oblivion in the process—before he would ever allow the focus to shift to himself. He always made a point to let me know how much he truly wanted me, made me feel like the only woman in the world to have such an effect on him.

  I felt the same way about him.

  Nobody loved me like Eddie did.

  * * *

  We were still trying to catch our breath as we lay on the floor, two sweaty heaps of panting, sated flesh. I swiped a hand over my damp hair as Eddie let out with a contented sigh and interlaced his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, fairly pleased with himself.

  The light filtering into the room through the window had gone hazy, finally easing away from a blinding white as it turned into a soft amber glow. I was exhausted, but it was barely eight o’clock. Too early to call it a night. “We should shower and get dressed to go down to the field. It’s almost dark and the fireworks are going to start soon.”

  He raised his head to cock an eyebrow at me. “Baby. You trying to tell me you didn’t just see them?”

  He rolled on top of me and I giggled underneath him, causing him to fight against the smile that attempted to escape from his lips.

  He shook his head in mock disappointment before he met my eyes with his own. “I’m a little insulted, here.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Keeping the Faith

  EDDIE

  Friday, February 18

  1983

  I was stuck in a funk all morning.

  I really tried to forget what day it was but after thirteen years, remembering my ex-wife’s birthday was a hard habit to break. Plus, I’d just come across an old picture of the two of us. I had pulled my copy of The Love Machine from my nightstand drawer, and the Polaroid just slipped out and landed at my feet. I picked it off my shoe, taking note of its aged and browned edges, staring at the image of those two, stupid kids.

  It made me smile, and I couldn’t help offering a wish to the woman smiling back at me: I hope you’re well, Bren.

  As that thought filled my brain, the strangest calm washed over me. Brenda’s words came back to me in that moment: You’re going to have to find a way to get through this. You need to find a way to be happy.

  And suddenly, I realized that I was at peace with this whole thing. I finally got it. I finally understood. I knew it was alright to make my marriage with Maxine a good one for as long as it lasted; it was alright to give myself permission to be happy.

  That didn’t mean I had to forget how much I loved Brenda, and it didn’t mean I’d ever stop. The kids in that picture were just too young and naïve to know what was ahead of them. They did the best they could with the hand that they were dealt. Our marriage hadn’t turned out the way we planned but I didn’t need to keep blaming myself for it.

  And just like that, in that unexpected moment, I knew everything was going to be okay. It was okay to just let my life play out the way it was meant to, making the best of things as I went along. It’s what Brenda had been trying to get me to understand for months, and now I finally appreciated that she’d been right.

  I tucked the picture back in the book and brought it downstairs to join my wife.

  Maxine chirped around her new library as she unloaded the endless boxes of books. She’d purchased hundreds of classic titles from some mail-order club, and she was currently arranging them by color on her new shelves. She wasn’t much of a reader but I think the idea was that a library full of leather-bound volumes would create an intellectual air around her, giving any visitors the false impression that she was well-read.

  Don’t get me wrong; my wife was far from stupid. I just found it interesting that she seemed to present herself to Society with the same smoke and mirrors as I did.

  Even considering her supposed reasoning, I didn’t see the point of owning books simply for their aesthetic value. Books were made to be read.

  I’d been occupying a brown leather couch in the corner, out of her way, and fighting a monster of a headache. She barely registered that I was in the room, even as she absently tossed the occasional question or comment my way.

  “Have you ever read this one?” she asked.

  I’d been silently brooding at the snow piling up outside the bay window but looked up at the sound of her voice. She was holding up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

  “Yes. When I was twelve.”

  She inspected the unblemished binding in her hands. “I always meant to read it. Is it any good?”

  “Very,” I answered, offering a strained smile.

  She gave a shrug before placing it next to the other greens.

  She didn’t engage in much conversation after that, but I would catch her occasional glance in my direction out the corner of my eye. Every time I felt her looking my way, I would smile and toss out a lazy platitude: “Looking good, hon” or “It’s really coming along.” My efforts placated her for a solid thirty minutes, until finally, she was tasked with requesting my assistance.

  “I need some help with the high ones. Do you mind?”

  I got to my feet immediately. “Of course not.”

  I was uncharacteristically quiet as I went about my assigned duties, arranging a section of blues on the top shelf.

  Maxine noticed. “Why have you been so mopey all morning?” she finally asked.

  I considered coming up with a story but then dismissed the idea. “Honestly?”

  “No. Lie to me.”

  I let out a slight chuckle before answering her. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted all day. It’s Brenda’s birthday.”

  I tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal but my wife’s eyes immediately turned to slits as she stared me down in contempt. “Your ex? That’s what’s got you so hot and bothered?”

  “I’d hardly say I was—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I could only look at her in disbelief. “Maxine. What is this? Why are you so angry?”

  She whirled on me, throwing her hands in the air. “Why am I so angry? Are you serious? Are you serious? Eddie! I’ve given you everything. I’ve given you me! And yet, after an entire year together—after a wedding—you still can’t seem to elevate me off that second rung! I’m angry because you don’t love me. You’ve only ever loved her!”

  I’d never seen her that mad before. Maxine was always so composed. I was stunned and speechless… and a little turned on, if I’m going to be honest. I never knew she had such fire inside her.

  The timing of her outburst was rather ironic, however. Not one hour before, I’d started to feel some real promise in regards to this marriage, started to envision a happiness that could continue indefinitely.

  I watched the air drain from her body as her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the wall, defeated. Her eyes met mine in anguish, and seeing her so distraught actually caused a physical ache in my chest. The pain only intensified when she said, “Maybe we jumped in too soon. You’re clearly not ready to be married to me. Maybe we can get this annulled.”

  It was way too soon for this marriage to be unraveling. A panic gripped me at the thought that she wanted to end things after only five months. Annulled. Unacceptable.

  I thought I was past the obsession with my ex-wife but I guessed I hadn’t given Maxine everything she needed to feel good about marrying me. She was such an unbelievable woman; it was unfair of me to hold back that piece of my heart, the piece Brenda
took over years ago.

  “Maxine, I’m crazy about you. I don’t ever want you to feel second rate just because you’re my second wife. You’re generous and kindhearted—” I stepped behind her and slipped my arms around her waist, whispering the next part against her ear, “—and incredibly, undeniably sexy.”

  Her muscles relaxed as she melted into me, her voice soft as she confessed, “It just hurts me, Eddie.”

  Ouch. God, I was such a prick. Was nothing beneath me? I squeezed her a little tighter, ran my nose against her hair. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t like to see you so sad. Can you forgive me?”

  That seemed to pacify her. More importantly, it brought a smile to her face. “No.”

  Her answer allowed the both of us to chuckle. I turned her in my arms and planted a soft kiss on her welcoming lips, defusing the last of our fight. She felt good against me. Her soft hair tickled against my chin; her familiar perfume wafted in the air between us.

  An unspoken understanding was reached that afternoon: I had landed on the easiest way to make Maxine happy, and she learned to start believing in me.

  I never mentioned Brenda’s name out loud to my wife again.

  CHAPTER 30

  Seen the Lights Go Out on Broadway

  EDDIE

  Wednesday, July 13

  1977

  The Mets were down 2-1 against the Cubs when the power cut out. At first, Tony thought it was just our building but a quick look down the street proved it was our entire grid.

  We immediately lit a bunch of extra candles in the dining room and tried to appease our guests with some free drinks. But after a solid hour of darkness, most of them cut out anyway. We settled the tabs of our remaining tables and twiddled our thumbs, waiting indefinitely for something, anything to happen. We came to the realization that even if the power came back anytime soon, the night would be a bust; it was already after ten. Tony closed up shop and sent the staff home.

  The phones were down, too, so we couldn’t even check in with the girls. I followed Tony back to his house figuring we could weather the blackout together, and as expected, my brilliant wife had the same idea. Her Pinto was already parked in the driveway.

  And thank God, the lights were on.

  We went inside and were greeted with Brenda and Ginny, curled up on the couch together, glued to the TV.

  Brenda didn’t even look up to announce, “They’re rioting!”

  “Who is?” I asked, kicking off my shoes.

  “The people in New York. They’re breaking into stores and stealing stuff.”

  “And they’re setting fires,” Ginny added helpfully.

  Tony handed me a beer as I asked, “So you girls never lost power?”

  Brenda broke her eyes from the screen to kiss me hello. “No, we did. Why do you think I’m here? I left straight from work the second the lights went out. I was too scared to go home.”

  Ginny explained, “We were out for about an hour. Everything just came back on a few minutes ago. But New York still has nothing. The whole city!”

  “Well, I’m glad you were both together through it.” I looked around the room at the still-burning candles before my eyes landed on the TV. “Jesus! Where is that?”

  We all took in the images on the television, rabid New Yorkers running out of a broken storefront window, their arms loaded with electronic equipment.

  Ginny slapped a hand on the coffee table. “Told you! We’ve been watching this in shock for the past ten minutes.”

  “I think it’s Chinatown,” Tony said, squinting his eyes at the screen. We could barely make out the details in the dim moonlight… until the camera switched to a shot of a car being flipped into a bonfire in the middle of the street. “And that’s Riverside!”

  I refused to believe it. Riverside was a pretty nice area. “Riverside? No way.”

  Brenda raised her brows as she bit on the edge of her thumbnail. “You think people will do that here?”

  Tony attempted to allay her concerns. “Nah, I can’t imagine. Our lights already came back on. Speaking of… I’m going to turn the air back on. It’s a scorcher.”

  Ginny gave a shrug. “Sorry. I shut everything off when the power went out.”

  “Yeah, but what if Son of Sam uses the blackout to go on a killing spree?” Brenda asked, not letting go of her worries just yet. “I knew I should have dyed my hair blonde! Virginia, why did I let you talk me out of it?”

  “Brenda,” Ginny laughed. “You’re getting crazy, here. Son of Sam is not coming to New Jersey!”

  I plunked myself down on the couch next to her, trying not to laugh at my wife’s irrational fear. “Gin’s right. Besides, I don’t care if he is targeting brunettes. Don’t you dare go blonde.”

  Bren stopped biting her nail to thread her fingers through mine. She rested her head against my shoulder as I threw an arm around her, settling us back against the couch.

  Just the simple act of touching her allowed her muscles to relax against me. I loved how Bren always made me feel like a superhero. It’s like her brain was constantly bouncing off the walls inside her head, imagining the worst. The only relief she could ever attain was when I was wrapped around her. I lived for those moments when she’d just give herself over to me, trust that I’d take care of her, make the monsters go away.

  I kept her safe.

  “Alright. Enough with the TV. What do you say to a game of cards?” Anthony suggested, rubbing his hands together confidently.

  The other night, he’d taken me for a cool ten bucks. But tonight, I planned on earning every penny of it back. “I say deal ‘em up!”

  CHAPTER 31

  After So Much Time

  BRENDA

  Sunday, October 2

  1983

  “I feel like an idiot! What are we even doing here?”

  Virginia and I were laughing hysterically as we attempted to negotiate the roller rink on our rented skates. She had a death grip on the wall as numerous teenagers zoomed by, showing us up something fierce.

  “Oh, come on! Roller disco is cooool! It’s what all the kids are into these days,” I yelled over the blaring music. Donna Summer was the categorical queen of my world.

  “We’re not kids anymore!”

  “No shit, Sherlock!”

  I don’t even know how we ended up at the roller rink. Originally, we had hit Willowbrook Mall in a quest for new dress boots. After we struck out at Kinney’s and Thom McCann, we mutually agreed to give up the hunt and have a little fun instead. On our way out to the lot, I saw United Skates of America, and pretty much threw the suggestion out there as a joke. Ginny dared me, I double-dog dared her, and before we knew it, we were wobbling around on our fluorescent orange wheels, trying not to break our necks in the process.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Stop relying on that thing and let’s skate, for godsakes. You can do this!”

  Virginia’s eyeroll preempted her wary release of the wall. I held my arms out to her but I wasn’t necessarily any more surefooted than she was. We each took mincing steps along the floor, hanging onto each other for dear life.

  Before long, we started to get the hang of things. Michael Jackson’s “PYT” piped in, and we actually attempted to dance a little bit as we cruised. Just when I thought we had a decent rhythm going, some jackass in rainbow suspenders brushed by me and I lost my balance. Out of pure instinct, I grabbed onto the nearest thing to stop my fall—which just so happened to be my best friend—and the two of us went tumbling to the ground.

  We were lying in a jumbled heap in the middle of the rink, cackling uncontrollably. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes. We’re fine.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m gonna have the hugest bruise on my butt tomorrow!”

  That set us off on another fit. We must have looked ridiculous, and we were probably creating a huge nuisance for all the skaters forced to detour around us. But we were laughing too hard to care.

  Finally, Virginia caught he
r breath and met my eyes with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t speaking for you. I was speaking for me… and whomever is currently occupying my belly right now.”

  It took an extra second for her words to register. Once they did, my smiling ceased immediately as I stared at my best friend in shock. “Wait. Are you pregnant?”

  “I am.”

  My mouth gaped open as I threw my arms around her. “Congratulations!” I cried ecstatically before a horrible thought crossed my mind. “Oh God! Do you think you hurt the baby when you fell?” I put my hands on her stomach and attempted an amateur and completely ridiculous perusal of her tummy region.

  Virginia slapped my hands away, laughing. “No, Brenda. It doesn’t work like that. Besides, I’m only a couple months along.”

  “A couple months? You kept this to yourself for a couple months?”

  “Well, as you know, the last round of IVF didn’t take. But this one did. I wanted to be absolutely sure this one was the real deal before we spilled the beans.”

  Oh, I knew all too well. Virginia and Anthony had been pumped up all spring, so sure that their baby dreams were only a simple doctor’s visit away.

  After the procedure, Virginia kept a calendar on the wall, marking off each square with a big, red X, counting down the days until they could hear word if it worked.

  They were heartbroken when it didn’t.

  When they first started to explore the idea, I was shocked to find out how much it cost. IVF wasn’t cheap, and my friends weren’t exactly rolling in the dough. I had asked Beau to loan me the money but before he could even refuse (which he did), Ginny told me Anthony would never accept it anyway. He ended up taking out a second mortgage on their house to cover the seven-thousand-dollar cost of the procedure. Twice, apparently.

  “Well, it would seem you two bought yourselves a baby!”

  “That’s what the doctor said!”

  We picked ourselves up and resumed skating, albeit it with a bit of extra care. I practically glued myself to Virginia all afternoon, hovering like a rabid junkyard dog over the body of my best friend. She wasn’t going to lose this science-baby on my watch.