The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [117]
She hesitated, standing there in the doorway, the night’s heat wrapping itself around her. Max needed a shower—she could smell the road on him: unwashed clothes and gasoline spilled on his shoes from the last time he’d filled up, the remnants of coffee and cigarettes on his breath. A rush of memories came at her so hard she had to wrap her hand around the door handle to keep from stepping backward. That was where she should be. On the road. Free. Where no one judged and no one questioned and no one ever thought about tomorrow.
“I could use a ride,” she replied.
Bean was grateful for the instinct that had told her to keep a couple of good outfits back from the consignment shop, even if it meant that many more hours of Story Time in the children’s room to pay off her debts. She had something important to do that day and she wasn’t doing it without the armor of good clothes.
She dressed carefully, the way she always had in New York, and had done less and less of since she was here, letting the layers of artifice she’d shellacked over herself peel away each day. She straightened her hair until it lay smooth, used every brush in her makeup kit, and finally nodded at herself in the mirror, satisfied.
It was sad how eagerly Edward leaped from his chair in the living room when she knocked on the front door, watching him through the front window. She felt suddenly, magnanimously, sorry for him, how horribly lonely it must have been to have Lila and the kids away for so long, how hard it was to watch youth and your looks drifting into the realm of memory, how he worked to hold himself up to standards he’d adopted long ago—which books to read, which wine to drink, which music to listen to—when he could have thrown it all aside and been who he wanted to be.
“I was hoping you’d come by tonight,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s been too long.” He went to kiss her, but she stepped aside and his mouth only brushed against her hair, thick with perfume.
“I can’t stay, Edward. I just came by to say I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said. He went to kiss her again, his breath heavy with wine, and she let him get close, let herself feel his warmth one more time before she stepped away again.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Bean clasped her hands in front of her waist. “I can’t do this anymore, Edward. We have to end it.”
He looked surprised, then shocked. He reached out for her hand, took it in his. “Don’t be silly. We don’t have to end it. We’ll have to be a little more careful, of course . . .” His smile turned into a leer, and her mood soured. The very thought of being with him revolted her now, and the idea of sneaking around behind Lila’s back, sending him home to his children with the taste of her on his lips, made her want to cry.
“No, Edward. It’s over. We should never have done this in the first place. God, I think about Lila and I just . . .” She thought of the picture of Lila on the refrigerator and felt sick and angry. She turned away, looking at the blankness of the wall behind the door.
“I don’t want to talk about Lila.”
“You don’t want to talk about her?” Bean nearly shouted, turning back to him. She paused, composed herself. “We have to talk about her. You are married to her. And she loves you. I can’t imagine why, but she does. And you should be on your knees every night thanking God that she puts up with you, that you have anyone who loves you enough to promise to put up with your bullshit ’til death do you part. We should all be so lucky.”
Edward was wide-eyed and speechless. Bean’s palms were sweating, and she could feel herself breathing as though she’d run a lap.
“Goodbye, Edward,” she said, and turned on her (couture) heels and walked out the door, feeling like, for maybe the first time in her life, she’d done something completely right.
While Cordy had packed her bags, Max had showered and eaten approximately half of the contents of the refrigerator, and then they had left, Cordy behind the wheel, her belly brushing its fake fur cover.
They spent the