The Golden Couple(90)
The tiniest off note is in my tone, but it’s up to Matthew to choose whether he wants to hear it.
He nods and begins to speak. Then he cuts himself off and turns to face me. “You sound like there’s something else you want to say.” His buoyancy is vanishing; the smile has dropped from his face.
I can’t bring up the supposed pregnancy or the soup because then Matthew will know I’ve talked to Marissa or Skip.
But I don’t have to because Matthew didn’t really think there was something else I wanted to say. He meant there was something he wanted to talk about.
I let the silence stretch out until he breaks it.
“Okay, here’s the truth about Skip.”
I hear a creaking sound, as if the boat is rubbing against a piling, but I don’t take my eyes off Matthew.
“Last night, after you guys left, he texted that he’d brought Marissa some soup. At first I thought, that’s nice. You know, good old Skip, always looking out for his friends.”
Baby waves rock the boat, making a gentle slapping sound each time they hit. In the distance, what sounds like a Jet Ski cruises by, the roar of the motor swelling and then fading. Matthew’s gaze grows unfocused; it’s almost as if he were talking to himself now.
“I didn’t get the soup off the porch right away. We’d already eaten and Marissa was feeling better. I went out there when Marissa was putting Bennett to bed.”
As I picture Matthew treading onto his front porch in the darkness and spotting the carrier with Gabe’s logo, I hear something. It sounds as if it’s coming from the deck where Matthew plans to serve his romantic dinner.
A footstep? I glance up, toward the mouth of the stairs, but don’t see anyone. Sound travels over water, I remind myself. Maybe the noise is coming from farther away. Still, I shift my body to have a clear view of the stairs. Matthew is so lost in the memory of last night that he doesn’t even seem to notice.
“The bag was heavy, and when I looked inside, there was a hell of a lot of soup. After I put it all away and went upstairs, Marissa was already asleep. I guess the massage really conked her out. Normally I’m out when my head hits the pillow, but last night I lay awake. I kept thinking about something Natalie once said.” Matthew’s leg begins to jiggle, then he stills it.
“After I set her up with Skip and we all went to dinner, she told me it was obvious Skip had a crush on Marissa. I figured Natalie was jealous. She’s always been jealous of Marissa.”
I wait for more. I know there’s more.
“But.… Skip went all the way to this restaurant in Silver Spring and bought her four bowls of chicken noodle soup.” Matthew shakes his head. “Who does that?”
“Someone who…”
“… really cares about my wife,” Matthew finishes the sentence, echoing the words I lobbed earlier with a heavy emphasis on the word really.
Matthew is easing his toes into icy water; he’s not ready to fully plunge in yet.
Matthew twists to look directly at me. “So what should I do?”
Our boat rocks again; through the small windows above the banquette I see the cigarette boat putter by. I watch as it glides out into the open water and accelerates, sending up a spray of water.
“When you’ve been married awhile, it can feel nice to know you’re attractive to someone other than your spouse,” I tell Matthew.
“I’m not blaming Marissa for the way Skip feels.”
“I’m not talking about Marissa. I’m talking about you.”
He blinks.
“Natalie has feelings for you. Skip has feelings for Marissa. And neither of them has any place in your marriage.”
Matthew nods slowly. “I get it.”
I stand up, feeling a little claustrophobic in the tight space. I keep my feet apart for balance as another, slightly bigger wave rocks the boat.
We could dig deeper, but I’m overcome with the desire to end our talk—I want to get off this boat. But Matthew isn’t done. For a guy who was furious at his wife for tricking him into coming to see me, he sure has embraced the process wholeheartedly.
“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: Skip was Marissa’s first kiss. It was right before she and I started dating.”
Marissa has already told me this, but I feign surprise.
Matthew looks down at his hands and clears his throat. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him. “Last night, the main thing that kept me awake was thinking about that summer. I’ve never told this to anyone, but sometimes I wonder if all that drama hadn’t happened, maybe Skip and Marissa would be together instead of us.”
“Drama?”
“One of Marissa’s friends was killed.”
I don’t give away that I already know this information. Tina was murdered more than twenty years ago. So why does her death keep coming up?
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“I’m pretty sure Skip liked Marissa, even back then. But after the murder—well, to hear Marissa tell it, Skip started acting strangely. I guess it really threw him, that this girl he’d known for his whole life had been killed by one of their teachers.”
I want to sit down again, to encourage Matthew to continue to be open. But a deep-seated instinct is keeping me on my feet, instead of trapped behind the banquette.