Under the Table(53)

Five years ago, she would’ve laughed at that joke. A year ago, she would’ve put up with it. Now, she wasn’t inclined to do either.

“I’ve always wondered what your fascination was with my sister’s sex life,” Zoey pondered aloud.

Derek sat up straighter and put both hands on the wheel.

“Damn, baby, relax. It was just a joke. Or did big-city life beat the humor out of you?”

He became defensive too quickly, like she had struck a nerve. Old Derek was reappearing in record time.

“We’re from Cleveland, not the outback,” she snapped. “I’d like to think I would’ve outgrown tasteless jokes no matter where I lived.”

“Point taken, Mom,” he said sarcastically.

Zoey bit her tongue. She silently promised herself that if he so much as tried to start the motherhood conversation, she was going to open the car door and tuck and roll herself out onto the highway. She opened her window and let the warm exhaust-filled air blow through her hair.

“Do you mind?” he said, using the button on his side to reclose her window. “I’ve got the AC on.”

They drove in silence for several miles, his knuckles now white on the steering wheel. Then he tried a different approach.

“Now that I’m going to be a real estate mogul, you’ll have plenty of time to get your little business going.”

Zoey could only sigh. Despite all the condescension, she knew he was trying to extend an olive branch. He was so arrogant, automatically assuming that a Realtor’s license was going to be his golden ticket to riches, never dawning on him the amount of work that lay ahead of him if he had any hope of being successful. Equally depressing, she no longer had any desire to keep doing what only months ago was near an obsession. She knew the reasoning behind that disinterest as well.

“I don’t think there’s a market for my kind of service in Cleveland.”

“Wow. I can’t tell if you’re being defeatist or elitist. Either way, don’t beat yourself up. Not everyone has what it takes to be their own boss. You’re a good worker bee though.”

Derek had apparently forgotten that he hadn’t held down a steady job for the majority of their marriage. He always did have a selective memory. Zoey didn’t bother responding.

“Maybe it’s your fancy uptown boyfriend that’s made you so classy?”

Zoey remembered all their discussions that quickly turned to arguments. Only his opinion was the right one. What he didn’t count on was her newfound capacity to ignore his goading.

“Maybe.” She went back to staring out the window.

“You like real men. You would’ve been bored with that Popsicle in no time.”

She turned back to Derek. “Popsicle?”

“Yeah.” Derek went back to reclining in his seat, mistaking her soft-spoken demeanor for submission. “You know, like he has a stick up his ass?”

Only someone of Derek’s caliber would mistake good manners for snobbishness. As he laughed at his own joke, she pictured herself wrestling the wheel from him and driving them both into a ditch. A calmness came over Zoey. It wasn’t too late to rectify her situation. No need to kill anyone. All she had to do was make it to the next rest stop. She would call a cab from the bathroom and escape from a window if necessary. She didn’t even need to go back to New York. Since she’d burned her bridges with Tristan, there was nothing to get excited about back in New York anyway. At any rate, she would clean toilets in a prison to keep from continuing this farce.

“If I had known that was my competition, I wouldn’t have rushed to the rescue.”

Zoey turned to him and tilted her head curiously. “Rescue? Really? I’m still wondering why you showed up at all.”

“When Ruth called me, she told me I better hurry or I was going to lose out to someone who had turned your head.”

“Seriously?” Her sister had betrayed her.

“She didn’t mention that the man in question was a scrawny pretty boy. A robust girl like you needs a hard-muscled guy to stand next to, make you look proportionate. A dude with a gene pool like that will only give you chubby girls and wimpy boys.”

“Stop the car.”

Derek took his eyes off the road to give her a look that accompanied his now–half smile. “Say what?”

“Pull the car over, I’m getting out.” Zoey replied as casually as if she were asking him to turn the car radio to a different station.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re on the turnpike. I’m sorry about the chubby girls comment, okay? I like your cushion, it’s better for the pushin’.”

Zoey laughed, the kind of laughter that would’ve been a warning to a wiser man. She shook her head. “I don’t care about that comment. Or any of the others. I don’t need to worry about any children we would have. My biggest mistake was getting in this car with you. And luckily, it’s the easiest one to fix. Now pull this car over before I call nine-one-one and tell them you kidnapped me.”

He pulled the Honda to where the shoulder met the dirt. “You’re a crazy bitch.”

“That’s right,” Zoey said while opening the door. “I am. I’m the craziest bitch you ever laid eyes on. I can make Ruth look like a Girl Scout.”

He popped the trunk and got out along with her, yelling across the car. “You’re going to be sorry about this.”