Whisper Me This(73)

I almost convince myself that my mother’s death really is the point of Greg’s appearance and his physical contact.

Almost.

I know better, and all my usually subterranean knowings seem to be surfacing today. When Greg keeps one arm around my waist, pulling me in close beside him and turning me so we’re both face-to-face with Tony, memories bubble up like swamp gas, one bursting into my awareness and leaving a stench behind.

The time Greg brought Elle home after a visit and found me sharing a bottle of wine with an architect I’d been dating. A nice guy. Very cerebral, but kind and cute in a dorky sort of way.

The door opens and the two of them come in. Elle, five or six and half asleep, is snuggled up against Greg’s chest.

“What’s the matter? Is she sick? I thought she was spending the night with you and Linda.” I get up to take her from him, but he doesn’t release her.

“She said she wanted to come home. She’s been crying for an hour. But if you don’t want her, I can take her back.”

“Of course I want her. Come here, Elle Belle. What’s the matter?”

“I just missed you.” She wraps her arms around my neck, and for an instant, too long, Greg continues to hold her, the three of us a human chain with Elle as the central link. I can smell the cinnamon gum Greg always chews, mixed with a hint of cologne, before I bury my face in my daughter’s hair and drown out all other scents with healthy child sweat and shampoo.

Greg lets her go, and Elle wraps her legs around my hips and lays her head over my heart, too sleepy to even comment on my guest.

“Thanks for bringing her home.” I beam out thought signals at him to leave now, to go back to his house and his wife, but he moves toward the table instead.

“Oh, you bought the good stuff. Mind if I have a glass?”

Yes, I mind. I mind a lot. But before I can bring myself to say anything, Lenny sets down his glass and shifts his chair.

“I should go,” he says.

“No need for that.” Greg goes directly to the cupboard and fetches himself a glass, as if he’s the host and this is his house. He pours both for himself and my date, but not for me. “Maisey will be right back as soon as she puts our kiddo to bed.”

Lenny accepts the drink, but I can see that I’ve lost him. He’ll be out the door as soon as he can do it politely, and he won’t be calling me later.

Elle is the weight of love in my arms, though, and I keep breathing in the scent of her all the way down the hallway and even after I tuck her into bed.

“I’m sorry you were sad, sweetheart,” I tell her, tucking her hair behind her ear, pulling the blanket up under her chin.

“I wasn’t sad,” she whispers, eyes already closed.

Her eyelashes are dry. No tearstains on her cheeks, no stuffy nose. Kids recover fast, I tell myself. I wish I could be that unmarked by an hour of crying.

Walking back toward the kitchen, I hear Greg in full mansplain about my situation.

“I hope you’ll make allowances for Maisey. She’s a good little soul, but it’s not easy being a single mother. I help where I can, of course, but the bulk of the responsibility is hers. I’ve always felt that was why she’s not been more successful, as far as a career. Great mother, though, as you see.”

“Did you save a glass for me?” I ask, pulling up the chair between them and reaching for the bottle.

Greg grabs it first, and I think he’s going to pour for me, but instead he adds another splash to his own glass.

“Do you think that’s wise, Maisey? You know how you get. Lenny? A refill?”

This time Lenny pushes his chair back with determination and gets to his feet. “I really do need to be going. Good night, Maisey. Thanks for the evening. Nice to meet you, Greg. Hope the little girl is okay.”

He flees like a frightened bunny.

I watch him go, sadness and inevitability warring with the clear reality that the man is not exactly heroic, or at least certainly isn’t interested enough in me to put up a fight.

“Oh damn. I’m sorry, Maisey. What a dick!” Greg says. “Here, have a drink. You deserve it.”

He pours for me, and I catch myself feeling grateful before I remember that if he hadn’t come over, I’d very possibly be naked by now and well on my way to a much-needed orgasm.

“What the hell was that?” I demand. “You couldn’t just bring her home and then leave?”

“I have a responsibility to make sure my daughter is safe. If your latest boy toy isn’t man enough to withstand the scrutiny, you’re probably better off without him.”

The fact that there is some truth to these words just drives them deeper under my skin. I take a sip, resisting the temptation to skip the glass and go straight for the bottle.

“Well, we’re good and safe now. You can go home with a clear conscience.”

“I’d think you’d be grateful,” he says. “But never mind. Like I was telling your friend—”

“Lenny.”

He rolls his eyes, as if he’s an overgrown teenager. “Right. Lenny. What kind of name is that, even, for a man? I know you’re trying. But you can do better.”

“Tony, am I right?” Greg’s voice-in-the-now cuts into my memory. “I believe we spoke on the phone. Thanks for watching out for my girls.” He speaks dismissively, possessively, as if I’m a dog he’s picking up from the kennel.