The Dirty Book Club(17)
“I have enough unused vacation days to take the entire summer off, with pay, so she’ll call my resignation a leave of absence if . . .”
“If what?”
“If I go back in the fall.”
“And the sorority girl?”
M.J. twisted a finger around the frayed denim hem of her shorts. “She’ll be there.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
M.J. sighed. “Two weeks ago I would have said no way. But now?” Her eyes fluttered closed.
“What does the handsome doctor think?”
“He found the FedEx envelope in the trash, which he promptly moved to the recycle bin, and then asked why my ex-boss, Gayle, was reaching out.”
“What did you say?”
“That my old coworkers sent some good-bye cards.” M.J. pressed two fingers against her throbbing temple. “It’s the first time I ever lied to him.”
“Does this mean you’re accepting her offer?”
M.J. shrugged. She didn’t sign the contract, but she didn’t tear it up, either. She hid it in one of her suitcases, buried it under the black cashmere sweaters that had yet to find a place for themselves in her sunny new world.
Gloria reached for her hand. “There’s no shame in leaving your options open.”
“I know, but I should tell Dan. And I will. Today. After we buy a couch.” M.J. looked at Gloria and frowned. “It’s just that he’s so proud of me for taking a stand and we love living together and—”
“You can’t do that.”
“You’re right. It’s cruel.” M.J. reached for her purse. “The decent thing would be to tell him now, before the couch. Before he spends another second believing I’m all in.”
“No, you can’t do that.”
“What?”
“Tell him. Not until your bags are packed and your flight is booked.”
“But—”
“Trust me. Wait until you’re sure.”
“I can’t wait. Gayle wants an answer by the end of July.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.
“Exactly, so why rock the boat?”
“To be open and honest.”
“Sometimes honesty causes more problems than lies. And openness?” Gloria leaned closer. “Honey, do you think Leo and I stayed married for fifty years because we’re open? Christ, we wouldn’t have made it past the honeymoon if we were. This is the kind of stuff you figure out with your best friends first. Then you tell Dan.”
“But Dan is my best friend.”
Gloria lowered her fist like a gavel. “Now that’s a problem.”
* * *
MARIPOSA LANE SEEMED more vibrant than it had when M.J. first arrived at Gloria’s. The bougainvillea, the palm fronds, the lemon tree, the cloudless sky . . . It was as if a jewel-toned filter had been added to the lens through which M.J. saw her neighborhood. Her vodka-soaked senses were heightened, her bloodshot eyes amazed.
Stumbling toward home, she wondered what Dan would think of his day-drunk girlfriend with the cigarette-scented fingers.
Her stomach roiled.
Was she really going to stay quiet about Gayle’s offer? Could she? Honesty had always been a source of pride between them. They swore they’d never become one of those couples who lied. Though, technically, this was more of an omission than a lie. Lies were sharp and incising, and this was blunt, pliable. An omission might poke their hymen of truth, but wouldn’t break it.
“Nice meeting you, Leo!” M.J. called toward the garage.
If he answered, she couldn’t hear him over Barbra’s optimistically upbeat “Time and Love.”
She called to him again.
Still nothing.
Perhaps he was on the deck, or maybe the beach.
But the water . . .
What once snaked down his driveway, now rushed.
M.J. kicked off her shoes and padded upstream back to the garage. There was Leo. Sitting against the fender of his Aston Martin, his spouting hose unmanned. “Good thing there’s no drought,” she teased. “I mean it’s not like California is in a state of emergency or anything.”
If Leo appreciated her sarcasm, he didn’t show it. He just sat there; legs splayed, shoulders slumped, chin to chest.
“Don’t worry. I won’t report you,” she said, though Leo didn’t seem the least bit worried. His lips were slightly parted and the lines on his forehead were smooth. If anything he looked relaxed, almost serene.
“Hey.” M.J. gave him a nudge.
“Bug off, lady, I’m sleeping,” Leo seemed to say as he tipped toward the oil-stained concrete and landed stiffly on its side.
CHAPTER
Seven
Pearl Beach, California
Sunday, May 29
Last Quarter Moon
THE BLAST OF cold air that had greeted M.J. on her previous visit to the Goldens’ bungalow had been replaced by a pall of coffee-scented sorrow.
There was a rabbi in the living room leading the well-preserved congregation in some unintelligible prayer, and like respectful theatergoers who arrived during the first act, M.J. and Dan waited by the front door until he was done. It would have been longer, if M.J. had her way.