DITW 15-6: The Longhouse (Patreon)

Kimmy pushed her plate away. He did the same. It was a mistake to come for dinner. He should have come a long time ago. Come to see Colleen.

Elbows on the table, he rubbed his cheeks then cupped his hands on his face and breathed. He said into his hands, “I want to be in Colleen’s life. If that’s all right with you.”

“Josh, of course,” she said, her tone superior, chafed by his request.

He dropped his hands. “Do you think I’m being dramatic?”

Kimmy retreated, stung by his defense. She looked down, nodded, realizing maybe her tone was equivalent to rolling her eyes. Dismissing him.

She said, “We’re not going to eat. Can I show you around the house?”

“I’d rather talk.”

Kimmy looked away, to the door that would lead them out of their stuffy confinement. “Then let’s take a walk. We can go outside and have privacy. You can yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Raise your voice,” she offered and shrugged. “Do whatever. You can tell me what you think of me.” 

She wasn’t taking no for an answer, standing now, touching his arm, encouraging him to go with her. He stood and followed her out the door, into a hallway beside the room where he’d first met his daughter. Now he was rubbing his brow, wincing from the emotional overfeeding and all the sick hurt in his heart that it conveyed.

Kimmy exited the house and held the back door for him. The colder night air hit his cheeks with a welcome snap that widened his eyes and woke him up. Kimmy closed the door and walked past him, out into the grass in her slippers. He followed her, staying on the brick walkway because he was wearing socks and the grass would be cold and wet. Kimmy turned, saw him a few arm lengths away and looked down at his feet. She corrected her path and met up with him on the walkway. She looked fantastic. Healthy, but a little worn out. Her eyes were tired, but nothing could stop the beauty showing in her cheekbones and jawline, and the easy grace in her long limbs and lithe body. Even under the unstructured pajamas and the robe, she showed a gentle poise.

She said, “How do you want it to be with Colleen?”

“She’s my daughter. I want to be her dad.” He shrugged, not feeling confident enough to set forward a time structure or make any demands. He didn’t have the willpower right now to fight her if she rejected any of his claims. “We should work that all out later. Not tonight.”

“This must be big for you.”

“That’s an understatement,” he said.

She turned her face to his and he looked down. Kimmy reached for him and plucked a hair from his sweater. Her fingers were long and fine, pulling the hair away, long and black.

He sighed, said, “I just, I’m blown away how you’ve moved on without me. You have everything and I have nothing and I’m an afterthought.” 

Kimmy tugged on his elbow, both his hands stuck in into his pockets. “That’s the old woe-is-me Josh.”

He looked to see her smiling, those tired eyes showing warmth and not disappointment.

He said, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She nodded her head to the side, toward a carriage house at the end of the driveway, the driveway extending from the road, past the main house, and along one side of the backyard. He checked to the right, saw his Nissan still parked there, not a lot of car thefts in Unionville, and followed in Kimmy’s path to a door at the back side of the carriage house. She pulled a key from her robe’s pocket and unlocked the door, stepped in and turned on a light. She encouraged him to follow her in.

The carriage house was a two car garage with a second floor, and the back door opened into a tiny foyer and a set of narrow stairs that led up to the second floor. The small space smelled like paint and drywall.

Kimmy walked up the stairs and he followed. The top of the stairwell opened to the right onto an open living space and a kitchen. She flicked more light switches and the room lit up. There was a leather couch and a TV, a table to eat at, and the kitchen was warm and inviting with under the cabinet lighting and terra cotta backsplashes, the amenities in glossy black.

“This was the renovation,” she said, gesturing to the room, putting her hands in her robe pockets. Her head angled to the side, lips pursed, watching him.

He stared back.

Kimmy rubbed her neck like it was sore, grimacing, then speaking very quietly, saying, “I did it for you. I want you to live here.”

Josh rolled his head on his neck, feeling for the first time today some sort of tugging heartstring, some sort of connection to the woman who’d gutted him. When he regarded her again, he could see her eyes were wet and shining.

She said through sad-garbled speech: “I want you to see our daughter every day of her life.” Her voice broke up, and she had to wipe tears away with the back of a wrist. She sniffled, trying to restore her facade, extending an arm and holding out the carriage house key for him to take. “There’s a bedroom and a bathroom behind that door.” She jingled the key. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Josh took the key, one part of him fighting against her, wanting to reject it, another part so relieved, so happy he wouldn’t be excised so easily from Colleen’s life. And, god damn it, happy that Kimmy wanted him. Or at least didn’t want to make their daughter’s life difficult.

Kimmy turned away, walking to the door beyond the kitchen table, pulling from the other robe pocket a scrunched up tissue. She wiped her nose, put the tissue away, and opened the door at the back. Josh trudged behind her, wanting to live here, wanting to be in his daughter’s life every day, but hating this supportive aspect; of being in his wife’s house. Of being an add-on to his busy wife’s fabulous lifestyle. Of sitting in this fucking apartment and watching some luxurious motor coach pull into the driveway, Kimmy trotting off in high heels to go into the city with her billionaire boyfriend. And here her husband would sit; a voyeur. A loser.

The bedroom was furnished, a queen-size bed, masculine bedding, a chair, some dark furniture, and windows at the front of the carriage house looking down onto the driveway. He entered the bedroom, hands in his pockets, heart heavy, mood growing dank and swampy. He walked to the window and looked out to see his Nissan parked where Devlin’s father would park when he came to pick up Kimmy. Maybe it wouldn’t even be Devlin’s father, maybe Devlin’s father would send a service to pick Kimmy up, escort her into the city where he probably had his own skyscraper condo that showed all the twinkling lights of the city like sparkling jewels.

He turned away and faced Kimmy, not wanting that scenario to play out in his imagination to its lurid conclusion.

Kimmy stood with hands clasped at her front, looking hopeful. Like this in-law apartment would suit him; this was the fitting place for her husband; a prison cell where he could sit in purgatorial reverie, watching his wife live an amazing life, and he would be relegated to house duty, taking care of Kimmy’s offspring like Hyun. Hyun stayed here for free, Meyer said. Hyun had her own room, rent-free, and Kimmy even leased her a car. Hyun didn’t work. Hyun went to college at night and took care of Colleen during the day.

When he said nothing, Kimmy stepped to the side and pushed open another door, showing him the bathroom. Then she resumed that hopeful pose, tall and thin and elegant in her satin robe, hands clasped at her front.

Josh walked back to her, looked into the dark bathroom. They stood close together, almost touching; he could hear her breathe. She smelled amazing; like pale perfume and something else. Something motherly. He leaned his shoulder on the bathroom’s door jamb and regarded her. Her eyes looked weak and tired, the hopeful shimmer fading. He leaned his head to the side until his skull touched the sharp corner-edge of the jamb, eyes staying on her. The apartment offended him and yet charmed him as well. 

His daughter Colleen lived in the main house; the new, sole importance in his life. And this gesture of Kimmy’s was kindness, not antagonization. He’d love to tell her to go fuck a duck, and he’d get an apartment nearby. But he couldn’t afford that. He’d been on disability for months now. He’d gone through his personal savings buying Meyer his birthday gift and taking that exorbitant cross-country bike trip. Kimmy had taken their house fund and bought a house.

In that case, the apartment was rightfully his.

But to sit here and watch...? Sit here and watch his wife...?

He said, “What’s it like with him?”

“Who?” Her voice cracked when she spoke and she touched long fingers to her collar.

“You know who. Stone senior.”

She nodded and looked down. “Keith.”

“Keith Stone, huh? You and him. He’s a billionaire. Least that’s what the article said.”

Kimmy looked up and regarded him plainly. She said no more.

He said, “Were you with him when you were pregnant? Or is this a new thing?”

Kimmy exhaled, wincing, like she didn’t want to talk to her husband about the man she was dating.

“Does he ever come here? Does he come to the house?”

Kimmy stepped away, showing him her back, head bowing. “No, Josh,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I want to know what I’m getting into.” The question was reasonable.

Kimmy rubbed her brow. “I’ve only gone out with him a few times.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifty-six.”

Now he wished he could stop asking questions. That old rolling angst began swirling in his guts, racing his heart with something like hate and lust. Keith Stone was a fucking asshole. His parents had talked with Keith Stone back in those olden days about his son’s bullying and come home saying it. “What a fucking asshole.” And his mom almost never swore. And that’s the man who was in his life now. Without his say.

He lurched away from the door jamb, a surprising swell of old fears and passions pushing past the cobwebs the medication had spun in his brain. His heart raced and his muscles swelled with the rush of adrenalin.

He had closed the distance between him and Kimmy, looking at her slender shoulders, wanting to grab one and spin her around, demand from her an explanation on how one woman could be so terrible.

“I can’t stay here,” he said in a low growl of simmering anger.

Kimmy turned now, expression harrowed. “Josh, you have to. Please...”

He shook his head, “He’s fifty-six, how can you even...” His hands went to fists, his jaw clenched and his brow lowered, his mind’s eye flashing all kinds of wicked and dirty scenarios he didn’t want to see. Kimmy held her throat and watched him, eyes glimmering with wet.

He wanted to claw away his own skin and climb out of himself. But Kimmy regarded him with earnest hope. Like she needed him here. But what about him? What about what he needed?

How about what Colleen needed?

He rubbed his brow, pumping the brakes on runaway emotion, nodding, huffing air through his nose like a bothered bull. The anger rose again. “Are you fucking him?”

Kimmy closed her eyes and looked away. Then stepped away. He wanted to grab that shoulder again and spin her to face him.

“Tell me,” he said, demanding to know what he was getting into.

Even though she faced away, he could see Kimmy nodding.