(COMPLETE) Devil In The Waters, Chapter 4, Mondays (Patreon)

The morning had been difficult at first, getting into work and all that was on his mind was Kimmy. There was a sick and sinking feeling in his stomach, a heavy feeling he wished he could shake but was unable. The events of the weekend weighed on him, so did his performance last night, the revelation, too, that Kimmy was looking to conceive again and they hadn’t discussed it at all. Of course he was ready, it was just sprung on him unexpected. Add to that the awkward exchange with his own wife this morning when he was leaving for work. What the hell was that about? He felt like he did back in high school and he wasn’t dating her and he just had that godawful crush feeling. Shit, that’s that feeling in his stomach—that’s exactly what it was like.

Steve was in the office already when he pulled in, parked next to his pickup truck, but he didn’t get a chance to talk until their break at 10:15. So over a croissant he ambled around the subject of the weird weekend he’d had. Steve brought it up first, asking him how his reunion went. He started the story casually, saying how he and Kimmy had fun back at Dalton, how weird it was seeing the old school, how everything seemed so much smaller than it did when he was younger; the place had little of the dread he’d attributed to it when he attended. The dinner had been fine, it was weird seeing all those familiar faces changed by time and maturity. Steve asked how the party at the lake was. Steve didn’t attend Dalton, didn’t grow up in Kingston at all, but over their time at A.J. Swanson Market Research they’d become quite good friends. He’d told him how weird it was going to Tiffany’s cottage because she was the rich girl in their high school, the pretty one, and Steve could commiserate because, hell, every high school had one of those girls in one form or the other. So he told him the truth, said how it was fun. Surprisingly fun. And it had been at first—probably why he felt loosened up enough to drink too much. While he’d been friendly with Tiffany in school (or at least not enemies) there was a certain trepidation dealing with her kind, so when he got there and most of that angst from high school had dissipated there was a noticeable lightening of spirit. Plus, Amy was there, and he hadn’t seen her in so  long, and Karina too, who was a friend. Tiffany had left the invitation to her party open to anyone, not a select few. So there were plenty of people he knew there who also weren’t in with Tiff’s crowd. But this is where the story got difficult—but it was also the part of the story he was most intrigued by, and looking for a good soundboard to bounce with for feedback. Only how was he going to relate the part where Devin had come into his tent and showed him his erection? That was way too weird, wasn’t it? What the hell would Steve think of that? And how would he relate what it was that Devin had said: that Josh’d proposed he surrender his wife to the more alpha male and that Devin was there to see it was done. Want proof?—smell your wife’s pussy on my huge dick. Yeah, that would not be said.

* * *

The cafeteria where everyone took their break at Swanson was a cavernous space that could probably seat a hundred people. But for now, the 10:15 to 10:30 break time, there were only maybe forty workers, all in shirts and ties, skirts and slacks, gathered in small clutches at the tables. Josh and Steve had a spot by the towering windows looking over the parking lot, shielded from the sun this time of day by honey locusts that rimmed the walkways outside the building.

Josh delayed for time, wedging the blade of a stainless knife to pry up the top layer of the croissant, drizzled in zigzags with white and brown chocolate stripes. He took the buttery wafer, put it in his mouth.

Steve could sense something was up, putting his bagel back down on the plate and looking at him. “So then what happened?”

Josh said, “These two guys from the lacrosse team, this guy Winston, this other guy whose last name was Zephyr—everybody calls him Zeph—come out to where we’re sitting with bottles of bourbon.”

“Oh Jesus,” Steve said then laughed.

“Oh Jesus is right. So I’m at a table with Kimmy, those two guys from lacrosse, Kimmy’s friend Amy from England, this other girl Stephanie . . . I’m in a good mood . . .”

“I can see where this is going . . .”

“Right,” Josh said raising his eyebrows, looking at his croissant. “So we’re doing shots of bourbon—”

“My stomach’s queasy already.”

“I like bourbon. And this was good bourbon. We weren’t doing shots, it was just going into plastic cups and being sipped . . . but I kept drinking . . . It was really good bourbon.”

“What did you do?” Steve said in a tone that suggested the story would end somewhere embarrassing.

“Well . . . I drank too much.”

“Did Kimmy drink?”

“You know Kimmy doesn’t drink.”

“No, no,” Steve said and was smiling—the smile making Josh feel all right for a moment or two, forgetting that there were elements of the story too terrible to relate.

He said, “Anyway, I drank too much, Kimmy had to help me into our tent. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“That’s it? I thought you were going to tell me you went streaking or something.”

“No, that wasn’t me. A couple guys went skinny-dipping when I was passed out.”

“So you didn’t do anything?”

“No, I just drank too much. End of story. But here’s the thing,” he said now, tongue working around his mouth as he shifted his seat closer to the table. He leaned over, spoke quieter even though there was no one else nearby, and everyone at the other tables engaged in their own stories about their weekend adventures, an incessant murmuring chatter throughout the concrete and glass cavern. “When I wake up, there’s like this big kerfuffle when I go into the house.”

Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What’s a kerfuffle?”

“I go into the cottage, and it’s like Kimmy has been in a fight.”

“Oh shit.”

“Right? Like she’s not even talking to me, but all her girlfriends are around her, and all like rubbing her arms telling her it’s okay.”

“Who’d she fight with?”

“It wasn’t a girl. It was a guy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“This guy she hated back in high school—we all hated back in high school. This guy Devon Stone, his dad owns like this import-export business in Kingston, real hot shot.”

“What’d she fight about?”

“She won’t really tell me.”

“That’s weird.”

“At the party I’m asking what’s up, and everybody’s saying hey just chill out, let Kimmy deal with it, so I do. But I’m like seriously hung the fuck over, man, like seeing double, on the verge of puking, so it’s totally easy for me to lay back and let it all play out.”

“So what happened?”

“Kimmy deals with it. That guy Devin is there, and she goes over and they’re talking it out. I’m standing by trying not to throw up, trying to maintain my dignity, I keep expecting all the pieces to fall into place, you know . . .?”

“What’d she say happened?”

“That’s just the thing. She didn’t say what it was.”

“She didn’t tell you what they fought about?” Steve showed a look of puzzlement—almost disbelief, like he was taking Kimmy’s side already, good old Josh blowing this out of proportion and making it a bigger deal than it was.

“Yeah, I know that’s not like Amy,” he said, “but she was still riled up. We left the party, like right away, she’s saying she’s gotta get out of there, we get in the car and I’m right out, sleeping instantly. I go home, I sleep some more, wake up and I feel better.”

“And you asked what happened?”

“I did,” he said, shrugged and poked the croissant.

Steve said, “She didn’t tell you what happened?”

“She said she argued with him.”

“About what?”

“Politics.”

“Yeah, so they don’t see eye-to-eye. This some rich kid white guy?—I can already see where this is going . . .”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head, unsure of where to take the story next.

Steve said, “Josh, man, she told you what it was. She said they fought about politics.”

“I don’t know about what though,” he said, “because she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe she’s embarrassed.”

“I can get that. But of all the people in the world she could talk to, aren’t I one of them? Couldn’t she tell me why she’s upset?”

“I suppose, but I don’t think it’s a big deal—”

“She said they physically fought, too, that she tried to hit him, and he grabbed her arms.”

Steve frowned. “Oh . . . oh shit.”

“See? Holy shit, right?”

“That doesn’t sound like Kimmy.”

“Thank God,” Josh said, laughing now and looking up at the high ceiling. “Thank God, you see it . . .”

“Yeah, but so . . .?”

“But so? . . . She gets in a fight with some guy, she won’t tell me what it’s about?”

“Josh, what are you saying?” Steve held up his hands like the answer was obvious, but he couldn’t believe the implication.

“What?”

Steve said, “She’s embarrassed . . . That’s not like Kimmy at all. Getting in a fist fight with somebody? When has she ever been in a fight? When’s she ever even raised her voice?” Steve took a moment to laugh. “Look, she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t want to talk about it. You could be a good guy and leave her alone.”

“I did leave her alone.”

“Maybe she’ll tell you sometime. It’s Monday, she’s probably still stinging over it, whatever it was.”

“You’re probably right.” he poked at his croissant again, put his cheek in his palm.

“Fuck,” Steve said, laughing now, lighter. “The way you were dancing around it there, I thought you were trying to say something . . . happened.”

“Something happened?”

“Between the two of them.”

Now he frowned. “Do you think that could have happened?”

“No way. That was my point. I was about to slap you in the noggin. If that’s what you think, you’re out of your mind . . . Kimmy’s not like that. She’s just embarrassed.”

“I hope that’s it.”

“That’s totally it. Or, shit, maybe you embarrassed her.”

His stomach tightened at the thought. “You think I could’ve?”

“She said you just passed out?”

“She did.”

Steve looked away, thought a moment. “Maybe that’s part of it. I don’t know . . .” When Steve looked back at him, he was smirking.

Josh laughed, relieved Steve’d meant it as a joke. “Why would you even say that?”

Steve laughed too, said, “Because sometimes I can’t imagine what she’s even doing with you . . .”

* * *

Josh arrived home at his usual time, 5:45. Parked, elevatored up, he trudged to the apartment door, bushed, a terrible cramp running from both sides of his neck down his shoulders. Hangover residue. But he’d made it through the shift at work, and tomorrow was another day.

When he went in the apartment, it was dark.

“Kimmy?”

There was no smell of cooking, and for a moment he thought maybe she was out.

But Kimmy answered then, saying, “Hi, Josh,” her voice coming from the kitchen. He slipped off his shoes, joined her by the fridge, Kimmy putting her phone down. Hand on her waist, they kissed. She asked him how his day went.

“Well, I made it through.”

She asked him how he was feeling and put her hands on his cheeks, the coolness of her hands making him feel feverish. “I feel fine. My back’s a little sore, but I had no headaches or nausea . . .”

“That’s good. You ready for dinner?”

He asked her what she was making, showing a look of puzzlement glancing around the kitchen that had obviously been cleaned and not seen any duty since.

“Dinner’s in twenty minutes.”

Still puzzled, he asked what they were having.

“Your favorite.”

Now it was coming clearer. “Wait a second . . . Bifanas?”

“I called our order soon as I saw you pull into the parking lot.”

“God, Kimmy, that’s great,” he said, “I’m starving. The bitoque?”

“With fries,” she said, rubbing his arm.

Bifanas was a Portuguese place, the bitoque his favorite, a steak and egg dish served with rice and olives, and fries if you wanted. Kimmy asked him if he’d like a Coke now.

He looked down at what he was wearing, said, “I just walked in the door.”

“Go get changed,” she said.

When he gave her a funny face showing her actions were strange, she laughed, came and kissed his cheek. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” he said.

“Your want to play some red Dead Redemption?”

“You going to go to the gym?”

She shook her head no.

He walked down the hall, glancing back to see Kimmy heading into the family room. It was quite the welcome, not completely unusual, but there was still something bothering him. At her studio he stopped; the lights were off, but he poked his head in. On the worktable there was an array of rush grass partially woven, forming the base of the basket, the ends of the grass spread around the base like a child’s drawing of the sun. He went into the bedroom and changed, putting on sweatpants, shorts, and a T-shirt, coming back out to the family room. Kimmy was on the couch, the Xbox turned on, a glass of Coke poured and resting on the coffee table.

He said, “Boy, you’re really going all out tonight.”

She took the compliment, laughing.

“I like it,” he said, “I should get drunk and embarrass you more often.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said and narrowed her eyes at him slyly. With her back against the couch’s arm, she lay stretched out wearing soft cotton capri pants, her legs casually crossed over, feet bare.

He pinched her toe and she smiled. “Sorry about the party.”

Kimmy raised her eyebrows and made an expression like it was all in the past anyway, saying, “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

He offered up: “If I did something really stupid, if I did something that really embarrassed you, you don’t have to spare my feelings. I want to know the truth . . .”

“You didn’t do anything except drink too much and pass out, Josh.”

“You certain?”

She pointed to the floor at her side indicating for him to take his spot where he liked to sit with his back on the couch and play video games. And her request was so inviting and warm, he was quick to surrender all his doubt and hurt, and threw himself happily at her side. He played a few minutes of Red Dead Redemption before the apartment buzzer went off, the Door Dash driver in the lobby. “I’ll get it,” she said, “you keep playing.”

He did, Kimmy paying the guy, taking the bags into the kitchen and preparing plates for each of them then bringing them out to the coffee table. Game paused for the moment, they watched TV while they ate.

After dinner, when Kimmy took the dishes to the kitchen to clean, leaving him to play Xbox, Josh got a text from Devin Stone.