Devil In The Waters, Book 5, Chapter 2 (complete) (Patreon)

At the brick gingerbread cookie house with the insurance broker sign out front, she turned left onto the narrow drive that led to Hyun’s apartment. What used to be Hyun and Meyer’s apartment, before they separated and Meyer took the basement apartment in his buddy’s townhome.

The building was a five-story nestled behind fifty-year old family homes along a busy Ajax side street, red brick with black railing balconies; not upscale but not inexpensive and very clean and well-kept. She and Josh had visited here often since they married, back when Hyun and Meyer were still a couple and Sophie was littler.

She and Soph had gone to an all-day-breakfast family place Soph sometimes went with her mom, called The Great Eggs-Crepe. Sophie had French Toast with real maple syrup and bacon. Had asked for chocolate chips in her French Toast and Kimmy obliged her, feeling bad they were having an adult party when Sophie was staying with Meyer. And Josh would have liked to see his niece. But she and Sophie had a big-girl breakfast date, and with that Sophie was happy. She swore they’d make it up to Soph, and they would.

Hyun met them at the apartment door. Though she knew they were coming at ten (and it was ten on the nose), they used Sophie’s key to get in the building and they didn’t buzz up beforehand. It was like they’d caught Hyun unprepared. She looked harried; hair damp, like she’d just jumped out of the shower, she was tied up in a robe. She held the door, and Sophie bounced into her arms, Hyun stooping to pat Sophie’s back.

“Come in, Kimmy, come in,” she said.

“I can’t stay long,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

“Stay for a cup of tea,” Hyun asked, and Kimmy said she would. There was genuine friendliness in Hyun’s eyes—not a lie or politeness provoking the invitation for tea. It was hard to accept Hyun as no longer a part of the family but the truth was, without the marriage to Meyer, they saw almost nothing of her anymore.

“Should I have come later?—I hope I didn’t get you out of the shower . . .”

“I was late coming home, and I had to have a shower.” Hyun worked for Children’s Aid, sometimes doing overnight shifts at a foster care center. Kimmy asked her how school was going.

“Well, the workload . . .” She set the kettle on, shot a pained expression over her shoulder then shrugged with a half-smile.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Kimmy said. After the divorce, Hyun went back to school, going to U of T at the Scarborough campus—graduate work, going part-time for her MA in Adult Education. “Hard work pays off.”

Hyun chuckled, turned to lean on the counter. “Tell me about it—look at you. You look so different.” Sophie had gone to her room but was back now, coming to hug Hyun’s waist.

Kimmy touched her hair, laughed, said, “This work isn’t like being in Immigration.”

“Meyer said he didn’t recognize you when he first saw you . . .”

“Once I was working there?—Yeah, I remember. I must have been a real mess before . . .”

“Not a mess at all. You look very professional.”

Sophie said, “I had French toast for breakfast.”

“You ate already?”

Kimmy said, “She’s fed and watered, ready for her day. What are you guys going to do?”

“She’s going to watch her mother sleep for an hour or two, then . . .?”—looking down at Soph—“What would you like to do?”

“Watch TV?” Soph was hopeful.

Hyun caressed Soph’s cheek, said, “I want you to read a book.”

“Can I pick?”

Hyun said she could and Soph silently—but happily—skipped from the kitchen headed for the family room.

She couldn’t help a smile as she watched her husband’s cousin’s daughter, saying, “She really is wonderful.”

Hyun said, “She has her moments, that’s for sure. Thanks for taking her out to breakfast this morning,” as she scissored open the dishwasher and rattled out two mugs. The act of stooping, leaning, and reaching, opened Hyun’s robe, and Kimmy got a glimpse of her bare collar and a little more. It looked like Hyun wore nothing under the robe, at least up top. Hyun’s skin was pale to the point of ghostly. A beautiful shade of porcelain, with the tiniest hint of lavender.

“It was honestly my pleasure,” she said as Hyun set the mugs on the counter then brought closer a stoneware teapot and tossed two teabags inside. “We had a fun breakfast date.”

Hyun asked where they’d ate and what, and Kimmy told her. They talked more about how her Masters was going, and Hyun poured boiling water in the pot then came to the kitchen table and they both sat. Hyun poured.

Kimmy said, “You seeing anyone?”

Hyun put fingers in her damp hair, looked up. “There’s no time.”

“That’s a shame.”

“How about Meyer? He wouldn’t tell me if he was.”

“No. Not at all. Whenever we see him, it’s just him and Sophie.”

Hyun nodded. “Well, there is . . . someone.”

“At school or at work?”

“School.”

“Tell me about him.”

Hyun made a face, said, “Nah, it’s nothing. We’re just friends.”

“That’s how things start, though. But I know it’s hard with your schedule. We should go out sometime.”

That brightened Hyun. Her eyes went lively and she smiled. “I think I need a night out.”

“We’re both busy, but we should stay in touch.”

“I’d like that.”

“I should’ve invited you tonight,” she lamented as she sipped her tea. “Sorry.”

“I’m happy to watch Sophie so Meyer can go.”

“You guys get along?”

“We try. He’s mad at me. He blames me.”

“Oh. Not to me. I mean he’s never mentioned . . .”

Hyun changed the subject, brushing a lock of hair from her face, saying, “You’re throwing Josh a surprise party?”

“Yes,” she said, hissing her S sound happily.

“You’re so nice. Maybe if I’d . . .”

“Don’t say that. I’m throwing it because . . . I don’t know—I guess like I feel maybe I’m letting him down, being at work all the time.”

“That’s hardly letting him down.”

“We were stuck in that place where we’re supposed to be . . . having babies . . .”

Hyun averted her eyes a moment, nodding, but avoiding the subject of the incomplete pregnancy.

“. . . Then out of nowhere I get this amazing job opportunity and . . . I’m away all the time, or at least a lot more than he’s used to. And I know it’s going to get worse.”

“Your schedule you mean?”

“Yup.”

“Josh is sensitive. Like Meyer.”

“I’m throwing him the party to cheer him up.”

“That’s very sweet,” Hyun said, patting the back of Kimmy’s hand.

She smirked, admitted: “I’m kind of looking forward to seeing his face when he walks in. His face has been one way for so long . . .” She sunk her cheeks and drew her thumb and fingers down her face, narrowing her mouth to an unhappy shape. “He’s been on edge and mopey and it’s like—”

“You’re going to hit him with it.”

“Bam,” she said. “You’re right. Hit him with it.”

“I know the look on his face. Meyer gets it.”

“Maybe it’s a Waters thing.”

Hyun chuckled, gathered her hair up behind her head, both arms raised. She said conspiratorially: “Sophie gets it, too.”

“Aww,” Kimmy cooed, knitting her eyebrows. “She’s so cute.”

Hyun was watching her, cocking her head. “I love your new hair.”

“Sophie really likes it—I think, or maybe she’s just fascinated by the change in appearance.”

“Where do you get it done?” Hyun reached to touch, going slow as a request for permission. Kimmy allowed it, nodding her head forward.

“Same place as always—”

“Where’s that?”

“Here in town, Heather Lauren’s, over on Westney. But this isn’t . . . this is the same cut, I just put it back myself. Oh—and I trimmed my own bangs.”

“I love it,” Hyun said, bringing her hand back, then sipping tea. “I wish I could do mine like that.”

“I could do yours in a few minutes. Want me to trim your bangs?—you already have the same kind of style as mine . . .”

Hyun’s eyebrows popped up. “Would you really do that?”

She said she was sure and stood, came around Hyun’s chair. Hyun shifted it away from the table, and Kimmy gathered Hyun’s wet hair and pulled it back. “Yeah, I can definitely do something with this.”

“Now I just need a killer suit like that and I’ll be in business.”

Kimmy laughed, stroking back Hyun’s hair with her palms. “Where are your scissors?”

“Left of the sink, top drawer,” Hyun said, her own hands working over her hair now, right next to Kimmy’s, and in the moment before she turned to retrieve the scissors, a glimpse of Hyun’s aureola was revealed. For some reason it made her chuckle, but it also brought a pang of hurt, a ghostly reminiscence. The thing she’d done . . . 

But that would be made better. “Let me text work,” she said, “let them know I’m going to be a little later . . .”

***

The text had just about killed him. Ten-thirty in the morning in his office, during a meeting, Rafe and Rita across the desk from him, he sees a text coming from his wife. He’d had a fairly clear-skies morning. Hadn’t considered much his situation with Kimmy and Devlin. It had eased out of his mind. But midsentence, him angling the phone on his desk to read it, catching a glimpse of her message, and he’s distracted, trying to struggle his way through the face-to-face with his team members. The text so consumed his thoughts, he had to hustle out Rita and Rafe, calling the meeting short. Once they were gone, he closed his office door, huddled up with his phone and read Kimmy’s message. It was what he’d thought from his peripheral reading.

Kimmy: sorry, quick plans change. Going to be a little late tonight, not too late, I swear! Something came up after work, I probably won’t be home for dinner, go on and eat without me… But I swear I won’t be late!

And that was when his gray mood turned black.

So now he was out for fresh air with Steve at lunchtime, the two of them avoiding the Swanson cafeteria and instead across the street at the souvlaki place in the industrial plaza. He wanted self-destructive food. French fries, onion rings, a big Coca-Cola, two souvlaki loaded with glistening meat. His treat, so Steve’s plate was loaded the same way.

And Steve knew something was up, biding his time, eating slow and letting the conversation hang—leaving plenty of space for Josh to step in and tell him what he brought him out for.

One souvlaki down, and he felt like he had the resolve: “You know she’s driving me crazy?”

“I guess you mean Kimmy.”

“Oh, I definitely mean Kimmy." He laced together his fingers, felt them slippery, wiped his hands with a napkin, wiped his mouth too, then resumed fingers-interlocked composure.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said.

He took his time, drawing out a long silence which Steve filled by plopping another onion ring in his mouth. Finally he said, “She didn’t get home last night till almost eleven.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, drew in a breath while he was chewing, leaned back from the table. “That sounds pretty late.”

“Eleven o’clock is very late.”

“Did she say why she was home so late?”

“She was at a business meeting,” he said. He put “business” in air quotations.

“You don’t think it was?”

“No, I think it was. Naw, I don’t want to make it sound like that . . .”

“What then—what are you saying?”

“Just that she’s drive me crazy. Why would she do that—stay out that late?”

“Maybe . . . she had a business meeting . . .?”

“So you think I’m making too much of it?”

Steve put his elbows on the table and mimicked the intertwined finger pose. “Maybe not . . .”

Now his brow knitted, and his expression grew perplexed. “You really think maybe not?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “tell me more . . .”

“Okay,” he said, “the meeting was downtown with her boss . . .”

“Why would they meet downtown? Why wouldn’t they just talk in the office?”

“No, it was them and some other people . . .”

“I see . . .”

"But that’s not the bad part. Well . . . Look, the meeting was downtown . . .” And here was the part where it was getting tricky to say. Was he going to cast doubt in his friend’s head about his wife’s fidelity? Steve knew Kimmy. What a terrible thing to do to Kimmy if she wasn’t cheating on him. She wasn’t. But still . . . “The meeting was at a hotel. At the Royal York.”

“Fancy-schmancy.”

“They were at the hotel for hours.”

“Her and these guys they were meeting.”

“That she told me they were meeting . . .”

Steve said, “But if she was at the Royal York for bad reasons . . . Why would she even bother to tell you she was at the Royal York? Why not just say they were meeting somewhere else that’s . . . You know that didn’t have . . .” Steve had problems committing out loud to the accusation as well. Too timid to say that Kimmy’d met her boss at a place that had beds.

He said, “Maybe she knew I could track her on my phone.”

“She could just leave her phone at the office . . . Or maybe turn off her tracking . . .”

“But then I would . . . She knows I would ask why she turned off her tracking . . .”

“Then she could act mad—because, you know, you’re tracking her.”

That was true. “Am I crazy?”

Steve thought about it, wiped his hands on his own paper napkin, looked out the window past Josh’s shoulder like he was seriously contemplating. “Maybe not,” he said.

“Really?” He was so used to Steve telling him he was being crazy that when Steve didn’t tell him he was crazy it got his stomach knotted up.

“It’s not crazy crazy. You know . . . I guess it is a little worrisome.”

“You really think so?”

“Even if you hadn’t told me all those things beforehand—you know about the fight and everything that she had with the guy who’s her boss now at that party—just coming out and saying what you told me now might make my scalp tingle . . .”

“Spidey-sense.”

“Yeah, Spidey-sense.”

“Wow,” he exhaled, sitting back now heavily in his iron chair, making the metal legs squeak on the tile floor. “So you don’t think it’s totally crazy?”

“Josh, it’s not totally crazy. Your wife went with her boss who she has this love-hate kind of thing with—”

“She doesn’t love him—what’re you saying?”

“No, not love-hate, but you know that thing where girls are like . . . they say they hate some guy but that means they don’t really hate him they’re just thinking about him all the time and they want to hate him and they’re kind of mad at themselves because they don’t hate him as much as they say they do . . .”

Now his stomach literally cramped. He thumbed forward his tray so he could rest his forearms on the table. “Really?”

“Yeah, and then she goes to a hotel with him . . .” Steve shook his head, mouth quirked to one side as if he was suffering on his own. “Wow . . . Yeah. She doesn’t even get home until eleven o’clock. Maybe there is something . . .”

“Are you freaking serious?”

Steve showed his palms saying, “You wanted my honest opinion, why do you ask if you’re only wanting to hear what you want?”

“I want your honest opinion. I think I just preferred it when you used to say that I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You are probably wrong. But I see what you’re saying now. This time I can see it . . .”

He slumped back into his chair, rubbing his forehead. And the morning has started out so positive.

Steve said, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much for now, Josh. Don’t let it get you down.”

“But you just said you could see it . . .”

“I do see your point of view. I’m not agreeing with you . . .”

He shook his head, his knee bobbing up and down. “And, you know, there’re little things. Lots of little things . . .”

“Like what?”

He leaned forward again now, looking around to see if they would be overheard since this was of a more embarrassing nature. The place was packed, but everyone engaged with their own table conversations and no one would hear him. Still, he said quietly: “Like last week I called her phone, but she had her calls routed through her secretary . . .”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was in a meeting. That’s not what went wrong.”

“What went wrong?”

“I was talking to her secretary, and I tell her, you know, that I’m Kimmy’s husband.”

“And . . .?”

“We didn’t talk long, but for the rest of the conversation she kept referring to me as Mr. Chang.”

Steve shook his head and made a confused face.

He said, “She goes by Kimmy Chang at work. Because her boss wants Chang on her business card.”

“Sounds kind of racist.”

“It’s not,” he said. “I wish it was . . . Kimmy is Chinese. Well, Taiwanese.”

“So her secretary—”

“Her secretary thinks I’m Chinese.”

Steve nodded, and for a moment he thought Steve had indigestion. But then Steve brought his hands together over his mouth. He went walleyed then pinched his nose. Quick squeaky grunts snorted in his throat.

“Fucking go ahead and laugh.”

Steve released his nostrils, and blubbered honest laughter that had him hunching over his remaining souvlaki. “Her secretary thinks you’re Chinese . . .”

“Very funny,” he said again.

“You are not Chinese . . .”

“I know I’m not Chinese. Go on and laugh . . .”

“Okay, oh sorry, Mr. Chang . . .”

“I’m glad you’re getting a kick out of my wife not using my last name and obviously not having my picture in her office.”

“So that’s getting you down? It’s an honest mistake. Maybe her secretary was afraid to not call you Mr. Chang in case you were a white guy whose last name was Chang. That can happen . . .” Steve’s cheeks had gone red, and he knew that his friend could enjoy a lot more laughter but was holding himself together for Josh’s sake. Steve took a clean napkin, and wiped his leaking eyes. His body shuddered occasionally with an oncoming laugh which he choked off. “Sorry, buddy. Sorry, that is just . . . that’s too funny.”

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.”

Steve crumpled his napkin, laid his forearms on the table, hands extended toward him. “Hey. What are you doing tonight?”

Now his stomach crumpled again. There was no way he was going to finish the second souvlaki. He said, “Kimmy said this morning she’d be home at a regular time, then she texted me while I’m in a meeting with fucking Rafe.”

“Asshole.”

“I know . . . she texted me to say that she’s not going to be home early. To go on and have dinner without her.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, you got that right. That’s why I’m having lunch with you right now because I wanted somebody to talk to.”

“Well shoot, Josh, if you’re not doing anything after work, come out with me. Come on, you bought lunch, let me take you out for a couple of beers . . .”

***

A pitcher of Creemore was split between the two of them at The Poddy Kilt, the two of them at the bar with a baseball game playing on the high mounted screens. At the end of the seventh inning Steve got a text, nudged his arm and said, “Hey, my brother’s over at the Dragon, in the old village . . .? Let’s go sit on the patio over there.”

The baseball game was almost over, and the Jays were ahead by four. Plus the misty gray day had opened up, the gray-green skies giving way to a brilliant blue and bright sunshine. And maybe he wouldn’t be home until eleven o’clock tonight. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his cheeks, “I could use some sunshine and fresh air today.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve said, settled up with the bartender and they headed to the cars. “We should probably take an Uber,” Steve said, and ordered one on his phone. They wandered up and down the sidewalk outside of the bar, and Josh did everything he could not to bring up Kimmy again.

But in the back of the Uber it got quiet, and his thoughts were heavy. He said quietly to Steve, “What do you think I should do about this thing with Kimmy?”

“You got me. I don’t know what to tell you. No, I do . . . Just play it cool. There’s nothing going on. But you should keep your eye out . . .”

“You really think I need to keep my eye out?”

“I’m always defending Kimmy,” Steve said, looking up toward the ceiling of the Uber. “But maybe you’re right, and I’m wrong . . .”

“You think?”

“I don’t like what I’m hearing. I always pooh-pooh you—most of the time I used to think you’re just a whiner. No offense.”

“No, I know . . .”

“But, yeah . . . Could you imagine? Like what would she be doing at the Royal York that late?”

“I know,” he said, guts squirming. “Kimmy said she was at a business meeting with some Chinese people . . .”

“Family of yours, Mr. Chang?”

“Fuck you,” he said, “I’m serious.”

“Boy, you’re getting snippy. I thought it was rye that made you feisty not some beers.”

“No . . .”

“That’s right, that was Kimmy.” He put up boxing fists and fake punched the back of the driver’s head rest.

“At the reunion party? She wasn’t drinking, I was drinking bourbon.”

“So when you drink bourbon Kimmy gets feisty?”

He laughed, appreciating the good-natured squabble, but unable to shake an uneasy feeling. “I’m sure it was a business meeting like she said. Kimmy’s not like that.”

“I used to think she wasn’t,” Steve said, and Josh turned to see his friend looking pensively out the window, an index finger hooked in the divot under his lower lip.

“She really isn’t like that.”

“Josh: Eleven o’clock for a business meeting . . .?”

“She got home at eleven, she wasn’t there till eleven.”

Steve said, “So ten o’clock?”

He was quiet for the rest of the ride, looking out the windows as they got to the Pickering Village, working their way toward Old Kingston where the Dragon was.

When they got out of the Uber, he shoved hands in his pockets, could feel his expression shrink down to a surly pinch. Maybe he would get a real good drunk on tonight. Maybe he wouldn’t even be home at eleven o’clock. Maybe Kimmy would be lying in bed tonight wondering where the hell he was. Maybe he wouldn’t even text her. Maybe he and Steve and Steve’s brother would go out to a strip joint . . . 

“Come on, cheer up, look it’s a brilliant sunny day. Were going to sit on the patio, and I’m going to buy you another beer.”

“Just one more?”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve said, and they headed under the brick archway that led alongside the tudor-style pub, into the alcove of shop fronts where the Dragon’s brick patio opened out to a garden.

He was saying, “It’s just, you know, I don’t even think it’s Kimmy that’s getting under my skin, it’s the . . .”

There were coming past the bar's side wall now, and a familiar face had his eyes raising from the brick pathway where he was walking and focusing. It was Meyer. His cousin was sitting at a table on the Dragon's patio raising a pint glass of beer to him. And he had a momentary brain fart where he thought they were here to meet Meyer, but as his brain found its footing he realized no, it was a coincidence. They were here to see Steve’s brother and it was a surprise that Meyer was here. But then he could see Karina. Karina and Meyer, and Gabrielle, and Samara, and . . . And then standing was Kimmy. Still dressed in her black suit, hair pulled back, blood red lipstick on her pretty lips that now spread in a wide smile that showed her bright teeth.

Steve gasped: “What the hell are they doing here?”

He stopped short, stumbled, took another step, and stopped again. His heart thudded in his chest.

Steve broke out laughing. “I mean what are the odds that they’re here?”

He was such a fucking sucker.

Everyone at the table cheered and raised their glasses to him. Kimmy came around the table, gesturing for him to come up the steps onto the patio but his feet had gone to lead. He looked to Steve sheepishly, his eyes pleading Don’t tell Kimmy any of the shit that I just said . . . 

At the top of the stairs, Kimmy held out her hand, said to Steve, “Great timing, Steve-O, we just got our drinks,” then to him, “Josh, what the hell are you doing here at my important meeting?”

“What are you doing here?” he said, feeling his cheeks absolutely blazing hot.

“I told you I wouldn’t be home for dinner.”

“What is going on?”

“Something came up after work, I’ve got this meeting here. Do you want to come and join me?”

“Kimmy . . .”

There was a flood of embarrassment that rose up from his guts. All that stuff he’d said to Steve today, and Steve playing along. He said to Steve, “When did you . . .?”

"Come on up and have some more beers you, douche bag,” Steve said, then skimmed past Kimmy, his hand brushing up her arm and squeezing her shoulder. Steve took the friends' cheers meant for Josh, raised his hands over his head and joined the tables, slipping in to sit next to Meyer.

“Oh my God,” Josh said, palming his forehead. “How did you do this?”

“It’s just a small dinner. It’s not a big deal.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What—and ruin the surprise?”

His eyes strained in their sockets, then went wet. All that hurt he’d suffered today from 10:30 in the morning until two seconds ago was twisting inside him like a damp rag being squeezed dry. A wonderful transformation, but a wholly uncomfortable one. He blinked tears as happiness reluctantly took the driver seat. He’d been so comfortable with anguish behind the wheel today, that anguish was slow to get out of the way. He almost still wanted to be mad at her. He stared at her wondrously, then she licked her lower lip, and waited for him to say something, smiling wide. Cupping her neck, he kissed her mouth.