Page 82 of Caught in a Storm
“Ol’ nice guy Billy Perkins,” says Aaron. “You’ve been skulking around for ten years, just waiting for us to fall apart. And now here you are—above the goddamn garage!”
“What are you talking about, Aaron? Who’s falling apart?”
Maybe it’s because his dad has just taken a pretty significant shot to the head. Or, well, maybe Caleb’s just smarter than he is. Either way, he’s a step ahead, and suddenly things make sense. The vibe between his mom and Aaron has been different lately, the changes subtle, like barely perceptible temperature drops. He looks up at his stepfather. “What?” he asks. “Aaron, you’re…you guys are falling apart?”
Aaron tosses the ball over his shoulder. It bounces away, stopping in a hedge, scattering some birds. “Cay,” he says. “It’s…”
Then a big black Cadillac Escalade pulls into the bottom of the driveway. One of the back doors opens and an old guy with a creepy ponytail steps out. The woman who gets out next is maybe his mom’s age, but Caleb is immediately certain that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
Lawson is the first to speak, and he does so smiling. “Well, this is a surprise. Hello, love. Come here; give us a hug. You look wonderful.”
Chapter 45
Robyn is embarrassed for crying. In front of Margot Hammer. At a farmer’s market.
Worse, she’s mad at herself for all the times she’s judged other women for going off the rails in the face of domestic bullshit. How many times has she heard about a lady from work or another mom from Caleb’s school melting down at the grocery store, having an affair with a T-ball coach, or getting hammered at a charity luncheon and thought, Jesus, lady, get your shit together? Now, though, with her shit very much not together—frankly, her shit is all over the place—Robyn gets it.
She’s walking through her neighborhood. The former drummer of a rock band that she never particularly cared for is clomping along beside her. And for the first time in her adult life, Robyn doesn’t have a plan. She had one, and she executed the hell out of it. But that plan was recently torn to pieces and tossed up into the wind. Robyn tried to keep loving Aaron because that was what her plan called for. It turned out Aaron was trying, too, because he also had a plan. Their marriage had been a merger, and that merger has come undone—it’s being spun off into two separate entities.
As she rattles through this analogy in her mind, Robyn is aware that she should probably stop thinking about her life in corporate euphemisms. Maybe that’s part of her problem. She’s treated her marriage less like a marriage and more like a meeting with HR in which a problematic lack of synergy is being discussed in detail.
The upside of not having a plan, though, is that Robyn can now do…anything.
She can start running if she wants to. Literally. Robyn could drop this tote bag full of expensive organic crap on the pavement right now and just take off. Margot would never catch her, with those boots and her short little legs. Robyn could chop her hair off and dye it some daring color. She could seduce that handsome nerd Mark in accounting or get a boob job. She could switch things up and let Aaron keep the house, and she could move to some edgy place in the city—a loft, something with exposed brick and cool views and the constant drone of police sirens. Seriously. Anything.
“You’re a fast walker,” says Margot, struggling to keep up.
Robyn does her best to slow down, but it’s difficult, because Robyn walks the same way she does everything: with a purpose.
No. She’s being stupid. Cool apartments? Sex with accountants? Silicone? These aren’t solutions; they’re just more problems. What Robyn needs is a new plan. And she needs it right now.
Margot has stopped walking. Robyn doesn’t realize this for a full five strides, because she’s been busy self-analyzing.
In the short time Robyn has known Margot, she’s rarely seen the woman’s facial expression change. When Robyn turns back now, though, she sees that Margot looks shocked. More than that: she looks upset. As Robyn follows Margot’s gaze back toward the house, she understands why.
Billy is sitting in the driveway with a swollen face. Caleb is kneeling beside him. Aaron is standing in his running clothes with his hands on his hips, and Lawson Daniels, whom Robyn has somehow forgotten about, is smiling and chatting with a gorgeous woman. A man with a ponytail stands beside her. A few neighbors watch from a distance; some are taking iPhone pictures. The woman looks familiar. Then she looks more familiar. “Oh shit,” Robyn says, because the woman is Nikki Kixx.
It’s ridiculous that Robyn knows exactly how Margot’s marriage ended. But she does, every sordid, stupid detail. Lawson’s affair with Nikki Kixx. Margot losing it on MTV. The band breaking up. Margot’s life and career unraveled. Robyn read about all of it in some magazine years ago, probably while she got her hair cut or waited in line at Giant to buy groceries. It’s taken her until now, though, to consider how much all of that must’ve hurt.
“Margot?” she says. “Are you okay?”
Margot is still holding the carton of strawberries. She takes a step backward, as if she, now, is the one thinking about running. Aaron’s voice carries up the block. “So, does everyone in the entertainment industry know where I live now or what?”
“We can go if you want,” Robyn tells Margot. “We can just bolt. You want to?”
Billy is the first of the crew in the driveway to notice them. He looks up from the pavement and shakes his head.
“No,” says Margot. “Thanks. But I need to finally deal with this.”
Nikki Kixx sees Margot next. She stops talking to Lawson and takes a step toward them, waiting. “Okay,” says Robyn, because she knows that for Margot there’s no going back now.
Chapter 46
Lawson sips his pint, sighs, smiles. He smiles a lot, Billy has found. “Intense morning, innit, mate?”
Billy and Lawson are sitting in the bar section of a restaurant called Johnny’s, a few blocks from Robyn and Aaron’s house. When the dumbstruck bartender came over for their order a few minutes ago, Lawson asked, “What’s the most proper English beer you’ve got?” That ended up being something called Boddingtons Pub Ale. Lawson ordered two, along with a plastic bag of ice. “For my mate here’s cocked-up face.”
Billy sips the ale now. It’s delicious—smooth, creamy, like a lighter Guinness. “I wonder if I have a concussion,” he says.
