“Rather than confront her and risk having her lie, they told her they were going to Tahoe for the weekend when they were going to a friend’s house,” my father said. “They snuck back home and caught her in their bed with Leo Tomaro.”
My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I know you two developed a nice friendship, but . . . well, you never really know about people.”
I dust mopped the floor in a daze, thinking about how close I had come to being Leo Tomaro. My mother said I had been blessed with a vivid imagination, and I could only imagine the scene that had played out in the master bedroom of the Ashby home Saturday night. But even my vivid imagination could not conjure up the scene that would have played out in my own house had it not been for Mickie’s warning that things would end badly if I didn’t end my relationship with Donna.
Things ended badly, but it could have ended a whole lot worse.
Damn, Mickie.
PART FIVE
NONE OF US ARE GETTING OUT OF HERE ALIVE
1
1989
Burlingame, California
The light was blinding in its intensity, and for one horrified moment I thought David Bateman had invaded my home and was shining the flashlight in my eyes. Then I felt a cold, wet tongue licking me vigorously across the face, and I heard the rattle and jingle of Bandit’s dog tags against his chain collar. I was home in bed. Mickie was in the room, though I couldn’t see her, and she’d brought Bandit. The big dog had pinned me on my bed, his black-and-white body wagging with such joy and excitement it felt like someone had stuck a quarter in a cheap vibrating hotel bed.
“No, Bandit,” I mumbled. “Down, down.”
He ignored me.
“Somebody had one hell of a party.” Mickie stepped into the stream of light piercing my bedroom window and my eyes. It backlit her like an angel with a full-body halo. She held the empty bottle of Dewar’s that I had drunk straight—all available ice cubes having been wrapped in towels and pressed against the backs of my thighs.
“Down,” Mickie said, and Bandit dutifully leaped to the floor with a thud and a jingle. “I often wonder why he likes you so much, especially finding you like this. Is this something I need to worry about, you drinking yourself into a coma alone? Or did the lucky lady leave without even a note on your pillow? I’m not judging, mind you.”
“What time is it?” I said.
“Well past morning and rounding on noon.”
I had no recollection of how I’d made it up the stairs to my bed or even what time that occurred, but I was glad I’d had the sense to do so. My body would thank me for not having passed out on the sofa. I also did not remember finishing the bottle, though thankfully it had been only a quarter full. I chose it because it was Eva’s favorite; she liked to save it for special occasions. Well, it didn’t get any more special than when a man learns the woman he nearly sterilized himself for is cheating on him.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“You mean, ‘Hey, Mickie, thanks for coming and checking up on me when I didn’t show up in the office this morning. I could have choked on my own vomit and died like some loser rock star. Oh, and thanks for covering my patients’？”
“I don’t have any patients. I took the day off.”
“Yes, but that was before your aborted trip to Dr. Snip It and your unexpected attendance at the office yesterday afternoon.”
I managed to sit up. Mickie was dressed in office attire—beige slacks, a blouse, flat shoes. My T-shirt stuck to my chest, and I could feel sweat dripping down my neck. The room had already begun to swelter, despite the shade of the maple tree in my front yard. There would be no respite from the heat this day and, I sensed, no respite from Mickie. “How did you know about that?”