No Clouds
We survive the six-hour road trip south to my parents' house in Virginia with the help of brown paper grab bags, snacks, and Dollar Store toys. In my haste to put final touches on packing, I had left the previous day's mail on the coffee table and Pete saw the promotional Winter Weekend Special flyer, on a specific weekend, from the Seawinder Hotel in Cape May. I wish he hadn't seen it, but I'm relieved he didn't throw it out. He probably thinks it's junk mail, but it's not. I know it's a very special trip to the shore.
I feel like Pete's relieved we're not spending Christmas in the ear-busting company of his family, despite the long drive to my folks. We arrive, greet Mom and Dad with hugs, and four travel bags spill out all over the guest room. After quick trips to the bathroom, Rudy and June converge on the living room to count and recount how many gifts they each have under the tree.
I sit at the granite countertop bar by the kitchen of this open-concept house, watching the kids, smiling, sipping Riesling from a thin-stemmed wine glass. Watch yourself. I know, I know. I must stop at the tipping point, beyond which I'd spill my guts and venom to Pete, ruining the holidays and probably my marriage and breaking my promise to Jimmy, all in one blow. Talk about efficient! I was stupid to even start drinking, but if I didn't drink right now, it would look weird. Mom and Dad always have a glass in the evening, and I've always joined them.
I keep my promise to Jimmy in mind, which leads me to think about the affair. I know it's wrong, but with my working life gone, my identity gone, I feel like my reason for existing beyond the day-to-day has gone, and the time is not right for another life change. Jimmy restores me, all the little chinks I felt falling away, whatever made up me before, before Dishes-n-Laundry, slowly fills in, healing from the inside out.
I take the last sip, and set the empty wine glass gingerly on the counter, careful not to crack the glass's wide, round foot. One last drop of Riesling rolls around, frantic to hop into my mouth and tempt me into another drink. No. I want to call Jimmy. I shake my head 'no' when Mom holds up the wine bottle. Then I roll several excuses for going outside around in my head:
I want to stretch my legs.
I want to see if the stars are out.
I need to get something out of the car.
I settle on the best excuse--no excuse at all. I go to the guest room and rustle around for a minute, as if looking for something, then simply sneak out the door with my phone and without my coat. A flutter in my stomach, I walk down the street past a few houses, my eyes wide in the dark and cold, watching for neighbors milling about in their driveways or at their windows. I see no one. I cuddle up against the trunk of a large tree, in the shadow opposite the streetlight. Since it's the night before Christmas Eve, I guess it's okay to call Jimmy. Just before the phone normally goes to voice mail, he answers,
"Hello!"
"Hey, Jimmy, happy holidays!"
"Ho, ho, you naughty girl, this is Santa Claus. You dialed the wrong number."
"Ooo, Santa, I'm so sorry! I'll do anything to make it right. I'll even give you a smooch under the mistletoe, anywhere you want it." I coo.
Silence, then, "You always talk to Santa this way?"
My heart thuds. Did someone else answer Jimmy's phone? Friend or relative, maybe? "Uh, no, frankly, no, but I... could I speak to Jimmy, please?"
"Just a moment, lady."
My hand shakes. I peer around the tree. No one's around. "Jimmy?" I whisper into the phone. I hear a laugh.
"Of course it's me! Please don't tell me you really thought it was Santa!"
"Oh, fuck you! Of course not, but for a moment, I thought someone else answered your phone!" I giggle, despite feeling sick. "You'd make one hell of a Santa, though, delivering something special to ladies everywhere." I wipe a thin ribbon of sweat off my forehead even though my breath condenses in the cold, then dissipates among the crystal stars.
"Sure, maybe I could put it in a stocking?" he suggests.
"Ha ha, a big ol' cock sock! I wish you could. I wish I could get all of you in my Christmas stocking."
