Swim Butterfly

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 29

Flay the Potato

End of August, summer winding down nicely, peacefully, considering. One afternoon while peeling potatoes over the sink, with cartoons buzzing on TV, I hear my phone ring. My heart jumps, but I tell myself to cool the fuck down and look. Pete.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Deenah is coming over tonight, around seven. She wants to talk to me about something. Think you can throw some steaks on the grill or something?"

I feel my face leaden, "Uh, okay. Just Deenah? Not the rest of the fish bowlers?"

"Yeah, uh, the what? Hey, never mind, I gotta go. Just Deenah."

"She say what it's about?"

"Nah, wants to talk in person. Hey, gotta go."

"Okay, bye." I loosen my grip on the cold steel sink. Deenah's coming over the bridge? For her to come to New Jersey is like asking her to travel to Angkor Wat. Fish bowlers never go anywhere, just swim around the same 10-mile radius their whole lives. And visiting Disney World doesn't count as getting out and seeing a bit of the world. But fuck it, whatever will be, will be.

I have no idea what's on Deenah's mind. Could she have found out about me? We have no common friends and I don't think Pete told anyone at all. Hell, he knows anyway. I take steaks out of the freezer to defrost in a pan of cold water, and then continue peeling the potatoes, interrupted by switching the wash and running around cleaning the house and patio last minute.

Pete rolls in around 3:30. He trudges into the living room, tells the kids to go outside, and drops his work bag beside his easy chair. June and Rudy sigh but obey, turning off the TV and heading to the side door in the kitchen. I give them popsicles to sweeten the deal and shoo them outdoors.

Pete joins me in the kitchen, where I'm still trying to peel all the potatoes. "So, Pete, whatever she wants, tell her no."

He sneaks a glass under the faucet, the water missing the glass and running down his wrist. Finally he fills the glass and sips it, leaning against the counter by the sink.

"Ha ha, did I hear you right, Caroline? Say no to Deenah? I can't imagine why she wants to come over, though. Doubt it's anything good."

"Is she," I almost ask if she's getting along with her husband, Joe, but switch tracks, "is she doing okay financially?" I glance up at Pete.

He narrows his eyes. "I dunno. I don't talk to her much."

"Maybe she just wants some warm and fuzzy family time." I smile widely.

Pete laughs. "I doubt it."

He finishes the glass of water and sets it on the counter. He watches the peeler flay the potato. "What did he see in you, Caroline?"

I stop, nearly dropping the potato and the peeler. "Really? Now? We were having a nice domestic moment."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I asked. Of all the people who must be free and available in one of the biggest cities in the world, why another man's wife? Who has kids, too?"

My wrist goes limp. I'm tempted to roll my eyes, but I don't. "It just happened. There's no reasonable explanation. It's like electrical theory to me--you can explain it away forever and ever and I still won't grasp it."

"Oh, come on, I told you the difference between current and voltage is just..."

"Didn't you ever love someone, just love them without knowing why? There's no theory behind human emotion!"

"It was a crush or a rush or something like that and it doesn't mean you had to sleep with him! Or carry on for a whole fucking year!" Pete's voice rises.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm an adult. What should I have done? Swap lollipops?"

"Maybe. He good in bed?" Pete grips the edge of the sink with both hands, his face so close to mine that spittle hits me when he says 'bed'.

I stop, then peel again...

chores wait for no one.

I'm not answering this question, ever.

Pete watches me for a moment. "Did you fuck him differently?"

I slam the potato and peeler into the sink. "Okay, yes! You want me to show you how? Right now?"

"The kids are home..."

"They're in the backyard..."

"Deenah's coming over..."

"Not until seven!"

I grab Pete's wrist with my starchy hand, digging my nails into the soft underside of his arm, pulling him upstairs to our old bedroom. The button of his work pants pops open easily and I have no mercy, unzipping the zipper, even chipping my thumbnail. I run my hand down his pants, over his cock, hard already.

"Ever fuck a whore, Mr. Donnelly?" I whisper in a raspy voice.

"My wife's not a whore." Pete replies, his eyes closed, head back.

"What is she, then?" I tug down his pants.

"I don't know."

"You want to fuck her anyways? Fuck her hard?"

He opens his eyes and tilts his head back up. "Yes. I do."

He shoves me backwards onto the bed. "Take off your pants."

I unbutton my jeans, and he yanks them off. He rips my panties to the side and rams his cock into me so hard that it hurts. My heart thumps, and I cry out as he thrashes against me, bucking wildly, grunting, panting. He has no mercy, beating me with his cock, hard and deep and fast...

and I like it.

I almost cum, but I can't. I can't quite let myself go.

With a loud huff, Pete climaxes, then collapses on my chest. We breathe harshly while the hot, sticky mess leaks out of me.

Stifling a chuckle, I marvel that he literally fucked me ragged. And I think it's the best sex we ever had. He slowly rolls off of me and lies on his back, resting his forearm over his eyes. "He fuck you like that?"

"No, but you never fucked me like that before, either."

He looks at me, "Really? Then what is it he does so differently?"

"Jesus, Pete, this again? Do we really need to..."

"October, Caroline. I'll give you until October first to figure it out." He closes his eyes and rolls over, his back to me, "I need a nap. Better go check on the kids."

Yeah. I need to finish the potato salad, anyway.

***

Deenah arrives around 7:45. Dinner's cooked, and cold. The kids and I ate earlier, and after they chat with Aunt Deenah for a couple of minutes, I get them ready for bed so Pete and Deenah can have some privacy on the patio.

While Pete and Deenah eat their late, re-heated dinner, I peek out of June's back window to spy on them; it's serious, whatever they're talking about, but based on Pete's calm-looking face, I don't think it has anything to do with me.

About 8:45, I tuck in the kids and tidy up the kitchen, then bring out a tray of brownies and decaf for Pete and Deenah and sit down to join them for a cup. They sit up straight when I appear. Deenah's eyes look glassy, but she asks me how I'm doing and seems to listen without judgment. She can be nice when she wants to be. She wears jeans and an old T-shirt, no makeup or jewelry. I almost feel sorry for her, as if something knocked her back into last Sunday.

Around 9:30, she apologizes for staying so late, hugs all around, and leaves. I tell her to drive safely.

Pete helps me rinse the dirty plates and put them in the dishwasher, which I appreciate, and I tell him that. He smiles. I stand by the counter, wiping it one last time while he puts the last cup in the dishwasher. He pours a last dribble of the decaf in two clean mugs and sets them on the kitchen table. He sits down, and so do I, albeit carefully. I barely smirk to myself, still sore from earlier, like how Jimmy used to leave me.

Pete looks into his coffee mug, swirling it around. I sit, remaining silent. Finally, he starts, "Well, this is the news--Mom's kicking Dad out of the house."

My stomach flips backwards. "Really? Maureen's really.... well, I guess technically the house is hers anyway, from her father, right?"

"Yep, it's her house. I don't know what the law says about them having been married and whether he gets any of it, but sounds like he's not putting up a fight."

"So, did she really kick him out, or did he decide to leave?"

"The way Deenah puts it, kicked out, but I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if it's a little of both."

Hmm. Maybe. Sounds like a spin. Pete sips the dead coffee as I sit back. Has Deenah ever suspected the same thing I did regarding Poppop? Maybe I'll get answers during this conversation. I hesitate to ask point blank, so instead I ask, "Why now? I mean, did something happen? It couldn't have been the diner, 'cause no one else seemed to notice, and I didn't say anything to anyone, except you."

Pete shakes his head. "I don't know. Sounds like Mom is tired of his drinking and attitude and who knows what else goes on there. I don't know if what we suspected has anything to do with it or not."

Pete looks at me for a while, then takes a deep breath, "Deenah wants me and the kids to come and stay with them for Labor Day weekend, for moral support and to help Mom out. Plus it'll let the cousins hang out a little before school." He doesn't take his eyes off me. "Remember what I said earlier?"

"Yes, I remember. You, uh, didn't say anything to Deenah, did you?" I hold my breath.

"No, nothing. That's still

our

business." He holds the coffee mug in both hands and sets it down carefully, noiselessly. "So, like I said, Rudy and June and I will be gone

all

weekend. Your business--figure it out. October first."

He gets up and leaves. The dirty mug remains on the table.