Book of Jo: Part 29
An affair to forget
Start with Part 1. Or read a quick, spoiler-free synopsis.
September 23, 2016
Friday, 7:30 pm
I’m home alone for the first time this week.
Berry slipped out this morning while I was on the phone with the funeral home, answering questions about my mother’s memorial service. She left without saying goodbye. I’m both disappointed and relieved. I wonder if she sneaked out on purpose, or if she was just distracted by grief.
Ashley and Lon also left early for Ashley’s doctor’s appointment. She’s going to see a specialist in San Jose, a friend of Dr. Whitlow’s. She was so nervous that she cooked half a pound bacon and made twenty perfectly round waffles with my heretofore unused waffle maker. She also hugged me several times with effusive, tremulous affection. It felt like an ending. I hope she didn’t see my tears.
I spent a long, lonely day, wondering how Brad died, and thinking about Wolf and our relationship.
Ashley discovered the affair one improbable night last year when she and Lon and Brad and Berry had gotten together for dinner. The dinner was a random, quirky thing. Both couples had independently planned romantic getaways to Mendocino for the same weekend. They ran into each other sipping cabernet at the Purple Puffin winery.
Charmed by the coincidence, they made plans. Brad had seemed especially eager to catch up on family gossip. Ashley was mildly disappointed — she had been looking forward to a leisurely evening and a long soak in the hot tub — but she was also curious about the restaurant Brad had recommended. The Country Walrus was well known for its delicious food and relaxing atmosphere.
Ashley knew something was wrong when she and Lon met Brad and Berry for drinks before dinner. Berry’s eyes were puffy, as though she’d been crying, and she smelled strongly of smoke. Brad’s face held the kind of hardness that can only be softened by alcohol, and lots of it. He downed three shots of Scotch before their table was ready.
During dinner, Brad and Berry unraveled in different ways. Brad veered sharply between gruff and angry drunk to sad, sentimental drunk. He recalled the first days of his courtship of Berry with the wistfulness of a widower. Berry, who’d started the evening tearful and morose, became self-contained and nearly mute. She responded to questions in monosyllables and kept looking down at her iPhone, despite the restaurant’s policy banning electronic devices.
When Ashley asked her what was wrong, Berry shrugged it off as PMS. “Or something like that,” added Brad with obvious sarcasm. For a while, Ashley and Lon tried to keep up a steady stream of small talk, but they eventually fell silent. Between Brad’s alcohol-gilded soliloquies and Berry’s one-word replies, conversation was abandoned in favor of appreciating the food.
Towards the end of the evening, Brad whispered something to Berry, and the two of them abruptly left the table. As soon as they were gone, Berry’s phone chirped. Ashley looked down at the phone and then up at Lon. Lon shook his head, but Ashley, feeling bold after a few glasses of wine, took the phone and touched its screen. She saw fifty or sixty texts from Wolf. When she opened one of the older ones, she was greeted with a picture of an enthusiastically erect penis poking out of striped briefs.
Ashley quickly replaced the phone by Berry’s half-eaten plate of sea bass. “I think you just got a call,” she said, when Berry returned. Berry, for the first time that evening, smiled and grabbed her phone. Brad sighed poured himself another drink.
On the way back to the Moonlight Inn, Ashley and Lon discussed what she had seen. After carefully weighing the pros and cons of disclosure, they decided that it was better not to meddle. After all, Ashley couldn’t be sure that Berry and Wolf’s relationship had progressed from sexts to something more tangible. They agreed, as Lon put it, not to fuck around with other people’s relationships.
That night, Ashley and Lon made love with unaccustomed tenderness. Afterwards, they basked in the smug afterglow of knowing that Brad and Berry, and Wolf and I, were doomed.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I don’t know for sure that Ashley and Lon made love that night, but I bet they did. I’m angry that Ashley waited so long to tell me, and I hate the idea of her and Lon feeling superior about their perfect, boring marriage.
But I still miss Ashley’s company. The silence in the house is thick and oppressive. It’s daring me to think of everyone who will never come to visit here, ever again.
To get some much needed perspective, I’m going to see the girls tonight. I have plans to meet Cedar, Lulu, and Kat at The Louvre, a new bar in Hayes Valley. I feel terrible about how awkward I made them feel last night, when Cedar gave me the Accursed-labeled bottle of wine. I know they’ve been making a huge effort to be there for me. I should be able to act grateful, to let them distract me instead of pulling them down into my unhappiness.
“Something’s wrong with you,” says the voice. I’m startled. It has been quiet all day. I thought its presence in the hospital bathroom, and on my walk with Ashley, had been an aberration.
I shake my head and will the voice to be silent. It’s getting late, and I should get ready to go. I’ve been in bed since noon. I glance at my phone on the nightstand. No new messages. I’m disappointed that Wolf hasn’t called to check in. I really should tell him about Brad. Unless he’s already heard from Berry.
I know I should confront my husband, but I’m just too tired. Besides, I trust him. Mostly. I truly believe that he and Berry just got carried away, just took their texting a little too far. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s what I want — what I need — to be true.
I crawl out from under the covers and put my feet on the floor. I go into the master bathroom. The huge vanity mirror over the sink captures every wrinkle and blemish. I run my hand through my hair and another clump falls out. The sore on my lip is even bigger.
“Your friends are going to turn on you,” murmurs the voice. It’s quiet this time, barely a whisper.
“Shut up,” I say. “Just shut up.”
