Swimming to Chicago Read online

  Immediately, Jillian dove into a front pocket of her apron and whipped out her cell phone. She typed, “WTF? Is your dad having an affair with a blonde with a hot bod?” She was just about to press the Send button when the short husband suddenly appeared on the other side of the ticket table from her. He cleared his throat to make his presence known. Jillian glanced up and shoved her phone away, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She even felt her cheeks blush, and this pissed her off.

  Who in the hell is this guy sneaking up on me like that? Wait…oh, shit…he’s old…but he’s kinda cute. Nah…forget it…he’s too short.

  “Hello,” he said. His voice was smooth. It reminded Jillian of a man who hosted a call-in radio show her mother used to listen to religiously. “How much are the raffle tickets?”

  Jillian refused to crack a smile. It was too humid to be polite. Besides, the guy was clearly an idiot if he had no idea his sexy wife was hot for Alex’s dad. “One dollar each.”

  He reached for his wallet. “Does the money go to a good cause?”

  “That depends,” she answered with a half shrug. “Do you like cops?”

  He grinned, and Jillian had to admit it: she liked his smile. He had nice teeth. And his eyes were gorgeous—blue and icy. “I like to keep them on my side,” he said. He pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to her.

  She glanced down at his hands, at the dark hairs on the back of his thick knuckles. He was holding something. As if he could sense her stare, he opened his palm and flattened it to reveal a black box with Chinese writing on it. A ceramic dragon sat on top of it.

  “Have I intrigued you with this?” he asked. Jillian was suddenly aware the stranger was leaning across the table and his mouth was close enough to kiss. She noticed a spot on his chin where he’d probably cut himself shaving that morning. She breathed deep, swallowing the scent of him: a mixture of manly soap, aftershave, and sweat. Yes, he was old…old enough to be her father. But it was evident he wanted her in the way his eyes kept dropping to her chest and rising up again to study her mouth. He wanted her bad. Heavy desire slid over their skin like an invisible hot mist.

  Although Jillian had next to zero experience with guys, this married man was coming on to her in a big way. She could tell. But so can everyone else. If she’d spent the last hour people-watching, she was certain someone in the crowd was watching them, too. Whoever this man was, the last thing she wanted was a nasty rumor to spread around town about the two of them. Enough rumors were already circulating about Jillian’s mother and her new boyfriend of the week.

  “Are you wondering what I’m holding in my hand?” he asked, as if he were daring her to undress right there in the middle of the bazaar, let him make love to her while everyone watched.

  She licked her lips before she answered. “Do you mean right now? Or every night?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You’re quick-witted,” he assessed, adding, “and terribly sexy as well.”

  “Okay,” she said, shifting her gaze back to the charcoal black ceramic box resting in his hand. “I’ll admit it. I’m curious. What is it?”

  “It’s a wish box,” he explained. “It’s Chinese. It’s feng shui.”

  “Never heard of it before,” she said.

  “It’s simple. You write down something you wish for and you put it in the box.” As if to demonstrate, he reached two fingers around the dragon and lifted the lid. “The dragon will guard your wishes so they come true. Pretty cool, don’t you think?”

  He held the wish box out to her. She took it from him, noticing the flash she felt sear her body when their fingers touched briefly during the exchange. “Yes,” she said, locking eyes with him. “Very cool.”

  He grinned and said, “I’m Harley.” She watched his lips when he spoke. “Harley LaMont. And you are?”

  “LaMont?” she repeated. “As in Robby’s father?”

  He looked perplexed. “Stepfather,” he corrected her. “But I gave him my last name.”

  “That’s very…noble of you.”

  “If I’m noble, you’re clever.”

  “No,” she said with a small laugh. “Just Jillian.”

  “Jillian,” he echoed.

  “Jillian Dambro,” she said. She ripped off five raffle tickets from the roll and handed them to him. “And…I think I’m in your fifth period class this semester.”

  He let the tickets go. Jillian watched them glide down to the grass. They landed at his feet. He was wearing loafers.

  Another strike against him.

  Who in the hell wears loafers on a Saturday? During summer? What a dork. Damn…he needs to stop staring at me because he’s turning me on.

  “Come again?” Harley asked, stunned.

  She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You’re my new English teacher.”

  “I’ll be damned,” he whispered back. “This is going to be a very tough year.”

  Jillian inhaled him again. She wanted to lick his skin, taste him. “For me or for you?”

  “For both of us,” he decided. She pulled away from him and glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed the obvious sexual attraction between them. “Not only am I your English teacher…but I’m a married man.”

  As if on cue, his wife appeared next to him and slid her arm through his, claiming what was hers. Her wedding ring grabbed a ray of September sunlight. “Who’s this?” the woman asked, but the question was posed more to Jillian than to her husband.

  “One of my new students,” he offered. “Jillian, this is my wife. Martha.” The way he said “Martha” made her name sound like a synonym for “buzz kill.”

  Jillian’s smile vanished and no matter how hard she tried, it refused to return. “It’s nice to meet you…Mrs. LaMont.”

  “Please…call me Martha,” she said with a flash of her ultra-white teeth. “We just moved here. From Pittsburgh.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jillian said. “Alex told me.”

  Her bright smile dimmed at the mention of Alex’s name. “Oh,” she stated flatly. “You know Alex?”

  “He’s my…best friend.”

  Martha LaMont’s posture tightened as if a string was pulling her from above. “Then you must know my son.”

  Jillian put the wish box down on the ticket table and folded her arms across her chest. “I know of him. I just haven’t met him yet,” she said. “Alex seems to be keeping Robby all to himself these days.”

  The conversation was obviously making Martha uncomfortable. In Jillian’s opinion, the gorgeous woman couldn’t change the subject fast enough. “What a beautiful wish box,” she marveled. “My husband bought one just like it at that table…over there. Honey, do you have yours with you?”

  Harley’s words seemed strained, irritated even. “It’s already in the car, dear.”

  Martha patted the back of her head as if she were making sure a hair hadn’t escaped from her high ponytail. “Well,” she said, “I guess we should be going now.”

  “We just got here,” Harley reminded her. He lowered his voice, but his jaw was tense. “You bugged me all morning about bringing you here.”

  Martha was flustered, nervous and embarrassed. Jillian felt very bad for the woman. She wanted to say something to her but couldn’t decide on the right words to say.

  Maybe something like, “Martha, your husband is an absolute pig and doesn’t have a faithful bone in his short, pudgy body. So, let me take him off your hands…at least until I graduate.”

  Instead, all Jillian could muster was, “See you in class on Tuesday, Mr. LaMont.”

  He started to walk away with his hand placed on the small of Martha’s back as if ushering her along, as if he couldn’t get her to the car fast enough. He looked back over his shoulder at Jillian and devoured her with one quick sweep of his eyes over her body. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

  Jillian glanced around, and sure enough Sue Ellen was lurking around, stuffing her face with pink cotton
candy. She shot Jillian an all-knowing look and Jillian flipped her off in response.

  She picked up the wish box and held it up in the air, inspecting it from all angles.

  My first wish, she thought, is to get me the hell out of this town. And fast. Take me away, wish box. To a big city.

  She reached under the table and slipped the wish box into her purse. For some reason, Jillian felt an immense wave of guilt. Martha’s sweet smile kept flashing in her mind. And the way Harley had been so firm with his wife was unsettling. I haven’t done anything wrong, Jillian reminded herself. But, deep down, Jillian knew she wanted to. It was only a matter of time before she and Harley would find themselves alone.

  And she feared what would happen when that moment came.

  She thought about sneaking off to hide somewhere behind the church to have a cigarette, but with her luck, she knew she’d get caught. Sue Ellen would no doubt follow her just to snitch to the minister and his spatula-pointing wife.

  Five o’clock needs to hurry up and get here because I’m done with this place.

  When Jillian saw Alex and Robby walking through the bazaar together, the pang of envy she’d been feeling dissolved into a warm mixture of melancholy and endearment. There was no denying Alex and Robby were an adorable pair. The glances they shared and their matching grins told Jillian all she needed to know: it was serious.

  Maybe it really was love.

  The rage and pain holding Alex captive since the start of summer had subsided. In its place was an electric illumination, a neon aura pulsing with golden bliss. He was glowing when he walked up to the ticket table and said, almost breathless, “Jillian…this is Robby.”

  “Hey,” she said, keeping the nonchalant expression on her face tight.

  Robby was a couple of inches shorter than her. He was small and fragile-looking, like someone who needed to be taken care of and protected. He stood next to Alex, half-hiding behind him. He looked at Jillian with his big brown eyes, but only for a few seconds. “Hi,” he said in a soft voice. He glanced up from his blue raspberry snow cone, smiled a little, and then lowered his eyes back to the ground. “Wow,” he enthused. “You’re really pretty.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, hoping he couldn’t tell his compliment worked, cracking her tough exterior. He was a little too girly for her taste and she couldn’t really understand what Alex saw in him, but he seemed like a cool guy. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked Alex.

  He gave her a look. “Maybe I should ask you the same question. Since when did you become a Baptist?”

  She grinned and almost laughed. “Since my mother bribed me. She said if I help out at this dumbass bazaar, she’ll finally pay to get my car fixed once and for all.”

  Alex scanned the crowd. “Is she here?”

  “Yeah,” Jillian said. “Probably in someone’s backseat in the parking lot.”

  Robby laughed a little and Jillian glared at him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “What are you apologizing for?” she asked. “You haven’t met my mother yet…but once you do…I’m sure you’ll understand everything…why I’m such a bitch.”

  Martha

  Martha knew what she had to do. When she suggested a school shopping trip to John, he eagerly agreed. She presented her idea as an opportunity to get to know Alex better. She knew John’s son couldn’t stand the sight of her. He was always looking at her with an unsettling expression combining judgment and disdain, reminding her constantly of Harley and his never-ending barrage of criticisms.

  Harley’s recent crusade was against Martha’s weight. He insisted she’d put on at least ten pounds in the month they’d been living in Georgia. He accused her of sitting around all day and feeling sorry for herself, demanding she do her fair share around the house. He noticed the smudges on the windows, the crumbs on the kitchen counter, the footprints in the carpet, the hair in the bathtub, the wrinkles in his shirts. He appeared exasperated with her, tired of being forced to remind her about everything—the bills needing to be paid, items from the grocery store to pick up, errands to run. She forgot them all unless he told her what to do.

  She always felt his eyes on her, assessing her, and secretly celebrating his discovery of each of her flaws. He watched her every bite during the few meals they shared until he stood up at the table last night and announced, “I’ve lost my appetite.” She nodded and felt tears burning the back of her throat. He looked down at her, her plate, her body, and said, “Maybe I should start eating dinner in my office. That might be better for the both of us.”

  According to the scale in her bathroom, Martha had only put on two pounds since leaving Pittsburgh. She desperately wanted to point out to Harley he’d gained at least forty pounds during their nine-year marriage. Instead, she would keep her mouth shut and eat dinner alone or with Robby in the dimly lit dining room. Above her upstairs, Harley would blast his opera music while shoveling his meal down. Maybe, if Martha were lucky, Harley would choke.

  *

  Martha longed for every second she was able to spend with John. In his company, she felt young and beautiful again. She felt like the seventeen-year-old girl who dreamed of becoming a professional dancer. He reminded her of a time when she felt invincible, when she was stepping off the train in Pittsburgh for her first time, her whole life ahead of her.

  John made her laugh and listened to every word she spoke. He took her seriously and respected her, asked her often for her opinion. He engaged her in conversations. Sure, they weren’t particularly deep and tended to center around life in Harmonville or interesting items he’d found on his garbage route, but she appreciated them.

  And she noticed John carefully avoided the topic of her marriage.

  Maybe he knows. Maybe he can tell how unhappy I am. That I stopped loving Harley years ago.

  Martha couldn’t deny she was attracted to John. She thought about kissing him, fantasized about making love to him, wondered what it would feel like to have him deep inside her. But Martha knew she had to keep her burgeoning crush to herself. As long as their relationship consisted of friendly flirting and remained harmless, the situation was safe. Besides, she’d never allow them to cross that line. She’d never be unfaithful to her husband. She wasn’t that kind of woman.

  Sometimes when she looked into John’s eyes, or he smiled at her, she’d remember the affairs Harley had. He’d begged for her forgiveness, swore it would never happen again. And she’d taken him back.

  Twice.

  Last month, she even agreed to leave Pittsburgh to avoid the shame of the scandal. After what he’d done to that poor girl—his own student. It was best to leave town before everyone found out, especially her son. Hadn’t he already been through enough?

  Martha wasn’t a spiteful woman, but she recognized the opportunity to pay Harley back for every unkind word, every indiscretion. For every dinner she ate in silence and solitude. For his ridiculous punishments for being too lazy, too old, too fat.

  She could sleep with John and serve her husband a hot dish of comeuppance at the same time. The thought of it all was very tempting.

  If only she were a woman who wanted revenge.

  *

  On the afternoon she’d found John lying in the wet grass, Martha knew John’s son didn’t like her from the moment they made eye contact. At first, she couldn’t figure out why. She was polite and smiled. Yet he refused to shake hands with her. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and balled up his fists. He locked eyes with her, warning her silently to stay away. He was staunchly claiming his territory and making it clear, without speaking a word, that she wasn’t welcome in his world.

  Within days, Martha realized what her presence meant to him. He was a sharp kid and he’d immediately recognized the intense connection between her and his father. He was terrified she’d try to take his mother’s place.

  The idea was ridiculous, of course. Siran had just died a week ago, and Martha was married.

  At the moment th
ey first met, Martha had no idea about what Siran’s suicide had done to their lives. She only knew this dark-haired teenager with the defiant smirk couldn’t stand the sight of her.

  Other than Harley, Martha was used to being well-liked by everyone she knew. Alex’s immediate dislike of her caused her to ache inside.

  The same could not be said for Alex’s reaction to Robby. As Martha sat on the porch next to John, watching the first meeting between the boys, she knew she was witnessing the blossom of young love. The desire between Alex and Robby was obvious and powerful. The way they took a second too long to shake each other’s hand, and kept stealing glances at each other, told her all she needed to know. Right before her eyes, her son illuminated from within and glowed with a new lust for life.

  Since they’d met, Alex and Robby had barely spent a second apart from each other. Martha had recently wondered just how close the two boys had become. Were they intimate when no one was around? Were they sleeping together?

  *

  “It’s really none of your business,” Alex answered when she asked him if he spoke Armenian. He had emerged from his bedroom, where he and Robby had been locked away doing homework. He pulled a package of cookies out of the pantry and fished two cans of soda out of the fridge. He softened his tone a little and said, “I don’t mean to be rude to you, Mrs. LaMont.”

  She was standing in the Bainbridge kitchen, making lasagna. Her hands were covered with ricotta cheese and tomato sauce. John was still at work. She’d wanted to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. She still had to run back home and reheat a plate of leftovers for Harley before he came home from his second day of teaching English at the high school. “I was just curious,” she said to Alex, smiling. “I’ve never met someone who spoke Armenian before.”

  “My mother spoke Armenian,” he explained. “She was born there. But she met my father in Chicago. In front of the Art Institute.” At every given opportunity, it seemed Alex would mention his mother, reasserting her memory. “I bet it was very romantic.”