The Dad Next Door. Virginia Myers

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      “Please do,” Kate said. She turned to her children. “Go watch a video in your rooms or something. Go on, now. Go.” And with obvious reluctance Joy and Tommy left the kitchen.

      “I wanna stay here,” Raymond said tentatively, looking at Ian.

      “Sure. Your mother and I need to talk things over. Come on, Marsha. Stop dramatizing. We can talk about this sensibly.” He waited with obvious impatience while she got up and, still casting horrified glances at Raymond, preceded him back toward the living room.

      Kate went to look out the window over the sink. It was coming down more heavily now, almost a curtain of white with little chips of ice in it. Her heart was pounding. Dear God, please forgive me. I have no right to be jealous of Marsha. But Ian had reached out to her, taken her into his arms when she had been upset about Raymond. Kate picked up a glass and ran some water into it, took a sip and put it down. She heard Raymond behind her, flinging himself into a kitchen chair.

      “They’re gonna have a fight,” he muttered. “I always know when they’re gonna fight. I get the vibes.” He was clicking something. Kate could hear the rhythmic little clicks.

      “I don’t care, you know?” Raymond was saying. “They can fight all they want. I don’t care.” His voice sounded oddly thick, and she turned around.

      “I don’t care,” Raymond was repeating, and Kate saw tears rolling down his battered face. His thin hand was grasping the saltcellar, which he was hitting the table with again and again. “I don’t care.”

      Kate rushed to him and took his bony, shaking body into her arms to hold him close, while angry words came to them from the living room despite the closed door. She wondered frantically if Tommy and Joy had really gone to their rooms.

      Marsha was fairly screaming. “He could have been killed! My only child! How could you…”

      Then Ian’s voice, lower, controlled. “Keep your voice down!”

      “Daddy told you and told you…”

      Ian’s voice was saying something they couldn’t hear.

      “…Chet said…Chet will adopt him. Chet cares about my son. Chet…”

      Kate felt Raymond stiffen against her. “Over my dead body,” he muttered. “That stick.”

      “Shush,” Kate said into his hair. “Your father will handle it. Don’t worry.”

      Marsha was crying now, great rasping sobs. “My child,” she moaned. “You can’t be trusted to take care…”

      Again they couldn’t hear Ian’s response.

      “…he’ll put a stop to this…” Marsha’s wail came through.

      Then Ian’s voice, angry. “Stop it! Stop this! Hysterics don’t work with me anymore. You’re talking nonsense!”

      Kate was holding her breath, waiting, but no further sound came, and she heard Ian’s firm footsteps coming toward the kitchen. Raymond straightened and grabbed a paper napkin to blot his face, but not soon enough.

      Ian came over to the table. His face was flushed with anger, his eyes glinting. His hands rubbed over Raymond’s thin shoulders. “Forget whatever you heard, buddy,” he said. “We’re a team. Nothing’s going to change that. Okay?” He turned to Kate. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”

      “It’s all right,” Kate said quickly. “Can I help? Can I do anything?”

      “No. I mean yes. Maybe you can. She’ll have a splitting headache. She always does when she has one of these screaming fits. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about this.”

      “No problem,” Kate said, taking a clean glass down from the cupboard. She was aware that her hands were slightly shaking.

      Somehow she got the aspirin bottle and a glass of water into the living room without mishap, feeling a surge of mixed emotions. Marsha was sitting on the couch, leaning forward, her hands braced on the coffee table.

      “Here, Marsha. Take a couple of aspirin. You’ll feel better,” Kate said. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

      “I need some tissues,” Marsha said piteously. “Have you got some tissues? Ian is such a beast. He never understands.” She started to cry again.

      “I’ll get some,” Kate said, putting down the water and aspirin. When she came back with the box Marsha was putting the glass back down on the table.

      “I took two. You said a couple,” she said, like a little girl who had done as she had been told and wanted praise for it.

      “Good. Now here are the tissues,” Kate said. “Would you like to freshen up a bit?” She didn’t want to tell Marsha that her eye makeup was smudged below her lovely eyes.

      “I’m…probably a mess,” Marsha said tiredly. “Yes, I should…freshen up,” she added without moving. “I’m just so beat. I’ve been on the go for twenty-four hours. If I weren’t so tired I…wouldn’t have lost control like that. But seeing Raymond…” Her voice dwindled away.

      “Would you like to lie down a while?” Kate asked.

      “I’d like to…go to bed,” Marsha said. “Would that be asking too much?” She started to say something else, but Ian came into the room.

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “We’ve imposed on Kate enough. She doesn’t have any spare rooms. Come on. I’ll take you next door.”

      “Don’t you be ridiculous,” she said, anger underlying her tone. “I’m Chet’s wife. I don’t think he’d take kindly to that.” There was just a hint of smugness as she watched Ian’s face flame.

      “You can have my room,” Kate said quickly. “It would be better than trying to get a cab in this weather to find some hotel. It’s all right, Ian. This couch is a makedown and very comfortable. Don’t worry. Come along, Marsha. You’ll feel better after you’ve had some rest. I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

      Ian still loves her. Kate forced herself to be calm and composed. She showed Marsha the bathroom, got her clean towels and washcloth. She made up her own bed with fresh sheets.

      Keep busy. Don’t think. Why do I feel this way because Ian loves Marsha? She wondered. He’s only my neighbor. I don’t care. I mean, I shouldn’t care. But I do. I do. I care. She was vaguely aware that Tommy and Joy had gone back to the kitchen to be with Raymond and that the children were talking, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Where is Ian? What is Ian doing? she thought. Was he still in the living room? What was he thinking? Was he racked with jealousy because of this Chet person? Chet’s a stick, Ian.

      Marsha was showered and sweetly fragrant when she came into Kate’s bedroom and saw the turned-down bed.

      “Oh, Kate, thank you. A bed never looked so good. It just came over me all of a sudden. I just hit the wall. I’ve never felt so exhausted. I used your hair dryer, I hope that was okay. I thought I’d brought mine, but I couldn’t find it in СКАЧАТЬ