the living room.
“Who filed for divorce because you were cheating on him,” Maggie said. She looked at Brock. “Did you know that?”
“Because he was cheating on me!” Vanessa started to cry. “You’re so self-righteous.”
“Hey,” Maggie said. “I think I’m allowed a little self-righteousness when I come home to find out that you slept with my boyfriend.”
“I didn’t think you’d be coming home,” Vanessa countered. “Out with Matthew Stone? No woman in her right mind would make him drive her home. Except you. You’re so perfect, Margaret. So perfect and proper and cold.”
“This probably isn’t a good time to be having this conversation,” Brock said.
“Shut up,” Vanessa said, just as Maggie said, “Zip it, Brockster.”
“Maybe I should go…”
“How could you sleep with her?” Maggie asked him. The answer was right there on his face. All along, he’d wanted Vanessa. Even drunk, with her makeup faded and her hair a mess, Maggie’s sister was hot. All along, Brock had just wanted to get close to Maggie’s hotter sister. She looked up at him in amazement. “Maybe the question I should ask is how could you ask me to marry you, when you’re in love with her?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
This was why he didn’t push when she’d said she wanted to wait before they spent the night together. She’d thought he was just nice. But oh, my God… “Have you been sleeping with her all this time?”
“No,” Brock said. “Absolutely not.”
“No,” Maggie echoed. “You just wanted to sleep with her.” God, she’d almost spent her life married to a man who really wanted her sister. She stood up and looked at Vanessa. “And you knew it. You bitch.”
“Fine,” Vanessa said. “I’m a bitch. I’d rather be a bitch than little miss no-no-no we’ve only been going out for four months, we can’t possible have sex yet.”
“Oh, my God,” Maggie looked at Brock. “You discussed our sex life with my sister?”
“What sex life?” Vanessa laughed. “You don’t have a sex life.”
“Not like yours,” Maggie said hotly. “No. I don’t have sex with strangers in the parking lot of a bar.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa shot back. “Miss Goody-Goody. You just don’t have sex, period. I can’t imagine why Matthew Stone even bothers to look at you. Sure, he’ll sleep with anything female, but the way you dress it’s hard to tell you’re actually a woman. If you did sleep with him, I’d give it one week. Although I’d bet big money that Matt would be bored to tears after only one hour in bed with you.”
Maggie gasped. “That’s an awful thing to say!”
“Van,” Brock said.
“It’s true.” Van started to cry. “You’re so perfect. I hate you.”
“And I won’t live in this house with you,” Maggie told her sister. “I know you say things like that because you’re the one who’s messed up, and because you can’t deal with Mitch’s leaving you, but I am so out of here. Tell Mom and Dad I’ve moved out. For good,” she added, the words making her feel remarkably light, despite her anger and hurt, despite the growing nausea from her churning stomach.
“Maybe this conversation should wait for the morning,” Brock said again.
“Maybe you should go to hell,” Maggie told him, and, grabbing her briefcase, she went into the kitchen and out the door.
She got into her car, but her head was spinning and her stomach definitely felt sick.
She was going to throw up.
She stared down at her car keys. How many mugs of beer did she drink?
Too many to drive.
Savagely, she opened the car door and got out.
As if on cue, the skies opened and it started to rain.
Maggie squared her shoulders, and still carrying her briefcase, started the long walk into town.
Stevie cranked up the volume of the radio and switched on the windshield wipers as the rain came down harder. He flipped his bright lights lower as he saw someone walking along Route One.
Poor wet son of a bitch. Didn’t need to be blinded, too.
But then Stevie hit the brakes and did a one-eighty, tires squealing. That was no ordinary son of a bitch. That was his sister! He pulled up alongside her and rolled down the window.
She didn’t stop walking.
“Yo, Mags.” He slipped the car into first to keep up with her.
She didn’t look at him.
She was soaked to the skin and dripping wet, hair plastered to her head. And she was carrying her briefcase, like some deranged zombie commuter.
“So where you going?” Steve dared to ask.
“Into town,” she said, as if it were a perfectly normal answer.
“You, uh, want a ride?”
“No, thank you.”
Stevie pulled his car to the side of the road and got out, trotting to catch up to his sister. “Maggie, are you okay?” He stood in front of her.
She stopped. “Stevie, if you don’t move, I’m going to throw up on you.”
He moved, fast, and Maggie kept walking.
“Maggie, come on,” he called, but she didn’t look back.
Maggie was walking to the Sachem’s Inn Motel, one step at a time. She didn’t feel good, but she felt a whole lot better since she’d stopped at the corner of Lily Pond Road to throw up behind the O’Connor’s shrubs.
It was another few miles into town, another mile after that past the harbor to where the motel overlooked the water…. She couldn’t handle the thought of walking three more miles. But she could walk one step. One step and one step and one step. Eventually, they’d all add up to three miles.
She stopped short.
Matthew.
Steam rose from the cooling hood of his car, creating a wall of mist behind him. He was wearing only a very small khaki-colored pair of running shorts. Light from a street lamp glinted off the moisture on his bare skin. It was cold enough so that his breath hung in the air, but he stood still, just watching her.
“Hey jungle man,” Maggie said. “I’ve
