The Heights Part 14

She wondered did I want to s.h.i.+ft positions?

"No," I said. "So close, so close!" (Say it enough, and it must be so.) After I'd said that a thousand times, I switched to "Almost . . . almost."

Poor Kate, I thought. She's going to be sore later.

That was when I changed to a new approach: by any means necessary. No surprise, then, when Anna Brody came back into the picture.

A yoga teacher had once told me, "Let the thought in, let the thought out . . ."

So in came Anna, out went Anna . . .

It was that simple.

The yoga teacher's name was Megan. I liked when Megan used her hands to adjust my plow and downward dog. Even better, Megan wasn't Anna. I tried to picture Megan. Surely I wasn't the first person to have his mind wander during s.e.x. But it felt that way. And the many faces began to fl.u.s.ter me, so I decided to bear down, give a laserlike focus to Kate.

By any means necessary.

I got serious about ejaculating.

Come! Come!

Now, because any thought was fair game, it became like twisting the stem off an apple-Kate, Anna, Kate, Anna. Or like pressing the remote on a TV so as to jump between two favorite channels: Anna, Kate, Anna, Kate.

"I'm about to come."

"Yes," Kate said.

"I'm coming!"

"Yes, yes!"

"Here I go-"

And that was when I said the wrong name.

KATE.

I WAS STUNNED. I MAY HAVE LAUGHED. THEN I GATHERED MYSELF, CALMLY WALKED from our bedroom to our bathroom, where I closed and locked the door. I took a shower and scrubbed with lots of soap until I was clean.

Tim stood in the hallway, calling, "Kate, are you all right? Kate?" Over and over he said my name.

Little late for that, don't you think?

I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the door.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Once you've been humiliated in your own bedroom, my advice is to stiff-arm the apology. The feeble apology.

"Come on, are you sure?"

What, did he expect me to weep, to fall apart?

I thought about how much to tell him. Do I tell the truth? How, during that sweet-seeming (but, in retrospect, protracted) exercise in the missionary position, my mind had wandered, too, although my thoughts were more ch.o.r.e-related, as in Did I put away the dishes? Did I double-lock the door?

I brushed my teeth as he tried to explain himself. He rambled on, something about how it had been mostly me in his thoughts. He felt terrible, and I was almost convinced, but then he complained that the complete darkness of the room hadn't helped. He'd felt bad that it was taking so long. Did he really believe this would make me feel better?

"Look," I said, "you're not the only person who thinks of other people." I spat into the sink. "The truth is-"

"What? Tell me."

I rinsed my mouth out. "I was thinking of someone else, too."

"Really?" Tim looked part relieved, part worried.

"But there's a big difference . . ."

"Yeah, you didn't moan out his name." He must have thought that was funny, because he kind of laughed.

"That, too," I said. "But the big difference is that while I can f.u.c.k Jeff Slade whenever I want, Anna Brody would never have you." Then I walked past him and climbed into my side of the bed.

Faintly, from the hallway, he said, "Ouch."

TIM.

IT HAD BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE THE GREAT FAUX PAS, FORTY-EIGHT HOURS SINCE the blurting out of another woman's name as I came. This should have prompted some swift action on my part. But for whatever reason, I was stumped. Flowers, chocolates, even jewelry wouldn't cut it. That much I knew. But hadn't Kate committed a thought crime of her own? Jeff Slade, indeed! And while I'd been wrong for saying that other name, Kate had been wrong for thinking about a realizable person. My crime had been that I didn't protect her. Her crime? She intentionally and understandably hurt me. I was mulling all this over when Anna called.

"How would you and the boys like to-"

"Yes," I said, interrupting her.

She laughed and said, "You don't even know what I was asking."

"A playdate?"

"Mind reader."

The other line beeped, and I said, "Hold on."

It was Kate, checking in. "What's up?"

I told her the truth: that Anna had called with an invitation.

She was quiet for a time. "Do the boys want to go?"

Had I even asked the boys? "Yes, all excited," I said. So much for truth.

"Well, then. Dress them warm, it's very cold out."

After hanging up, I went to get the boys ready, only to find they had no interest in going over to Sophie's. They wanted to be in their house with their toys. I was usually able to bribe Teddy, so I offered a quarter if he cooperated and a dollar if he could get his brother to fall in line. But Sam didn't want to go. He refused to get dressed. He tensed his little body, clenching his small hands into tight fists. He fought walking down the stairs, so I carried him. "No, we're going, Sam, and we're going to have fun." He kicked and squirmed while I strapped him into his stroller. I thought he'd calm down once we got moving, but no, he pressed against the safety belt, his face red with rage. Teddy trailed along as we pushed across the Heights. I'd been so preoccupied with Sam that I hadn't noticed Teddy's bottom lip begin to quiver. Somewhere between Montague Street and Clark, Teddy defected. I crouched down, took both of them by the arm, squeezed more firmly than I'd have liked, and hissed, "What about what I want!" Teddy cried out, "Daddy, you're scaring me!" Sam was howling, saying something about wis.h.i.+ng Mommy was there.

I turned us around, and we went back home. Inside, the boys were inconsolable. They continued to scream and cry until they finally fell asleep in Kate's and my bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and just looked at them. I'd hurt Kate, and now I was hurting our kids. What else would have to happen? That was when I knew it had to stop. The question was how. I could've been cla.s.sier about it, but here's what I did: I went cold turkey. I cut Anna out immediately. That afternoon I didn't call to cancel the playdate. The messages she left over the next several days were immediately erased and phone calls never returned. Because I knew her routines, where she shopped and where she walked, I was able to avoid Anna Brody for two weeks.

Then, the day before Christmas, and in an effort to get Kate her favorite organic milk, I ventured over to Garden of Eden, where-f.u.c.k!-I b.u.mped into Anna Brody in the produce section.

She saw me first, came up behind me, and said, "Tim, is everything all right?"

"Oh, hi. Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?"

"Well, because you don't call me back. I a.s.sume you're either too busy or you're bored with me."

"No, it's not that-"

"Then what is it?"

It took her a moment to realize what a wreck I was. She said, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm great, I'm-No, I'm not."

"What is it?"

"I don't know how to say this, but you've made a mistake about me." It was all I could do not to drop to my knees and puke my toxic heart and guts out onto the floor. "I'm not who you think I am."

She just laughed.

I said it slower, clearer: "I'm not a good man."

"Oh, but you are, you are . . ."

"Listen," I said, grabbing her firmly. "A good man doesn't moan out your name when he's making love to his wife."

She froze at this news.

Bingo.

"Oh," she said, as if she'd suddenly noticed a big stinky smell. I thought, I better get used to this. Her cold stare, the instant hate in her eyes. It was that easy and awful. How quickly it had turned. Now I was dead to her. And I knew what was coming next. I could even say the words: I don't want to see you ever again, Tim. I don't want to talk with you. You disgust me . . .

But what did Anna say?

"I know you love Kate very much."

"I do." I laughed as the tears came. Why do they always come?

"I know you'd never want to hurt her."

"That's right."

"Even the thought of hurting her . . ."

"I better go."

"Tim."

"Yes?"

"So you're just going to cut me off?"

"I see no other alternative."

"Because you can't control your feelings . . ."

"That's right. And because I'm a bad man."

Anna took me gently by the wrist and said, "We can work through this. We can get past it."

"I don't see how," I said, grabbing Anna's grocery cart and starting to push it to I didn't know where.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no idea. I'm all mixed up."

"Tim, stop."

I stopped.

She told me to look her in the eye.

I did.

She seemed desperate, too.

"Tim, if it will help in any way . . ."

"Yes?"

"I'll give you a weekend."

FOUR.

TIM.