Outside Sandy's room, Kirsten leaned against the wall beside the door. She had really fucked up. Figuratively, literally… She had been so convinced something had happened with Sandy and Rebecca that she'd made such a profound error in judgement, not helped along by the overabundance of alcohol she'd plied herself with even before meeting up with Carter. She'd found herself drinking more since he'd left, wanting the earth to feel slightly tilted, wanting to escape a reality that was becoming too harsh. Sandy and Rebecca. Thoughts of their tryst taunting her for weeks, forcing her to make a choice that she wished she could take back. Thoughts that had been only that. A wife who doesn't trust her husband cheats on him, hoping to… what? Kirsten didn't know what she had wanted. Knew she had wanted to hurt Sandy, but now didn't understand why. Had she wanted to even the score, before finding out hers was the only mark on the scoreboard? Had she wanted to do something different, taste forbidden fruit, do something to shake up a marriage that was so obviously in a rut. She knew even before Rebecca that they'd stopped communicating, ceased being able to convey messages with looks or touches, the way they once could. Stopped wanting each other as much as they used to; knowing it was not only work commitments that had stopped them making love most days.
Kirsten sighed and pushed herself out from the wall. She felt trapped by circumstances she alone had invented. Carter had been history, had been something they would have gotten around eventually. Now he was permanently black marked beside her name, stored in bruised colours on her skin. And while that will fade, she knew the hurt inflicted on Sandy won't.
Kirsten shut the door on the car and leaned her head against the steering wheel. She couldn't stand to go back home, find her boys along with Summer and Marissa in the lounge room to greet her with questioning looks and accusing glares. She had no doubt the boys would figure out she had done something to Sandy, she was the one who had pushed her fingernails into the fabric of their family and started the tear that would touch them all. She had no doubts that Sandy was the favourite in terms of parenting. She had nearly always taken a backseat to him in raising Seth and, since Ryan, had usually deferred any decision about either of them to him. Ryan knew him better. Seth probably did, too. Since Seth hit puberty, Kirsten had been less entangled with his life. Sometimes she regretted her decision to take a step back but when she'd made that decision she'd known she was an extension of Sandy. Now, she wasn't so sure what she was. Or what her and Sandy were. She couldn't call them together anymore, but they weren't yet apart.
Kirsten pulled out of the lot and headed to a cheap bar she'd passed on her way to the motel. There was no way she'd run into anyone she knew here, and she didn't have to worry about her lack of mascara or unbrushed hair.
"Three vodka shots and a house chardonnay." Kirsten flipped some money onto the scarred bar top and waited while her shots were lined up in front of her. She downed them while the bartender poured her wine.
"More," the thickly outlined grey eyes of the bartender met hers. Kirsten nodded, started to pull out more money, but the woman stopped her.
"Enough to cover this last time," she muttered, smoker's rasp barely audible over the bad jukebox music. Her hands shook as she poured the last drink, and her skin colour was pale enough to be emaciated, just yellow enough to be jaundiced.
"Thanks," Kirsten said. She was one of only a handful of people at the bar. Two men hunched over their drinks at the bend, and a thirty-something executive-type stared morosely at the half-empty glass in front of him.
"Haven't seen you here before," the bartender lit a cigarette, offered one to Kirsten. She was about to decline, but wondered if it would make her feel worse. She wanted to drag herself down to the depth of Sandy's pain, wanted to know what he was going through. She only had external influences to do it, not a cheating wife, so she needed any help she could get.
"Thanks," Kirsten leant over so the woman could light it, and inhaled without pleasure. She'd tried smoking, mostly through tenth grade, to get to her father. Her dislike of it had outweighed her dislike of him, and she'd quit. She'd smoked pot some through college, had never really liked dulling her senses that much, and had quit that too.
"I'm not a usual bar frequenter." Kirsten shrugged, consumed the new vodkas and declined more with a movement of her hand.
"Well, you sure drink like you are." The bartender cleaned away the shot glasses, moved down to the end of the bar to refill on of the hunched men's glasses. Kirsten looked into her wine, wondering how it had come to this. Sandy, in a motel somewhere. The boys at home, probably talking about their suspicions relating to their parent's relationship to their girlfriends. And her, sitting alone in a seedy bar, drinking like a seasoned regular, smoking a menthol. Kirsten tapped ash into the ashtray, inhaled at length. At this point, she hated herself. At this point, she knew she'd convinced herself to believe something to justify something else that was so wrong. At this point she knew that if Sandy wanted to end the relationship, which he inevitably would, she would have to tell the boys of what she'd done and relinquish them to him. She knew there was no way they'd want to be with her after what she'd done to their favourite, to Sandy.
Before she knew it, tears began to fall into her wine. A cheap serviette was pushed into her palm, and Kirsten smiled through her tears at the bartender.
"Sorry," she started to say, but the woman waved her explanation away. Kirsten was glad, didn't know what she would have followed with. She was sorry she was upset that she'd cheated on her husband, or she was sorry she'd diluted wine that tasted like vinegar anyway.
"Hell, hon, you didn't look like you were going to hold it together that long." Kirsten drained her wine, almost winced at the aftertaste sourness, and dropped another twenty on the bar.
"Thank you," she said to the surprised bartender. In the higher end of Newport, twenty bucks would be looked down on. Here, it was a fair sum.
"Hey, you're not driving yourself are you?" Kirsten stopped rustling through her bag for her keys and looked up.
"Of course not, I'm getting a lift." The bartender believed her, nodded and turned away. Kirsten found her keys and snagged them on her walk across the parking lot. She beeped the car open, and was surprised when a hand grabbed her throat.
"Hand me the keys," a whisper at her ear sent chills down her spine. A carjacking. She didn't think things could get worse, and now she was about to be the victim of a carjacking.
Kirsten handed the keys back, felt the man's hand linger over her rings.
"Give me your jewellery."
"What, no-." Kirsten could only think of Sandy's face if he found her without her wedding rings. He'd think she took them off on purpose, like she had when she'd assumed he was with Rebecca. He'd think she was signalling to him that it was the end, when that wasn't what she wanted at all.
"Fucking bitch, give me your goddamn jewellery!" Kirsten was turned around and almost lifted by her throat. She gasped for breath and came eye to eye with her attacker. He was about as tall as Carter, wearing a ski mask. Perilous green eyes shone through the mask eye holes. Kirsten felt his thumb dig into her neck, cut off the blood supply to her brain. She felt dizzy, and redness encroached on her vision, prickling at the edges the way darkness takes over the day. Right before Kirsten thought she would pass out, she dimly heard the bar door open and close. A shouted, "Hey," had her attacker dropping her and running towards her car. Kirsten didn't have the strength to break her fall, instead felt her head hit asphalt hard enough to make her cry out.
"Hey, you okay?" Kirsten dragged her head up to see her car driven away. But she still had her wedding rings. And her handbag, with her phone.
"I think so…" Kirsten rolled over on her side to see the executive-type leaning over her. His moroseness was overtaken by concern, and he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to press against her cheekbone. Kirsten reached up, felt blood bubbling out of the scrape on her cheek from the fall. She weakly sat up, looked at the blood on her fingers.
"Can I take you somewhere? To the hospital? The police station?" He'd relinquished his handkerchief, but he was still kneeling near her.
"Um, I just need to call someone." Kirsten reached into her bag with her free hand, rattled around until she found her phone. It wasn't until she'd flipped it open that she realised she didn't have anyone she could call. She knew Sandy wouldn't want to hear from her, and she didn't want the boys to see her like this, slightly tipsy in a bar car park.
"Do you know the local taxi number?" Kirsten asked the executive. He reached out and punched it into her phone.
"I can take you home if you like," he said. Kirsten flipped the phone shut, and nodded. He seemed nice. He seemed as if he'd drive her home and not expect anything in return or pull a knife on her. Besides, she didn't feel like waiting around for a taxi. She just wanted to be at home in a hot shower.
"Here," he took her arm, helped her stand. Kirsten hissed as a headache set in. She'd managed to fall on her knees as well, and they were throbbing under her jeans.
"I'm just over here," he guided her to a black Porsche, helped her into the low seat.
"This doesn't seem like the kind of car to fit into a parking lot like this," Kirsten remarked as they left the lot.
"I guess not. I like it there, though. Cheap drinks, cheap jukebox, barely anyone there. Where we headed?" Kirsten told him her street name, leant her forehead against the cool glass as he turned the corner. A classic Stones song came on, and he adjusted the volume.
"You're far from home," he remarked. Kirsten looked over at him.
"I had some business out here. Decided to get a drink before I went home." She watched him, caught a better glimpse under each street light. He was younger than she'd first thought. He had short blonde hair and a goatee. His eyes were heavy lidded, his nose Aryan and his lips were generous.
"A drink?" He said, before turning to her to raise an eyebrow. Kirsten grimaced, looked back out the window. He'd called her on it. Six shots and a wine were not just a drink.
"I think my husband wants a divorce," Kirsten said quietly. She wanted to say the words out loud to someone else, in the hope that, if she made it real, she could also fix it.
"Is he having an affair?" The man asked after a moment's pause. Kirsten gave a short, cynical laugh. She wished he had, so that she wouldn't have to feel so bad.
"No. I did." Kirsten sneaked a glance at him, wanting to gauge his judgement. His face was as expressionless as before. They sat in silence as he handled the long corner up to the gateman.
"How long have you been married?" Kirsten looked back out the window, strained to see if there was any lightning over the ocean. It looked like all darkness out there. No storms tonight.
"Twenty years," Kirsten murmured. The shots were taking their toll. The wine had kicked in. Her headache was getting worse, and her knees ached. She didn't want to have to look in a mirror to see how much blood had run down the side of her face, avoiding the now stained handkerchief.
"I guess you had some kind of reason, if you're this upset about it," the man reasoned, as Kirsten directed him up her drive. He hung, idling in the driveway. She could see Summer's car in front of them. Sandy's car, still at the motel, she presumed. And her car was now MIA.
"My reasoning didn't end up being as factual as I thought." Kirsten took the handkerchief off her face, saw that it was too stained to give back to him. She pressed it back to her face when she felt the blood start flowing again.
"I'm sorry. About the handkerchief. I can post you a new one?" Kirsten asked. He smiled, stayed looking ahead.
"That's okay. It's a small loss for an interesting ride."
"Thank you. Very much. If you hadn't come out then…" Kirsten trailed off. As she was picking her bag up from under her feet, he came around to open her car door.
"Did you need me to help you in?" He asked. Kirsten shook her head.
"That's okay. Just… Thank you." He reached out and gave her free hand a brief clasp before shutting the door after her. Kirsten watched the taillights recede down the drive. They flared briefly at the bottom before he hit the gas. The sound of squealing wheels tore through the night, and Kirsten sighed before turning back to the house. She was hoping she could get in and to her room before anyone came to see her. Quietly opening and shutting the front door, Kirsten tried to walk on her toes to minimise the sound of her heels clacking on the floor. No such luck. At the first footfall, she heard Seth yell out.
"Hey, Mom!" She could almost still make a getaway, but before she could flee the entrance hall, Seth was walking towards her.
"Mom, are you okay? God, what happened?" At Seth's words, everyone else appeared out of the living room. Kirsten shut her eyes, shook her head. This was not part of the get-to-her-room-quickly plan. Marissa and Summer gasped when they saw her. Ryan's eyes got steely, and he turned back to the kitchen to get an ice pack. Ignoring her protests, Seth led her to sit at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Kirsten caught sight of herself in the reflection in a window. She could understand the girls' reaction. Her throat was turning deep purple from bruising, and her eye was swollen. The blood had, despite the handkerchief, run down to her neck and stained her shirt. The darkness of her jacket hid the blood stain, but she knew it was probably ruined as well. Seth came at her with some kind of wound cleaner on a cotton ball, and the girls gasped again when she moved the handkerchief. Ryan snagged it and threw it in the bin, replacing it in her hand with a gauze pad. Kirsten hissed as Seth applied the alcohol.
"Mom, what happened? Did Dad…?" Seth trailed off. Kirsten opened her eyes to see the naked fear in his. She knew her didn't think his father was capable of this, didn't want to think about what his mother could have done to deserve it. Kirsten shook her head, wincing as it shook up her headache.
"No, of course not. He would never hurt me, Seth." At least not as much as I hurt him, Kirsten thought mentally. The wounds they inflicted on each other were always under the skin.
"Well, where is he?" Seth demanded. "Why isn't he with you? What happened? You said you were going to find Dad, and then you come home bleeding. Did you find him? Is he okay?" Ryan took the sterile alcohol and cotton wool from Seth's hands, noticing the way they shook in fear.
"I saw your father and he was fine. He's working on a big case. He's staying near the office tonight, to save himself the drive. I took him dinner, and then…" Kirsten trailed off. She didn't know how to explain going to a bar without cancelling out the rest of her story. She knew her lies were weak, knew Ryan, at least, was going to see right through them.
"Cohen, we're going to go. Hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Cohen." Summer and Marissa each gave Kirsten's hand a squeeze, and let themselves out quietly. Kirsten knew they could feel that this was something that needed to involve only family.
"And then what? Does Dad know you're hurt? I'm calling him." Seth had the phone in his hand and several numbers in before Kirsten reached out to stop him.
"Don't, Seth. Just… Don't bother him. I'm fine." Kirsten smiled at Ryan as he finished cleaning the wound and applied the antiseptic. It cooled her face, abated the headache somewhat, although she didn't know whether that was the vodka kicking in more. Kirsten reached for the first aid basket Seth had put on the counter and pulled out the aspirin. She popped three, and chased them with water Ryan poured her.
"It's still bleeding a little… I'm guessing you want to shower." Ryan started putting the items back in the basket before Kirsten captured his hand.
"Thank you. I'll just put some more cream on it when I get out of the shower." Kirsten released his hand and grabbed the antiseptic cream before getting up.
"Mom, you come home with a bleeding wound and no explanation. You won't let me call Dad. We know something is going on." Kirsten took the phone out of Seth's hands and set it gently in the cradle. She kept her back to him for a few long breaths before turning around.
"Seth, it's late. I have a headache. There are some things this family needs to discuss, but we can't do it tonight without your father here. It wouldn't be fair. My car got stolen tonight, which is why I'm bleeding."
"You were carjacked?" Seth asked. Kirsten bit her lip, then nodded.
"But I'm fine. Your father is fine. He wasn't there. I'm going to bed, okay? We'll talk tomorrow. 'Night." Kirsten stepped forward and hugged her son. He enveloped her back fiercely. She didn't know how many more hugs would be received this well. She turned to Ryan and hugged him as well.
"'Night, Mom." She started walking wearily towards her bedroom. She wanted a hot shower. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to be able to walk straight so they wouldn't assume she'd been drinking. Making it to the bedroom, Kirsten shut the door and stiffly stumbled through to the shower.