I Don't Know
By William Cass
Meg’s Southern California townhouse community surrounded a man-made lake that was anchored by a clubhouse, tennis courts, a dock, and a pool. She lay propped up on a chaise lounge on the pool deck while her two sons, ages six and eight, played in the shallow end. She adjusted her sunglasses and unbelted the short, sheer robe over her bikini. It was hot.
Her chaise lounge was situated near the fence separating the pool from the path to the dock’s entrance where paddle boats, kayaks, and canoes could be rented. The young man who had a summer job working there was repairing the pedalling mechanism on one of the paddle boats. He had floppy, sun-bleached blonde hair and wore shorts, flip-flops, and no shirt. He was deeply tanned, lean, and well-muscled.
Two girls in their late teens sat near Meg on chaise lounges facing the dock. She heard one say, “Yummy. Wish that Ricky Miller would fix my pedals.”
“You got that right,” her friend replied.
“I heard he had college scholarship offers for both baseball and football.”
“I heard his parents threw him a keg party in June when he turned twenty-one. His parents, can you believe it?”
“I didn’t get an invitation.”
“Me either.”
Meg heard them both giggle. She regarded her watch. It was nearly four-thirty, the time when Ted would come get the boys for the weekend. She and Ted had been separated ten months, since he’d told her about his affair with a paralegal in his law firm named Gwen. He’d rented a furnished townhouse on the other side of the lake to allow for as simple a transition as possible for the boys; besides alternate weekends, they also stayed with him one night during the week.
An elderly couple sat at an umbrella table across the pool playing gin rummy. Meg hadn’t seen them say a single word to each other in the two hours she and the boys had been there. Suddenly, she thought: is that what it all comes to? She thought: would I even take Ted back if he ended his affair and asked me to? Just as quickly, she knew she would.
Meg pulled the mesh satchel that held her sons’ things to her side and called for them to come and dry off. The older one was able to do that himself, but she helped her younger son. As she did, the older one said, “That boy is looking at us.”
Gwen glanced over at the dock and saw Ricky Miller give them a short nod and raise his screwdriver to them before dropping it in a toolbox and closing its lid. Meg said, “He’s not a boy, he’s an adult.”
“Do we know him?”
“Probably. I’m sure he lives on the lake.” She wrapped the towel around her younger son’s waist and cinched it tight. “Do this with your towel, too,” she told the older one, “so you don’t get your dad’s car seats wet.” She heard the gate to the pool click open.
“Daddy!” the younger one cried.
Meg watched the boys stumble-run to their father. They each embraced one of his legs, their eyes closed. Meg was struck again by how little Ted had aged since they’d met a decade ago during their senior year in college. Something fell in her, too, realizing how much both boys resembled him. He ruffled their hair and kept an arm around both their shoulders as he led them over to Meg’s chaise lounge. She kept her face expressionless as she extended their satchel up to him.
As evenly as she could, she said, “Everything they need is in there.”
“Thanks.”
He looped the satchel over one arm, then placed his hand back on his older son’s shoulder, gave each of theirs a squeeze, and said, “Come on, guys. Gwen bought stuff to make homemade ice cream. We want to get that done before we start the bar-b-que.”
“Did she get pancake mix for the morning?” the younger boy asked.
“You bet.”
Meg felt her eyes narrow as a wave broke inside her. “Is she living with you now?”
Ted pursed his lips, but didn’t answer. He turned the boys towards the gate and said, “Let’s go, cowboys. Let’s get this rodeo started.”
Meg didn’t watch them go. Instead, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and shook her head. The wave inside her had been replaced by the hot bite of rage.
“Adonis is locking up the boats,” she heard one of the girls say. “All done with work for the day.”
“There he goes,” the other said. “Off to the clubhouse with his toolbox and his muscles. Bye-bye, sweetheart.”
Meg clenched her jaw as they both giggled again. She fumed silently, her arms folded tightly over her chest, for another twenty minutes before leaving herself. She didn’t bother belting her robe. On the way across the parking lot, she saw three men ahead in hardhats who were laughing together next to a ditch in the shade of a backhoe. Their voices stopped abruptly as she passed them. She stiffened and felt their eyes follow her until she got in her car and drove away.
When she pulled into the driveway, she saw Ricky Miller’s pickup truck parked around the corner. She let herself in through the side door to the kitchen. He was standing naked in front of her open refrigerator drinking lemonade from a pitcher. His hair was wet. He replaced the pitcher in the refrigerator, turned to face her, and said, “I took a shower.”
Meg went to him and put her arms around him.
He did the same and asked, “The exchange go okay?”
She didn’t reply. She just stood rocking a little, her eyes shut tight, holding him. She felt his fingers running lightly over the small of her back. He kissed her forehead, then said, “Want to go up to your bedroom?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, trying hard not to cry.
THE END