Chapter Text
It’s almost nine when Beth finishes washing the last of the dinner dishes. Her arches throb as she peels herself away from the sink, a stiffness pulls at her shoulders, her back feels knotted and she can hear the bourbon calling her name from the bar cart in the living room. Almost. She just needs to wipe down the counters and the stove first.
There’s a resounding thud from above, followed by a total quiet from the second floor.
Ah, yes. Bedtime. The bourbon can wait until after then.
She glares through the ceiling, picturing some combination of her children (probably Jane and Danny) holding their breath, listening to hear if she’s coming up to investigate.
“Everything okay?” Beth calls in the direction of the stairs.
“Yes, Mom!” choruses back.
She was right: Jane and Danny.
“Bedtime! Half an hour!”
There are the sound of footsteps, the smaller thuds of a small someone careening around with tremendous force, and the faint song of at least one video console—too much racket for a group destined for imminent bedtime.
So maybe nine-thirty isn’t going to happen. Maybe tonight it’ll be ten.
Beth sighs and cocks her head to the side trying to pop the bubble of tension accumulating between her shoulders and her neck. She gets it to crack, but it’s not enough. Her arches croon, beseeching her to give up for the day and go sit down in the next room, but instead, she tugs up her rubber gloves and has just taken the sponge in hand when her cell phone lights up, buzzing on the island. An unfamiliar 313 number flashes on the screen. It’s probably another spam call, we have been trying to reach you about the warranty of your vehicle. Except that the vehicle in question was the minivan that Beth procured from her husband’s lot, a dealership no longer existed (her doing).
But, still, she pinches the left glove at the ballooned rubber fingertip and tugs it in the opposite direction and off. She pauses to wipe her sweaty palm against her apron and reaches for her phone. Even at forty-two, with her mother many years gone and all four of her own children safe, accounted for, and currently running amuck upstairs, Beth has to answer. Just in case.
You never know.
Ruby might be stranded at Discount Tire with a flat just before close. Her sister could be calling from some stranger’s phone in the middle of yet another absurd turn of events.
It could be…
It shouldn’t be.
But, it could.
And like an idiot, her blood rushes, the aches of the day disappear as the heat of something lush coils where her body remembers his fingers. Before she can stop herself, she is already imagining his voice, and foolishly, for a ripe second, she hopes that it is him.
Beth swipes and answers the call with schooled nonchalance. Again, 90% chance it is a robocall but—
10% chance it’s…
You never know.
“Hey.”
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
Except the voice that comes oozing across the line isn’t his and the dissonance leaves her woozy. It takes her a second for the buttery tone, newly familiar, to register. “It’s Nick.”
“Of course.” Beth leans a hip against the island, using it to buoy her weight. She opens her mouth. Closes it. She has no clue why he would be calling. But, it doesn’t hurt to start with, “Hi.”
Except what else could it be?
Though, surely, if he had a message for her, he could relay it through Mick? Or call her himself. She might be staying in her lane, staying away, but she hasn’t blocked his number (at least not yet). In fact, look at her now, picking up random numbers with the Detroit area code thinking that it might be—
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
Beth turns her head to regard her phone.
Okay then.
Maybe she’s misreading it. The last time she’s been flirted with was… Nick’s cousin (kind of) and before that the hitman (but that was awful and gross) and before that… probably high school.
“How are you?” Beth asks.
“Oh, you know.” She can hear his politician’s smile spreading wide. “It’s always a late-night serving District 6.”
“We are all lucky to have you on the council.”
Nick’s chuckle crackles low, good-natured across the line, almost theatrically so. “Oh yeah? Even you ladies all the way out in ‘burbs?” And that has Beth forcing a fake, faint chuckle, her jaw tensing. She really should pour herself a drink— “I’m just kidding. It’s a pleasure to serve you.”
Huh.
Maybe she is right.
“Now, Elizabeth, I’m going to be honest with you.”
Beth props the phone between her shoulder and her ear so she can tug off the second glove. She tosses it into the sink as her mind spins out a whole menagerie of possibilities where she misinterpreted Nick’s tone, scenarios where something is not right, where someone is hurt. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nick clears his throat. “I was wondering what you are doing this Saturday.”
Beth bites her lip as the possibilities of the phone call veer in a new direction. She can’t tell if he’s calling her about business, Rio’s business, or—
She knows the signs now. The conversation pricks at the little hairs at the back of her neck, what she’s heard her kids refer to as ‘the spidey sense,’ and she should give herself more credit. Her instincts are strong with so many other things and after that whole ordeal with Fitzpatrick, she knows what this is.
This is... Bad.
It is bad, right?
The pause in conversation fills Beth’s ears like cotton. “Um…”
Nick continues, all charm, “Grow Detroit’s annual fundraiser is this weekend, and as a fellow volunteer and quite the upstanding member of the community— ” Is that sarcasm? Beth doesn’t know him well enough yet to tell. “I was wondering if you will be attending.”
Beth looks at the fridge, zeroing in on the invitation she pinned to it earlier this month. It had arrived a few days after the afternoon she volunteered with Nick. She must have just made the cut for the mailing. “Yeah, I got the invite, but I didn’t RSVP. I’m working Saturday.”
There’s a staticky sound over the call, a scoff.
“For my brother? We can get you out of that.”
Brother.
Beth really can’t imagine any reality where that would go over well with Nick’s family member in question. Maybe they should have been clearer that time at the barbecue…
But, clearer about what?
Whatever.
It doesn’t change the fact that she really could do with not inciting the renewed wrath of the person in question.
“No,” she lies. Her voice is apologetic as she begins to layer in a gentle rejection. “For my day job.”
“I’m really in a bind then. It looks better if I come to these things with a plus one. I would be lucky to have such an accomplished date go with me. Easy on the eyes, too.”
Beth’s gaze goes out to the living room, tracing the lines of the new patio furniture, looking for comfort. She settles on, “I’m still married.”
“You haven’t been wearing a ring, though.” He clicks his tongue. “For how long now?”
She chuckles dryly. “It wouldn’t look weird for a city councilor to show up with a married woman as his date?”
“Fellow volunteer. Friends.” Nick pauses. “We are friends, right?”
Beth exhales half-laughing. “Sure.” It wobbles, ending on a high pitch like a question.
“A beautiful woman like you deserves to be happy.”
She shuffles in her stance against the island, extending a foot to stretch out one of her arches, and thinks about Dean, dropping off skincare products at a friend’s house. She thinks about the phone in her hand, and the lack of contact with Nick’s brother, cousin, whatever.
The point is she’s trying.
She’s really trying.
But, she misses— No. She doesn’t miss him and his increasingly sinister antics at all.
She misses… the possibility and she’s still curious is all.
She sometimes wonders how he’s doing. What he’s doing.
And if this is Nick and not you-know-who, well then maybe neither Dean doesn’t have to find out. And if this isn’t a date, just an event for volunteers, well, then maybe her boss doesn’t have to know either.
Beth shuts her eyes and lets the question rush out. “What if we run into someone? I know a lot of people. Someone could recognize me.”
“It’s the same old donors every year. Do you know Kevin Leone at Chevy or any of the c-suites at Ally? Their wives? They always sponsor.”
Okay, obviously she’s heard of Chevy but, Ally? She’s never heard of that.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Alright, so you have some homework to do to be my wingman. But, a former president of the Junior League of Detroit on my arm? Skilled horticulturist? Winner of the Michigan State Fair cupcake competition to boot?”
“Three-time winner, mini-muffins,” Beth corrects as she tries to decide if she’s impressed at his research and circles back to the thought that she really should stop giving her full name out. Or start contacting people to take down her name from places online. Or adopt a crime pseudonym. She had done a generator online a few days ago and gotten Beth “Blue Eyes” Boland. It let her pick her crime industry and rank (she picked the boss) and everything. But, the results weren’t quite what she was looking for.
Maybe her maiden name or The Printer or… Joan. She’s always been partial to Joan.
“Exactly. You’ll do great. I mean you schmoozed at an Aguilar family cookout and hell, even I can admit that crowd can be tough.”
She smiles into the phone as the sunshine of that day and the heat of the grill and of—hands—are warm on her skin for a phantom moment. Honestly, Nick had been the toughest part of that crowd. But, she had impressed even him.
Beth pushes off the island and goes to stand in front of her fridge. She plucks off the invitation. Oh yes. It’s in the courtyard of the art museum downtown. That would be nice.
She could do him the favor. They’re not quite friends but they are friendly. Nick is his family. Family is business. Maybe this was part of the parcel.
And this could also be a great opportunity to learn more about… well, the business, obviously.
“Help a guy out. Maybe with the open bar and everything, I’ll even air some of the Aguilar family secrets.” Beth tenses reflexively worried she’s caught out, for what she’s not wholly sure. “I bet Rio’s never told you about the time he got his ass handed to him at the ripe age of thirteen—” Rio’s brother-cousin lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “—by Mick.”
And that juicy detail is all it takes really.
Beth can’t help herself.
She says yes.
It’s not that Beth has sworn off lying to Dean completely.
She lies to him all the time.
She lies to him when she comes home from printing and tells him that Ruby says hello. She lies to him when he asks if she sees the results from his MLM skincare products that seem less effective than her cheaper Target brand. She lies to him when she says sure, sure we can think about Nevada.
Beth’s just trying not to put herself in situations where she has to continue lying to Dean about him.
And this weekend she’s not.
This is about Nick.
So when Dean asks after her cute pair of gold heels she’s pulled out of their shoebox and set out on the bed, she says, “I think I’m going to go.” She’s still half-buried in the closet, sifting through her dress options, as she continues, “A city councilor invited me. They need help at the event.”
“Yeah? Which one?” Beth peeks out and sees Dean sprawled over the corner of the bed. He is playing around on his phone, probably texting Eric. One of her gold heels lies sprawled on the floor. “If it’s that asshole Toomey you should say no—”
“One of the council members from Detroit. District 5 or 6. ”
“Oh, that’s cool.” He looks up from his phone at her. He raises his eyebrows hopefully. “You need a date?”
“No.” She doesn’t even let herself blink. “You know me. I’ll be running around the whole time.”
“Buzzing around like a cute little honey bee.”
“Queen bee,” she chides, joking.
Dean smiles then looks at her again, serious, gaze searching—for what she’s not sure. She shifts, makes herself appear softer, smaller. “You’re always wearing yourself out for other people, Beth. We live in the suburbs so we don’t have to deal with the city’s mess.”
Beth laughs lowly, shaking her head. “I’m only putting you in charge of dinner for one night.”
She turns back to pull out her next option and finds black with white polka dots. Dean follows her gaze, looking at it, too. Out of the periphery of her vision, Beth sees him swallow and she moves along a little too quickly to regard the next dress on the rack. The scratch of the hanger reverberates harshly in her teeth.
“What’s the fundraiser for anyway? Needy kids?” Beth turns back to stare at him. At her expression, he continues, with air quotes. “Okay, fine, what are they calling them now again? ‘At-risk youth’?”
Beth braces her hand on the closet doorway, her grip tight as she tries to cull her frustration into gentleness. “Dean, I was one of those ‘needy’ kids when you met me.”
Her husband groans and lumbers off the bed. He spreads his arms wide as he approaches, playing cute. His body encircles her. She focuses on the empty rocking chair behind him and does her best to stay still. She feels itchy. “I’m just kidding around, sweetie.”
Beth inhales trying to quell—all the things—and she gets a whiff of Dean’s new cologne and the skincare products mixed with the same, old smell of him. Her breath releases as a sigh and she lays her cheek flat against his chest. His arms tighten around her in a way that used to feel like all she could hope for once upon a time. “It’s for a good cause. Youth conservation programs.”
Dean nods above her. “I’m glad you’re back to volunteering. It’s good for you,” he wiggles his shoulders, rocking him and Beth back and forth with the movement, “Socializing with other moms—Schmoozing with do-gooders and philanthropists and city councilors. Maybe that’s something you can work towards instead of…”
Beth looks up at him and manages a small smile. “My thoughts exactly.”
He kisses her forehead. “Alright, don’t worry about it. I’ll take the kids to Mom’s on Saturday. Get us all out of your hair.” He gives her a squeeze, then, he untangles his arms from around her. He heads to the bathroom, texting again.
He closes the door behind him as she turns back to the closet. Beth waits to hear the shower run before she digs into the hangers and pulls out the polka dot dress again.
She runs her fingers along the silky length of it. The fabric is luxurious and soft. She holds the dress up against her body and thinks about...
Business.
They’re up and running now, again, and it’s breathable. She is finally getting a real cut of the thing she built and she’s paying down her debts—and after that whole debacle with Dean running into Rio at the store last month…
Beth takes another deep breath.
She lets it out.
She really doesn’t need to deal with a divorce right now.
And after the arrest—Beth knows it is better this way. They shouldn’t see each other.
It wouldn’t be smart.
It wouldn’t be right.
It wouldn’t be good.
She’s doesn’t even like him, most of the time. As Annie would say, he sucks. Or as her sister had actually said after the whole Dean and Rio escalation came to light, fuck that guy (Beth chooses not to remember the but, puh-lease, not literally that followed).
So most nights, or every night actually, Beth comes home to join her husband for dinner, and she puts her babies to bed, and then sometimes she turns in with bourbon, and sometimes she goes back to work. She falls asleep late and she wakes up early. Then, she does it again.
She doesn’t text.
She doesn’t call.
She doesn’t go to the bar.
She stays home.
And when she starts to think of him—she stops.
She doesn’t think of the barbecue, the sun setting and the light golden. She doesn’t remember the shrieks of children playing freeze tag, the hum of their parents talking, nor the dizzying feeling of Rio’s eyes returning again and again to rest on her with the hints of a new kind of tenderness peeking through his guarded expression. She doesn’t think about his grandmother, or his cousins, or— Marcus. Yes, sometimes when she’s least expecting it, the school portrait of Rio elementary-school-aged himself or the picture of him years later grinning wide at his graduation, flash in her mind’s eye and, god, she had only glimpsed the photos on the bookshelf for a second but they live—
The bookshelf.
The point is Beth blinks all of it away.
It’s not her place. Not with the wire. Not with everything that came after…
..
.
She also does not think about how he’s keeping his distance from her, too.
She feels like— No, she knows she is an idiot. She had absolutely expected him to show up on her, make it impossible to avoid him, send her some more fingers and toes, or unveil some new machination for control.
But, no.
He pivoted.
Like always.
He is unaffected.
Like always.
Or… well.
She knows she hurt him.
But, she doesn’t like to think about that either.
He coordinates the drops of the new Canadian bills through Mick to be spirited away for laundering or border crossing. She has no idea how they’re doing it now…
Beth puts the dress back in the closet, her palm running along it one last time to smooth out any wrinkles. Next to it hangs the dress with the butterfly pattern. Her gaze falls to its skirt.
So, he needed a break. They both did.
And she’s staying in her lane. She’s keeping her head down.
The event with Nick doesn’t really count, right? It’s barely related to Rio at all. She’s being smart and building a new business relationship. She doesn’t have any fancy family members to make all her crimes go away.
She could use a city councilor owing her a favor.
Beth closes the closet door. She won’t wear the polka dots on Saturday—or the butterflies. The occasion calls for a new dress.