Savage Lane Read online

  She’d changed into PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt and then heard the front door open. She went to the landing and saw Elana and Matthew; they’d spent the evening at the Bermans’.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Karen was happy to see them. “Did you have a fun night?”

  “It was pretty good,” Matthew said, running upstairs, past her.

  Karen went down and said to Elana, who was texting, “And how was your night?”

  “Okay,” Elana said distractedly.

  “Please look at me when we’re talking.”

  “Sorry.” She stopped staring at the phone, but Karen could tell she was still lost, thinking about whomever she was texting with. Then full consciousness returned and she said, “Oh, yeah, it was pretty good. Hey, can I go to a party with Riley at Dylan Ross’ house tomorrow night?”

  “Will Dylan’s parents be there?”

  “No, but they’ll be home by midnight.”

  “I want you home by eleven the latest.”

  “Eleven-thirty?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Elana said. Then she kissed Karen on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, sweetie,” Karen said.

  Elana went upstairs, and Karen made a cup of green tea, then relaxed in the living room with her iPad. As a single mom, there were times when Karen was lonely and missed having a man around—not her ex, a man. She missed doing couple things—going on trips together or just out to dinner or into the city for an afternoon. But usually, like right now, she loved the alone time, having her own space, being able to have a relaxing late night at home. Compared to the tension at the end of her marriage this was practically bliss.

  After commenting on a few statuses on Facebook, Karen logged on to Match and reactivated her account. She used to be skeptical about online dating—the idea of shopping for men had been a turnoff—but there really was no other way to meet people these days, especially in the suburbs, and over the past three years she’d met some great guys online. Okay, she’d met some creeps too, like Paul the stalker and porn-obsessed Mike, but most of her experiences had been positive. She’d had several relationships that had lasted a few months and several that had petered out. After being in a long marriage, it was fun to have new adventures. Karen was always honest and upfront with guys. She wasn’t looking for anything serious from the get-go, but if she stumbled upon the right guy and the right situation she’d happily settle down.

  Between the time she’d met Steven, and before she’d deactivated her account, about thirty guys had written to her. The most frustrating thing about online dating was how hard it had been to meet a nice guy around her age; it seemed as if all the seventy-year-old guys were looking for Lolita, and all the twenty-year-old guys wanted Mrs. Robinson. In this batch of notes, two—“Richard” and “Dave”—seemed like possibilities. Richard was a forty-four-year-old dentist from Scarsdale, which was less than a half hour away. Dave, a forty-year-old, never-been-married-before ad exec from Manhattan, had sent her a nice note about a couple of Broadway musicals he’d seen recently because Karen had mentioned in her profile that she likes Broadway musicals.

  After reading both profiles again, she decided to write to Richard first because he had kids and because his location was more convenient. She was tapping out a note to him when her phone chimed, and then she glanced at the text from Mark: Great seeing you tonight! Hope you got home safe, sweetie. She was going to text back, but got distracted by the main profile photo of Richard the dentist. He was actually really attractive—thick dark hair with streaks of gray, bright blue eyes—and in another photo he was in a lotus position. Hmm, a dentist who was into yoga—Karen liked that. She wrote back to him, thanking him for getting in touch and—because he’d asked her what type of teaching she did—added that she was a speech pathologist, and she loved what she did. Lastly, for a flirty touch she included a P.S.—Nice lotus pic. You seem very flexible! with a smiley face emoticon.

  After she texted Mark back a quick thanks, she went upstairs to get ready for bed.

  Although she’d gotten used to not having a man around full-time, sleeping alone still felt weird. As usual, when she didn’t have a guy over, she piled the extra pillows on Joe’s old side to make the bed seem fuller. It didn’t really help, but she got under the covers on her side and managed to fall asleep quickly anyway.

  IT WAS a perfect morning for a run—sunny and cool and the dense, misty air smelled like spring. As Karen was stretching in front of her house, she saw Mark jogging down the road toward her in sweat-shorts and a T-shirt. This had happened a few times lately—when she was getting ready for a run, Mark would suddenly show up. She liked his company, he was a good guy, but she preferred to run alone, listening to her iPod.

  “Hey,” Mark said, smiling.

  “Hey,” Karen said, trying to think of a way out of this without being too rude.

  “Good timing, huh?” Mark said, stopping in front of her and jogging in place.

  “Yeah,” Karen said. “Great.”

  “I was hoping I’d run into you,” he said. “Beautiful day today, huh?”

  “Yep,” she said, leaning against a tree, stretching out her left calf.

  “You look nice and rested,” he said. “Want to hear something funny? I dreamt about you last night.”

  “Really?” she asked, still trying to think up an excuse. Maybe she could tell him she wanted to go for a longer-than-usual run today, but she didn’t think that would deter him.

  “I don’t really remember it all,” he said. “I mean some of the details were fuzzy. But we were in some exotic place—maybe Hawaii. We were on the beach, hanging out. Then I think we were swimming together, scuba diving. The water was really clear. We could see all the fish.”

  “Sounds nice,” she said. “I really need to get away. It’s been ages since I’ve been anywhere.”

  Looking beyond Mark, Karen noticed Deb’s SUV approaching—Deb was driving with Justin in the back seat. Karen smiled at Deb and then waved as the car passed, but Deb returned her gaze, stone-faced. Now Karen was certain last night hadn’t been her imagination—something was going on.

  “Deb’s not angry at me, is she?” Karen asked.

  “Who?” Mark said.

  “Deb,” Karen said. “Your wife.”

  “Oh. Why would she be angry?”

  “I don’t know. But last night she barely looked at me and now she just gave me the evil eye. I don’t know what I did to piss her off, but I must’ve done something.”

  “Yeah, I know, she’s been that way with everybody lately,” Mark said. “She’s moody all the time.”

  “I don’t know, she didn’t seem to be treating anybody else like that,” Karen said.

  “I’m telling you,” Mark said. “It’s her own personal shit. Has nothing to do with you.”

  Karen stared at Mark—she knew him well and got the sense he was hiding something. She stretched her other calf, feeling a nice pull. “Well, if it doesn’t have to do with me, maybe it has to do with you.”

  “Me?” Mark said. “Why—”

  “Is something going on with you two?”

  One of the best things about her friendship with Mark was that she was able to speak openly with him, say whatever was on her mind. She hadn’t been able to do that in her marriage.

  “Just the usual bickering,” he said.

  “Bickering or fighting?”

  “Okay, fighting.” He took a breath. “It got pretty bad in the car.”

  “She said something about me?”

  “No, no, not about you—seriously, this has nothing to do with you. But you saw her drinking last night at the party, right? In the car, she was really drunk, and she started saying all this crazy shit, complaining, yelling at me, and then she threatened me. She said if things didn’t change she’d leave me.”

  “Oh no.” Karen felt bad, but she didn’t want to say I’m sorry, knowing how annoying and cliché it was to hear I’m sorr
y from her friends when she was contemplating getting divorced—she didn’t need sympathy, she needed support. So she hugged Mark tightly and said, “Ugh. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “I know it will.”

  Karen pulled back and said, “It was wrong of her to say that to you, though. She shouldn’t just be throwing around the D word so casually. Joe used to do that, and it has an effect after awhile, it starts to wear a relationship down.”

  “Yeah, I know, you’re probably right.”

  “You have to work on it with her. Maybe go to counseling, and you have to get her to stop drinking, maybe even get her into A.A.”

  “Her drinking’s not that bad,” Mark said.

  Karen glared.

  “It isn’t,” Mark said. “I mean, it’s not like she gets drunk all the time.”

  “She has a problem,” Karen said. “Every time I see her at a party she’s drunk. And I’ve seen her drunk at the country club, in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “A lot of people drink at the club,” Mark said.

  “Look, I’m just trying to help you,” Karen said. “I think you’re in a little denial about it, but that’s okay. I just think you should confront it, for the sake of your kids and for the sake of your marriage. But that’s the end of my speech, I won’t tell you what to do.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate all your help, I really do,” Mark said. “I guess I’ll have to think about how to handle it. Ready to roll?”

  While Karen still wished she could run alone, she knew Mark was in a bad way about whatever was going on with Deb, and could probably use the company.

  “Yeah, let’s do it,” she said.

  They went along Karen’s usual route—to the end of Savage Lane, then up the road a bit to the path around Truesdale Lake. They were having a nice chat, mainly small talk about the Lerners’ party. Karen was convinced that Michelle Lerner had gotten more plastic surgery, and they had fun joking around about it, referring to her by the name they always called her—Plastic Woman.

  Later, runner’s high kicking in, enjoying the nice cool breeze off the lake, Karen said, “Oh, so I broke up with Steven last night.”

  “Finally,” Mark said.

  “Why finally?

  “He was totally wrong for you, and that name is so annoying.”

  “Steven? What’s annoying about the name Steven?”

  “I don’t know, it’s grating,” Mark said. “Not Steve or Stevie—Steven.”

  Karen laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Besides,” Mark said, “he sounded like a flakey guy. An actor?”

  “What’s wrong with actors?”

  “If he was a real actor he’d live in Manhattan, not Dobbs Ferry.”

  “How do you know he’s from Dobbs Ferry?”

  “You told me a couple weeks ago.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised you remember that. But his acting wasn’t the problem anyway. I liked that he was an actor, that he was different. I’m tired of dating cookie cutter financial guys.”

  “Hey,” Mark said.

  “You know what I mean,” Karen said. “I’m talking about the typical guy in finance who’s still playing that stupid status game. Going to the best restaurants, wearing the best clothes, driving the best cars.”

  “Whatever,” Mark said. “It didn’t seem like you had a real connection with Steven.”

  Karen thought about it, then said, “Yeah, that’s true, I guess we didn’t.”

  They jogged for a while, not saying anything.

  Then Mark said, “Don’t you think that’s the most important thing? I mean, in a relationship. To have a real connection—to get each other, the way best friends get each other?”

  “Yeah, of course I do,” Karen said.

  “Me too,” Mark said.

  Karen was remembering her last date with Steven—dinner in Dobbs Ferry, then a DVD back at his place. The sex that night was kind of mechanical, and she remembered lying in bed afterward, him hugging her from behind, and how his arms had felt like clamps.

  “Yeah, you’re right, something was missing,” she said. “Maybe I just wasn’t attracted to him enough. Anyway, another guy’s been writing to me, so we’ll see where that goes.”

  Mark was looking straight ahead with a very serious expression. Karen didn’t think he’d heard her so she said, “I said another guy’s been writing to me so—”

  “What other guy?” Mark asked.

  “Just some new guy from Match,” Karen said. “He’s a dentist from Scarsdale.”

  “Sounds like a prick,” Mark said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You dated that dentist last year, right? The one who you found out was still having sex with his ex-wife?”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Carl was a prick. But just because one dentist was a prick doesn’t mean all dentists are pricks.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Mark said. “I just think this guy sounds like a prick.”

  “But you don’t know anything about him.”

  “You said he’s from Scarsdale, right? You know how stuck up they are in Scarsdale? And a dentist from Scarsdale? Jesus. What’s his name?”

  “Richard.”

  “Richard what?”

  “Gross.”

  “Richard Gross? Dick Gross? Told you—a prick.”

  Karen smiled. While it was a little annoying that Mark was being so oppositional, she knew he was just looking out for her, trying to protect her, the way a brother would try to protect his sister from bullies in a playground.

  When they got to the halfway point of Karen’s usual run, Mark, asked, “Should we turn back?”

  Thinking about the one-and-a-half pounds she’d gained, Karen said, “I think I’m gonna keep going, but you can head if you want.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Mark said. “I have another gear.”

  “Are you sure? ’Cause—”

  “Yep, let’s keep goin’,” he said.

  They continued along the lake for about another mile, then headed back. Mark wasn’t talking as much, and Karen could tell he was struggling to keep up. She knew he’d never complain, though—men and their silly egos.

  When they were back, running along Savage Lane, Karen wanted to finish up strong for a final calorie burn so she sprinted ahead. A few minutes later, she was on her front lawn, stretching her quads, when Mark approached, straining to catch his breath, his T-shirt soaked.

  “So, how’s the rest of your day look?” Mark asked between gasps.

  “I have to take care of stuff around the house and then I’m heading to the country club this afternoon,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said. “I have an eleven forty-five tee time. But maybe we can meet up at the clubhouse afterward for coffee or something.”

  Karen was planning to play tennis with her friend Jill, whom she was bringing to the club as a guest. Afterward she wanted to hang out with Jill and chat, but she didn’t want to be rude.

  “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’m playing tennis with Jill, but we’ll probably be gone by the time you’re done.”

  “Oh.” Mark seemed disappointed. “Well, you never know, I’ll text you from the course and maybe we can work something out.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Bending down, stretching her hamstrings now, Karen expected Mark to leave but he stood there, watching.

  When he noticed she was looking at him, his eyes shifted upward guiltily, and he said, “This was really a total blast. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  “Oh, it was no problem,” she said.

  “We should do it again.”

  Karen wanted to be honest—tell him that it was nothing personal but she preferred to run alone—but she figured she’d discuss it with him another time.

  “Yeah, we totally should,” she said.

  He remained, watching for several seconds while she continued to stretch, then said, “Well, see you later,” and she said, “
See you,” and he finally headed back toward his house. When he was beyond her driveway he turned back and smiled and raised his hand, so she smiled and raised her hand as well.

  Poor Mark. Karen could tell he was suffering inside and she had a feeling things were worse at home than he was letting on. She wished she could help, but there was nothing she could really do—he’d have to work through it on his own.

  She went into the house, laid out a yoga mat, and continued with her workout.

  WHEN DEB returned to the pool area, ahead of Owen, she felt dirty, disgusting, and ashamed. Everything about her classroom fantasy that had excited her just a few minutes ago, now repulsed her. She wanted to be dead, buried or, better yet, burned. The world didn’t deserve her miserable, unfaithful body. She wanted to evaporate, combust, disappear forever.

  “Hey, Deb.”

  Deb glanced to her left, toward the bleachers, at the smiling face of Grace Shapiro, the mom of Aiden who was on Justin’s swim team.

  Deb had to smile back—talk about being fake—and said, “Hey, how are you?”

  “Great, thanks,” Grace said. “Are you just getting here?”

  “No, I was here before, I just had to take a call.”

  “Oh, too bad,” Grace said. “I love your hair, did you get it cut?”

  Fighting off an image of Owen grabbing a fistful of her hair as he leaned close to her ear, grunting, You like that, student? You like that, right? she said to Grace, “Um, no, not recently.”

  “Well, I love it,” Grace said.

  Deb managed a half smile then went and sat in the same spot in the bleachers she’d sat in before, still feeling filthy. What kind of person was she, sneaking away from her son’s swim practice to have sex with a teenager? She could smell Owen’s Axe cologne, as strong as if she were wearing it herself, and she wished she could run down there and jump in the pool to rinse off. But washing his scent off her wouldn’t be enough, because she could still feel his body on her, in her.

  She was so absorbed in her self-loathing that she hadn’t noticed that Owen had returned to his seat a few rows in front of her. Now the scent of Axe was even stronger, and she wanted to move—maybe go sit next to Grace or, better yet, in the top row of the bleachers, and all the way in the corner, as far away from Owen as she could possibly get—but she couldn’t do that as the sane, logical voice was still lurking somewhere in her brain, reminding her the worst thing she could do was draw any attention to her relationship with Owen. The only positive of the whole situation was that the perverted side of herself was a well-kept secret, that she was alone in her suffering.