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The weight of guilt pressed Jenny into the mattress as she woke. She was sick with regret.
Laying on her side, she clutched the thin sheet to her chest. It was chilly in the room with the ceiling fan running, and the very grey early morning sun came through cheap plastic blinds. Her head spun with a hangover and misery.
She buried her face between the pillow and mattress. How could she fuck up so bad? Do exactly what people she thought lesser of did?
It was then she felt something shift on the other side of the mattress. She froze.
He was still here. It wasn’t until that moment she realized she’d been hoping he left already.
His movements were hushed and hurried, blurring into a sort of panic. She considered feigning sleep for a moment if only to avoid confrontation. Though she should say something. Did he feel as wretched as she did?
By the time she gained enough composure to face him, he was fully dressed, even down to his socks. There was a hole in the heel of one of them, she noted.
She met his gaze as he looked down at her, but as last night came back to her in a spiraling rush, she looked away.
She started to speak.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
“Ian--”
“We were just drunk. It was a mistake.”
Her ribs felt like they were going to collapse. He reached for his wedding ring on her nightstand.
“Please don’t call.”
He slipped out of her room, not even bothering to glance back.
________
The bonfire hosted by Jamie and Claire was a hit. Everyone Jenny knew was there, gathered around the warm, orange glow in their spring jackets, bottles of beer in their hands. It was completely dark beyond the fire, a peaceful late-spring night, marking the end of winter with the promise of more bonfires to come.
They gathered in a field some distance from Claire and Jamie’s house. They had to be escorted to the firepit in small groups in the bed of Jamie’s truck, across a bumpy path of long grasses that passed a large, clear pond. Crickets sang in the background, a soft harmony accompanying the sound of voices and laughter as her friends swapped stories and caught up on each other’s lives.
Cloud cover and smoke obscured the stars, and the air sparked temporarily with the pop of hot, floating ash. It was their own little secret, a space that was invite-only, tucked away from outsiders.
Jenny wore long pants tucked into boots and a thick zip-up hoodie to keep mosquitos away, though her hair still smelled of bug spray and her cheeks and hands were sticky with it. There was little Jenny hated more than mosquito bites.
Feeling light on her toes in the haze of several ales, she glided to the tree line on the edge of the fire’s glow, where Ian sat in a camp chair, away from the group. “Hey,” she said, “what are ye doing all the way over here?”
He looked as if she’d startled him out of deep thought, his hand coming out from under his chin, where it had rested. His wedding ring glinted in the firelight as he moved. “Everyone’s a little rambunctious tonight, it might be too much for me.”
Jenny turned to look at the pockets of people around the fire. They were standing around, some closer to the heat than others, some laughing harder than others, but for the most part, the general feel of the gathering was laid back. “Okay, weirdo,” she replied, and plopped down on the soft grass beside him, leaning back on her palms.
“What are ye doing?” he asked, turning to look at her.
“There’s not a chair.”
“Well, right.” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. “I mean, what are you doing?”
“Oh. Repeating the same question really helps. I’m sitting with you, I guess. Ye seem lonely over here all by yourself.” She meant the comment to be lighthearted, but his shoulders slumped. “You alright?”
“Yes.” The answer came too quickly.
“You can talk to me,” she said, keeping her tone casual. Something was up with him, had been, for a long time. He had become increasingly withdrawn and tight-lipped about his life, he hadn’t cracked any jokes in a while, was no longer sarcastic. Frankly, Jenny worried about him. She stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them at the ankles.
She looked up at the sky, the quick shift in perspective causing her head to swim a little, but not for long, and waited for his response.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mmphm. Sure.”
They sat in silence for a little while, watching the people gathered around the fire. Jamie and Murtagh had rough working gloves on and carried heavy logs to the fire to keep it going. Someone -- Jenny couldn’t see who -- thought it funny to mime pushing Jamie into the flames, but their joke died as Claire marched forward, telling them to stop. Jamie laughed.
Jenny yawned.
“Tired?” Ian asked her.
“No,” she said, closing one eye and studying his silhouette.
“Drunk?”
She laughed, maybe a little too loudly. “No! Not!”
“Me neither. Want another beer?”
“Please.”
While Ian set out in search of a cooler, his empty in one hand, Jenny drew her knees up under her chin. She knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t himself. The problem was, she couldn’t get him to crack.
That stung a bit. Why didn’t he trust her? She considered Ian one of her closest friends. Did he not feel the same?
But nothing stopped Jenny from hyper-analyzing every clue he let slip, and really, she’d come to the conclusion that something was going on between him and his wife, Mary. Mary hadn’t been around in several weeks, maybe months. In fact, Jenny couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her. And each time she saw Ian -- if she saw Ian because he had taken to hiding, from what she didn’t know -- he was morose and withdrawn.
Ian returned and handed her a bottle of beer, giving her a small smile. It didn’t meet his eyes or light his face at all.
She hesitated for a few moments, and then he said, his voice sounding thick, “I ken what ye’re gonna ask.”
At the last second, she veered in a different direction. “Ye kent I was going to ask what ye thought about centaurs?”
He nearly laughed. “Centaurs?” His voice was light with surprise, and in an instant, tension blew away on the wind.
“Are they real, d’ye think?” She smiled as she put the mouth of the bottle to her lips.
He paused. “Dinna ken,” he said, concluding whatever internal analysis he’d begun.
“Oh? Well, I think they’re real.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I just believe it.”
“Well, how am I supposed to argue with that?”
“Ye can’t, that’s the point.”
At that, he did laugh. “No matter what, Jenny, ye’ve always got to be right. Way to set yourself up so ye always win.”
“Why thank you,” she replied, tipping her beer in his direction in salute. “I should write a book.”
“Janet Fraser authors the You’ll Never Lose: The Fine Art of Argument,” he joked, and she grinned broadly. “What would it say?”
“It’s all about digging yer heels in, real firm, and getting in as many insults as possible. Yell the loudest. Have an alibi.” She snickered at his knowing look. “At least, that’s what always made me win when I went up against Jamie.”
“Ah, well then, tried and true against another Fraser. Read it, follow it, and yer guaranteed a win.”
“Instant bestseller.”
“Flies off the shelves.”
“Publishers can’t keep up. Random House floods with ink. Giant, inky mess everywhere.”
She threw her head back and laughed, her beer empty now. “I think it’d be more probable that the building would burn down, what with all the machinery working overtime.”
“So many foolproof arguments, nobody would win. Or maybe everyone would win. Courthouses and universities descend into chaos.”
“You’ll Never Lose ends up on the banned book list, not because it’s censored, but because it’s a performance-enhancing drug.” She leaned back further onto the grass, relaxing. “But it doesn’t stop people from reading my book. World leaders, everywhere--I mean, global war would break out.”
“And then Jenny rules the world.” He was grinning now, and his body didn’t seem as heavy. She was pleased to see it and she erupted into laughter.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said to him, briefly placing a hand on his arm, and stood. “Want another beer?”
“Keep them coming,” he said, looking like he was having a nice time for the first time in a while.
She stood and left him, making her way to the coolers set along the wall of a small woodshed. Claire came to her along the way, matching Jenny’s stride and bending her head close to hers. Her curls were pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a light jacket, her jeans tucked into boots like Jenny. Jamie, however, was in shorts, sitting with a group of men some distance away.
“How is he?” she asked. “Ian.”
“He’s alright, I think.”
“I’m worried about him.” Claire paused, frowning, carefully considering what she wanted to say next. “I don’t think he’s taking care of himself.”
“He looks alright to me, like he’s hanging in there.” She’d seen a glimmer of his usual self tonight.
“Well, sure, he looks alright, but I’m more concerned about the way he’s thinking about himself.”
Jenny stopped Claire by grabbing her arm. “It’s that serious, you think? What’s going on?”
“It’s not my place to say,” she said, finally. “But he’s going through something, and no one can get him to talk about it. He said something to Jamie, once, and then never brought it up again.”
Jenny shrugged, frustrated at being kept at arm’s length from Ian, kept away from his secrets. He had slid so easily into banter with her, easier than she’d anticipated.
“Has he mentioned anything to you about what’s going on?” Claire asked, nodding her head Ian’s direction.
“No. He locked up when I asked him about it. We ended up joking around.”
“Joking around? Huh. Well, that’s good to hear. I’ll let Jamie know. He’s been worried. Ian won’t even talk to him, you know. At least, not much.”
“No?” Jenny glanced around the fire, making sure they were out of earshot. “So...have ye seen Mary around recently?”
Claire’s eyes snapped to Jenny’s, whose narrowed. “No.”
Jenny nodded, full of resignation and confirmed suspicions. Ian’s failing marriage hung between them in the air. “I figured that was it.” Reaching into the cooler, Jenny grabbed two drinks. She sighed. “I’ve got to get this beer to him. Is there anything I can do, do ye think?”
“Maybe just… keep him talking. Be a friend. You guys are pretty close; maybe he’ll talk to you about what’s going on.”
Turning to walk away, Jenny called to Claire, “Well, if he won’t talk to Jamie, he certainly won’t talk to me. But I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks for the drink, Jenny,” Ian said when she approached.
Using Ian’s key ring, Jenny popped the bottle caps off the beer and sat on the ground.
“So,” she began. “How are you? Like for real, not some bullshit answer to get me to stop asking.”
He bounced his leg on the ball of his foot, sitting in the camp chair. “I don’t…” The words seemed to have caught in his throat on their way out.
Jenny patted the grass. “Maybe it’ll come out easier if you’re not sitting above me,” she suggested.
He groaned but climbed out of the chair, taking a seat on the ground beside Jenny.
When he didn’t speak for a few moments, she filled the silence, resolute. “Did I ever tell you how it was for me when my mam died?”
“I know. I was there.”
“Ye were.” She nodded before continuing. “Sometimes I feel like I died that day and everything that happened since is some sort of weird dream. Like I’m not sure if it’s real or not. I’ll scratch myself or pinch myself and I’ll feel so sure that the pain means I’m still here, alive. But I’ll never be sure. I don’t know if that makes me ill or not, but it’s just how things are now, I guess.” She ran a hand through her hair, Ian watching her closely. “Everything’s just... different now.”
In the light of the fire, she saw something shift behind his eyes, either memory or denial. Maybe both. “I remember.”
“Ye do?” she asked, remembering when she drank herself into oblivion after the funeral, Ian holding her hair back while she puked in her mother’s garden.
That memory swelled between them, and Jenny found she had to look away.
With strain, he cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” he began, “but I think my marriage is ...over.”
When he didn’t continue, she asked, “Why?”
Ian let out a breath. “Several reasons, but I guess it all began somewhere. Mary,” his voice caught on her name, and he had to try again, “Mary was offered a job in Seattle.”
Jenny’s eyebrows flew up. “Seattle? That’s the other side of the country.”
His jaw clenched. “I know.”
“So, that’s... bad.”
“Yes.”
Jenny plucked a few leaves of grass out of the ground by her boot. “Yer moving, then? And you don’t want to?”
“Not exactly,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“She’s being transferred against her will? Fighting it?”
“No. Turns out she was applying for jobs without telling me. I didn’t know she was job hunting until they offered to fly her out for an interview.”
“Oh. I’m sure that went over well.”
His voice was low. “It did not.”
“Sarcasm, Ian.” She offered him a small smile and was relieved when he returned it, even if it was feeble. “So, what happened?”
“She wanted me to come with her. Said I might feel differently if I could see the city. I told her no way, I’m not moving, how dare she do this behind my back. She cried a lot. Said she’s having a hard time at work, that she needed a change of pace. This job was just a whim, she didn’t even put that much thought into the application. Not that that mattered much to me.” He took a drink.
“No, I’m sure it didn’t.”
“So, a couple of months ago, I put her on a plane. I even helped her practice for her interview and find a dry cleaner near her hotel who could press her suit the night beforehand. I helped zip her suitcase shut. I did everything I could to support her. But I think we both knew, even then…” He trailed off.
“Knew what?” Her voice was barely audible.
“I think we both knew that if she got that job, it would be the end of us. The end of our marriage.” He closed his eyes, almost looking like he was going to cry.
“And she got the job.” It wasn’t a question, but a conclusion. Jenny’s mind was already putting together the puzzle pieces, organizing the events on a timeline. “When?” she asked.
“She accepted the offer about a month ago, and she leaves in two weeks.” His face broke even as he struggled to remain composed in front of Jenny. His hands trembled.
“Oh, Ian,” she breathed, moving closer to him. She held him close, as if he were suffering from hypothermia. He thrummed against her.
She held him for a time, anchoring him to the ground. Eventually, his arms came around her waist, and he hugged her back.
When he finally let go of her and sat up, he said, “This sucks.”
“It does.” Not quite willing to let go of him entirely, she placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. “What’s next for you guys?”
He scoffed. “Not sure. Divorce, maybe. Possibly. Likely. We just can’t bring ourselves to file any of the paperwork.”
“It’ll be harder once she’s in a different state.”
“I know that. It’s already hard enough as it is. But everything is getting worse.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Jenny. Mary was my entire life. But she’s chosen her career and I’ve chosen… home. I don’t want to leave.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” she replied, understanding.
“My friends are here, and my family. My job. My life. Whatever I am is here. I’m just… heartbroken. Maybe I made a mistake when I married her.”
Feeling wretched, Jenny didn’t say anything in response.
He turned to look at her, his gaze connecting with hers in a way it hadn’t in weeks. She’d seen glimpses of him tonight, but nothing as strong as right now.
“Hmph. What?”
Firelight glowed over his features. “Nothing. I just forget what it’s like to be, well. To be understood.”
“Ye don’ feel understood?”
“No, and why would I? My wife is leaving me because I’m not willing to grow with her. So she tells me.”
“Ian,” Jenny said his name pleadingly. “That’s not it at all. You know that. Maybe it’s time for something different. Something entirely new. A new path.”
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked her. It wasn’t accusatory, merely assessing.
“I... suspected. I haven’t seen Mary in a while.”
He frowned. “No, you haven’t. I don’t see her often, either.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” He was angry, exhausted. Drained.
She reached for him, or he reached for her. She wasn’t sure where it began, but they held each other as the fire died down with the gathering. People were far away from them, it was like their own island.
She only wanted him to feel better. She hurt for him, unable to say exactly what she was feeling, only wanting to communicate how seeing his heart cracked open hurt her. He clutched at her, too. She could feel his fingers pressing into the muscles of her back, as if trying to press away from the end of his life as he knew it.
“You always make me feel better, Jenny.” The comment was almost a whisper, floating in the wind.
She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her face into the thick, chestnut warmth of it. He smelled of woodsmoke and ale. His fingers wound themselves in the hem of her shirt, running across the bare skin on the small of her back. He moved up to her, so close their noses nearly bumped against one another. They breathed together, and something locked into place between them. Absurdly, Jenny’s mind began to count down: three, two,...
Ian stood abruptly, pulling Jenny up with him. Silent, he jerked his head in the direction of Jamie’s truck, parked just outside the fire’s light, indicating a question of whether she’d want to leave.
Her chest expanding, she nodded. Jenny followed Ian at a close clip over to Jamie, who sat on a log, idly poking a stick into the flames. The story Rupert was telling him came to a stop as Jenny and Ian came to him.
“Jamie, man, I’ve got to go. Early morning. Thought I’d give Jenny a ride home, too, I think she's ready to get going. If ye don’ mind.”
“It’s about that time,” she said, playing up tiredness that she did not feel. She felt wired. Charged.
Jamie’s eyes slid from Jenny to Ian. “Ye sober enough?” he asked him. “Shall I ask ye to do the alphabet backward?”
Ian snorted impatiently at Jamie. Jenny picked at her sleeve and raised her chin at him, frustrated that he had to drive them out of the firepit. Why hadn’t she driven herself?
“Alright, lemme grab my keys.” Jamie patted his pockets, found them, and went for his truck. “Get in the back.”
Engine humming and brake lights glowing, Jenny climbed into the bed of Jamie’s truck and sat along the back. Ian sat beside her. She tried not to think about how his knee bumped against hers each time the truck jostled over the path, or how she slid toward him over the plastic grooves when Jamie took a turn near the pond.
Safely deposited in the gravel driveway of Claire and Jamie’s house, Jamie’s truck fading away over the field, Jenny turned to Ian. They were alone.
It had started off innocent. They were in his car, leaning towards each other, the center console biting into their sides, and then it happened. One, Jenny counted, satisfied. A kiss, stolen and hard. The eager first of many others. A test. Yes, this was it. This was what Ian asked for, what Jenny was willing to give. What she wanted.
“Shit, my car,” she breathed. “They’ll see.”
He shook his head. “Do ye care?”
“Yes.”
A beat. Then, “Me too. I’ll meet ye there.”
“Be careful driving,” she said before she shut the passenger door, feeling a bit mad.
Heart racing, the drive to her place was a blur. It didn’t feel real, but it was. She could feel the heat in the air around her.
The door of her apartment slammed shut behind them, though she wasn’t sure it actually latched. It might have bounced off the frame in their hurry. But no, there Ian was, letting her go for only a moment to turn the lock.
And then he was back; she clung to him as if for dear life.
Maybe it was because she felt reckless, dangerous, for once in her life. Her stomach twisted like the skin on Ian’s finger when he tugged the ring off and set it on her bedside table, discarded long before the rest of his clothes.
She deliberately pressed herself against him, satisfied to know he was anticipating this just as much as she was. His hands dragged along her stomach and hips and thighs, and with an endearing groan, he watched as she undressed.
The back of her knees knocked into the edge of her mattress and, gripping him by the shoulders, she fell backward so he would land on top of her. He kissed her, again, his lips soft and warm. She melted into him.
She didn’t think about it. Didn’t let herself think about it. His mouth and hands and fingers wouldn’t let her think about it, either.
Over the years, she’d thought a lot about what Ian was like in bed, and with a giddy revelation, she discovered most of her predictions were spot on. Yes, he gave more than he asked for. He was appreciative -- vocal -- when he received. He was just the right amount of playful, laughing into her kiss as she rolled him over so she could climb on top. He let her pin him down, his arms over his head as she rode him. But he demanded and took control of her, too, surprising her with how serious and deliberate he could be even as he listened to her, making sure she didn’t mind being tossed around a bit.
She didn’t mind it. At all. In fact, she may prefer it to anything that had come before.
Above all, Ian was fun. And this was Ian. In so many ways, he filled the gaps in her story.
She’d always carried a torch for him. It wasn’t until she held him by the fireside that she realized just how hot that burned, not unlike how he burned under her hands now.
The anger came to her as they lay together, not quite holding each other, a moment spent waiting for their heart rates to slow before climbing out of bed. How dare Mary discard him. If Jenny were in her place, she’d have given up Seattle for this in a heartbeat.
She reached for his hand, and he took it.
________
Ian Murray was not a man who would cheat on his wife. He moved through the world with quiet respect for all things; he always chose to forgive or to always walk in another person’s shoes. He was a good person; kind, thoughtful, and caring.
Jenny knew this about him. Maybe that’s why she liked him so much. It’s also why she understood that he meant what he’d said when he left on that morning.
But even people who are good, and faithful, and trustworthy, mess up sometimes. Despite their goodness and their sense of honor, they still harbor the ability to hurt.
Each day that passed, where she lived up to her promise that she wouldn’t call, Jenny felt heavier, slower. The more time that wedged itself between her and that night, the more horrified Jenny became with herself.
She burrowed into herself, craving a private space to process, dutifully falling back into her routine, throwing herself into her collection of hobbies, never able to stay with one for more than a day or two. She tried new recipes, tried to sketch. Went to work and came home. Let the cat out. Tried not to think about what it might mean to see him again.
She hadn’t heard from him, and nearly two weeks had gone by when her phone finally rang. Knowing instinctively that it was him, she picked up right away, her heart hammering. She wondered wildly whether he might be calling to say he left Mary for good.
“Ian.”
“I only have a few minutes.” His voice sounded far away.
“Okay.”
“I, um. I’m calling to ask you a favor.”
“Okay.”
“I told Mary. Ye know. ‘Bout you and me.”
Her heart raced. “And?”
“And... we’ve decided we’re going to work on things. Jenny, I’m moving to Seattle.”
The world fell out from under her. “S-Seattle?”
“We leave in a few days.” We. Jenny’s mind flashed to his wedding band on her end table.
“Jamie is throwing us a surprise party tomorrow. Wee Fergus spilled the beans, ye ken how he is.”
Jenny sat quietly on the line.
“He’ll probably call and invite you if he hasn’t already.”
She swallowed, hard. It took her voice a second to work. “I won’t come,” she promised.
“Thank you,” he stopped, his own voice cracking.
They were both quiet, still, only the faint sound of anxious breathing on either end.
“So what now?” Jenny said, her voice shaking, “Ye expect me to handle this alone?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what either of us is supposed to do.”
“You knew I liked you. You knew I cared about you. And I know ye care for me. So all of that is just nothing? That night was just... nothing?”
If his voice was far away at the beginning, it was extra quiet now. She had to strain to hear him. “It wasn’t nothing.”
“So what do we do with this?” Jenny said between sobs, “We just let this go?”
“I’m married, Janet,” he replied, sounding very tired and upset. “This is what I’m supposed to do.”
“But what if it’s not? What if you’re wrong?”
She heard his voice waver as he tried to start speaking. “If I’m wrong, then I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Ian,” she managed to say, “Please think about this.”
“I’m sorry, Jen. I’m so sorry. Goodbye.”
She heard the phone hang up and just sat there, quiet and stillness lingering in the air.