Wildest Dreams

29. Kendall

KENDALL

I commit to staying in the house permanently and find a renter for the loft above my office to keep me from chickening out and abandoning the house again.

Patsy and Garion help me move the rest of my stuff, which I put in the spare bedrooms for the time being. I love that Pierre hung pictures of us together, but they make me so lonesome for him I can hardly stand it sometimes.

After he left, he let me know when he got to the airport and when he arrived home in LA. He even sent me a photo of his view of the mountains from his house in Bel Air. Every time I get a text from him, I “like” it to be polite, but don’t comment. I also say nothing when he asks how I am, and I haven’t returned his calls. I can’t let this drag out. We both need to move on.

The town has gone back to normal now that the film crew has left. Movie chatter has dissipated, the streets are no longer closed, and it takes significantly less time to get a beer at Cattywampus, which I discover when I meet Patsy, Micah, and our friend Sistine out for drinks on a Saturday afternoon in early August. I haven’t had very many proper girls’ nights since my divorce, but the four of us hung out a lot when I was married and needed time away from Tucker.

It’s a welcome return to normalcy. Patsy regals us with stories of the crazy things her boys have been doing, Micah gives us horror stories of her online dating experiences, and Sistine fills us in on all the local gossip she hears at the coffee shop she runs near my office. They casually ask about Pierre, but in a normal, friendly way instead of an oh-my-god-tell-us-about-the-movie-star way.

Of course, we see Tucker there. The weird thing is, Whitney isn’t with him.

Patsy is the first to point it out, of course.

“He’s alone,” she says. We all turn around and look. He approaches the bar and orders a drink, but instead of getting a table, he sits on a barstool and makes conversation with Calista.

He looks around, sees the four of us, and waves. None of us wave back.

“That’s weird,” Sistine comments in her deep, no-nonsense voice.

“Maybe she’s sick,” says Micah.

“Yeah, with the clap,” responds Patsy.

We all laugh, then go back to talking about our lives, but throughout the night I can’t help but notice Tucker glaring at me unapologetically.

* * *

W hen I get home, the house is eerily quiet. I put my purse on the kitchen counter and carry my phone to my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. It dings as I spit my toothpaste into the sink.

I pick it up, look at it, and almost have a stroke when I see who it is.

Tucker.

Hey, just wanted to say how nice you looked tonight. I’d like to talk to you if you’re free sometime soon.

I ignore it. I’ve gotten good at ignoring men lately.

He doesn’t say anything else, and I go to bed. When I sleep, I dream of Pierre.

* * *

T he following Monday I tell Patsy about the text when she gets to work.

“Mother f-er. What an a-hole,” she says. “Of course, he wants you now that you’ve been with someone better.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” I say. “It’s weird.”

“Do you think it has something to do with him being alone the other night?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“I bet he and Whitney broke up,” says Patsy, pulling out her phone. I know she’s about to work her network of spies to find out what’s going on.

“They’re both horrible people, so it’s entirely possible.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” she says, eyes glued to her screen and fingers moving so fast I don’t know how she keeps up.

“Don’t bother wasting your time,” I say.

Sure enough, by the end of the week Patsy learned Tucker found texts on Whitney’s phone from a guy she’d met at the gym. He hired a private investigator to follow her and, as it turns out, the gym guy isn’t the only one she’s been messing around with since they got married.

“Wow,” I say when she tells me. “I guess people really do get what they deserve.”

* * *

A week goes by and Tucker reaches out again, only this time he calls. I know it sounds pathetic, but I do feel sorry for him. I know what it’s like to be cheated on, thanks to him. It completely robs you of your dignity and self-worth.

He leaves me a voicemail. “Hey, Kendall. I know you hate me, and that’s fine. I’m not trying to get back with you or harass you. I’m going through some stuff and need someone to talk to. You’re the best listener I know. Call me back if you can.”

I wait a few days before deciding whether to respond. When I play the message for Patsy, she does not hold back.

“I know where we could hide his body,” she says.

“Patsy, seriously.”

“I am serious. In Cold Man’s Creek, you can dump a body and the alligators would clean the bones before anyone would be any the wiser. That’s why it’s Cold Man’s Creek.”

“We’re not killing Tucker.”

“He’s being selfish. You don’t owe him anything. He’s never brought anything but misery to anyone he’s ever known. He’s a scourge on the human race.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“You’re not thinking of seeing him, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kendall! Do not fall back into this with him. If Pierre taught you nothing else, you should know that you can do better. More importantly, you deserve better.”

I sigh and give her a hug. “I love you,” I tell her. “You’re crazy, but I love you.”

* * *

A fter a few more days of thinking, I decide to see Tucker. Maybe I need closure, or maybe I’m curious to see how miserable he is now that Whitney’s served him up a big dose of karma. Of course, I do not tell Patsy about my plans. I’ll fill her in after the fact so she can’t talk me out of it.

We meet at Cattywampus. When I arrive, he already has a table. It’s early on a weekday before the after-work crowd arrives, and there’s hardly anyone here besides Calista, who cuts her eyes at me like she can’t believe I’m there with Tucker. He looks bloated, his hair longer than normal, and he has dark stubble on his face and neck.

He’s already ordered a Pussy Cat Blonde for me, so I sit down. I keep my purse in my lap and cross my arms to make sure my body language is as uninviting as possible.

“You look amazing, Ken,” he says.

“Don’t call me that,” I say. “Why did you want to meet?”

“She cheated on me.” The lines on his face deepen and he looks at me with brown doe eyes.

“I know.”

“Of course you do. The whole town knows. It’s humiliating.”

“Yeah, it is.” My tone is sharp and accusatory.

He nods, then takes a long sip of his beer. “Now I know how you must’ve felt. I can’t believe I did that to you. You didn’t deserve it. You were nothing but sweet to me.”

“Tucker, I really don’t need your apology. I’m better off without you. It’s for the best. Really.”

“I guess it’s easy to say that, now that you’re with Pierre Chatham.”

“Pierre is none of your business.”

He nods. “You’re right.”

“Nothing in my life is any of your business,” I continue, my voice calm but firm. “Not anymore.”

“Look, I didn’t come here for you to make me feel like crap. I just—” He leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. “I miss you, Ken. I made a stupid mistake. She wasn’t worth losing you. Nothing could be worth losing you.”

I stand up. “We’re done here.”

“Ken, think about it. You and me?—”

He reaches out to grab my hand, but I pull it away. “No. You and I are over. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. If you see me out, turn around and leave.”

“You think that movie star guy is going to stick around the way I will? He doesn’t even live here. And he could have?—”

“Me not wanting to be with you has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here today. I hope you figure yourself out, Tucker, I really do, but you’re going to have to do that without me.”

With that, I walk to my car and drive home.