FIVE

The ultimate driving machine. That’s what all the ads called it, what Dwayne called it, and Mattie Purvis was steering that powerful machine down West Central Street, blinking back tears and thinking: You have to be there. Please, Dwayne, be there. But she didn’t know if he would be. There was so much about her husband that she didn’t understand these days, as if some stranger had stepped into his place, a stranger who scarcely paid attention to her. Scarcely even looked at her. I want my husband back. But I don’t even know how I lost him.

The giant sign with PURVIS BMW beckoned ahead; she turned into the lot, passing rows of other gleaming ultimate machines, and spotted Dwayne’s car, parked near the showroom door.

She pulled into the stall next to his and turned off her engine. Sat for a moment, breathing deep. Cleansing breaths, just like they’d taught her in Lamaze class. The class Dwayne had stopped coming to a month ago, because he thought it was a waste of his time. You’re the one having the baby, not me. Why do I need to be there?

Uh-oh, too many deep breaths. Suddenly light-headed, she reeled forward against the steering wheel. Accidentally bumped the horn and flinched as it gave a loud blare. She glanced out the window and saw one of the mechanics looking at her. At Dwayne’s idiot wife, honking her horn for nothing. Flushing, she pushed open the door, eased her big belly out from behind the steering wheel, and walked into the BMW showroom.

Inside it smelled like leather and car wax. An aphrodisiac for guys, Dwayne called it, this banquet of scents that now made Mattie faintly nauseated. She paused among the sexy sirens of the showroom: this year’s new models, all sensuous curves and chrome, gleaming under spotlights. A man could lose his soul in this room. Run his hand over a metallic blue flank, stare too long at his reflection in a windshield, and he’d begin to see his dreams. He’d see the man he could be if only he owned one of these machines.

“Mrs. Purvis?”

Mattie turned and saw Bart Thayer, one of her husband’s salesmen, waving at her. “Oh. Hi,” she said.

“You looking for Dwayne?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“I think, uh …” Bart glanced toward the back offices. “Let me check.”

“That’s okay, I can find him.”

“No! I mean, uh, let me get him, okay? You should sit down, take a load off. In your condition, you shouldn’t be standing around too much.” Funny thing for Bart to say; he had a belly bigger than hers.

She managed a smile. “I’m only pregnant, Bart. Not crippled.”

“So when’s the big day?”

“Two weeks. That’s when we think it’s due, anyway. You never know.”

“Ain’t that the truth. My first son, he didn’t want to come out. Born three weeks late and he’s been late for everything ever since.” He winked. “Let me get Dwayne for you.”

She watched him walk toward the back offices. Trailed after him, just far enough to watch him knock on Dwayne’s door. There was no response, so he knocked again. At last the door opened and Dwayne stuck his head out. He gave a start when he spotted Mattie waving at him from the showroom.

“Can I talk to you?” she called out to him.

Dwayne stepped right out of his office, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

Bart looked back and forth at the couple. Slowly he began to sidle away toward the exit. “Uh, Dwayne, I think I’ll just take a little coffee break now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dwayne. “I don’t care.”

Bart fled the showroom. Husband and wife looked at each other.

“I waited for you,” Mattie said.

“What?”

“My OB appointment, Dwayne. You said you were coming. Dr. Fishman waited twenty minutes, and then we couldn’t wait any longer. You missed seeing the sonogram.”

“Oh. Oh, Jesus. I forgot.” Dwayne ran his hand over his head, smoothing back his dark hair. Always fussing over his hair, his shirt, his tie. When you’re dealing with a high-end product, Dwayne liked to say, you have to look the part. “I’m sorry.”

She reached in her purse and pulled out a Polaroid. “Do you even want to take a look at the picture?”

“What is it?”

“It’s our daughter. That’s a picture of the sonogram.”

He glanced at the photo and shrugged. “Can’t see much of anything.”

“You can see her arm here, and her leg. If you look real hard, you can almost see her face.”

“Yeah, cool.” He handed it back. “I’ll be home a little late tonight, okay? There’s a guy coming by at six for a test drive. I’ll catch dinner on my own.”

She put the Polaroid back in her purse and sighed. “Dwayne—”

He gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Let me walk you out. C’mon.”

“Can’t we go out for coffee or something?”

“I’ve got customers.”

“But there’s no one else in the showroom.”

“Mattie, please. Just let me do my job, okay?”

Dwayne’s office door suddenly opened. Mattie’s head swiveled around as a woman stepped out, a lanky blonde who quickly ducked across the hall, into another office.

“Who’s that?” said Mattie.

“What?”

“That woman who was just in your office.”

“Oh. Her?” He cleared his throat. “New hire. I thought it was about time we brought in a saleswoman. You know, diversify the team. She’s turned into a real asset. Moved out more cars last month than Bart did, and that’s saying something.”

Mattie stared at Dwayne’s closed door, thinking: That’s when it started. Last month. That’s when everything changed between us, when the stranger moved into Dwayne’s body.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“Look, I’ve really got to get back to work.”

“I just want to know her name.” She turned and looked at her husband and, in that instant, she saw raw guilt in his eyes, as glaring as neon.

“Oh, Jesus.” He turned away. “I don’t need this.”

“Uh, Mrs. Purvis?” It was Bart, calling from the showroom doorway. “Did you know you have a flat tire? The mechanic just pointed it out to me.”

Dazed, she turned and stared at him. “No. I … I didn’t.”

“How can you not notice you have a flat tire?” Dwayne said.

“It might have—well, it seemed to handle a little sluggishly, but—”

”I don’t believe this.” Dwayne was already heading for the door. Walking away from me as always, she thought. And now he’s angry. How did everything suddenly become my fault?

She and Bart followed him to her car. Dwayne was crouched down by the right rear wheel, shaking his head.

“Can you believe she didn’t notice this?” he said to Bart. “Look at this tire! She shredded the fucking tire!”

“Hey, it happens,” said Bart. He gave Mattie a sympathetic glance. “Look, I’ll ask Ed to slip on a new one. No problem.”

“But look at the rim, it’s all screwed up. How many miles you think she drove on this thing? How can anyone be that dense?”

“C’mon, Dwayne,” said Bart. “It’s no big deal.”

“I didn’t know,” said Mattie. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you drive it like this all the way from the doctor’s office?” Dwayne glanced at her over his shoulder, and the anger she saw in his eyes scared her. “Were you daydreaming or what?”

“Dwayne, I didn’t know.”

Bart patted Dwayne on the shoulder. “Maybe you should lighten up a little, how ’bout it?”

“Stay the hell out of this!” snapped Dwayne.

Bart retreated, hands lifted in submission. “Okay, okay.” He shot a last glance at Mattie, a look of good luck, honey, and walked away.

“It’s only a tire,” said Mattie.

“You must’ve been throwing sparks all down the road. How many people you think saw you driving around like this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hello! This is a Beemer. When you’re driving a machine like this, you’re upholding an image. People see this car, they expect the driver to be a little smarter, a little more hip. So you go clanking around on a bare rim, it ruins the image. It makes every other Beemer driver look bad. It makes me look bad.”

“It’s only a tire.”

“Stop saying that.”

“But it is.”

Dwayne gave a snort of disgust and rose to his feet. “I give up.”

She swallowed back tears. “It’s not about the tire. Is it, Dwayne?”

“What?”

“This fight is about us. Something’s wrong between us.”

His silence only made things worse. He didn’t look at her, but turned, instead, to watch the mechanic walking toward them.

“Hey,” the mechanic called out. “Bart said I should go ahead and change that tire.”

“Yeah, take care of it, will you?” Dwayne paused, his attention shifting to a Toyota that had just driven into the lot. A man climbed out and stood eyeing one of the BMWs. Bent close to read the dealer’s sticker on the window. Dwayne smoothed back his hair, gave his tie a tug, and started walking toward the new customer.

“Dwayne?” said Mattie.

“I got a client here.”

“But I’m your wife.”

He spun around, his gaze suddenly, shockingly, poisonous. “Don’t. Push it. Mattie.”

“What do I have to do to get your attention?” she cried. “Buy a car from you? Is that what it takes? Because I don’t know any other way.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know any other way.”

“Then maybe you should just stop trying. Because I don’t see the point anymore.”

She watched him walk away. Saw him pause to square his shoulders, put on a smile. His voice suddenly boomed out, warm and friendly, as he greeted the new client on the lot.

“Mrs. Purvis? Ma’am?”

She blinked. Turned to look at the mechanic.

“I’ll need your car keys, if you don’t mind. So I can move her into the bay and get that tire on.” He held out a grease-stained hand.

Wordless, she gave him her key ring, then turned to look at Dwayne. But he did not even glance her way. As if she was invisible. As if she was nothing.

She scarcely remembered driving home.

She found herself sitting at the kitchen table, still holding the keys, the day’s mail stacked in front of her. On top was the credit card bill, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dwayne Purvis. Mr. and Mrs. She remembered the first time someone had called her Mrs. Purvis, and the joy she’d felt at hearing the name. Mrs. Purvis, Mrs. Purvis.

Mrs. Nobody.

The keys spilled to the floor. She dropped her head in her hands and began to cry. Cried as the baby kicked inside her, cried until her throat ached and the mail was soaked with her tears.

I want him back the way he was. When he loved me.

Through the stuttering of her own sobs, she heard the squeal of a door. It came from the garage. Her head shot up, hope blooming in her chest.

He’s home! He’s come home to tell me he’s sorry.

She jumped up so quickly that her chair tipped over. Giddy, she opened the door and stepped into the garage. Stood blinking in the gloom, bewildered. The only car parked in the garage was hers.

“Dwayne?” she said.

A strip of sunlight caught her eye; the door leading to the side yard was ajar. She crossed the garage to close it. She had just pushed it shut when she heard a footfall behind her, and she froze, heart thumping. Knew, in that instant, that she was not alone.

She turned. Halfway around, darkness met her.