“Bess needs to leave,” George said.
He was sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, and when his words slurred through the pitch black, Mare jumped. She’d gotten out of bed to get a glass of water and she hadn’t even realized he was home yet, that he was down here. He’d called around dinnertime to say he’d be home late, and after they’d put the kids to sleep, she and Bess had been watching Chances Are on cable in her bedroom. They’d both fallen asleep halfway through, and Mare had been having some weird half dream about a reincarnated Max, who looked strangely like Robert Downey Jr. from the movie, and then she’d awoken, disoriented. She’d just sent a sleepy Bess to her own room and had stumbled down the stairs for water.
She flipped on the light now, and then she saw George slouching against his chair, still in his work clothes, his red tie loosened around his neck. He took a sip from his can of beer, what appeared to be the fifth of a six-pack, judging from the empty cans in front of him.
“You need to go to bed,” she said firmly.
She walked over to the table and started gathering the empty cans to throw them away. But he suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She cried out in surprise, and the empty cans clattered against the oak table.
She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held on tight. “George,” she said his name sternly. “You’re hurting me.”
“I mean it, Mare. Bess needs to leave. Tomorrow. Or else.”
She tried to yank her arm away but he held on too tight. He stared at her for another moment and then let go of her so suddenly she lost her balance, tumbled back. She had left her cane in the bedroom and now she grabbed onto the edge of the table to steady herself. Once she regained her footing, she spat back at him: “Or else? Is that a threat?”
He took another swig of beer. “Maybe it is.”
“You’re drunk. On a Wednesday night. Why would I listen to you?” Distaste for him curled in her voice and came out sounding a little like a threat of her own. Though what she was threatening exactly was unclear, even to her. If Bess left, could Mare leave with her? She had planned to leave George to be with Max, once, but what if she left George to be on her own, with her friend? Like Bess had said, maybe they didn’t need men. Though it occurred to her now they had no jobs, no degrees, two kids and no place to live between them.
“I don’t want Bess to leave,” she finally said, firmly. “And this is my house too.”
George took another sip of his beer and seemed to consider this. “Don’t think...I won’t...make her.” He stumbled drunkenly over his words, making this threat sound juvenile, almost cartoonish.
Mare laughed. “Okay, George,” she said softly. “We’ll talk tomorrow once you’ve sobered up.” She paused and then she added, “Having Bess here makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Happy?” George let out a bitter laugh. “You mean like you were when Max fucking Cooper was here?” He suddenly sounded more sober.
“Don’t say his name like that,” Mare said quietly. “What gives you the right?” No one had uttered Max’s name out loud in her presence in at least a year, maybe two. And definitely not George. She hated the way Max’s name sounded in his voice now, bitter, angry, awful. Did George look at Bess’s little girl and see Max in her blue eyes too? Mare doubted he had the capacity to think past what he had been told, what was spoon-fed to him. Bess was here because of a divorce from another man. George hadn’t seen beyond that. Had he? So what was he even talking about now? “Bess is my best friend,” Mare finally said. “Of course she makes me happy.”
“What do you and Bess even do all day when I’m at work?” George laughed a little and finished off the fifth can of beer before reaching for the sixth. “I saw the two of you asleep in our bed tonight. Are you fucking her behind my back too?”
He was so drunk he wasn’t making any sense. She refused to dignify any of that with a response. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” she said instead. But suddenly the word too rang in her ears. Had he known what was going on with her and Max? Was that what had gotten him all riled up now?
He ignored her and opened up the beer can. “I want Bess gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow.” George took another swig of beer, and then he added, “Or I’ll get rid of her same way I got rid of Max.”
Same way I got rid of Max?
The words tumbled in her brain. She remembered nothing, knew nothing, of what had really happened the night of the accident. What was George saying now? That he had been involved somehow? But that didn’t make any sense. It had been a hit and run. She saw the police report; that was how it had been classified.
Just then Bess walked into the kitchen, swept across the room and grabbed on to Mare’s arms, pulling her away from the table, holding on to her tightly. “Could you help me out with something upstairs, M?”
Had Bess heard what George just said? And if so, how much? The part about George wanting Bess to leave, George asking if they were fucking behind his back or only the last part about Max? Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the thought of Bess overhearing any of his drunken ramblings.
“Oh, look. Bess is awake,” George slurred.
“Hello, George,” Bess said coldly. “Nothing like a little midweek beer to show what a good family man you are.” If she was trying to antagonize him on purpose, she was doing it correctly. George’s expression sank in a frown, and red crept up from his neck, across his face. “M, come on. I need you upstairs.”
Mare allowed herself to be pulled out of the kitchen, and then she leaned her weight on her friend to walk toward the stairs.
“She always needs you,” George muttered as they walked out. “That’s the fucking problem.”
Bess didn’t say a word until they were upstairs in Mare’s bedroom again with the door shut. Then Bess turned the lock on the door handle and came and sat on the bed next to Mare.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was like that?” Bess finally spoke softly.
Mare could barely think straight because she kept hearing what George had said about Max. He got rid of Max? Could George have been the hit and run driver? He’d had a meeting in the city that night. But had he really? Or had he lied about that?
“Mare,” Bess said her name sternly and Mare looked up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Everything she had ever wanted to come clean about to Bess sat on the tip of her tongue. That she had loved Max. That she would’ve left George for Max. That she still was unsure whether Max had truly loved her or Bess the whole time. But she bit her lip and didn’t say any of that out loud. She knew intuitively somehow if she said all this out loud she could lose Bess forever. And she couldn’t let that happen.
“You didn’t tell me that George was abusive,” Bess whispered. “I mean I saw you two weren’t always getting along while I’ve been here, but I didn’t know he was like this.”
Abusive? George was George. He liked empty, drunken threats. But he didn’t hit her. Mare laughed a little. “Oh, Bess, he’s just having a bad night. Really. It’s not a big deal.” But even as she spoke, she knew she sounded like one of those sad women on the afternoon talk shows she used to watch in the year after her accident when she could barely bring herself to get out of bed. George wasn’t a very nice drunk. (And he wasn’t all that nice sober these days either.) But that didn’t make him abusive.
Bess frowned and put her arm around Mare. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to take care of this,” Bess said.
And in that moment, it didn’t occur to Mare to ask Bess what she meant. But later she would wonder if she had, if everything might’ve turned out differently.