The Space Between Us. Megan Hart
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set up my own user account on the desktop not so much because I wanted to look at things little kids shouldn’t see, but to prevent them from messing up anything I’d saved. At four, Simone could expertly wend her way through the labyrinth of online kiddie games, but she also had a quick-draw delete finger. I’d lost documents and important emails more than once. Her brother, Max, at two and a half, was more likely to simply pound a bunch of keys, making the computer perform any number of wacky functions we had no idea it could do, and that it probably wasn’t meant to.
Since nobody had come home yet, I didn’t have to worry a lot about being pestered to look at videos of cute pets or play an educational game with colors so bright they made my eyes bleed. I didn’t have to be careful about little eyes watching over my shoulder as I glanced through the pictures posted to my Connex friend feed. Meredith had been wrong when she said I didn’t have to answer to anyone. I lived with four other people, one of whom would hand my ass to me on a plate if I exposed his kids to junk they shouldn’t see.
Stalking people on Connex is supereasy if they’re not concerned enough to make sure they tick off all the appropriate privacy controls. I don’t have my account on lockdown because I never upload any pictures or anything too private that I don’t want the world to see. Besides, I want people to be able to find me. That’s what it’s for, right?
I found the brothers Murphy with only a few keystrokes. They both belonged to a fan group for our graduating class. I hadn’t joined. In their profile pictures they looked less alike than they ever had. Still tall and lanky, but time had put weight on them both, and it suited them.
Chance was married. Two small kids. I surfed his photos, feeling only vaguely creepy about it. He was living in Ohio, working for some accounting firm. He had a beautiful family and appeared happy. My cursor hovered over the Add Friend button, but I didn’t click it. I was happy to see Chance looked like he had a good life, but I didn’t feel any need to be even a peripheral part of it.
Chase wasn’t married.
And he looked damned fucking fine, I won’t even lie. He had lots of pictures uploaded. Albums of him hiking, biking, boating. Lots of shots with his shirt off, belly all ridged, arms buff. Lip-smacking good. He also had a lot of pictures of him with the same guy. Over and over, arms slung casually over shoulders. Laughing. I scanned Chase’s profile information, which just said single, but it was clear to me there was a reason for this other man being in all his photo albums. Maybe Chase hadn’t chosen to announce it to the whole world on Connex, but there was no hiding it.
I didn’t friend him, either. I wanted to. I wanted to send him a message, ask him if he was happy. If the reason he hadn’t wanted to be with me was because he was into guys, not because he didn’t love me the way I’d loved him. I wanted to ask him a lot of things, but in the end I didn’t. There’d be no point in picking at that old scar.
I distracted myself surfing the Apple website, yearning for what I wanted and couldn’t have. It seemed to be the theme of the day. I imagined I smelled Meredith’s perfume clinging to me, felt the softness of her sweater against me. With a low, muttered groan I twirled around in the desk chair with my head tipped back and only my feet moving. Round and around, the ceiling twirling above me until I dug a toe into the carpet.
I stopped. The room kept moving. If I stood, I’d stumble, probably fall. It was not quite enough to make my stomach sick, though in retrospect the tuna hadn’t been the best idea. As I turned back to the computer, my eyes still trying hard to focus on one unspinning thing, I heard the front door open and the sound of little shoes on the tile entryway. Then voices. Simone, shrieking at her brother, who was giggling like a lunatic. Their mom, Elaine, admonishing them without much force. Then the diversion of the noise from the den, up the stairs and presumably toward the bathroom, where the kids would be bathed, toothbrushed and pottied before being put into their beds.
I closed down my windows and cleared my history before logging out, and was just turning in the desk chair to face the doorway when he came in. “Hey, Vic,” I said.
“Hey.” He looked tired. Kids could do that to you. Vic pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, then focused briefly on the computer. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”
“Not everyone has a blooming social calendar like you,” I teased.
His smile quirked faintly on one side. Just the one. “We took the kids over to Elaine’s mom’s house for Nancy’s birthday. If I’d known you were going to be home I’d’ve told you.”
“It’s okay. I had stuff to do.” Elaine’s mom and sister had never been mean to me, but they’d never gone out of their way to be nice, either. We had a policy of neutral ground when it came to family events. If they came here or we met someplace else, we treated each other distantly but politely, never really delving too much into my place in their son-in-law’s life. I simply never went to their house.
He nodded. “I’m going to help Elaine with the kids. You up for some Resident Evil 4 in a bit?”
It was our favorite video game, especially played on Vic’s Wii with the special guns that attached to the controllers. “Hell, yeah. You guys need some help?”
“Nah.” He shrugged and yawned. “We got it covered.”
“How’s she feeling?” Elaine was pregnant with their third and didn’t have morning sickness. She had all-day sickness.
“Like shit.” He shrugged again, a man bewildered by the complications of women’s bodies, though not unsympathetic.
It was enough to make me determined never to get pregnant. Like, ever. Well … maybe if Christian Bale was donating, I could be persuaded. But other than that, probably not. “I’ll set up the game for when you’re ready.”
There was no reason for me to have told Vic I’d been thinking about looking up Chase and Chance Murphy. It still felt like a lie, one that weighed heavily enough on me that I couldn’t quite keep my concentration on the game. Since it was single-player, Vic and I took turns at it, switching when one of us died. I died a lot.
“What’s up with you, Tesla?” Vic took the gun controller from me as the red ooze dripped across the screen, showing I’d kicked it again.
“Long day at work, I guess.” I got up. “I should go to bed. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” But Vic didn’t get up. He leveled the gun at the screen again, starting the next level. “‘Night.”
The rest of the house had gone quiet hours ago, Elaine and the kids in bed. It was just Vic and me, sitting in the dark, killing zombies. The flickering light from the TV made shadows move on his face, giving him expressions I knew he wasn’t making.
He caught me looking and paused the game. “What?”
“You should go to bed. You have to get up early, too.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Vic said.
I shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. I just want to finish this level, that’s all. You go to bed. I’m fine.”
Since Vic often got up even earlier than I had to for the morning shift, I knew he wouldn’t be fine. “You look tired—”
“I’m a grown-up, Tesla,” he interrupted through tight jaws, his eyes steady on the waves of zombies coming to kill Leon S. Kennedy, until he flicked a gaze at me. “I can decide for myself when to go to bed.”
I stepped back, tossing up my hands. “Fine. You’re right. Good night.”
“ ‘Night,” I heard him repeat as I left the den and headed for my bedroom.
He was right, of course. I wasn’t his mom, perish the thought, and I wasn’t his wife. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have the right to worry about him, did it? Vic worked hard, long hours at the garage and used-car lot he owned. He had two kids and a pregnant wife.