Free Confessions Of A Falling Woman And Other Stories by Debra Dean Page A

transact with a wife. This has nothing to do with me, with us. When he gets her off the phone, I'll suggest a dip in the pool.
    (How could he forget that night in Sarasota when they swam naked and unashamed, watched only by the stars overhead?)
    The door is ajar; through the slit I can make out his profile, the Roman nose, half a drowsy smile, the green eye gazing far away. He is still talking. "It was eighty-two today… Just went to the beach for a while. Remember at Nag's Head, all the old guys lined up fishing blues off the pier? I think they come down here for the winter… That was good, wasn't it?" A long pause. "Me too, babe. Good night."
    The phone clicks into the receiver. I hear him yawn, and then he shuts off the lamp.
    He's forgotten I'm here.
    I wait a few moments, unsure of my next move, then decide that the best course of action is to act as though nothing has happened. I emerge from the bathroom, spraying an arc of light across the bed that catches Pavel like a deer in headlights. One hand sneaks over his flaccid genitals.
    "Home?" I ask brightly.
    He nods, blinking against the light.
    "So, how about a swim?" I suggest.
    "It's kind of late. Maybe tomorrow, huh?"
    "Tomorrow we go to Tulsa."
    "Yeah. Well…" His eyes shift away, to the door. "It's kind of late."
    When I was eleven, my family went on vacation to Lincoln City on the Oregon coast. I met a boy, Jeff was his name, and we spent long days on the beach, daring each other into the chill green surf, feeling the pull of the undertow slide around our ankles as we raced back out. Lying side by side on beach towels, we would talk and pretend not to notice when the tips of our fingers brushed the other's skin. Our families teased us, said it was puppy love. On the morning my family was leaving, Jeff led me by the hand into a dune behind the motel parking lot, and he kissed me. We were as solemn as penitents taking communion. Then he said that he loved me and would not forget me, not ever. All the way back to Sacramento, I kept my face pressed to the car window, feeling the chrysalis of my heart crack open, a strange lush ache. I pretended it was carsickness, but my mother knew. There will be others, she told me.
    Meanwhile, tomorrow we go to Tulsa. I pick up my T-shirt, puddled on the carpet, and pull it over my head. I drag on my pants, stuff my underwear in a pocket. My scarf is nowhere to be seen, but so what, I've lost things before. At the door, I turn and smile brightly at him.
    "Sweet dreams, lover."

The Best Man
    Mike follows a trail of bright pink spots. They lead into the living room, across the carpet, and to the off-white couch he and Rachel bought before they became parents. There lies his son, sucking on his sippy cup, blissful as a junkie. Somehow, Noah has managed to spill juice out of the cup, something the manufacturer claims is impossible but which Noah accomplishes with astonishing regularity.
    "Shit, Noah." Mike is yelling. "Is it too much to ask to leave us one fucking" – he corrects himself – "one frigging room?"
    His son stares at him, stricken, his wide eyes already brimming with tears.
    "Just give me that." Mike takes the plastic cup, and Noah lets out a wail.
    "We've talked about this. No juice in the living room." He tries reasoning, but the boy is inconsolable, lost in his grief. "Okay, c'mon, we can finish it in the kitchen." Mike starts to pick up his son, but the pitch of the squall rises. Walk away, Mike tells himself. Just walk away. He goes into the kitchen and returns again with spot remover and a sponge. Mike tries to ignore his son's sobs as he scrubs at the carpet. It is unendurable.
    "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you show me how your new fire truck works. What do you say?" Mike is almost pleading.
    Noah stops howling and appraises Mike warily. The boy's cheeks are still slick with tears and snot, but the storm is already over. He trots toward his bedroom, and when Mike catches up, Noah is waiting to demonstrate