The American Wife. Kristina McMorris

smell of onions from a hot-dog stand caused her stomach to growl. In her haste, she’d left the lunch Bea had insisted she take for the bus ride over. Macaroni salad and a baked-bean sandwich. Maddie had grown to love both as a child, long before she could comprehend which meals were served solely to survive the shop’s less-profitable months.

      But she couldn’t think about any of that now. She had ten minutes to find—

      “Maddie …”

      She focused on the vague call of her name, filtering out the crowd’s chatter. Notes of “In the Mood,” from the band on a nearby stage, took greater effort to block; music dominated her hearing above all else.

      “Maddie!” At last, the soprano voice guided her to Emma’s china-doll face. The girl was scurrying toward her with a smile that made perfect little balls of her rosy cheeks. Maddie used to secretly babysit her when Lane was in high school. Naturally, he had preferred outings with TJ over watching his pesky little sister. He’d been adamant about paying by the hour, though Maddie would have done it for free. And one look at the youngster reminded her why.

      “Hiya, pretty girl.”

      Emma leapt into her outstretched arms. Adoration seemed to flow from the child’s every pore. It filled Maddie’s heart so quickly she had to giggle to prevent her eyes from tearing up.

      As their arms released, she noted a substance on Emma’s hands. “Ooh, you’re sticky. Let me guess, cotton candy?”

      “And a caramel apple,” Emma boasted. Then her smile dropped. “Don’t tell my mom, okay?”

      “My lips are sealed.” An easy promise to make. Running into the woman, unreadable in her stoicism, had always occurred by mere chance, and Maddie’s talk with Lane would do anything but change that. “Say, Emma, where’s your brother?”

      Emma twisted to her side and pointed. There was Lane, weaving around a family ordering ice-cream cones. He wore a trench coat and sunglasses. A bright red balloon floated on a string clutched in his hand. When Maddie caught his attention, he flashed a smile, the breathtaking one that seemed crafted just for her. She felt a warm glow rise within her.

      “I was getting worried,” he said, once they were close.

      “Sorry it took so long. We had customers, so I couldn’t leave until Bea showed up.”

      Emma tugged her brother’s sleeve, looking troubled. “I thought you were gonna get yellow?”

      Lane glanced at the inflatable swaying overhead, as though he’d forgotten it was there. He squatted to her level. “Turns out they were out, kiddo. But since Sarah Mae’s favorite color is red, I was hoping this would do.”

      Emma contemplated that, and nodded. “Good idea. Sarah Mae loves balloons.”

      Maddie smiled at the reference to the girl’s doll, equally ragged and beloved, while Lane tied the string around his sister’s wrist.

      “On

san, can we go down to the sand?” Emma asked him. “I didn’t get to collect shells yet.”

      The Japanese term for “brother” was one of the few things Maddie understood about Lane’s foreign culture.

      He checked his watch. “I guess we can. We only have a few minutes, though, so don’t go far. And don’t wade too deep into the water.”

      “Okay, okay.”

      “You promise?” he pressed.

      Emma sighed, her pinkie drawing an x over her chest. “Cross my heart,” she said, and rolled her eyes, not in rebellious defiance, but in a gentle manner. As if at the age of eight, she could already see his barriers for what they were. An expression of caring. It wasn’t so different, Maddie supposed, from the strict guidelines TJ had instilled after assuming their father’s role.

      Except that she herself wasn’t eight.

      Side by side, Lane and Maddie walked toward the beach. Strangers with rolled-up pants and buckets and shovels speckled the sandy canvas. A choir of seagulls cawed as they circled yachts in the harbor, muting the hollers of a teenage boy chasing a scampering black puppy. The dog was yipping toward a pair of brilliant kites dancing in the air. With attentive eyes, Lane watched his sister sprinting like the pup, bobbing beneath her flag of a red balloon.

      The picture of him as a father hit Maddie with a swell of emotion she swiftly shoved into a box, stored away for the future.

      “How’s your eye?” she asked.

      He shrugged, half a smile on his lips. “It’s still there.”

      “Could I see?” Noting his reluctance, she added, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

      Slowly, he reached for the glasses and slid them free. In the swollen bruising she discovered an irony of beauty she didn’t expect. He’d always projected such certainty in her uncertain world that strangely she found the sight comforting, proof of his vulnerable side. A symbol of commonality she could actually touch.

      “Does it hurt?” Her fingertips brushed his skin before she could remind herself to keep her distance.

      “It’ll heal.”

      She nodded and withdrew her hand. Her gaze shifted to the distant figure of Emma, whose raised arms couldn’t reach her fleeing balloon. Already twenty feet up, it zigzagged a path toward the ceiling of clouds, away from the chaos, the worries of life. Maddie had the sudden desire to be tethered to its string.

      “I don’t have much time,” he said. “But we need to talk …. It’s about us.”

      That phrase again.

      He gestured to a thick, weather-beaten log. “Why don’t we sit down?”

      She didn’t reply, simply led them to perch on the bumpy seat. Waves before them lapped the sand, weakening the shore layer by layer. She clasped her hands on her skirted lap. So close to Lane now, she could almost taste the fragrance of his skin. It smelled of citrus and cinnamon and leaves. At the Pico Drive-in, where they’d spent numerous dates necking through double features, Maddie would inhale that lovely mixture. Afterward, she’d sleep in the cardigan she had worn, to savor his scent until it faded.

      Would their memories together just as surely disappear?

      She banished the thought. She needed to concentrate, to review the practical reasons to loosen their ties. Their usual outings, for one: hidden from crowds, cloaked in darkness. Lookout points and desolate parks. Only on occasion would they venture to the openness of a bowling alley or skating rink, requiring them to refrain from acts of affection.

      Just like now.

      Lane hooked his glasses in the V of his royal-blue sweater. He stared straight ahead as he continued. “Last spring, you told me you thought it was best if we didn’t tell anyone about our dating, and I went along with it. I lied when I said I agreed.” He wet his lips, took a breath. “But the truth is, you were right. It was better that we didn’t say anything. My family wouldn’t have understood, what with our … differences. God knows, they wouldn’t have taken us seriously. They might have even thought I went steady with you to make a point.”

      Their racial diversity had, before now, seemed an off-limit topic. An issue to deny through tiptoeing and silence. But more striking than this new candidness was his usage of the past tense. Went steady with you. Wouldn’t have taken us seriously.

      He wasn’t asking for her opinion. To him, the relationship was already over.

      “I’m tired of sneaking around,” he said. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want you to lie anymore. Especially to TJ. He’s more than a friend, he’s like a brother to me.”

      She couldn’t argue. None of this had been fair, to any of them.

      “Maddie