“I’m sorry,” I said, waiting for her to continue.
“Thank you … So anyway … I know that he started seeing you this summer … And again, I know your relationship is none of my business … But … God … this is a really hard thing to say … And I feel really shitty for telling you this …”
“You can tell me,” I said, feeling certain that she was about to confess that he’d cheated on me with her.
Instead she said, “What I’m saying is that Ryan has a really bad temper. Like … really bad.”
“Okay,” I said as calmly as I could, mentally switching gears.
“Our divorce is sealed … confidential … for privacy … and I don’t want to spread rumors about him, especially since I know you work for a paper now. I would hate for this to get out and hurt his career or reputation or endorsements … Or even what he has going with you … But I just had to tell you …”
I nodded, now in full-on reporter mode. “Wait. Let’s back up,” I said slowly. “When you say temper … what exactly do you mean?”
“Most of the time he’s a great guy. Really sweet and … wonderful,” she said, clearly evading the question. “But … he has a temper.”
I waited.
“He gets it from his father,” she continued. “Not that that’s an excuse. But … have you met his dad?”
“No. Not yet,” I said, thinking of our Thanksgiving plans.
“When you do, watch how Mr. James talks to Ryan’s mom. Really to all women,” she said. “He’s a classic misogynist and a horrible father. He put crazy pressure on Ryan when it came to football. If Ryan had a bad game, he’d chew him out. Throw his cleats in the dumpster behind the school. Make Ryan walk home. Five miles in one-hundred-degree heat … And that was the least of it … Have you ever asked him about that scar he has on his forehead?”
I knew exactly the one she was talking about. “The one he got the night of the high school state championship. His senior year,” I said, showing her how much I knew about him, how close we were.
“Oh, he did get it that night,” Blakeslee said. “Because they lost the game. And his father thought the quarterback was to blame.”
“Shit,” I said under my breath, feeling sure that she was telling the truth about at least this part of the story.
“And so … and so it’s not all his fault that he is the way he is,” she concluded.
“What way is that?” I said, needing her to spell it out for me.
Blakeslee was so quiet I thought we had gotten cut off. But when I said her name, she said, “When he gets angry, he can be really mean. And violent. And scary.”
Mean, violent, scary. The words swirled around my head as I reminded myself that Ryan was innocent until proven guilty. I clung to the hope that she wasn’t really saying what I thought she was saying, but there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room with that lineup of adjectives.
After a long pause, she said, “Has he shoved you yet? Grabbed you too hard?”
“No,” I quickly replied. “Never.”
“Well,” Blakeslee said quietly. “Maybe he has changed. If you believe that people can. I don’t think I believe that, though …”
I waited, as she threw out another loaded question. “Has he asked you to change your clothes? Or gotten upset at you for wearing tight pants or short dresses or low-cut tops?”
“No,” I said, comforted by the question, telling myself that she was only being a drama queen. Trying to stir the pot. Were we really discussing cleavage?
But just as I was dismissing her as crazy, she said, “Okay. Well, has he gotten crazy, psycho jealous over … nothing?”
I thought of Miller, but didn’t answer.
“He has, hasn’t he?” she said softly.
“Not really. I mean, he can be jealous. But not psycho jealous. Nothing like that,” I said.
“Well, be careful, Shea. Because that’s how it starts … You know … I thought it was me for a long time. Because I wasn’t perfect either. I got really jealous over all the girls who are always after him. And sometimes, at first, I tried to make him jealous back … I told myself that it was my fault for starting trouble. And if I tried harder to be more secure … or more tolerant … or just the perfect wife, I could keep him from getting mad. But it didn’t work that way. And I know now that it wasn’t my fault. And it isn’t his dad’s fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault but his own. And I can’t believe I’m the only one he’s done it to.”