I went outside to see that Frankie had totally lost it.
I didn’t know what Cash had said to him, but whatever it was, Frankie had gone absolutely berserk, roaring at the top of his lungs and windmilling his arms at the much bigger man.
Frankie was a lover, not a fighter, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him angry in my whole life, but now he was absolutely flailing about in rage.
“YOU BASTARD!” he spat. “Stay away from my wife!”
“Stop it!” I shouted. “Stop right this instant!”
Of course, by now 90% of Ramshackle Bay had turned out watching to see what would happen.
I heard encouraging cries,
"Get him, Cash!" and "Make him pay!"
Frankie grabbed Cash around the waist and was attempting to wrestle him to the ground, which lasted about five secondsuntil Cash flipped Frankie on his back, knocking the wind out of him.
“RECALL THE BUM MAYOR!” Mrs. Greenberg called from her front porch.
Before I could beg someone to help, my father-in-law was there, plucking Frankie up from the fight by the back of the collar as Claudette emptied a perfume bottle over the whole situation.
“Capital aim, madam,” called Earnest, who had stuck his head out of the law office to watch.
Dumped unceremoniously on the ground, the weeping Frankie was barely recognizable as the man I had met in college. Or even as the man who had been my husband just a few days ago.
There were times in the past I thought nothing would get Frankie down. Not even when we were left behind on a cruise once. We had been those last two people running toward the ship in flip-flops as it emitted a loud foghorn blast and took off right in front of us.
Even though he’d been dashing around at our port of call trying to find me the perfect coconut margarita, Frankie had just shrugged and said, “Great excuse to stay here another few days.”
Then he kissed me and we ran back toward the beach, hand in hand.
And I had loved that about him. Had absolutely loved his easygoing, serene attitude, but all that was gone.
He was a complete and utter wreck, so many tears streaming down his face that his eyes were swollen almost shut.
“Everyone else, please leave!” I called, feeling the words stick in my throat.
“Come to our yacht later,” Claudette called back. “This invitation is for Jillian, not YOU, Frankie.”
Frankie sat, dirty and defeated, in the middle of the street as all our neighbors melted slowly away. Cash was breathing heavily, and put his hand gently on the back of my throat, the rough pads of his fingers scraping by my skin.
"See you soon, baby girl. Call me if you need anything.”
He bent and kissed me, his lips confident and assured, all heat and fire and a tiny taste of jealousy as his lips covered mine.
Frankie's agonized eyes followed every movement, and he was sobbing brokenly as Cash left.
“Spit out what you want to say to me,” I sighed. “And then that is it. I don’t want to hear anything more from you about the past. This will be the last conversation about our former relationship we ever have.”
“No, Jillian, please—“ he begged, crawling over to me and falling at my feet. “I can’t live without you. I just made a mistake. I don’t love her. I love you.”
I felt revulsion at his weakness, his vacillation, the stupid, stereotypical mistakes he’d made.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why would I care if you love her or not? Why did you do it then?”
“I—“ his face looked crimson with embarrassment, his wavy hair standing out around his face as he tore at it.
“It’s—not—it-- wasn’t—it was nothing that went all the way. Just stupid—fooling around. I felt guilty, though. So guilty.”
