Ladies' Night

over at Ben. “Is that correct?”
“No, it’s not correct,” Ben said. “My wife thinks she saw something she didn’t, and now she’s blown everything completely out of proportion.”
“Blown!” Grace called, her legs pumping underwater, her voice abnormally gleeful. “You got that right, buddy. Only I wasn’t the one doing the blowing, was I?”
“You’re disgusting,” Ben said. He turned to the cop. “She’s been drinking, obviously.”
The cop gave Grace a stern look. “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”
“I had half a beer,” Grace said. “You want me to take a Breathalyzer? Want to draw some blood?” She held her arm above water, as though he might tap a vein right there and then.
While he was considering that, the radio clipped to his shoulder began to crackle. He turned his back to her, spoke into it briefly and then turned around again.
“I think you need to come out of that pool now,” he told Grace. He turned to Ben. “You told the dispatcher you were afraid she might get hurt. Or hurt somebody else. Are you still concerned about that?”
Ben shrugged. “I suppose not.”
“What about you?” the cop asked Grace. “Did your husband strike you, or threaten to harm you in any way?”
“Not really,” Grace admitted.
“What about this J’Aimee person? Do I need to get a statement from her?”
Grace swam to the shallow end of the pool and pulled herself up on the coral rock patio. The May night was warm, but she shivered as the water streamed off her body.
Ben’s voice was low. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I want to get a statement from her,” Grace called, standing up. She pointed toward the hibiscus hedge. “She went that-a-way.”
Her teeth were chattering and she hugged her arms around her torso. “Excuse me,” she told the cop. “I’m just going to get a towel to dry off.”
Grace found a thick yellow and green striped beach towel in the cabinet at the edge of the patio and wrapped it around herself. She took another towel and wound it around her head, turban-style. Suddenly, her legs felt weak. She sat, abruptly, on the edge of the only chaise lounge she hadn’t mowed down on her way to the pool.
The young police officer looked down at her with an expression of unspeakable pity. “Are you sure you’re all right? You didn’t hit your head or anything?”
“My head is fine,” Grace said, tears springing to her eyes. She couldn’t say the same of her heart. Her chest felt like it might explode.
“What happens now?” Ben said, his voice gruff. He was standing ten yards away, keeping his distance so her craziness didn’t rub off.
“Unless one of you wants to file a complaint, nothing happens,” the cop said. “I’d suggest you take your wife inside and get her some dry clothes.”
“She can get her own clothes,” Ben said.
“Also, considering the, um, circumstances, I think it would be best if you did not both spend the rest of the night here,” the cop went on. He looked over at Ben. “Maybe you could call a friend? Or get a motel room?”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Ben said, outraged. “This is my home.” He looked over at Grace. “Besides, I can’t exactly leave, since my car is currently resting on the bottom of the pool.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going,” Grace said, struggling to her feet. She glanced in the direction of the house. She could see the lights she’d left on in their bedroom, and the kitchen light, too. The house looked enormous, like something she’d seen in a magazine layout. Or a real estate ad. It didn’t look real to her. Not like a home. Nothing like a home.
The cop looked from Ben to Grace. His radio crackled again. “Are we done here?”
“We’re done,” Grace said wearily.
Ben stomped off in the direction of the house. A moment later, he switched off the exterior lights, throwing the yard into sudden darkness. The cop gave a nervous cough, but he didn’t leave. He switched on his flashlight, but held it down at his side.
“Um,” he said, and she could see that he was blushing again.
“I swear, I’m not going to do anything violent,” Grace said. “I’d just like to tell you that, for whatever it’s worth, I’m really a very normal, peace-loving person. I’ve never, ever done anything like this before.”
She peered at his face, to see if he believed her.
“Look,” he said hesitantly. “I didn’t want to say this in front of your husband. But I’m a big fan of your blog.”
“You read Gracenotes?” Grace wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or flattered. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. I even subscribe. My girlfriend and I just moved in together, and we’re fixing up our place, and we both really enjoy Gracenotes. Next weekend, we’re even going to paint our bathroom ceiling the same color you painted your powder room.”
“Waterfall? That is so sweet!”
“Well, we’re going to cut the strength fifty percent, like you suggested in your blog,” he said. “But Amy, that’s my girlfriend, she’s already painted the walls Cloud Cover. How do you think that will look?”
“It’ll be great,” Grace assured him. “That’s one of my favorite whites. And Benjamin Moore is an excellent paint. I use it all the time.”
Am I really discussing paint colors with a cop? Within an hour of my life imploding?
“Great,” the cop said. He reached into his pocket and brought out a business card. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry about tonight. Don’t quote me, but I kinda don’t blame you for what you did with his car. I mean, what kind of douche bag does something like that?”
“The kind I’m married to, apparently,” Grace told him. She took the card, and he held up his flashlight so she could read it. “Officer Strivecky.”
“Pete,” he said. “My cell phone number is on there, if you need me again tonight. I’m on shift until seven, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, touched by his kindness. “Thanks for not arresting me.”
“You’ve got a place to go?” he asked. “It’s really not a good idea for you