She wandered through the shops for a while, stretching her legs and simply relishing in the detached freedom she was experiencing. It was difficult not to give in to the compulsion to glance over her shoulder for loitering children, or to mentally walk through the afternoon with them at home. What games were they playing with Gia? What was she cooking them for dinner? Was she going to use the frozen meals Renata had prepared, or would she cave and buy them pizza? Who was going to read them their bedtime stories, John? Or would Gia take over that, too? Or would they forget?
"Stop, Renata. You're supposed to be taking time away, remember?" She quelled the rising panic and focused intently on the shop windows she passed and took her time in the boutiques she rarely got to visit when she came with the boys. When she finally made it down the water's edge, the surface was choppy, stirred by a brisk wind sweeping across the lake. The brooding clouds still hung ominously overhead, but Renata could feel the break coming soon.
The coffee shop she ended up at had a few overstuffed chairs tucked into one corner, and after an early supper of chunky vegetable soup and a pastrami sandwich, she settled into an empty chair and pulled out one of the novels she'd brought along to read.
By the time she was ready to go back to the cabin, she was satiated on good food, hot coffee, and even hotter romance. She was looking forward to calling John after her bath. She wanted to hear him tell her how much he missed her.
When she stepped outside, she was shocked to find that the clouds no longer threatened. They'd followed through and it was coming down, slushy rain that would certainly turn to snow in the next hour or two as the day ended and the temperatures dropped. She pulled up the collar of her jacket around her ears and hunched her shoulders, then scurried along the covered sidewalk, head ducked against the nipping wind, until she was as close to where her car was park as she could get, then she made a beeline to it, keys at the ready. Clambering inside the vehicle, she shoved the bag of food items she'd purchased into the back seat, then scowled at the neatly folded—and dry—umbrella on the floor of the passenger side.
By the time she made it back to the cabin, Renata was beginning to thaw out, but a hot bath sounded like heaven to her. She put away her few groceries first and made up the deep-cushioned sofa in front of the fireplace with a set of sheets and several blankets, having decided to sleep there instead of in one of the cold bedrooms. Then she filled the tub while she unpacked her suitcase on the big bed in the master bedroom downstairs. Instead of putting things into drawers or closets, she'd leave it all out on the bed in another act of defiance.
"Aah." Sinking into the tub, her sigh was heard by no one else, and tonight, that was such a lovely sentiment. She could stay in the bathroom until her fingers and toes wrinkled, adding hot water as the temperature cooled until she couldn't stand it a minute longer. She'd dry off and smooth on lotion while listening to the throaty Adele sing about fire, cold shoulders, and the boy who will be there for life, then she'd slide between the blankets on the sofa and call her husband in the flickering firelight.
~ ~ ~
When Renata awoke the next morning, she stretched languidly, without the usual jolt of concern that she was too late, too early, that there was too much to do and she'd never get it done. She opened her eyes only when she was ready, taking a stab at what time she thought it might be.
"10:42!" Now she did throw back the covers and reached for the robe she'd left tossed across the end of the couch. "I can't believe I slept in so late!" She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten out of bed after eight. She pulled back the drape on the window and hummed with delight.
"Oh!" The rain last night had indeed turned to snow and the world outside glittered like the inside of a snow globe, so sparkly and white and untouched it seemed unreal. A few soft flakes still fluttered through the air, and icicles hung from the eaves all the way around the porch.
The coffee pot gurgled while she rummaged through her things and got dressed. She'd warm up some of the pastries she'd brought home with her from the Village for breakfast, then maybe take a walk in the snow.
Or she'd sit by the fire and read.
Or she'd take another bath.
Or she'd drive back into town for Mexican food.
Whatever she felt like doing, she'd do.
Renata's sky-blue yoga pants and rust-colored chenille sweater made her skin glow, even in the dreary light coming through the open window, and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror over the vanity across the room. She wasn't going to wear beige or crisp-white or anything linen this whole week.
So this is what it felt like to be one of her sisters. No responsibility. No compromise. No tethers. She could eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She daintily popped the last bite of an amazing chocolate éclair into her mouth, refusing to feel guilty for her indulgence. She'd probably gain ten pounds this week, but so what? She would just spend some extra time in the gym and eat more salad when she got home. For now, she was free as a bird.
Renata hadn't even called John yet this morning, and the longer she put it off, the more resistant she became to the idea. She didn't want to hear how the kids had managed their first morning without her. She didn't want to think about some other woman, even if it was only Gia, in her kitchen for a whole week, the dishes put away in the wrong places, the spills not quite cleaned up. She didn't want to think about all the responsibilities she'd pawned off on other people for the week.
She didn't want to hear his voice telling her they were all fine. If they were fine, she'd feel expendable, unneeded. If they weren't fine, she'd be able to hear it in his voice, even if he said they were, and she'd feel guilty. She reached for her phone and texted him.
I just got out of bed and ate breakfast. Snowed like crazy last night. Going to venture out in a little while. I'll call you tonight. I love you, John-Boy.
There. That told him she was safe, she was eating, she had plans for the day, and she'd call him later. And that she loved him.
His return text came almost ten minutes later. Crazy day. McCain. I love you. Kids did great. Gia's awesome. Talk to you tonight.
That was it? Did he miss her? The kids did great? Does that mean everyone was doing fine without her?
"Renata Dixon! Stop it. You're supposed to be away! He's respecting that." She nodded at her reflection, but a tiny seed of doubt had been planted and it soaked up some of the light from her day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When the sky suddenly cleared around one, Renata decided to head back into town. Her favorite art gallery had been closed yesterday and she couldn't stop thinking about The Benedict Belgian at The Belgian Waffle Works. She donned her black leather coat over jeans and a deep green sweater, tucked her classic bubble umbrella under her arm, and slipped into black leather wedge boots with fleece lining, a pair she'd picked up on her wild day out. She stood in front of the full-length mirror for a long time, studying this new look. She was still trying to get over the surprise of seeing her short hair every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection, but she thought the bulky boots paired with the comfortable outfit looked relaxed and put together in a very intentional way. Even Phoebe would be impressed.
She was starving after an hour of window-shopping and people watching. The sun was still holding court in the sky, so she made her way to the dockside waffle restaurant and sat outside, in spite of the cold.
"I'm eating breakfast for lunch at three o'clock in the afternoon!" She giggled at the out of character schedule she was keeping. "And I'm drinking too much coffee."
Energized, she decided to head back to the cabin and maybe take a short walk in the snow before settling in for the night. Her feet thanked her; they were beginning to feel the hours spent shopping in new shoes. She was looking forward to another long bath with a good book, a movie on her laptop in front of the fire, and a tub of cookie dough…because the chocolate chips had begged her to bring them along
As she
pulled into the driveway, it took a moment to register what she was seeing.
It couldn't be.
Juliette's car.
Climbing out of her Honda, she glared at the burgundy PT Cruiser, identifiable by the sticker on the back window that said, Beware of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. Phoebe had given it to Juliette the same Christmas she'd given her and John their hunting shirts and Renata thought it was just as tasteless.
Reaching the front door, which was already unlocked, Renata thrust a shoulder into it, expecting the thing to stick, as usual, but it flew open and she stumbled in.
"Oops. Sorry, Ren. I fixed the door." Phoebe was standing with her back to a blazing fire, Renata's coveted tub of cookie dough in one hand, a giant serving spoon in the other.
Renata righted herself, closed the door behind her, threw the deadbolt, and turned narrowed eyes on the two women in the living room, her shoulders tense, and her fists clenched around the strap of her shoulder bag. "Hello, Juliette. Phoebe. Fancy meeting you two here."
Juliette crossed the room quickly, reached out and put both hands on her shoulders, searching her face, then brought her close for a quick hug. "I'm so glad you're okay. We've been worried sick about you."
"Speak for yourself," Phoebe muttered around a bite of dough. Renata could tell by her bored expression that she was not here by her own choice.
"Of course I'm okay. What are you doing here?" She was having trouble figuring out a good reason for their visit. "Have you talked to John? Does he know you're here?" She was trying desperately to maintain a semblance of control, but suddenly her week away was leaving a nasty taste in her mouth. Things were not sitting well; Juliette and Phoebe's presence didn't make sense.
Then another thought hit her. Hard. "Has something happened?" She snagged Juliette's wrist as panic washed over her. "Are the kids okay? John? What's wrong?" Her voice caught in her throat.
"No, no, Ren. Nothing's happened at home. We're here because of you." Juliette winced as Renata tightened her grip on her arm.
"Are you sure?"
Phoebe had her arms crossed over the tub and projected a calm front, but Renata could see that she was studying her, too, as though looking for signs of some mysterious ailment.
"What is going on?" she demanded, now more curious than ever since she knew there was apparently nothing wrong at home. Then she saw Phoebe's funky carpet bag sitting on the stairs, stuffed to overflowing. She looked from one to the other, anger and wariness warring inside her. "What are you two doing here? Why did you come?"
"Hey, we're allowed to be here, too, you know. Unless you're hiding a lover in the back room and don't want us to—"
"Phoebe!" Juliette elbowed her.
"No! No! This was not supposed to be like this. I was getting away for a few days. Especially away from you! How dare you follow me up here in secret. How dare you stalk me like I'm doing something wrong!"
"Renata. Come on." Juliette's eyes were pleading but firm.
"I told you she'd be ticked off," Phoebe quipped, shoveling another bite of dough into her mouth.
"Shut up, Phoebe!" Renata retorted, snatched the tub from her hands, then turned on her heels and headed for the bathroom. Maybe if she stayed in there long enough, they'd take the hint and be gone when she came back out.
"Why on earth are they here?" she asked her reflection, posing the question for what must be the hundredth time in her head. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, her purse on her lap, toying with the earrings hanging from her earlobes. She hated surprises, even the good ones, and this one was not a good one for so many reasons. But face them, she must, especially if she wanted them to go away. She checked her hair, reapplied her lipstick, and stepped out of the bathroom.
Phoebe lay sprawled on the sofa now, paging through one of the books from the pile on the floor, a knowing and quizzical look on her face. Mortified, Renata crossed over to her and snatched it out of her hand.
"Hoo! That's some steamy stuff, Rennie. How does John rate in comparison to the hot-blooded Spanish Conquistador, Raphael Corsico?"
"Get off my bed. Now." Renata stood with one hand on her hip, the other extended toward one of the high-backed chairs in the corner of the room. "I did not invite you here, nor did I give you permission to go snooping through my things."
When Phoebe had pranced her tightly-encased self over to the corner, Renata returned the book to the pile, face-down, and stood so she could face them both.
"Say what you came to say."
"Please, Ren. Sit down so we can talk."
"No." She stared at Juliette, but paid close attention to Phoebe who clearly did not want to be here any more than Renata wanted them to be.
"Please," Juliette repeated.
"Fine. But you'd better make this good." Renata smoothed the rumpled blanket, then lowered herself carefully to the edge of the couch and folded her hands in her lap.
Juliette took a deep breath. "We're worried about you."
"You already said that."
"So we're doing a G-FOURce intervention."
"What?" Renata surged back up to her feet, her mind reeling. "A what?"
"Can you imagine, Renata? An intervention that you didn't concoct!" Phoebe chortled.
"Get out." Renata crossed to the door, but Phoebe was there first, leaning against it, legs braced in a wide stance, hands covering the door handle behind her back.
"Nope. You're our hostage now. Never let the enemy into your sanctuary, Ren darling. That's something I learned a long, long time ago."
Renata stared disbelieving at her, then looked back over her shoulder at Juliette. "Are you two serious? You're holding me hostage?" Her voice was tight and high-pitched, her anger putting a choke-hold on her lungs.
"No, of course not. But we do need to talk some things out and your little trip couldn't have been more perfectly planned if we'd done it ourselves." Juliette smiled sadly at her sister.
Renata crossed to the bay window and sank onto the cushioned duvet in front of it, a deflated balloon. Gia had been strangely not curious about her trip. Sure, she'd asked several questions, but in retrospect, they'd been questions a stranger might have asked. "Georgia knew, didn't she? That's why her schedule was so conveniently clear."
This must have been what they'd had in mind when they asked John about her birthday plans. Some birthday outing.
No one denied it. Phoebe returned to a chair by the hearth, unlaced her black, over-the-knee boots and slipped them off. She stretched her feet and wriggled her toes in her socks, then folded her long legs underneath her. She was settling in for the long haul, Renata realized in dismay.
"And John? Is he in on this, too?" Her voice trembled. Had he pushed her to get away with her sisters because he supported their intervention? How could he betray her like this?
"He is now," Juliette continued softly. "He didn't like it. He argued bravely about this whole thing, but he finally agreed because he's worried, too."
"And because we threatened to pull the plug on Gia's helping out this week if he didn't."
"That's not true, Phoebe. You're not helping here." Juliette came over to sit beside Renata. "Look, Ren. We knew you'd be upset."
Phoebe snorted in the corner.
"But when you left the other night, we all started comparing notes, and realized that things have changed with you."
"So the three of you sat around talking about me."
"Yes. But for the right reasons. You've always been a take-charge kind of person," Juliette said carefully. "But you've become so overbearing that it's hard to even have a conversation with you. And now this sudden change in your appearance, your hair, even your new clothes? We love you, Renata. I love you. You know I wouldn't be telling you this just to hurt you or to make you feel badly. I'm telling you this because this new version of you is not like you. It's clear that there's something wrong."
"Because I cut my hair?
" Renata asked. "You think there's something wrong with me because I cut my hair?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Juliette and Phoebe stared at her, waiting for her to cooperate. But this was coercion, not cooperation, and she didn't want anything to do with it. It didn't matter if they were right—she knew she was different, stretched too thin, unable to cope with much these days. But that didn't mean she wanted to talk to them about it.
She just turned and stared out the window at the night sky.
Finally Juliette spoke, her voice determined. "Okay, fine. You can play hard ball if you want to, but I took the week off and Phoebe doesn't have a real job anyway—"
"Hey!"
"So we're prepared to go the distance with you. In a sense, you really are our hostage, but it's your decision when you go free. We leave you alone when you unload. And just so you know, John isn't going to rescue you. We've asked him to trust us."
Renata stood up and headed back to the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" Juliette asked.
"To slit my wrists. Then we can all go home and be done with this nonsense." She slammed the door behind her and opened her purse she'd left on the counter. She dug through it for her phone, preparing to give John a piece of her mind. This was so like her sisters, ganging up on her like this. But John. How could he? This was her time away…and he'd sent the dogs after her. She stared at the device in her hands for several minutes, her thumb hovering over the 2, his assigned speed-dial. Finally, she texted him instead.
I will not be calling you tonight. I have unwanted guests. Not cool—feeling betrayed. Hope you sleep well tonight.
A few minutes later, she received a text back from him. I'm sorry it happened the way it did. I love you. I'm praying."
She threw the phone at the door, hard, and watched it shatter on the tile floor, a little shocked at her impulsive behavior. It felt good to be destructive, though. "Where's your courage, husband? Praying? Praying?" she snarled at the pieces. "For what? That you'll survive my return? No amount of praying will save you when I get home. I'm going to kill you. Slowly. And with great relish."
Renata and the Fall from Grace Page 11