Misconception

by Christy Hayes

  “Don’t volunteer me for the chairmanship, please. I’ll never be that bored,” she mumbled under her breath. Tori wondered if Pace knew how much her careless comments could sting. “And I’m not bored. I just want to use my brain for a few hours a day, that’s all.”

  The maid came back looking as if she might pee on the floor if Tori didn’t get off the phone. “Okay, darling, I must go. I’ll see you Thanksgiving.” She hung up the line and turned to face the young woman who’d started only weeks ago and whose name had escaped her. “Is this an emergency?”

  The woman looked contrite before stepping forward with an envelope in her outstretched hand. “This was just delivered by messenger. It looks important.”

  Tori snatched it from her hand and waved her away. When the door closed and she felt sure she wouldn’t be interrupted, she set the envelope on her desk and took a deep breath.

  She never knew how easy it would be, like scheduling a haircut or having the house painted. Who knew how commonplace it had become for someone to have their spouse followed? Tori certainly didn’t. For days she’d waited for the envelope to arrive. Waited and obsessed about what she’d discover. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She felt pretty sure what she’d find inside the envelope. She tore it open with shaking fingers and let the pictures slip into her hand.

  It felt like a slap to her face, a stinging blast that spun her head around and left her numb with pain. And she’d thought she could handle the truth. Nothing could have prepared her to see the man she’d married with another woman, see the way he’d clutched her, see the look on his face, the triumph and the unbridled pleasure. Had Tori ever seen him look at her like that?

  Her knees gave out and she slid into a chair. Damn it, Caroline had been wrong. Knowing the truth didn’t make it better, didn’t make her feel protected and armed. Looking at images of Colin and his lover only made her feel dirty. How had Colin managed to smear her with dirt when he was the one who’d dug the hole that would bury them both?

  * * *

  New York sat under a foot of snow due to an early nor’easter and the dark, low lying clouds seemed to hover just out of Jason’s reach. He felt like he was driving under a dirty piece of cotton and with the temperature so opposite the balmy sixties he’d left in Atlanta, he may as well have driven to the North Pole.

  The town of Hardesty didn’t look like much of a town, as far as he could tell, but more like a row of strip malls and restaurants. A squat clock tower anchored the downtown area and sat surrounded by old buildings that appeared more neglected than historic. From his research, he’d discovered the area’s astronomical cost of living, with its proximity to the city and good schools, but the housing and architecture, or lack of it, left much to be desired. He pulled up in front of a 1970’s brown brick building that held all the charm of a government building. The prospect of tearing the building down and starting over or adapting it for reuse made Jason forget the weather.

  The site appeared level, the space adequate, and, as he glanced up and down Main Street, he knew that an updated building would spawn other improvements in town. He hurried inside, in a rush to beat the cold and to get started. The heat sang on full blast in the reception area and as he checked in with the girl at the desk, he shed his overcoat. The placard on the counter identified the girl as Deborah.

  Deborah looked like a teenager, maybe twenty, and her buoyant breasts practically spilled out of her shirt. The temperature had peaked at thirty degrees and yet she wore the kind of strappy tank top his wife would put on in the summer. Jason couldn’t get over her outfit and the amazing amount of skin she showed at the office. The only time Pace had breasts remotely close to the ones currently straining against the thin material before him had been when she was pregnant. The thought of Pace pregnant brought everything from home back to the front of his mind after he’d consciously buried it. When the girl smiled at him, he realized he was staring directly at her chest like a honing devise. He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “You’re probably wondering about my clothes,” she said. Jason gawked at her blankly. He sure as hell didn’t want to have a fashion discussion, especially after she caught him looking at her rack like a sixteen-year-old.

  “They can’t get the heat right in this building,” she went on as if he’d answered instead of seating himself as far away from her desk as possible. “In order for the rest of the building to be comfortable, I have to suffer as if I’m working in the tropics.” When she laughed, he noticed how pretty she was, with her dark hair and perfect smile. “I’ve threatened to wear a bikini to work if they don’t fix it.”

  Just like that, an image of her in a thong and two tiny triangles flashed before his eyes. He glared at her again, God only knew the look on his face, and she lowered her eyes. When she glanced back at him and held his stare, he nervously grappled with the magazines on the table in front of him.

  He tossed down last month’s edition of Money and got to his feet when a man came out of a back hallway and introduced himself as Mark Bisbain, one of the managing directors he’d scheduled to meet and the one he’d spoken with over the phone. A tall man, Mark stood five inches over Jason’s six feet, and sported a close cropped black beard. As he led him down the hall he’d just come from, Jason could feel the girl at the desk watching them, her eyes like a laser on the back of his head.

  After a business lunch and three hours of meetings, he checked into a chain hotel near the interstate. Exhausted, he dragged his carry-on and briefcase over the threshold and lay down on the bed. Even though he felt beat, his eyes wouldn’t stay closed. He stared at the ceiling, its grooved swirling pattern putting him in a trance, and thought of Pace.

  He’d had a popcorn ceiling in his apartment in college when they’d met. The very first time they made love there, she’d commented on it. She made some silly remark about how a person could tell the quality of a building by looking at the ceiling and how she knew this without any of his fancy architecture classes. He’d laughed at her and she’d straddled him, leaned down, and ran her tongue over his one dimple. He’d never known anyone like her.

  “I love this.” Her voice had sounded like a purr. “It pops out when you smile, tastefully. Not at all like the ceiling.”

  God, he missed her. And hated himself for missing her too. He wanted to believe her, he had to if he wanted to stay in their marriage, but the way she’d acted… No matter how farfetched the idea of her cheating, he couldn’t shake his suspicions.

  With hours until bed and nothing to do, Jason called his brother and suggested they meet for dinner. They’d never been close, but after Pace’s good-girl-knows-best guilt routine he didn’t feel right about being in New York and not calling. Adam sounded glad to hear from him and they made plans to meet at some restaurant in Manhattan later in the week. He looked forward to seeing his brother, but worried what he’d say when Adam asked about Pace and the kids.

  As he opened his bag and retrieved his shaving kit, his mind strayed back to Pace. She stayed at home at least six hours of every day all alone while he worked and the kids went to school. She certainly didn’t have anyone looking over her shoulder. He examined his reflection in the mirror and wondered how he’d manage to put on a good face for Adam in the midst of all his heartache. If Pace had had an affair—or was having an affair—would he be like the guy from his office who caught his wife fucking a neighbor in the middle of the day? He turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm before stepping in the tub. Could he come home someday and find her in their bed with…who, damn it, who?

  Chapter 9

  Pace felt like her life had fallen apart and yet the days passed as if nothing had changed. The kids still got up and went to school, she still ran errands, the dog slept, ate, and pooped, and yet she couldn’t deny the gaping hole in her heart.

  Jason had been out of town since Monday. He’d called only twice since he left—once when Pace was in the shower—and he continued to speak to her as if s
he’d committed adultery. She had no idea when he’d come home, or if he planned to come home, and to top it all off her mother kept calling to pester her about Thanksgiving. Despite the fact that Pace had begged her to have a casual dinner, her mother still insisted on her typical elaborate affair, which meant they all had to dress for dinner. With Jason barely speaking to Pace, she could only imagine his reaction to having to spend the day in a suit and tie with her parents.

  Why wouldn’t he call or email? She’d much prefer yelling at each other over the eerie silence. She tried to act as normal as possible for the kids, but she had a hard time not hopping on a plane to find and confront him. They’d never gone this many days without communicating, even when Pace had worked and traveled.

  She’d resisted calling Jason, but her pride had slowly evaporated into an aching need to hear his voice. To keep from reaching for the phone, she headed to the grocery store. Mitchell’s class had planned a Thanksgiving feast and she’d volunteered to make pie. Just as she’d rounded the end of the canned goods aisle, she ran into Juliet.

  “Pace,” she said as their carts slid next to each other. “You still making pie, I hope?”

  A quick scan of the contents of Pace’s cart would’ve told her she planned to make pies. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Me too. I signed up for stuffing,” she said as her eyes lingered on Pace’s stomach. “How are you feeling?”

  Pace felt startled by her question. The stomach bug she’d suffered through seemed like a lifetime ago. Did she look as emotionally wrecked as she felt? Did people know she and Jason were fighting? “Fine, why do you ask?”

  When Juliet’s eyes drifted back to Pace’s midsection, it suddenly hit her—Sherry’s visit, the pregnancy website, the rumor mill was up and running. “No reason.” Juliet shrugged, but Pace couldn’t help but notice the way her lips smirked. “You and Jason going to the Wilson’s party Friday night?”

  She’d forgotten about the Wilson’s party. She’d already gotten a sitter and, before the nightmare began, had been looking forward to it. “Unless Jason gets in too late,” she hedged, “we’ll be there.”

  “Have you talked to Sherry?” Juliet asked as Pace scooted her cart ahead to let an elderly woman pass. “She thinks you’re avoiding her.”

  Pace had been avoiding her, in hopes that she’d find someone else to serve as room mom, and because it felt dishonest not to confess her troubles to such a good friend. Maybe that hadn’t been the wisest move, considering Sherry’s suspicions. “No, but I need to call her. I’m sure they’ll be at Greg and Melissa’s on Friday.”

  Juliet’s cell phone rang and she waved bye as she moved down the aisle. Pace picked up a few more items and headed home. The weight of everything she had to deal with—Jason’s behavior, the rumor mill, having to isolate herself from everyone and act like nothing was wrong—made her want to scream and burst into tears on the short ride home. Before she carried the groceries into the house, she called Jason on his cell. It went straight into voice mail. No matter how much she wanted to reach out to him, she didn’t know what to say. She hung up without a word and went inside.

  Jason called that night as she made dinner for the boys. She felt pathetically glad to hear his voice, even though she could tell he was still mad. From the noise in the background, she assumed he was in a crowded restaurant or possibly a bar.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” She tried to swallow her jealousy that while he dined in some hip New York restaurant, she wallowed in guilt and ate grilled cheese and canned soup with the kids. “How’s the meeting?”

  “Good, promising.” He paused and in the moment before he spoke Pace heard a female voice say his name. “Tell the kids I love them, will you? I’ve got to go.”

  Jason hung up before she could utter a response. Pace stood, her spatula frozen in mid-air, as the cheese popped on the griddle. She felt her limbs tingle with mortification and a painful stab of hurt. Did he call to check on the kids or to tell her he was getting even?

  * * *

  Jason looked over the crowded restaurant into his brother’s face and couldn’t believe how much he’d aged since he’d last seen him. He ran his hand over his hair, something he did constantly during the day, and wondered if in twelve years he’d feel more scalp than hair like Adam must when he touched his head.

  Adam had always been better at everything than Jason; the perfect student, the standout athlete, the successful tax accountant—that was his rep back in Belton. But Jason’s grades were higher and his athletic achievements would have outnumbered his brother’s if he hadn’t had to quit playing sports to get a job when his grandfather died. Adam’s college education at NYU, along with their sister’s duel degree from Michigan State, was why there hadn’t been any money left for Jason. But living in Adam’s perfect shadow had pushed Jason to bust his butt, that and wanting to get the hell out of his hometown.

  “So, how’s the senator’s daughter?” Adam constantly referred to Pace as ‘the senator’s daughter’ even though he knew it pissed Jason off. Adam’s ex came from more money than the Whitfields, but Pace had always been a ray of sunshine compared to Lydia. Pace, with her optimistic attitude and quick smile, outshone just about everyone. Adam’s taste in women had definitely changed considering the mousy brunette he’d brought along to dinner and introduced as, “My friend Candace.”

  “Pace is good.” He picked through the bread basket and hoped his face didn’t give anything away. Candace had gone to the restroom so Jason exacted his revenge. “How’s Lydia?”

  Adam cleared his throat as his eyes darted between Amelia and Jared, Jason’s teenaged niece and nephew who sat slumped over their cell phones, texting. “Well, the same, I guess.” He reached across the table and pulled out a roll. “Her new husband’s a jackass, but what do you expect from a guy who makes his living directing off-Broadway plays?”

  Jason looked at the kids. Thankfully they weren’t paying any attention to their dad. Adam had lowered his voice, but the stage whisper only accentuated his bitterness, which seemed weird since he typically threw his accomplishments in Jason’s face. “So they made it official?”

  “Just an intimate ceremony for their hundred closest friends. She didn’t even have the decency to tell me herself, just had her attorney call to work out the details for switching a couple of our weekends to accommodate the wedding and their honeymoon in Bali.”

  Lydia’s bitchy attitude didn’t surprise him, nor the fact that she put Adam through the ringer now that they’d divorced. Jason ran his hands through his hair and then purposely stopped. He didn’t want to lose his hair. “Candace seems nice.”

  Amelia announced she had to pee and strutted off toward the restroom like a damn runway model. When she’d gotten Jason from the lobby as he’d talked to Pace, he’d been shocked by her appearance. She stood nearly as tall as him in her high-heeled boots and her clothes were…like that receptionist at Bisbain. He sure as hell didn’t envy Adam.

  “She’s having a hard time with the divorce,” Adam explained after Amelia disappeared around the corner. “Her mother’s got her convinced I’m to blame for everything, like I made Lydia have an affair with her theatre teacher and leave our marriage, but Ame’s always sided with her mother.”

  Jason tried to imagine him and Pace fighting over Dillon and Mitchell. If they got divorced, who would the boys live with? Pace, of course. He worked all day and traveled, but that hardly seemed fair since her behavior caused their split. She’d get to read the Magic Treehouse stories to Dillon and snuggle on the couch with Mitchell and his disgusting blanket, smell his kid scented hair, the grass and sweat smell that defined his youngest son. Would he be able to see them during the week or would he only get forty-eight hours on the weekends? Could he really picture them getting a divorce?

  Adam stood up as Candace rejoined the table. “Candace is a gem,” he said and she smiled up at him with her small, pointy teeth. Jason
thought the whole night felt like a weird out of body experience. As the waiter approached to take their order, Jason asked for another drink and changed the subject. His big brother, the hero of the Kelly family, fat, balding, divorced, and dating a librarian. Jason wondered what his parents would think of Jason now compared to Adam and his screwed up life. Then he remembered the way he’d screamed at Pace and he knew they’d expect nothing less of him, the mistake that ruined their golden years.

  After they’d dropped the kids at Lydia’s, Jason heaved a sigh of relief when the cab pulled over and, after a chaste kiss on the lips, Adam deposited Candace with her doorman. Jason and Adam continued on to his apartment, a nondescript brick building in Brooklyn.

  His new home couldn’t have been farther from the Upper East Side apartment he’d shared with Lydia, where she now lived with her new husband. Jason looked around the main room and thought, This could be my life. A faded plaid sofa ran along a bare white wall, accompanied by a chair and matching ottoman. An ugly dining room table littered with papers completed the set. Everything seemed like it came from a garage sale.

  Jason felt the sudden urge to talk to Adam about Pace and what he’d left behind at home. Adam lived out of town, his own marriage had ended in divorce after his wife cheated, and Jason felt pretty sure he’d get the sympathetic response he hoped for.

  “Make yourself at home,” Adam said. He carried two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon from the kitchen and dropped them on the coffee table. He asked about the business that brought Jason to New York as he poured them each half a glass.

  “I’m meeting with a potential client.” Jason accepted the glass from Adam’s outstretched hand and sat on the couch. “I’m thinking of starting my own firm and hoping they’ll follow.” He didn’t know what to make of his brother’s blank stare. They’d never been close.

  “Good for you,” Adam said and chugged a hearty gulp. He sat back in the chair while the fake leather squealed in protest.