by Nicola Marsh
Their marriage has always fascinated me. What does Ryan bring to it? Maybe Maggie likes his charm and light-heartedness, and his tolerance for her odd obsession? As for Ryan, I think Maggie being an heiress and having a sizable trust fund has a lot to do with his love for her. An awful, cynical assumption and I hate myself for making it.
Thankfully, Maggie’s expression softens and she leans into Ryan again. “We put up with each other. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Once again we smile and I hope our tentative connection can be built on. To her credit, she always makes an effort to come to my gatherings when invited. She doesn’t have to. She can avoid me like she does the rest of the time. I’ve come to not expect too much from my sister-in-law but I love Ryan and they’re a package deal.
“I don’t mean to be rude but a client has turned up here and I need to take her to the center.” I touch both their arms. “I’ll be back soon, so please keep eating.”
“Yes, Mom,” Ryan drawls and this time Maggie shoots him a fond smile.
“Play nice.” I waggle a finger at Ryan, who swats it away, and Maggie laughs. “See you later.”
Eager to get Jodi settled at the center, I find Avery near the bar. He’s brazenly chatting up one of his business partner’s wives. The partner wears the long-suffering expression I do when the same happens to me: half-amused, half-uncomfortable, like we’d like to tell him to stop and grow the hell up but don’t want to cause a scene.
“Can you excuse us for a moment?” I touch Avery’s arm. His partner nods in relief, his wife looks disappointed. I want to say ‘stupid, gullible woman, don’t you know it’s a game to him? A power trip?’ Narcissists like my husband get off on being admired. Avery is at his best when he’s the center of attention, when men defer to him and women fawn over him. I’ve watched him for so many years I’m immune.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” He cuddles me and I endure it for a moment before stepping back.
“A girl has turned up here and I need to give her a ride back to the center. I won’t be gone long so keep everyone entertained, please.”
“Who is this girl? She turns up at our house and you feel responsible for her?”
“She’s young and pregnant and practically collapsed on our doorstep from dehydration. I have no idea why the night staff didn’t let her in at the center so she must’ve looked up my emergency contact details, but I’ll drive her there now and be back before anyone misses me.”
“I’ll miss you.” He tries to snuggle me again but I’m not impressed by his callous disregard of someone in need.
I’d been like Jodi once: using every instinct to survive in a world that didn’t live up to expectations. This girl had walked all the way from town in search of help, showing resourcefulness she’ll need to cope as a single mother. I’d been ingenuous once too, though in my case I’d seen Avery as a way out of my life and had gone for it.
The other couple is watching us with open curiosity so I fix a bright smile on my face, the one I regularly pull out for social occasions while I’m feeling dead on the inside. “There’s plenty of food on the table, just keep the glasses filled.”
“You’re too nice, sweetheart. Go rescue the needy.” He shoos me away and I resist flipping him the finger for being patronizing as I go in search of the girl.
After initially not saying much, she’s given me relevant information so I’ve rung ahead and given the center a heads up. Jodi Van Gelder is twenty-five, a PA for an advertising firm in the city, is five months pregnant and alone. She won’t tell me why she’s in Gledhill but I can guess.
Her baby’s father must live here.
I have to admit that part of my concern for her stems from my love of Trish and Terry. Young girls are impressionable and naïve. Either of my girls could be seduced by some charmer who gets them pregnant, then abandons them. If that happened I’d like to think some good soul would be there for them, like I’m here for Jodi.
I find her sitting on the third step of the staircase, chin resting in her hands. She’s a waif. Thin, pale, with blonde hair layered in a pixie cut, her face dominated by big blue eyes. I can’t imagine her caring for herself let alone a baby.
“Ready to go?”
She nods and grabs the banister to stand. “You sure I’m not dragging you away from your party?”
“Everything’s under control. Let’s go.”
She sways a little, holds the banister tighter.
“Are you dizzy again?” I step forward to help and she waves me away.
“I’ve been woozy on and off since I discovered I was pregnant.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “There. That usually fixes it. I’m ready.”
She doesn’t say much as I drive into town. I try to make small talk but she’s not interested so I respect her need for silence until we reach the center where I work. It’s on the outskirts of Gledhill, a low, redbrick building with a tin roof. It’s nondescript and unassuming, perfect for the victims who seek refuge here. When it’s packed to capacity, it can house thirty women and children in small, self-contained rooms that provide the barest necessities.
When I walk through the sliding doors every morning, I’m enveloped in a peace I rarely get at home. Even though my day may be filled with tales of abuse and too many tears, I derive comfort from helping those who need me.
I kill the engine and turn to face her. “You’ll have a place to stay here overnight, then we’ll talk in the morning.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Jodi, I assume you’re in town to speak to the baby’s father? Does he know yet?”
Her eyes widen in surprise, huge blue pools in her pale face. “No. But I want to tell him.”
“And then what?”
Her face falls. “I— I don’t know. I hadn’t thought much beyond telling him.”
She’s hiding something. She can’t look me in the eye and her fingers are plucking at the hem of her skirt. Considering her baby’s father lives in the Hamptons, it isn’t a stretch to assume he has money; a good incentive for a desperate single mother to make the trip here, hoping for a handout.
“Is he rich? Do you expect money? Are you here to blackmail him?”
“No.” She doesn’t meet my eyes and her fingers continue fiddling. “I just thought he should know.”
“Fair enough,” I say, not convinced. “It’ll be okay.”
She mutters, “Easy for you to say,” before she opens the door and steps out of the car, as if in a hurry to escape any further interrogation.
I check her into the center, give the night staff a brief rundown of how she turned up at my house and bid Jodi farewell, promising we’ll talk more about her options in the morning.
On the drive home, there are two things I can’t get out of my head.
The staff hadn’t closed the center for any period of time so why did Jodi appear on my doorstep?
And if she doesn’t want her baby, I may know a couple that might.
Fourteen
Claire
I feel like crap. Like the lowest of the low as I walk toward my husband after misjudging a guy I’d mistaken for a friend.
“You came back.” I fling myself into his arms and hug him tight, silently conveying how sorry I am, for everything.
“Sorry for acting like a dick,” he murmurs in my ear, squeezing me so tight I yelp. “That was poor form, walking out on you like that.”
“It’s okay.”
We ease back, still holding each other, close enough that I can see the genuine regret in his eyes.
It makes me feel worse. “I’ve been a bitch the last few weeks and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Why not? It’s my fault we can’t have a baby.” He shrugs, expressing so much in that one small gesture.
“If I’ve made you feel that way…” I shake my head but hang onto him. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve talked to you about it, not… blamed you.”
If he’s surp
rised by my bluntness he doesn’t show it. That’s my husband, stoic and inscrutable. “We’re talking now.”
“And it’s a good thing.” I slide my arms further around his waist and snuggle into him again, needing his warmth to infuse me, desperate to dispel the iciness gripping my heart.
I made a massive misjudgment in trusting Griffin and ended up doing something foolish to top it off. Not catastrophic like the last time, thank goodness, but bad enough to plague me on top of everything else.
He holds me, not saying a word. It’s all I need. Dane has always been this way, giving me silent support when I need it, giving advice when I ask for it. He’s a good guy, a good husband and I almost screwed it all up yet again. I’m an idiot.
This time when we disengage, I’ve got tears in my eyes. “I’m ready to talk about other options now.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Right now?”
Considering I’ve been avoiding this conversation since we got the test results and he’s been keen to have it, I understand his surprise. “I mean why don’t we head home and talk.”
A tear spills onto my cheek and he gently swipes it away with his thumb before kissing the damp spot. He really is the best.
“Let’s go.”
He grips my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine. In that simple gesture he makes me feel safe, like I’ve found my way back to a sheltered harbor after foundering in a storm for too long.
“Let’s find Ris and say bye.” But we scan the guests on the lawn and only see Avery. We both can’t be bothered saying anything to him.
She’s not in the kitchen either so I motion to Elly, who’s standing near the bar looking shell-shocked. She saunters over to us, a tad unsteady. “What’s up?”
“Can you say bye to Ris for us? I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Sure,” Elly says. “You two lovebirds heading home already?”
“Yeah,” Dane says, curt and dismissive, and I shoot him a puzzled glance. He’s never rude to my friends, only Griffin, and he sure as hell isn’t a friend anymore.
“Off you go then.” Elly hugs me and waves at Dane before turning her back on us and sauntering toward Griffin whose eyes light up as she gets closer.
I want to warn my friend to be careful, that he’s prone to misreading situations… in a big way. But I can’t say anything without alerting Dane and now isn’t the time to tell him he’s been right about Griffin all along, not when we’re about to talk about our options to have children.
“I know you two are friends and I respect that, but that woman is a serious man-eater.” He shudders for emphasis and I chuckle.
“Don’t worry, she’d never set her sights on you.” I pretend to whip a gun out of a holster. “I’d shoot her before she lay a finger on you.”
His goofy grin makes my heart skip a beat like it always does as he traces my cheek with a fingertip. “I like it when you go all scary cop on me.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Come on, let’s go.”
We walk home in companionable silence, our clasped hands swinging between us. The breeze off the Atlantic has cooled, raising goosebumps on my bare arms. The crisp brine scent fills my nostrils with familiarity. I like living in Gledhill after spending most of my life as a city girl. It’s a great place to raise a family.
And just like that, I’m back in that dark place again, wondering ‘why me?’ and blaming myself, convinced that I’m being punished for the sins of my past.
When we reach home, we pause at the front gate and Dane gestures at our house with his free hand. “I like living here but have you noticed how all the houses look the same? Even though Marisa’s is huge and most are miniature copies, like ours, it’s spooky.”
“What’s spooky about it? Just shows we all have great taste.”
“Hamptons’ taste,” he says, in a fake posh voice that makes me giggle. “Would you like a cup of proper Hamptons’ coffee, madam?”
“I’d love one.”
It’ll make a nice change from the bourbon nightcaps I’ve been having every night to wind down.
I sit at our kitchen table while he makes the coffee, as confident in a domestic capacity as he is at everything else. I sure lucked in when this guy convinced me to marry him.
Except…
In that instant, I crave bourbon more than ever. It’s like I can fool myself into accepting our situation for a period of time and then boom, reality intrudes and I’m back to feeling sorry for myself.
“Here you go.” He hands me a cup of steaming espresso, handle out, always thoughtful.
“Thanks.” I take a sip and the caffeine jolts me back to the present and the conversation we need to have. “So about those options.”
“Yeah?” He sits next to me, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off his thigh.
“I don’t think I’m up for IVF, with the endless appointments and injections, finding a suitable donor, the stress of it all. And the cost would be exorbitant.” I’m rambling and huff out a breath. “I think you’re right. You’ve mentioned adoption before and I’ve been hesitant but I’ve thought about it and I reckon it’s our best bet. And we can afford to go the private route so we could have a child so much faster that way.”
His shoulders slump in relief and his gaze meets mine, his eyes bright. “I want a child with you. More than one if we’re lucky. So however you want to do this, I’m one hundred percent in.”
“So we’re choosing to adopt?”
“Absolutely.” He places his coffee cup on the table, takes mine out of my hands and does the same, before enveloping me in a hug that expels the air from my lungs in a whoosh. “I love you. Always have. Always will.”
I hug him back, relieved we’re on the same page and that we can finally move forward from the pain. But as he continues to squeeze me like he’ll never let go, I can’t help but wonder how he really feels.
I’m the one calling all the shots. I’ve been irrationally hostile, he accepted it. I withdrew from him, he accepted that too. When he initially pushed for adoption, I was against it, but now that I’ve changed my mind, he’s equally fine. It makes me wonder.
Why is my strong, opinionated husband suddenly so agreeable?
Fifteen
Elly
As I return to the party I feel dirty. Like I’ve waded through a swamp and it’s clinging to my skin, cold and clammy and impossible to shake off. My lover has this effect on me. I should never have acquiesced to him. I’m not a woman who’s at a man’s beck and call. Not anymore.
A shiver wracks my body from head to foot and I rub my bare arms. It does little for the chill invading me. I feel cold inside. Empty. Worthless. I know the feeling well.
I’d felt the same way that fateful morning I’d seen my husband embrace another woman before kissing each of her three adorable kids. They’d all piled into an SUV, a family car, and I’d followed to the nearest school where my husband walked the kids in, ruffling the boy’s hair, picking up the girls and swinging them around. When he’d returned to the car, he’d kissed the woman with more passion than he’d ever shown me.
I’d known in that instant that my perfect marriage wasn’t so perfect after all.
If I hadn’t been sent to Elmwood Park that day to pick up my boss’s laptop, I never would’ve known. I’d still be married, blissfully unaware that my husband had another wife and the kids he swore to me he never wanted.
Our confrontation an hour later at home had been ugly. He’d said he married me because he needed a professional, gorgeous, trophy wife to advance his business. That the love of his life and his kids would drag him down in the cutthroat corporate arena he inhabited. So he put them in a little family box and shelved them, visiting them daily unbeknownst to me and the rest of the world.
Like our vows on the shores of Lake Michigan meant nothing, vows where he’d promised to adore and cherish me. Vows obliterated when he said he could never love a self-indulgent, shallow bitch like me
.
He had ruined me that day and no matter how hard I strive to reinvent myself, I can never shake the worthlessness that plagues me.
Thanks to my lover, I feel the same way now. Insignificant. Hollow. Useless.
Unexpected tears sting my eyes and I blink them away. I’ll never cry. Not over him. He’s not worth it. I want to leave but as I’m skirting the garden Griffin spots me and waves. Damn, so much for a quick getaway. I could wave and still leave, we’ve already said goodbye, but he’s been nothing but sweet to me tonight and I don’t want to treat him like that, despite barely knowing him. I don’t want to make him feel how I feel right now.
I force a smile and head his way. A quick word, then I’m out of here.
“Hey, have you eaten yet?” He points at the buffet. “I can grab us some plates?”
He’s considerate too; another brownie point in his favor. They’ve stacked up pretty quick.
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I make a grand show of glancing at my watch. “Actually, I’m leaving.”
Concern creases his brow. “Are you okay?”
For some reason, I’m compelled to tell the truth. “I’ve been better.”
“Let me take you home,” he says, his gaze guileless, without a hint of sleaze in sight.
“That’s fine, I have my car here.”
“Do you need me to follow you, to make sure you arrive home safely?”
I shake my head again. When I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear I’m appalled to discover my hand is shaky. “No, I’m good.”
At least, I will be once I get the hell away from here and my lover’s covetous stares that even now burn a hole in my back.
“Okay then, I’ll wait for your call.”
He must realize how desperate that sounds because he quickly adds, “Not that I’ll be holding my cell actually waiting for you to call, but I’m hoping you’ll call.” He grimaces and scrubs a hand across his face. “That sounds even worse.”
I smile at his endearing goofiness. There’s something inherently appealing about a guy who tries to say the right thing but messes up anyway. Amazingly, he’s lightened my mood without trying. In that moment, I want to feel good so I give in to impulse.