by Merry Jones
“Yup. Off we go.” Nora smiled. She tussled Ellie’s hair, tugged Sophie’s pigtail before herding them into the car.
It’s just a legal matter, she told herself. Nothing that concerns you.
But it—whatever it was—did concern her. Friends didn’t meet secretly with each other’s spouses. Not innocently, anyway. And Nora wasn’t going to allow it. She’d confront Barbara. Face her. Make her tell the truth.
And then? What would she do if Barbara leaned her freckled nose close and admitted that, yes, Nora was right, she’d been seeing Dave, that, no, it wasn’t for legal advice at all. That in fact, they’d been having an affair for some time—six months? A year? Five? They’d been keeping it secret for the sake of the children and had no intention of ending their relationship. What then? Would Nora slap her? Scream at her? Poison her chicken salad?
But that was ridiculous. It wasn’t an affair. Dave had said it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have lied to her.
If only she could go back to yesterday, before she’d read the texts. Nora ached for ignorance, for the dumb, smug comfort of oblivion. She liked being married to Dave, simply being Mrs. Dave Warren. But apart from Dave, she liked being a Mrs. It offered prestige and pedigree. It gave her admission to the private, exclusive club of Married People. Barbara wouldn’t try to take that away from her. Barbara was her friend.
Then again, was she? They’d had kids in the same playgroup and had bonded over Ellie’s and Colin’s infancies. Over toddling, teething, toilet training, Colin’s climbing skills, and Ellie’s quirkiness. They’d sung “The Wheels on the Bus” together, complete with hand signals. They’d taken their kids to the park and the zoo, and talked about when to get pregnant again or whether to get a dog, and later, to keep in touch with other playgroup moms, they’d both joined the book club. But were they friends? Was anyone her friend?
You’re the same as me: a misfit, an oddball, a freak.
Nora drove past the gas station, the supermarket, the drug store, the bank. Ellie and Sophie were belting out a song she didn’t know, one with animal sounds, probably from camp.
Patty was her friend, for sure. They’d known each other since seventh grade. But was time enough to make them friends? And what about her neighbors, Carol and Yasmin? And Dave’s partners’ wives, or the volunteers at the hospital auxiliary? The moms at the school? There were lots of women in her life. They laughed together, shared lunches, gossip, bottles of cabernet. But were they friends, or had they come together because of convenience? Because they lived close by, or their husbands worked or played tennis together, or their kids had been born at around the same time? Did she really know any of them? Did she trust them? Did she actually like any of them?
The girls sang a nursery rhyme in the backseat. “The cow, it goes: Moooo Moooo!” They bellowed the animal sounds, then erupted into giggling fits.
Nora made a left at a stop sign, but her mind was still on her friendships. And she wondered, did any of her friends actually like her? Why should they? Of course, in an emergency, she’d watch their kids or bring a lasagna. She hosted dinner parties. Raised money for charity. She made phone calls, playdates, and plans for lunch. But underneath, what did she really offer them?
“The pig, it goes: Oink Oink!”
Nora watched them in the rearview mirror and glimpsed a segment of her own face there. Nora Field Warren. Mrs. David Warren. Mother of Ellie and Sophie Warren. Who the hell was that? Did she let anyone know what she thought or felt? Except for that truth or dare game at the last book club, when had she last confided in anyone? Oh, but wait. Even then, she hadn’t confided. She’d embellished a fib to make it juicy while concealing her real true past. Wasn’t that what she always did? Hide the truth and take cues from her environment, mirror the behavior of others. Performing the roles of her life: wife, mommy, co-chairman of the school’s Family Fun Day committee, room mother, carpool driver, country club member, charity board member, bake sale coordinator, et cetera?
“Your turn, Mommy.”
Her turn? She stopped at a red light, tried to figure out what Sophie was talking about.
“Pick. We already did chicken and pig and cow.”
Oh, the song. She recalled their shouted “moos” and “clucks.”
“How about a horse?”
“Yes!” Sophie squealed, and they began again. “Out on the farm, out on the farm, there’s a horse on Grandma’s farm…”
Nora drove through a yellow light, pulled onto Barbara’s street, and parked in front of the house as her daughters finished neighing, then reminded them: “No running. No pushing. No swimming by yourself. No deep end.”
Out of the car, Sophie bounced and chattered, taking Ellie’s hand. Together, they skipped toward the backyard gate. Nora tried to remember a time when she’d felt like that, immersed in and excited about the moment. Growing up with Tommy, it hadn’t been very often. Happy times had been squelched by his gloom, fun drowned by his misery. Weirdo, creep, freak. She’d spent her childhood trying to get out from under Tommy’s shadow, trying to distinguish herself from him. But what had that meant? Who had she been? Who was she now? Was she kind? Funny? Curious? Generous? Was she friend-worthy? Was she
anything at all?
Maybe that was what had led Dave to drift away. Unlike Barbara, with her casino-dealing, cocaine-snorting, high-rolling past and body-waxing, bling-wearing, laugh-out-loud present, deep down, stripped of her roles and concerted efforts to be appropriate in each situation, Nora was nobody in particular.
The girls spotted Patty and her kids on the patio and scampered away. Nora waved and followed, hauling the bag of extra towels, dry clothes, hair brushes, caps, goggles, sunblock and snacks over her shoulder. With a smile.
Sunday, August 12, 2018, 11:15 a.m.
B
arbara was in her usual spot, under a tree near the shallow end of her expansive heated pool, wearing a gold bikini, a wide straw hat with a gold and black polka dot band, and an oversized, even for her, gold bracelet.
She waved from behind big black sunglasses. “Have a seat.” She gestured at half a dozen chaise lounges.
Nora wanted to slap her. How could Barbara act so happy-to-see-you cheerful? Didn’t she feel the least bit awkward? Planting her towels on three lounges, settling in, she avoided Barbara by keeping busy with the girls. Sophie hopped around, grabbing her goggles and swim cap, impatient to join Harry and Colin in the pool. Patty’s boys dropped their gear and took off yelling, flying into the water. Patty hollered at them to slow down, but her voice was lost in their shrieking and splashing. Nora rubbed sunscreen onto Ellie and Sophie and reminded them to stay in the shallow end. They raced to the pool where Ellie entered inch by inch, skittish at the chill, and Sophie jumped in, howling.
They were both fine.
Nora adjusted her chair, angling it so she could more easily keep eyes on Barbara, who leaned sideways, listening to Patty. Their conversation was mostly lost to Nora, drowned out by pool noise, but the brim of Barbara’s hat bobbed as she nodded in agreement. She gestured as she replied, her diamonds glaring in the sunlight. Nora didn’t know what they were talking about. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Barbara was basking in the sun as if she and Nora were the best of friends, while still believing that she was sharing a secret with Nora’s husband. How could she pose there, all smiles and freckles? How could she offer a pitcher of fresh mimosas?
Nora felt like a spy. No, a hypocrite, smiling as if nothing had changed, not letting on what she knew. She watched the children, drank mimosas, watched Barbara’s glossed lips, eyed her tanned, flat, stretchmark-free belly.
I’m helping Barbara with confidential matters. Personal
matters.
From time to time, one of the children called out for their mothers to watch them swim a few strokes, or jump off the side, or dunk and hold their breaths. At those times, Nora would turn with the other women and dutifully observe the performances,
praise the skills. But for the most part, her gaze, concealed by sunglasses, was aimed at Barbara. Nora lay back on her lounge and seethed, deciding when to corner the vixen, what exactly to say.
She saw the bruise by accident. While she was refilling her juice glass, Barbara reached into the ice bucket and dislodged her bracelet, exposing an inch or so of skin above her wrist.
At first, Nora thought it was a birthmark, violet and intense, irregular at its edges. She glimpsed it for two, maybe three seconds before Barbara saw her staring and shoved the bracelet back into place, thrusting her arm behind her back so abruptly that she flung melted ice onto Nora’s leg.
Nora looked up, met her eyes.
Barbara forced a laugh and apologized. She reached for ice again, but with her other hand. Their silence extended, became just long and prominent enough to be awkward, until Barbara began to yammer about Nora’s bathing suit, how good Nora looked in it, how she must be working out.
But Nora interrupted, pointing at the arm behind Barbara’s back. “I don’t remember that bracelet. Can I see it?”
Barbara stiffened, her right arm and its heavy gold cuff held stiffly behind her back. For a heartbeat, her eyebrows lifted, and she looked at Nora as if asking how much she knew, why she was forcing a showdown. But she recovered quickly, adding a lilt to her tone.
“Oh, this old thing? It’s the same one I always wear.” She held her arm out to display it and pulled it back, stepping away before Nora could actually look at it.
Nora thought back, remembering Barbara at book club, at the pool, at parties. She hadn’t always worn that bracelet, might actually have never worn it. In fact, Barbara usually wore a diamond tennis bracelet or a set of thin gold bangles. So, if Barbara had a giant purple birthmark on her wrist, Nora would have already noticed it.
Patty stood up. “I’m going for a dip. Coming?”
Nora shook her head. “In a while.”
“Maybe later.” Barbara was standing poolside with her arms crossed. On impulse, Nora walked over and stood right beside her, intimately close.
“I know.” Her voice was low, hard to hear under all the pool noise.
Barbara took a breath, put a hand to her chest. “Sorry, what?”
“About Dave.”
Barbara’s mouth opened. She hesitated, eyeing Nora. “You know?”
Was she going to deny it?
“Mom!” Sophie yelled. “Watch! I can do a head stand!” Sophie pushed her head down into the water and kicked at the surface. Not exactly a headstand, but she emerged looking proud.
“Good job!” Nora grinned and gave her daughter a thumbs up. Then, she waited for Barbara to respond.
Barbara fixed her gaze on the children, their bobbing and floating. “How much do you know? What did he tell you?” A breeze sent loose strands of hair fluttering against her cheek. Her arms hugged her chest.
Nora said nothing.
“Surely, not everything?” A purple blot of flesh peeped out from the rim of Barbara’s bracelet. Definitely not a birthmark.
“He told me enough,” Nora said.
They stood side by side, hips almost touching. The heat of the sun, shrieks of children, and splashes of water faded away.
“Good,” Barbara let out a breath. “I’m glad. I hated keeping it from you.”
Then why had she? “Let’s talk.” Nora nodded to the picnic table under the trees beyond the pool.
Sunday, August 12, 2018, 11:50 a.m.
N
ora called to Sophie and Ellie, telling them she’d be watching them from the picnic table. Reminding them that lunch would be ready soon.
Barbara didn’t shout anything to her boys. She gripped her bracelet and walked silently to a picnic table, and sat with her back straight, her hands folded. She didn’t try any more to conceal the bruise. It spilled out from under the bracelet, ugly and dark. When Nora sat opposite her, Barbara lowered her sunglasses, revealing a matching bruise under her eye.
Nora was aghast, speechless. Abuse? Was that the confidential personal matter Dave had been helping with? No. How could it be? Paul adored Barbara, doted on her. He lavished her with jewelry, foreign cars, exotic trips, designer fashions. Paul, an Ivy Leaguer, had attended Princeton, or was it Yale? He was a gentleman—charming and impeccable and handsome. She hadn’t seen him often, but whenever she had, his nails had been manicured. His teeth blindingly white. And for God’s sake, he was running for the U.S. Senate. No way would Paul Ellis beat his wife.
And yet.
Barbara replaced her sunglasses. “He wasn’t always like this,” Barbara began. “When I met him, he was thoughtful and sweet. My knight on horseback. Prince charming.” She paused, absently picking at slivers on the picnic table. “I don’t know what happened, when he changed.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone? You could have come to me. Any of us.”
“You don’t get it. Paul is… He’s not who he seems to be.”
“So let’s call the police. Now. Today. Have him arrested for spousal abuse.”
“Nora.” Barbara smiled sadly. “That would ruin him.”
“What do you care? The man beats you!”
“Shh!” Barbara stopped picking slivers and glanced around to make sure no one had heard. “Look, Nora. You have no idea what I’m up against or what kind of man he is.”
“I know he’s the kind of man who hits his wife. That’s enough.”
“No.” Barbara stiffened. “I have the boys to think about. He’d take them. He’d make me seem unfit. If I do anything to stand up to him, he’ll go after me. Trust me, it’s been building for a long time. Since I was pregnant with Harry. I was big as a house, swollen ankles, barely able to walk, and he accused me of cheating. I laughed. I thought he was joking until he slapped me. He still imagines that every man who looks at me is my secret lover.”
Nora swallowed a gasp. She thought back to first meeting Barbara at playgroup with little Colin, how she’d sparkled, standing out among the other moms with their limp hair and baggy sweatpants. Nora had been jealous of her energy, toned body, perfect makeup, highlighted hair. When Barbara’s designer tees and jeans got spattered with glue or finger paint, she exuded nothing but happy nonchalance. Had Barbara really been abused, even then? Had she been faking her cheery pep, covering a terrible secret?
“The last few years, ever since Harry’s birth…” Barbara paused. Her fingers again found the rough patch on the table and resumed picking at it. “Paul’s been unbearable. Possessive and, oh my God, controlling. He questions my every move. He doesn’t trust me and checks on me, makes me call him every two hours to make sure I’m not out with some other guy. Nora, it’s hell. I never know who he’s going to be. One minute, he’s romantic and giving. The next, he’s jealous and possessive. I can’t win, Nora. If I reassure him and tell him I love him, he accuses me of trying to charm and manipulate him. If I don’t reassure him, he accuses me of sleeping around and calls me a slut and says I’ll shatter his political future. Yesterday, I begged him to go with me to counseling.” She bit her lip. “Well. You’ve seen his
reaction.”
She held up her wrist, displayed the bruise.
“You have to leave,” Nora said. “Take the boys. Today. Stay with us.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? What are you afraid of? What can he do to you after you’re gone?”
Barbara rolled her eyes and swatted tiny sweat beads off her freckled nose. She looked around again, making sure no one was close by. “I know you mean well, Nora. But if leaving were easy, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?” She pushed her hair back, stiffened. “Look, you don’t even know him. You’ve met him, what, three times at crowded parties? And he’s been delightful and witty, right? Suave? Gallant? Trust me, Nora, you know nothing about my husband, so don’t presume to give me advice.”
Nora bristled, stung. She’d meant to be supportive, didn’t deserve to be s
napped at. Obviously, Barbara didn’t appreciate her input. So what should she do, get up and walk away? She started to stand, but hesitated. Barbara had been hurt. Fierce, angry bruises mottled her skin. Nora couldn’t just leave her. She sat again.
“Sorry.” Barbara sniffed, wiped at her nose with diamond-clad fingers. “You’re only trying to help. I don’t mean to sound
ungrateful.”
Nora reached across the table and squeezed Barbara’s hand. “It’s okay.”
A few quiet moments passed. Barbara dabbed at her eyes, checking for mascara, calming herself. Nora gazed at the pool. Patty swam laps, and the children played. She looked up at the trees around them, their leaves almost motionless. Dead bare branches hiding among the foliage. Finally, her gaze settled on the table. And she noticed that the wood was moving. No, not the wood—tiny red dots on top of it. The dots scurried over the surface of the table and benches. Immediately, Nora’s legs and arms began to itch, and she thought of Tommy and his bugs, his ant collection on the loose.
“Barbara…” She was about to point out the dots—they were probably tiny spiders—when Barbara leaned across the table, her face inches from Nora’s.
“Here’s the deal. I might as well say it. I haven’t left Paul because Paul will not let me leave. Ever. He’s sworn he’ll stop me, and he means it. He’ll find me and lock me away somewhere. No one will ever find me. He’ll make me disappear. This…” she held out her bruised wrist, “is nothing. Even if I somehow managed to get away, he’d use his connections to find me and bring me back.”
Nora eased to the edge of the bench, hoping there were fewer bugs there. Maybe she could stand and talk? “Can’t you get protection? A restraining order?”
Barbara scoffed. “An order through the courts? Make no mistake, Paul will not allow a scandal. He’s running for public office and has a family-man image to keep up.”
“Piffle. Lots of people separate and get divorced. There’s no stigma anymore.”