What You Don't Know

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What You Don't Know Page 12

by Merry Jones


  “Like I said. You don’t know Paul. He won’t allow even an innuendo of imperfection. He’s the ideal husband with the

  perfect family. And I am his perfect wife.”

  “That’s medieval. It’s bull. You don’t have to—”

  “He is a powerful man. Party bosses and big money supporters don’t pick nice guys to run for the Senate. They back ambitious, sociopathic egomaniacs, like Paul. Trust me, leaving him is not a matter of packing a bag and driving off.”

  Barbara’s polished nails ripped splinters out of the tabletop. Miniscule red dots scurried everywhere, helter-skelter.

  Nora tried to absorb what she’d heard, to redefine Paul as a bullying bastard and Barbara as a victim. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, finally. “I had no idea.”

  “I hide things well, don’t I? Anyway, now you know why I turned to Dave for help.”

  No, actually, she didn’t. Why Dave? Why not the police or a divorce lawyer? Why not a bodyguard? “But Dave doesn’t practice domestic law.”

  “No. But more importantly, he has no connections or obligations to Paul. And I can trust him.” She paused, scratched her arm, then her leg.

  The bugs were on her. Nora couldn’t interrupt Barbara’s life-altering talk, but neither could she sit still and let the things bite them. So, casually, as if to shift positions and stretch, she stood.

  Barbara grabbed her arm. “Nora, I hope you understand why we’ve been so secretive. And I have to ask—to beg. Please please please. Don’t say anything to anyone. Not a peep. As far as our friends know, I’m a blissfully happy, loving wife who waxes her privates for her sexy, adoring husband. Okay?”

  Nora blinked. What had seemed erotic days ago seemed horrifying now. “Of course. Not a word.”

  Barbara smirked and stood, scratching her thigh. “I’m glad you know. It’s a relief not to hide this mess from you anymore. The way Dave and I have been sneaking around, I was afraid you’d think we were having an affair.”

  Really. What an absurd idea. Nora tried to laugh, couldn’t.

  “Oh, damn.” Barbara stood. “What time is it? I have to call and check in, and my phone’s back on my chair. ‘Scuse me.” She dashed back to her lounge chair.

  Nora watched Barbara run off, backside jiggling. She wondered if there were bruises there, too. How was it possible that Barbara—sassy, confident, striking, strong Barbara—had been so brutally victimized? How was it that that stunning, sleek, smooth, prominent candidate Paul could have caused those ugly purple marks? Across the deck, Barbara dug her phone out of her bag, hurrying to call her husband on schedule—how revolting.

  But how was Dave going to get Paul to change? Argue with him? Sue him? Threaten to leak the story to the media? Dave was just a criminal defense lawyer, not a power broker with heavy duty political clout. It seemed futile.

  But still, Dave, her sweet husband Dave, was doing his best to help. Nora had had so little faith in him, had suspected him of cheating, when actually he’d been rescuing her friend. She flushed with a mixture of pride and guilt. And love. For sure, she owed Dave an apology. More than that. She owed him her trust.

  Nora headed back toward the pool, absorbed in scenarios. She imagined Dave helping Barbara and the boys sneak away in the night. And Paul coming after them. No, not Paul himself. He played in the major leagues, so he’d send a hitman after them—not just Barbara, but her helpers as well. Oh God. Paul would never. Except that he might, if he was as controlling and ruthless as Barbara had said. As her black eye and purple arm had proved. Maybe Dave could negotiate with him. Provide Paul with an incentive of some kind, and a cover story to explain the separation without a scandal. Maybe Colin or Harry had asthma and needed to recuperate in the fresh air of the Alps.

  “Mommy, no one will give me a turn.”

  Nora had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed the dab of pink fabric and small limbs huddling on the lounge chair beyond Barbara.

  Ellie sat alone, doing nothing. “Everyone likes Sophie better.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” Except she was sure that it was. Sophie was easier, lighter, jollier, and Nora knew that as well as anyone. Just as everyone had known the differences between Nora and Tommy. But this situation had nothing to do with Tommy, and Nora would not compare him to Ellie. They were nothing alike.

  Still, no one was playing with Ellie.

  Nora made herself sound cheery. “Well, never mind. It’s time for lunch anyway.” She asked Ellie to call the others to come eat, and Ellie hopped off, pleased with her important job. Tommy would never have done that.

  Nora turned to ask Barbara about her phone call, but Barbara was lying on her lounge chair with her wide straw hat covering her face like a big, round, Do Not Disturb sign. Had something happened during the call? Was she seething? Crying?

  Patty returned from her swim just before the kids scrambled out of the water. She and Nora handed out dry towels and a picnic of sandwiches, peaches, chips, and juice. Nora kept moving, passing napkins around, switching apple juice for grape, making sure that Ellie didn’t eat alone, that Barbara remained undisturbed. She chatted and smiled as if she were a normal suburban mom relaxing at her friend’s pool on a hot summer day, munched celery sticks as if she hadn’t just learned the shocking, terrible, intolerable secret Barbara had entrusted to Dave, and now, to her. As if she didn’t recall how dangerously out of control big secrets could get.

  Friday, June 2, 1993

  T

  he warm night breeze fluttered through the curtains, carrying with it the chirping of crickets so loud and dense that it almost drowned out the voices of Nora’s parents upstairs in the study. Nora heard phrases, random words out of context.

  Her mother hissing, “Hussie!”

  Her father snapping, “…pocket… snooping…”

  Another argument. All these months later, were they still fighting about that piece of paper her mother had found in her dad’s pocket? What could he have been carrying that would cause this recurring battle? It had to be someone’s phone number. But whose? A girlfriend? Ew! Nora couldn’t believe anyone would want to flirt with her father. That Philip, with his heavy glasses and thinning hair, could attract another woman. Apparently, her mother could believe it, though, as she brought it up whenever they argued, whenever she was mad. Which, lately, was pretty much always.

  Nora tried not to listen. She had the television on but wasn’t watching. She thought of Annie, of her perpetual half-smile that made her look as if she knew an amusing secret. Nora was practicing that semi-smile, wondering how it looked on her.

  Tommy sat beside her in his usual spot on the sofa, peering through his camera lens at a jar of newly caught fireflies. After supper, as the sun had been going down, he’d gone outside with Philip. Nora had seen them running around the yard, hooting and acting goofy, chasing lightning bugs, cupping them one by one in their hands and dropping them into a jar. Afterward, Philip had punched air holes in the lid, and Tommy had put in a leaf for them to climb on and a drop of water for them to drink. There must have been half a dozen of them trapped in there, and Tommy was fixated. Once in a while, he turned the jar or moved his camera to change perspective. Nora watched him watching them, amused by his close observation. Tommy never noticed the stubble on his cheeks, his raw red pimples, the tired smell of his two-day-old shirt, or the swatches of thick, cottony hair dangling over his forehead and curling down his neck. He never noticed anything about himself, but when it came to bugs or photographs of bugs, no detail escaped him.

  Times like this, when Tommy was quiet and concentrating, absorbed in thought, Nora felt a curious fondness for him. He intrigued her, this odd person with whom she shared parents. When he wasn’t picking on, snooping, or embarrassing her, Tommy was all right. But even then, he remained a puzzle she couldn’t solve. What compelled him to surround himself with insects? Why didn’t he have any friends? How had he become such an outcast? Whe
n had it begun? She had no idea what had happened to Tommy, how he made it through his days, what he hoped for. Tommy was at once a stranger and the person she was most closely connected to in the whole world. She sat beside him, repeated the word “brother” in her head, trying to make sense of it.

  “Okay, hang on.” Tommy snapped off the lamp and the

  television.

  They sat together in the dark, ignoring the percussive muffled anger upstairs, feeling the warm summer breeze, not talking, not moving, quietly watching bright, phosphorescent glows blinking on and off, flashing signals in some unreadable code.

  “So cool,” Tommy whispered. “That’s how the guys attract girls. By flashing them.”

  “What?” Nora didn’t know if he was serious.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “Bioluminescence. Watch the way they light up, for how long, in what pattern—each is different, but they’re all trying to get a date.”

  The lights magically flickered on and off. Nora understood how girl fireflies would like it. She liked it, too.

  After a while, their parents quieted, and the chirping crickets outside became the only sound. Nora and Tommy sank into the sofa cushions, lulled and relaxed, breathing in rhythm. Nora saw what Tommy saw. The on and off, the bright and dark. She felt what he felt. The peace. The mysterious beauty.

  “Think they’ll get divorced?”

  Tommy’s question startled her. She couldn’t reply.

  “Because I do.”

  She saw the silhouette of his unruly, untrimmed hair. “What are you talking about?”

  “Are you deaf? Do you not hear Mom and Dad fighting all the time?”

  “People fight, Tommy. That doesn’t mean—”

  “Not this much. Not unless they hate each other. Listen to them. They’re vicious.”

  Nora felt punched, stunned. She didn’t know what to say. She’d mostly tuned out her parents’ fights, accepting their bickering as just something parents did. Which it was. Of course it was. Tommy was wrong. Nobody was getting divorced. Besides, what did Tommy know about arguments, let alone marriages? He’d never had a girlfriend, had no idea how couples acted, unless they had six legs and their butts lit up.

  “If they split, I got dibs on Dad. You can stick with the witch.”

  What?

  “But I’m pretty sure they’ll wait ‘til I’m out of high school—”

  “Stop it, Tommy. Shut up!” She shoved him.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It’s not true, that’s what.” Her chest felt tight, her throat thick.

  “Shit. You seriously don’t know? How blind are you? Can’t you see what’s happening in your own house?” Tommy flipped on the light. “There. See better now?”

  Nora squinted, eyes adjusting. “It’s just a fight.” Her voice was choked.

  “Don’t act like this is the first one. It’s been going on for months.”

  “It has not.” She tried to sound definite but heard a whiny sniffle, a build-up of tears.

  “What planet do you live on? Oh, shit—you’re going to cry? Crap.” He stood, started toward the stairs. “What was I thinking, trying to talk to you like you were actually mature enough to discuss something that affects us both? I should have known better. Never mind. I’m going to bed.”

  “Fine! Go! Just so you shut your stupid mouth!”

  Nora remained on the couch, watching the jar of fireflies. With the lights on, their magical glows were gone. They were just bugs.

  Her parents were fine. They were not getting divorced. She wiped her tears. Tommy had just been trying to get her upset, saying stuff to unsettle her. It was her own fault for letting him. She’d let her guard down and relaxed, trusted the calmness. Trusted Tommy. God. She was twelve years old, she should have known better. She closed her eyes and counted, putting the conversation behind her, waiting for her breathing to settle down.

  Sunday, August 12, 2018, 10:15 p.m.

  A

  fter the girls were in bed, when they were alone in their bedroom, Dave sat her down.

  “Nora. When are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  She bit her lip. He could always read her mood, no matter how she tried to cover.

  “Nora?” He waited.

  She felt his eyes on her. The air didn’t move. Nothing did. The universe held still, waiting for Nora to say out loud, in words, what had happened that day.

  She might as well get it over with, just tell him.

  Dave’s body shifted. “You saw Barbara?”

  Nora explained that, yes, but not just Barbara. Patty, too, and all the kids.

  “But Barbara and I went off to talk. And it came up about, well, you know.” She stumbled over her words, avoided his eyes.

  “Huh? What came up?”

  “About. About how you’re helping her.”

  “What?” Dave stood, glaring at her. “Nora, you repeated what I told you?”

  “Of course not. I just said that I knew you were working with her. But—”

  “For God sakes, Nora. Why did you do that?” He ran his hand through his hair. “I told you about Barbara in confidence—and only because you pressured me. And the first thing you did was run out and tell her that I’d discussed her situation with you?” He spun around, turning his back.

  “I—I didn’t…” Nora sputtered, searching for words, not knowing where to start, not prepared for this reaction. “Dave, I didn’t say anything specific.”

  “But why would you say anything at all?” He faced her again, heat radiating from his eyes.

  Nora took a second to recall the sequence, the reason she and Barbara had gone to the picnic table.

  “It’s a matter of ethics, Nora. Can’t you see that? I trusted you to—”

  “It was the bruises.” Nora saw them again, dark and angry.

  Dave stopped lecturing. His eyebrows furrowed, head tilted. “The what?”

  Nora told him about the gold cuff that couldn’t quite cover the one on Barbara’s wrist. And the sunglasses hiding the one near her eye. “He hurt her because she asked him to go to counseling.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Dave’s fists tightened and he slumped next to her on the bed.

  “She’s really scared of him, Dave. I told her to leave and bring the kids to stay with us, but she said he’d come after her.” Nora twisted her wedding ring. “All this time, I thought Paul worshipped her. Our friends all envy her, being married to him. God, those two are local aristocracy. No one would believe what’s really going on. It’s incredible.”

  Dave rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I guess I can be candid with you, since Barbara has been. The fact is that, despite his public image and popularity, and despite his promising future in politics, Paul Ellis has a dangerous dark side. Secrets that could ruin him. Now that he’s likely to be elected to the Senate, he’s afraid of negative publicity. A scandal that could ruin him. Possibly even criminal charges.”

  “Criminal? Like spousal abuse?”

  Dave hesitated. “There’s more to it than that. Donations from questionable sources. Business deals with questionable

  characters—”

  “Like the Mob?”

  Dave shook his head. “Look, I can’t get into all that. My concern is Barbara and the kids. Their well-being.”

  Yes, Barbara and the kids. “She needs to leave.”

  “Right. But, as she told you, that’s a complicated procedure. You’re either with Paul or against him.”

  “So what if she’s against him? What’ll he do? Divorce her?”

  “This is way bigger than simply a divorce. He won’t allow it.”

  “But she can’t stay.”

  “She and the boys are going to disappear and emerge elsewhere, safely. With new identities.”

  What? “Like witness protection? That’s crazy.”

  “So is Paul Ellis.”

  “Wait. What are you saying?” No
ra’s hand went to her face. “I won’t even know her name? I’ll never see her again?”

  “Nora.” Dave spoke slowly, his hand on her shoulder. “Barbara needs to get away where no one, not just you, but none of her husband’s cronies, can find her.” Dave made Paul sound like the head of the Mafia.

  The whole idea was astounding. Barbara, leaving everything behind? Her big house, her cars, her club memberships, all her charity boards, even book club?

  Dave explained that he’d spent months amassing and transferring funds—small chunks at a time. He’d managed to obtain new identities and was about to take Barbara to look at homes in rural upstate New York.

  Rural? Nora couldn’t picture Barbara, with her plumped lips, designer fashions, and gelled nails, living anywhere rural. Then again, Nora couldn’t picture Paul hitting Barbara either. Paul was nationally known, appearing on political ads and talk shows as a rising star. Women found him charismatic and irresistible. Men found him articulate and wry.

  Nora found him monstrous.

  “Hold on, Nora. You said she had a black eye?” Dave frowned. “He’s never hit her anywhere that would show before. Certainly not in the face.” Dave stood. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  Dave’s nostrils flared, something they did only when he was livid. He began pacing.

  “Dave?”

  “Son of a bitch is escalating, becoming less careful about concealing his abuse. More impulsive, less controlled. Which makes me think something’s happened to trigger him.” He stopped pacing and turned to Nora. “In your conversation, did Barbara indicate that Ellis is suspicious? Does he suspect she’s planning to leave?”

  Nora thought back, saw tiny spiders scurrying, Barbara leaning toward her, Nora’s own dark reflection warped in the lenses of Barbara’s sunglasses. Paul will never let me leave.

  “No. Nothing I remember.”

  Dave crossed his arms, his nostrils flaring even wider than before. “Think harder.”

  She did. She replayed the conversation, the pool noise in the background. The relentless, glaring sun. “No. She didn’t say anything about that.”

 

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