“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can handle your coming today.”
“You’re uninviting me?” I fought against the arriving tears.
“Don’t put it that way. This isn’t about you.”
“What happened to ensuring we could still be a family; at least for the kids?”
“I didn’t say that.” Adam sounded confused.
“I assumed Judith spoke for you.”
“Did you think she was my Cyrano de Bergerac?”
I cleared the table, the phone crooked between my neck and head. “Why, Adam?”
Adam’s sigh whistled down the line. “I’m afraid the kids will blow it up into a big reunion scene, and then we’ll disappoint them. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
After hanging up, I threw a cup in the sink and shattered it. Nice one, too.
The doorbell startled me from the manuscript in front of me. I shook cookie crumbs off my sweatshirt as I walked to the hall. When I peeked out the curtain, I was startled to see Charlotte. The last time we were together had been December.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Stepping aside to let her enter, I ran through possible reasons she could be there and came up blank. “Is everything okay?”
“Absolutely, dear. I just wanted to speak with you.”
“Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea, if you have Lipton’s. Black. I’m stuffed from lunch.” She had the grace to look stricken. “We missed you. Judith and I had been looking forward to seeing you.”
She followed me into the kitchen where I filled the kettle. “The party broke up already?”
“I left a bit early. I told Judith I was under the weather.”
We chatted about nothing until I put the steaming black tea down. “Be careful; the cup is hot. Are you sure I can’t make you something?”
“No, dear. But thanks for asking.” She touched my hand and smiled. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Don’t sound so suspicious.” Stirring her tea and tapping her spoon before placing it on the saucer, she looked around the kitchen. “You’ve been busy, dear?”
“I had four boys over for Henry’s birthday.”
“Oh. That explains it. Your house is usually so tidy.”
“I’m depressed. Cleaning seems pointless.” Go ahead. Give me your best shot.
“I can imagine.” She pulled a letter from her purse. “I want to help.”
The envelope, worn and time-softened, didn’t make a sound when she rapped it against the table. “Adam’s father sent me this. I want you to read it. But first, listen to what I’m going to tell you. I’m sharing a dark secret that nobody knows. Do you understand?”
I nodded. Cautiously. I didn’t understand a thing.
“This is between us. Not a soul has seen these letters, except for Leon and me. I’ve kept this secret forever. Can I trust you?”
“Completely.” I crossed my fingers, excusing Greta from my promise.
She opened the envelope, brought out a yellowing sheet of stationery folded in three and handed it to me. “Read.”
May 18, 1964
Dear Charlotte,
When I left you and the kids tonight, I thought my soul would break.
I don’t imagine you worry for me. Why should you? I don’t deserve anything but your scorn, though perhaps my shame at myself is even deeper than your anger toward me. I live each day berating myself.
I will spend the rest of my days working to make you proud of me once again, and dedicate myself to earning your trust. I swear, on all that is sacred to me, I will never stray again. If you let me come home, I will dedicate myself to being a faithful husband, a devoted father and your loving companion.
Please join me for dinner Saturday night – let me see you on our anniversary. My sister will watch the children overnight at her house. I reserved a table at the Ritz. Unless I hear otherwise, I will come by the house and get the children at two, giving you time to rest and dress, and then I will pick you up at six. I pray this will be the case.
Your loving husband, Leon
I refolded the paper and handed it back to Charlotte. “I’m speechless.”
“When Leon had an affair, I thought my life was over forever.” She covered the letter as though still bearing up under the weight of the memory. “I thought the heartbreak and shame would last forever. When I found out, I threw him out.”
“Where did he go?” I asked.
“A motel. He wouldn’t go to any relatives or friends. The entire time we kept it secret.”
“What did the children think?”
“They were young. Judith was about six, no seven, and Adam hadn’t yet celebrated his first birthday. Judith had all sorts of questions, which I answered by saying he was working late or left early.”
This was more intimate than Charlotte and I had been since our first meeting. And Leon. Everyone adored Leon. “Why did it happen?”
She frowned. “It was a difficult time. When we got married, before Leon even looked at me, I was pregnant with Judith. Then, when we were ready for number two, it took a while. We tried so long for Adam—like you, and Henry—when he arrived he became my focus. Maybe too much.” She shrugged her shoulders. “All water under the bridge now.”
“You must have been devastated.” I put my hand over hers.
She gestured toward the counter. “A tissue please.” I let go of her hand and went where she pointed. Charlotte was never comfortable with physical expressions of love. “I understand what Adam is going through.”
I waited to be berated.
“But now he should stop,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“I’ve been trying to tell him. You can wreck things so fast. Putting them together is much harder. Not that I’m excusing you one bit.” She pointed her finger. “But it takes two to tango.”
“What should I do? Write Adam a letter?”
“You must figure out the course, darling. You still love him?”
“I do. So much.” Tears fell as I began to reach out and then pulled back.
“You need to work this out, the two of you. I tried. For weeks, I tried to put together a family party.”
“This was your idea? Henry’s birthday at Judith’s?”
“I drive you crazy. I know. Don’t look so surprised, Isabelle. Believe me, you drive me crazy. Plenty. But you’re family.”
I stood and hugged her. “I’m never taking you for granted again.”
“You will.” She pushed away, but with a loving smile. “But I forgive you in advance.”
“Aunt Judith says hi.” Molly pounded up the stairs, not waiting for a response.
“She said you were texting with someone named Erik the whole time. He called here looking for you a few minutes ago. I guess you weren’t answering your cell for one second, huh? Who is he?”
Molly bent over the stair railing. “Just a boy. What did he want? Did you act stupid to him?”
“Only if you consider asking him if he likes you, or vice versa, stupid.”
“Mom!”
“Kidding, kidding. I said to call in ten minutes or so. And here you are.”
“Can I go to Beth’s house?”
“After dinner.”
“I need to be there at six. We’re going to a movie in Harvard Square.”
“How are you getting there? You’re not taking the train alone on a Saturday night.”
“Beth’s mother is driving us both ways.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I should call her. I hate the idea of you girls out there in the dark.”
“Don’t call. You treat me like I’m ten years old. Let me grow up.”
I began to answer and then stopped. If Charlotte could change, so could I.
The phone startled me from half-dozing, half-listening for Molly. When I saw Adam’s cell number on the caller ID, my heart jumped as though we were back in college. I smoothed back my hair, cleared my throat and pick
ed up.
“Molly’s in the hospital,” he said.
“Oh, God. Is she okay? What happened?”
“She fell down a flight of stairs. At a party.” His words hit in staccato. “Drunk.”
“How is she? What party? She was at the movies.”
“She’s getting tested now. You didn’t know about the party?” I heard his familiar breath with the count of two. “We’re at Beth Israel.”
“Who’ll watch—”
“Judith is on her way. She’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I threw on jeans and a sweater, leaving my nightgown and robe in a heap. Five minutes later, when Judith arrived, we stopped only for a moment to hug tight.
“She’ll be fine.” She brushed my mess of hair from my face.
“Thanks for coming.” The words scratched my dry throat.
“Go, go. And take this.” She handed me a travel mug. “Coffee.”
I squeezed into a space marked Compact Cars and ran toward the Emergency Room.
Adam paced in the waiting room. “Where is she?”
“Getting an MRI.”
“What’s going on? What happened to her?”
“When she fell, she banged her head against an iron railing.”
He pointed toward a young man who looked terrified. “That’s Erik and his parents. He goes to school with Molly. She was with him. He pulled my number up from Molly’s cell phone.”
They walked over. His father rested his hand on Erik’s shoulder.
“I’m Simone,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry about this whole situation. We didn’t know Erik was at that party.” She pitched a stern look at her son.
Her husband transferred his hand from Erik’s shoulder to mine. “James Hodges. You must be terrified. She’ll be fine—”
Adam placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s a doctor.”
“What’s happening to her?” The idea of her going through these procedures without me seemed impossible.
James put a hand under my elbow and guided me toward a bank of seats. “Why don’t we sit while we wait for Molly to return? This is Erik.” He pushed his son forward.
Erik looked small, though perhaps only in comparison to his broad father. Dark-skinned like his father, his soft features and emotional aura matched his mother’s. He was curved in, his forehead puckered. Tortoiseshell glasses outlined his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gold. I tried to stop her. Drinking, I mean. And going outside. But she felt sick.” Anxious words gushed out. “I went after her.”
Erik looked up, seeming to seek absolution. I took his hand, which somehow made me feel closer to Molly.
“Okay, son. Tell us the entire story.” Tight lips and folded arms warned his son not to mess with him.
“Molly was unconscious when I called 911. I knew I shouldn’t move her.” He looked to his father for approval.
“Start at the beginning,” Adam said.
Erik nodded. “We got to the party around eight. Molly seemed nervous. Maybe because it was a college party.” He looked at his father. “It was Michael’s friend.”
“My nephew,” James explained. “No difference, Erik. You lied to us.”
“Molly seemed fine when I left her in the living room.” He looked remorseful. “Just for a few minutes. We wanted to catch the score of the game.”
I nodded to keep him going.
“When I left she was sitting with some other girls, laughing. But when I came back, she had a strange look on her face. Kinda blank.”
“What were people drinking?” Harshness scratched under Adam’s even tone.
“Beer.” Erik looked at his knees. “And punch. It was spiked.”
“With what?” Adam asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Rum. Extra-strength rum. Michael told us. He told Molly not to drink it. Honest, Dad.”
“Were there any drugs?” I twisted the strap of my purse.
Erik shrugged.
“Answer him, young man,” James said.
“Yes, sir. Pot.” His voice went up an octave. “But we didn’t smoke any. I swear.”
“We’ll talk about that later. Right now, tell Mr. and Mrs. Gold what Molly drank or took.”
“She drank the punch. I tried to slow her down. She couldn’t tell how much they spiked it. She got stupid and it scared me. She drank like it was Snapple or something. Then, in the middle of a dance, she ran to the bathroom and then went outside before I could stop her.”
The rest of the story tumbled out as fast as he could form the words. I heard it in fragments.
Crumbling badly pitched steps, slick with ice, met a drunken running girl.
She slipped, fell the length of the stairs and landed on her back. Blood leaked from her head as she collided first against an iron post, and then the cement pavement. She was unconscious. A doctor’s son, Erik called 911 and pressed a cloth against the bleeding wound, but didn’t move her.
At the end of the story, Adam got up. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”
“Let me,” James said. “They’ll give me the straight story.”
I snuck my hand into Adam’s. He took it for a moment, squeezing hard before letting go. We waited in silence. As I traced patterns of small beige and brown squares repeating in the scuffed floor, I thought of all the ways I failed my daughter.
“I had no idea she was going to a party,” I said. “She was going to the movies with Beth. Why didn’t I check?”
“Don’t blame yourself. She snuck out. They all do it eventually.”
I leaned against him.
Molly looked tiny and gray, lying on the emergency room cot. The MRI looked good. The X-ray had shown no sign of fractures. No slurred speech and she was oriented. She had no obvious signs of more than a concussion. They’d keep her overnight to make sure there was no brain swelling.
Bright hospital fluorescence highlighted her fragility. I wanted to bundle her up and take her home.
“Hi, sweetheart.” I took her hand. “How you feeling?”
“I’m sorry.” Tears puddled in the corner of her eyes.
I took a tissue from my pocket. “No one’s angry.”
“My head hurts. And I’m so nauseous.”
“Some of it won’t go away until all the alcohol is out of your system,” Adam said.
I ran a washcloth under cold water, wrung it out and placed it on Molly’s forehead.
“Thanks, Mommy,” she whispered. Her eyes were closed. Adam held her hand.
“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.” Molly tried to sit up. “Oh, Daddy, no, I’m going to throw up.”
Adam grabbed a basin as Molly began retching. “Call the nurse.”
I drew the white curtain and went out, looking left and right, searching until seeing a nurse come out of the next cubicle. “My daughter’s vomiting.” I pointed to Molly’s bed. “She’s being watched for head trauma.”
“Right there.”
When I returned, Adam was cleaning Molly with the washcloth. She sobbed quietly, repeating, “It hurts, my head hurts.”
“Cookie, crying makes your head hurt more.” Adam held the cloth out to me.
“I don’t want to throw up anymore, Daddy. Can’t you do something?”
“Anything they give you for the vomiting can put you to sleep. We need to be able to wake you.” Adam seemed pained by his words.
“Make it stop, Mommy. Please.” She once again heaved into the enamel.
After, I wiped her face and smoothed back her hair until she sagged against me and I held her until the nurse entered and we could turn our terror over to her.
Molly rested her head on me during the ride home the next day, all of us exhausted from the sleepless night in the hospital. Sunday afternoon traffic was light. I sat with Molly in the back, in case she needed me, though she slept the entire time. I worried how much sleep was too much and met Adam’s eyes in the mirror.
Charlotte opened the door before I reached my k
ey. Molly fell into her arms as though she were six years old. Grandchildren received real hugs from Charlotte.
“Come here, darling.” She folded Molly into her arms. “I made chicken soup.”
“With noodles.” Henry ran up, his socks skidding on the glossy wood. Charlotte had applied polish to the floors in my absence.
“Is she okay?” He appeared amazed at the sight of Molly curving into Charlotte.
“She’s just tired,” Charlotte said. “Come in the living room, sweetheart. I made a couch bed for you. So you wouldn’t be alone.”
“I want to go in your bed, Mom.” Molly spoke in a tiny voice. A throwback. When the kids were little, being sick meant climbing in bed with us.
“Why don’t you go in the living room with Grandma, while I change the sheets.”
“I already freshened up in there.” Charlotte looked slightly abashed.
I closed my gritty eyes for a moment. “Lie down on the couch for now. I’ll bring you soup.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Get some sleep. You too, Adam. The two of you are falling asleep in your tracks. Go. I can keep an eye on her.”
Adam and I stood, feet planted with stupidity, searching for the right protocol.
“We need to watch for certain symptoms with Molly,” Adam said.
“Who raised you and your sister? Do you think you never hurt yourself as a child? Tell me the signs to look for.”
Henry patted Molly’s arm. “I’ll read to her.”
The three of them headed to the living room, leaving awkwardness behind. “You’re exhausted, Adam. Do you want to come back after a nap?”
“We’re both wiped out. I couldn’t even turn the car key. Let’s both go upstairs and lie down.
My eyes were closed, but my head raced. I listened to Adam in the bathroom. Water running. Drawers opening. Probably looking for a toothbrush. We had enough give-away ones to run a hotel.
“You sleeping?” He came over and sat.
“Just resting my eyes.”
“My heart is still pounding,” Adam said.
“Mine too. Our life is so fragile. I’m still petrified.”
“Petrifying is the right word.” He ran his hand over my back. My skin was hungry for the pressure of a hand, a body against me. Tears leaked from under my closed lids.
19 Myths About Cheating: A Novella Page 12