by Nicola Marsh
We move toward the far end of the Olympic-size horizon pool and stand in the shade of the pool-house. She’s fidgety, plucking at the frayed ends of her kaftan sleeves, unable to meet my eyes. I have little interest in what Shamira has to say. She probably wants to organize some lame surprise for my brother-in-law but her nervousness is odd.
“What’s so important that you had to drag me down here to discuss it—”
“I saw you.” She blows out a long breath, like she’s worked up to the mystifying declaration. She tucks her hands under her arms to stop fidgeting and when she finally eyeballs me, her disdain makes my hackles rise. “Last week, near the Palais in Beale Hill.”
I freeze as the implication sinks in and resist the urge to rub the chill making my skin pebble. Not that she could’ve seen anything too nefarious. I’m usually very careful. But the fact she’s bringing this up means I could be in trouble. First Ria, now her. Don’t they have anything better to do than interfere in my life?
They don’t know the first thing about me. How I strive to appear flawless on the outside while doubts erode me on the inside. How perfection has its price and I pay for it every day. Not in monetary value but in the high expectations I place on myself, and those around me. I want to have the best. I want to be the best. But that kind of pressure is wearing and when it gets too much I do stupid things.
Like seek out inappropriate men as soulless as me.
It’s self-sabotaging, I know. I’m trying to fill an emptiness deep within by inadvertently lashing out at the one person who should be more attuned to me.
Justin never sees me, but other men do. It’s why I repeatedly take stupid risks. I wasn’t so dumb at the start. Back when we first married I’d been filled with optimism and hope for the future. When Justin wasn’t parading me in front of his business cronies, he’d whisk me to theatre premieres and restaurant openings.
We were regular fixtures in the society pages, snapped at The Music Theater or the Athenaeum, at Vue Mode for the launch of their latest exquisite creation, or front row at Fashion Week. In each of those photos, Justin would be staring at me with stars in his eyes. Posed? Probably, but while the attention he paid me became increasingly rote, the last six months have been particularly bad. He works long hours and is rarely home before midnight. The weekends are filled with the girls’ extracurricular activities, which he happily volunteers for; probably to avoid spending time with me. Gone are the date nights and the weekends away, where he’d whisk me to an undisclosed destination on a whim.
I’ve been forced to face facts. I have become invisible to my husband.
So I source attention elsewhere.
It doesn’t help my plummeting self-esteem, seeking solace with other men. But for the all-too-brief moments when we hook up, I feel more special, more alive, than I have in a long time.
I have a husband who doesn’t care if we sleep together or not and an inherent hollowness that no amount of designer clothes or expensive jewelry or spa dates can fill. And the last thing I need is this woman judging me.
“What did you see?” I feign nonchalance and take another sip of champagne. It burns like acid down my throat.
“You. And the family’s nemesis.”
Relief floods me. I can easily explain this away and she won’t be any wiser.
“So? We were discussing a mutual business interest—”
“I’m not an idiot,” she says, hesitant, an embarrassed blush staining her cheeks, before she adds, “He had his hand on your butt so it didn’t seem like business to me.”
Shit. I’ve been so careful this time around. Ensuring discretion. Keeping my carefully built façade of a life isolated from my needs. I got away with an affair before, it has almost been too easy when I targeted the arrogant, self-assured charmer who’d bang anything in a skirt. Especially as he competed with Justin for every single dollar in the financial world, so screwing me would be the ultimate revenge.
It hasn’t been about the sex for me. It never is. For someone who’s been ignored most of my life growing up, and now suffers the same fate from my husband, I need the validation. I crave it like Christine craves her next cocktail.
I wonder if May knows that her daughter is borderline alcoholic. Probably not. The harridan is too busy hovering over Justin, ensuring the family fortune continues to accumulate. A fortune I intend on enjoying for a long time to come, which means I have to shut Shamira up once and for all.
“Every woman in Chicago knows he’s a flirt. If you’d stuck around to snoop further, you’d have seen me shove him away—”
“Don’t patronize me.” She has the audacity to jab a finger into my shoulder and I stagger, a tad off-balance. “You came out of a hotel and walked down Fitzroy Street, where he touched you four times before you reached your car and then he palmed your butt.”
Her smugness riles as she folds her arms, disapproval radiating off her. Like she has the right. What she’s done in her past is far worse.
I have to play this cool. Deny, make her doubt what she saw; and if she doesn’t back off, go for the jugular.
I shrug, faking indifference, as my heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s about to leap out of my chest. “Think what you like. We had a meeting in the hotel’s restaurant, which is the best in Chicago and you’d know it if you ever ate real food rather than ingest wheatgrass shots morning, noon and night. Then he walked me to my car—”
“Perhaps I should get Justin’s take on the situation?”
She speaks so softly I barely hear the threat. But I see her goddamn superiority, lording it over me that I’ve screwed up and she knows it. “How you choose to live your life is none of my business but the identity of the guy you’re screwing can potentially tear this family apart. Have you thought about that?”
Fury surges through me at the thought of this upstart ruining the precious life I’ve worked so hard to build and I lunge toward her, unable to contain my rage. She startles and stumbles, her back hitting a marble column of the pool-house while I lean forward to leer in her face. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll tell everyone about your past.”
She blinks, but not before I glimpse a flicker of fear. “Everyone knows I grew up poor.”
“But not the rest.”
She blanches and I drive the stake in harder, determined to skewer her like she’s done to me a few moments ago. I need to make her understand I won’t tolerate her threats, not when my entire life is wrapped up in appearances.
“I know all about what you’ve done and I don’t think your husband would approve. And neither would May.”
Shamira’s pallor matches the wall behind her, a sickly off-white, making her eyes pop like fathomless dark orbs. Her gaze darts around, as if seeking out potential eavesdroppers, and a nervous tick makes an eyebrow twitch.
Oh yeah, I have regained the upper hand. She won’t say a word about my indiscretion.
I wait, and after several long moments she pulls herself together and carefully blanks her expression. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Shut up.” I invade her personal space, our faces almost touching, close enough to smell the garlic on her breath from the hummus dip she devoured earlier. “We’ve all got our secrets, every single one of us. So let me make this clear. You don’t tell anyone what you think you saw and I’ll do you the same courtesy regarding your past. Got it?”
I can’t believe her audacity in confronting me. What did she hope to achieve? She’s usually meek, so the fact she’s chastising me for my bad behavior means the woman actually has a backbone. I just wish she hadn’t discovered it now.
After a long pause, she nods. “I won’t say anything.”
“Good.” I step away, the stench of her patchouli perfume overpowering. She’s such a hippy cliché. “Remember, dearest sis-in-law, that what you have on me is circumstantial but I’ve got proof of your past and if you ever threaten me again… it won’t end well for you.”
I turn away
but not before I glimpse fear in her eyes, mixed with something far scarier.
Defiance.
7
May
I watch Ria as she stalks from the kitchen like she has every devil in Hades after her. Something’s bothering my favorite daughter-in-law. When Ria first arrived I noted the slight frown, the shadows under her eyes, the tension pinching her mouth. It hasn’t eased. If anything, Ria appears more harried now.
An afternoon with my family can do that to a person. I know the feeling.
Ria forces a smile as I approach but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“How’s the birthday girl?” Ria touches my arm, her affection genuine. None of the phoniness Ashlin and Shamira pull whenever they’re around me.
“Feeling every one of my sixty-five years.” I grimace and roll my shoulders. “Remind me to never have one of these shindigs again.”
Ria wants to call me out on my whining; I see it in her eyes, the judgment that I haven’t lifted a finger today. The caterers cooked all the food, the wait staff served and the cleaners made everything spotless and they’ll return after everyone leaves to clear away. But Ria doesn’t say a word. Another thing I admire about her. She knows when to hold her tongue.
“The kids are having a good time.” Ria gestures to where Jessie, Ellen and Shelley are engaged in a game of princesses and dragons, an invented game they’ve played since they were toddlers.
“They’d be the only ones.”
Ria chuckles at my dry response. “You can’t fool me. You love having your family together.”
“Guilty as charged.” I hold up my hands in agreement while silently contemplating what Ria would think if she knew the truth.
I don’t like many members of my family, let alone having them all in the same place. But I do it to foster harmony. I’m not a fool. I know why most of them pretend to care. Money is a great incentive to play nice. It’s why I intend to test them.
“Do you have secrets, Ria?”
My question surprises her. I mean to catch her off-guard and I’ve succeeded by the way she flinches before quickly masking her reaction with a nonchalant shrug.
“Don’t we all?”
She sounds flippant, like she hides nothing. I want to believe that. I tried to dig into Ria’s past to discover something I can use if needed. Everyone has a flaw. I want to know what Ria’s is. Interestingly, my question has made her nervous as a tiny vein pulses at the outside corner of her left eye. But I let it go for now. Because what I’m about to say to the family will make them all anxious.
“Could you do me a favor and round up the troops? I have an announcement.”
Ria stares at me with open curiosity before nodding. “Sure. I’ll gather them to cut the cake.”
“Cake before revelations, how fitting.”
Ria hesitates, as if she wants to say more, before moving toward Christine. My daughter is currently intent on consuming her body weight in expensive French champagne. That’s my girl; always about excess. It makes me worry even more.
I never over-indulge in anything. I eat freshly prepared and carefully proportioned meals. I avoid alcohol. I don’t squander money on frivolous treats or the latest fashions. I learned from a young age, moderation in everything. My mother’s harsh lessons had served me well. Going without dessert to fit into a dress. Jogging alongside Lake Michigan until sweat poured off me as a way to learn self-discipline. Withholding sexual favors until every rich boy in the district wanted me.
My mother’s teachings enabled me to land Percival and marry into the Parker family. ‘A match made in heaven’ the social columns had decreed in every Illinois newspaper. ‘The lakeside princess and the city prince.’ ‘The heiress to the fortune of Lake Michigan’s wealthiest landowners and the sole heir in the richest Chicago family of financial wizards.’
If they only knew that their version of heaven had been my private hell.
No longer. Percy left me the richest widow in Chicago and I have no intention of allowing any of that fortune to be dissipated at the hands of people with no self-control.
I watch as diligent Ria gathers everyone. She doesn’t see the venomous glares directed at her back when she walks away from Christine and Ashlin; only Shamira falls into step beside her, happy to chat. Though that girl harbors sadness too, like she hides something too big to bear.
Ria heads for the children last, pretending she can’t find them, enabling them to leap out at her from behind the manicured hedges. She pretends to stagger in shock, one hand clasped over her chest, before Shelley flings her arms around her mom.
Some of the ice surrounding my heart melts. Ria’s a good mom, a good person. I’m right to trust her when I don’t trust many people in my family.
Jessie and Ellen hover, unsure what to do. Ellen’s expression is yearning, wistful, while Jessie’s, confused initially, quickly morphs into resentment. Those poor mites probably aren’t embraced that often, what with Ashlin running around perfecting her socialite image and Justin avoiding her by working long hours at the office. I hate the thought of my granddaughters suffering.
It’s part of the motivation behind what I’m about to do.
A lump forms in my throat and I clap loudly, eager to proceed with my announcement.
I clamp down on my outrage at what this family has become and feign enjoyment as they gather around me, fussing over lighting the candles on the exquisite choc-marble cake I provided, singing a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and the inevitable loud ‘hip-hip-hoorays’.
I wait until one of the wait staff whisks the cake away to the kitchen to be dished up, then pick up the nearest knife and tap it against my untouched wine glass.
“May I have your attention?”
Trent and the kids look bored, Christine glassy-eyed, Ashlin sways a little like she’s consumed one too many champagnes, Shamira’s politely interested. Ria offers a genuine smile and Justin does the same.
“As you all know, the financial climate is unstable at the moment. Many companies have sustained heavy losses with market plunges all around the world. So with that in mind, I’m instigating some changes.”
Now I have their attention. Even the kids seem to sense the importance of what I have to impart and stop shuffling their feet.
“I’m closing the family account.”
I hear a stifled gasp but don’t know who it comes from. Until now, I allowed family members to withdraw money from a joint family account as needed. None of them take advantage but they have free access to a sizable chunk of money I oversee. It’s my way of maintaining control. But there are changes on the horizon and I want to prepare them.
“Moving forward, there will be a trust for each of your families and you’ll be paid a minimal wage from that account and not a penny more. So I recommend you invest what you have wisely. Preserve your money.”
I wait, the pause dramatic. “Because the Parker fortune won’t be around to sustain you forever.”
A scare tactic designed to test and I see the mirrored expressions of shock, their mouths perfect round Os, all except Ria. She stares in blatant admiration, as if she wants to applaud. I knew this is how she’d react. Ria’s proud of her independence and so she should be, not hanging off me like a goddamn leech, usurping whatever she can get like the rest.
“Does that mean we’re poor now, Gran?” Jessie’s eyes are round, as worried as her mother’s.
“No, sweetheart, but I want us all to understand the value of money and how to look after it so it doesn’t dwindle away.”
I glance at my daughter first, then Ashlin, finally Trent and Shamira. I avoid looking at Justin. He’ll be furious I hadn’t mentioned this to him.
“Now, let’s get back to enjoying ourselves.” I clap my hands with false gaiety and beckon the wait staff in the kitchen, who immediately come out to hand around pieces of cake.
I notice no one eats it, apart from Ria and the kids. Maybe the others have already had their cake for too long a
nd gorged on it.
Times are changing in the Parker family.
I’ll make sure of it.
8
Shamira
I’m trembling by the time we reach home. Exhaustion from faking a happy disposition mingles with something far more sinister.
Fear.
A bone-deep, petrifying, confidence-destroying panic that rendered me mute on the thirty-minute drive from Ash Park to Donvale Heights. I’m terrified that my carefully constructed lies are on the verge of unraveling. I have spent years—and a small fortune—on creating the perfect life. No one, especially not some uppity cheater like Ashlin, is going to ruin it.
I’ve taken care of problems in the past. It has been a constant burr, the fear of being found out. More recently, I think I’m finally safe. Considering how Ashlin threatened me at the party, maybe not.
“Hey, you.” Trent slides his arms around me from behind and I melt into his embrace. It isn’t difficult. I love this man, every soft-hearted, gentle inch of him.
“Want to take a bath?” He nuzzles my neck, leaving me under no illusions why he wants to get clean together.
“I’d love to, but I promised a sick client I’d have her batch of oils ready for her to pick up tonight.”
A glib lie but then, I’m good at it; an expert, born of many years of practice. Nobody knows the real me and I want to keep it that way.
“You work too hard.” He releases me and whacks me on the butt. “Don’t be long, okay?”
I spin around and kiss his mouth. “I won’t be.”
He tweaks my nose like I’m a kid, before padding into the kitchen, his bare feet leaving imprints in the dust on the floorboards. Cleaning isn’t our strong suit. We prefer chilling in our downtime. Taking walks lakeside. Strolling up Auckland Street. Dining street-side, people-watching.