The New Husband (ARC)

by D. J. Palmer

  I know only one person named Tracy Nuts, and she is me. It’s my nickname, a little play on words about my deadly peanut allergy: Trace of Nuts. Get it? Tracy Nuts. The only person who ever called me that was the same person who’d given me the nickname in the first place.

  My father.

  It was kind of a jokey nickname for such a deadly serious condition, but my dad came up with it one day when I got sad because I couldn’t eat any of my friend’s birthday cake. He thought a little humor might make it sting a bit less, and well—he was right. There was a message accompanying the Talkie to Me request that I read a hundred times in the stall.

  Sweetie, it’s me. It’s Dad. Accept this request and I’ll be in touch soon. But promise me, promise, promise you won’t tell a soul I’ve contacted you. Not your brother, not even your mother. There are reasons, important reasons I can’t get into right now. I’ll try to explain later. But please, please, please, keep that promise for me, ok? If anybody finds out I’ve contacted you it will be very bad for me and I won’t be able to reach out to you again. Try to understand. I love you to the moon and back and there and back again to infinity. xoxo–Dad

  Maybe somebody, somehow, had learned about my Tracy Nuts nickname. Connor could have told somebody, so I considered it a possibility. It was also possible that somebody was being extra mean and cruel, piling on the pain after today’s humiliation, trying to hurt me more by sending a Talkie friend request using that nickname, maybe knowing my father had given it to me.

  But some things were never shared, like the private conversations between a father and a daughter, which is why nobody, and I do mean nobody, not even Connor, knew that every night before I went to bed, my dad would kiss me on my forehead and whisper how his love for me went to the moon and back, and there and back to infinity.

  Chapter 24

  Hours after the school assembly, Nina, Simon, Maggie, and Connor gathered in the living room for a family meeting. Family meetings were something Nina had tried out from time to time over the years. They seemed to always convene in moments of great crisis—problems with attitude, chores, bedtime, homework, those breaking points where the parent (typically Nina, occasionally Glen) felt like they were being held hostage by miniature creations of their own making.

  When things improved afterward, which they invariably did, Nina would promise herself to have these meetings regularly, but life had a way of derailing the best of intentions. And so the cycle would begin anew—crisis, family meeting, resolution, crisis, family meeting, resolution, and so on, until one day Nina discovered her children had outgrown the small issues and graduated into bigger ones.

  With or without today’s incident, what Nina had seen six days into her new job convinced her these meetings were more important than ever, and she renewed her pledge to hold them weekly.

  This was Simon’s first family meeting, and he perched himself on the edge of the leather love seat that had come from his home. Nina and Maggie sat side by side on the couch, close in proximity but worlds apart from a solution. Connor was on the floor, playing tug-of-war with Daisy using her favorite rope toy.

  “Please tell Maggie what you told me,” Nina said to Simon as she rubbed her tired eyes. Once again she found herself dealing with lingering fatigue from another day spent reviewing case files on the Coopers and setting up home visits, all while planning the rest of her investigation.

  She would have been home much sooner to deal with the crisis du jour, but Nina had several new cases on top of the Cooper case, two of them involving young people, each around Connor’s age, who were addicted to pain medication.

  Knocking around in the back of Nina’s mind, erratic and cacophonous as a child banging a toy drum, were Simon’s words of warning: how the job would eat away at her free time, to the detriment of her family. The seeds of doubt he planted had unfolded into a gnawing worry that she’d miss something important, some critical juncture, and this would send one or both of her kids careening off course, eventually landing them in the case file of a social worker like herself. Nina understood it was irrational, but at the same time her daughter was showing real signs of strain, and Simon was not helping the situation.

  “I am so sorry, Maggie,” Simon said with an anguished voice. “I had no idea how that was going to be perceived. Honestly, I was extremely upset with your situation, and felt compelled to speak up, to say something. I wanted the other kids to know there were real consequences for their actions.”

  If Maggie was moved in the slightest by his apology, she said nothing. She would not, or could not, make eye contact with him.

  “Believe me, if I could take it back I would,” Simon added. “The last thing I want is to make you feel bad or put more distance between us. More than anything I want you to think we can be friends.”

  “I don’t even see how it was so embarrassing for you,” Connor chimed in mockingly. “Everyone knows you’ve been kicked out of your friend group, and news flash, they don’t care.”

  “They were laughing at me,” Maggie said defensively. “You weren’t there. So shut up.”

  “Connor, stop it,” Nina snapped. “You don’t get to weigh in on how your sister feels. And Maggie, don’t tell your brother to shut up.”

  “Look, I apologize, profusely,” Simon said. “Did you get any mean text messages or see any posts about it?” He seemed worried that he had made a bad situation even worse.

  “No.”

  To Nina’s ears Maggie had responded too quickly, almost defensively, like she had seen or heard something upsetting but for whatever reason did not want to share it with the room.

  “And Simon, I’m sure your intentions were noble, but nobody likes being singled out, and it’s especially difficult for middle schoolers who are just coming into their own. You, of all people, should know better.”

  Maggie seemed to perk up a bit at Nina’s rebuke. She had used the same stern tone she took whenever Glen wouldn’t help with bedtime, or clean up after dinner, or any number of occasions when he’d failed to live up to his end of the marriage bargain.

  “I honestly didn’t think anyone would connect it to Maggie,” Simon said. “But I can see now how they did and how counterproductive it was. Again, I’m really sorry.”

  “Well, thank you for the apology,” Nina said. “But I’m not the one who counts. Maggie, do you accept?”

  Maggie gave a shrug, which was good enough for Nina to continue.

  “The reason I called a family meeting is because we’re all going to have to do something to make things better around here. All of us.”

  Nina directed her attention to Connor, who was notorious for not pulling his weight around the house. The multiple chore charts that had come and gone over the years would have made a stack as thick as a novel.

  “I can’t do this alone,” she continued, “so if you have any grievances, issues, or complaints, then let’s get them out in the open right now. Because, like it or not, tomorrow I’m getting up in the morning and going back to my job, and after that I’m going to come home to you children, and to Daisy and Simon, and I could really use your support.”

  “I come after the dog?” Simon said, mock-offended.

  Nina was in no mood to banter. “We need to be a team,” she added. “So, starting tomorrow, what is everyone going to do to make things better around here? Hmmm? Who wants to go first?”

  For a few tense moments, nobody spoke. Even Daisy clued in to the escalating tension and departed the living room for a less fraught location. It was Connor who broke the silence.

  “I’ll do the recycling,” he offered. “And I’ll walk Daisy, every day after practice.”

  Nina arched her eyebrows, impressed. “Okay,” she said. “That’s helpful. Simon?”

  “No more speeches at school assemblies for me,” he said.

  Connor chuckled, while Nina did not look particularly amused, and Maggie sat stone-faced, her gaze elsewhere.

  “Too soon?” Simon read the r
oom correctly and quickly shifted gears to a more serious response. “It’s one thing teaching kids, and it’s another living with them. I have no experience in that regard. To make things easier I will from this moment and forever more keep home stuff and school stuff as separate as church and state. That’s a promise.”

  “Sound good to you, Maggie?” Nina asked.

  “Whatever,” Maggie said, somehow upping her attitude a few degrees.

  “Maggie, can you promise to try to get along with Simon?” Nina pleaded. “At least not be so hostile? We are all adjusting here, so I’m not coming down on you. I’m merely asking if you’d be willing to try harder.”

  “Whatever. Sure.”

  It was a better response than Nina expected.

  “And you need to load the dishwasher every night after dinner,” Nina added, pushing her luck. Maggie’s next “Sure” and “Whatever” were barely audible.

  “What about you, Mom?” Connor asked.

  “Me?” Nina sounded taken aback. “I do enough for you all that I’m exempt here. I’ve earned the right to be a diva. Meeting adjourned. I’d say we should hug it out, but I don’t think we’re quite ready for that. However, I’d like Maggie and Simon to shake hands. We need to move on from this.”

  Nina was impressed with herself. Only a week on the job and already her conflict resolution skills were sharp as ever. Even so, she worried; always worried. Damn Glen. Damn Teresa. Would she forever have to smooth over these conflicts at home? When could she stop worrying about blending her old life with her new one? Glen’s behavior had made her suspicious, cost her that easy trust in people, had made her wonder if there was any truth to her daughter’s accusations about Simon—the dark look, the trip, and now this assembly business. Could it be that she had brought trouble into her home?

  Stop it! Nina scolded herself. Just stop! Simon loves you, you love him, and this is Glen’s fault, not Maggie’s. This is Glen’s betrayal lingering. Maggie will adjust or she won’t, but you won’t let fear, uncertainty, and doubt get in the way of your happiness.

  These thoughts came and went as Simon once again extended an olive branch of sorts, which Maggie took and shook with perfunctory courtesy.

  “Very well. We’ll do this meeting thing again next week.”

  But if experience had taught Nina anything, it was that this would be their last family meeting until the next crisis erupted.

  Later on, after the dog had been walked and the dinner dishes were loaded in the dishwasher, after homework was done and the goodnight routine had come and gone, Simon crawled into bed more quiet than usual. He appeared to be brooding, and Nina naturally worried that Maggie’s behavior had been more upsetting to him than he had let on.

  “It’s Emma’s birthday today,” he said, as explanation for his uncharacteristic moodiness. If they had been together longer, Nina would have known this about him, but a newish relationship came with constant discovery. Simon had always been a bit guarded when it came to his past, something Nina found entirely understandable given the pain many of those memories evoked. “I get sad every year around this time, for what we had, and . . . and how it was suddenly taken away,” he continued.

  Nina understood perfectly well how milestones like birthdays could awaken those feelings of sadness and loss.

  “It was deeply traumatic for you,” Nina said. “It’s understandable.”

  “It seems women are always leaving me suddenly and traumatically.”

  Nina thought: not only Emma, but Allison, Simon’s first wife, his first true love, who had walked away from the marriage without a word of good-bye.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” Nina said, kissing him tenderly, finding his hand under the covers to give it a gentle squeeze. “I have no plans on deserting you, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Maybe I had Emma on my mind and that’s why I wasn’t thinking clearly today,” Simon lamented. “God, could I make this adjustment any harder on myself?”

  “You’re doing great,” Nina said reassuringly. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

  “It’s your fault,” Simon said, a sardonic smile coming to his face. “If you weren’t so damn wonderful I wouldn’t have cared one bit that you were going to move to Nebraska.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Kidding aside, thank you for your support with Maggie. I know I’m blowing it, but I loved you from the minute I saw you and I’m not going to let anything come between us. Certainly not my own stupidity.”

  Nina let Simon pull her into his arms even though she was still mad at him. She asked what she could do to help, and Simon said all he needed was Nina’s love, that her love made him whole. It was like that “You complete me” line she had joked with him about, but this time she shivered because Glen had once said something quite similar to her years ago.

  “I still think you need to quit your job,” said Simon, after turning out the bedside light. “Today, what happened, the reaction, it’s not all because of me. Maggie is struggling. I’m just not sure you can see it.”

  But Nina wouldn’t quit, and she said as much. Working again, supporting herself, it felt too good, and she was too invested in her cases to back out now.

  “I understand your reasons,” Simon said, his voice taking on an edge that wasn’t there a moment ago. “But I still think, for Maggie’s sake especially, you should quit and let me take care of everyone.”

  “Please, Simon, please stop using my children as part of your argument.”

  Nina managed to tamp down her anger, feeling there’d been enough drama for one day, but she added that her employment status was not open for discussion. She had kept this conflict of theirs from Susanna and Ginny, not wanting to give them more reasons to question Simon and her choices, but doubted she could muster the restraint if he kept up the pressure.

  “Well, if it goes the way I’m seeing it going, I promise I won’t say I told you so.”

  He leaned over in the dark, fumbling a bit before he planted a gentle kiss on her lips.

  “Goodnight, darling,” he said. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”

  Soon enough Simon was breathing heavy, fast asleep, while Nina’s thoughts darted about like a jackrabbit. Why was he so insistent on her not working?

  She understood his stated reasons, even shared his concern, but part of her wondered if he did not like the idea of his wife (or future wife) having her own career. Emma wasn’t working when she took her life; she knew that much about the woman who had made Simon a widower. His mother didn’t work either, from what she’d been told. Perhaps he had some kind of set expectation for what a wife should be. But if anything, he was progressive, having a broad historical context to help shape his modern-day views on feminism. And surely he knew her well enough to understand her need for independence.

  But how well did she understand Simon?

  Chapter 25

  Twenty-six hours and seventeen minutes after my father contacted me, I broke my promise to him. Well, in my reply back I didn’t officially agree to keep the secret, but that was a technicality at best.

  I decided to tell Ben, because I simply had to tell someone. If I didn’t, I think I might have exploded, had some sort of freakish meltdown, gone all Exorcist (saw the movie on Netflix, super creepy!), and for sure my dad didn’t want that to happen. I knew Ben could keep the secret the way I knew that one plus one equals two. Besides, I was basically doing what my dad asked by not telling Mom or Connor, who I think were his real concern. So Ben knew, my father didn’t know I had told him, and I was fine with all my justifications.

  I was with Ben in the library, working on a science lab that was worth 20 percent of our grade, which meant I was getting an A. Ben was as good at science as he was at math, not that I was any slouch. Together we formed an unstoppable team.

  We used a basal thermometer and stopwatch to conduct our experiments on the effects stress had on body temperature. We had asked our test subjects (who included M
om, Connor, and Ben’s parents—but not Simon) to rate their stress level on a scale of 1 to 15. We then recorded their body temperature (yes, we had the thermometer properly sanitized each time). Next, we asked our subjects to put a stack of mixed-up numbered pages one through fifty, in sequential order, on a time limit. We told them to get as far as they could, as fast as they could, while a timer was counting down. Stressful, right? We then re-measured body temperature and recorded the results. Turned out that in most cases, stress did raise the body temp a few tenths of a degree.

  We had charts and graphs and all that impressive-looking stuff. I was going to take it home, type up our conclusion, add some finishing touches, and 20 percent of our grade would be secure. But we were having a hard time focusing on the lab because my own stress was burning me up. I kept checking my phone every two seconds, hoping my dad (aka Tracy Nuts) had responded to the dozen or so messages I’d sent. All of my communications were variations on the same theme: Dad is that you? Please message me back. Daddy I need to hear from you. I love you so much. Are you okay?

  “Don’t you think you should tell someone, like your mom for instance?” Ben asked.

  He had a Web browser open on the library computer, researching terms like “serotonin” and “hyperthyroidism,” looking to bolster our conclusion with the biological reason why our temps rise under stress.

  “I can’t,” I said. “He was really, really specific about it. It’s bad enough I told you.”

  I showed Ben the Talkie to Me request he’d sent as a reminder.

  “And you’re sure it’s him?”

  It was a bit embarrassing to share my dad’s goodnight routine with Ben, but it was proof, or so I thought.