What a midlife crisis cliché, all of it.
“Beth hasn’t been around the pool for a few days now,” Trilby comments. “Maybe she got a new job.”
Beth had, according to Trilby, been laid off for a few months now—a fact Nick neglected to mention to Lauren and possibly to the kids—not that they’d be likely to tell her. They don’t like to bring up their father’s girlfriend in her presence.
“Or maybe,” Trilby goes on, “she’s away on vacation.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Because he”—no names in front of Sadie—“isn’t off until the middle of August. He told me he’s going to Martha’s Vineyard then.”
“With her and her kids?”
“He didn’t say. But I doubt he’s going alone. And he’s not only not taking his own kids, but this means he won’t be around the whole week after they get out of camp.”
“Why then?”
“He said that’s the only week the house was available.”
Trilby shakes her head, catches Lauren’s eye, and mouths the word “bastard.”
Happily remarried now, Trilby went through a bitter divorce of her own a decade ago. She gets what Lauren’s dealing with—most of it, anyway: the isolation and desolation, the other woman lurking in the wings, the anguish of giving up dreams, accepting a new, unwanted lifestyle, dividing up a household.
But Trilby and her first husband didn’t have children together. She escaped the constant heartache on their behalf, the burden of solo parenting, the lonely weekends and holidays without her kids, the custody upheaval—although Lauren realizes she’s yet to experience the worst of that.
Until June when they left for camp, her children were supposed to spend Wednesday nights and every other weekend with Nick. But he was consistently late for weeknight visits, stuck at the office—or so he claimed. And on weekends, Ryan and Lucy were so involved with sports and parties and extracurricular events that those encounters, too, became sporadic. Meanwhile, Lauren wasn’t any more thrilled about sending Sadie off alone for the weekend than, she suspects, Nick was to take her on.
He didn’t press her on any of it. Maybe he will, once the divorce is final. But for the summer, he seems content to pop in to see Sadie just often enough to disrupt the household.
Lauren opens the bottle of wine, pours some into the glasses, and hands one to Trilby. At the table, Sadie swaps her brown crayon for black and scribbles some more.
“Before I forget, I’m heading up the Junior League tag sale in September, and we’re going to be looking for donations in a few weeks. So if you have anything around here that you want to get rid of…”
“I have plenty that I want to get rid of,” she tells Trilby, “but I can’t imagine anyone actually paying for any of it.”
“You’d be surprised at what people buy. Last year, some woman offered me a dollar for the roll of tape I was using to put up signs.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. So…cheers.” Trilby clinks her glass against Lauren’s. “What should we drink to?”
Beyond the screen above the sink, Lauren sees a car pulling into the driveway. Nick. Thank goodness.
“To Fred,” she declares, and Sadie’s head snaps up at the mention.
Trilby doesn’t ask who Fred is. She knows.
A car door slams outside, and Chauncey launches into a barking fit from the next room.
“We lost Fred in the city earlier,” Lauren whispers to Trilby, and then tells Sadie, “Sweetie, I think Daddy’s here.”
“Does he have Fred?”
He must, or he wouldn’t be here, right?
“Go find out.”
Sadie starts to race toward the back door, then remembers and changes direction, scurrying toward the front. Nick always makes a formal entrance now that he’s moved out. Sometimes he even rings the bell. But only if the door is locked. Which it is.
The old-fashioned doorbell pierces the air.
“Go ahead and open the door for Daddy, Sadie,” Lauren calls. “Make sure Chauncey doesn’t get out, though.”
“Nick doesn’t have the keys anymore?” Trilby asks in a low voice.
“He does, but he doesn’t use them. Maybe he thinks I’ve changed the locks.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. Should I?”
“Hell, yes.” Trilby takes a big swallow of wine. “Can we hide in here or do we have to go say hello to the SOB?”
“You don’t.” Lauren sets down her glass and resists the urge to pat her hair. She hasn’t touched a brush or seen a mirror since she visited the ladies’ room at the sushi restaurant. At that point, her long, russet-colored hair was looking decent, but that was, what? Eight hours ago? Right about now, it probably has all the vitality of dead leaves.
“Wait.” Trilby stops her with a hand on her shoulder and tucks an errant clump of hair back from Lauren’s face, behind her ear. “There. That’s better. Want some lipstick?”
“What am I, thirteen with a crush? I couldn’t care less what I look like. It’s Nick, remember?”
“Wrong attitude. You need to look great to him, of all people. Make him kick himself every time he sees you.”
“How about if I just kick him every time I see him?”
Lauren leaves Trilby snorting into her wine and heads for the front hall.
“All right, how about a few more in the living room with the skyline and sunset framed in the window behind you,” the staff photographer suggests, collapsing his tripod, “and then we’ll call it a night.”
Congressman Garvey Quinn looks questioningly at his wife, who shakes her blond head wearily. Like their two teenage daughters, Marin is accustomed to the PR machine that accompanies a campaign. But it’s far more intense now that Garvey’s set his sights on a gubernatorial nomination, with still greater aspirations beyond that. Marin’s clearly had her fill of the spotlight already, and the primary is still almost two months away.
“Can’t we call it a night right now?” sixteen-year-old Caroline protests. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like what? Go on Facebook and write snotty stuff about your so-called friends?”
Caroline’s wide-set black eyes—identical to her father’s—glare at her younger sister Annie, who merely smiles with satisfaction.
“I do not write snotty stuff on Facebook.”
“Yes you do, and you’re going to lose Dad a bunch of votes that way,” Annie retorts with a toss of her blond hair.
“My friends aren’t old enough to vote yet.”
“Well, their parents are, and they won’t vote for Dad when they figure out what a CB you are.”
“Oh my God, are you for real? I am so not a CB.”
“What,” Marin Quinn asks her daughters, “is a CB?”
Garvey takes it upon himself to answer: “Cyber bully.”
He’s been reading up on the topic of Internet safety, among countless others, in preparation for the upcoming primaries. He intends to arm himself with everything there is to know about every potential issue facing the people of New York State—a daunting task, to say the least.
“I’m not a cyber bully, Dad.”
“Of course you’re not,” he tells Caroline, and shoots Annie a warning glance when she opens her mouth again.
“I told Sharon I don’t want the two of you on Facebook all summer.” Marin shakes her head. “That’s how you talked me into hiring a summer nanny in the first place, Garvey. To keep the girls occupied while you and I are campaigning.”
Yes, though it hadn’t exactly been his idea; it had come from his campaign staff. Specifically, Beverly. Her cousin Sharon—whom she described as a “delightful, all- American blonde”—had just gotten out of college in the Midwest and wanted to move to New York.
Garvey was agreeable. He didn’t want the girls at loose ends all summer long. He convinced his daughters that it would be like having a big-sister-slash-cruisedirector—someone who would plan
fun outings and keep an eye on them.
Marin—who prided herself on being a hands-on mom—was reluctant, but eventually gave in, realizing her place would be on the campaign trail in the months ahead.
And so Sharon was hired.
What Beverly had failed to mention was that her cousin hadn’t graduated; she had flunked out of college—community college. Within five minutes of meeting Sharon, Garvey concluded she was the kind of girl who gave stunning blondes their dim-witted reputation.
In the month she had been working for the Quinns, Marin had grown increasingly frustrated; sweet-natured Annie had taken to calling Sharon “the Bubblehead” behind her back; and just yesterday, Caroline had said, “Daddy, can we please get rid of her? She’s useless.”
That did it. Garvey will have to get rid of her. Beverly won’t be pleased, but too bad. His daughters’ needs come first.
“Mr. Quinn? We’re losing light,” the photographer nudges from the next room.
“Come on, girls. Just a few more pictures.” Garvey puts a hand on both their shoulders and leads them out of the kitchen, where they just staged yet another happy family scene for the camera.
The takeout containers are buried in the trash; though Garvey’s pretty sure the photographer couldn’t care less that the “homemade” potatoes in the rarely used six-hundred-dollar skillet actually came from Dean & Deluca. Or that neither Marin nor Caroline eats red meat and their perfectly grilled steaks will be fed to the dog or the maid.
It looked good for the cameras, and that’s what counts.
Garvey can just see the caption: The wholesome, all- American Quinns whip up a wholesome, all-American meal together after a long day on the campaign trail.
Well, Garvey was on the campaign trail, anyway. He lunched with the local chapter of the League of Women Voters, then stopped in to visit a couple of disabled veterans before hurrying home to the East Side apartment for the photo shoot. All in a day’s work.
He’ll be glad when the primary is over and the nomination is secure. After a term as a conservative Republican congressman from New York City—a notoriously rare breed—this is the opportunity he’s been waiting for all his life. According to the latest polls, the governor’s mansion could very likely be in his future.
Barry Leonard, his campaign manager, keeps telling him that he has nothing to worry about; that it would take a serious screw-up between now and September for Garvey to lose the GOP nomination—or the election after that.
If Barry Leonard had any idea…
But he doesn’t, Garvey reminds himself. Not yet, anyway.
And if all goes according to plan, the one person who does will be silenced long before November.
Seeing Nick down on one knee in the foyer, hugging Sadie against his chest, Lauren is struck by a ferocious wave of regret. It’s all she can do not to stop dead in her tracks to take in the tender father-daughter reunion.
Even now that all is said and done, there’s no doubt that Nick loves the kids.
I’m the one he doesn’t love.
No mistaking that. Not when he looks up, sees her, and his dark eyes harden immediately.
“Hi, Lauren.”
“Hi, Nick.”
Chauncey, wagging his tail beside Nick, barks his approval.
That’s right. Your master’s home, Lauren tells the dog silently, but don’t get too attached.
“Did you bring Fred?” Sadie asks, eagerly eyeing the shopping bag in his hand.
“I brought Fred.” He hands over the bag.
With a squeal, she grabs it. “Thank you, Daddy! Wait, I made you a picture!” She races toward the kitchen as Nick gives Chauncey an obligatory pat before getting back to his feet.
A full head taller than Lauren, he’s always had a fairly solid build and had developed a bit of a paunch over the last year or two. It’s gone now though, Lauren notices. Something tells her his own weight loss, unlike hers, has little to do with grieving their marriage. No, these days, he’s all about vanity and a new lease on life.
“So where was Fred?” she asks. “In the lost and found?”
Nick nods. “Do you know how many stuffed animals kids lose in Grand Central Station?”
“I don’t know, a lot?” she asks disinterestedly, wondering if she’s supposed to regret asking him to go out of his way to look for Fred.
“Do you know how many of them are pink? That place was a nightmare.” He shakes his head wearily. Woe is me.
She’d love to inform him that having to sort through a bunch of lost toys is hardly the worst thing that could happen to a person. Not by a long shot. But before she can speak, Sadie cries out in the kitchen.
“Lauren? Problem here,” Trilby calls urgently.
Lauren hurries in that direction, trailed by Nick and Chauncey, too.
Sadie stands in the middle of the kitchen holding the empty shopping bag and crying, pointing at something. Lauren sees the pink stuffed toy that was obviously hurtled across the room in dismay. Even from here, she can tell it isn’t Fred.
Chauncey goes over to sniff the toy with interest.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Nick appears genuinely bewildered.
“That’s…not… Fre-ed,” Sadie sobs.
“It’s not?”
“No,” Lauren says succinctly. “It’s not.”
There’s a long pause.
“I thought it was.”
“Really? Because that’s a dog. Fred is a rabbit. I told you that. Remember?”
“You told me Fred was a dog, Lauren.”
“Why would I do that when he’s a rabbit?” she bites out through clenched teeth, barely containing a tide of fury.
Conscious of Trilby taking in the scene, Lauren isn’t sure whether to wish her friend weren’t here, or be glad she is. Without her presence, the floodgates would surely burst.
Nick tries to hug Sadie, who stiffens and weeps inconsolably.
Resisting the urge to shove him out of the way, Lauren kneels at her daughter’s side, brushing her hair back from her face. “You need to go back to Grand Central and find Fred for her,” she tells Nick over Sadie’s head.
“Now?”
“Now would be good. Five minutes ago would be even better.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going all the way back to Manhattan for a toy. I’m sorry Sadie, sweetie, but Daddy will look tomorrow, and if Fred isn’t there, Daddy will get you a new Fred.”
Kind of like Daddy got himself a new me, Lauren thinks grimly.
Judging by the look on Trilby’s face, she’s reading the thought loud and clear.
Fed up, Lauren gets to her feet and faces Nick.
Over Sadie’s wailing, she tells him, “Just go. I’ll handle it.”
Some hopeful, delusional, idiotic part of her expects him to protest. To sweep Sadie into his arms—and maybe herself, as well—and apologize for being such a jerk. To promise them both that he’ll move heaven and earth to find Fred. To tell them that everything is going to be okay.
Old Familiar Nick would have done that.
Midlife Crisis Stranger Nick just looks at her for a moment, and then he does just as she asked.
He goes.
CHAPTER THREE
More than three weeks later, Lauren dangles her feet in the town pool, frowning behind her sunglasses. She hates the muggy heat, hates the lazy quiet, hates that she practically has the place all to herself.
In the old days, those were the very reasons late August was her favorite time to visit the recreation complex adjacent to the town park. Most local families go on vacation during this two-week window between summer camp and Labor Day. So at this time of year, even on hot, sunny days, there’s no need to get here precisely at noon when it opens to ensure availability of chairs and umbrellas, no wait for the lap lanes, no line at the snack bar.
Nice, right?
Not today.
Today, Lauren finds the pool depressingly lonely.
At least she can be sur
e that she’s not going to run into the Other Woman, who has reportedly spent a good part of her summer here, sunning and swimming.
She’s currently in an expensive rented beach house on Martha’s Vineyard with Nick, having conveniently shipped her own two college-age kids off to Europe with her ex-husband. That detail was provided by Trilby, who is far more plugged into the local gossip than Lauren is. Or cares to be.
When it comes to details about Beth, Lauren can’t decide whether she wants to know or not. The details might be painful, but ignorance is far from bliss.
In the deep end, a trio of adolescent boys, including Ryan, practice their dives.
Watching her son bounce somewhat recklessly off the high board, Lauren tells herself there’s no need to worry. He’ll be fine. Of course he will.
When you’ve lived through a nightmare, there’s nothing left to fear.
True, the end of her marriage wasn’t the absolute worst that could happen…but it was pretty damned close.
Ryan splashes safely into the pool.
Relieved, Lauren waves as he emerges and climbs up the ladder. Either he doesn’t see her, or he purposely ignores her.
She’ll bet on the latter. Ryan made it clear when they arrived that he isn’t thrilled she’s here. His friends were all dropped off by parents who have better things to do on a summer Friday afternoon. Probably pack for—or unpack from—their fabulous family vacations.
Trilby, too, has abandoned Glenhaven Park, having gone down the Jersey Shore with her family.
I really need to make some new friends.
The women with whom Lauren socialized before Nick left were part of their circle as a couple—mostly the parents of Lucy and Ryan’s friends.
Now that she’s emerging from her cocoon, she has no desire to rebuild those fractured friendships. Maybe she should make an effort to reach out to the moms of children Sadie’s age, something she never bothered—or needed—to do before.
They’re all so much younger, though; many of them still on their first child, or nursing newborns, or pregnant. Those days are long behind Lauren.
That doesn’t mean you can’t find something in common with them, she reminds herself.
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