In the early days with Aaron, I never would have considered doing that. I didn’t want that for myself. Ours was a casual relationship, and it was enough to fly down to Toronto to meet Aaron at the small furnished apartment he owned that happened to be sitting empty.
But then, just weeks into our affair, I was shocked to find myself pregnant, and everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn’t living only for myself anymore. I was a mom. I had a child to support and protect, and I had long ago made a vow to myself that I would never let my child grow up in a broken home, as I had. Now I wanted Aaron not just for myself, but for my baby. And so, when I told Aaron about my pregnancy, I also told him something of how my father had died and why it was so important to me that any child of mine—ours—had the chance to know their father, to live with their father, to love their father in a way my mother had never allowed. I told him I had lost my father in the worst possible way, that I also felt abandoned by him. I never wanted my child to feel that way.
Aaron took my hand in both of his. “I feel . . .” he started, his eyes watering. Then he shrugged a little at the foolishness of what he was about to say. “I feel I know you.” He laughed at himself. “I mean, I really know you. I understand now why we felt that instant connection when we first met at the Winterman.”
And then he explained. He said he’d made a mistake in marrying Madison so soon after his first wife’s death from breast cancer, when he should have allowed both himself and Olive time to heal before entering a new relationship. “It made no sense, I know,” he told me. “But when my wife died, I felt angry, betrayed, as if I had been abandoned by her.” As he had been abandoned by his mother, he said, who had left him alone with his abusive father when he was a young teen.
We were both orphaned, in our way, forced to live with emotionally stunted parents who weren’t capable of real love. I felt, in that moment, that he did know me, just as I knew him. We had recognized each other on some subconscious, fundamental level.
The nature of our relationship shifted after that. Aaron unraveled his family life and we moved into the house together in the new year, when Evie was two months old. Olive came to live with us in late May. And just this past week, Aaron had offered me a ring and asked me to marry him! We had to wait until his divorce was finalized, but still. We were a family. I had created a family, for Evie.
Evie was now nearly eight months old, already crawling and pulling herself to standing. Here, breastfeeding in my arms, my baby waved one little hand as if she was a conductor—and, of course, she was. Her conception had orchestrated this seismic shift in all our lives. And now, I knew, it could well send an aftershock, one that had the potential to topple everything. Not long after Evie was born, Nathan had asked for a paternity test, on the chance that Evie was his. I had said no, there was no need, that I knew Evie was Aaron’s child. But then I started thinking about the timing of Evie’s conception, and the worry ate at me. She could have been Nathan’s child; we had slept together once when I traveled to Manitoulin around that time. But it was so unlikely. Still, to put my mind at ease, I collected hair from Evie and from Aaron’s comb and had a lab run their DNA and mail the results to my summer house on Manitoulin, so there was no chance of Aaron intercepting the letter. Thinking of it now, I felt sick with anxiety and guilt. I shook my head a little to push the thought from my mind. No, I was certain Aaron was Evie’s father. He had to be. He, and our life here, was the best thing for Evie.
In the kitchen, Aaron put his cup and plate in the sink, then, wiping his hands on a napkin, he called upstairs. “Olive Oyl, I’m leaving!”
Olive Oyl. Olive wouldn’t let me call her that, and she didn’t even know what it referred to—Popeye’s tall, skinny sweetheart—until I googled it to show her. But she never objected when Aaron said it.
“Olive!” he called again. Then, to me, he said, “She must have gone back to sleep.”
“You told her about your trip?” I asked from the couch.
He nodded as he strolled over to me. “She wasn’t too happy about the prospect of missing the fireworks. Do take her tonight, okay?”
I might as well, now that I wasn’t going to Manitoulin as planned. With the thought, I felt the ache of nostalgia. It would be the first year that I would see the Canada Day fireworks without Nathan. We had gone to the celebrations on Manitoulin together every summer, even the year before, when I was pregnant. I had told Aaron I was visiting my mother.
“Olive!” Aaron called again, louder this time. “I need to go! I’ve got a flight to catch!”
At his loud voice, Evie unplugged, and I adjusted my bra and T-shirt before standing and putting her over my shoulder to burp her.
“Olive!” Aaron called yet again.
“All right, I’m coming!” Olive thundered down the stairs, wearing the same black yoga pants and pink hoodie she’d worn the day before. Olive was tall, like her father, and appeared more mature than thirteen-going-on-fourteen, especially as she often plastered herself with eighties-glam-inspired eyeliner and blush. But she was a beauty. Her hair was red and curly, a gift from her birth mother, I imagined, as Aaron was dark-haired. But I could see Aaron in her slim build, her long arms and legs, her elegant fingers, her aristocratic features. When she reached us, she planted her lips on Evie’s cheek and blew, eliciting a fart sound that never failed to make Evie giggle. A morning ritual.
Aaron gave Olive a goodbye hug. Then he held her shoulders and bent to look her in the eye. “Listen, sweetheart, we’ve had another incident with Madison.”
Olive appeared worried. “What do you mean, an incident?”
“She confronted Kira this morning.” He glanced at me. Confronted was perhaps too strong a word for what had transpired, but I didn’t clarify. “You do understand things have changed, right?” he asked Olive. “You need to keep your distance from Madison right now. No phoning, no texts. And we really don’t want you passing on any information about our home life to her, like where Kira runs in the morning.”
“I don’t,” she said.
“Have you blocked Madison on your phone like I asked?” Aaron asked her.
Olive nodded, her eyes sliding to either side of Aaron’s feet. “Yeah.”
“So you’re not talking to her. No messaging online either?”
“No. But I don’t see why I can’t—”
When Aaron’s face clouded, she fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie. She was a kid with many nervous tics—bouncing knees, a tendency to rashes and hives—and she was forever playing with fidget spinners even though the fad had long passed. Understandable, given how Madison had attempted to alienate her from her father. The last few months must have been so confusing for her. But we simply had to keep her away from her stepmother for the moment.
“I mean it, honey,” Aaron said. “I don’t want you contacting Madison, not right now.”
“We’re only trying to keep you safe,” I said, doing my bit to support Aaron.
“Maybe you can go back to seeing her again when things have settled.” When Madison had settled, he meant. When she got some counseling and wasn’t trying to poison Olive’s relationship with her father.
“Whatever,” Olive said.
He rustled her hair and smiled. “Okay, go back to bed if you want,” he said. Then, as she ran up the stairs, he added, “You listen to Kira while I’m gone.”
Olive grunted—Like that’s going to happen—but didn’t look back.
Aaron took Evie from me and rubbed noses with her. “I know you’ll be good for mommy, won’t you, sweetheart?” In return, Evie gurgled and patted his face.
After cradling her close to his chest for a last hug, he put Evie on the floor. Then he kissed me, one of his deep, involved, open-mouthed kisses, and for an instant I lost myself. I fell in love with Aaron all over again when he kissed me like that, and I fell again now. He knew it too and used those kisses purposefully, to smooth things over. Jerk. I loved him for it.
But then, too soon, he s
tepped back and picked up his luggage and, after turning back once to offer me a last smile, he left the house.
I picked Evie up and put her back to breast on the couch, then, after checking that Aaron had driven away in his BMW, pulled out my phone. Something’s come up, I texted Nathan with one thumb. Can’t make it up today after all.
I didn’t expect an immediate answer, not if Nathan was back at home, as I assumed he would be on this Canada Day holiday. There was no cell service in the beachside village where he lived. Nathan picked up his texts when in town or at job sites within cell tower range. But he surprised me by messaging right back. He must have been waiting for my reply to his earlier text, perhaps at the sweet spot near the crossroads outside the village.
Are you coming later in the week, then? he texted. I took several days off.
Doesn’t look like it.
Can I call? Nathan texted. I miss you.
I hesitated before responding. I’ll phone your landline later. When I was sure Olive wasn’t listening in. Miss you too.
I dropped my phone on the couch. Shit. The delay in getting to Manitoulin was killing me. Why had I allowed this situation to drag out? It wasn’t fair to Nathan, and if Aaron found out about him, the new life I’d built for Evie and me would implode.
I hadn’t sold the family cottage after my mother’s death, as I had her house. I told Aaron the cottage would get a higher price if I put it on the market in the summer, when the tourists were there, but in reality I wasn’t yet ready to give it up. It had been my second home for most of my life, and Nathan and Teresa were family, there for me in a way my mother never had been. I struggled to let go. While I had tried to end my physical relationship with Nathan several times since I found out I was pregnant with Evie, we continued to fall into old habits during my trips up to Manitoulin, which had become less and less frequent.
But circumstances had changed this past week. Aaron had asked me to marry him, and it was time to finally move on. I had to get up to the island and deal with things there as soon as I could. There were just too many loose ends, ties I needed to cut—with Nathan, Teresa—before everything completely unraveled on me.
4
My phone buzzed as Evie munched a chopped banana from her high-chair tray and I tidied up the kitchen. Aaron, I hoped, texting a last I love you! as he often did before he put his phone on airplane mode. But it was Madison again. When I declined the call, she sent four texts, rapid fire:
I saw Aaron leave.
He must be on the plane by now.
So she had waited to contact me again until she knew he couldn’t return.
I need to talk to Olive, alone, face to face.
He doesn’t have to know.
Of course he had to know. Did she really believe I wouldn’t tell him about her texts? I looked out the huge front window from my perch at the kitchen island, all at once feeling exposed. She was watching the house, and from the street she could see all the way into the kitchen. There was no place to hide. And how the hell did she know about Aaron’s flight?
I checked to make sure the doors were locked, even though I’d already done that after Aaron left, then scooped up Evie from her high chair. “Want to help Mommy do laundry?” I asked her, trying to keep my tone light, but I thought I could feel Madison’s eyes on me as I climbed the stairs.
I stopped to knock on Olive’s door. “Olive?” I adjusted Evie on my hip. “Have you been in contact with Madison this morning? Did you let her know about your dad’s flight?” But why would she do that, given her father’s warnings?
When she didn’t answer, I pushed the door open a crack to check on her. She wasn’t in her bed, but her bathroom door was closed, and I could hear the shower running. I would have to wait to get answers from her.
But, my god, her room! Clothes and junk-food wrappers were strewn across the floor. I knew Aaron wouldn’t get on her case for it, as much as it would bother him, because he now avoided conflict with her at nearly any cost. I put Evie on the floor, grabbed Olive’s laundry basket and started collecting her dirty clothes. Evie copied me—monkey see, monkey do—picking up and dropping not only clothes, but a hairbrush, a lipstick and a sanitary napkin still in its pack. I took the pad from her and she merrily carried on, grabbing everything in front of her and dropping it back to the floor.
Then she pulled herself to standing at Olive’s bed and I saw her reach for something shiny under Olive’s pillow. “No, honey,” I said, and she dropped a pair of kitchen scissors to the floor. I picked them up. They were my kitchen scissors. Why had Olive stashed scissors under her pillow? I immediately thought of my own nights spent at my father’s hunt camp with a hunting knife hidden under my pillow. You’ve got to protect yourself, my mother had warned me before each visit with my father. You don’t know what he’ll do to you. Imagine what he’d do to me if he had the chance. My mother told me over and over I should fear him, until I came to believe it, until I became afraid of my father, as Olive had. Any moment of anger or bit of discipline that my father directed at me became proof, in my mind, of the danger.
Did Olive keep these scissors under her pillow because of what Madison had told her about Aaron? Was she still afraid of him? I would have to let Aaron know.
Or was I reading my own experience into it? Olive’s room was always a mess. She was likely just working on some art project and that’s where the scissors landed. I’d found all kinds of things in her bed when I’d changed the sheets. Junk-food wrappers, pop cans, plates, books, the drone controller she thought she’d lost, jammed between the bed and the wall. Her runners were sticking out from between her sheets now, where she’d kicked them off the night before. Olive had not inherited her father’s fastidiousness, but she wasn’t without her obsessive quirks. All her stuffies were lined up in a neat row far under her bed, against the wall, hidden. I only discovered them when Evie, crawling in Olive’s room, spied them and started pulling them out.
I heard a knock on the front door downstairs and placed the scissors on Olive’s desk, leaving my hand on them a moment as my heart started pounding in my chest. Madison. I had to get rid of her before Olive got out of the shower.
“Come on, Evie,” I said, picking up both her and the laundry basket. “There’s someone at the door.”
I left the laundry basket in the laundry room (until I moved into this house, it never occurred to me that a laundry room could be on the second floor, or that a teen could have her own bathroom) and carried Evie downstairs. There was another knock on the door, louder this time.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, Madison peered at me through the window at the side of the door. Her blond hair was carefully arranged in a chignon, and now that I was up close, I saw that her suit was Millennial pink. She’d managed to find stiletto heels in the same tint and carried a matching pink bag. Items bought on Aaron’s card before their separation, I imagined. She couldn’t afford any of that on a preschool teacher’s salary.
“Kira?” she asked, her voice muffled through the glass. “Please let me in.”
When I hid behind the door, uncertain what to do, she knocked again.
“Is Olive all right? Is she here? She texted about Aaron’s trip and then I didn’t hear anything more from her. Aaron didn’t take her with him, did he?”
So Olive was still in contact with Madison, and lying to Aaron about it. The little shit.
“Olive is okay,” I said through the door, hoping that would make her go away. “She’s here. She’s fine.”
“Kira, please. I just need a few minutes with her, alone.”
To convince Olive that Aaron was dangerous, I was sure, that she should choose to live with Madison instead. That wasn’t going to happen.
I checked the door a third time to be certain it was locked.
Madison paused, thinking I was opening it. When I didn’t, she shouted at me, “Kira, open this goddamned door!”
“You need to leave,” I said. I was trying for a firm tone,
but my voice shook. Evie slapped the door with one hand, as if trying to knock.
“Look,” Madison said through the glass. “I didn’t come until I was sure Aaron was on his flight. He doesn’t need to know I was here, or that I talked to Olive. Please. I promise I won’t tell him.”
Say what?
“I’ll tell him,” I said.
“Seriously?” Madison pressed her cheek against the window, trying to get a better look at me. In that moment, she looked like some sort of strange tropical fish. “You really have no idea, do you? I thought you of all people would understand, but then I suppose you’re still in the honeymoon stage.”
I edged into the corner, out of her line of sight, and held Evie tighter to my chest. “Please,” I whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear. “Please just go away.”
There was a long pause during which I thought she might have done just that, walked away. I peeked out the window and then jumped back as her heavily made-up face appeared inches from mine on the other side of the glass. Evie also startled. This close, I could see that the makeup on Madison’s face covered the haggard look of someone who was depressed or hadn’t slept well in weeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
“Kira, let me in. You need to hear what I have to say as much as Olive does, for your own sake, and Evie’s too.”
Hear what? I wondered. But then I gave my head a shake. I had to stop engaging with this woman. I shouldn’t have talked to her in the first place. I should have stayed upstairs, pretended I wasn’t home.
Madison waited a moment, hoping, I supposed, that she’d piqued my curiosity, then, getting no response, yelled, “Open the fucking door!” She rapped on the window this time, hard enough that it vibrated, and Evie pointed a finger in her direction, babbling as if trying to tell me something. “You can’t keep shutting me out!” Madison cried. Her preschool teacher’s voice was high-pitched and singsong even when she was pissed, and she was pissed. It somehow made her seem that much more menacing. “You can’t stop me from seeing my daughter!”
The Almost Wife Page 3