I tangled a piece of hair around my finger, pulling hard as I did. I couldn’t bear to look Nathan in the eye and tell him the truth, but I couldn’t bear to lie anymore. “I don’t want kids,” I blurted out. “I’ve been taking precautions.”
At that moment, I saw all the love drain from Nathan’s eyes. I don’t think he ever looked at me the same way again, although he was an honorable and loyal man and would have stayed with me in spite of my deceit. “You might have mentioned that fact to me before we got married.”
“You might have asked,” I said.
“One assumes when one gets married.” He looked out the window at our million-dollar view. Rolling hills, the color of caramel, dotted with dark-green oaks. Splashes of wild mustard still lingering, refusing to give up the ghost until summer. “I didn’t realize we had to have that talk. I just assumed . . . silly me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you. But I wasn’t sure until you said it was time to have kids. Then I was sure.”
“Grace.” He turned to face me, his eyes rimmed with red. “I’ve tried every way I know to love you and make you love me. I’ve tried everything I could to make you happy. But it’s never going to happen with us, is it?”
I didn’t have to answer. We both knew we were done.
My separation was two weeks old, but it felt both older and newer. It seemed as though he’d been in my life forever, but then it seemed like he was never really there. My new apartment was small but felt safe. The close walls gave me less space to think. There were only two rooms I could travel to and from, unlike the house I shared with Nathan where I sometimes wandered from room to room looking for a misplaced object. Or a misplaced thought.
I pulled the blinds and the street opened beneath me. Cars and people going about their normal business completely oblivious of me and my life. The small market just across the street that sold overpriced essentials. Although my address was Nob Hill, the building was decrepit, and it seemed that even the most minor earthquake would bring everything down on top of me. The building was old, more than a hundred years. And yet, it had been through many earthquakes and still stood. What is or isn’t resilient is sometimes surprising. I smoothed the sheets on my bed and shook out the light silk comforter dotted with bright yellow flowers. A quick snap before I released it to float down into place. I bought it for the pattern, the yellow flowers reminding me of a more innocent and hopeful time.
In such a small space, the scent of richly brewed coffee permeated every corner. I sat on the overstuffed sofa, which occupied every inch of square footage unclaimed by the coffee table, dresser, and bed. Day or night, the ancient radiator chugged out heat, requiring me to leave my window perpetually ajar. It was a typical San Francisco summer’s day. Cool. Foggy. Nostalgic, as though somehow ghosts live more openly in this Land’s End city.
With the mug of hot coffee in one hand, I perused the schedule of the conference I’d be attending in an hour: The Crisis of Healthcare in our Inner City Localities. The HMO that employed me required a representative, and with my background of nursing combined with public health, I was viewed as the natural attendee.
My gaze slid down the page, my pen poised to circle the various seminars I planned on attending that day—the ones I’d previously chosen from the website. But there was an addition not listed on the website, an early-morning option: Silicon Valley Partners in Health. The speaker, Timothy LeClerc, founder and CEO of CyberSmart, the most widely used security software in the world. Of course, I knew all about Tim and his massive success over the years. He inhabited the rare stratosphere of internet billionaires, which didn’t surprise me. However, I hadn’t realized he’d be speaking at this conference, as his presence hadn’t been advertised and was only known through the materials distributed to actual paying attendees. It only took me a few seconds to decide. I’d have to hurry to make it in time.
Tim LeClerc, so inextricably linked to the path my life had taken. If it hadn’t been for the way he had tricked me into giving the talk on herpes alone, I would have felt sympathy rather than revulsion when his shame was revealed outside the boys’ locker room. If I hadn’t felt that revulsion, I wouldn’t have been quite as susceptible to Carly’s unspoken promise of social and emotional protection. If I hadn’t told Carly about Tim’s ruse, she wouldn’t have had an alternate excuse to go after him—one that didn’t so clearly expose her own petty jealousies toward him. If it hadn’t been for Carly’s retribution, Jane would never have confronted Maggie, warned me away from the Kitty Committee, dismissed Carly with the hateful word you so disdainfully spat out, and then left us with a threat hanging over all our heads. If it hadn’t been for the threat, we wouldn’t have surprised Jane on that rainy evening. She would still be alive, undoubtedly a positive force in the world. I circled the seminar on my brochure along with the others I’d be attending that day.
I wasn’t the same girl, in appearance, as the one who made her public speaking debut in health class at the age of thirteen, so why did I expect Tim would remain unchanged? He wasn’t. To say he was handsome would be far too generous, but he’d finally grown into his natural self-confident arrogance—become worthy of it. One expected this from internet billionaires, after all. He was still tall but probably no taller than high school, so the rest of us had caught up a little. His acne was gone, his hair was appropriately cut and styled, his clothes were expensive and flattering. He spoke succinctly, knowledgeably, without inhibition or reticence. Aging had been kind to him, so he was Timothy, but he wasn’t Tim. I listened to his talk, didn’t ask any questions, and kept to the back shadows of the conference room. I saw what I came to see, and it did nothing to put my life into perspective or move my past out of my future. I felt slightly ashamed and disappointed that I’d missed a more relevant talk that would have been more worthwhile for my employer and myself.
In the foyer, I paused for a breakfast roll and a second cup of coffee. It normally took me three or four cups to make it through the day and I wasn’t yet halfway there. I was reaching for the cream when I felt a hand come from behind and grasp my elbow.
“Well, if it isn’t Grace Templeton,” Tim said when I turned around. “How many years has it been?”
Our conversation bled over into the next time slot, and I couldn’t help but be aware of the envious stares of other attendees standing at respectful distances, most likely wondering if it was permissible to approach the famous Timothy LeClerc once he was done speaking to me. After about ten minutes, Tim’s young assistant moved to his side. “Sir,” he said quietly. “We should be going. Your flight’s scheduled to leave in less than an hour.”
“This is Miss Grace Templeton,” Tim said, eyeing my ring finger. “Who once accused me of nefariously setting her up to do my dirty work.” He smirked. “Who has seen me at my lowest . . . and now at my highest. I ask you, Simon,” he turned to his young assistant. “Which would you consider the priority? Lunch with Miss Templeton,” he flashed a smile at me that I’d once seen him direct at Jane, “or make the flight that’s scheduled to leave in less than an hour?”
Clearly this was a show put on for my benefit, and Simon understood his role. “Lunch with Miss Templeton?” he said with only a hint of a question at the end.
“Will you, Grace Templeton? Honor me with your company at lunch?”
It was one of those moments where fate takes you by the hand and shows you the way.
Arrangements were made to pick me up in his limo.
Tim brought a lightness into my life that had been sorely lacking for more than twenty years. He never probed, the way Nathan did. Tim didn’t need to know who the real Grace Templeton was and what made her tick. He just wanted to keep things fun, and fun was everywhere to be had—a weekend away on his private jet at his private island in the Caribbean. A week at Lake Lugano in Switzerland. A sailboat cruise through the lesser-known Greek isles. He showered me with gifts until I asked him
to stop.
“I’m not about gifts,” I told him. “And if you want to spend time with me, you should at least know that.”
But I wasn’t above accepting the free travel and meals in restaurants where regular people had to make reservations a year in advance. Not Tim—a phone call from Simon, and Tim could be anywhere he wanted to be. Anywhere I wanted to be.
If I was completely honest with myself, which I often was, my desire to be with Tim went beyond a sudden and unexpected attraction to him. I had ulterior motives that didn’t exactly make me proud, but which I couldn’t resist. Being with Tim allowed me to unspool my life—go back to the time where I could be nice to Tim LeClerc instead of feeding him to the wolves. In addition, Tim was the founder and CEO of the world’s largest internet security company. Didn’t that give him resources others might not have? Couldn’t he discover the identity of the person sending us the emails each spring? But I had to be sure of where I stood with him before I got to that point. And I wasn’t confident I could ever be that sure.
Maggie came to see me in early December, sleeping on my sofa in the little apartment. It almost felt like we were girls again, staying up late watching movies and eating popcorn. Long walks in the rain around Golden Gate Park. Ordering in pizza. Catching up on gossip, mostly about Carly, who kept in regular touch with Maggie but only spoke briefly with me once a year. Carly was the first female manager of the most prestigious hedge fund in New York City. She had a lavish lifestyle, although it was nothing compared to Tim. She’d gone through a series of men but never settled on any one in particular. In that way, we were all alike. All of us losers in love. Maggie looked gaunt, and I worried about a recurrence of the eating disorder, but she said she was over that. She’d been okay for more than five years. But she was tired, she admitted. Tired of her life. Tired of Indian Springs. Tired of her parents watching over her like she was a child when she was almost forty.
“Can you believe how old we are, Grace?” she said. “I mean, we’re seriously old.”
“We’re still young enough to eat stale pizza for breakfast,” I joked before turning serious. “I’ve got something to tell you that I’ve been waiting to tell you in person because it’s a hard thing to say.”
“What?” Her eyes grew wide. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “I mean, as fine as I can be.” I took a deep breath. “I’m dating Tim LeClerc,” I blurted out. “But don’t tell Carly. I don’t want her to know.”
“Oh my God, how does that happen in this universe?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Tim LeClerc, no way! He’s like famous . . . famous for something, right? Famously rich.”
“He is that,” I said. “And as to how it happened, it was just one of those flukes. I ran into him at a conference, and we clicked. Who would’ve thought?”
“It’s like that fantasy where you get to go back and relive your high-school years with everything you’ve learned as an adult,” Maggie said. “You’re living that fantasy. So tell me everything. What’s he like? Most importantly, what’s he like in bed?” She laughed, and I remembered the effect it always had on me—hearing Maggie laugh.
And we talked about Tim like two giggling high-school girls. I filled her in without revealing my ulterior motives that weren’t the only reason, but they couldn’t be denied. Someday I’d be able to tell her. And someday, hopefully, I’d be able to trust Tim.
“Don’t tell Carly,” I reminded her. “I just . . . don’t want her to know.”
Maggie nodded soberly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your secret’s safe with me. But Grace—don’t tell Tim what I did to him. Please never ever let him know the truth about that.”
“Look at us,” I said. “All our secrets. We’re pathetic, aren’t we?”
“I mean it, Grace. Don’t ever let him know. I’m so ashamed.”
“I am too,” I said. “Ashamed.”
“But you never did anything to be ashamed of.”
“Kerry,” I said.
“What about Kerry? I mean, you just talked to her, that’s no big deal.”
“Are you serious?” I assumed Maggie knew all about what I’d done to Kerry, although I’d chosen to keep it to myself, pursuant to Carly’s rules. Maggie had chosen to keep what she’d done to Tim to herself, and yet I’d found out everything. But it was Jane who had brought that on—maybe I’d never have otherwise known. “I did more than just talk to her. I—Carly took a necklace from the store where Kerry worked. She dropped it in my purse, and I shoplifted it. Then I mailed it back to the store with an anonymous note making it seem like Kerry had stolen it.”
Maggie’s feet were propped against the coffee table. Her toenails were painted a dusty rose. She looked down at the bare skin of her knees bulging through her tight ripped jeans and shook her head. “Wow,” she said. “She really is a first-class bitch, isn’t she?”
“Who?” I’d never heard Maggie say anything like that about Carly so, for a second, I thought she was referring to Kerry.
“Carly,” she said, looking up at me. “She can really be an evil bitch.”
I felt a breakthrough coming. First Tim. Now Maggie. Maybe things really could be different. Maybe it was possible to revisit high school with the knowledge I’d gained as an adult. Right my wrongs.
“But you have to know she did it because she loved us, Grace,” Maggie said. “You really have to believe that.”
It was a rare free Saturday when Tim joined me at my apartment for a home-cooked brunch. It was already February, and the weather was unusually warm. Simon kept the limo ready around the corner in the usual loading zone where he’d sometimes spend hours waiting to be summoned by Tim when he was visiting. I rarely spent time at Tim’s mansion in Woodside. It was too far out of my comfort zone.
My spirits were high that day. Work was going well, and I’d just been promoted. I’d recently spent a week in Sacramento where Mom was visiting Luke. She’d brought Dad’s ashes with her, exacting a promise from Luke to keep them until she was gone, at which point he was to comingle their ashes before scattering them at sea. The annual email hadn’t arrived unless I had somehow missed it, which I doubted. I was hoping this year might be different. This might be the year that Carly always predicted, when the sender either tired of the emails or believed we’d suffered enough.
“Guess what time it is.” Tim said.
I picked up my cell phone then laid it down. “12:38,” I said.
“That too.” Tim chuckled. “But what I meant was it’s daffodil time in Indian Springs.”
I knew that. I’d seen daffodils in the local flower shops—those bright harbingers of spring that always stirred warring emotions within me.
“Let’s go see them,” he said. “We’ll clean up here, then I’ll have Simon come get us. We could be there by two thirty, stop by and see my parents. Maybe an early dinner and then head home. What d’ya say?”
I was stunned by the suggestion. I’d never met his parents and wondered if this was a precursor to a formal commitment. I hadn’t been back to Indian Springs since the day I had left to start college. After all those years, decades now, how would it feel? And if I ever wanted to move forward, wasn’t this something I’d eventually have to do, and wouldn’t it be easier with Tim by my side? I thought of the gorgeous daffodils, miniature suns against the clear blue sky of the day that would most certainly be even brighter and bluer in Indian Springs.
“That sounds nice,” I said. “Bring the dishes in the kitchen. I’ll wash.”
“You cooked. I wash,” he said, brushing his lips across the top of my head. I followed him into the kitchen, carrying stacks of dirty dishes. I took a seat at the tiny kitchen table, happy but nervous.
“How long’s it been for you?” he asked, his long, bony arms flailing from side-to-side as he rinsed, scrubbed, and then rinsed again. “Since you’ve been home
. . . or I guess not technically home for you.”
“Ages,” I said to his back. “My parents left the same time that I left for college. So there was never any reason to go back.”
“Not even to see Maggie?” he asked.
“Maggie always comes here.”
“Or Carly?”
My happiness took a detour at the mention of Carly’s name, but still Tim faced away from me, not pausing from his dishwashing duties, so he couldn’t read the distress in my eyes. I tried my best to disguise any sign of it in my voice.
“I don’t really see Carly anymore,” I said. “I’ve barely seen her in the last ten years. Maybe once or twice with Maggie. Briefly.”
“That must have been a hard time for you,” he said. “Losing your friend like that. Such a tragedy.”
I knew he was no longer talking about Carly. “Jane?” I asked.
“Yeah, Jane. Must have been hard on you.”
“It was . . . beyond hard,” I said, clutching the salt shaker so tightly my fingernails still managed to find the opposing flesh of my palm. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
I could see the muscles tense through the thin material of his expensive t-shirt. “Of course I liked her. She was a likeable girl.”
“No, I mean you liked liked her.”
The water in the kitchen sink ran uselessly down the drain, but it didn’t seem the right moment to lecture Tim about California’s drought and the need to conserve.
“Me and every other guy in school.”
My insides clutched, and I didn’t know which felt worse. My jealousy, or the fact that the object of my jealousy was a girl whom I’d killed.
“Every guy was in love with her?” I asked. I knew the answer—why wouldn’t they be? I just had the perverse desire to hear Tim say it.
He picked up the bottle of dishwashing soap and squirted a dab onto the sponge. “Let’s just say that Jane was the girl every guy wanted, but they thought she was too good for them. Carly was the girl every guy wanted, but they thought she thought she was too good for them. And Maggie was the girl every guy wanted and figured they had a reasonable chance of getting.”
The Kitty Committee Page 25