“But a major snowstorm this late in April . . . nobody expects that.”
Jamie shuffled down the stairs. “Hey, you’re home.”
“And very glad of it,” Marta said and laughed. So far, so good. This was a scenario that had played out countless times before. Maybe she could handle this homecoming thing, after all.
But when she entered the kitchen and saw a large, airborne bouquet of colorful balloons she knew it wouldn’t be easy.
In the center of the table sat a sparkling glass vase filled with red carnations. Not flowers she was particularly fond of and not a color she liked, but flowers all the same.
“Happy birthday,” Gordon said jauntily. “I got a cake, too.”
“Yeah, happy birthday, Mom. Even if it is a day late. I’m sorry I forgot yesterday.”
Guilt rolled over Marta, sucking the air from her lungs. What would they think if they knew what she’d done?
Jamie handed her a birthday card. It was homemade, with glitter and sparkles, and the message was carefully penned in assorted bright colors.
Happy Birthday to the best mother I have (or could ever have).
Marta felt her eyes grow moist. “This is wonderful. Thank you so much.”
She was sure God was toying with her.
*****
Later in the evening, as they were getting ready for bed, Gordon circled an arm around her. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said.
“I’m glad too.”
“I’m sorry your presentation didn’t go well.”
“It couldn’t have gone much worse.”
“You hardly had any time to prepare,” he reminded her. He rubbed her back, tracing a circle between her shoulder blades.
“It wasn’t that. I’m just no good at speaking in front of a group. And I hate it.” To Marta’s surprise, her voice choked with emotion and she felt her throat grow tight. She was an emotional time bomb, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t the presentation that had her on edge.
“Speaking of large groups, I may be giving my paper on the economics of American Colonialism at the History and Humanity conference this summer. I just got word yesterday.” He was beaming.
“That’s wonderful.” It had been a long time since Marta had seen him this animated. She gave him a celebratory kiss. “Congratulations.”
“The paper needs revising and I’ll have to work up a talk around it, but it’s a great opportunity.”
Marta was relieved to move the focus of their conversation away from her trip. The less said about her time in Minneapolis, the better. And she was truly happy for Gordon. The loss of his job and the precipitating sexual harassment talk had been a huge blow to his self-esteem.
A female undergraduate had accused Gordon of making lewd and suggestive remarks about her appearance and, on two occasions, touching her breasts. Gordon adamantly denied it, countering that she’d propositioned him in an effort to raise her grade from a C to an A.
The university had procedures for handling this sort of thing, and probably nothing more would have come of it if the girl’s father had not been an alumnus and major donor to the school. When a second woman came forward with a similar story, the department took the easy way out and declined to renew his appointment. The fact that the two accusing women were close friends didn’t sway them.
Marta had doubted her husband only for the briefest of moments. Gordon might well have said something the woman found insulting, if only because he was so socially clueless, but she couldn’t imagine him being forward enough to touch her, even if he’d wanted to. Her belief in him hadn’t been enough, however, to keep him from feeling like a failure.
He’d hoped to move to a more prestigious college than Howell. But after an exhaustive and disappointing job search, he claimed to be relieved to be at a school where he could concentrate on teaching without as much pressure to publish. After the vote last fall to put his tenure on hold, however, he’d become increasingly withdrawn.
“It’s not only a great opportunity,” she said, “it’s a real feather in your cap. I’m proud of you.”
Gordon climbed under the covers and patted Marta’s side of the bed. “It was lonely without you here,” he said.
Marta froze.
Gordon was a kind and caring husband. And while he might have annoying idiosyncrasies, she was sure she loved him.
But she wasn’t in the mood for sex.
“I’m tired,” she said, slipping between the sheets with her back toward her husband. “I really just want to sleep.”
He kissed her neck. “You sure I can’t change your mind?”
“Not tonight. I’m sorry.”
She would have liked to snuggle closer for warmth and comfort, but it wasn’t fair to send a mixed message, which was how Gordon would see it. She hoped he might sense her need, but he didn’t. He sighed and turned his back on her.
“See you in the morning,” he said.
Marta wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been in bed with a man who wasn’t her husband. A man she barely knew. She was disgusted with herself, and at the same time, her skin tingled at the memory. She wondered what might have happened if she hadn’t been married, or if she was the type of woman for whom marriage made no difference. She let her mind drift for awhile, following a fantasy of romance and adventure with Todd, a dream-vision of soul-mate fulfillment.
Gordon’s snores reached a fevered pitch. Marta turned onto her back and poked him lightly in the ribs. The snores subsided.
There had been a time when Marta fantasized about Gordon, too.
They’d met when he was a graduate student and she a mere sophomore. He had substituted one day for the regular T.A. who led her discussion group, and Marta was immediately smitten. The vision of his lean body, his quirky smile, the lock of unruly hair that fell over his dark eyes was seared into her brain. He was all she could think about. When she ran into him in the library several weeks later and he actually remembered her, she had already conducted such a torrid romance with him in her mind that she was tongue-tied. Even after they’d been dating long enough to be considered “in a relationship,” the sight of Gordon striding across campus in her direction sent her heart into orbit.
She couldn’t remember when he’d ceased to fuel her romantic fantasies. She was sure, though, that what had happened in Minneapolis was less about Gordon than about her.
*****
Sunday morning Marta made a family breakfast, something she hadn’t done in months. Thick, hickory-smoked bacon, a mushroom and cheese omelet, and blueberry pancakes. While she was waiting for the coffee to finish dripping, she checked her phone for messages. Nothing more from Todd. She felt oddly let down.
Slipping her phone back into her pocket, Marta finished setting the table, which looked festive with the vase of birthday flowers at the center, even if they were red carnations.
“The flowers make the table look cheerful,” she told Gordon, touched by his effort to celebrate her birthday.
He looked up from the morning paper. “Glad you like them.”
When Jamie bounced downstairs moments later, he set the newspaper aside and filled his plate, as did Jamie. Marta took a small serving of omelet. She wasn’t at all hungry.
“So what did you two do while I was away? Anything exciting?”
Gordon looked up from the comics page, which he’d been pretending to ignore while they ate. “Nothing exciting for me. Jamie went out with a friend Friday night.”
“Really?” It was good to hear that Jamie’s social circle was larger than just Alyssa. Marta turned to her daughter. “Who’d you go with?”
“Harmony Shaw.” Jamie’s voice was so soft Marta could barely hear her.
“That’s nice.” Marta tried to keep her response neutral. “I didn’t know you and Harmony were such good friends.”
“We’re not really. We just went to a movie.”
Harmony was the kind of girl Marta’s mother used
to call fast. The kind of girl who today might be called a skank. That was Marta’s opinion, and not one shared by Jamie.
But today especially, she wasn’t in a position to criticize. “What movie did you see?”
“The new Ryan Gosling movie.”
“How was it?”
Jamie shrugged. “Okay.”
Marta hadn’t seen the movie, but she’d read the reviews, which were all over the map. “What did you think of the ending? Isn’t there some big twist?”
It was Jamie’s hesitation and the flicker of nervousness in her expression that made Marta think there was more to the evening than just the movie. She felt the familiar clench of maternal fear. Jamie was hiding something.
But really, could Jamie have done anything worse than what she herself had done? Marta was in no position to be judgmental.
Chapter 6
Marta was at her desk Monday morning when Carol swept into the tiny offices of C&M Advantage, bearing two takeout cups from The Daily Joe across the street. She set her briefcase on her own desk and handed Marta a steaming grande latte.
“Thank you.” Marta took a sip, then set the cup on her desk before it could burn her fingers. “Boy, do I need this today.”
“Rough morning?”
“Rough couple of days. But more importantly, how are you feeling?”
“Much better. Just guilty about sending you off to Minneapolis at the last minute.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty, but it was a wasted trip.”
Carol rolled her chair closer to Marta’s and popped the lid on her own cup—straight and black. Carol subsisted on little more than black coffee, carrot sticks, and expensive wine. Her husband, Mark, was a wine snob as well as the sort of successful physician who could afford to keep their wine cellar well stocked with quality stuff.
“I could make a follow-up call,” Carol offered. “Show the Solar Century folks we’re seriously interested in their business.”
“They know that.”
“It can’t hurt to remind them.”
“Believe me, it won’t make any difference.” Marta ventured another sip, then licked the foam from her lips.
“You don’t know that for sure. If we want to—”
“The trip was a disaster, so forget it, okay?” Marta’s sharp tone surprised even herself.
Carol arched an eyebrow. “Whoa. What’s the problem?”
“What do you mean?” But Marta knew full well what Carol meant. She wasn’t usually this testy, even in the morning before coffee.
Her friend’s expression softened. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing that Marta wanted to discuss. “My presentation sucked. Period. End of story. We need to forget about the Solar Century account.”
“Okay, if you say so.” Carol conceded the point but she clearly wasn’t convinced. “Is it all right if I contact some of the other companies at the conference?”
Marta heard the sarcasm in Carol’s tone, but the remark was accompanied by the familiar smile. Tall and slender, with the sleek, chin-length hair of a fashion model, Carol had initially struck Marta as standoffish. But her good humor and inviting smile had convinced Marta otherwise.
“Of course you can,” she said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you just now. I guess I’m still a little jet lagged, as well as bummed about the trip.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over the presentation. We both knew it was a long shot. If we’re going to fight our way into the big leagues, there are bound to be setbacks.”
They’d started C&M Advantage a year ago, propelled by a mutual need to sink their teeth into something more meaningful than grocery shopping and errands. Both had recently moved to Sterling because of their husband’s jobs—Mark’s as an anesthesiologist, Gordon’s at Howell College. And both women had left careers they loved. Marta had been a reporter with the Boston Globe; Carol, a public relations specialist at a multinational company in New York.
Their early clients were local, but the list had gradually grown to include regional interests as well. The Solar Century account would have been a golden opportunity to prove themselves on a national level.
“I feel like I’m holding you back,” Marta lamented. “My background is nowhere near as impressive as yours.”
Carol shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t you dare even think about leaving me.”
There was a knock on the partition that separated their office space from what they jokingly referred to as the lobby—the small area that housed the printer, a large work table, and, they hoped someday, an office manager.
A young man in a brown delivery uniform cleared his throat. “Marta Crawford?”
Marta stood. “Yes.”
“Delivery for you, ma’am.” He handed her a vase burgeoning with long-stemmed yellow roses and baby’s breath.
“For me?”
“What gorgeous flowers,” Carol exclaimed.
“There must be a mistake.” Sending flowers was the sort of thing Carol’s husband did on occasion, but not anyone Marta knew.
“Maybe you made a better impression on the Solar Century people than you thought,” Carol observed.
“No way.”
“Gordon then. Friday was your birthday, after all.”
“He already bought me flowers.” Red carnations, which were nowhere near as lovely as the roses.
Marta pulled the card from the envelope with caution. She sensed a joke, or a mistake. She couldn’t decide which would be more humiliating.
She read the card silently.
“Missing you. Todd.”
Carol was squirming impatiently in her chair. “So who are they from?”
“Nobody you know.” Marta closed her fingers around the card. Her heart was beating wildly and she could feel her face turning several shades of pink.
Playfully, Carol reached for the card. She read it and looked up. “Who’s Todd?”
A slide show of memories flooded Marta’s mind. Todd’s aqua blue eyes looking at her intently, his sleep-tousled hair, the electrifying touch of his fingers on her neck. She felt lightheaded and fluttery. “My brother-in-law,” she said without thinking.
“You don’t have a brother-in-law.”
Marta snatched the card away from Carol. “He’s just some guy,” she said impatiently.
“Some guy?”
“Someone I met.” Marta’s pulse was racing. Breathing had become an effort.
“Met when?”
“Really, it’s nothing.”
“Two dozen roses are nothing?”
“It’s not like—”
“Oh my God.” Carol’s eyes widened. “This past weekend? In Minneapolis? Is that where you met him?”
“What does it matter?”
Carol cocked her head. “Who is he?”
Marta wanted her friend to stop with the questions. She didn’t want to make what happened any more real than it was already by talking about it.
“Nobody important,” she said.
“But he sent you flowers.”
Marta nodded numbly. The flowers, the note, the renewed shock of what she’d done—raw emotion overtook her. She covered her face with her hands. “It’s nothing. Forget it, okay.”
Carol touched Marta’s wrist. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
Tears spilled from Marta’s eyes and she wiped them with the back of her hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“I did something really stupid.”
“You? You’re the last person in the world to do anything stupid.”
“Not true. Besides, this was really, really stupid.”
“What did you do?”
Marta didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want anyone knowing what a fool she’d been. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“We’ve all done embarrassing things, Marta. Are you sure you’re not getting yourself worked up over nothing?”
Marta bit her lip. The genie was half ou
t of the bottle already and Carol was her best friend. “Remember when I was drinking the Pink Moose?”
“Yeah, it was your birthday.”
“I let myself get picked up.” Marta reached for a tissue and blew her nose.
“By this Todd guy?”
Marta nodded.
“So you had a drink, big deal.”
“Several drinks.”
“Okay, several drinks. What did you do? Dance on the tables? Strip naked? Throw up on him?”
“Not that I remember.”
“You aren’t the first woman to get drunk and make a fool of yourself in public.”
Marta looked at the floor and tried, unsuccessfully, to choke back tears.
Carol stared at her, then seemed to suddenly understand. Her eyes opened wider. “Picked up,” she repeated, “as in hook-up?”
Marta nodded silently.
“You actually slept with him?” Carol’s tone was more disbelief than disapproval. “What were you thinking?”
“Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”
“He wasn’t one of our potential clients, was he?”
“God, no.” At least Marta hoped not. Although, come to think of it, Todd had looked somewhat familiar. Could he have been in the room during her disastrous presentation?
“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Carol offered.
“I don’t know what got into me. I was just feeling so down. Upset about the Solar Century presentation, worried about Jamie, miffed at Gordon. It was my birthday and he didn’t even call.”
Spoken aloud, Marta’s excuses sounded hollow. Since she couldn’t understand herself why she’d done it, she couldn’t really expect anyone else to understand.
“It is rather out of character,” Carol admitted. “Were you really drunk? Did he slip you a roofie or whatever they’re called?”
Date rape would let her off the hook morally, but it wasn’t the truth. Marta blew her nose. “I’d been drinking but I wasn’t drunk. There’s no excuse for what I did.”
“Do you want to see him again?”
Marta shook her head vehemently. “No.”
“He was that bad?”
She shook her head again. “Actually, what I said about not wanting to see him isn’t exactly true. Even though I feel terrible about what happened, guilty and ashamed and filled with self-loathing, there’s a part of me that still savors the experience. How awful is that?”
Payback Page 3