by Nesly Clerge
“It’s not right to judge people before you even get to know them. It’s not fair.”
“Maybe Mark is okay, but there’s a fact you have to keep in mind, one I have to keep in mind on your behalf: Boys that age—hell, any age—have one thing on their mind. You know what I mean, right?” Kimberlie shrugged again. “They’ll tell you they love you or whatever they think you want to hear, or what they hope will work, just to get what they want. And once they get it, they move on to the next target.”
She mumbled something that sounded like, You should know. His face grew hot; he wondered how much she knew. Kimberlie’s eyes were cast downward as she pushed the sugary circles into the milk and watched them bob back to the surface. He wasn’t about to put a foot onto that topic’s path, not if he could help it.
Kimberlie scooped cereal into the spoon. “I don’t want to talk to you about—you know. Besides, Mom talked to me about it. I’ve decided to wait till I get married. So, would you just chill, already?”
He sprinted around the counter and hugged her. “That’s my girl. Take time to get to know the man you want to spend your life with. You deserve a man who respects you. Adores you. Because you are adorable, you know.” He ruffled her hair.
She shifted away. “Da-ad.”
“I’m curious about why you thought Mark was someone right to go out with.”
“He’s real popular. He’s also the best basketball player at school. Coach said maybe even good enough for a scholarship to a good college before going pro. Last year he was voted most likely to succeed. All the girls want to be with him, but he chose me.”
“Maybe I did misjudge him. But if he has that many girls after him, how long do you think he’ll put up with a virgin? You are still a virgin, aren’t you?”
“Eww, Dad.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I just said so.” She tilted the spoon slightly and watched the milk drizzle into the bowl. “You’re so old-school. You probably won’t let me date till I’m forty.”
“I’d like to protect you as long as I can, but it’ll be sooner than that. It’s just that I don’t want you to do anything, or for some boy to convince you to do something that’ll prevent you from getting your degree. A rewarding, lucrative career is what I want for you. You want to be self-reliant and not have to depend on a man.”
“Mom depends on you.”
“We explained why we agreed your mom would stay home. But your mom, if she had to, can provide for herself.”
“It’s just that you treat me like a child. Mom doesn’t.”
He shook his head. “It’s not easy for a father to do otherwise. There’s nothing easy about watching your little girl turn into a young woman. I’ll strive to do better, I promise. But don’t expect me to stop trying to do the best for you and to protect you. Can we agree on that?”
One shoulder went up then down. “I guess.” Kimberlie dropped her spoon into the cereal. “It’s gone soggy.” She slid off the stool and did a slide-walk on sock-covered feet until she reached the staircase, taking two steps at a time to the second floor.
Garrett shivered at the sight. When had Kimberlie grown breasts? Terror struck, and he wanted to lock her in the proverbial tower until it was safe to let her out. Until every young man interested in her had been properly vetted, not that any of them would ever be good enough for her.
His daughter was in that precarious between-place with part of her still a kid and another part straining to grow up too fast. A fact of life was that her body wasn’t waiting for his permission.
He ate her sodden cereal and wondered if the days were truly over when his daughter hollered for her daddy whenever she got hurt or some possession of hers broke. He’d been too otherwise occupied to notice when it was that she’d outgrown sitting in his lap or cuddling while they watched a movie at home. Nor could he recall the last time they’d done that or anything else together.
The reality of his lack of presence in her life struck him in his chest. If only he could slow time, slow her maturation process. But, Kimberlie would fight such an effort. The last thing he wanted to do was be so strict that he caused her to retaliate, doing everything he said she couldn’t and shouldn’t.
The thought that followed wrenched him: what if she married a man just like him?
He emptied the rest of the cereal into the garbage disposal, ran the water and flipped the switch. As the grating sound filled the space, he admitted the truth:
You’re a damn hypocrite.
CHAPTER 19
The next morning, Chelsea sat on her side of the bed, with her cell phone pressed hard against her left ear. She frowned at the nails on her right hand. One day she’d stop picking at her cuticles, whenever she could get rid of her frustration. That day would probably be the same one as when she wore a size six again. Her manicurist would fuss, but it couldn’t be helped.
Janice Johnson answered after the third ring. “Good morning, my darling. I was going to call in a few minutes and wish you a happy birthday. You beat me to it.”
“Hi, Mom. Thanks.”
“You don’t sound as enthusiastic as I would have expected on your big day. Is everything okay?”
“I think Garrett is cheating again.”
“Maybe you’re just imagining it. It’s understandable that you still feel insecure, but—“
“It’s more than that. The Bentley I’ve been saying I wanted? Garrett gave it to me for my birthday.”
“How fabulous! It is fabulous, isn’t it?”
“Not if he’s following his pattern of guilt, like before.”
“This is personal—and you can tell me to mind my business—but how are things in the bedroom?”
“Nonexistent. For a long time. I tried to initiate for a while, but Garrett always said he was too tired from working so many hours. I finally stopped trying.”
“My mother told me a marriage is as good as what happens in bed. She was right, of course. Although, she did also say if a man isn’t having sex with his wife, it’s likely he’s getting it elsewhere.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel worse, you’re succeeding.”
“I didn’t mean to say that last part aloud.”
“Too late.”
“What about going back to counseling? Both of you, that is.”
“The only reason Garrett went was because he got caught. Then he said his schedule was too intense and stopped going. The truth is he didn’t want to hear how guilty he was week after week. From me, that is. The therapist aimed his arrows at me. If I try to get him to go again, he’ll just use the same excuse. He’ll argue that he shouldn’t have to go if he’s innocent, and he’ll swear he is.”
“Be that as it may, men don’t process thoughts and emotions the same way we do. Perhaps he doesn’t fully comprehend how you feel.”
“He knows. He believes my feelings are my problem, not his.” Chelsea brushed at her tears. “My life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. I don’t know him anymore. I don’t even know myself.”
“You should consider counseling again, just for you, but with someone better than that last one.”
“And now Garrett is trying to tell me who I can and can’t talk to or confide in. I don’t know why he detests Penelope, but he does.”
“That’s because he doesn’t understand Penelope, or the fact that women need their friends, especially their closest ones. I know she’s somewhat out there, and I also know you need that. You were always so quiet and serious, until you and she became friends. But you also need to understand why a man finds any kind of disclosure about his personal life humiliating.”
“Of course you’d take his side.”
“I’m not. I’m just more experienced than you are because I’ve been alive longer. Married longer, too.”
“How did you and Dad make it work?”
“I went to my father once, to complain about your father. Dad stopped me and said I shouldn’t tell him anything, because I
might forgive your father and he might not be able to. Told me to go home and make it right with my husband. You have to find a way to fix it with Garrett, instead of solely talking about it with others.”
“I’ve tried. He’s the one who won’t make the effort. I refuse to live the rest of my life this way. I’m hurting, Mom. Who knows how many women Garrett has screwed or is screwing now. I’d rather be alone than live like this.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use coarse language. Never mind. What about Kimberlie? Are you prepared to separate her from her father?”
“She hardly sees him now. For all I know, he’d make it a point to spend more time with her if we split up.”
“What about income? You haven’t worked since Kimberlie was born.”
“He’d damn well pay for our care, at least until Kimberlie finishes her medical training. Believe me, money isn’t an issue. Afterwards, I could do what’s needed to get back into a practice. I want at least a chance to find true love and happiness. I deserve it.”
“We all deserve it, dear, but sometimes you have to pick your battles. You think you’re the only woman who’s been cheated on? How do you think I managed to stay with your father this long?”
“Daddy never!” When her mother didn’t reply, she said, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“He gave her up eventually. The reality is you can leave Garrett and find another man. Or you can stay in the luxury your husband provides, keep your home together for your daughter’s sake, and find some other avenue for happiness so you don’t sit around dwelling on how miserable you feel. The fact is this: The wealthy ones cheat, the poor ones cheat. If you’re going to be with a man, you might as well be with a rich one, because they all cheat.”
“I refuse to believe that. It’s as ridiculous as saying every woman cheats. There has to be a way I can get Garrett to feel about me the way he used to so he doesn’t want another woman.”
“You read too many romance novels, Chelsea dear. There are no Prince Charmings. Sure, they’ll act charming at the start so they can get you into bed. Then they’ll either move on to someone else or marry you so they don’t have to work so hard for it. Garrett may be flawed, but he does love you and takes care of you. I don’t need to remind you how well.”
“And yet, you always do.”
“Do what you need to, to make your marriage work. It may not be perfect, but it’s a matter of better the devil you know. Don’t be one of those women who quits whenever the going gets tough. I raised you better than that.”
“I’m not like you.”
“And if you aren’t careful, that may be your downfall.” Janice sighed. “I know of a highly recommended therapist here in town. She’s considered a bit unconventional, but from what I’ve heard, she’s supposed to be excellent. Dr. Bernadette Moore. She wrote a book called The Anatomy of Cheating. It’s about the issues and consequences of infidelity and the hardships of marriage. Research the book. Look her up. Maybe she can help you and Garrett.”
Chelsea opened the drawer of the nightstand next to her side of the bed and removed the unread autographed book. “I guess I’ll try one more time. I’ll see you at the party tonight. Give Dad my love.”
Everyone was being unfair. They asked everything of her and nothing of Garrett. The therapist had wanted her to forgive and forget. Garrett wanted the same, along with her turning a blind eye to what he was up to, and she was certain he was up to something. Her mother wanted her to find a way to occupy herself so the money train didn’t go off the rails.
Chelsea looked at Dr. Moore’s smiling image on the book cover and said, “I wonder what you’re going to expect of me.”
She dialed Richard’s number.
“Happy birthday, Chelsea! We’re looking forward to celebrating tonight.”
“You won’t believe what he got me.” She told him. Their call lasted a few minutes.
Then she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs.
CHAPTER 20
Why, Chelsea wondered, did Monday mornings have to feel more hectic than any other morning of the week. She mentally reviewed her to-do list as she searched for something to wear. Checked the time, swore under her breath, and slipped on the same big-enough pants and shirt she’d worn the day before. If she didn’t get a move on, the morning would go to crap in a hurry, starting with the fact that Kimberlie needed to be dropped off early for her school trip.
She snatched up her watch and earrings, putting them on as she rushed to Kimberlie’s room. Her daughter had inherited her punctuality from Garrett. Kimberlie, dressed and ready to go, sat cross-legged on her bed, earbuds in, singing along with whatever anthem that had been composed for teens enduring the angst of their age group.
Chelsea charged down the stairs and hurried to the kitchen. She used the single-cup function on the coffeemaker, took a sip, checked the time, cursed aloud. It was a mad dash up the stairs to get her purse, car keys, and daughter. Next to her purse was Luke Thompson’s novel, A Dark Walk. She made a mental note to check his Goodreads page for updates, and for his approval of her friend request, the next time she thought about it.
She stood at Kimberlie’s door. “C’mon, Kimmie. Time to go.”
Kimberlie’s head bobbed and she sang out loud and out of tune, “You’re too illiterate to read my pain.”
Chelsea crossed the room and stood in front of her daughter. Kimberlie looked up. Chelsea tapped her watch and said, “Let’s go.”
They pulled up to the front of the school fifteen minutes early, mostly because she’d sped whenever it was moderately safe to do so.
“Cheek, please.” Chelsea kissed her daughter. “Have fun, but be careful.”
“You know me, Mom.” Kimberlie waved at a friend and slammed the door, now lost in a scenario that didn’t include her mother.
There was no point in hoping for a wave from her daughter who was laughing at what someone had said. Chelsea edged her car around the line of school buses and turned right at the street, thankful the superstore stayed open day and night, seven days a week. She drove the few blocks and parked as close as she could to the entrance. She’d likely be walking all day; no point in doing more of it now.
She turned the engine off and stayed in the car, craving a few moments to decompress from rushing around. Her gaze shifted to her purse resting open on the passenger seat. No time like the present. She retrieved her iPhone from the leather well filled with wallet, lipstick, and odds and ends, and logged in on her Goodreads account. Keyed in Luke Thompson’s name, found his page, his approval, then tapped the mail icon and typed.
Mr. Thompson, I found A Dark Walk riveting. You’re truly talented, and I look forward to reading more of your work. You’re definitely a rising star. I’ll post a review soon.
She hit Send. Her phone rang. “Hi, Pen.”
“Hey, Chels. Are we still going to breakfast then mad shopping today?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I just dropped Kimmie off and need to get some things at the store. Meet me at my house in an hour.”
CHAPTER 21
Penelope ran a hand along the Bentley parked on the circular drive. She puckered her lips into a pout. “You gave me a ride when Garrett had it delivered, but when are you going to let me drive it? I’d wear this car well, don’t you think?” She leaned against the hood and arched her back. “Do I look like a Vargas girl?”
“As usual, you’re right on time. Come upstairs while I change clothes. It took a little longer at the store than I thought. I just put away the last item.”
Penelope air-kissed Chelsea’s cheek then made her way inside and up the stairs.
Chelsea followed her friend, but at a slower pace. “You’re in such great shape, Pen. I don’t hate you for that, but I envy it.”
“Envy-smemvy. Think of the shopping we’re going to do today. No better payback for a husband who’s been naughty.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it.” Penelope stretched across t
he bed. She lay on her back looking up. “I have an idea about how you could get Garrett’s motor running in bed. Put a mirror on the ceiling. He’s so arrogant, he’d have sex with you just to admire himself.”
“He’d probably prefer to have it alone. I’d spoil the view.” Chelsea sighed. “Only a body like yours could pull off wearing a hot-pink bodysuit with a skintight mini. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Only curves. The right kind.”
“Hot yoga, silicone, and liposuction help, as you can see.” She stretched cat-like then rolled onto her stomach. “As well as injecting the fat into your derriere for that wasp-waist atop a rounded bottom. It’s considered tres chic these days, you know.”
“I’m not brave enough for those kinds of procedures. The last thing I need is fat added anywhere on my body, and it would be too humiliating to flounder on a mat in a room filled with fabulous bodies.”
“You’re always so hard on yourself.” Penelope sat up. “Chels, what’s up? You okay?”
“It’s just that yours is the kind of body Garrett appreciates.” She grabbed her muffin-top. “Not a blob like me.”
“Garrett’s your husband and you love him. But he’s a prick for what he did to you. Plenty of men would want to be with a beautiful, intelligent woman like you.”
“I appreciate your cheerleader effort, but I don’t believe it.”
“You’ve let Garrett—the rutting bastard—beat you down. He should get up every morning counting his blessings for having you as his wife.”
“That’s just it. I don’t count. Not anymore. He’s even stopped telling me how dissatisfied he is with my appearance.”
“Maybe his silence is golden.”
Chelsea shrugged. “That’s not all he’s stopped.”
“I thought you were exaggerating about that. No action? At all?”
“Not with me. It’s been about three years. Maybe longer. I think he’s cheating again.”