The Good Widow_A Novel

by Liz Fenton

  (She’d never told Nick, but her dad had used the word slick to describe him after they’d met for the first and only time at that dinner. Dylan had shrugged it off, knowing why her dad had felt that way. Nick hadn’t been himself at all; usually not one to splurge, always saving his money to buy things he wanted, like a new part for his motorcycle, he had taken over the meal, ordering the most expensive dishes on the menu, including an overpriced bottle of wine. And Dylan had cringed inwardly when the bill came and the waitress handed it to her father—Nick reaching out and grabbing it as her father’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment.)

  That was the thing—she knew what it was like to be in a relationship with Nick. She knew he’d flinch if she lost her temper but that he’d always offer to rub her feet after she’d had a tough shift, taking great care to stroke the tension out of each toe. But it was the what-ifs that excited her about James—there was still so much to know, so much to explore.

  Four hours later, James woke and spiraled a short strand of Dylan’s hair around his finger. “I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth so close to hers that she could see how much his stubble had already grown.

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said, kissing him, happy not to have to look over her shoulder before doing so. They’d already determined neither of them knew anyone on the flight. When they’d arrived at the gate, they’d played the same game they did when they went to a restaurant or a movie or anywhere—no matter how far out of the way: they acted as if they didn’t know each other as they surveyed the crowd, both of them praying they wouldn’t see a familiar face.

  But still, they had played it cool until they boarded the flight and took their seats in first class. James had bought her ticket and used miles for his, saying he had to be squished back in coach so often with assholes reclining into him that he was going to splurge so they could have big seats, extra leg room, and complimentary cocktails. He’d put them on separate reservations, then schmoozed the gate agent so they could sit next to each other. She had watched from afar as the woman, at first flustered and standoffish, had begun to defrost as James leaned in closely. Dylan couldn’t see his face, but she knew exactly what smile he was charming her with. It was the same one he’d had when he waited for her after her shift and opened the door to something more. Like Dylan, the gate agent wasn’t able to resist.

  “I’m so excited to have four full days with you,” James said, nodding at the flight attendant and ordering a mimosa for him and a plain orange juice for Dylan.

  “To Maui,” James said, after the flight attendant handed them their drinks.

  “To Maui,” Dylan repeated, just as the captain announced their descent.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JACKS—AFTER

  Nick pulls the Jeep we rented up to the front of the hotel, and I step out, the air warm against my skin. (Despite the gorgeous drive from the airport, and the second Prozac I’d slipped under my tongue, I’d still clenched the “oh-shit bar” the entire time.)

  “Aloha!” A man, wearing a nametag that says Akoni and a tan shirt with white flowers and the Westin Ka‘anapali logo stitched on the front, welcomes us. He smiles and motions for us to bow our heads. Nick and I pause, glancing at each other awkwardly before we outstretch our necks to accept his offering—a strand of simple white seashells.

  Akoni points us in the direction of two glass jugs filled with orange-and-lemon-infused water, and I walk toward it, fill my plastic cup, and take a sip, picturing Dylan pressing one to her own lips. As Nick and I are ushered toward reception, I imagine James and Dylan making these same steps. Had James taken her small hand in his and guided her inside, stopping to marvel at the waterfalls spilling down a wall of rocks into a koi pond occupied by a gaggle of salmon-pink flamingos? Did they try to get Bob, the brilliant blue-and-yellow macaw that lives in the bamboo cage, to mimic them?

  The property, at first glance, is stunning: palm trees bending overhead as if trying to talk to each other, the sound of babbling streams and birds filling the air, tables and chairs set up by the ponds to watch the swans swim by, the koi fighting for the scraps of food a group of children are throwing haphazardly their way.

  A ripple of jealous anger passes through me as I think of James taking the time to research and book this hotel—something that had always been left to me. I wonder again if our trip to Maui—our honeymoon—came to mind as he planned theirs. How did he do that—separate his life with me from the relationship he had with her? Did he talk about me? Confide all my biggest weaknesses and failures? Or did my name never pass his lips—as if he put me in a box in the back of his mind, like the clothes you once loved, but had outgrown and forgotten about? I couldn’t decide which option was worse.

  “Hey, I checked us in. They put us both in the ocean tower, but we’re on different floors. And not that we care, but they upgraded us both to an ocean view!” Nick says as he hands me my driver’s license, credit card, and room key, then frowns. “You okay?”

  “It’s just so strange—to be here.” I watch a flamingo dip his beak into the water, wondering how long he can stand on one foot. Hours? Days?

  “Surreal,” Nick says as we both notice a little boy pointing to an enormous crab sunning himself on a rock.

  I ask Nick the question on my mind as I look around. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place you bring someone you’re just having a fling with, does it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a fling.”

  I trail my eyes to the floor and try not to blink, to not let the tears fall. I don’t want Nick to see me cry.

  “Hey.” Nick lightly touches my upper arm. “We don’t know anything yet. Let’s save the tears for when or if we need them.”

  “You’re right,” I say.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m completely baffled why James would stray at all—casual or serious. It’s still cheating.”

  I blink at him. “Well, you also don’t know me very well.”

  “Maybe not, but from what I can tell so far, you’re an incredibly courageous woman.” He motions toward the swimming pool. “To come here and do this. It takes guts.”

  “I think I may just be crazy,” I say as a tear finally works its way out of my eye, and I quickly wipe it away.

  Nick shakes his head. “It would be so much easier to give up. To accept all the sympathy and build a shrine to him in your mind, always wondering who he really was but not bothering to find out. Blaming yourself instead.”

  I do blame myself. But I don’t say this to Nick.

  When I don’t respond, Nick adds, “You know the old saying—the truth will set you free.”

  “Or will it make things more complicated?” I know these are Beth’s words, and hate that she’s gotten into my head again. I realize she’s only looking out for me, but she could never understand why I need to be here. How even though every single molecule in my body is warning me against it, it doesn’t matter. Because he was my husband, and he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I won’t be able to move forward until I can understand why he did this.

  “It might, but at least we’ll know, right?”

  I nod, thinking about the past few months. About the things I didn’t know. That my husband wasn’t where he said he was. That he was capable of having an affair. That he could sleep with someone else and then come home and make love to me. That I was being stupid to believe we had a marriage incapable of being broken by an outside party. “Do you have any guesses as to how long they were . . .” I trail off. I think about my sister seeing James and Dylan together a month before the accident, but I knew they’d met long before that.

  “A couple?”

  “Yes.” I move to the side so a woman pushing a stroller can maneuver around us, and I catch a glimpse of a chubby-cheeked baby sleeping soundly.

  “I don’t know. The emails cut off after a month or so. But there’s a span of several months in between the final email and when they came here. So it could have been five, six months?” Nick tak
es in my face. “But, Jacks, we don’t know how often they saw each other during that time. Or if it ended and then started up again shortly before they came here.”

  But all I hear Nick say is six months. And something about that number makes my chest feel cold, like my heart is folding up inside itself because all of the warmth has been sucked out of it. If it had been going on for that long, how did I not see it? I’ve done a fair amount of reading online about affairs since I found out. One site laid out signs that your spouse may be cheating.

  He dresses better.

  Definitely not. He was wearing those awful gray pants the last time I saw him.

  He guards his cell phone.

  Not that I ever noticed. But like I said, I wasn’t concerned with his phone or computer the way other wives were. I didn’t care to learn his passwords.

  He takes new credit cards out in his name.

  Obviously he had done this one and I had no idea. How would I?

  He has mood swings.

  This one is hard. I would have never guessed his emotions were linked to an affair. Because James’s moods had always been unpredictable. He wrote it off as being Latin, but I would sometimes wince at how the littlest thing could ignite him. He once punched a hole in the wall in our living room because the Dodgers lost an important playoff game.

  James had a temper.

  He could also be incredibly thoughtful. But that was mostly before we became broken, back when I’d have days at work that felt two weeks long. Like when my fourth graders refused to listen as my voiced ticked up louder and louder, and the time passed so slowly I thought I might explode. Or when a parent-teacher conference went south and ended in confrontation. Back then, James would show up with a salmon-and-avocado roll from Fusion Sushi, driving thirty minutes out of his way to pick it up. Those were the moments that I could recall the man I fell in love with hard and fast—the man who once believed we were a team.

  But other times, it was a different story. Boy, could he get pissed off. That last fight we had? That was nothing. Doors rattling, voices raised to yelling? Well, we’d had much worse. In fact, one time, and it was only the once, he grabbed my arm, twisted it, and pushed me up against a wall.

  He drops the name of the person he’s cheating with into conversation.

  This one strikes me as odd, but then again I’ve never had an affair. I get it. It’s supposed to throw you off the trail, because why would he talk about the person he’s sleeping with? But this one, I’m quite sure, never happened. She wasn’t a colleague, a friend, anyone I knew, and if he’d so much as breathed the name Dylan, I would have remembered.

  He doesn’t want sex.

  Our sex life was sporadic, but good. He traveled so much that it’s hard to say how often we did it. But when he was home, it would happen. Over those last six months, did I see a difference? Not that I can say.

  My lip quivers, and I bite it to make it stop, looking up at Nick, who’s watching me.

  “I was wondering about something,” Nick says.

  “What?”

  “Is the pill you took to help with this? Is it for anxiety?”

  My cheeks get hot. “You saw that?”

  “Not much gets past me,” he says, then stops short, both of us realizing that nothing could be further from the truth. Dylan had hidden an entire life from him.

  “I took it to deal with the car ride. I have trouble since . . .”

  “You don’t need to say any more.” Nick rakes his fingers through his hair. “Why don’t we put our bags in our rooms, then grab a drink? I think we could both use a mai tai.”

  “Agreed,” I say, following him to the elevator bank, relieved we’ve stopped talking about my self-medication. It makes me feel like more of a victim that I have to take pills so I can handle what my life has become.

  Nick steps out on the fourth floor of the ocean tower, and I keep going up to nine. As I’m sliding my key card in the slot for 955, my cell phone rings and Beth’s face appears on the screen. I could ignore it, but we haven’t spoken live since I left her house, and I know she’ll keep calling until I answer. She’s always been that way—relentless. It’s why she’s excelled at everything—her SATs, tennis, childbirth. She never gives up. It’s something I both love and hate about her, depending on what it is. Right now, I hate it.

  “Hello?” I pull back the heavy drapes and open the sliding glass door to reveal a small patio. I see the island of Lanai in the distance and take in a panoramic view of the beach: a deeply tanned, shirtless runner sprinting, the deep-blue ocean dotted with sailboats, and one catamaran with a vibrant-yellow sail that has Gracie painted on the side in large gold script. How had Nick pulled this off?

  “You’re there, aren’t you?” Beth launches in.

  I lean against the railing and look down at the resort, counting three swimming pools, the largest right below me, the shadows in the water making it look like a tortoiseshell. “Yes,” I finally answer as I watch a young couple in matching orange inner tubes holding hands. I can’t see their faces, but they seem so happy. Blissful even.

  Beth sighs loudly. “I can’t believe you actually went. To Maui.”

  “Well, I did. I’m here. So, go ahead.”

  “Go ahead and what?”

  “Lecture me.”

  “Come on, Jacks. Give me a break here, okay?”

  “So you’ve called to give me your blessing?”

  “I just wish you’d told me.”

  “And there were things I wish you’d told me too, Beth. So I guess we’re even now.” I cringe at my testy tone.

  “Jacks, I’m so sorry.” Her voice catches, and I immediately soften.

  “I know,” I say, realizing I’ve already forgiven her. She couldn’t have known. Even though I’d love to put this on someone who’s still alive so I could unleash the anger coiled inside me, she’s not the reason this happened.

  “I just—I don’t know. Marriage is hard. And I didn’t want to make assumptions and create more problems when it could have been a completely innocent business lunch or an old friend. Of course, I feel like shit that it wasn’t.”

  “I know,” I say again. She’s practically heard it all. Our fights about his travel schedule, about money, about time together. How can I blame her for not wanting to muddy the waters even more, especially when it could have been nothing? Would I have told her if I’d seen Mark out with a woman I didn’t know? I would like to say yes, because that’s the most convenient answer. But everything is so skewed now that I can’t be sure.

  “I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled you jumped on a plane to Hawaii, but I’m here for you if you need me. Do you want me to fly out there? Would that help?”

  “No, but I love you for offering. I need to do this without you.”

  An hour later, I’m sitting with Nick at the Relish Burger Bistro bar by the Lanai pool, my hand cupping an almost-empty glass that had been filled with rum and pineapple juice, a bright-pink umbrella piercing a piece of pineapple resting on the rim, and I feel my edges soften.

  “Can I get you another round?” the bartender asks, and Nick and I exchange a glance. “It’s happy hour!” the bartender declares, and points to his watch. It’s four.

  Nick looks at my glass and shoots me a questioning look.

  “Okay, but I should eat too or I’ll be in no condition to . . .”

  “Hula dance?” Nick offers, and we both half smile. I wonder if he’s thinking what I am—that it feels wrong to laugh. I remember last night I had the TV on while packing, and Jimmy Kimmel was doing his bit about mean tweets, and I laughed when Nicole Kidman read one about herself. I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle it.

  “Maybe—or dance with fire,” I say, then tell the bartender we will take that second round. We sip our cocktails, and I listen to the sound the wind makes as it sails through the palm trees, the laughter coming from the kids’ pool nearby. Then I feel a wave of guilt. I remember why we’re here. I realize James and Dyl
an may have sat at this very bar.

  “We should ask this guy about them,” I suggest to Nick. “Maybe he served them?”

  “Okay, follow my lead,” he says. “Hey, man, can we ask you something?” Nick says when he catches the bartender’s eye.

  “Sure.” He scoops ice into a glass and fills it with rum and Coke for a woman who’s waiting.

  “We had some friends who stayed at this hotel toward the end of May. You might have read about them in the newspaper. They were in an accident on the back side—”

  The bartender cuts him off. “Road to Hana. Man and a woman, right? Jeep?”

  Nick and I nod.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says sincerely.

  “Thank you,” Nick says, and takes a drink. “This is a long shot, but did you talk to them at all when they stayed here? Serve them a drink?”

  The bartender shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Only saw the write-up in the paper, but that was it. I just hate when I read about accidents over there. It happens more than it should.”

  “Thanks,” I say to him, feeling defeated as he walks away to take a young couple’s order. This is going to be harder than we thought. Maui is a large island. What if no one recalls seeing them?

  Nick turns to me and surveys my face. “Not everyone will remember them. And that’s okay. You never know; it could be just one person who tells us everything we want to know. Let’s stay positive.”

  “I guess it was silly to think we’d get all of our answers on the first try.”

  I take a long drink, this one not tasting nearly as strong as the first. “What was she like?”

  “You’re ready to go there? Really this time?”

  “No, not at all, but I think it will help,” I say, my chest tightening in anticipation as I remember the emails. How he’d missed Dylan. He was thinking of her. What were the qualities in her personality he had been attracted to? I had so many soft spots in my relationship with James. And to find out that Dylan may have filled one or more of them—if she had been strong when I had been weak, I might not be able to handle it.