Their Secret Wife (Shadows Between Lies Book 2)

by Nicky Webber

  ‘Gosh, I haven’t seen you for ages!’ stated the chubby, middle-aged woman. Mila couldn’t recall her name. They had played netball years ago for the same team. ‘How are you? Are you still on the team?’ Before Mila could answer, she babbled on. ‘I gave it up a few years ago. Too hard on my knees,’ she concluded, waiting for a response.

  Mila smiled warmly and didn’t have the motivation to explain anything. ‘All’s good. Life be in it.’

  The woman seemed happy with the clichés, and Mila continued. ‘I must rush. Have to pick Logan up from the airport.’

  ‘Lovely to see you,’ the frumpy ex-netballer said.

  Mila nodded an affirmation, not trusting herself to say anything meaningful.

  ‘We must catch up,’ the suburban ash blonde said.

  ‘Sure,’ Mila said. ‘Must go or I’ll be late.’ She pushed her shopping cart to the counter, not daring to look back.

  When had she become so ruthless with people? Just not bothered with anyone other than her closest friends. Was it chemo-brain the other cancer patients joke about? Mila had no desire or interest in some people and, shockingly, no memory of them, either. Focusing on her two friends and Maddy, her closest confidante and best friend, Mila didn’t need anyone else and despised the boredom of sitting through small talk, sipping coffee and wishing she were elsewhere. She agreed with herself never to do that again. Too many precious hours wasted. No more.

  A few months later, Maddy visited Mila at her house. They had been for a biopsy the previous week, and the results should’ve been available any day. Being in the Oncology Department and going through the procedure with her friend brought home the fear of the limited time Mila may have. The angst and unease of losing Mila and desiring Logan played out in her mind throughout the day. She silently prayed for Mila to be well, to be in remission again. Bearing the pain of losing her closest friend was almost too much to think about. But could Maddy permanently give up Logan? Would this really be the end of their affair? Maybe the universe was making this the penance she had to pay for her closest friend’s life, or cut Logan loose. Maddy recognized she was going crazy and had to revert to compartmentalizing these relationships to keep her sanity.

  Mila was in good spirits, so Maddy decided not to ask about her medical results. Neither could handle it if the news was bad. Mila would tell her in good time.

  ‘Life’s a bastard, and then you marry him,’ Mila said, laughing with Maddy over their milky lattes and thick wedges of creamy cheesecake. Of course, as most husbands suspect, and most wives deny, women do in fact discuss their marriages and the impact living with a man has on their domestic lives and mental health.

  ‘Recent research shows married men live longer than most bachelors, but the converse is true for women. Married women die younger,’ Mila explains.

  ‘Go figure,’ Maddy chuckles.

  ‘Joke around but think about it,’ Mila chips in. ‘Marriage for men extends their lives. They get to enjoy the labors of their wife’s loving care. But the strain on a wife shortens her life.’

  ‘You should get that printed on a t-shirt!’

  ‘I will!’

  ‘How is society going to enable married men and single woman with a greater life expectancy to rule the world?’

  ‘If only,’ Maddy chuckles. A kernel of some social commentary flittered on the fringes of her mind. How could these two groups get it together and enjoy the best of both worlds? She smiles to herself.

  ‘All that tolerance and teeth grinding has to be one of the key triggers for stunting your life,’ Mila states.

  ‘Hell yeah. It’s obvious. Ask any survivor,’ shrugs Maddy, grinning.

  ‘It says something when you think male life expectancy is still below females.’

  ‘Funny that,’ grins Mila. ‘Mind you, we live longer because we have superior genetics to start with. It’s that damn Y-Chromosome and Testosterone holding them back.’

  Both wives had always longed for a close, loving relationship based on companionship, trust, respect, and open communication, combined with copious amounts of laughter. During their lives together, they had experienced shadows of those qualities in their husbands, so they knew it was possible. Maddy used the power of silence to avoid conflict with Fred, but more recently she understood this approach contributed to their marital disconnect and compromised their ability to communicate too.

  Mila knew men took silence to mean acceptance and agreement. ‘None of this really matters anymore as we grope through middle age,’ she says. ‘No use attempting to make a designer handbag out of a chewed-up foreskin.’ They both laugh aloud.

  The more they talk, the less they hear. But both friends agree they can’t change most things, so acceptance of the status quo and letting go of criticism makes more sense.

  In recent weeks, Logan emails short love notes to his wife. Strangely, he believes he almost has two wives and recognizes they both need to know he loves them. He makes a mental note to put in more effort, especially now while Mila recovers from cancer treatment.

  My dear Mila,

  I feel as if I were holding your hand walking along Venice Beach like we used to do years ago.

  You really should take up painting again. I still don’t understand why you stopped, but having a creative outlet like that will help with your recovery. Still, there’s the chemo to overcome. I know you don’t think I really understand and have been abrupt and off-hand. I’m a prick like that sometimes. I’m frightened, like we all are. But when I really think it through, I should do the opposite. I should love and supportive you instead of being anxious and grumpy. I guess I have finally turned into a grumpy old man.

  Mila, please forgive me.

  Love Logyxxxx

  A few days later when she next saw Maddy for lunch, Mila showed her best friend Logan’s email on her cell phone, passing it across the table for her to read. They were both sharing a quick salad before heading off for some serious shoe shopping.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea with that too?’ Mila asks as Maddy grabs the phone.

  Maddy remained silently entranced by the email her lover was writing to his wife. A love note; one of concern and care. She concentrates on keeping her facial features in a compliant and delighted pose, not wishing to destabilize the intertwined relationships between them all. It wasn’t easy, but she understands why he has resorted to emails. Guilt riddles Logan like she is. Maddy appreciates she is in the deep end, very far away from the shallows and with no chance of turning back to the calm unbroken shores of the past. She hears Mila talking but can’t make out what she’s saying.

  ‘It’s the first email he has written to me in years,’ Mila is saying. ‘He’s never really bothers explaining anything. But this time, look, don’t you think his words are interesting?’

  ‘Ummm,’ Maddy was still reading the email and trying to gather some composure before weaving another web of deceit. How could she avoid it? She loathes herself now. Mila would never understand. She didn’t realize it herself. She is drowning, her pulse quickening as she struggles to sound normal and hold the fake moral high ground.

  ‘It’s lovely that he cares like this,’ Maddy says. ‘At least he acknowledges one of his shortcomings,’ she smiles at her friend. ‘God knows he and Fred have quite a collection between them!’

  Mila laughs. ‘No kidding! Logan usually sends boring old messages asking if I’ve checked the car insurance, did I pay the blah blah. So domestique! I’m just so used to him being overseas for work that this email was quite a surprise. Not least of which, the stuff he was saying.’

  ‘Yup,’ Maddy smiles. ‘He must have felt lucky!’

  They both chuckle, and Mila rolls her eyes. ‘That’s right, buddy,’ she laughs. ‘We’re both too tired for any action.’

  ‘I hear you. Life seems to just drain the energy out of any desire.’ Maddy says, feeling a wave of nausea at her wicked deception.

  The wives are home alone again while Logan and Fred cycled alo
ng the San Fernando Valley over the weekend. In her youth, Mila had frantically popped around to friends to fill the social gaps up with noise, gossip, work, people and children’s demands. Anything to avoid the empty void of personal isolation and loneliness.

  ‘Mind the gap, for it could give you peace and tranquility,’ she recently thought. Now she is too tired to bother with any of this trite stuff. Fleeting wastelands of time and space are soon jam packed with cosmic rubbish. She knows it is only the moment of NOW that really matters and getting her health back, a priority. Cancer is an extreme way to gain a realistic perspective.

  My Dear Wife,

  I don’t think I can take much more of the icy blades blasting through the skyscrapers in this noisy city. I’ve been thinking of you, Mila, basking in sunnier climes along the Californian coast with Maddy.

  Indeed, a relief to hear your chest is clear, and you’re improving. Go easy on yourself. You are still rushing around with barely a moment to smell the roses, or is it the Jasmine you planted on the veranda last year?

  Just a brief note to let you know I’m thinking of you, my love.

  Sending love and good healing forces.

  Logyxxxx

  Mila leans back on her kitchen chair, allowing herself to wallow in his words, even though he was 6,500 miles away fighting the good fight, socializing the concept into the framework with a New Zealand client for a week. She is guilty after ranting in an earlier response to him, saying if they could not cure her, she would take sleeping pills. Mila had already stockpiled enough to control her own fate. What was she thinking to have caused him so much pain and distress? She could tell, reading between the lines, that she had triggered enough worry to make him ill.

  While driving home that afternoon, Maddy thought of Logan’s emails to his wife. It was as if he had never held her hand as they walked together. The warm kiss of the sun on her face and the calm sense of belonging he infuses in her makes Maddy feel content as they stroll through the park. Their shared lunch the previous week, which now seems like a fleeting dream, shrunk and concertinaed into a tightly fan-tailed ten-minute flash. Fragmented glimpses of an alternate reality are all she has to hold on to. Maybe none of it is real anymore? Is it almost over with Logan? It has to be for the best. The pain of Mila dwarfed the pain of being without him as her best friend struggles to beat her illness. She has to hold her ground and keep her distance from Logan for there to be any salvation for all four of them.

  CHAPTER 18

  Beyond Green Fields

  When the Jones’ lived in Auckland, their neighbor, Aimee Willis, became a good friend during the five years they stayed in New Zealand. Mila’s mind cast back to Aimee, open and friendly, helping her through the initial stages of their assimilation into Auckland and providing insights into the Kiwi way. Mila remained forever grateful. Aimee’s recent email related local Antipodean gossip and mentioned Anzac Day is being commemorated next weekend. The 25th of April will be a long weekend in New Zealand when the entire country remembers the enormous number of fallen soldiers killed during WWI and WWII.

  Mila thought about her Dutch grandparents and how they had survived the war and emigrated with their five children from Eindhoven to New York in 1949 after WWII. Her Grandfather, Paul Verberne, had escaped conscription into the Dutch Army and far worse, avoided coercion into the Nazi-fighting forces by joining the underground Resistance movement. The Netherlands had remained neutral when war broke out in September 1939. Ignoring any political protocol, Hitler invaded Holland on 14th May 1940. Within a few days, Paul had joined the Resistance fighters to sabotage the Nazi occupation of his homeland, along with many other civilians in Europe.

  As Sunday came around again, Logan and Mila visited Logan’s father, Max Jones. He had lived in New York during the 1930s and retired to California when he turned eighty-years old. Max, a hard-nosed insurance sales agent for most of his life, promoted his way up the ladder several times during his career and finally became the Managing Director of the company. His hard-bitten American capitalist, dog-eat-dog and destroy-anything-in-his-wake attitude, made him difficult to warm to. A short, wiry, bald man, Max had eyes on high-alert that darted around a room, assessing who was worth schmoozing and who didn’t rate. He was always selling himself, and even in retirement he pushed his own profile on anyone who would listen. Max regaled captive audiences at family gatherings with tales of his incredible achievements, from golfing awards to negotiating with high-profile politicians and cobbling together successful business deals. He described turning his back on strikers, sucking the oxygen out of their complaints, as if this was a gold medal achievement. At almost ninety-years-old, he still drank, smoked and talked continuously.

  Fortunately, by the time Mila married Logan and faced her elderly father-in-law, Max had softened slightly. Hair-line cracks in his rigid facade had formed, and Logan assured his wife Max’s energy for confrontation was on the wane. Mila found him difficult to handle.

  Once in a family debate over politics, Mila stated an obvious and innocuous aside.

  ‘Young Democrats and Republicans know they have to reach out and co-operate with one another if there is to be lasting stability and any future progress.’

  Max swung around, frowning in distaste at her contradiction of his edict about the ways of local politics.

  ‘What do you know?’ he pulled the corners of his mouth down in abhorrence. ‘You’re only a woman!’ He licked his narrow lips and looked stone-faced at her.

  That night back at home with Logan, she questioned why he hadn’t stood up to his father rather than shrinking back and remaining silent.

  ‘He was insulting,’ she said.

  ‘He always is Mila. He’s been a prick most of his life,’ Logan responded.

  ‘That’s no excuse for you to stand there and say nothing to that offensive bastard!’

  ‘He’s impossible to handle. There’s no winning an argument with him,’ Logan tried.

  ‘You could have, at least, stepped up to the plate for me,’ Mila said, infuriated that no one ever called the old patriarch to account.

  The old man lingered longer than any other relative, living deep into his dotage, finally passing away after Logan’s mother had been dead for fifteen-years. After her death, Max made a polite but almost indifferent speech at her funeral and led the life he always wanted. By eighty-seven, he had four other women living in his house. To an outsider, it was hard to tell what kind of the relationships he had with them all. He was engaged to the youngest of the four, a lovely woman of seventy, Elizabeth, who had spent most of her life in Carolina. She was once a beautiful woman, not in that brassy Barbie Prom Queen kind of way, but in the dark-haired, pale skinned, exotic and sensual style. Even in her senior years, she had an air of dignity and grace, not present in the other three women of the household. In always being able to spot a ripe deal, Max had locked and loaded the best girl for posterity, as time-limited as he expected his life to be.

  The last female in the old boy’s harem was Elma, seventy-three, a sassy, dyed, short-haired blonde, the domestic help in the household. She cooked and cleaned and fawned over Max at every mealtime. She delivered his favorite meals on time, and his beer was always cold. His clothes washed and ironed, the way he liked, especially the distinctive crease down the front of the legs of his gray suit pants. A rigid symbol Max’s hard-line attitude towards those around him.

  The other two elderly women were somewhere between seventy-four and eighty-five years and seemed to oscillate within that age range depending on what they wore and how much effort they put into their makeup and dress sense for the day. While all four women pandered in varying degrees to Max’s every need, they also seemed to get along happily. Each one of them had a sad backstory where, through no direct fault of their own, they had no independent income. That was something Max had plenty of, and he made sure they knew it. Although he wasn’t much older than them, he held court each day and at mealtimes exuded a kind of paternalistic con
cern and fondness for each one of them. A mutual admiration society between the infamous five developed over the last ten years of his life. After Max’s funeral, Logan and Mila never heard another word from any members of his elderly harem. They disappeared without a word, without a claim on the estate, and seemed to evaporate into the silent ether of the universe.

  Intrigued by the polygamous connection between Max and his four devoted wives, Mila and Logan engaged in many discussions about the arrangement.

  ‘It’s intriguing, he’s always been a God-fearing and devout Christian, and maybe he sees this final living arrangement as a Christian act of sincere kindness,’ Mila suggested.

  ‘After the brutal way he has lived his life and treated my long-suffering mother, it’s surprising he is living like this.’ Logan said. ‘He was such a chauvinist, my mother would laugh to see him now.’

  ‘He’s always been self-indulgent, but Dad’s religious faith offers him confession on Sundays while he indulges in multi-female pleasures for the rest of the week!’

  Mila chuckles. ‘Hand it to the old boy, he’s enjoying a revolving carousel of swallowing the good with the bad. It turned out to be a win-win for him, but not for anyone else.’

  Logan couldn’t help admiring the old man too, and in the car, on the way home, he considered how it would work if he had Mila and Maddy as wives in a collective and cooperative marriage of sorts. After all, the three of them got on exceptionally well. Logan daydreamed about the possibilities of enjoying an open relationship with them both. He always came full circle when he considered how this fantasy arrangement could accommodate his good friend Fred. Short of death, there was no proper solution. He agreed with himself to never discuss this with anyone else, and worried about his own psychopathic tendencies. But he couldn’t possibly have those traits, or he would’ve already arranged an accident… maybe. He stopped himself. This was all too sick and brutal. But it would mean that he might live with Maddy and Mila, who were so close, like sisters. That would be a brilliant solution for the three of them. Pity about Fred! He was almost sure Fred would balk at the very idea. Ridiculous!