by Nicola Marsh
I’ve got more important things to worry about than my ex-husband, like subduing my suspicions and stop imagining things that aren’t there.
Ten
Celeste
I’m taking out the trash when I see Frankie slip outside her front door and close it softly behind her. I’m at the bottom of my steps and tucked around the corner, so she can’t see me. I’m about to step forward so it doesn’t look like I’m hiding, when I notice she’s behaving oddly. She checks the knob to ensure the door is closed, then casts a furtive glance over her shoulder toward her window, as if making sure she’s not being watched. Only then does she call someone named Walt, who doesn’t pick up, and she asks him to call her back.
Is she hiding something from her husband? Is she having an affair? I’m disappointed, as although we’ve only just met I expected more from her. She presents such a perfect image online, the accomplished wife and mother every woman aspires to be. Everyone’s friend. Sweet, nice, Frankie Forbes.
I wait until she’s finished and gone back inside before I do the same. I don’t want her discovering I overheard her. I want our daughters to be friends. It’s imperative Vi starts bonding with Luna. My darling girl needs the distraction. She’s been badgering me about her father since we arrived last night and the gender reveal party was a temporary reprieve, because the minute we got home she started peppering me with questions again.
When am I going to see Daddy again?
Why can’t I talk to him?
Why did we move here?
I try to answer as best I can, but how do I explain to a five-year-old she probably won’t see her father ever again?
Roland is my past. I can’t go back.
At the start of our relationship, I thought I’d found the man of my dreams. He’d been so attentive, so loving. Then he changed and my life imploded. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He lied to me. He hurt me. Then I discovered I was expecting Violette…
Roland took his responsibilities seriously, so parenting Violette gave me hope we could recapture the magic, that he’d revert to the man I knew he could be. Sadly, in the end it wasn’t enough. He didn’t change, our relationship became untenable and I had to remove myself from the toxicity to give Violette the life she deserves.
As if dealing with the disintegration of my relationship with Roland isn’t hard enough, Vi occasionally asks me for a sibling. I change the subject, but she won’t be distracted forever. I have a bit of time to meet someone else and have another baby. Late-thirties is cutting it fine but more women are having babies in their forties these days. But what are the odds of me meeting a good guy who wants to have a baby ASAP? Increasingly slim…
I have a feeling our lives will be brighter here in Hambridge Heights. A fresh start.
Something I desperately need after escaping Roland and my past.
Eleven
Saylor
“That went well, don’t you think?”
Lloyd is clearing the dinner table, upbeat when I can barely stand I’m so tired.
“Yeah, it was nice to meet the neighbors,” I say, standing near the living room window, looking out.
The park is in darkness, barely illuminated by the old-fashioned lamplights ringing the periphery. It makes it easier to see the house on the other side of the park, directly opposite to ours, which is lit up like they don’t care about the cost of electricity.
I can’t believe Ruston lives there.
Even now, hours after the gender reveal party finished, I can’t comprehend the coincidence. We didn’t get to speak at the party because I avoided him, clinging to Lloyd whenever it looked like he might approach. Thankfully, Ruston got the message. But one of my neighbors had kindly informed me of “the hottie that lives at number 56” and how every mom in Vintage Circle has a crush on Ruston.
I don’t blame them. That had been me once, when I’d been foolish, believing every line he fed me despite being let down time and time again. I should be wiser, but I fear I’m not. I can’t deny the irrational surge of attraction that made me buzz when I first laid eyes on Ruston in the park.
I shouldn’t focus on his house but I can’t help it, my gaze unwittingly drawn, like wanting to avoid staring at a car wreck but unable to look away. He’s moving around the front room, flicking through a stack of DVDs. Unusual, considering most of us stream movies these days.
He’s wearing gray cotton sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a plain white T-shirt molding to a strong chest, highlighting broad shoulders, accentuating his height… I step back from the window, annoyed at myself for noticing.
“What are you looking at?”
I jump at Lloyd’s nearness and force my body to relax when he hugs me from behind, his palms splayed possessively across my belly.
“I like looking at the park at night. I find it peaceful.”
The lie slides from my lips, increasing my guilt. But how can I tell my husband the ex I tried so hard to get over by marrying him now resides opposite us?
“That’s because there are no screaming kids running around like there usually is during the day.” He chuckles.
“Hey, you’re about to have a screaming kid in the near future and that comment doesn’t sound too paternal.”
He laughs at my teasing and I’m happy to be distracted for a moment. “I’ll be a great dad and you know it.”
He nuzzles my neck and tightens his hold. It should make me feel safe. Instead, I’m claustrophobic, smothered, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shrug off his embrace. I’m edgy because of the guilt and for a moment I contemplate telling him about my past. But I’m too exhausted to get into a big discussion now, let alone fend off the inevitable probing if I reveal how Ruston used to be a major part of my life.
“Do you mind making me a cup of ginger tea?”
He releases me and spins me around to study my face. “Are you feeling nauseous again?”
“A little.”
“You’re probably overtired after all the excitement. Put your feet up, sweetheart, and I’ll bring it in.”
“Thanks.”
I press a kiss to his lips, hoping he knows how much he means to me. He’s right, I am overtired, and as he heads into the kitchen, I find myself looking out the window again. Ruston’s sitting on the sofa now, with his feet up on the coffee table. Big feet. Big everything. I hate myself for remembering. And I hate how I found myself watching him at the party earlier. He’s a popular guy, mingling with everyone. A real man’s man. One of the boys. Good with the kids too, making them laugh. It shouldn’t affect me but it did.
Because I’m not stupid. I may have succeeded in avoiding him today but a confrontation is inevitable. If I don’t want him revealing our connection to Lloyd, I’m going to have to preempt it. Who knows, maybe if I do that we can co-exist as neighbors and the new life I’ve carefully built won’t come tumbling down?
I can’t allow Ruston’s presence to distract me from my goal.
As I wrap my arms around my middle and continue to watch him, I know I need to focus on my baby.
And preserving my secrets.
Twelve
Frankie
THEN
I didn’t see Walter for the rest of my party. I didn’t see him the next day either. But I only have five days left to discover if I imagined the spark between us. The last forty-eight hours have given me time to think beyond my instant infatuation. If there’s something real between us, maybe Walter is my one-way ticket off Long Island?
It seems like fate when I glimpse him watering our neighbor’s front yard. I don’t know the Schubermanns well and they’ve never had Walter stay with them before. I would’ve noticed. It makes me smile to remember his bluntness when he’d told me why he’s never visited his godparents before, because he can’t sleep in strange beds. No guy would ever admit that for fear of appearing geeky, but it hadn’t fazed Walter. I like that honesty about him, especially with my parents’ lies fresh in my mind from a few days a
go.
He’s deep in thought, a slight frown creasing his brow, and I even find that cute. There’s something about him that makes me want to fling my arms around him and kiss him silly, even though I’ve kissed a grand total of two boys before. I’ve never been forward with guys and, for a moment, I second-guess myself. He hadn’t really flirted with me at the party, so maybe I’m imagining we shared a connection? Only one way to find out.
Wearing a skimpy red bikini one of my friends had given me for my birthday, I run down the stairs and out the front door before I chicken out. It’s only as I near him and he glances up, shock parting his lips, that I realize I don’t have an excuse to talk to him. I should’ve at least used the old “can I borrow a cup of sugar” routine from one of those ancient movies my folks watch.
I slow my steps as I reach him, unsure whether to be impressed or disappointed when he keeps his gaze on my face and not drifting south once. “Hey. You’re a good houseguest. Do you have to water the garden for your supper?”
“It beats singing.” He shrugs, like making a corny joke is nothing.
I swear he belongs in my parents’ era. He talks like someone decades older and today he’s wearing ironed khaki shorts and a beige polo top with the buttons done up. But I like that about him. His maturity is appealing after the guys in my senior class who don’t care about anything but football, college girls and keg parties.
“It’s hot out.” I fan my face. “Fancy a swim?”
At last, some sign he notices me as a woman when he glances at my breasts briefly before refocusing on my face. He’s going to refuse, I can see it in his reluctant stare, so I sweeten the deal.
“There’s a stack of leftover food and you’d be doing me a favor, otherwise my folks are going to make me bring it over to the Schubermanns and force feed them.”
He appears horrified by the thought, just as I intended. Either he comes over for a swim or I come over for goodness knows how long and make small talk with his godparents.
When he still doesn’t respond, I say, “When we chatted the other night, you mentioned the Schubermanns visit you. Where is that?”
“Hartford, Connecticut.”
“Nice.”
“You’ve been?”
“No, but I’d like to.” I’d like to live there given half a chance. Anywhere but here. “Are you coming for a swim?”
It takes him an eternity to nod and when he does, his expression says he’d prefer having a root canal than spending time with me.
So much for my plan to entice him.
“Meet you out the back,” I say, making sure I put an extra sway into my hips as I walk away, hoping he’s staring at my butt.
When I glance over my shoulder he is and when I catch him, a faint crimson stains his cheeks.
“I have a girlfriend,” he blurts, and I merely smile.
By the end of this week, his girlfriend will be me.
Thirteen
Frankie
NOW
Andre is avoiding me.
Luna falls asleep about a minute after he closes the book he’d been reading to her, the exhaustion after today’s festivities outweighing the amount of sugar she’s consumed. I’m peeking through the door and when her eyelids flutter shut, Andre glances at me and we share a smile. The tired but happy smile of most parents at the end of a day, a “she’s so darn adorable but boy am I glad she’s asleep” smile.
I head downstairs and pour us both a glass of Shiraz and curl up on the couch to wait for him. But after fifteen minutes, he hasn’t appeared. Too comfortable to move from my position, I text him.
WHERE R U? I HAVE WINE.
I hear him padding on the floorboards overhead so I sip my Shiraz and wait. But he doesn’t appear. Instead, I hear the shower running. Annoyed my plans for a relaxing evening have been thwarted, I down the rest of the wine in a few gulps and leave his on the coffee table before marching upstairs.
I sit cross-legged in the middle of our bed, waiting. I’d hoped the wine would take the edge off my frustration at allowing insecurities to surface after watching Andre with Celeste at the party earlier, but it hasn’t and I’m edgier than ever. I don’t want to be the harpy housewife spoiling for an argument with my husband but having him ignore my text hasn’t helped my mood. When the shower finally shuts off and he strolls into our room with a towel wrapped around his waist, I’m primed for a fight.
“Didn’t you get my text?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Yeah, but I thought I’d have a shower first.”
“You couldn’t tell me that?”
He sighs. “Babe, I’m tired. I needed a shower. What’s with the attitude?”
“Pardon me for wanting to unwind with a wine and my husband at the end of a day.”
He grins. “You know you’re irresistible when you’re snarky.”
I hold up my hand when he sits on the bed. “I want to ask you something.”
“Now?” He glances at the towel, where I see hard evidence he’s not put-off by my bad mood. “Come on, babe, surely it can wait?”
I ignore what’s going on behind that towel and cross my arms. “Do you know Celeste?”
I wanted to be subtle, to casually ask an offhand question, but I’ve blurted it and he’s taken aback. I watch for any telltale signs he’s lying.
“Yeah, I know her.” His jaw juts as he grits his teeth. “I know her because I met her earlier today.”
“For the first time?”
“For fuck’s sake, Frankie.” He leaps off the bed and marches to the wardrobe, flinging it open so hard the door bangs the wall. He winces and I listen to make sure Luna hasn’t stirred. He snatches pajama bottoms from a clean pile and drags them on, only dropping the towel when he’s done.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
When he turns back to face me, anger stains his cheeks. “What is it with you? We’ve had a nice day with our neighbors, our daughter is out like a light at a reasonable hour for the first time all week and you want to waste time picking a fight?”
“I’m not picking a fight. I want to know why you were acting so weird around Celeste today.”
His eyes narrow in disbelief. “What were you doing, watching my every move?”
“Something like that,” I fling at him, my slow simmering temper starting to boil. “What’s the big deal? I like to watch my husband. Is that a crime?”
“It is if you’re doing it out of doubt rather than love,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Shit, Frankie, when are you going to cut me a break? I thought we were past all this years ago.”
“We are…” I’m surprised to find tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “I’ve forgiven you, but at times it’s hard to forget…” I whisper.
His shoulders slump like I’ve dumped an invisible weight on them. “What have I done to make you doubt me?”
Images of him interacting with Celeste from earlier today play through my mind and I have to admit there’s nothing suspicious he did, it’s just a feeling… but how can I tell him that without sounding crazy?
“Nothing,” I say, confusion making me doubt what I saw. Maybe I imagined the whole thing? “Sorry. It’s been a long week and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“You’re forgiven.”
He opens his arms to me and as I snuggle into them, I hope I’m not being naïve.
Fourteen
Celeste
Frankie’s not half as friendly toward me as she was yesterday and I’m wondering if her persona at the gender reveal party was an act, like how she fakes it online every day. She must pretend, because I refuse to believe anyone is that damn perky all the time. It would be exhausting being her. I also pity Luna, who craves her mother’s attention. If it’s obvious to me, why can’t Frankie see it? Or is she so self-centered all she cares about is her precious image?
We’ve been in the park less than fifteen minutes and she’s hardly said a word, and I wonder why she agreed to t
his play date when I texted her first thing this morning.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. We’re watching the girls play with their dolls in a shaded patch of grass not far from us and she takes a while to respond.
“I’ve been better.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
I’m not surprised she doesn’t want to confide in me as we only met yesterday, but I’m hoping we can be friends for our daughters’ sakes. Luna was all Vi could talk about last night and I’m thrilled the girls have bonded so quickly.
We lapse into a strained silence again, punctuated by the girls’ chatter as they mimic some grand fairy tale with their dolls. I’ve never seen Vi so happy. She’s practically glowing every time Luna smiles at her and I’m glad. While I’d like to be friends with Frankie, if I have to put up with Frankie’s sullen mood for my daughter’s happiness, so be it. I almost wish Andre had brought Luna out to play instead but he’d been behaving oddly around me yesterday and with Frankie watching us, what would she think of her husband and me alone at a play date?
Silly, really, because dads bring their kids to play dates all the time. It doesn’t mean anything and it’s not like I’m the flirty type. Most men don’t know how to deal with me. My sarcasm is off-putting. Roland hadn’t minded. Until he did.
“I’m glad the girls are getting on well,” I say, making an effort to chat because I can’t stand the silence. “It’s important to me for Violette to make friends here.”
I glimpse a softening in her face and some of the tension in her shoulders relaxes. “Yeah, it’s great. I worry that Luna suffers sometimes because I work so much, and she doesn’t get to socialize with kids her own age at play dates like this often enough.”