by Nicola Marsh
We made a clean break, and when Andre asked me to move in with him shortly after the decadent weekend we spent in bed after we met, the timing was perfect.
Andre’s job as a freelance graphic designer affords him a beautiful apartment in Manhattan, and as I sit here, stroking the wedding band he slipped on my finger months agoa spontaneous, chaotic, wild decision that feels right—I’m madly in love for the first time in my life.
Everything is perfect.
I hear the front door open and I leap to my feet, eager to see him. I’m wearing a dress he loves, lemon dotted with tiny stars, strapless and skimming my knees. I wore it as a welcome home and because he’s been away, I know I won’t be wearing it for much longer.
My steps falter as he dumps his overnight bag near the door and kicks it away. He can barely meet my eyes, and I know by the expression on his face that something is seriously wrong. After being away on a work trip he usually greets me with a giant smile, before sweeping me into his arms and kissing me senseless. We rarely make it to the bedroom.
“Hey, honey,” I say, crossing the room to hug him. “Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer and when our gazes meet, my heart stops. Guilt, opaque and murky, darkens his eyes to indigo when I can usually see gold flecks in the blue depths.
“I’m sorry, babe, I’m so, so sorry.”
He opens his arms but as I step forward he lowers them, as if he can’t bear to touch me. That’s when I know the worst has happened and I can’t breathe.
“What did you do?”
He stares at the floor, his hair brushing his collar, and I irrationally wonder if whoever he cheated on me with loves his hair long as much as I do.
“It was one night. She meant nothing.” Seven words that hack my heart in two. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m never going back to Hartford again. I swear it.”
Hartford. Like the cosmos is having one giant laugh at my expense. I’d fled to Hartford from Long Island with Walter, only to escape Hartford and my ex-husband, yet here it is again, front and center in my life, in the worst possible way.
“Who is she?”
“Nobody. A meaningless distraction because I lost a major account and drank too much. I’m mortified…” He trails off and when he raises his face I see tears tracking down his cheeks. “I love you, babe, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get us back on track.”
I can’t speak. I want to say so much. I want to scream and rant, “How could you do this to us after only eight months of marriage? Do I mean that little to you? Were our vows meaningless?”
“Frankie, say something.”
Once he started calling me Frankie, it stuck. I didn’t like it at the start but shedding good girl Francesca along with my first marriage seemed like a smart thing to do at the time.
I can’t help but think of Walter. He never would’ve cheated on me. Hell, he’d made his views on cheating clear from the start when he wouldn’t instigate something with me until he’d dumped his girlfriend. Guess there’s a lot to be said for staidness over impulsivity.
“I need some time away to get my head together,” I say, holding up my hand to stop him when he reaches for me. “If we’re to have any kind of chance of getting past this, I need some time alone. Can you give me that?”
He doesn’t want to. He probably fears I’ll leave and never come back. In this moment, I’m unsure what I’ll do but I know one thing. I need to get away from him. I need breathing space.
“Where will you go?”
“Anywhere but here.”
I head for the bedroom to pack, because I know exactly where I need to go. The only place I’ve ever felt truly safe.
Thirty-Three
Frankie
NOW
By the viewer comments I scan after I turn the camera off, they haven’t noticed I’ve ended my live stream earlier than usual. Only one woman, Kazz70 from Oklahoma, mentions how quick it was. I don’t care. I can’t stand by for another second, fake smiling for the camera, when I can see Celeste chatting to my daughter.
She’s so good with the girls but I’m anxious. The worrying things she’s said about her ex is giving me insomnia and I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with her being around Luna. If Celeste fled out of necessity, her ex could turn up here. If so, is he the sort of person who might do something drastic, like take back his daughter?
My mind is whirling as I stand here looking at them play. Am I being ridiculous, like Andre said? I know some of my reticence toward Celeste can be attributed to my wariness of strangers in general. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out when this started. My parents were always bringing strangers home and treating them like long-lost friends. Unfortunately, I discovered why on my eighteenth birthday.
I’d looked up swinging online once, after I’d married Walter. I couldn’t fathom that kind of lifestyle. I would’ve scratched another woman’s eyes out if she went near my husband, let alone had sex with him. He’d met my parents a grand total of three times in the week he came back to Gledhill and liked them, so he didn’t understand why I cut all ties with them after we left Gledhill. I told him we had a severe falling-out that was irrevocable. Being a peacemaker he’d wanted me to reconcile, which is why we invited them to the wedding, but they didn’t show up and I never forgave them. He didn’t understand my adamant stance. Andre hadn’t either, so when he insisted we invite them to visit after Luna had been born, I told him: about what happened on my eighteenth, my parents’ life choices, and how I’d cut off all contact. Thankfully, Andre sided with me and he never pushed the issue again. I do feel bad at times, that my folks haven’t seen their granddaughter, but Luna is my priority and I don’t want them insinuating their way back into my life for her sake.
I resent them for installing this seed of mistrust I have for strangers. If I couldn’t trust my own parents, who can I trust? Since I discovered the truth, I’ve been wary, reluctant to allow people to get close. I don’t make friends easily and I blame them. They shattered my belief in them and it’s hard to trust my judgment since. Maybe that’s why I’m worrying so much about everything Celeste has said?
I slice the lemon cake into small wedges and place it on a tray alongside two juice boxes for the girls and a coffee pot with mugs. She sees me approach the glass doors and leaps to her feet to cross the room and slide them open.
“Thanks, got my hands full.”
“Here, let me help.” Before I can protest she’s taken the tray from my hands and places it on a side table next to the sofa. “Girls, cake and apple juice.”
Luna and Violette, who’ve been engrossed in the puzzle and have completed half of it, yell “Yum” in unison and I laugh as they choose the biggest wedges of cake, grab a juice box each, and return to their puzzle.
“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” I say, pouring the coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream, no sugar, please. And, yes, that puzzle has kept them entertained.” She points at the kitchen. “How did your live go?”
I add cream to her mug, stir the coffee, and hand it to her. “Good. One of my easier ones.”
“Are they usually that quick?”
I feel heat seeping into my cheeks and hope she can’t guess why I wound up my filming so quickly. “Sometimes. Scones are pretty easy to make. I like to mix it up, have longer sessions interspersed with shorter. Keeps things interesting.”
Her nose crinkles. “I could never do that, get up in front of people and talk about cooking and stuff.”
“You get used to it.” I sip my coffee, savoring the bitterness. Walter put me onto this roasted blend many years ago and I’ve been hooked ever since. “I’m an introvert but talking to a camera on a computer is nothing like talking to that many people face to face.”
“It sure beats accounting in the interesting stakes.” She sips at her coffee and a strange expression crosses her face.
“You don’t like it? I can make you another drink.”
“I can make you tea or—”
“It’s fine, it’s always that first sip that throws me.”
To prove it, she raises the mug to her lips and takes several sips, appearing more appreciative this time. “See? Fine.”
“Okay, but if you want something else, let me know.”
“No worries.”
We sip our coffees in silence, content to listen to the girls jabber. The lemon cake has been demolished and the last of the juice slurped through the straws so they’ve returned to poring over the puzzle. They’re cute together, Violette’s dark hair a contrast against Luna’s light, their heads bent close.
“Vi’s an introvert too,” Celeste says softly, her gaze on the girls too. “She got that from her father.”
She’s given me the perfect opportunity to find out more about her ex and, hopefully, provide reassurance I’m worrying for nothing. “What was he like?”
“A nice guy.” Her lips compress. “Until he wasn’t.”
So much for allaying my fears. Her response makes me more suspicious. I have no idea what that means and want to ask more, but before I can she continues, “He cheated on me.”
I hear the slightest quiver in her voice, an underlying hint of pain, and I’m catapulted back to the night Andre confessed his infidelity. I recognize that pain because I’ve lived it. It endears Celeste to me like nothing else can.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I forgave him.” She shrugs like it means little, when I can see the devastation darkening her eyes. “For Violette’s sake.”
I never over-share and I’m not about to tell her about Andre’s slip-up, but she pins me with a glare that makes me want to squirm. “Have you ever been through something like that?”
I don’t want to tell her but she’s opened up to me and if anyone understands betrayal, I do. She’s had a rough time and we have that in common. The least I can do is support her rather than allow my irrational fears, obsessing over Luna’s safety from a perceived threat that may not eventuate, to ruin our friendship.
I nod. “I’ve been betrayed in the past.” I leave it at that, not willing to reveal any more.
Thankfully, Luna interrupts. “Mom, can we have more cake?”
I look to Celeste for approval and when she nods, I say, “Sure, sweetie. But one piece each otherwise you’ll spoil your dinner.”
“Yes, Mom,” she says, in that exasperated way only a precocious five-year-old can manage.
Before Celeste can probe for more information about my past, I ask her about the dance studio’s end of term recital and what part Violette is playing. Thankfully, she accepts my change of subject and we make small talk for the next fifteen minutes until I drop a hint about having to do grocery shopping. It’s a task Luna loves and I know that, otherwise I wouldn’t have used it as an excuse because I know Celeste will offer to mind her and if it’s any other task than grocery shopping Luna would bug me to let her.
We walk Celeste and Violette to the door and I’m oddly relieved after I close it. While I like finding common ground with Celeste beyond our daughters—albeit us both having cheating spouses—I can’t shake my misgivings. Every time she shares a snippet of her life with me, like her ex being a nice guy until he wasn’t, I second-guess my decision to foster a friendship with her, and between our daughters.
As Luna starts to prattle about all the stuff she talked to Violette about, I know I can’t lower my guard just yet. I need to listen to my gut and, in this instance, it’s telling me to be wary for the sake of my daughter.
Thirty-Four
Celeste
After the last time Vi asked me about her father and I snapped at her, she hasn’t broached the subject. But we barely make it home and close the front door before she says, “I don’t want to share Luna’s daddy. I want mine. Can we call him?”
Pain stabs my heart for all we’ve lost but I need to put on a brave face for Vi. She’s blameless in all this and I won’t allow the drama of my relationship with Roland to taint her. I wish things could’ve been different for us but Roland had left me no choice but to flee.
I have to protect my daughter at all costs, but that doesn’t stop me from sobbing into my pillow most nights when I lie awake unable to sleep because of how we ended.
I lead her into the kitchen, sit, and pull her onto my lap. “We’ve been through this. Your dad doesn’t want to see us anymore.”
“But he loves me. Even if he hates you.”
I’m shocked by her vehemence as she glares at me, her bottom lip thrust out in a stubborn gesture so like Roland my chest aches with remembrance.
“Why do you think he hates me?”
“Because I heard you yelling at him that last time we saw him, before I went to that birthday party and he didn’t visit anymore. Daddy hates loud voices. I know that. So he must hate you.”
“He doesn’t hate me.”
But what I hate is that Vi overheard us fighting, I hate that Roland did this to us too, and I need to make her understand.
“Sweetheart, sometimes parents don’t always agree. And rather than using calm voices like we tell children, we argue and it can get loud. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yes it does.” She folds her arms and her usually soft, pliant body is rigid on my lap. “It means you hate each other.”
I sigh, knowing all too well how hard it is to rationalize anything when Vi is in this mood.
“But we love you.”
“Daddy likes to talk to me. He told me many times. He says he likes hearing my voice, so why can’t we call him?”
My obstinate daughter isn’t going to give in so despite every self-preservation mechanism telling me not to call, I do it for Vi. I pull up his number, relegated to contacts and out of my favorites on my cell, and hit the call button. Vi starts jiggling excitedly on my lap and I set her on her feet. I know what will happen. Roland won’t answer. My name flashing on his screen will ensure it.
When his voicemail kicks in, I hold the phone out to Vi so she can leave a message. She’s disappointed but this is better than her pestering me to call him again.
“Hi, Daddy, it’s me, Violette. I miss you. I wish I could see you. I want to talk to you. I have a new friend. And I’m doing ballet now. We have a park outside our house. It’s fun to play there. Bye.”
Tears prickle my eyes as I hit the call end button. I may despise Roland for what he did to us but he’s still Vi’s father and I have to remember that.
“When will I see him again?”
I stare at my daughter, filled with self-loathing that I have to lie to the only person in this world I love. “I don’t know, sweetie. But you’ve left a message. Let’s wait and see, huh?”
Vi appears mollified and scoots out of the kitchen without a backward glance. I hear her running upstairs and I sag against the back of the chair.
Not having Roland in our lives any longer will get easier with time but as an acute ache spreads through my chest, I realize I miss him as much as Vi.
I shouldn’t. He’s no good for us.
I ran away to Hambridge Heights for a fresh start and that’s what I need to focus on. Building a new life for Violette and me. Our family.
Thirty-Five
Saylor
By the time Friday night comes around, I’m a wreck. I haven’t been sleeping well, envisaging all sorts of scenarios where this dinner party ends in disaster. Maybe I haven’t thought this through? Trying to extort someone over the phone is one thing, but faking it to their face while upping the ante? I never thought I’d be capable of something like this but whoever is blackmailing me has left me no choice. I need to protect what’s mine.
As for Ruston, he’s a complication I don’t need but I’m counting on his discretion. He won’t d
eliberately hurt me, though that’s exactly what he’s done countless times before. But this is different. We’re not involved and he knows I’m happily married so he won’t reveal our past. But I know sitting across the dinner table from him and pretending like we’re nothing more than acquaintances is going to be difficult. Am I that good an actress?
I know the answer when Lloyd catches sight of me and his eyes light up, like I’m a goddess. If this good man remotely suspects what I’ve become embroiled in he’ll be devastated. I hope when I tell him the truth he’ll forgive me but is he that much of a saint? Sadly, I fear that once he discovers my treachery, I’ll be left a poor single parent in debt to a monster that has the potential to ruin my life: more precisely, the lives of those closest to me.
If my secret gets out, it won’t affect me much. People who know me would glance at me sideways, gossip, maybe avoid me, but ultimately my life would go on. My parents on the other hand… having a well-known pastor who runs a church with branches in Syracuse, Buffalo, Poughkeepsie and Saratoga Springs, and broadcasts his sermons to hundreds of thousands more, mired in disgrace because of me… my family will be ruined.
Growing up, my parents had insisted I know the responsibilities that came with being a pastor’s daughter, one of them being to avoid scandal at all costs. I’d rolled my eyes at the time and snuck around behind their backs every chance I got in our hometown of Syracuse, until I witnessed firsthand the kind of damage a kid can wreak on their parents. A pastor in a nearby town had a son who got caught selling weed and the entire congregation turned on the pastor, abandoning his church, leaving him with nothing but a tarnished reputation.