When Juliet woke, much later than usual, the sun was already fragmented through the blinds. She showered, dressed, and poured a bowl of cereal, although she was so nervous, she didn’t have much of an appetite.
She had decided: She was going to get her family back.
Patrick had asked her for some space, and she’d given it to him. A whole week in which to decide whether they had a future together. Now it was up to her to change his mind and talk him into coming home.
On the drive down to Boca, Juliet rehearsed what she was going to say to Patrick when she saw him. But thinking about it, and how he might respond, made her too nervous—Christ, she could hardly believe she was nervous about seeing her family—so Juliet tried to think about work instead. And then she remembered she didn’t have a job anymore to think about. She finally just switched on the radio and tried not to think about anything at all. Which, oddly enough, worked—or, at least it did until Bill Withers’s “Ain’t No Sunshine (When She’s Gone)” came on, with its sappy breakup lyrics, and Juliet abruptly turned the radio off.
It was eleven by the time Juliet pulled up in front of the security gate that spanned the entrance to her in-laws’ subdivision. She gave her name to the security guard, who called to the house. There was a tense moment during which the guard hesitated over whether he should allow her in, and Juliet wondered if her in-laws had instructed him to keep her out. But he finally waved her through.
Just as Juliet pulled into the driveway of her in-laws’ peach stucco home, the front door opened and Emma and Izzy spilled out of it. Juliet was out of her car in a flash, and she opened her arms to her daughters. A second later she was hugging them, pulling them close to her.
“Hi,” Juliet said, kissing them each on the top of the head. They were wearing matching floral tank bathing suits—Patrick’s mother, Trish, always insisted on dressing them alike—and their hair smelled like sunshine and chlorine. The girls stumbled over each other to talk.
“We just got out of the pool, but we can go back in if you want to swim with us,” Izzy offered.
“Ooh, yes, come swim with us!” Emma said.
“Pops was playing Polo Marco with us,” Izzy said.
“Marco Polo,” Emma corrected her.
“Oh, yeah, right,” Izzy giggled.
“Look, Mama, I got earrings!” Emma announced.
“We both did! I have emeralds, and Emma has rubies.”
“What?” Juliet asked. She pulled back to look at her daughters—and at the earrings glinting in their newly pierced ears. “Who took you to get your ears pierced? Daddy?”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Patrick said. Juliet looked up, startled. She’d been so caught up in her reunion with the twins, she hadn’t heard him approach. Now, seeing him there, squinting into the sun, his dark hair a little too long on his neck, his skin glowing with a tan he hadn’t had a week earlier, Juliet was overcome with the urge to stand up and wrap her arms around him. But she didn’t. She continued to kneel next to the twins, who were turning their heads from side to side, gleefully preening as they showed off their new earrings.
“Gran said she needed a way to tell us apart,” Izzy announced.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve already given my mom hell about it,” Patrick said.
“Daddy told Gran that she crossed a line,” Emma informed Juliet.
“He said that we were too young to wear earrings,” Izzy continued.
“And Gran told Daddy that we were becoming young ladies, and that he can’t keep us babies forever,” Emma said.
“Then she said that it was a good thing she was there to do these things for us, because God knows you won’t,” Izzy finished.
“Izzy!” Patrick said sharply. “That’s enough.”
“I was just saying what Gran said,” Izzy grumbled.
But the words hit Juliet like a sucker punch to the gut. She stood slowly while she tried to regain her composure and not give in to the impulse to storm into the house and shake Trish until her teeth rattled out of her silly, vapid head.
Instead, Juliet smiled down at her daughters and then grabbed on to each girl’s hand. “How would you two like to go out to lunch with Mommy? Just the three of us?”
“Well…” Izzy hesitated. “Gran was going to take us to get manicures today.”
“Manicures?” Juliet asked. She looked up at Patrick, who had the grace to flush.
“I swear I didn’t know anything about it,” he said. “Come on, girls. Go in and get dressed. You can go get manicures with Gran another time.”
“Oh,” Emma said, disappointed. “But she said that I could have my nails painted red.”
“How about if I take you to get your nails painted after lunch,” Juliet suggested, and the twins immediately brightened. “Go on in, get dressed, and we’ll go when you’re ready.”
The twins scurried back in the house, jabbering happily. Juliet watched them go.
“I’ve missed them,” she said simply. She glanced back at Patrick, who was now staring at her with his eyebrows raised. “What?”
“You? In a nail salon? I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he said.
“I’ve had my nails done before,” Juliet said defensively.
“When?”
Juliet tried to remember, and when she finally did, she smiled. “In Vegas. The day we got married. I had a manicure in the casino beauty parlor. Remember? It was part of the package that we bought. It included a ‘day of beauty,’ which roughly translated to a twenty-minute manicure.”
Patrick grinned too, and Juliet knew he was also remembering that day, which had seemed so magical and glamorous despite the hot, tacky surroundings of downtown Las Vegas and the crowds of glum senior citizens milling about in track suits and visors.
“That’s right. I remember,” he said. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
Juliet had always loved his eyes, which were a clear, steady blue, loved the contrast they made with his pink cheeks and dark hair. Now, looking at him, she felt a swelling in her throat and had to swallow several times.
“Patrick…,” Juliet began.
“I know. We need to talk,” he said. The smile left his face, and he folded his arms over his chest. But before he could say anything else, the twins were running back out of the house, wearing cotton sundresses over their swimsuits. Izzy had a little denim purse slung over one wrist, and a naked Barbie doll with teased-up hair was sticking out of it.
“Ready!” they shrieked.
Despite the cold fear clutching at her from Patrick’s we need to talk—words that had never, ever, in the course of human existence preceded good news—Juliet couldn’t help but smile down at her daughters. How had she, of all people, managed to produce such girly girls? Barbies and manicures? And yet she loved it, adored the sweet silliness of her daughters. When she was with them, they made her laugh and got her out of her own head. They were good for her, Juliet knew. Probably better for her than she had been for them.
But from now on, she thought, that’s all going to change.
“We’ll talk later?” Patrick asked quietly.
“Later,” Juliet agreed. “Come on, girls. Let’s go get our nails painted red.”
“I don’t want red. I want pink,” Izzy said, as they turned away from Patrick and walked to Juliet’s car.
“Then pink it is,” Juliet promised.
“What color are you going to have your nails painted, Mommy?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you two pick out a color for me? You can surprise me.”
The twins squealed with excitement at this idea. And although Juliet didn’t glance back, she had the distinct feeling that Patrick was smiling again as he watched them leave.
When Juliet and the twins returned from their outing, Juliet was sporting purple nail polish, the color of a grape lollipop.
“Don’t laugh,” Juliet said warningly to Patrick, who had greeted them at the front door of his par
ents’ house. She held up her hands, fanning them out to show off her manicure.
“I think it suits you,” he said, as he stepped aside so that Juliet and the twins could enter. “Purple is clearly your color. It reminds me of…” He stopped, trying to remember.
“Disco Barbie,” Juliet said. “They picked it because it’s the exact same color that Disco Barbie wears on her nails.”
“Disco Barbie,” Patrick repeated, grinning.
“Hi, Gran,” Emma sang out.
“We got our nails done!” Izzy said.
Juliet turned and saw Trish lurking by the kitchen door.
Probably trying to eavesdrop, Juliet thought resentfully. She still hadn’t forgiven Trish for the newly pierced ears or the bitchy comment to go along with them.
“Hello, Juliet,” Trish said, smiling but looking a little ill at ease, as though she thought Juliet was at any minute going to make a scene.
Trish darted forward to kiss Juliet on the cheek, which Juliet did her best to endure without flinching. She even bent down to receive the kiss. Her mother-in-law was a surprisingly petite woman—especially considering how tall Patrick was—and although she’d been beautiful when she was younger, she hadn’t aged well. Trish compensated for her pouching eyes and puckering lips with a vast battalion of cosmetics. If the cosmetician at the Chanel counter in Neiman Marcus worked on commission, Trish was probably single-handedly supporting the woman.
In fact, Juliet had never seen her mother-in-law without makeup on and had long suspected that Trish even slept fully done up. Today, Trish had dusted her face with bronzer, giving her a weird, seventies-television-star glow. And then there was the tattooed-on eyeliner, three shades of blue eye shadow, navy mascara, brown lip liner, and matte brown lipstick. She wore her hair short and dark, with heavy blond highlights on the crown.
Oh, my God, Juliet thought, as she suddenly realized who Trish reminded her of. She looks like David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust phase!
Juliet had to swallow several times to keep from laughing out loud.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Trish asked solicitously. “I made a roast chicken.”
“What she means is that she bought an already roasted chicken,” Sean Cole said, following her out of the kitchen. He was as tall as his wife was short, making them a strikingly mismatched couple. When he slung his arm around her shoulder, the top of her head didn’t even reach his armpit. “Hi, Juliet.”
“Hello, Sean.”
“I made the side dishes,” Trish protested.
Sean grinned down at her. He always delighted in teasing his wife. “Rice and salad?” he asked.
“Oh, stop,” Trish said, flapping a hand at him.
“Yuck. I hate salad,” Izzy said darkly.
“Iz,” Juliet said warningly.
“That’s why I made you fruit salad, princess,” Trish said.
“Me too?” Emma asked, her forehead creasing with worry.
“You too,” Trish assured her with a smile. She looked back at Juliet. “So you’ll stay?”
“Thanks, Mom, but I think Juliet and I are going to go out for a little while. I’m not sure if we’ll be back in time for dinner,” Patrick said.
Juliet glanced up at him, wondering where they were going. But Patrick’s expression was inscrutable. For all she could tell, he could be taking her to a divorce attorney.
“Do you mind watching the twins?” Patrick asked his parents.
“Of course not,” Trish said. “Come on, girls, let’s go swimming.”
At this, the twins whooped with delight and raced off toward the pool.
“Wait for me,” Trish called after them. She looked beseechingly up at her husband. “Sean, go watch them. Those little monkeys will be in the water before you know it.”
“I’m on the job,” Sean said, hurrying off after his granddaughters.
“We’ll be back in a bit,” Patrick said, jingling his car keys in his hand. He was standing close to Juliet, just behind her, but she could feel him holding himself away from her. He didn’t lay his hand on her back, as he would have once done. Juliet desperately missed that hand.
“Okay. Oh, and Juliet?” Trish stepped forward, looking worried. “About the twins’ earrings—I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have had their ears pierced without asking you first.”
Juliet was stunned. She could not remember her mother-in-law ever apologizing to her about anything. And that included the time that Trish took it upon herself to throw Juliet and Patrick a surprise wedding reception after their elopement, even when they had specifically forbidden her to do so. They showed up for dinner one night and were greeted by seventy-five guests. Even worse, Trish had invited a priest, insisting that since Juliet and Patrick had a civil ceremony in Vegas, they weren’t officially married according to Catholic law. She’d then attempted to force them into repeating their vows. Juliet, who was not Catholic, had firmly refused, not backing down even when Trish cried.
So an apology—this was no small thing. Trish was actually waving a white flag.
“Thanks, Trish. I appreciate that,” Juliet said.
Trish smiled and self-consciously smoothed her hair.
“And thank you for all you’ve done with Izzy and Em this week. They were telling me all about it at lunch today. They’ve had a wonderful time,” Juliet said.
“Oh, well, it’s a grandmother’s prerogative to spoil her grandbabies,” Trish said.
Juliet smiled briefly and wondered what kind of grandmother her own mother would have made. Lillian had been a disappointment as a mother, but maybe she would have tried to make up for that once she was a grandmother.
Who knows? Juliet thought. Stranger things have happened.
She felt Patrick’s eyes resting on her, and when she looked up at him, he had a quizzical expression on his face.
“Shall we go?” Patrick asked her quietly. Juliet nodded and exchanged a brief smile with Trish before following Patrick out the door.
They left their shoes by the wooden stairs that led down to the beach and strolled barefoot down toward the water. As they walked, Patrick kept his hands in his pockets and Juliet crossed her arms in front of her. The tide was coming in, rolling toward them in large, white-capped waves. A few high-school-age boys were surfing, or trying to, doing their best to show off in front of the teenage girls lounging about in skimpy bikinis. Juliet could see a few boats off in the distance, looking small against the horizon. Gulls swooped down before them, bickering over the remains of picnic lunches.
“I quit my job,” Juliet said.
Patrick came to an abrupt stop, and Juliet had to turn to look at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I quit my job.”
“But…why? When?”
Juliet looked down at her toes—painted the same garish purple as her fingers—sinking into the wet sand.
Should I tell him about Alex? she wondered, clenching her hands so tight, her nails dug into her palms.
She wanted them to have a fresh start, to not have any secrets from each other, but she also didn’t want to hurt her husband. Or inexorably damage their already fragile relationship. Even though she hadn’t had sex with Alex, that would be a small consolation to Patrick upon learning that his wife had made out with another man in a hotel room. He wasn’t the sort of guy—if such a guy existed—to laugh off some friendly heavy petting and say, “Oh, well, as long as his penis didn’t enter your body, no harm done.”
And then Juliet had a revelation: If she confessed, she’d be doing it for herself, to alleviate her own guilt. It wouldn’t help Patrick move on; it would devastate him. The kindest thing, the most loving thing she could do, would be to carry her own burden of guilt and not pass it off to Patrick.
“I thought you’d be happy I quit,” she said instead.
“I just…What about making partner?”
“They offered me a partnership. I turned it down.”
“You turned it
down?” Patrick’s voice was incredulous.
“You said that something had to change. So I changed it,” Juliet said simply. She stepped forward and reached out for his hand. There was a long moment where he didn’t reach back to her, a moment where Juliet couldn’t breathe, but then…then he did. He entwined his fingers with hers, and they held their hands between them like a bridge.
“And now what?” he asked.
“Come home. I miss you. I miss the twins. I miss my family,” Juliet said, her voice soft but steady. She tried to ignore the nervous thump-thump-thump of her heart and the breath that seemed trapped in her chest.
“I’ve missed you too,” Patrick said quietly.
“And if you want to go back to work, we’ll find a way to make it work,” Juliet said.
“What about the twins?” Patrick asked.
“Well, their school has an after-hours program. They’d probably really like going to that. And I’m going to find a job that will let me have more flexibility. Maybe one where I could work at home a few afternoons a week,” Juliet said. She hesitated. “I’ll almost certainly have to take a pay cut, though.”
Patrick didn’t say, There are more important things than money. Nor did he puff out his chest and say, Don’t worry, I can support us.
Instead, he said, “Would you be okay with that?”
And the fact that he understood her so well, that he actually got her, caused Juliet to feel a warm whoosh of love for him.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m okay with that.”
Patrick swung their hands gently back and forth between them.
“It hasn’t just been your job,” he said seriously. “You’ve been distant—even when you’re around.”
“I know,” Juliet said, remembering how many hours she’d wasted fantasizing about having a relationship with Alex. “That’s going to change too.”
Patrick let go of her hand and squinted into the sun. Juliet got the feeling that the jury was now deliberating, weighing the persuasiveness of her promises against the cold reality of her past behavior. But Patrick surprised her.
“It wasn’t just you,” he said suddenly, thrusting his hands back in his pants pocket. “I get some of the blame for this too.”
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