Good Little Wives

by Abby Drake

  “I saw Mrs. DeLano at the deli. She asked if I was home on semester break, and if I was helping with the party. I asked if she was coming. Geez, Mom, how was I supposed to know you and Dad didn’t invite her? She’d been at every party I could ever remember.”

  Dana could explain that she couldn’t have invited Kitty because Kitty was divorced, single, not a fitting position for a party. “I didn’t invite Vincent and Yolanda, either.” Her voice quieted, her heartstrings inevitably tugged by his innocence.

  “Well, it was Christmas Eve. And she was all alone.”

  His skin was far too thin to live in New Falls, New York. “And so you slept with her?”

  Sam winced. “No,” he said. “Not then.”

  “But later. Before you went back to school.”

  “Well,” he said. “Yes.”

  “Do your brothers know about this?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And your father?”

  “No.”

  He was twenty-one years old. What was she supposed to say? That he’d be better off with Chloe? Or Elise? Ha! So it had not been Elise who’d attracted him.

  “Honey,” she said, the word slipping out, “is this why you didn’t go to Cozumel? Is this why you’ve been so intent on finding Vincent’s killer?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not like an affair, Mom. But I feel sorry for her. Her husband dumped her. Her kids are never around. Her mother’s sick. She has no one, Mom. Can you imagine what that’s like?”

  As a matter of fact, Dana could imagine. She could go him one better by imagining what it was like to still be a teenager, to learn of your mother’s death from your father who was in jail. Yes, Dana Kimball Fulton knew all too well what it was like to have no one.

  “Sam,” she said, her spine stiffening, “this is neither the time nor place to talk about this. Go back upstairs and put on your shirt.” Her voice broke; she hoped he didn’t notice. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I sincerely hope you say good-bye to Kitty once and for all. The woman is vile. She has taken advantage of you, and for all we both know she’s a killer.”

  He paused a brief second before opening the door. And Dana closed her eyes because she could not stand to watch him leave.

  Bridget sat in the living room, waiting for Randall to come home, holding a note that Aimée had stuck under the four-inch letter “A” magnet that hung on the refrigerator door.

  The house was quiet: It was Friday, so Lorraine was not there, either, which gave Bridget the chance to reread the note several times.

  Mom. Went to the mall with Krissie. Monsieur LaBrecque called. He’s leaving for Texas tonight to join his wife. I told him I’m not going back. He said in that case they’ll leave for France right from Houston. He told me to tell you good-bye.

  It was the last sentence, of course, that smarted the most.

  He told me to tell you good-bye.

  Short. Abrupt. Definitive.

  Good-bye.

  She half wondered if she should have asked him more about the man who’d gone to France asking questions. Would Luc have had as much motive to kill Vincent as Randall or Bob or Jack? Was he physically capable of flying here, killing Vincent, then returning to France to come back with Aimée? But, if so, where would he get a gun in this country?

  She was still sorting those thoughts an hour later when Randall came into the room.

  “Bridget?” he asked. “What are you doing here, sitting all alone in the near dark?”

  He sat down beside her, he took her hand. His toupee looked a little off-kilter today, but his fingers felt warm threaded through hers.

  “Oh, Randall,” she quietly said. “We have to talk about Vincent DeLano. I must tell you what he did to me. Then you must tell me if you killed him.”

  And because Randall was Randall, so kind and so caring, he sat and he listened while she told him about growing up in the Camargue, about her mother and her father and the young cowboy named Luc and the wreath of flowers he once made for her hair. Then she told him that they were married and that they had a son. She told him how bright and adorable her petit Alain was, and how he filled their lives with so much love.

  She told him about Luc’s accident and about Alain’s death, and all through her talking, Randall patiently listened without interrupting, without letting go of her hand.

  She did not, of course, deserve his love.

  When she was finished, Bridget said, “Do you want me to continue?”

  Randall shook his head. If he wondered if Aimée was Luc’s daughter, not his, it seemed he did not want to know. Perhaps some old doors were better left closed.

  “Vincent found out about my past,” she continued. “I paid him so he wouldn’t tell you.” She didn’t add that the money had come from the pile of cash she’d amassed over the years from the generous allowance Randall had afforded her. It had been money she’d intended to use when she left Randall and moved back to France, back to Luc, if only Luc had said he wanted her back.

  “I wish you’d told me these things earlier,” Randall said. “But it was a long time ago, Bridget. We have a good life here, don’t we? We’ve made a good home for each other in spite of it all?”

  Perhaps he did know about Aimée, she thought. Perhaps he had known from the beginning when she returned from her father’s funeral with a new glow of pregnancy. “Oui, Randall,” she said, and reached up and touched his loving, trusting face. “We have made a good home.” Then she leaned against him because she finally knew she was safe, that this was where she really did belong. “And you did not kill Vincent?”

  Randall let out a small chuckle. “Non, ma chérie, I did not kill Vincent. The truth is, I was afraid you were going to say that you had.”

  They sat there, holding on to each other, until the sun set and Aimée came in with Krissie and said, “Oh, gross, my parents are hugging,” and the girls giggled and Bridget could not believe how full and happy she finally felt.

  Thirty-five

  Steven came in on the red-eye Saturday morning and crawled into bed as Dana crawled out.

  “How was your meeting?” she asked out of obligatory wifeliness.

  “Noisy. Energizing. It’s more peaceful at home.”

  Ha! That’s what he thought.

  She grabbed her bathrobe and headed for the shower. “I have to pick Ben up at LaGuardia.”

  “Send the car. Or send Sam.”

  Dana shook her head. “No. I need some alone time.”

  His cocked an eyebrow. “Honey,” he asked. “Are you angry with me?”

  If she said yes she’d be admitting that she’d gone behind his back. If she said no she’d be dishonest. “Go to sleep, Steven. I’ll wake you in time for you to get into your tux.”

  “I’m not going to sleep until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  Maybe that was why their relationship had worked so long. They’d always been able to communicate, hadn’t they? To talk things out before they reached operatic crescendo?

  “I have a headache,” she said.

  “Then call the car to pick up Ben.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m angry with you. I’m angry with myself. Worst of all, I am so pissed off at Sam, I’m not sure which one of us I’m more infuriated with.”

  “Come back to bed,” he said.

  “Why? Will sex solve my problems?”

  “Yes. It always does.”

  “Steven!”

  He patted the edge of the bed. “Come back to bed, honey. And tell me what’s going on.”

  She hated that he was right, that orgasms could wash away more layers of tension than hours of heart-to-hearts. She hated that because he was a man, that concept came so easily to him.

  “Please?” he asked. “Then I can forgive you for going to Michael behind my back and you can forgive me for second-guessing you on that one and we can have great sex and everything will be fine.”

  So. Michael had told him that she’d been there. Should she be angry
with him, too? “What makes you think everything will be fine?”

  “Because I love you. Love conquers all, doesn’t it?”

  “You might not totally agree. When you hear the rest.”

  “What ‘rest’? Did you kill Vincent DeLano?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you know that Sam was screwing Kitty?”

  He paused, startled. “Ah, no. I didn’t know that.”

  The sight of his surprise, God help her, gave her momentary satisfaction, for which she instantly felt guilty.

  Then Steven said, “Jesus, doesn’t the boy have better taste than that?”

  In spite of everything, she laughed.

  He reached out to her, then patted the bed again. “Come here.”

  “I can’t. How can we make love when I’ll only picture Sam and Kitty?”

  He frowned. “That’s true. You have a point.”

  “Steven!”

  He smiled. “Come here?” This time he asked softly.

  And Dana took off her robe and went back to bed, not because she was such a great wife, but because she really loved this man and sometimes love really did conquer all, at least for a while.

  Lauren touched the tiny folds of skin gathered at her throat that Dr. Gregg would never repair. They would show now, she knew. Now that her Mikimotos were gone.

  Caroline had told Lauren the name of the man who’d bought her mother’s sapphires—Wallace Ashton, who lived in Brooklyn Heights. After Lauren had argued with Bob—indeed, after he’d tried to rape her—she’d left the house. She’d called Caroline, asked for the name, then conveyed her regrets that she wouldn’t be attending the gala after all.

  “For what it’s worth,” she’d added, “I don’t think my husband killed Vincent. Tell the others I’m sorry, and that I’ll be in touch.”

  She’d gone to Mr. Ashton’s, then spent the night in an Omni hotel on Route 95 somewhere off the highway in Connecticut.

  Now it was morning. She’d had a surprising appetite that she’d filled with coffee and an omelet and a blueberry Danish at the restaurant on the nineteenth floor. She even enjoyed the view—what was not to enjoy? Lauren was finally free.

  She had on the clothes that she’d worn to lunch yesterday. She had a toiletry kit that she’d bought in the small shop in the lobby. She had her big Mercedes that Bob could trace, but she hoped he wouldn’t. She’d even parked it in self-park for the night instead of valet, in order to save seventeen dollars.

  She had those things and an envelope, that, thanks to Mr. Ashton, held three hundred and ten thousand dollars in cash. She had a suspicion she could have held out for four hundred, but she was in a hurry and did not want to quibble. She would not touch the trust fund: She did not know how much of the money had been from her parents, or how much Bob had added. It would be easier to begin anew.

  Nantucket awaited. And Lauren planned never to return to New Falls.

  The rest of her life would be spent on a tiny island with over eighty miles of beaches and memories of a childhood that might have been quirky, but at least belonged to her.

  There was only one thing left for her to do now.

  Before leaving the parking lot, she turned on her cell phone and called Dory.

  “Go home to Jeffrey,” Lauren said. “He is your husband, and you have a new baby. Go home and try to work something out. If you can’t—if you truly can’t—you’ll know where to find me.”

  “You look lovely,” Jack said, and Caroline was surprised because it had been so long since he’d said that.

  “Thank you,” she replied, and eyed herself one last time in the full-length mirrored wall at the Hudson Valley Centre. She was glad she’d had the facelift done in time for tonight. The facelift and the Versace had been good choices, the latter with its halter top and long slit that skimmed up her thigh. Like the surroundings, the dress was soft yellow, which seemed ludicrous if the affair had been only “lust” as Elise had proclaimed. “You look rather nice yourself.”

  He smiled a crooked smile, the same smile that had captured her heart a hundred years back when he’d had less money and she’d been determined. She had loved him then, she supposed.

  She turned from him and surveyed the ballroom. In moments the doors would open and New Falls would step inside. The tables were set, the flowers arced perfectly in their vases, the lighting had a gentle glow. The twelve-piece orchestra had finished tuning up and sat there, violin bows poised, waiting for her cue. (She’d tried to get that little combo Condoleezza Rice played in, but was informed that “they don’t do this sort of thing.” Whatever.)

  Along the side wall the waitstaff stood in crisp, spotless white. They held small serving trays with delicate hors d’oeuvres: raspberries and Brie wrapped in phyllo, baked feta-stuffed olives, wild mushroom pierogi with Oregon white truffles.

  She’d stayed up most of last night, rearranging the damn seating. With Lauren and Bob out of the picture and Yolanda back in with whoever was her date, Caroline decided she might as well seat the DeLano party in the Hallidays’ place. If nothing else, it would draw attention to their table and might give Caroline points for showing sympathy toward the new widow.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Jack said because he was a geek sometimes.

  “My thoughts are worth much more than that,” she said with a slow smile.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Will she be here tonight?” he asked. “Elise DeLano?”

  The halter seemed to tighten at the back of her neck. Her eyes stayed on the waitstaff. “Kitty’s daughter?” Her heart beat once, then twice.

  “I had a visit yesterday, from a fellow named Paul Tobin. I believe you know the man?”

  She stepped away from Jack. She could not risk perspiring on the Versace, not now, not tonight.

  He followed her to the door, to the place where they would stand, the king and queen of New Falls, welcoming their subjects, one and all. “I believe you underestimated the man. We need to talk, Caroline.”

  “Not now,” she said, and motioned for the maitre d’ to open the grand doors.

  The music began, the waitstaff went into motion, a smile miraculously found its way to her newly plumped-up lips, the kind of smile she’d mastered when she’d been a girl and her father had needed her to act as if Mother was not in bed, drunk.

  Beside her, Jack’s smile twinned hers. Hello, he said to friends and strangers. Hello, nice to see you. He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “It isn’t like you to be sloppy, Caroline. We’ll talk about that later, too.”

  She couldn’t tell if the music was the prelude she’d picked out. She didn’t know if people were finding their place cards, if the waitstaff was circulating properly. It was as if she’d moved into a different dimension where it had become difficult to hear, to speak, to think.

  And then Yolanda arrived. She wore the pink diamonds Vincent had bought her. She also wore a pink form-fitting dress—one that clung to her belly, her small but obviously pregnant belly.

  “Yolanda,” Jack said because Caroline had not. “You look lovely tonight.”

  Yolanda smiled and rubbed her belly. “I decided it was time to show New Falls that I’m going to have Vincent’s baby.”

  “That’s nice,” Jack said, though Caroline half heard him because behind Yolanda was Elise—breathtaking Elise—dressed in a pale yellow gown not unlike Caroline’s. She should have guessed the girl would come with Yolanda. She should have guessed they’d try to ruin her night.

  “Nice dress,” Elise said to her.

  “Elise,” Jack said as the odd couple moved down the king and queen’s reception line. “My goodness, look how you’ve grown up.”

  Just then Caroline spotted Dana and Steven, Bridget and Randall. She broke away from Jack and from tradition and moved through the crowd of people to speak with her only friends.

  “They’ve done it to get back at me
,” Caroline said to Dana and Bridget, once the men went to the bar and they had a moment to themselves. “They’ve done it to thumb their noses.”

  “You mean at us,” Bridget said. “It’s obvious that both Yolanda and Elise hate everything about New Falls.”

  “Where are they sitting?” Dana asked.

  “With us. I decided to be kind, so I seated Yolanda’s date next to me.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Mon dieu.”

  “What’s worse, Jack knows. Paul Tobin went to him. I guess Tobin is angry that Kitty is free and he won’t get his trial of the year.”

  “This is awful,” Dana said.

  “Trés terrible,” Bridget said.

  ”Where’s Lauren?” Dana asked.

  ”She and Bob had a quarrel. They won’t be coming. Oh, this is all simply dreadful.”

  Then the drama relocated to the front door when Kitty suddenly walked in.

  Thirty-six

  She was wearing a light green dress that they’d all seen before—perhaps at last year’s gala, perhaps the year before.

  “I’m hoping to buy a ticket at the door,” she said as she boldly approached Caroline.

  A chill crawled from Dana’s fingers to her toes.

  “Kitty,” Caroline said, recovering in an instant because she was still Caroline Meacham, after all. “I can’t imagine why you’ve come, but it’s not appropriate.”

  “Why not? I used to live in New Falls. I raised my children here, or perhaps you hadn’t heard. And I’m prepared to make a large donation. I’m about to come into two million dollars, in case you haven’t heard that, either.”

  “Keety,” Bridget said, and Dana might have, too, if only she could speak, if only she could look at the woman and not see big-hearted Sam’s face. “You don’t want to cause more trouble, do you?”

  But Keety raised an eyebrow. “I’ve only come to reclaim my rightful position in this godforsaken town.” Her eyes were distant, filmy, as they traveled the room. “But do tell: Has my successor come as well?”