The Silent Wife: A Novel

by A. S. A. Harrison

  8

  HIM

  Over the next little while Todd is taken in hand by Natasha, who insists that he accompany her all over town on various errands and excursions. Every day he breaks from work at odd hours. They visit the obstetrician, look at rental apartments, and buy things for the baby—toys, a carriage, a matching crib and dresser—which Todd has to store in the damp basement of his office building for lack of anywhere else to put them. All the more reason, says Natasha, to hurry up and find a place for them to live.

  In the third week of September he signs a lease on a two-bedroom apartment in River North. Natasha likes it because it’s newly renovated, with a teak and granite kitchen and a Jacuzzi. She also likes that they can move in on the first of October, which is just around the corner.

  After the lease signing, which takes place midmorning on a weekday, Natasha declares that celebratory sex is mandatory, so they check in to their usual room at the Crowne Plaza and Todd does his best to perform in spite of the news he received from Cliff earlier in the day about the leaky basement at the Jefferson Park apartment house. They knew that moisture was getting in, but Cliff is saying that it’s worse than they thought, that yesterday’s downpour was a wake-up call. As soon as he can get away he drives to the site to see for himself the seepage along the west wall (where he plans to put the laundry room) that is only going to get worse. This will mean a major dent in his profit margin and does not leave him in a good mood, coming on top of today’s lease signing. Paying for two residences in the same city is a fool’s game, but what choice does he have? Given that Natasha has his balls in a vise and things with Jodi have still not come to a head. Although Natasha insists that Jodi knows the truth, he’s not entirely sure that he believes her. He’s thought about having a talk with Jodi, but when he runs that conversation through his mind it comes to a dead end, considering that he himself has not made any final decisions about his future, that leaving Jodi is by no means a fixed item on his agenda. Natasha can nag and Natasha can pressure, but he will come to his own conclusion in his own time.

  Another thing that’s taxing his patience is Natasha’s jealousy of Jodi. Natasha wants him to leave Jodi and move to a hotel. It isn’t right, she says, that he goes home to Jodi every night when she, Natasha, is incubating his baby. Worse, she’s developed a ghoulish curiosity about his and Jodi’s life together. She wants to know what they talk about, what they eat for dinner, what they wear to bed. He tells her that he and Jodi are friends, that they haven’t made love in years. He even told her once that Jodi wished them well. But nothing seems to appease her. If only she would get a grip and settle down. He’s been with Jodi for a long time. Natasha is young; she doesn’t understand the pull of the years. She’s impatient and lacks perspective, has a hot head, tends to be stubborn and willful like her father.

  She’s also a born mother, a nurturing type who wants a big family, and he likes that, can just about imagine himself as a patriarch, the benevolent head of a brood of boys and girls in staggered sizes. He sees them lined up as if for a family photo, clean and pressed, quiet and well behaved. Above all else, kids need to mind their manners; you can’t have them running wild and taking over. When his boys are old enough he’ll teach them the trades, show them the city, explain to them how the neighborhoods have grown up through the years, how property values have changed, how to spot a deal when they see one, his accumulated knowledge passed on and not gone to waste. It’s a different life from the one he’s been leading, and in many ways it appeals to him, but so far it’s just an idea, a projection, a possibility. Natasha needs to be patient and take things as they come because nothing is fixed. Nothing is decided. He won’t move forward till a clear path opens up in front of him. He isn’t going to heedlessly walk away from the home he’s made with Jodi and everything they’ve shared for so many years. Jodi is his touchstone, his world, his promised land. When she came into his life—when she showed up a sight for sore eyes in a downpour at a congested intersection, when she helped him consecrate the Bucktown mansion, when she decided to believe in him and came another day to help him paint and balanced on the ladder with supreme grace, back then on any given day he wanted only to inhabit her—her flawless skin, her supple form, her open heart. And then, as things progressed, as their togetherness deepened, something in him shifted, the ground solidified beneath his feet and he lost the sense that he couldn’t take a right step, that any step he took would land wrong.

  In his boyhood home there was never any sense of equilibrium; it was always a matter of uncertain alliances: his mother protecting him from his father, his father setting him against his mother, his own confusion and shifting sense of loyalty. He spent a lot of time with the Kovacses, eating dinner with Dean and his family and sometimes sleeping over, finding it strange and impressive that Mr. Kovacs was always present at the table, that he’d compliment his wife on the meal, that he was rarely seen with a drink in his hand. Mrs. Kovacs would invite Todd to join them for Thanksgiving, and one year she asked him to come along on their summer vacation, to keep Dean company she said. She was nice that way, making it seem as if he was doing them a favor instead of the other way around.

  When he met Jodi’s parents they reminded him of Mr. and Mrs. Kovacs. They had the same easy air of cordial good nature, and their home had the same feeling of dependable middle-class comfort, and sitting down with them to a pot roast and a glass of apple juice, he felt a keen sense of déjà vu. He was impressed by the ease between Jodi and her mother as they got the meal on the table and by the camaraderie between Jodi and her father, who teased her about her rapid advancement through the education system, calling her Frau Doktor Jodi, which made her becomingly blush. He felt himself to be an interloper from an underclass, the boyfriend who had opted out of an education and entered into the perilous, possibly doomed life of a struggling would-be entrepreneur. He was broke, untried, and unproven, and it went without saying that he would not pass muster with Jodi’s parents.

  But Mr. Brett—a stocky man with black-framed glasses, a man who didn’t smile even when he joked and who, according to Jodi, had been a firm disciplinarian with his children—turned out to be gracious and attentive, and Mrs. Brett was also very nice, a handsome woman with an air of refinement who welcomed Todd with a great show of warmth.

  When everyone was seated with their napkins in their laps, Jodi said, “Todd is restoring a grand old mansion in Bucktown. The previous owner turned it into a rooming house and left it in a mess. Todd is doing the city a great service, if only they knew it.”

  “Is that so, Todd?” said Mrs. Brett.

  “Sounds like a challenging project,” said Mr. Brett.

  “He’s doing all the work himself,” Jodi added. “He knows all the trades and he’s really good at them.”

  “What kind of timeline are you on?” asked Mr. Brett.

  “Well, sir, I guess I’m just going as fast as I can,” said Todd.

  “He’s brilliant at the business end of it too,” said Jodi.

  He hadn’t exactly lied to her but he’d never told her the truth either—that the Bucktown mansion was as good as quicksand, that the swamp of debt was about to suck him under, that he would end up working construction, a job he’d done summers during high school and then again for several years afterward—and at this critical moment, the moment when he was meant to swagger a little in front of Jodi’s parents, his confidence deserted him entirely.

  “It takes guts to do something like that,” said Mr. Brett. “But now’s the time for it, while you’re still young and have the energy.”

  “You bought the drugstore when you were young,” Jodi said to her father.

  “Your mother and I were about the age you two are now,” said Mr. Brett.

  “The worst thing is to let your dreams slip away without fighting for them,” said Mrs. Brett.

  “Mom wanted to be a singer,” said Jodi. “She has a beautiful singing voice.”

  “Used to have,” s
aid Mrs. Brett.

  “Running your own business is the way to go,” said Mr. Brett. “Doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you’re your own boss.”

  “Some people care more about security,” said Todd, doubtful of all this approval.

  “That will come in time,” said Mr. Brett.

  “You have to start somewhere,” said Mrs. Brett.

  “What sort of a house is it?” asked Mr. Brett.

  Todd obligingly answered that it was built in 1880 but that—unlike many Chicago mansions of the period—it was more Gothic Revival than Victorian, was a bit of a monstrosity, in fact. “It looks like your typical haunted house,” he said. “And it’s gone to ruin. Even the grounds are a mess, all rubble and weeds. I’ll need to rent a tiller to turn the soil.”

  “You’ll want to put in your grass seed anytime now,” said Mr. Brett. “Give it a chance to root before the cold weather comes. Or your sod, if that’s what you’re planning, but seed does better in the long run, and it’s cheaper.”

  “Take his word for it,” said Jodi. “He knows about grass.”

  “I noticed the lawn when we came in,” said Todd.

  “The lawn is his pride and joy,” said Mrs. Brett.

  “Don’t let grass intimidate you,” said Mr. Brett. “Growing grass is simple chemistry.”

  Later, when Jodi and Todd were out walking, Todd said, “I love your parents. They’re so nice.”

  It was late summer, a time of year for lush, fading blooms and dusk descending with slow, archaic majesty. The evening light lingered in the western sky as they rambled through the quiet streets, past Jodi’s old high school and the United Methodist church she had attended with her family and the houses of friends who, like her, had grown up and moved away. Jodi by then was solidly in his life, but there was still a flavor of mystery about her, a glamour with origins he couldn’t quite divine. What he did know was that he’d never met a girl he wanted so much to impress. He longed to live up to her faith in him, to be the man she needed and deserved. Walking beside her in the radiant dusk, in the otherworldly trafficless quiet of the small rural community, lapped by scented breezes, the air itself a lulling bath, he felt that his life could finally begin, that she was the god he would worship and the talisman that would make things come out right.

  By the time they returned from their walk, the sky had darkened and the streetlights were on. The plan was to stay the night and drive back the next day after lunch. He knew that the visit would be a chaste one because Jodi had forewarned him that her parents were the old-fashioned sort, and true to form Mrs. Brett made a point of showing him into the room that had once belonged to Ryan, the younger boy, whereas Jodi, he understood, would be spending the night in her own room down the hall. He found this endearing, even commendable, the impulse of the parents to cocoon their daughter as best they could, at least for the time she was under their roof. Like most parents they no doubt saw their grown child as a youngster still, and on some level he must strike them as a menacing stranger who had somehow found his way into the family compound. Still, he was content to take their hospitality at face value and not concern himself with whatever might be crawling around under the tribal bedrock. He knew, for instance, that there was some sort of trouble between Jodi and her brothers—that she didn’t speak to the older one and that she worried about the younger one, who had turned out to be a black sheep of sorts—but the brothers didn’t figure in the general conversation, and nor was there any sign of strife between the parents.

  —

  A few months later, in the glory days of autumn when the treetops burned with color and the side-angled light cast the city in a golden glow—he always feels in fall that there should be trumpet blasts or bugle calls—after he’d sold the Bucktown mansion and consolidated his future, in his own mind at least, he and Jodi found a small apartment in the Loop and merged their belongings and their lives.

  He wanted to marry her, intended to marry her, and thought about ways he could propose that might overturn her resistance. Being together was perfect, she said, and why mess with it, but it seemed to him that she might be persuaded, flattered himself that he could slip past her guard. Commitment appealed to him, a fortress of togetherness, a pledge to guarantee their future. If you couldn’t secure your stronghold at the outset, how could you expect it to survive when the storms blew through? He wanted them to vouchsafe their love, give it over to something greater than the two of them.

  In the end he decided that the best tactic was to simply spring it on her, hoping that she might just concede in a spirit of spontaneity, and he tried this many times, but she never would take him seriously. He’d say, “Let’s get married,” and she’d say, “Can we stop at the supermarket first?” He was a little stung by it, but there was something to admire in her resolve. Anyway, boys don’t grow up dreaming of their wedding day. Having her promise—hearing her say the words, take the vow—would have meant something to him, but her love and devotion were never in doubt. She belonged to him; they belonged to each other. And they were happy. She took care of him in surprising ways, making an art of their household arrangements, easing the burden of day-to-day life, and it was new to him, this domestic gratification—that she was there for him when he got home, how pretty she looked, how delicious the dinner, that his clothes were clean and pressed when he needed them, that she wanted to do this for him. He found it so tender, so exquisite that he feared it couldn’t last, but the two of them together had a surprising innate stability. With Jodi it was never about the sex—or not mainly about the sex. Or let’s say it was about much more than the sex. Jodi had emphatic core values, knew what she wanted. With Jodi you could relax. There was no hidden agenda, nothing jumping out at you. And yet there was more to her than just this. There were depths that he couldn’t fathom, fires that didn’t warm him, places beyond his reach. There was substance to her. She was everything a man could want and so much more.

  9

  HER

  “Mrs. Gilbert?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Natasha Kovacs speaking.”

  There’s a pause while Jodi considers cutting her off. She is not going to benefit from having this conversation.

  “Please don’t hang up, Mrs. Gilbert.”

  What can she possibly want? Jodi wonders.

  “I’m not the person you think I am,” says Natasha. “Please believe me, I feel terrible about what’s happened. Todd and I both do. I guess in a way I’m calling to say that I’m sorry. That we’re both sorry.”

  How is it that her life has arrived at this implausible culminating moment when she’s done her best for so many years to make things work, to be helpful and accommodating, a good wife and companion, often in adverse and trying circumstances? Todd is not an easy man to live with, and yet she’s made a success of it, held things together, created and maintained a peaceful, agreeable life for the two of them.

  “I wanted to tell you that I appreciate everything you did for us, for me and my father, after Mom died,” says Natasha. “Please don’t think I’ve forgotten. The birthday presents. The time you took me shopping for school clothes. You went the distance, Mrs. Gilbert. You were the only one who stepped in to fill the void, and it made a difference. I always think of you fondly and I never wanted to—”

  She can’t allow this prattle to continue. What can the girl be thinking?

  “Natasha,” she says. “You do realize that this is going to end badly for you. And you can stop thinking of me as a mentor. I no longer wish you well, and there’s nothing we need to discuss.”

  In spite of this Natasha persists.

  “I can understand how you would feel that way,” she says. “Maybe you hate me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But you’ve got to give me credit for trying. It wasn’t easy for me to call you, Mrs. Gilbert. I didn’t know if you’d even speak to me, in spite of what Todd says. He tells me that you’re happy for us, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his par
t. You’ve been with him a long time. I know you’re going to miss him. At least until you get used to it. He did tell you, didn’t he, that we’ve leased an apartment in River North?”

  She stops, waits for a reaction. Met with silence she forges on.

  “I’m sorry if that comes as a shock, Mrs. Gilbert. We need to make a home for the baby. It’s a beautiful apartment. Maybe you’ll come and see us once we’ve settled in. We’d love for you to visit. In a way you’ll be a kind of auntie.”

  Jodi has been pacing, marking out a warped figure eight. Clockwise around the sofa and chairs that face the fireplace, past the wall of windows, counterclockwise around the dining table, and back again. Now she comes to a standstill. Todd is the one at fault here. It’s Todd who has exposed her to this. Shame on him for picking on this child, so naive and spiteful, so desperately insecure. Todd can be insensitive, but how can he string the girl along so heartlessly, his best friend’s daughter, too. The poor thing has no idea who Todd really is or how he operates.

  “Natasha,” she says. “I understand that you are in over your head and don’t quite know what to do about it. What are you—twenty, twenty-one? Your father tells me you’re still in school. He says you’re bright, too, but I have to tell you that I’m not getting that impression, based on the choices you’re making. Based on where you seem to be headed in your life.

  “Anyway the point is that none of this is really my problem, and I don’t like you or care about you enough to try to help you, and I’m busy and have to go now, and I strongly discourage you from calling me again.”

  There are times, and this is one of them, when she thinks that not marrying Todd might have been a mistake. Sometimes it’s hard to remember why she objected to marriage so emphatically. A reaction more than a decision. Aversion, distaste, something on a visceral level. He wanted to marry her and even proposed. He proposed more than once, she recalls, but the time she remembers best, the time it was special, happened on a day in August, a day of brilliant sunshine and sweltering heat.