The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  “We could see a fertility doctor. Maybe your sperm count is low.”

  He scowled. “There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the dried-up old prune.”

  But I had sown a doubt; I could see it in his eyes. I was counting on the fact that his ego could never handle any threat to his virility.

  “I’m sorry, Jackson. I want it as much as you do.”

  “Well, you’re not getting any younger. If you don’t get pregnant soon, it’s never going to happen. Maybe you should get on some fertility drugs.”

  I shook my head. “The doctor will never do that. They have to do a complete workup on both of us. I’ll call Monday and make an appointment.”

  A look of indecision crossed his face. “This week’s bad for me. I’ll let you know when I have some time.”

  It was the last time he brought it up.

  Fifty-One

  I needed Jackson to be in a good mood. I’d been looking forward to having my mother here for Tallulah’s birthday party, and I had to work even harder to please him the entire month leading up to it so he wouldn’t cancel her visit at the last minute. That meant initiating sex at least three times a week, instead of waiting for him to, wearing all his favorite outfits, praising him to my friends in front of him, and keeping up with the growing piles of books on my nightstand that arrived weekly from his online orders. My books by contemporary authors such as Stephen King, Rosamund Lupton, and Barbara Kingsolver were replaced with books by Steinbeck, Proust, Nabokov, Melville—books he believed would make me a more interesting dinner companion. These were in addition to the classics that we were reading together.

  It had been six months since Mom’s last visit, and I was desperate to see her. Over the years, she’d come to accept that we were no longer close, believing that I’d changed, that the money had gone to my head, that I had little time for her. It’s all what he made her believe.

  It had taken everything I had not to tell her the truth, but if I had, there was no knowing what he would have done to us, or even just to her. So I went along and only invited her twice a year, for the girls’ birthdays. The inn kept her occupied for the holidays, which eliminated my having to tell her she wasn’t welcome. Jackson refused to allow us to travel to see her, claiming it was important for children to be in their own home during the holidays.

  This year, Tallulah was turning eleven. We were having a big celebration. All of her friends from school were coming. I’d arranged for a clown, bouncy house, ponies—the works. None of our adult friends were invited, except Amber. We’d been friends for a few months by then, and I was starting to feel like she was family. I’d arranged for plenty of help to keep watch over the children. We’d have both nannies there. Sabine only worked during the week, so Jackson had hired a young college student, Surrey, to spend the weekend with us and help with whatever needed doing. However, Sabine wanted to be there for the party. I was telling Amber about the planning. She’d stopped by to return a movie she’d borrowed.

  “I’d really love to meet your mother, Daphne,” she gushed.

  “You will. I’ll have you over while she’s here, but are you sure you really want to come to the party? It’s going to be twenty screaming children. I’m not sure I even want to go.” I was joking, of course.

  “I can help you. I mean, I know you have hired help and all, but it’s nice to have a friend too.”

  Jackson hadn’t been happy when I’d told him she was coming.

  “What the hell, Daphne? This is a family affair. She’s not your sister, you know. She’s always around.”

  “She has no one here. And she’s my best friend.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my lips. Was she? I hadn’t had one for years. It’s impossible to be close to someone when you’re living a lie. All my relationships, except for the ones with my children, were superficial by necessity. But with Amber, I felt a bond that no one else could understand. As much as I loved Meredith, she couldn’t relate to how I felt losing my sister.

  “Your best friend? You may as well say Margarita’s your best friend. She’s a nothing.”

  I corrected myself. “Of course, you’re right. That’s not what I meant. I meant she’s the one person who understands what I’ve been through. I feel like I owe her something. Besides, she always says how welcome you make her feel and how much she admires you.”

  That mollified him. For a man so smart, you’d think he would have seen through it. But that was the thing with Jackson: he always wanted to believe that everyone adored him.

  So she’d come, and it was nice to have a friend. To watch Jackson interact with her, you would never know how he truly felt. When she arrived, he gave her a big smile and embrace.

  “Welcome. So glad you could come.”

  She smiled shyly and murmured a thank-you.

  “Let me get you a drink. What’ll you have?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “Come on, Amber. You’re going to need it to get through the day.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “You like Cabs, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Be right back.”

  “Where can I put my gift?” she asked me.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s just a little something I thought she would like.”

  Later, when Tallulah was opening her gifts, I watched with interest as she came to Amber’s present. It was a book on the life of Edgar Allan Poe.

  Tallulah looked over and gave her a subdued thank-you.

  “I remembered you were reading his stories that day in New York,” Amber called over to her.

  “Isn’t she a bit young for Poe?” my mother asked within Amber’s earshot, never one to hold back.

  “Tallulah’s very advanced for her age. She’s reading at an eighth-grade level,” I said.

  “There’s a difference between intellectual development and emotional development,” my mother pointed out.

  Amber said nothing, merely looked at the ground, and I felt torn between defending her and validating my mother’s concerns.

  “I’ll look it over, and if you’re right, I’ll put it aside until she’s older.” I smiled at my mother.

  I looked up to see Surrey running to retrieve some presents that were scattered on the floor.

  “Good heavens, what is going on?” my mother asked.

  “Bella threw them from the pile,” Amber said.

  “What?” I ran over to see what had happened.

  Bella was standing in front of the table, hands on her hips, her bottom lip stuck out as far as it would go.

  “Bella, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s not fair. She gets all these presents, and no one brought me anything.”

  “It’s not your birthday. You had your birthday six months ago.”

  She stomped her foot. “I don’t care. I didn’t get this many presents. And I didn’t have ponies.” She raised her little fist and smashed it down on the corner of the cake.

  I didn’t need this today. “Surrey, would you please take Bella inside until she calms down?” I pointed at the cake. “See if you can fix that.”

  Surrey tried to get Bella to go with her, but Bella refused, running in the other direction. I was glad that none of the other children’s mothers were around to witness it. I didn’t have the energy to go after her. At least she wasn’t bothering anyone now.

  When I walked back to Amber and my mother, I was fixed with a disapproving look from the latter.

  “That child is spoiled rotten.”

  The blood pounded in my ears. “Mother, she just has a hard time managing her emotions.”

  “She’s overindulged. Maybe if you didn’t leave the parenting to the nannies, she’d be better behaved.”

  Amber gave me a sympathetic look, and I took a deep breath, afraid of saying something I’d regret.

  “I would appreciate it if you kept your parenting opinions to yourself. Bella is my daughter, not yours.”

  “No kidding. If she
were mine, she wouldn’t act like that.”

  I jumped up and ran into the house. Who was she to judge me? She had no idea what my life was like. And whose fault is that? a little voice asked. I wished she was a bigger part of my life, that she understood my reasons for the way I parented. But right now her disapproval and critical comments were just one more voice in a sea of accusations that I lived with daily.

  I grabbed a Valium from my purse and downed it dry. Amber walked into the kitchen, came over, and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Mothers,” she said.

  I blinked back the tears and said nothing.

  “Don’t let her get to you. She means well. You’re a terrific mother.”

  “I try to be. I know Bella’s a handful, but she has a good heart. Do you think I’m too easy on her?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. She’s a darling. Just impetuous, but she’ll grow out of it. What she needs is understanding and nurturing.”

  “I don’t know.”

  I couldn’t blame my mother. It did look like I turned a blind eye to Bella’s misbehavior. What my mother didn’t know was that Bella cried herself to sleep more nights than not. Jackson may have been the doting father in public, but in private, he knew just the right things to say to pit the girls against each other and to make Bella feel inferior to her older sister. Bella struggled with her reading and was behind her schoolmates. First grade was almost over, and she was not even close to reading. When Tallulah finished first grade, she was reading at a fifth-grade level. Jackson was quick to remind Bella of that. Poor Bella was lucky if she could get through the primers. Her teacher strongly recommended testing, but Jackson refused. We’d had an argument about it in the car on the way home from the conference.

  “She may have a learning disability. It’s not so uncommon.”

  He kept his eyes straight ahead and answered me through clenched teeth. “She’s just lazy. That child does what she wants to when she wants to.”

  I felt frustration well up. “That’s not true. She tries so hard. She’s in tears every night trying to get through a page or two. I really think she needs help.”

  He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it, we’re not having her labeled as dyslexic or whatever. That will follow her forever, and she’ll never get into Charterhouse. We’ll hire a private tutor, and I don’t care if she has to work five hours a day, she will learn to read.”

  I’d closed my eyes in resignation. There was no use in arguing with him. When the girls reached high school, he planned to send them away to Charterhouse, an exclusive boarding school in England. But I knew in my heart that before that day ever came, I would find a way for us to escape. In the meantime, I pretended to go along.

  I’d hired a tutor with a background in special education. Without Jackson or Bella realizing it, she had evaluated her and suspected dyslexia. How was Bella going to get through school without any accommodations, without anyone knowing the way she learned? I knew she was in the wrong place. St. Luke’s didn’t have the resources to provide her with what she needed, but Jackson refused to discuss moving her anywhere else.

  The poor child went to school all day and then came home to more lessons with the tutor just to keep up. They worked together for hours, Bella’s progress torturously slow and further impeded by her resistance to more desk time. She wanted to go play, and she should have been able to. But every night at dinner, Jackson would insist she read to us. When she stumbled over a word or took too long to sound something out, he’d drum his fingers on the table until she began to stutter even more. The ironic thing was, he didn’t understand how his impatience was having the opposite of its intended effect. He actually thought he was doing the right thing, being on top of her schooling—or at least that’s what he claimed. We all began to dread family dinners. And Bella, poor thing, was exhausted all the time, overwrought and beset with self-doubt.

  One particular night haunts me. Bella had had a horrible day at school and a meltdown with the tutor. By the time we sat down to dinner, she was like a volcano ready to erupt. After we’d finished eating, Margarita brought out the dessert.

  “None for Bella until she reads,” Jackson commanded.

  “I don’t want to read. I’m too tired.” She reached for the plate with the brownies.

  “Margarita.” His voice had been so sharp that we’d all turned to look at him. “I said no.”

  “Mister, I will bring them back for everyone after.”

  “No, Tallulah can have hers. She’s a smart girl.”

  “That’s okay, Daddy. I can wait.” Tallulah had looked down at her plate.

  Margarita had reluctantly put the plate on the table and made a hasty retreat.

  Jackson had gotten up from his seat and handed Bella the book he had brought home. She’d thrown it on the floor, and his face had turned bright red.

  “You’ve been getting help for six months now. You’re in first grade. It should be easy for you. Read the first page.” He’d bent to retrieve it from the floor.

  I’d looked at the book. Charlotte’s Web. There was no way she could do it.

  “Jackson, this isn’t accomplishing anything.”

  Ignoring me, he’d slammed the book down on the table, making Bella jump.

  My eyes were drawn to the throbbing vein in his forehead. “Either she reads this damn book, or I’m firing her worthless tutor. Let’s see what you’ve learned. Now!”

  Bella picked up the book with shaking hands, opened it, and in a trembling voice, began to read. “Wwwww hhheerrr s Pap a ggggoinn g wiith thaat ax?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. You sound like a moron! Spit it out.”

  “Jackson!”

  He’d given me a dark look and then turned to Bella. “You look ugly when you read like that.”

  Bella had burst into tears and ran from the table. I’d hesitated only a moment, then rushed after her.

  After I calmed her down and tucked her in, she’d looked at me with those big blue eyes and asked, “Am I stupid, Mommy?”

  I’d been pierced to the core.

  “Of course not, sweetie. You’re very smart. Lots of people have trouble learning to read.”

  “Tallulah doesn’t. She was born with a book in her hand. I’m the one that’s thick as a brick.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Daddy.”

  I wanted to kill him. “You listen to me. Do you know who Einstein is?”

  She looked up at the ceiling. “The funny-looking man with the crazy hair?”

  I forced a laugh. “Yes. He was one of the smartest men ever, and he didn’t learn to read until he was nine. You are very smart.”

  “Daddy doesn’t think so.”

  How could I make this better? “Daddy doesn’t mean those things. He just doesn’t understand the way different brains work. He thinks if he says those things, you’ll work harder.” It sounded lame even to my ears, but it was all I could offer.

  She yawned and her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m tired, Mommy.”

  I’d kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, angel.”

  So she misbehaved sometimes—who wouldn’t with that kind of pressure? But how do you explain to people around you that you’re cutting your child some slack because her father has reduced her to rubble?

  Fifty-Two

  When Jackson was bored, he liked to hide my things, putting things in places where I’d never find them. My brush often turned up in the guest bathroom, my contact lens solution in the kitchen. Today I was running late for an important meeting with a potential donor at Julie’s Smile, and my keys were nowhere to be found. Our driver, Tommy, was off for a family emergency, and Sabine had taken the girls to the Bronx Zoo, as school was closed for another teacher planning day.

  Jackson was aware that I had been preparing for the meeting all week, and I knew it was no coincidence that my keys had gone missing. I needed to be there in fifteen minutes. I called a cab and got to my meeting with on
e minute to spare. I was so frazzled that I was off my game. When the meeting was over, I picked up the phone and dialed Jackson.

  “You might have cost the foundation hundreds of thousands.” I didn’t bother with any preamble.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My keys are missing.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t blame me because you’re disorganized.” His tone was maddeningly patronizing.

  “I always put them in the drawer in the hall table. Both sets were gone, and Tommy is conveniently off today. I had to call a cab.”

  “I’m sure there’s someone who would find the quotidian details of your day interesting, but it doesn’t happen to be me.” He ended the call.

  I slammed the phone down.

  * * *

  He worked late and didn’t get home until after nine. When he arrived, I was in the kitchen, icing cupcakes for Bella’s class bake sale. He opened the refrigerator and started cursing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Come here.”

  I braced myself for whatever this latest tirade was going to be and came up behind him. He pointed.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  I followed the line of his finger. “What?” Everything had to be perfect; he had started using a measuring tape to ensure the glasses were exactly an eighth of an inch apart. He would have surprise inspections of drawers and cabinets to make sure everything was in its place.

  He shook his head and looked at me with loathing. “Do you not see that the Naked juices are not lined up alphabetically? You’ve got the cranberry behind the strawberry.”

  The absurdity of my life struck me, and I began to giggle uncontrollably. He was looking at me with increasing animosity, and all I could do was laugh. I tried to stop, felt the terror rise from my stomach. Stop laughing! I didn’t know what was wrong with me, even when I saw his eyes get dark with anger, I couldn’t stop—in fact, it made me laugh even harder. I was becoming hysterical.

  He grabbed the bottle, twisted the top off, and poured it on my head.

  “What are you doing?” I jumped back.