by Dina Silver
He shakes his head again and crosses his arms for good measure.
“Do you want some apple slices with peanut butter?”
“No.”
Luke drops his bottle, so I go to retrieve it. “Well, Jimmy, for someone who is as starving as you say you are, you’re certainly rejecting lots of delicious options.”
“I want pancakes.”
Luke points at the television, squealing, trying to engage me with the singing backpack that has him enthralled on today’s episode of Dora the Explorer, but all I can muster is a quick smile in his direction. “I don’t have the mix. We ran out over the weekend, and I haven’t been to the store.”
“I want pancakes.” He begins to cry, which gets Luke’s attention away from the TV. Nothing seems to fascinate my boys more than one of their own brothers in tears.
I kneel in front of Jimmy. “I’m not going to have you crying over pancakes. That is unacceptable. I’ve offered you eggs, cheesy eggs, apple slices, and cereal. So pick one of those foods, and go sit down at the table.” I ruffle his hair.
He huffs and stomps his foot before grumbling, “Cheesy eggs.”
I glance at my coffee mug, wishing it would magically fill itself with a warm foamy latte as I pull a nonstick pan from the drawer beneath the stove. Our house has been on the market for two months, and now that the school year has recently started, it’s impossible to keep the place clean and presentable. Today some potential buyers are coming at 11:00 a.m. for a second showing, and my Realtor has insisted I have it sparkling like the Chrysler Building. I think about purposely flooding the basement as a deterrent instead, but imagine no less than a four-hour tongue-lashing from Todd if I do anything to screw this up.
Had I ever thought about it before, I would have assumed that having a spouse (the Cheater) cheat on you would give you (the Cheatee) at least some sort of leg up in the divorce proceedings. You know, as a bit of a consolation prize. But that’s not the case. No one gives a shit which role you play, and in my case, least of all Todd. It’s a funny thing, having your spouse cheat on you and then make you feel like you’re the one who’s done something wrong. He’s constantly questioning my parenting, constantly berating me about keeping the house clean, and continues to come and go as he pleases without ever giving me notice. Even though he moved into an apartment, as long as we own this house together, there is nothing I can do to keep him out. The only way for me to have any peace from him is to sell the house and move, or buy him out of his half, which would be a little more than $400,000.
I feel the urge to write in my goddamn pink notebook, but I just don’t have the time.
Ryan walks in the kitchen and trips over a box of LEGO bricks, sending them flying like confetti and causing Jimmy to laugh uncontrollably.
6:42 a.m.
Once everyone is dressed, fed, teeth brushed, lunches packed, faces wiped, and shoes tied, I wave goodbye to my still-empty coffee mug, and we all pile into the minivan and head for school. Ryan is in second grade, and Jimmy is in all-day kindergarten this year, so Luke is the only one left at home during the day. A widowed neighbor of mine, Edith Stern, has begun sitting for him in her home three mornings a week. All I have to do in return is drag her garbage bins to the curb on collection day and bring her fresh pumpernickel bagels from Barnum & Bagel every Monday. She’s a retired schoolteacher with six grandchildren of her own, but they all live out of state. She dotes on my boys when she has the chance, which, if I had my way, would be more often.
“Come, come.” She waves a toy rake in the air as I stand in her driveway, pulling Luke out of his car seat and realizing he’s still in pajamas. My head is throbbing from caffeine deprivation.
“Good morning, Edith! How are you today?” I shout, always assuming the woman is hard of hearing, although she’s never once told me she was.
“I’m looking forward to seeing my friend. We have a lovely fall morning and lots to do in the backyard. Lots!”
Luke curls his sweet little face under my chin but keeps his eyes on her. His routine is to play shy upon arrival, then throw a fit when I come to pick him up later. I love this woman for making him want to live with her. Once on the ground, he takes her hand, and the three of us walk into the foyer. He isn’t as verbal as he should be for his age, which leads me to blame the divorce for his shortcomings and everything else that is wrong—and normal, for that matter—in my children’s lives. Typical things like Ryan struggling with reading, or Jimmy throwing a tantrum at recess, all come flooding back to the divorce. It’s the landing pad for everything these days. My therapist, Monica, charges $110 an hour to convince me otherwise, but so far she has failed to do so.
“Sorry we’re late. Jimmy dropped his water bottle in the car, and it rolled under one of the seats and took us almost ten minutes to find.” I wipe some sweat from my brow. “But we did manage to locate every lost McDonald’s french fry, so there’s that. You’d be surprised at how completely void of mold they—”
“Say goodbye to Mommy and give her a big kiss,” Edith interjects. Instead, he gives my leg a side hug and allows me to kiss the top of his head.
“Thank you. I have to run home, clean the house, get dressed, and then head downtown. I have my second meeting with the divorce attorney.”
That piques her interest. “What time?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“Anything happen with the boy that took you out on a date last week? The one from the Internet?”
“God, no.” I shake my head.
Despite my knowing that there’s nothing less attractive than a thirty-six-year-old woman going through a divorce, with three small children and a stalled marketing career, I’ve recently begun dipping my toes into the cesspool that is online dating. Yet no matter how thin I am, how much makeup I wear, or how much Botox I get, nothing can mask my reality. The gem of a suitor that Edith is referring to met me for drinks last week, showed up an hour late, and told me the only reason he’d agreed to go out with me was because I have sons. “Girls are crazy bitches,” the guy said.
Edith gently latches onto my forearm. She’s a tiny woman, maybe five foot two, and I have easily four inches on her, but she’s emotionally larger than I am in every way. Her demeanor, her confidence, her pride. “Love will find you again. Pretty young thing like yourself.” She squeezes my arm. “You’ll be just fine.”
God, I love when people tell me that. I press my lips together and give her a hug. One day, maybe I’ll believe it. “I certainly hope so,” I say, and look down at Luke, who is still holding her hand and staring up at me with his big brown eyes and no choice in life besides doing exactly what he’s told. All I want is to take him home, snuggle in bed together, fall asleep watching The Little Mermaid with his mop of curls against my face, and stay there until the proverbial sun comes up for all of us.
“I may be taking a very short girls trip soon. I know it’s the worst possible time to leave town, but my friend and our neighbor, Jen Engel, has been begging me to join her,” I say. “I’m considering going if my mom can come in and stay with the boys for the weekend.”
“Sometimes there’s never a good time, so you should go and enjoy yourself when you have the chance. If I can be of any help, just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
Even though the image of Todd humping another woman in my home is still fresh in my mind, the fact that I’m even considering a weekend away from my kids means I’m making progress.
The day I walked in on them was a Saturday afternoon. Todd and I had planned to take the boys downtown to the Shedd Aquarium to meet up with some friends. I had packed the double stroller, picnic lunch, snacks, water bottles, pacifiers, portable DVD player for the car, and filled the tank for what was to be a fun family day. At the last minute, Todd had bowed out because of work.
“It’s fine,” I’d said, gritting my teeth, not wanting to disappoint our boys or the other family. “We’ll just go without you.”
Traffic turned
out to be a nightmare, and it had taken us forty minutes just to get from Old Orchard Road to the junction. Even though I’d remembered extra juice boxes and Goldfish crackers, I’d forgotten an extra change of clothes on the one day Luke decided to have explosive diarrhea in his car seat.
Needless to say, I had to call my friend and tell her we wouldn’t make it, cursing myself for not rescheduling in the first place. By the time I got home, every single one of my kids had had no fewer than three nervous breakdowns each. Ryan and Jimmy because the trip to the aquarium had been canceled, and Luke because of the obvious. There’s only so much a stack of McDonald’s napkins can do in a pinch. I’d pulled in the driveway and told the boys they could get out of the car, but they had to stay in the garage and keep an eye on Luke until I got back. When I’d walked into the kitchen, I’d known something was amiss.
There’s a certain sense to a home when it’s empty, and I could tell immediately it wasn’t. I grabbed the cordless phone and dialed “9,” then “1,” then hovered my thumb over the “1” as I climbed the stairs. When I heard noises coming from the guest room, I knew. I stood in that doorway a good forty seconds before they noticed me.
“Holy shit,” was all Todd said, and later admitted to having sex with at least five other women over a twelve-month period after connecting with them on Facebook. After hours of amateur investigative reporting on my part, I discovered that he worked with two of them and had gone to high school with the other three. At first, I blamed myself, like maybe if I’d been more sexual with him, he wouldn’t have cheated. Maybe if the kids didn’t occupy so much of my time, he wouldn’t have cheated. I wallowed in self-pity and promised to change if he would give us a chance, but it didn’t matter. He’d grown tired of crying babies and a tired spouse and a cluttered home. He lost all appreciation for his family and the things that matter in life. His ego prevailed over all of us.
I cry as I drive away from Edith Stern’s house. Nothing outlandish. No runny nose, no convulsions, no squawking bird noises, just my typical I’ve-failed-everyone-in-my-life-especially-my-children-and-haven’t-had-an-ounce-of-caffeine-in-thirty-hours cry.
Once I’m home, I brew a pot of coffee, vacuum the floors, pick up the toys, and make the beds. When I’m done, I fill my mug and dial my mother’s number.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Hi, Mom. I left you a message on Monday.”
“Huh,” she says. “I thought I got back to you. How are you, honey?”
Just as I’m about to speak, the floodgates open. She lets me cry for a moment until I catch my breath. “I’m just having one of those days.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything. I’m scrubbing this place like Little Orphan Annie, trying to sell this house, and yet I have no idea where we’re going to live. The boys have so many friends in the neighborhood, and I want them to stay in this school district. I’m going to have to go back to work, and after doing the math, I’ll make just enough money to pay for day care, assuming any company wants to hire someone who’s been out of the workforce for eight years.” I sip my coffee and wipe my face. She was silent. “Mom?”
“I’m here.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for hanging up on me.”
“I’m going to come stay with you.”
“I’m fine. The Mexico trip isn’t for a few weeks, and I’m feeling horribly guilty about leaving with everything going on.”
“A few days by yourself might do you some good. You know I always say that the sun heals everything. I want to be there for you, regardless. I should’ve gotten on a plane a long time ago.”
The knots in my shoulders loosen a bit, and my neck relaxes forward. “I would really love to see you,” I say. “I have another meeting with the attorney today.” I rub my forehead. “I can’t believe I haven’t talked to you since I met with him last week. That’s what I was calling about.”
“How did it go?”
“Does the name Stewart Fishman ring a bell?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Mom?”
“It does, yes.”
“He said he was one of your divorce attorneys,” I say. “Can that possibly be true?”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Actually, he seemed to think you had one of the worst cases in his entire career. Tragic, he called it. I wasn’t sure if he had you mixed up with another client.”
I hear a soft sigh through the phone. “I think maybe he does.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Is there any way you can reschedule your meeting with him?” she asks.
I lift my head. “Why would I do that?”
“There are some things I need to tell you.”
Chapter Five
CATHERINE
Greenwich, 1970
After our first date, I saw Gabriel Haddad every single day. Sometimes just for a cup of coffee, sometimes for dinner, and sometimes for whatever we could accomplish in the front seat of a Corvette. If I’d ever been happier in my life, I had no recollection of it. I caught myself smiling and laughing when no one was around. Writing his name on pages in my journal and nothing else.
Six weeks into our relationship, Gabriel led me through the doorway of a hotel room at the Stanton House Inn on Maple Avenue. I’d told our housekeeper, Jessie, I was sleeping at Laura’s that night—something I did at least twice a week—so there was no reason for her to question me.
The room was quintessential Greenwich. Pink-and-green bedding matched a set of lime-colored throw rugs covering large square sections of the hardwood floors. There were rose-covered curtains, striped wallpaper, and a fireplace on the back wall. A combination of wicker and pine furniture was carefully placed throughout the room, and a watercolor painting of the Long Island Sound hung above an upholstered headboard.
Gabriel placed the key on a dresser once we were inside. “You look beautiful,” he said.
A stack of folded towels lay on the end of the four-poster bed, and a pitcher of water and two tumblers sat on the nightstand. By the windows were a pair of swivel chairs with a side table in between, and atop that were two crystal flutes and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne. I placed my purse on one of the chairs.
Gabriel uncorked the champagne and poured me a glass. There was an obvious dance going on between us. He would pace the room, making small talk about work and friends he meant to visit in East Hampton before heading to Chicago, where it had been settled he’d live. Occasionally, he’d pause and kneel in front of me and kiss my hands before pacing the room some more, guzzling more of his drink, telling me about his week, and refilling our glasses.
“I have some exciting news,” I said, my head tingly after finishing my second glass.
“Oh?” He sat on the bed.
“I’m going to be writing a weekly column for the Greenwich Times.”
His face lit up. “Well, well, well. That is wonderful news. Good for you!” He cocked his head and clapped.
“Thank you.” I placed my empty glass on the side table.
“What will it be about? What is your topic?”
“So far, just some local stories. Places to shop, popular outdoor cafés and pubs. Things of that sort. Gotta work my way up to the grittier stories—like most popular dog breeders in Lower Fairfield County.”
He snickered. “You should be very proud of yourself.”
“I am, thank you,” I said and stood. Little did I know that I would never write even one article.
Reading my body language, he walked over to me.
Gabriel placed his hands loosely on my cheeks, kissed my lips, and leaned his body into mine. I gently pulled away.
“Can we lie down?” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said and took my hand, but not before kissing it. “You, my darling, are in charge of me tonight.”
We lay down on the bed, and he bent over and placed his lips on my neck. A whiff of his cologne proved mor
e intoxicating than the champagne. We stared into each other’s eyes as his hand slowly went to the hem of my skirt. My breathing intensified, and my body tensed when his hand found its way underneath. It was not the first time a man had been there, but it was the first time I was eager to give myself to anyone so completely.
I was a rule follower, a mostly good student, a girl who strived to make her parents proud, or at least hold their attention for five minutes. The minute I found passion in the form of Gabriel Haddad, I latched onto it with every ounce of my being. I risked everything I’d ever had to hold on to that sensation, to trap it because I’d waited patiently for it, and I was not going to leave it behind for anything. I grew up feeling strong, yes, but ordinary more. As the eldest daughter, I was replaced almost every other year with a newer, shinier girl, forcing me into the role of caretaker and example leader without my consent. Gabriel made me feel confident and independent and wanted.
“Are you OK?” he paused to ask.
I nodded with conviction, both thrilled and terrified. In only a few weeks, my heart and soul had become his puppets. When I was with him, I could barely focus on anything else, and when I was without him, all I could think about was how long I had to wait to be with him again. When would he pick up the strings and bring me to life again? We were as inseparable as his work—and my mother—allowed, but it was never enough for me. And poor Laura—we’d had so many plans to visit the Cape and travel to Boston to visit friends, and I’d bailed on all of them. I’d become one of those miserable lovesick women. Having Gabriel’s attention made me feel like I could conquer the world.
I took a deep breath, lifted my skirt, and placed my hand firmly on his for a second before removing it and curling my arm next to my ear. He read my expression and slid his fingers under the fabric of my underwear, watching my body respond to his touch. Quickly, he pulled away, removed his shirt, and stood beside the bed wearing only his shorts. “Please.” He held out a hand. “Stand up.”
Gabriel removed my camisole and then gently spun me around and unhitched my bra, letting it drop to the floor. He stepped closer and wrapped his hands around my body from behind, placing them between my breasts as my heart continued to beat at an embarrassingly rapid pace.