Four Wives

by Wendy Walker

“OK,” Gayle said. Then she listened as Janie confessed the details of the affair, the reasons she’d done it, and the many times she’d tried to make it stop. Speaking of the bone-deep discontentment, confusion, and now remorse, Janie pleaded’not for forgiveness, but for discretion.

  “I’m not sure what happened with Daniel. Maybe I’m beginning to understand it. I don’t know …”

  “Do you still love him?” Gayle asked, though she knew life was more complicated than that.

  Janie thought of what she should say. But there wasn’t much point of hiding now. “No, I don’t. But I have four children.”

  Gayle nodded with understanding.

  “I’m going to try. This is not going to happen again. I know what I’ve done. And I know it wasn’t the answer.” She looked away, holding back the tears of her desperation. “Not even close.”

  She vowed then to seek happiness in the little things’reading to her kids, seeing her friends. But she couldn’t do it without Gayle’s promise to bury what she had seen. And though Gayle was not entirely sure of her sincerity, she knew she could never be the reason the Kirk children lost their father.

  “It’s not my place to ruin your family. And just so you know, you weren’t the only thing that ruined mine.”

  Janie looked at her with a strange expression, wondering what she was not seeing. Had Troy strayed before? It wouldn’t have surprised her.

  “I should go,” Janie said, getting up to leave.

  But Gayle stopped her. She had one more question.

  “What kind of man is he with you?”

  Janie blushed with embarrassment. Had she not known Gayle the way she did, she might have found this an attempt to humiliate her. But she did know Gayle, and she owed her an honest answer.

  “He was selfish, I suppose. He was a little childish, and not particularly remorseful. He had a cynical view of marriage’of life.”

  Janie was expecting Gayle to be hurt, insulted perhaps to hear these things about her husband. But she didn’t seem to care about any of that.

  “But was he …” Gayle couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence.

  Janie studied her face and for the first time in four years saw the signs of pain that Gayle hid so carefully. She was beginning to understand what this was about.

  “He was fine,” she said as gently as she could. And Gayle nodded as though hearing this description of her husband’how he was with another woman’explained everything.

  They walked to the door then, and as Janie left she spoke the most obvious words.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  And though Gayle believed in that moment that she knew the extent of their meaning, it wouldn’t hit her until hours later, when she reflected on the odd mix of sympathy and regret that hung on those words, that Janie Kirk was sorry for more than what she had done.

  SIXTY-SIX

  GOOD FRIENDS AND BAD COFFEE

  GAYLE THOUGHT ABOUT THEIR conversation as she returned to her coffee, fighting to absorb all that had happened through the exhaustion’and the fear of everything she still had to face. She savored the silence, hoping for a few more moments before having to explain to Oliver the profound changes she was injecting into his little life. But it didn’t last.

  The sound of a second car pulling up the drive sent her jumping again. She rushed to the bay window that faced the back of the house.

  “Thank God,” she whispered to herself, her hand pressed against her chest. It was Marie. Then she felt the tears come. She heard the knock against the back door, but she didn’t move. The dam had broken and everything was now pouring out, gushing uncontrollably from her body. There was a soft click from the lock coming open, then the sound of the door.

  “Gayle?” It was Marie, and Love was right behind her.

  They walked slowly through the house, not sure of what they would find. And what they did find was, oddly, the most surprising.

  Love rushed to her friend, who was kneeling on the stone tiles, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into them.

  “What’s happened? Let me see your face!” Love said, afraid of what might have taken place throughout the night. She knelt beside Gayle and wrapped her arms around her.

  Marie approached slowly, pulling Gayle’s hands from her face. “Let us see you,” she said.

  Gayle looked up at Marie. “I’m not hurt,” she said, reassuring them.

  Marie and Love inspected their friend. Her face was red and utterly exhausted, but that was all.

  “Come on.” Love took Gayle’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Come sit down.”

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Marie said.

  Love and Gayle sat down at the island counter while Marie walked to the coffee machine. It was a professional espresso maker with gold knobs and handles and more spouts than Marie could count.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Gayle let out a small laugh as she dried her face with a tissue. “Don’t worry about it. I already made the coffee.”

  Marie turned and gave her a look of severe disapproval. “Your coffee sucks. Haven’t you hired a new cook yet?”

  Sensing a lightness coming into the room, Love chimed in. “I know. The service around here has really gotten bad.”

  Gayle sighed as she felt the despair release its hold. “Well, get used to it. There’s no cook. And last night I fired my nanny and my husband. It’s going to be self-service in this house for a long time to come.”

  Love and Marie both nodded, taking in the information.

  “Huh,” Marie said after a long silence. “You may have to leave this town, Gayle Haywood. No cook. No nanny. No husband. And you haven’t even had your vagina rejuvenated.”

  Gayle tried again for a smile. “I know. And,” she started to say, then paused to fight for her composure as the tears returned. “I don’t think I’ll even make it through one day.”

  Love rubbed her back and let her cry. Marie found the coffee. And when she was ready, Gayle told them how things had played out’Troy leaving, Celia huffing off, and Janie coming to say her peace.

  “I know he’ll be back today,” was the last thing she was able to get out.

  Marie leaned across the counter and looked in Gayle’s eyes. “Well, then. It’s a good thing you happen to have the best divorce attorney in the state sitting in your kitchen. I think I still have a license to practice.”

  “And I’ll drive Oliver to my house. He can play with Henry all day,” Love added.

  Gayle nodded. “OK,” she said, though the thought of having her friends help her was unsettling. She had never let anyone this deep into her life.

  Sensing her discomfort, Love reached out and took her hand. “We’re staying. Both of us, all day, until he comes. We’ll call for new locks, have the gate code changed. We’ll tell the post office to forward his mail. What else can we do?”

  Gayle took a long breath and nodded. Yes, she thought. Together we ’11 make the changes. She dried her face one last time. It was a strange feeling, giving herself over to the hands of others. Strange and unbelievably powerful. It seemed almost possible to let it all go, to freefall from the tightrope she’d been walking and trust that someone would catch her at the end. She closed her eyes and reached for her friends, holding their arms’and letting her friends hold her back.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  THE CONVERSATION

  THE PASSETIS HAD TALKED for hours that night’the night of the fundraiser’and the conversation had been long overdue. Marie was certain that leaving town was the first step to solving their problems. Anthony was certain that all of the problems were Marie’s. They resolved nothing and drank too much coffee, leaving them both angry and wired as they waited for the sun to rise. When it did, Anthony played golf and Marie went to Gayle’s, exhausted and pissed off.

  It wasn’t until late summer that they spoke again of leaving.

  “Some broker called. From Brooklyn’know anything about that?”

  A
nthony was smoldering as he stood before his wife in their study. He had been foolish enough to believe that she would respect his wishes’that this notion of moving back to New York had been removed from the table.

  Marie sighed. “Oops.”

  “Oops? That’s all you can say?”

  “I was just looking’to see what our options are.”

  She was not nearly as contrite as Anthony needed her to be.

  “I thought we were done talking about this.”

  “And we haven’t talked about this, have we?” Marie said smartly.

  “Cute. Very cute.”

  Marie tugged on his arm so he would at least sit down with her. Reluctantly, he pulled a chair under him and sat. But his anger was not settling. She was going behind his back, making a unilateral decision that would impact all of them. Olivia and Suzanne liked it here in Hunting Ridge. They liked their friends, their school. And they were not alone. Anthony loved his nights, especially now that summer had arrived. He loved weekends on the golf course. He had a regular game on Saturday mornings and his handicap had dropped eight points. He liked the yard, black spots and all. He liked that he didn’t have to think about a damned thing once he got off the train, except, perhaps, whether he’d left out his cereal boxes. And he liked to drive his BMW though the back, winding roads lined by nothing but green trees and beautiful houses. He had told her all of this, but now it seemed that none of it mattered.

  “Is this about the Farrell case?” he asked, thinking’no, hoping’that the uncertainty that hung over her career was the reason she still wanted to go. The Farrell family was actually getting back on its feet. Vickie was out of the treatment center. Her medication had been adjusted to battle the depression and she was back at home. Carson had returned to work after a short leave, and they had a full-time nanny to make sure the children were safe while they assessed Vickie’s ongoing condition. Still, all of this had come at a significant cost to the family, and Marie waited anxiously for Carson Farrell to catch his breath and go after her license.

  But Anthony was wrong. This was not about her.

  “It’s not Farrell.”

  “What then’you just don’t like it here? Is it just too nice for you?”

  Marie gave him a harsh look. “No, it’s not that I just don’t like it here. It’s that I don’t like us here.”

  She paused for a moment to let the statement sink in. Then she continued. “Look, the girls talk of nothing but material things. Houses and plasma TVs and designer clothes. They worry that our house is too small, that we don’t have a pool and don’t vacation in St. Barts. I love them beyond reason, Tony, but I don’t like who they’re becoming.”

  Anthony sighed. What did he know about any of that? The girls seemed fine to him.

  “And me? Do you not like me anymore?”

  It was time, Marie imagined, to either come clean or shut up. It wasn’t in her to do the latter.

  “Actually, no. I don’t like either of us.”

  “Well, I’m so sorry.” He was hurt and doing a poor job of hiding it.

  “You can’t even see what’s happening to you! You hate your job, but you can’t leave it because it’s the cornerstone of our very existence. And because you hate your job’because going to work every day is utter misery for you’you spend what little free time you have numbing your brain with beer and golf and TV. You’ve gained twenty pounds since we moved here.”

  Marie stopped only to take a breath. But she was not done. She’d spent months thinking about this, and she knew she was right.

  “Look at your life now. You’ve lost interest in nearly everything you once felt passionately about.” She pulled her chair closer to his and grabbed his hands. He had to see this, what was happening to him, to all of them.

  “You used to care about the world. Politics. The environment. When was the last time you voted? Don’t you see? You’ve lost touch with who you are’in your heart.”

  Anthony listened patiently. He could see she was serious and that somewhere inside her she must still care about him. Marie didn’t waste her time obsessing about things that didn’t matter to her. Even so, he had a different take on the situation.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Marie. And you are right that I don’t like the job anymore’that it’s a chore to get through the day. But I do it because it’s worth it to me. Because the girls are safe. Because I enjoy playing golf and relaxing. I didn’t do those things before because I couldn’t. We didn’t have golf in the city, and we were so infiltrated by social woes that it was impossible not to think about them day in and day out. We worked hard to get here. Why can’t we enjoy it a little?”

  But Marie persisted. They were addictive, these suburban luxuries, and breaking him of the habit would not be done overnight.

  “Will you just come and look? I’m not talking about midtown. It’s Brooklyn. Townhouses, tree-lined streets. And the Center for Human Rights is there. You’d never even have to get on a subway!”

  “Why are you talking about CHR?” Mentioning the Center was a body shot. Anthony had worked there for a year right out of law school and had never been more interested in the law, or being a lawyer.

  “Why not? If I started a full-time practice, we could afford for you to work there again. There’s a great parochial school in the neighborhood …”

  “Marie, you’re talking night and day. Parochial school for the girls. Both of us working. And we still wouldn’t be able to afford a decent vaca-tion.

  He was right. It was night and day, the lives that people could live just fifty miles apart. That’s what had her so excited.

  “I know it would be different. But it’s not as though we’d be moving to China. And it wouldn’t have to be forever. It could be a little sabbatical for all of us. We could rent out this house, rent one in Brooklyn.”

  Anthony sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Oh, Marie …” It was devilish the way she could plant a seed.

  “Just come and look.”

  This was not at all how he’d imagined the conversation would go. He was going to be mad, Marie would be madder. They would fight. And he would leave to hit balls at the club. He almost didn’t believe the words as they left his mouth.

  “I’ll look,” he said, and Marie kissed him hard on the mouth.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  LOVE

  IF THERE WAS ONE thing the East Coast had over the West, it was the fall foliage. Vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds. That near-fluorescent green. When the sun’s light shone through the dying leaves from above, there was not a more impressive show of nature to be found. But the ostentatious display was inseparably tied to the cooling temperatures, a precursor to the long, barren winter months, and Love could sense it coming on’wool sweaters, the smell of burning wood, pumpkins, Halloween, and Christmas trees. Life’s memories were slowly being roused from their place of rest.

  As she made the drive from the city, Love sighed at the thought of the work that lay ahead. The falling leaves, beautiful as they were, would need to be raked. The pumpkins gathered and carved, costumes chosen and ordered well in advance’before they could sell out and leave her kids disappointed and herself feeling guilty. The Thanksgiving feast would then be upon her. The shopping, cooking, and entertaining of Bill’s distant relatives would leave her exhausted on too many fronts. And just in time for the weeks of mad shopping sprees, wrapping, decorating, then hiding it all until the morning when the spoils of Santa’s miraculous journey around the world could be ravaged. These were the moments she would capture on film and video, the rituals that glued the family together and provoked bursts of joy in her children. But they were also moments littered with potential landmines. The Halloween costumes, an inadvertent misstep with Bill’s relatives, a last-minute addition to a Christmas list that could not be procured in time. There was so much room for failure that Love had come to wish it away before the first frost.

  No, she said out loud, repeating the mantra she’d be
en practicing for months. It was part of the new plan, the one where she admitted to herself that being the stay-at-home mommy all day, everyday, was just not in her. It was the plan where she tried not to hate herself for this indiscretion, or for those of the past. It was the plan where she said no to all thoughts that had dragged her down before.

  Dr. Luster would be proud of her, getting in touch with her subconscious feelings, chanting positive thoughts. In the end she had not gone back for more treatments, choosing instead the therapy of truth. She had told them all about her past, in bits and pieces, over coffee, over the phone. Whenever and wherever she could. She talked and talked until she had nothing left to say. And, slowly, her pain had resolved over the summer months. No one ever knew for sure what had caused it. Of course, Bill remained satisfied with his theory that it was a virus, which had, thankfully, left her. Yvonne, on the other hand, had become a firm believer in Dr. Luster’s methods. Back and forth they went. Was it not obvious that the virus had run its course? Was it not apparent that confronting her father and learning the truth about her past had set her on the road to recovery? Love thanked the powers that be every day for the three thousand miles that kept the two of them apart, her husband and her mother. It was bad enough Yvonne had placed them on the Sensory-Motor Self Monthly mailing list.

  Other than her return to health, there had been no life-altering watershed after the crazy events of spring. Love had waited nearly a week after the fundraiser to tell Bill what had really happened in L.A., instead remaining preoccupied with Gayle and the Janie situation, tending to her friend, avoiding her husband. And in the end, the disclosure of information that she had been certain would blow a gaping hole through Bill’s steady demeanor had instead produced barely a fizzle.

  “So, you were drunk,” he’d said, making sure he was understanding her. Then he shrugged in a what’s the big deal kind of way.

  “I was lucid. I remember that now.”