They all nodded in unison. I heard Erica’s voice in my head: “Stepford Wives.”
“Well, Ariel took that picture! Isn’t it a small world?” The women nodded as they backed away, checking their watches and murmuring they’d be sure to call me.
Justine turned to me. “They have to get their kids or I’d introduce you to everyone. Those sitters are militant about picking up the kids on time,” she said and giggled. “So, did you enjoy it?” She looked at me as if it really mattered what I thought.
“Yes, I did. Thank you so much for inviting me,” I said.
“Oh good. I just knew you would. Listen, I want to help you make a life-management notebook. I even have some extra dividers at my house that I made that I’ll bring over. I decorated them so cute! You will just love them.” She lowered her voice again so that I had to lean closer to hear her. “That notebook is my lifeline. It’s my Bible. I couldn’t live without it.”
Something in my heart hurt a little as she said it. Her Bible? I wondered what she thought about the actual Bible. I wanted to say something to that effect but at that moment, Justine narrowed her eyes as she stared at my shirt. “Oh dear,” she said. “You’ve got something on your shirt.” She leaned forward and plucked whatever it was off, then made a disgusted face. “It’s mushy,” she said, grabbing a napkin from the snack table. She held up what she had found on me: a piece of wet, mushy Lucky Charms cereal. A blue diamond, as a matter of fact. She wiped her hand on a napkin and looked back at me, pasting on her brilliant smile once again. “Better,” she said.
I felt the red blush of embarrassment climb up my neck. “Well, you better go get your boys while I tidy up here,” she said, turning to gather up the detritus of the snack table. I looked around to discover I was the only one left.
I found the boys with Heather. “Sorry, I got caught up in conversation,” I offered meekly.
“No problem,” she said and smiled, revealing her mouthful of metal. “I don’t have anything else to do.” She paused and toyed with a rubber band in her braces. “And I love kids. Your boys are cute.” She smiled at the boys, then, shyly, at me.
An idea came to me. “Say, would you like to babysit sometime?” I asked her. I pictured sitting across from David at a grown-up dinner, smiling over our menus as we discussed the grown-up food we were going to order. It had been a long time.
“Sure,” she said, brightening. “I love to babysit.” She pulled a card from her back pocket and offered it to me. “Heather Davidson: Babysitter, Mother’s Helper, Nanny” it read.
I smiled and pushed the card into my own back pocket. “Good to see you again, Heather. And please tell your mom I said hello.” I wondered why Heather was babysitting at the very mothers’ group Erica had such disdain for. Strange.
“Boys, can you say good-bye to Heather?” They waved good-bye as they followed me to the van, my little ducklings all in a row. I patted the card in my back pocket as we walked, a promise of romance to come.
That afternoon I took the boys out to jump on the trampoline. They smiled broadly as I suggested it, nodding their heads with the enthusiasm of the young. Seeing their faces, I remembered why I loved taking them out to jump. Although Justine’s reproach about the trampoline was fresh on my mind, I concluded that I didn’t share her concern. Yet her disapproval nagged at me for reasons I couldn’t put into words.
The boys and I giggled and teased as we took turns jumping and being bounced by the other jumpers. I had to admit I loved the feeling of flying through the air. I also loved it when the boys and I lay down on the trampoline and watched the clouds, calling out the shapes we saw.
“Look, Mom,” Dylan said, “it’s a heart.” I followed his finger to find a perfect shape of a heart in the sky. Dylan looked over at me. “God’s saying He loves us,” he said. My own heart clenched in my chest, and I wished for my camera. There were some moments in life I just couldn’t preserve. If I were to take a photo of that moment, I would’ve somehow filled the frame with Dylan’s profile, his cheeks ruddy from jumping, and his line of sight to include the heart-shaped cloud.
The loud crank of a lawn mower interrupted our afternoon reverie. We all sat up to see where the noise was coming from. A man was in Justine’s yard. I assumed it was her husband and watched him, sizing him up. Did he look like he went with her? This was something my sister and I used to always decide about couples. To go the distance, we decided long ago, the couple needed to look like they went together. When I brought David home for the first time, I cornered her. “Be honest,” I asked with my arms folded across my chest. “Do we?”
Knowing exactly what I meant, she beamed and nodded, hugging me. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered. Some women know they are going to marry their husbands when he says the right words, looks at them a certain way, makes some sort of gesture. But I knew I was going to marry David the moment my sister’s arms slipped around me. He and I went together. Even my sister thought so.
Justine’s husband went with her, too. He was as nice looking as she was beautiful. Tall with strong, handsome features. He had the evidence of a paunch under the T-shirt he wore but nothing some sit-ups wouldn’t take care of. He kept his nose in the air and jutted out his chest like a man who was used to being in charge of things. He seemed like the kind of man who was more comfortable in a suit than the worn khaki shorts and Nike T-shirt he was wearing to mow the grass. Such menial tasks seemed beneath him. He looked out of place in his own backyard.
He turned around, caught us watching, and waved. The boys waved back, and after a moment, he stopped the lawn mower and left it sitting in the middle of the yard as he ambled over to the gate between our two yards. I hopped down from the trampoline and crossed over to say hello to my new neighbor, the boys hot on my heels. I felt shy and self-conscious as I extended my hand to shake his sweaty one. He smelled like cut grass and sweat as he flashed a smile that did not match Justine’s brilliant one. He must not have visited her dentist.
“I’m Mark Miller. You must be Ariel?”
I nodded, pleased Justine had mentioned me. “Sorry we haven’t met before now. I was sorry you had to miss the pool party,” I said.
He smiled with one side of his mouth. “Yeah, business stuff. I don’t have to travel much with my job, but when I do …” He looked toward his house and then back at me, shrugging. “Anyway, I’m sorry I missed it.”
“These are my boys,” I said as the boys all jostled to get as close to me as possible.
“Fine-looking young men,” he said. “I’ve got girls, myself.” He hitched his thumb in the direction of his house. He turned to the boys. “You boys like girls?”
They balked, shaking their heads vigorously. “Girls are icky,” Dylan said.
He grinned. “Yeah, I remember I used to feel that way a long time ago. But my girls aren’t icky. You should play with them sometime. They’re always playing inside.” He rolled his eyes at the boys, like the girls were missing out. “Think you’d like to play with them out here sometime?” He pointed to the coveted playset.
The boys nodded. If the playset was involved, they would endure the girls who came with it. I placed my hand on Donovan’s shoulders. “They would love that, I’m sure. I think the boys may have played with your girls some at the pool the other day,” I said, making conversation. “And of course we met Justine when she returned our dog to us.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I heard about that. Ended up in our garage somehow?”
Reflexively, I scanned the yard for Lucky’s sleeping form. He had not moved from his position under the trampoline. Sensing my gaze, he lifted his big head and thumped his tail a few times before flopping back down. “Lucky’s a bit of an escape artist if we don’t keep this gate closed.” I looked at the boys. “But we’re learning about keeping it closed, right, boys?” Donovan ducked his head sheepishly. Dylan rolled his
eyes like a miniature teenager. “I was glad he ended up with Justine,” I added.
He shook his head. “Yeah, well, I guess dogs are attracted to her just like people are. She’s pretty amazing.”
I didn’t know where to put his declaration about his wife. It was so unabashed, I almost felt embarrassed. “I got to hear her speak at church. She was inspiring.”
He chuckled again. “She’s got talent. That’s for sure. I’ve been with her for ten years and even I haven’t uncovered all her talents yet.”
I tried to imagine David saying the same about me. I couldn’t. “Ten years, huh?” I asked. “So that means you met her in college?” I was totally guessing.
“Right after. We both got our first jobs with this huge corporation but were on different floors. My boss asked me to take a package down to her department, and I got lost. Couldn’t find the office of the man I was supposed to deliver it to. I asked her for help, and she made sure I found where I was going. After I handed off the package, I went back and found her. Ostensibly to say thank you but it was really just to see her again.” He squinted into the afternoon sun and chuckled. “The truth is, I was actually engaged to another girl at the time. I tell her she saved me from a lifetime of being with the wrong person. But she came along in the nick of time and worked her way into my heart. I’m grateful every day that she did.”
“That’s a very sweet story,” I said, taken aback by how open he was with me. I couldn’t imagine David ever telling a complete stranger the story of how we met.
“Where did you meet your husband?” he asked, reading my thoughts.
“College,” I said. “Fraternity party.” I smiled at my confession. “It was another life.”
He gave a knowing laugh. “Sounds like it.”
I heard the door to their house shut and looked past his shoulder to see Justine crossing the yard toward us. Two little girls trailed behind, wearing the kind of sundresses I would dress a little girl in if I had one. They looked like Justine’s clones with longer hair. Justine wore a concerned expression on her face. I waved at her, the look on her face making me feel as if I had done something wrong. She waved back and the look went away, her brilliant smile replacing it.
“Just who I wanted to see,” she said as she reached us.
“Who, me?” Mark said, teasing her.
She smiled and looped her arm through his. “Of course,” she said. She planted a kiss on his cheek and winked at me. They were cute together. My sister would approve.
“Mark was just telling me about how you two met.”
“Oh yes, he loves to tell that story.” She let go of him and pulled on my arm. “Well, let’s go get to work.”
“Work?” I asked.
“The notebook? Remember?” Her tone had a “duh” in it.
Mark dropped his hands to his sides. “Guess I’ll go finish with the grass,” he said. “Nice meeting you, Ariel.”
I wanted to tell him how sweet I thought he was, how romantic it was for a man to still love his wife, to believe they had a love story worth telling. His shoulders were stooped as he walked away, and he seemed to push the lawn mower with less enthusiasm.
She held up a bag from an office-supply store and pointed to my house. “Oh,” she added, gesturing to the two girls flanking her on either side. “This is Cameron and this is Caroline.” I smiled at the girls. I had seen them from a distance at the pool but hadn’t met them yet. They had blonde pigtails that made my heart hurt just a bit. My one regret in life was that I hadn’t had a girl. God and I had had many discussions about it, in which I made clear to Him that I really wanted to try a fourth time. Of course David told me I was crazy.
True to form, my boys had drifted back to the trampoline and were trying to eject one another from it. Justine’s eyes flitted over to them briefly. “Girls, how about you play on the playset and Ariel’s boys can join you?” She looked at me. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. She waved my boys over, who whooped and hollered. Justine turned and headed toward my house, swinging her bag of goodies as she did. I glanced back at my boys one more time before following her inside. They were shoving each other as they clambered up the stairs while the two timid girls stood at the base. I still hadn’t heard either girl say a word.
“How old are your girls?” I asked her as we entered the cool kitchen. I walked straight to the refrigerator to retrieve a drink. I held a bottle of water up for her, but she shook her head.
“Eight and five,” she said. “Caroline starts school this year, praise the Lord.”
“Yeah, Duncan has another year.” I paused. “I’m glad. I’m not ready to have them all gone yet.”
“Well, I for one cannot wait for August to come along,” she said, slapping the granite countertop. “I’ve got my life all planned out.” She giggled. “I started planning the moment she steps on that bus when she was about two weeks old. I’m going to claim something for myself now that I finally can. Maybe a business like yours.”
“I guess you’ll have time to go to lunch with Mark and stuff during the day,” I said. “He seems so nice.”
She turned her back to me, checking on the children from out my kitchen window. “Yeah, he is. He’s a good guy. The best.”
“Does he always get home from work this early?” I asked, pressing her.
“No,” she said. “Mark’s having … issues at work.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, then became quiet to leave space for her to elaborate. She didn’t take the opportunity, so I continued in an attempt to encourage her. “I wish David was home more often. It must be nice having his help around the house.” I feared David wouldn’t get to our grass until the weekend and I would end up taking the boys to the pool alone while he did. I was weary of doing things with the boys alone.
She turned away from the window. “Mark’s job’s just real up in the air right now. It’s been kind of hard, especially for him,” she said. She rubbed her hands together with anticipation, blinking her eyes rapidly as if blinking away the problems like a genie. “Now, let’s make this notebook.”
I tried to act interested in the contents of her bag, but my mind drifted back to the look on Mark’s face as he talked about her. I glanced at the yard and saw him pushing the lawn mower, this time noticing the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Chapter 8
Justine
Sometimes when Mark asks me what I am thinking, I want to tell him. Like tonight in bed, in the dark, when we were lying together just before falling asleep and honesty seemed possible, even good. I wonder what being honest would do for us, if it would change things.
I want to tell him that I am thinking about the couple in that movie we saw when we went on one of our silent dates: Get in the car, ride silently to the restaurant, sit silently through the meal making the smallest of talk, then gratefully head to the movie theater where silence is accepted, expected. I want to tell him that, if you were going to pair up a couple for a movie, you would put us together every time. We look like we go together, just like that couple in the movie. He is handsome to my beautiful, reserved to my outgoing, sweet to my sassy. You could put us on top of a wedding cake. But looking like we go together, I discovered too late, isn’t everything. There has to be chemistry. And that’s something we lack. Mark is nice. He is courteous. He is safe. But none of those things curl my toes.
When I met Mark, we were working at the same place. And he took a liking to me instantly, finding silly excuses to come by my desk, bringing me little gifts, teasing me like a grade school boy with a crush. I was a year out from a terrible heartbreak. I got rejected. I got dumped. I got one of those phone calls that no one ever wants to get. The gist of it was “There’s someone else.” So when good-looking Mark Miller started pursuing me, I wanted it to work out. I wanted to be loved again.
It didn’t matter that he was engaged to someone else. She was easy enough to remove from the picture.
Mostly I just wanted to prove from afar to the one who hurt me that I was desirable. Mark held promise. And he had a good job. So when he held my hand the first time he took me out, I thought, well, that’s it. He’s the one. My parents loved him, which cemented the deal, my mother raving over how good we’d have it. “With that boy you’ll never have to worry. Never,” my mother said. That sounded good to me, the never having to worry part. The trouble was, my mother was wrong. Worry had curled up in bed with us at night, sleeping between us like a fitful child, poking us in the back and stealing the covers.
We were already engaged by the time I realized he wasn’t the one. The wedding was planned. My mother had invited everyone in town. She had paid deposits. So I closed the door to my bedroom and cried bitter tears.
Then I dried them and walked down the aisle.
Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t all been bad. Mark mostly loves me enough for both of us. Until recently he’s been a good provider. He’s a sweet man, a gentle man. He mows the grass and fixes things that break, and he loves our girls even though I know deep down he wanted a boy. I see him watching the little boys who moved in behind us when he thinks I am not looking. I remember how he shyly asked me when Caroline was only a few months old if we could try again for a boy.
“Lots of people have three children,” he said.
“Not me,” I said, not looking at him. I stared down at her instead, nursing away. She was a beautiful baby. Everyone said so. I had done my part. I had subjected myself to pregnancy and weight gain and varicose veins and sleepless nights as much as I was going to.
He rolled over in our big king-size bed and faced the wall. “Well, then, maybe we can adopt,” he said to the wall. I didn’t respond, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen either. That night as I held my sleeping baby and listened to my husband’s soft snuffly breathing that meant he was deeply asleep, I admitted something to myself. I didn’t want any more children because I didn’t want any more ties to Mark. Just admitting it was equally thrilling and frightening. To say it meant that I was thinking of a life after Mark, a life beyond Mark. Yet to say it was like crossing out the life I had spent ten years building, the position in our community I held, the home I had created. I had invested years into building this life, no matter how much of it was built on lies.
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