by Joy Fielding
Chris said nothing, running some cold water from the tap, applying a wet compress to her lips, trying to make the thin red lines of blood that were etched into her skin disappear.
“Didn’t you agree not to go to the hospital with Barbara?” Tony asked, refusing to let the matter drop. “Isn’t that what you decided?”
“You decided.”
“You agreed. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” What was the point in saying anything else?
“But you lied.”
“I didn’t …” Chris stopped. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You never mean to do anything,” Tony said with a shake of his head.
“You lied too,” Chris heard herself say, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“What?”
“You said you were going away on business. Why did you do that?” Chris realized she was genuinely curious.
Tony leaned against the doorframe, his body filling the doorway that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. “I had my suspicions. Thought I should check them out.”
“Suspicions about what?”
“What do you think?”
“About me? Why? What have I ever done to make you suspicious?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about ignoring your children to go off gallivanting with your friends?”
“I’m not ignoring my children. Montana’s at school,” Chris said, trying to inject some logic into the proceedings, “and I only left Wyatt with Mrs. McGuinty for a few hours so that I could be with Barbara at the hospital. That’s hardly gallivanting. Wait.” Chris stopped, trying to retrace the path of the conversation. “How did you know I went to the hospital?”
“What?”
“You said I lied to you about going to the hospital. How did you know that’s where I was?”
A smile slid across Tony’s face, settling into his eyes and mouth. He said nothing.
“You followed me?” Chris asked, although she already knew the answer.
“Saw you and the Barbie doll get in a taxi, watched you smile sweetly at the driver. Black guy, wasn’t he? I hear they’re very well endowed.…”
“Tony, for God’s sake.” Chris could feel Tony’s anger building in the pit of her stomach. This was Tony’s pattern, the way such scenes always played themselves out. Anger. Violence. Contrition. Kind words becoming false accusations until suddenly it was all her fault. Always her fault. Her fault she walked into his fist, her fault she tripped over his feet, her fault she was covered with bruises.
“It’s the same old story,” Tony was saying. “Your friends are more important to you than your family. Susan and Vicki mean more to you than your own kids. And Barbara. She’s the worst. She calls; you jump. What is it with the two of you anyway? You got something going on you want to tell me about?”
“She was scared, Tony. Scared about the operation. Scared she won’t be able to have more children.”
“So you volunteered to give her one of ours.”
Chris gasped, fell back against the sink, the full impact of his words hitting her as strongly as his fist had earlier. So, her instincts had been correct after all. He’d been right there in the corridor with them, right beside them, for God’s sake, right under her nose. She tried to conjure up the busy hospital corridor, saw people marching purposefully back and forth, patients trailing IVs, doctors conferring, nurses scurrying, an orderly hunched over a set of charts, a man down the hall mopping the floor, another man buried behind an old magazine, visitors disappearing in and out of patients’ rooms. Which one had he been? How long had he been watching her?
“That’s right, Chrissy,” Tony said, as if he’d heard her. “I was right there. I heard every word you said. I heard you offer to give our baby away.”
“I was joking,” Chris whispered, her hands trembling at her sides.
“Yeah, you were having a high old time, weren’t you, babe? Laughing and joking with the Barbie doll. And how about that handsome young doctor I saw you cuddling with?”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I’d miss that one, did you? No, I saw the two of you making a spectacle of yourselves in the hall.”
Chris fought to remember what man her husband was talking about. What doctor had she been cuddling with? “I don’t know—”
“Come on, Chris. Nice-looking guy. Real tall, just the way you like ’em.”
The image of the young doctor leapt before her eyes. “Tony, he was just giving me directions to the bathroom.”
“Escorted you there personally,” Tony corrected. “Took hold of your arm.”
“He was just being nice.”
“A little overly familiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely nothing happened. You saw that.”
“I saw a man with his arm around my wife.”
“He touched my elbow.” Chris stopped. This was crazy. Tony had been right there. He knew exactly what had happened. Why was she defending herself?
“What’d he say to you, Chris? What plans did the two of you make?”
“We didn’t make any plans. This is ridiculous.”
“Did you slip him your number? Tell him your husband was out of town?”
Chris shook her head, said nothing. Tony wasn’t interested in answers. He was interested only in terrorizing her.
“Should have told the poor guy he didn’t stand a chance,” Tony continued. “Not with the Barbie doll around.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chris tried to twist past Tony into the bedroom, but his arms reached out, blocked her escape.
“Where you going, Chris? Got a heavy date?”
Chris shook her head, felt it throb. “I promised Mrs. McGuinty I’d pick Wyatt up by two o’clock.”
A look of panic flooded Tony’s face. “Don’t you want to get cleaned up first? I mean, you don’t want to have anybody see you looking like you just got run over by a truck.” Dark eyes narrowed accusingly. “Or do you? Is that part of the plan?”
“There is no plan,” Chris said, feeling one of her teeth loose against her tongue.
“You sure about that? No instructions from one of your gal pals? From little Vicki Rich Bitch? I heard you calling her, Chris. I heard you say you needed to talk to her as soon as possible. What was that all about?”
“I just wanted to tell her about Barbara,” Chris told him, her bruised cheek burning red.
“I didn’t hear you say anything about the Barbie doll. I heard you say something about options.”
“No.”
“What options would you be talking about, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know,” Chris replied truthfully. What options could she have been talking about? What possible options did she have?
“You wouldn’t be thinking about leaving me, would you?”
Tears formed in Chris’s eyes, fell the length of her cheeks, mingled with the blood at her lips.
“Because I don’t think I could stand it if you left me, Chris. I’d go crazy without you. I wouldn’t want to live.”
Chris tasted the salt of her tears in the dried blood around her mouth.
Tony inched his way toward her. “I love you, Chrissy. Please tell me you know that.”
“I know that,” Chris whispered.
“You know I never meant to hurt you.”
Chris nodded without speaking.
“It’s just all this pressure I’ve been under, trying to get clients, trying to keep our heads above water. The bank turned down our loan application.”
“What?”
“I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“They turned down our loan?”
“I don’t want you to worry about it, Chris. It’s gonna be all right. Everything’s gonna be all right as long as we’re together, as long as I know you’re with me, that I can count on you. It’s just that you make me so crazy sometimes. I want to trust you, but I can’t. You won’t let m
e. And it makes me crazy because I love you so much.” He reached for her, wrapped her in his suffocating embrace, buried his face in her hair. “Tell me you love me, Chris. Tell me you love me as much as I love you.”
“Tony, please …”
“I need to hear the words, Chris. I need to hear you say them.”
“I …” Chris tried pushing the words from her mouth, but they clung stubbornly to a small clump of dried blood, refusing to fall.
“Don’t make me beg, Chris. Please don’t make me beg.” His hands were groping her from behind, his tongue grazing the bottom of her ear.
“Oh, God,” Chris muttered. “I’m going to be sick.” She pushed her way out of Tony’s arms, fell to her knees in front of the toilet, threw up into the bowl. “Oh, God,” she moaned as she felt something inside her snap, a torrent of water bursting out from between her legs. Not now. Dear God, not now.
“What’s happening? What the hell are you doing?”
“My water broke.” Chris pressed her face against the toilet bowl, her body racked by a series of painful spasms. This couldn’t be happening.
“The baby’s not due for another month,” Tony said, as if correcting her, as if warning her to stop playing games.
“He’s coming now,” Chris wailed, wishing she were dead. Women used to die in childbirth all the time, she thought, as her husband struggled to get her to her feet.
“Hang on, Chris. Don’t panic. We’re gonna get you to the hospital in plenty of time.”
“I can’t move.”
“It’s just a contraction, babe. You’re an old pro at this.” He guided her through their bedroom to the stairs. “One step at a time, sweetheart. Take it real slow.”
“I can’t do this,” she screamed. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“ ’Course you can. ’Course you can. Just take it slow and easy. I’m with you every step of the way.”
“Oh, God.”
Somehow Tony managed to get her down the stairs and out onto the street. “Car’s parked just around the corner,” he told her, as if suggesting somehow it had ended up there on its own, as if he hadn’t parked it there deliberately to hide it, to fool her into thinking he’d gone away.
Chris glanced at the front of her blood-and-vomit-stained sweater, her damp hair plastered against a forehead dripping with perspiration, her slacks clinging to her wet thighs. I want to die, she thought. “I can’t make it,” she said.
“I’m not going to leave you, babe.”
By the time they made it to the car, Chris was doubled over with dry heaves. Please just let me die, she thought, as Tony carefully guided her into the front seat.
“What are you going to tell them at the hospital?” he was asking, jumping in beside her and starting the engine. “When they ask about the cuts and bruises.” He pulled the car away from the curb. “I think you can tell them you slipped while giving Wyatt a bath, slammed your jaw against the bathtub, split your lip, you feel real foolish, stuff like that. You’re in labor, they’re not gonna argue.”
“Tony …”
“What?”
She turned her face toward him, watched him drift in and out of focus. “This can never happen again. You have to give me your word it will never happen again.”
“It won’t,” he agreed, reaching over to grab her hand.
“You have to promise.” Chris wondered why she was being so insistent. How many times had Tony broken this promise already? What made her think it would be any different this time?
“I promise,” he said easily. “You’ll see, Chris. As long as I know you love me, everything’s going to be okay.”
As long as I know you love me. The words slammed against her brain, like a series of hammer blows, harder than her husband’s fists. Chris cried out, feigning the tug of an approaching contraction. Dear God, she thought, closing her eyes as the real thing took over, trying to adjust to the fresh onslaught of pain, to go with it, lose herself in its almost hypnotic power. In a short time, she’d be the mother of three young children. What had she possibly been thinking of earlier? Where exactly had she been planning to go?
It’s going to be all right, she tried assuring herself as Tony sped through the streets of Mariemont. It had to be. She was all out of options.
Nine
Your house is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Come on in. I forgot you haven’t been here before.”
Chris stepped across the marble threshold of Vicki’s palatial new home in the suburb of Indian Hill, Tony right on her heels, like a shadow. “Of course I’ll never forgive you for leaving Grand Avenue.”
“We brought you a house-warming present,” Tony said, two-year-old Rowdy fidgeting in his arms as he handed Vicki a box of expensive gourmet jams. “Apparently it’s a tradition to bring something sweet into a new home.”
“Thank you,” Vicki said, but Chris could see what she was thinking. She was thinking, “Well, not exactly new. We’ve been here over a year. Nice of you to finally get around to paying us a visit.” That’s what she was thinking.
“You cut your hair!” Vicki squealed. “I can’t believe it.”
Chris immediately brought her hand to the back of her head, her fingers fluttering around her bare neck. She fought the impulse to burst into tears.
“I can’t believe no more ponytail. Turn around. Let me have a look.”
Chris lowered her head, swiveled in a self-conscious arc. She noticed a stain on the front of her pink T-shirt, maybe food, maybe old spit-up, most likely the ghost of dried blood. Tears filled her eyes. Don’t cry, she admonished herself. If you start crying, Tony will make you go home. He’ll say you’re doing it on purpose, that you only came to this party to create a scene. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like your hair short?” Vicki asked, as if sensing the tears lurking behind Chris’s blue eyes. “I think it’s real cute. A little uneven maybe, but that can be fixed. Who did it?”
Chris tugged on the ragged ends of her hair, kept her eyes on the white marble tile of the foyer floor. “Some guy in Terrace Park. I was walking by his salon, and next thing I knew, the ponytail was gone.” Please don’t ask me any more questions, Chris prayed. I’ll be all right if we can just start talking about something else.
“You know how impulsive Chris can be,” Tony said.
“Well, no, actually,” Vicki demurred.
“I wasn’t too happy about it at first,” Tony said. “But I’m getting used to it.” He ran a playful hand through Chris’s amputated locks.
Chris twisted her neck to one side, squirmed out of her husband’s reach, and looked toward the driveway where Montana and Wyatt were conducting an impromptu game of tag in the summer sun, scurrying between Vicki’s new red Jaguar and Jeremy’s classic silver Porsche. Parked directly behind the two luxury cars were two more: Susan and Owen’s dark green Seville and Ron and Barbara’s chocolate brown Mercedes.
“Kids, get in here,” Chris called, grateful when they responded quickly, pushing each other out of the way in order to be first at the front door. “No pushing,” Chris cautioned.
In response, six-year-old Wyatt punched his older sister in the shoulder.
“No hitting,” Chris said.
“It’s okay, Chris, they’re only kids,” Tony said. “Kids fight. Leave ’em alone.”
Montana’s response was to poke her brother in the ribs.
“Stop that,” Chris warned, as Montana rolled her eyes toward her father. “You remember Mommy’s good friend Vicki, don’t you, Montana? Wyatt, do you remember Mrs. Latimer?”
“The last time I think I saw you,” Vicki said, pointing at Montana while ushering everyone inside the large marble foyer and closing the front door, “was about a year ago. Right before we moved. And look how much you’ve grown,” she said to Rowdy, who promptly buried his face in his father’s shoulder. “Everyone’s out back. They can’t wait to see you guys. Come on, I’ll take you.”
She offered Montana her hand.
Montana looked at her father, as if asking his permission. Tony smiled. Montana followed Vicki through the large front hall, her hands clasped tightly behind her back.
“Did your mother ever tell you the story of how we met?” Vicki asked brightly.
“You make it sound like some sort of love story,” Tony said, hoisting Wyatt into his arms beside Rowdy, entering the cavernous living room.
“Well, I guess it is in a way.” Vicki grabbed Chris’s hand, squeezed it inside her own. “It’s so good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too. We brought a birthday gift for Josh.” Chris extricated a brightly wrapped present from the large canvas bag she was carrying.
“Thank you. That’s really sweet. Can you believe how fast they grow up?” Vicki took the small box from Chris’s hand, depositing it on a gilt-edged antique table along with the gourmet jams, as she led Chris and her family toward the rear of the house. “I remember so clearly the day he was born.”
Chris couldn’t help but be amazed. Vicki was anything but sentimental. The only dates she normally kept track of were those she had to be in court.
“God, what a mess that was!” Vicki exclaimed. “I was right in the middle of this big case, and I’d taken all my stuff with me to the hospital, and there I am on the phone, I’m in labor, I’m in transition, for God’s sake, I don’t have to tell you what that’s like, and here I am trying to hammer out this settlement while the nurses are telling me I’m fully dilated, we have to get to the delivery room. ‘Mrs. Latimer, you have to get off the phone,’ they’re telling me. I say I’m not ready yet, I need two more minutes. They’re screaming they can see the baby’s head. God, what a scene. They finally took the phone right out of my hands, but not before I got a verbal commitment from the other side. Yes, sir, that was some afternoon. Never forget it.”
Chris laughed. She remembered calling Vicki at the hospital the day after Josh was born only to be told that Mrs. Latimer and son had already checked out. Vicki was back at the office a scant three days after Josh’s birth.
“I love what you’ve done with the house,” Chris marveled, peeking into each enormous room as they walked past. “Everything is so beautiful.”