Good god, the gall. “Your sad plight is called marriage, you shithead.”
There was a long silence.
Nancy shook her head slowly and said sadly, “She’s exciting.”
“She’s different, that’s all!” Roger replied sharply. Then he added, “Come on, Nance, let’s go to Kauai. We can smooth over this rough patch poolside with some mai tais. You know how much you love mai tais. Let me make it up to you.”
Nancy thought for a moment, then squinted at Roger. “Wait a minute. Is Kauai a makeup trip for your transgressions?”
Roger sputtered, “What do you mean?”
“You surprised me in ’92. I thought it was for my birthday, which you forgot that year. But it was also right after your floozy secretary, Crystal, left the firm.” Nancy was putting it all together and picking up steam. “And then you took me again three years later after an unnamed woman kept calling the house. You’ve taken me to Kauai six times over the last thirty years. So, by my count, that’s six women. Am I right, Roger?”
Caught off guard, Roger stammered, “No, that was, uh … you’ve got it all wrong.”
Nancy turned toward him. “Yeah, I’ve got it all wrong. You count on making me believe that, don’t you?” She could feel something rising in her she hadn’t felt in decades. The pilot light of her strength, which she’d thought had been snuffed out long ago, was relit, ever so faintly, and the trapped fury was beginning to build.
“Goddamn it, you silly hen!” Roger bellowed, his face red, his eyes bulging.
Nancy stood there in the wake of his tirade, the word hen still hanging in the air like a stale fart in a windowless room, thinking about how stupid she’d been. Just then that same warm breeze she’d felt at the Yacht Club came over her again, a window left open somewhere inviting it in. She took a deep breath as if she were about to yell something in return. Then she started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” Roger said, irritation in his tone.
But Nancy just couldn’t help herself. She giggled and held her stomach and bent over and laughed until she had tears in her eyes.
Roger slugged some of her bourbon, and while Nancy laughed, he muttered, “You’re crazy.”
And then Nancy gathered her composure and stopped. She wiped a tear away, stared at her husband, and said calmly, “I’m leaving you, Roger.”
Roger stared back with an amused expression. He huffed. “You’re what?”
“Leaving you.” Nancy took one last look at the expansive view of beautiful Hermosa Beach, went back in, and headed downstairs to pack a bag. Roger sat dazed in the kitchen for a moment, and then she could hear his quick, angry steps coming toward her.
“You think you can just leave me?” Roger said, standing in the doorway of the bedroom as Nancy stuffed underwear, socks, and random clothes into a royal-blue Tumi duffel bag.
“Well, if I am the silly boner-killer hen you say I am, then by all means, we have run our course. Our happiness tank is on empty, and you and Claire deserve each other,” Nancy declared as she stuffed a swimsuit in her bag.
Roger sputtered for a minute, then said, “I hope you’re not suggesting we get divorced.”
“I’m sure that’ll be part of the plan, Rog. That’s what leaving you means. We can split what we’ve got right down the middle and go our separate ways. Or I’ll make you a deal—you can have the house if I can have Bucephalus and a fair share of our investments to make it even.”
This time when he addressed her, Nancy noted his change in tone. It was cold and hard. It was how she had heard him deal with Rick Keller, who’d swindled him years ago. She felt a chill run down her back.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Roger chuckled. “There is no way I’m giving you a divorce. There is no way in living hell that I will let you sully the Hadley name with divorce. Not without the dirtiest fight in the history of divorces.”
She shook her head slowly and said, “You should have thought about the hallowed Hadley name before you were balls-deep in Claire Sanford.”
Nancy took one last look at Roger. He was glaring at her, his face red, eyes cold and hard. She knew Roger shielded her from his baser instincts. She knew he could be cruel. And now that she had crossed his invisible boundary, she could feel the gale-force winds of his fury. Best to leave and let him calm down. She grabbed her duffel bag, put Suzanne in her cat carrier, and headed toward the car. Filled with the momentary strength of being right, Nancy threw her bag in the back seat, gently set Suzanne down in the front, and started the car.
Just as she was beginning to back out, Roger came out and stood in front of the car. The headlights shone on his red face, his icy stare. He stuck his chin out and made a damning declaration.
“This isn’t going to go the way you think it will, Nancy. I will cripple you. And you will never get that boat.” Roger stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.
Nancy backed out of the driveway, narrowly missing Roger’s golf clubs, which were resting on a stand off to the right.
“You will be back. And you will be groveling,” he stated firmly.
Nancy stopped the car and stared at her arrogant, cheating husband. In one swift move, she put the car in drive, turned the wheel slightly to the right, hit the gas, and mowed down Roger’s golf clubs.
Roger roared, “No!” He ran over to the wreckage of his clubs. “Goddamn it, woman!” He came running at the car, but she was already backing up.
This time she turned her car toward the marina, and right before she pulled away, she flipped Roger the bird.
CHAPTER SIX
CHANGES IN LATITUDE
When Nancy put her bird-flipping fingers back on the steering wheel, they were trembling. Anxiety and fear coursed through her as she took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. She headed south on PCH—the Pacific Coast Highway—driving along the coast until she started heading up into the hills of Palos Verdes. She turned right toward Malaga Cove, and a grand view of the Pacific appeared. The sun was setting behind a wall of fog, creating an eerie twilight. A bright-orange afterglow peeked out under the murky, dark fog just above the water, and the same warm breeze that had been present over the last few days gently swept the scent of lilacs into her driver’s side window.
Lilacs. Their heady, sweet scent brought back memories of her mom and the last day she’d seen her alive. She’d been eighteen years old, her mother Grace only forty-three. Nancy had stopped on the side of the road on that warm July day and, using a pocketknife attached to her key chain, cut off a few of the branches in bloom, then tied them together with the elastic that had been holding her ponytail in place. She cruised to Mount Carmel Hospital in her rusted Chevy Nova and parked in the same lot she’d been using for six weeks. As she walked down the corridors, she greeted the familiar nurses, Lorraine and Elsa, and braced herself for the antiseptic smell.
As she headed down the hallway, she heard the relentless whir of the machines in every room until she reached Room 21A and caught sight of her ever-disappearing mother attached to tubes and wires. But today the lilacs fought those acrid smells, and for the briefest of moments, her mom sat up with a light in her eyes and smiled. Lilacs were her favorite.
“Oh, honey, how beautiful.” Her mom smiled, albeit weakly, her glassy eyes looking Nancy over, flooded with love and pride. Nancy’s heart palpitated, beating three or four times in quick succession, making her dizzy, as if it knew what was happening before her mind did.
Nancy took her mom’s hand and said, “I ripped them off from Old Man Bergman’s yard. I could hear his stupid dog barking his face off the whole time.”
Her mom gently laughed.
“They’re lovely. I apologize if I’m a little tired today.”
“It’s okay, Mom. We’ll get you some Jell-O, and then you can rest. I’m here for the next couple hours.”
“Not the lime Jell-O. I hate that shit.”
“Got it, the red. I’ll get Nurse Lorraine to rustle us up some red Jell-O. When you
come home, I’ll have it stocked in the fridge.”
Her mom turned her head and looked at her, a single tear falling from her eye. “Sounds good. It’s the snack of champions. How are the girls?”
“Everyone’s fine. Judy can’t decide on what dress to wear on her second date with Gordon. Lois and Chris are headed up to Cambria for the weekend.”
Grace’s eyebrows rose. “Their first time away, together? Scandalous.”
Nancy laughed. “Yes, I think they both lied to their parents. But they’re so great together, they’ll wind up married, so what’s the harm?”
“And how about Ruthie?”
“Ruthie’s failing chemistry but dating some cute guy on the water polo team.”
Grace smiled, then winced as she tried to move. One of the machines that was hooked to her started to beep loudly. It had happened before. Nancy waited for Nurse Lorraine, the Wednesday and Thursday evening nurse and her favorite, to come in and adjust the machines so all alarm would be quelled for a time.
Like clockwork, Lorraine arrived seven seconds later. She efficiently walked over to the machines and turned off the beeping. Her sleek black hair was tucked under her nurse’s hat with bobby pins, and her bright-red lipstick amplified her beautiful dark-brown skin. She adjusted her bifocals and said, “Hi, kiddo. How was the softball game?”
“It was good. We won twelve to nine, and I hit a double over the head of a short third baseman. You think we could get some red Jell-O? Not the lime, she—”
“—hates that shit,” Lorraine interrupted. “Yeah, I know. Your mom’s picky about her Jell-O.” She looked at Grace lovingly, then back to Nancy. “Good for you on the game. Hey, can you meet me in the hallway for a sec?”
Lorraine, always optimistic in Grace’s presence, met Nancy in the hallway to tell her the things the doctors couldn’t or wouldn’t discuss. Lorraine had a way of delivering news in a no-bullshit manner that still had a tinge of love in it. Nancy followed her out. When Lorraine turned, her cheerful disposition had disappeared.
“Nancy, listen … your mom … she’s not healing from the surgery. I think you have to … prepare.”
Nancy blinked once and said, “Nah, she’ll recover.” She had rejected the doomsday predictions before. Every time they’d told her Grace might not live through the night, her mom had defied every goddamn doctor who told Nancy to “prepare.” Six separate times and three different doctors. And today, on the day the lilacs were in bloom and her mom had smiled, it was a day of hope, not doom. “She’s had bad days before. She’ll come out of it. She’s strong.”
Lorraine stared at her with an expression Nancy read as concern, maybe even pity.
“Honey, it’s different today,” Lorraine said, and then, out of the blue, she hugged her. And that’s when the long slimy tentacle of dread took hold of Nancy’s heart again.
Nancy walked back in and took her usual position on the chair next to her mom’s bed. Grace had dozed off. Nancy held her mom’s hand and inspected her thin, cracked nails. She discreetly checked her mom’s pulse and felt a faint but steady beat. She put her head on her chest and listened to her breathing. She inspected her face, so closely she could smell the sweat from her brow. Perhaps if she got close enough, she could transfer some of her strength, some of her healthy energy into her mom. She sat back and looked out the window, where a breeze was rustling the leaves on the maple tree outside. She looked over at the lilacs and thought about how brief their season was. Those fragrant, delicate blossoms appeared for only a fortnight. Maybe that was true of all beautiful things. Maybe nothing lasted. Maybe it all went away too soon.
About an hour later, when the daylight began to wane, Grace began to breathe irregularly, her breath coming in gasps, then stopping for a few seconds. The machines went off again, and this time they sounded like sirens blaring a dark warning.
Lorraine arrived within seconds and turned the machines off. She leveled her eyes at Nancy. Putting her hand on the machine that delivered morphine to her mom, she tapped it twice, delivering a double dose to obliterate any pain. Lorraine took Nancy’s hand and held it, her soulful eyes full of pain. Then she left Nancy alone with her mom.
Nancy got close to Grace, whispering in desperation. The moments between her mom’s fragile, ragged breaths felt agonizing.
Blind panic set her mind racing. This couldn’t be the end. She wasn’t ready.
“Breathe, Mom. Please. Breathe!” Nancy sobbed.
But the silence between breaths grew longer and longer. Nancy counted seconds, and when she reached thirty-one, there was one last breath that came from her tiny body as it shuddered, releasing her downy spirit so it could drift skyward. Nancy sat alone, feeling the warmth leave her mother’s delicate hand, and then the coldness of the room encroached. She searched her mother’s face for details to remember so that she wouldn’t forget how beautiful she was, trying to hold on to her, trying to let go, trying to see through the tears, trying to unclench her stomach. Trying to say good-bye in any way that made sense.
But after a few minutes, Nancy knew her mom wasn’t in the room anymore. She could feel it. She tried to stand but nearly fell over. Lorraine came back in. She came over to hug her, and then she let go and just sat with Nancy until the room grew dark. At some point, Lorraine helped her up, and Nancy was able to leave. She walked away in a deep and confusing numbness.
In the weeks after her mom died, Nancy walked through life in a hopeless fog. She went through the motions while her best friends helped her make the funeral arrangements, order flowers, and fill out insurance forms. She tried to put a face of strength out to the world. But the little girl inside her crawled into a closet in her mind and shut the door. This dark solitary place inside her was the only place she felt she could survive. Her mom, her home, her life was lost. The path back to where she had been before had disappeared. There was no safe place in the world to hide from this kind of pain, and confusion set in. She had nowhere to go and no idea how to make it to tomorrow. Everything had come crashing down in the space of a few short months. Panic and dread rose like thunder in her chest as she came to the chilling truth that she was alone. Her mother was like the lilacs. Brief, beautiful, and destined to die too soon.
* * *
Now, years later, that same crippling panic tightened its grip as she drove along the cliffs of Palos Verdes. For the third time in her life, Nancy felt lost from circumstances beyond her control. She felt the sweat on her brow, her mind reeling, not able to decide where to go, what to do, and in some ways, Nancy realized, she was the same terrified, motherless eighteen-year-old girl who’d sat in the dark in a Mount Carmel hospital room.
Her phone rang. It was Ruthie. Nancy answered but didn’t say anything, as she had a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes.
“Nance, are you okay?”
Nancy shook her head. Still didn’t say a word.
“Tell me where you are.”
Nancy let out a sob and then sputtered into the phone, “I’m going to Terranea for the night.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Get a dog-friendly room. Otis can hear you crying, and he’s not taking ‘no dogs allowed’ for an answer.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A STORM ON THE HORIZON
“Somehow drowning your sorrows is much easier when you have Mitch, the hot waiter, delivering frosty Moscow mules and fully loaded nachos poolside. Go figure,” Ruthie said as she let Otis lick nacho cheese sauce off her thumb.
Such was the situation Nancy and Ruthie found themselves in for the next two days at Terranea, a swanky resort beautifully situated on the cliffs of Palos Verdes with a view across the Pacific to Catalina Island. Nancy had plunked down her and Roger’s joint credit card and grief-splurged on a premium villa. The chief advantage of the villa, which cost more for a night than the average monthly mortgage payment on a modest house in Cleveland, was that Otis the dog was readily allowed. Ruthie applauded Nancy for her audacity in springing for such expen
sive digs, especially since Nancy had historically been thrifty. Not cheap, mind you, just value conscious.
Nancy sat mute in her beach chair, ice melting in her copper cup, staring gloomily out at the sea.
Ruthie cracked open a bottle of hyperexpensive bottled water and poured it into a doggy bowl for Otis, who gleefully lapped it up.
“Don’t get too used to this fancy Fiji water, Otis. Back home you’re going back to good ole Redondo tap.” Ruthie took a sip of her Moscow mule. “That brings up a great question, Nancy. What are your plans after this rue-filled resort stay? Should I make up the spare for you?”
Nancy sighed heavily and watched a pod of dolphins lazily swim by. “Roger said, ‘You’ll never get that boat.’ So full of venom. He knows I can sail that boat better than he can. He just can’t stomach the thought of me having it. And truth be told, I probably couldn’t set foot on it without suffering flashbacks to Claire Sanford’s naked heinie all over the polished burl wood table.” Nancy involuntarily winced, as if she’d taken a bullet, at the hideous vision. She sipped on her watered-down drink and slumped lower in her chair.
Ruthie deftly ordered another drink with a small bring it on flick of her wrist to Mitch, the pool boy. Mitch winked at her and jogged off to the bar.
“What about Stella? Could you stay with her for a while?” Ruthie asked.
“I suppose I could. But what do I tell her?” Nancy asked.
“Tell her the truth,” Ruthie implored. “Her father was playing a lively game of slap and tickle with another woman. Surely she’ll understand.”
“No, I can’t do that. I’m not putting Stella in the middle.”
“She’s thirty-six! She can handle it!” Ruthie said, exasperated. “Your principled ways really make it difficult for my devious, scheming brain to help you.”
Nancy understood that Ruthie was only trying to help. But she wasn’t going to be the one to tell Stella about her father. It would make her seem vindictive, and she couldn’t be the reason Stella’s relationship with her father was damaged. No, she would take the high road. But taking the high road meant she couldn’t stay with her daughter. There would be too many questions. She stared out at the ocean and realized she had no good options. “Shit, that reminds me. My granddaughter is supposed to stay with me in about a week.”
Beware the Mermaids Page 5
