The Last Wife: An absolutely gripping and emotional page-turner with a brilliant twist

by Nicola Marsh

What kind of a mother drops her children off without any instructions? Have they eaten? Do they have homework? What time will she be back?

  I shake my head and close the front door. I shouldn’t be surprised. Ashlin is the most self-centered, narcissistic person I know, all about her looks and projecting an image. Though considering how much time she spends with Jessie and Ellen, ferrying them around, watching their sports, demonstrating obvious affection, she loves her daughters, but I wonder if her hectic social schedule is often at the expense of her marriage. She’s inherently selfish and I should know, considering I’d been married to Percy for several decades. He’d been an absentee parent, too busy with the business and his mistresses to pay much attention to his children. Thank goodness we could give them money and the choices our fortune afforded them, because we were lousy with the emotional support.

  At least Ashlin is better than me in that regard. I didn’t realize exactly how woeful I’d been in the mothering stakes until I watched Ria and Ashlin with their girls. It’s obvious when they look at their daughters, the tender glint in their eyes, that their daughters are the center of their universe. I’m filled with regret that I’d palmed off my kids to better carers than me when they were young while I focused on building the family fortune. I missed out on so much…

  “Gran, we’re starving,” Ellen yells from the kitchen.

  Guess that answers the question of whether the girls have eaten or not.

  As I head for the kitchen, I glance at the upstairs landing. Christine hasn’t risen yet; hasn’t made a sound actually. I’m not sure whether to be worried or relieved.

  I already contacted Doctor Limstone this morning and he assured me he’d have a place organized at the rehab center as soon as possible if he thinks Christine needs it. It doesn’t surprise me. Money talks and the exorbitant fees at the exclusive center can only be afforded by the rich and famous.

  “Gran, can we make pancakes?” Jessie’s bellow echoes through the long hallway and I smile. Time with my loud granddaughters is exactly what I need today. And it will be nice for them to spend time with their childless aunt.

  Not that Christine expresses much joy at seeing the girls when we get together but I hope my granddaughters’ enthusiasm will rub off on my daughter.

  “Pancakes it is,” I say, entering the kitchen to find the girls have already lined up flour, sugar, eggs and milk on the bench.

  Ellen brandishes a wooden spoon and Jessie points at a mixing bowl, standing at the ready next to the ingredients.

  “We didn’t think you’d say no once you saw how organized we are.” Ellen’s guileless grin warms my heart.

  “Do I ever say no to you?”

  I tug on Jessie’s ponytail and ruffle Ellen’s hair as I slide between the girls. Jessie opens her mouth to answer and I jump in. “That’s a rhetorical question.”

  Ellen’s forehead crinkles. “What’s that?”

  “Something you ask that you don’t really need answered.” I pass the measuring cups to Ellen.

  “I think Mom does that all the time.” Ellen sounds forlorn. “She never wants to hear what Dad has to say.”

  I stiffen, hating how my daughter-in-law’s selfishness affects her children.

  “Mom’s in a bad mood today,” Jessie adds, surprising me with her bluntness.

  As the youngest of the two girls, Ellen often blurts out exactly what she thinks. Jessie rarely talks about her mother and I wonder how much my eldest granddaughter picks up about her parents’ troubled marriage.

  “Probably because Dad didn’t come home last night.” Jessie’s glance darts away, furtive, and her face reddens. “I wait up for him most nights, just to make sure he gets home okay. But I didn’t hear him come up the stairs last night.”

  Jessie’s calm pronouncement lingers in the ensuing awkward silence as Ellen’s eyes widen. “How come?”

  “How do I know?” Jessie rolls her eyes. “They probably had another fight.”

  Ellen nods, her expression serious. “They shout in the car when they think we can’t hear.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t think they like each other very much.”

  My heart clenches with worry for my girls. But a small part of me can’t help but hope my son’s marriage to the avaricious Ashlin has finally come to an end. She’d once been the perfect match for Justin, his equal in every way, but my priorities have shifted lately and opened my eyes to those around me. If something’s broken, maybe it’s not worth fixing.

  I’ve never broached the subject directly with Justin but every time I see him—at work when I’m at corporate headquarters, at one of my soirees or when we cross paths when I see the grandchildren—I can’t remember the last time he looked happy. The company continues to flourish, his children are content, and the Parker family is fine. So it isn’t these possible stressors making him miserable. It has to be his marriage.

  I’ve also seen how he lights up around Ria—making a beeline for her at our family gatherings, taking an interest in her job, paying attention to Shelley—and while I’m far from a romantic and can’t contemplate the gossip frenzy that would ensue if anything ever happened between my eldest son and my youngest son’s ex-wife, I wouldn’t mind seeing the two of them together some day. Besides, once the company is sold, the focus will shift off the family and a union between them won’t garner so much attention. Justin deserves better and so does Ria. If my son’s marriage has truly ended, I’ll wait the required time and then will have no hesitation in nudging him toward Ria.

  Ensuring the Parker fortune stays within the family, one way or another.

  Lost in my musings, I feel a tug on my sleeve. “Gran, did we make you sad, talking about Mom and Dad?”

  Annoyed at myself for letting my mind wander at a time I should be reassuring the girls, I drape my arms over the girls’ shoulders.

  “You can talk to me anytime about anything. You both know that, right?”

  Their solemnity breaks my heart as they give the barest of nods.

  “As for your parents, adults go through rough times. It doesn’t make them love you any less.” I squeeze their shoulders. “We all love you.”

  They snuggle into me and I hug them tight, wondering why I can express emotion so easily with these girls when I couldn’t with my own kids.

  I blame myself for my fraught relationship with my children, blame my lack of interest in them from the time they could walk. Having four children hadn’t been my choice, Percy had seen to that. Even when I’d been exhausted, he’d insist on procreating to continue the family line. He’d always wanted at least three boys to carry on the Parker name so thankfully when Grayson was born he’d lost interest in me as a brood mare and had taken a mistress. We’d moved into separate bedrooms and it had stayed that way until he died. I’d done my duty bearing heirs to his massive fortune and my feigned frigidity ensured our marriage remained frosty, just the way I wanted it.

  Though seeing the insight Jessie and Ellen have regarding their parents’ marriage, I wonder if my children had seen more than I’d given them credit for. Maybe I shoulder some of the blame for my children’s dysfunctional lives.

  Jessie pulls away and glances at me with tear-filled eyes. “Can we call Dad?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, glad for the distraction from my self-flagellating thoughts and releasing the girls to pick up my cell from its charger.

  “Put it on speaker,” Ellen demands, visibly brightening when I tap Justin’s name in my contacts list.

  “I will, sweetheart, but let me talk to him first, okay?”

  I have no idea what kind of state Justin will be in if he hasn’t made it home last night and I don’t want the girls being further traumatized. They’ve probably witnessed enough angst between their warring parents to last a lifetime. At least Percy and I had kept our arguments civil, reserving our icy low tones and hissed insults for behind closed doors.

  The ringtone is loud in my ear as the girls practically hang off me. When the r
ings click over into his mail service, I see the disappointment on the girls’ faces.

  “Justin, it’s Mom. Please give me a call when you can. I have the girls here and they’d love to talk to you.”

  I add the last bit on purpose, in case Ashlin is off doing something she shouldn’t, which is more than likely considering the rumors.

  I like gossip. I like knowing things. It gives me power. But hearing talk at the office centering on the company’s accountant and his fling with the boss’s wife last year had left me wary. Parker Partnership has a multi-tiered managerial structure so I’d assumed it had been one of those bosses, until I’d heard direct reference to Ashlin and realized by boss they meant Justin.

  Then lately there’ve been other rumors, about Ashlin and a major competitor. It doesn’t bode thinking about. Initially appalled, my disgust that her behavior could threaten the biggest deal the company has ever contemplated soon gave way to hope my son would end his marriage once and for all. Now, maybe my wish has come true.

  “Where do you think he is?” Ellen’s bottom lip wobbles and tears fill her eyes.

  The last thing I want is a crying jag so I reach for a guaranteed distraction with kids: food.

  “How about we concentrate on whipping up a batch of pancakes and try again later?”

  Jessie, older and wiser beyond her years, nods solemnly. “Good idea, Gran.”

  A discreet cough sounds from the doorway. “Did someone say pancakes?”

  “Auntie Chrissie!” Ellen runs across the kitchen and flings her arms around Christine’s waist. “We’re having pancakes. Want to help?”

  “Only if I get to eat the biggest stack.” Christine’s curious gaze meets mine, and I wonder how much my daughter has overheard.

  “I’m pretty hungry,” Jessie says, allowing her aunt to give her a quick hug before making room for her along the island bench. “If you’re eating a big stack, we’ll have to make heaps.”

  “Sounds doable to me.” Christine winks at me and in that second, with my daughter wearing a casual black sundress scattered with poppies and a sunny smile, standing between the girls and looking at home with a whisk in her hand, I almost forget her problems.

  “Why don’t you guys make the pancakes and I’ll rest my old bones over there?”

  Christine snorts. “There’s nothing old about you.”

  “Yeah, Gran, you still go to work,” Ellen pipes up. “Other grannies use walking frames and smell funny and don’t have big parties.”

  “I’m glad I don’t smell,” I say, my granddaughter’s innocence easing some of my anxiety regarding Christine’s addiction and the state of Justin’s marriage. “Now less talk and more action, please. Those pancakes won’t cook themselves.”

  “Gran’s a bit of a slave-driver,” Christine says, in an exaggerated whisper. “We better whip these up fast.”

  I sit on my favorite striped armchair, in the nook between the conservatory and the kitchen. Sunlight dapples my skin, highlighting its thinness on the back of my hands. No matter what my granddaughters say, I’m getting old. I don’t fear it, or death for that matter. What I hate is the thought of the millions I’ve worked so hard to secure for my family being frittered away. I also hate losing control, which means I need to take steps if Justin’s marriage is in fact imploding.

  The girls buzz around Christine like the bees I keep at the far end of the garden, eager and happy in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. They flick flour and swipe each other’s noses with batter, giggling and whispering. Christine, too, appears in her element. She should have this. Children. Family. Love.

  I glance at my cell, which remains annoyingly silent. I hope Justin is okay. I close my eyes, imagining how things will change if Ashlin is no longer a member of this family. The monthly gatherings I insist on will be less tense, that’s for sure. My daughter-in-law has a way of homing in on a person’s weakness and prodding at it. Not that she ever dares taunt me, the woman values her wealth and status as a Parker too much, but I’ve seen the way she baits Ria on regular occasions and I don’t like it.

  Ashlin is prominent in Chicago’s upper echelon and she flaunts it. Unfortunately, a Parker divorce will catapult the family straight to the top of the gossip columns. But I’m not averse to shifting blame where it’s due and if Ashlin dares breathe a bad word about Justin or the family, I’ll have no compunction in spreading the ‘truth’ about her rumored affairs. I know influential people who owe me favors and they’ll have a field day besmirching Ashlin so Justin will come out of a divorce appearing vulnerable and sympathetic rather than weak. And leave Ashlin without the sizable alimony she’d be counting on. Oh yes, I can definitely manipulate the situation to benefit the Parkers and ostracize Ashlin once and for all.

  “Come and get it, Gran.” Jessie touches me lightly on the arm and I open my eyes, surprised to find the table set, a tall stack of pancakes in the middle surrounded by a variety of toppings: a bottle of maple syrup, a small container of chocolate chips, a bowl of strawberries.

  “Did I fall asleep?” I never nap, especially not in the mornings. Then again, I hadn’t slept much last night, worrying about Christine. And now, mulling the possibility of an impending divorce in the family, with all the resultant implications, might’ve made me nod off.

  “You were snoring like a bear, Mom.” Christine smiles, a genuine smile that takes years off her forty-something face.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t snore.” I stand, determinedly ignoring a persistent twinge in my right knee, and join them at the table.

  “Keep telling yourself that.” Christine passes me the pancakes first. “Age before beauty.”

  Ellen groans. “Great. That means I get to eat last.”

  We laugh in unison and I feel the residual tension finally seeping away.

  I manage to eat one pancake, another surprise considering I subsist on one cup of coffee a morning and have for years. Being a Parker wife came with expectations and I’d initially skipped breakfast to maintain my figure, keeping up the tradition once I joined the company because I wanted to be one of the first in the door every morning. While Percy meandered into the office mid-morning, I’d be there at eight sharp, relieved to escape the morning dramas of getting the kids to school, happily assigning the arduous task to nannies.

  Employees respected my diligence, while friends admired my dedication to work when I didn’t have to. I’d cultivated an image as a professional, hard-working, corporate woman while being the perfect hostess and mother at home. The latter had been an illusion, because I’d been wound so tight I couldn’t relax enough to eat and lately, with my plan in motion, those old tensions are resurfacing.

  We eat and make small talk, the girls regaling Christine with tales of their school, friends and favorite ponies, their laughter infectious. Not once does Jessie glance at her phone, which seems perpetually attached to her hand most other times. Not once does Ellen poke or jibe at her sister, which usually happens when I see them together. And I catch Christine cast wistful glances at her nieces several times over the course of demolishing the pancakes.

  When we finish eating, the girls clear away—another miracle—and ask if they can go outside to check on my bees. I’m a keen apiarist, yet another thing Percy had scoffed at. I’d often wished he were anaphylactic like Ria—who never ventures further than the hedge near the pool-house because of her allergy to them—so a sting could’ve been fatal years before the heart attack that finally set me free.

  “Sure, but don’t get too close to the hives.”

  Jessie rolls her eyes. “We know, Gran. You’ve only told us a hundred times before.”

  “And we’re always careful,” Ellen adds, screwing up her nose. “Besides, I’m scared of bees and I’d never go near them.”

  “Okay then.” I wave them away, half expecting Christine to escape with them.

  However, Christine doesn’t move and watches the girls scamper off while nursing her third coffee of the morning
. When the glass door leading from the conservatory to the garden closes behind them, Christine sighs.

  “They’re good girls.” Her tone is soft, wistful, as she stares into her coffee.

  “No thanks to their mother.” I sound snippy but for once I don’t care.

  “Ashlin’s a good mom but a bit self-absorbed.” Christine shrugs. “I’ve met worse.”

  I don’t want to waste time discussing Ashlin when it’s a rarity to have my daughter here for breakfast. “I worry about you, Christine,” I murmur, encouraged by witnessing her softer side with the girls and wanting to see her happy.

  A wry smile twists her mouth. “I’m a big girl, Mom. I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?” I lock gazes with my daughter, daring her to look away, relieved when she doesn’t.

  “Haven’t we already talked about this last night?” Christine pales and her hand trembles as she places her mug on the table. “Give me a break.”

  The sharpness in her tone can cut glass and I choose my next words carefully. “As a concerned mother, I can’t help but worry. The lifestyle you lead is damaging you—”

  “Concerned?” Christine snorts, her shoulders squared for battle. “Admit it, you’re a control freak. You can’t stand the thought of any of your children leading their own lives.” She grips the table so hard her knuckles stand out. “I moved to New York to get away from you. Grayson bolted despite having a family. Trent married a woman the complete antithesis of you. Only Justin is your lapdog and if he has any sense he’ll cut the apron ties sooner rather than later.”

  I should be immune to my daughter’s barbs. It isn’t like I haven’t heard similar before. But this time I won’t let it affect me or make me back down like I usually would. Today, I have to confront this.

  “Those regular withdrawals you make from the family account,” I say, willing my voice not to quiver. “They’re too large for alcohol, so there’s more you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

  She blanches, making her eyes pop, stark and desperate.

  “There was a news item this morning, about a prominent judge OD’ing,” I say, ensuring my tone remains judgment free while my heart pounds with the implication my daughter could be in over her head. “She would’ve scored her drugs from reputable sources and yet—”