by Nicola Marsh
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
I still, every muscle in my body stiffening with dread. My heart’s pounding at the thought he might suspect I’m lying but I school my face into a blasé mask. “What do you mean?”
His frown deepens and the glint of suspicion in his eyes has me holding my breath. “You really freaked out this morning. I’ve never seen you like that. I get the feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
He’s a smart guy, my husband. I stare at the bowl of barely beaten eggs, my appetite gone. He hasn’t accepted my excuse, not completely. It looks like all I’ve succeeded in doing is buying time.
I need to tell him. It’s the only way for us to have any chance of working through this; the only way for him to have a smidgeon of forgiveness. But I can’t tell him today. I’m drained. Besides, I need him in a good mood, not defensive and suspicious, though he has every right to be. Plus I need to mentally rehearse exactly what I’m going to say.
“We all have a past,” I say, sounding oddly breezy, my fake chirpy tone completely forced and designed to end this interrogation. “But for now, I’d rather concentrate on the present, which involves wine, an omelet and you, not necessarily in that order.”
His frown eases and his eyes clear as his mouth curves into the lopsided smile that warms my heart. “I may have a piece of that omelet after all.”
“Done.” I resume whisking, glad that my hand doesn’t shake and relieved he’s dropped this for now.
But cooking our favorite quick and easy dinner does little to soothe the fear eroding my confidence, making me doubt I’m doing the right thing in living a lie.
19
Ashlin
After the unexpected coffee date with Ria, I should pick up the kids and head home. But I’m still feeling fragile and can’t face my girls or my bloodhound mother-in-law. I know May. She won’t be happy I dumped the girls and ran. She’ll want to pry and I’m not up to an interrogation, not when I’m feeling this vulnerable and likely to blurt things I shouldn’t. Ria broke down some of my defenses and I need time to re-erect them.
Dumping Aaron is the right thing to do but I can’t shake the foreboding I’ve seriously messed up this time. Does Justin know? Is that why he didn’t come home last night? I’d never seen him so mad and while I’d deliberately goaded him into losing his temper like I sometimes do after I’ve imbibed too much alcohol, I hadn’t expected that kind of comeback.
What if I’ve ruined everything?
I should’ve asked Ria how much she knows and if so, has she said anything to Justin. Then again, she doesn’t seem the type to interfere. I’ve been awful to her for years and she hasn’t returned the favor, why would she start now?
As much as I act jealous in front of Justin, I’ve never seen her behaving untoward with my husband. She’s not that type of woman. But as I drive aimlessly along Lakeside Road and through the side streets of Ash Park toward May’s, I’m at a loss.
So I ring Justin again.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m okay, the girls are fine, but we missed you last night and this morning. Could you please call me back? And I’m sorry for acting like a bitch.”
Tears burn my eyes and I end with, “I really am sorry, for everything. Call me.”
I stab at the disconnect button on the steering wheel and thump it with my other hand. That message bordered on pleading. I’m never subservient or apologetic so I hope he knows I mean it. I have so much to be sorry for; it’s a start. But calling him does little to alleviate the persistent dread eroding my self-control.
Hating the tightness in my chest, I slide the window down for air. I hear the roar of a powerful engine and glance in my rearview mirror. A black sedan is close behind me. Too close. I can’t see a face behind the lowered sun visor but they’re tailgating me.
“Idiot,” I mutter, slowing down deliberately so the moron can pass. That’s all I need on this crappy day, a road rage incident.
The car pulls out to pass, speeding up until it is level with me. I don’t want to see some punk’s middle finger so I avert my gaze and look straight ahead. To see a minivan coming in the opposite direction, lumbering along in the direct path of the sedan.
I brake, giving the sedan room to pass. But the moron panics and swerves into me, pushing me off the road. I overcorrect, spin and hear the squeal of brakes a moment before there’s nothing but blackness…
I rarely dream but today is different. I’m floating on a cloud with strings attached to my wrists as if a giant puppet master is controlling me.
Everything’s a blur, a haze, and it’s somewhat comforting.
I hear voices. Jessie and Ellen whispering. Unusual for my girls, who like to talk loudly in an effort to outdo each other. I hear Justin too, talking in a hushed tone. Why can’t they speak up? I need to hear if they’re talking about me. But why would they do that? I’m the perfect wife, the perfect mother, aren’t I?
The voices sharpen, clarify and the haze fades as I open my eyes. The first thing I see is an IV pole to the right and Justin standing next to it, his face a study in misery.
“Hey, it’s just a dream.”
I manage a smile but my mouth hurts, like I’ve crunched down on metal. My jaw aches, my lips feel tight, even the inside of my mouth feels like I’ve been grinding my teeth all night. I prod at my teeth with my tongue, tentatively exploring, only to find even my tongue is tender. Bizarre.
“Mom, you’re awake!” Ellen appears in my line of vision and I’m confused, because tear tracks stain her cheeks. My girls rarely cry. They get that toughness from me and I’m proud they don’t show their emotions like some other young girls do. Showing weakness is never good. People don’t respect you if you’re timid.
“Of course I’m awake.” The words sound funny and that’s when I realize my ears are sore too. They feel bruised, which is totally weird. And my jaw hurts even more as I talk. “Is it time for school yet?”
Justin leans forward and places a hand on my arm. I like it. He doesn’t touch me very often. “Ash, you were in a car accident. You’re in the hospital.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap, sounding more like myself than that weak, nebulous dream voice. But as I try to sit up, pain rips down my spine and I moan.
“It’s true, Mom. An ambulance brought you here and everything.” Ellen peers at me, worry lines marring her smooth brow. Jessie stands close behind her but doesn’t speak. She hates hospitals and looks seriously freaked out, her eyes wide, her lips compressed, her skin as pale as the beige wall behind her.
“Ambulance?” I don’t remember anything since the hotel. And Aaron. Oh no… “Was I alone in the car?”
“Of course.” Justin casts me a quizzical glance, but I glimpse the flicker of suspicion and the trepidation churning my gut intensifies. I could explain away the odd questions, blame it on the accident and the fact I must’ve sustained a god-awful bump on the head if my jaw feels this bad, but Justin isn’t an idiot and I need to stop treating him as such. “You’d dropped the girls off at Mom’s this morning. Then just over an hour ago you were found wrapped around a tree in Ash Park.”
“I—I—can’t recall much…”
A lie, because it’s all flooding back: spending the morning with Aaron to get back at Justin. Dumping him. Meeting Ria for coffee mid-afternoon. Driving around aimlessly. Virtually getting pushed off the road by a maniac.
“There weren’t any witnesses but the police said that according to the tire tracks on the road you could’ve swerved to avoid a cat or dog, lost control and hit the tree.” Justin sounds so solicitous I’m tempted to keep up the forgetful charade.
He hasn’t spoken to me with genuine concern for a long time. It gives me hope we can get past this. If he didn’t care he wouldn’t sound so apprehensive and that means there’s still some deep-seated emotion between us that can be salvaged.
I need to make changes, starting with fighting to save my marriage.
“Some of the family are outside if you’re up for visitors?” He touches my hand, the briefest, lightest brush before removing it and I stifle the urge to reach out and hang on tight. “Ria’s picking Shelley up from dance school and sends her best. We’ve all been worried about you.”
I hate anyone seeing me at my lowest, but I remember the fear of Justin not returning my calls, of his threat that everything I have can be taken away from me, and I decide to play nice with his family.
“Sure, let them in.” I struggle into a sitting position, gritting my teeth against the flare of pain in my back, like someone has stuck a red-hot poker in my neck and skewered it all the way to my butt.
“The doc can up your pain meds if you need them?” Justin studies me with an intensity that soothes better than any analgesic.
My husband is looking at me again, really looking at me. Maybe this accident will be a turning point for us?
“I’m okay for now.” I smile at him, trying not to wince. Even my face hurts, from my brow to my cheeks and lower, like I’ve gone a few rounds with my kickboxing instructor and lost.
He looks uncomfortable in the aftermath of my uncharacteristic smile, considering I’m usually glaring at him. “Jessie, tell everyone they can come in.”
My daughter practically runs to the door. If she has her way she’d keep running. She hates doctors and hospitals. Not that she’s had much contact with both, thank goodness. She’d had a dislocated thumb as a toddler, had come to visit when I’d had Ellen and a badly sprained ankle at eight. Each time she’d been jumpy and pale, demanding to go home. I must get her out of this silly funk. How will she ever undergo a cosmetic procedure if she can’t abide this environment?
May, Trent, and Shamira file into the room, staying near the door and well away from the bed. Good. I don’t need their false concern.
May steps forward, her expression serene. I give her points for not pretending like she cares. “You gave us quite a fright. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.” I give a gentle tug on the IV line attached to the back of my wrist for emphasis. “But whatever they’re giving me through this is good stuff.”
The rest of them force polite laughs, seemingly content to let May be their spokesperson. “Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. The girls can stay with me while you’re recuperating.”
I glance at Justin and raise an eyebrow. Why aren’t the girls staying with him at home?
He looks away quickly. “Thanks, Mom. The doc says Ashlin’s just in for observation and should be out of here within a day or two.”
That short? So much for playing the sympathy card. If I were in here longer it would give me some much-needed time to work on my marriage; to spend some time with Justin, be looked after by him. Daily visits from Justin would be a good start toward regaining some kind of connection.
“We’ll be fine.” May slips her arms around Ellen and Jessie’s shoulders. “You focus on getting better.”
Shamira and Trent nod, and I’m struck by their spinelessness. Considering my last conversation with Shamira at May’s birthday party, they’re only here for appearances. Everyone’s always trying to stay on May’s good side and for what? By her grand announcement at her party she’s cutting off the family money anyway and doling out a small wage like we’re kids who should be grateful for pocket money.
I’m sick of all the kowtowing and pretense. I yearn to tell them exactly what I think. I settle for an exaggerated moan that has Justin leaning over me in an instant.
“You okay?”
I nod and my wince from the pain isn’t faked. “Just sore. But I’m pretty tired. I think I need to rest.”
“You heard the patient.” Justin draws himself up and faces his family. “Thanks for coming but Ash is tired.”
I’m not sure if it’s the strong painkillers making me slow on the uptake but I see an odd glance I can’t fathom pass between him and his mother, like he’s trying to convey some kind of private message. It annoys me, that even when I’m lying at death’s door—slight exaggeration, considering my injuries can’t be that bad if I’m out of here in a day or two—he’s looking to his mother for guidance.
“Get well soon, Mom.” Ellen blows me a kiss and Jessie merely nods. I understand her animosity. I abandoned them this morning, never returned to pick them up and now this.
Or maybe she understands far more than I give her credit for and knows I’ve driven her father away, maybe for good?
The Parkers mumble a collective goodbye and May ushers the girls toward the door where she pauses, her gaze sweeping between Justin and me. She wants to say something, I can feel it, but thankfully her lips compress and then she’s gone.
Leaving me alone with my husband.
“I better let you get some rest too.” He edges away from the bed like he’s scared I’ll grab his arm and won’t let go.
“I think someone tried to run me off the road deliberately,” I say, wanting him to stay. I need to make amends and there’s no time like the present to start. “There was a black sedan tailgating me. Then it pulled alongside me, trying to pass I assume, but then it swerved into me.”
His eyebrows rise and he stares at me with blatant skepticism. “The police didn’t say anything. They saw your tire marks in a skid, with no evidence of foul play.”
His eyes narrow, like he assumes I’m lying for the attention. So I let it go rather than reasserting my conviction that I’d been run off the road.
“Is the car wrecked?”
He nods, continuing to stare at me with suspicion. “If you wanted a new one, all you had to do was ask.”
I don’t smile at his wry response. He’s given me the perfect opening to address our on-going issue of poor communication. “Would you have listened though?”
My broaching the proverbial elephant in the room startles him and he takes a few moments to respond.
“Look, this isn’t the time to discuss anything,” he finally says, dragging a hand through his hair, a sure sign he’s rattled. Nothing fazes Mr. Perfect. He takes everything in his stride. Except a wife he doesn’t notice most of the time and only then to berate me.
“Where were you last night?”
The question pops out before I can censor it and he reacts like I’ve prodded him with a Taser, jolting before he stiffens, tension making his neck muscles rigid.
His expression closes off and he takes a step back. “We don’t usually share where we’ve been or who we’ve been with.” Disgust curls his upper lip and I know I’ve made a mistake in confronting our latent resentment now. “Why would you ask me now?”
My heart stops. The way he’s staring at me, with derision… he suspects I’ve been lying to him, that I’m hiding something. This is the time I need to grovel, to apologize, to say something to save my marriage, but my thoughts are too fuzzy and I’m exhausted, the pain in my head intensifying the harder I try to think clearly.
“Can we talk about this later?” I press my fingertips to my temples and throw in another moan for good measure. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a bulldozer.”
He gives a curt nod, like he can’t wait to get out of here. “Rest. I’ll visit in the morning to see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks for being here.” I reach out, my hand hovering halfway between us.
He glances at it and I will him to take it. After what feels like an eternity his fingers brush mine before his arm falls to his side and he strides away.
I guess it’s more than I deserve considering my behavior.
I pin my hopes on it.
It’s a start.
20
May
The girls are subdued when we make it back to my place, after a brief cheer-up stop at their favorite ice creamery. I know they’re worried and I’ve done my best to reassure them. But for now, I need some time alone with my son.
Christine meets us as we enter through the back door. “How’s Ashlin?”
�
��Mom’s good, though her face is kind of bruised,” Ellen says, shrugging out of her jacket and hooking it on the stand. “She needs to rest so we’re staying here.”
“That’s good.” Christine opens her arms to the girls and they rush into their aunt’s arms, making me wonder anew why my daughter hasn’t prioritized having children.
“Girls, do you want to have a swim? The pool’s warm, or maybe a game of tennis?” I stare at Christine over the girls’ heads, trying to convey my need for privacy. “Your father and I have some work to discuss.”
Christine mouths “okay” and gently propels the girls toward the back door again. “Everything we need is in the pool-house so why don’t we take a dip?”
I touch my daughter’s arm as they pass. “Thanks for this.”
“No worries.” Christine smiles and jerks her head in the direction of the hallway. “I just heard a car pull up, that must be Justin.”
I nod. “Something’s going on between him and Ashlin and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Christine hesitates, unused to offering me advice. “Be gentle with him, Mom. Boys aren’t as tough as girls.”
Don’t I know it. My son is a pushover when it comes to his wife but the frostiness I observed at the hospital gives me hope. He’d barely touched Ashlin and his concern had seemed muted, like he’d been there out of obligation. I know he hadn’t been home last night and that might mean their marriage is in serious trouble.
I quash the instant flare of pity. My son will be better off without that woman but I can’t help but feel sorry for my granddaughters who will be caught in the crossfire of divorce. And I’ll have to speak to him about timing: with me selling the business, discretion is paramount. I won’t have my son or his avaricious wife derailing my plans.
“I like having you here,” I say, pleased when Christine enfolds me in a brief hug.
She laughs off her uncharacteristic expression of sentiment. “Don’t get used to it.”
