by Amy Hatvany
I wound my way through the neighborhood, until eventually, I found myself only a few blocks away from Charlotte’s house. I glanced at my watch, thinking that it was way too early to knock on her front door, but I didn’t know where else to go. Home, eventually, and then to the office to meet Nancy as she had requested, but right now, I needed my best friend.
When I knocked on her front door, it took her a few minutes to answer. She was in her pajamas, her hair was a mess, and her eyes were hooded from sleep, but she took one look at my sweaty, beet-red face and reached out her arms. “Oh honey,” she said, and pulled me inside, and into a long, hard hug.
I let her hold me, and I began to sob, my tears wetting her shoulder. “Sorry I stink,” I said, after the initial wave of sadness had passed. I’d forgotten to swipe on deodorant.
She laughed and released me, then closed the door behind us. “I need coffee,” she said. “Come on.”
I followed her into the kitchen, where I sat on a barstool and watched as she brewed a big mug from her Keurig machine. “Do you want one?” she asked, and when I said no, she grabbed a bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge and handed it to me before we headed outside to her patio. We sat on the thickly padded, wicker couch, and I took a few huge swallows of water while she drank her first sips of coffee.
“Okay,” she said, still holding her mug. “Tell me everything.”
And so I did, starting with the night Jake and I met Will at the club. Her eyes widened as she listened to me describe our sexual adventures, the things I had done with Jake, the lovers I’d spent time with on my own. I told her everything that happened with Andrew, how he got inside my head, and how I’d reacted. The things I kept from Jake. How caught up in the thrill of it all I’d been. She nodded when appropriate, but didn’t speak until I finished up with what had happened last night, how we’d gone to Andrew’s house and Jake had punched him. And that Ella and Tucker were staying with Peter, and Jake had slept in a separate room.
“So you went for a walk,” Charlotte said, setting her now-empty mug on the table next to us.
“I had to. I’m fucking exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. I feel like I have ants crawling under my skin. And now I have to go see Nancy and god knows what she’s going to say. I’m probably going to lose my job.”
Charlotte scrunched up her face. “She can’t fire you for having a sex life.” She paused. “Which I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about, by the way.”
I frowned. “I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to, so many times, but with your history with Alex, I was worried what you’d think of me.”
She was quiet a moment, picking at the hem of her pajama top. “That makes sense, I guess. But you weren’t technically cheating, right? Jake was a part of it.”
“He was part of all of it. Every detail. Up until I started keeping things from him about Andrew. I kept trying to rationalize that as long as Jake knew about what was happening in a general way, leaving out a few things here and there wasn’t a big deal. It was stupid. So, so stupid.”
“Yeah, well, I get it. I hid my interaction with Bryan from Richard, too.”
I searched her face for any hint of judgment. “You don’t hate me?”
“No!” Charlotte said, firmly. “Listen. You got fucked over by some asshole who couldn’t take it when you ended things with him. That’s it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. He does.”
My eyes filled with tears, again. “No one else is going to see it that way.” I worried that Charlotte was she was on my side only because she loved me. For as long as I’d known her, whenever she talked about Alex’s cheating, she tended to express less fury with him and more toward the women who slept with her man. The specifics of a sexually charged situation didn’t seem to matter—the blame seemed to fall on the woman instead of the man.
“So you’ll put up an explanation, saying that your account was hacked.”
“But the pictures...the texts...” I cringed and pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes. “I don’t know what to say about them. About what I did.”
“You can say whatever the fuck you want,” she insisted. “Your private sex life is nobody’s business but yours. What this guy did violated you, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation for what you choose to do with your body, or in your marriage. You don’t have to give everyone a play-by-play of what really happened. All anyone needs to know is that your account was hacked. And then you hold your fucking head up high and let the stupid bitches gossip until they get bored and move on to something else. That’s the way it works around here, and you know it.”
I nodded and dropped my hands back into my lap, trying to believe that what she had said was true. Maybe I didn’t owe most people in Queens Ridge a detailed explanation, but I would need to talk to Peter and the kids. And Nancy, today, to explain how I’d lost the development deal with Diane. I thought about Lizzy, then, too, wondering how she was doing, and promised myself that I would call Tiffany later. I also thought about Jake, sleeping alone in our guestroom, and my chest caved in. What if he wouldn’t be able to forgive the fact that I’d lied to him, and more than once? What if he left me? I began to cry again, and Charlotte reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Hey,” she said, squeezing my fingers. “I know it sucks, but it’s going to be okay. I promise. This too shall fucking pass.”
We sat together in silence, hand-in-hand, listening to the birds chirping in her backyard, both of us lost in our own thoughts, until I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I went home to face the consequences of what I’d done.
Twenty-Six
Charlotte drove me to my house because I was too exhausted to walk. “You’ve got this,” she told me right before I climbed out her car. “You’re stronger than you know.”
I gave her a weak smile. I felt defeated and frail; my muscles ached and my eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Shame thrummed through me with every breath. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call you later.”
She waved at me as she pulled away from the curb, and I trudged inside. The house was quiet as I entered. “Jake?” I called out, my voice echoing in the tall-ceilinged entryway. He didn’t answer. I glanced to my right. The door to the guest room was open, and the bed was rumpled, but empty. Panic seized me. Had he packed a bag and left while I was gone? Would I find a note on the counter, saying that he needed some time away?
I walked as fast as I could into the kitchen, but the only note I found on the counter was the one I’d left for him earlier. The air was rich with the scent of recently brewed coffee. And then, I saw him, through the French doors that led to our deck. He sat at the table with one hand on a mug; the steam from the hot liquid rose up in short wisps before they evaporated.
I smoothed my curls—a pointless endeavor after tossing and turning most of the night, followed by my sweaty excursion. “Hi,” I said, as I opened the door and stepped outside. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck out all over his head, as though he had tossed and turned, too.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was flat. He didn’t turn around.
“I went to Charlotte’s,” I said, staying where I was. Normally, I would come up behind him and throw my arms around his shoulders, kissing the side of his cheek and nuzzling his neck. But I was afraid to touch him—terrified that he’d push me away. “I told her everything.”
“Okay.” He lifted his mug, took a sip, and then carefully set it back onto the table.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the rattling sensation in my chest. I loved him so much. I was desperate for him to say that he forgave me, but it was too soon. I couldn’t push him. “I didn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he said. “I heard you leave.”
I felt another stitch of panic, worried that he had thought I might have gone to see Andrew again. If he had been the one to lie to me, that would have been the first place my mind would go. “You saw my note, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m
so sorry, babe.” My voice cracked, and once again, tears stung my eyes. “I know it’s not enough and it doesn’t fix anything, but you have to know that I never meant to hurt you.”
“Right. You just figured I’d never know what you did.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but then didn’t speak a word, because that was exactly what I’d figured. I wanted to hide the mistake I’d made, the sins of omission I’d committed. I wanted to bury them, down deep, hoping they would never see the light of day. I hadn’t counted on light’s natural tendency to seek darkness out. The sun rises, slowly erasing the night, and eventually, so does the truth, illuminating a lie.
“I was wrong,” I finally said. “In every sense of the word.” He didn’t respond, so I continued. “How’s your hand?”
He held it up and I gasped at the dark purple and red, exaggerated swell of his knuckles. I’d never witnessed anyone punch someone else, let alone the aftermath of the act. I wondered what Andrew’s face looked like this morning; my guess was that it wasn’t good. “Let me get you some ice.”
“It’s fine.”
“You might have broken something,” I pressed. “You should probably get it checked.”
“It’s fine!” he said. His voice was like thunder.
“Sorry,” I said, meekly. The tension between us was unbearable. In the years we’d been together, he’d never spoken to me in that tone or slept anywhere but next to me, unless he had to travel for work. He’d never had any reason to. I’d put everything we had together at risk, and for what? The temporary thrill of a few empty compliments from, and stolen moments with an attractive, charismatic man? What an idiot I had been. A tear rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away.
“I put up a post on Neighbors,” Jake said, ignoring my apology. “I said your account was hacked. I asked people to please respect our family’s privacy.”
“Oh, thank you.” I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I need to know something. Do you feel like I cheated on you?” It felt strange, having this serious conversation with the back of his head, but I didn’t want to risk going over to him and having him stop talking to me altogether.
He sighed. “It’s a weird line, Jess. On one hand, I knew you were fucking him, but I didn’t know that you used to know him or that you were texting each other like that. Was that cheating, technically? Probably not. But you did break my trust by not telling me everything that was going on, so, I don’t know what to think or feel right now. I’m processing.”
I nodded, remembering a conversation we’d had early on in our relationship about the difference between what men and women typically need when they’re in conflict.
“Men are basically primal,” he told me. “We need to go into our cave and have time to work out whatever we’re thinking and feeling before we can talk about it.”
“And women process what we’re thinking and feeling by talking it out,” I said. “So how do we make that work? I’ll go nuts if we’re fighting and you shut down and refuse to talk.”
He had smiled. “Just give me a little time to work it out inside my own head, first. Because the worst thing you can do is come marching into my ‘cave,’ demanding a conversation. I’ll come out when I’m good and ready, and not before then.”
“Okay, Fred Flintstone,” I’d said, teasingly, and I remembered how hard he had laughed.
During the rare, serious arguments we’d had since then, I learned that if I respected his need for time in his “cave,” if I backed off and let him come to me when he’d had a chance to calm down, we came to a quicker, less stressful resolution. But if I pushed him to talk, he only pulled away more, became angrier, and it took longer for us to sort things out.
“I’m meeting with Nancy in a bit,” I told him. “And then I need to talk with the kids.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know. The truth, I guess. Or at least an abbreviated version of it.” I paused. “Do you want to be there?” I held my breath again, hoping that he would say yes, that it was still important to him that we remain a united front, at least when it came to Ella and Tuck.
He finally turned around, then, and gave me a grim look. There were dark circles under his blue eyes and his complexion was sallow, as though he were ill. “No,” he said. “But I will be.”
My bottom lip trembled. “Thank you.” I wanted to rush toward him, to throw myself into his arms. But his face was a closed door. “I’m going to get dressed,” I told him, but he didn’t answer. He had already turned away from me again, staring out into the gradually brightening sky.
An hour later, I’d had two cups of coffee and was in my car, on my way to the office. It was still early for a Saturday, only eight o’clock, so I hoped that there wouldn’t be any other people at their desks. I checked my phone after I pulled into the parking lot, but there were no new texts or calls, nothing from my clients or any of my friends. Typically, my phone would light up on the weekend, clients asking me questions and friends reaching out to see if Jake and I had any plans. I flinched knowing that this lack of communication was likely due to every single one of them having seen the posts Andrew put up. The headline—JESSICA SYNDER IS A WHORE—blinked like a bright red neon sign inside my head.
The last thing I felt like doing was talking to Nancy, but I forced myself to go inside and straight to her office, where I found her already sitting on the couch across from her desk. She rose when I entered, and I took in what I knew she considered a casual Saturday outfit: slim-fitting, black linen pants, a loose white tunic, and strappy black sandals. Her brown bob was perfectly coiffed, as usual, one side tucked behind her ear, and she wore her signature red lipstick with no other makeup.
“Good morning,” she said. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Of course,” I said, having a hard time meeting her intense, knowing gaze. We both sat down, she on the couch, and me in a chair across from her. I held my hands together in my lap and straightened my spine, trying to appear more confident than I felt.
“Diane called me last night,” she said, pointedly. “After her conversation with you.”
“I’m so sorry—” I started to say, but she cut me off.
“Please, let me finish,” she said, and I nodded. She leaned forward before going on, resting her elbows on her knees. “You know I’ve always been fond of you. More fond than I usually am of my agents. I’ve watched you blossom from a young and inexperienced single mother to a strong and extremely capable businesswoman. Your sales record can’t be beat. And while you work under the name of Kendall Properties, you’re actually an independent contractor, and I can’t control what you do with your business. Or your personal life.”
I swallowed hard. It took everything in me not to let my eyes drop to the ground, bracing myself for what she was going to say to me next. She’d seen the posts, and was going to ask me to leave the company. I was going to lose my job.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you on Neighbors,” she said. Her gray eyes were suddenly full of compassion, and I relaxed, the tiniest bit. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. It’s horrible, that kind of violation of your privacy. But I want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me. Diane made a stink, demanding that I let you go, and I basically told her to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Relief rushed through me and I had to fight off the tears of gratitude that rose in my eyes. “Oh god, Nancy,” I said. “Thank you. I thought you were going to fire me.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“This whole thing was something Jake and I explored together,” I said, anxious to defend myself. But she held up her hand.
“It’s none of my business, and I’m in no place to judge. I’m just happy I did all my stupid shit before the dawn of social media. Let me tell you, if some of the things I did during my first divorce had been posted online, it wouldn’t have been pretty. I probably would have lost my business.”
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I nodded, intensely curious to know what she was referring to, but it wasn’t the time to ask. I was grateful that she wasn’t going to ask me to sever my connection to Kendall Properties.
“I asked to see you in person because I really want to be sure you’re prepared to deal with office gossip,” she said. “Because you know it will happen. They might not say anything to your face, but there will no doubt be some tension and behind-your-back chatter going on. It might make it difficult to come to work for a while.”
I nodded, and fell back against my chair, wishing I could take time off, but being self-employed, I couldn’t afford to. I had upwards of seven deals in process, with well over six-figures due to come in. I couldn’t sacrifice that, especially with the loss of the rest of the houses Peter was building for Diane.
“I’ll manage,” I said. “I can work from home a bit more, if I have to. Until this all blows over.” As an agent, I didn’t actually need to be in the office except for when I had floor hours, but having a place other than home helped me keep at least the illusion of separation between my work and personal life, so I typically made an appearance at Kendall Properties at least for a few hours every day. I enjoyed talking with other agents, answering questions for the newer ones, and taking up Nancy on any bits of money-making wisdom she had to offer. I imagined that now, with my personal life made so public, chatting with my coworkers wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable.
