CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
I HURRY ACROSS TOWN, ignoring the man who tries to shove a flyer into my hand. My legs feel shaky, but I press on toward the entrance to Central Park.
I make it to the next crosswalk just as the light blinks red, and I stand on the corner, breathing hard. Maureen is probably at the restaurant by now. Richard would have ordered a nice wine; savory bread would be placed on the table. Perhaps the three of them are clinking glasses, toasting to the future. Under the table, Richard’s hand might be squeezing his fiancée’s. His hands always felt so strong when they were on me.
The light turns and I bolt across the street.
We went to Sfoglia many times together—until one night when we abruptly stopped.
I remember that evening so vividly. It was snowing and I’d marveled at the way the fat white flakes had transformed the city, dusting the streets, erasing the rough edges and grime. Richard would be coming from the office and had asked me to meet him at the restaurant. I’d stared out the taxi window, smiling as I caught sight of a little boy in a striped hat sticking out his tongue to catch a taste of winter. I’d felt a yearning tug in my chest; Dr. Hoffman still couldn’t pinpoint why I hadn’t been able to get pregnant, and I had just scheduled another round of tests.
Richard had called as my taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant. “I’m running a few minutes late.”
“Okay. I guess you’re worth waiting for.”
I heard his deep chuckle, then I paid the driver and exited the cab. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, absorbing the energy. I always looked forward to meeting Richard in the city.
I made my way to the bar, where there was one open stool. I ordered a mineral water and eavesdropped on the conversations around me.
“He’s going to call,” the young woman to my right reassured her friend.
“What if he doesn’t?” her friend asked.
“Well, you know what they say: The best way to get over one guy is to get under another.”
The women burst into laughter.
I hadn’t seen my girlfriends much lately; it had made me miss them. They still worked full-time, and on the weekends, when they went out and commiserated about the men they were seeing, I was always with Richard.
After a few minutes, the bartender set a glass of white wine down in front of me. “Compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar.”
I looked over and saw a man lift his cocktail in my direction. I remember raising the wineglass with my left hand, hoping he’d see my wedding ring, and taking a tiny sip before pushing it away.
“Not a fan of Pinot Grigio?” a voice asked a few moments later. The guy was short but muscular, with curly hair. The opposite of Richard.
“No, it’s good … thanks. I’m just waiting for my husband.” I took another sip to remove any potential sting from my rebuff.
“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t keep you waiting in a bar. You never know who might hit on you.”
I laughed, still holding on to the glass of wine.
I glanced at the door and locked eyes with Richard. I saw him take it all in—the man, the wine, my high-pitched, nervous giggle—then he came toward me.
“Honey!” I cried, standing up.
“I thought you’d be at the table. I hope they’re still holding it for us.”
The curly-haired man melted away as Richard signaled the hostess.
“Do you want to take your glass of wine with you?” she asked.
I shook my head mutely.
“I wasn’t really drinking it,” I whispered to Richard as we walked to the table.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t respond.
I’m so lost in the memory that I don’t even realize I’ve stepped into traffic until someone grabs my arm and yanks me back. A second later a delivery truck speeds past, blaring its horn.
I wait on the corner for another moment, until the light turns green. I imagine Richard ordering the squid ink pasta for his new love, telling her she has to try it. I see him half rise when she excuses herself to go to the restroom. I wonder if Maureen will lean toward Richard with an approving nod that says, She’s better than your last one.
On the night when the stranger bought me a glass of wine and I’d taken a few sips to avoid being rude, our meal had been ruined. The restaurant was so charming, with its exposed brick wall and intimate rooms, but Richard barely talked to me. I tried to make conversation, to comment on the food, to ask him about his day, but after a while, I stopped.
When he finally spoke, after I’d pushed away my plate of half-eaten pasta, his words felt like a hard pinch.
“That guy in college, the one who got you pregnant. Are you still in touch with him?”
“What?” I gasped. “Richard, no … I haven’t talked to him in years.”
“What else haven’t you told me?”
“I don’t—nothing!” I stuttered.
His tone was incongruous with our elegant surroundings and the smiling server approaching with the dessert menu. “Who was that guy you were flirting with at the bar?”
My cheeks heated up at the fresh accusation. I realized his words had been taken in by the couple at the next table, and they were now looking at us.
“I don’t know who he was. He bought me a drink. That was it.”
“And you drank it.” Richard’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Even though it might hurt our baby.”
“There is no baby! Richard, why are you so angry with me?”
“Anything else you want to reveal while we’re learning more about each other, sweetheart?”
I blinked against the sharp sting of tears, then I abruptly pushed back my chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. I grabbed my coat and fled into the still-falling snow.
I stood outside, tears streaming down my cheeks, wondering where I could go.
Then he appeared. “I’m sorry, honey.” I knew he truly meant it. “I had a horrible day. I should never have taken it out on you.”
He reached out his arms, and after a moment, I leaned into them.
He stroked my hair, and my sobs dissolved into a loud hiccup. He laughed quietly then. “My love.” All the venom had disappeared from his tone, replaced by a velvety tenderness.
“I’m sorry, too.” My voice was muffled because my head was pressed against his chest.
After that night, we never went back to Sfoglia.
I’m almost there now. I’ve crossed the park and have just three more blocks to travel. My chest feels tight. I’m gasping. I yearn to sit down, just for a minute, but I can’t miss my chance to see her.
I force myself to run faster, to avoid the subway grates that want to snag at my heels, to weave around the hunched-over man with the cane. Then I reach the restaurant.
I throw open the door and hurry down the narrow entranceway, past the hostess stand. “Hello,” the young woman holding menus calls after me, but I ignore her. I scan the bar area and the people sitting at tables. They aren’t here. But there’s another room, and it’s where Richard prefers to sit because it’s quieter.
“Can I help you?” The hostess has followed me.
I rush toward the back room, stumbling down a step and grabbing at the wall to steady myself. I look at each table, then check again.
“Was a dark-haired man here with a young blond woman?” I’m panting. “There might have been a second woman with them, too.”
The hostess blinks and takes a step back, away from me. “We’ve had a lot of people come through tonight. I don’t—”
“The reservations!” I almost shout. “Please check.… Richard Thompson! Or it might be under his sister’s name—Maureen Thompson!”
Someone else approaches. A heavyset man in a navy suit, his brow furrowed. I see the hostess exchange a look with him.
He takes me by the arm. “Why don’t we go outside? We don’t want to disturb the other diners.”
“Please! I have to know where
they are!”
The man walks me toward the exit, his grip firm.
I feel myself start to shake. Richard, please don’t marry her.…
Have I said it aloud? The restaurant is suddenly silent. People are staring.
I’m too late. But how is that possible? There wouldn’t have been time for them to eat. I try to recall Maureen’s instructions to the cabdriver. Could she have said something else entirely? Or did my mind betray me by telling me what I wanted to hear?
The man in the suit deposits me on the street corner. I’m crying again, my sobs raw and uncontrollable. But this time, no arms are around me. No gentle hands stroking my hair away from my face.
I’m completely alone.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
NELLIE THOUGHT SHE’D BEEN in love once before, back in college. In the evening he’d drive up around the corner from her sorority house and she’d run across the quad to meet him, the grass spongy under her feet, the air warm against her bare legs. He’d pull a soft cotton blanket out of the back of his old Alfa Romeo and shake it out onto the beach, then pass her a flask of bourbon. She’d put her mouth where his had been moments earlier as the amber liquid heated a trail down her throat and into her belly.
After the sun sank, they’d pull off their clothes and race into the ocean, then wrap up in the blanket. She loved the taste of salt on his skin.
He quoted poetry and pointed out constellations in the night sky. He was addictively inconsistent, phoning her three times in a day, then ignoring her for a weekend.
None of it had been real.
It didn’t bother her when he disappeared for a day or two at a time—until that night in October when she needed him. She’d called him over and over, leaving increasingly urgent messages. But he never answered.
Days later he showed up holding a cheap bouquet of carnations, and she let him comfort her. She hated him for failing her. She hated herself more for crying when he said he had to go.
She’d be smarter the next time, she’d vowed. She’d never again be with a man who’d look away when she started to fall.
But Richard did more than that.
Somehow, he caught her before she even realized she was about to stumble.
* * *
“Maureen’s terrific,” Nellie told Richard as they strolled hand in hand toward his apartment.
“I can tell she liked you a lot.” Richard squeezed her hand.
They chattered a while longer, then Richard pointed at the gelato shop across the street. “I know you secretly wanted dessert.”
“My heart says yes but my diet says no,” Nellie moaned.
“It was your last day of work, right? You deserve to celebrate. How was graduation?”
“Linda asked me to give a little talk. I got choked up at the end of it, and Jonah thought I was having trouble reading my notes. So he shouted, ‘Just sound it out! You can do it!’”
Richard laughed and leaned in to kiss her just as her cell phone erupted with “When the sun shines, we’ll shine together.” Rihanna’s “Umbrella”—the ringtone she’d assigned to Sam.
“Aren’t you going to answer?” Richard didn’t seem irritated the moment had been interrupted, so Nellie did.
“Hey, are you coming back here tonight?” Sam asked.
“I wasn’t planning on it. What’s up?”
“Some woman came to check out the apartment. She said she heard I was looking for a new roommate. After she left, I couldn’t find my keys.”
“You left them inside a grocery bag a few weeks ago and almost threw them away.”
“But I’ve looked everywhere. She was outside the apartment when I came home, and I swear I put them right back in my purse.”
Not until Richard whispered, “Everything okay?” did Nellie realize she’d stopped walking.
“What did she look like?” she blurted.
“Totally normal. Thin, dark hair, a little older than us, but she said she was newly single and was starting over. It was so dumb, but I had to pee desperately and she kept asking all these questions, like she really wanted it. She was only alone in the kitchen for two seconds.”
Nellie cut her off. “Are you by yourself now?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to have Cooper come over and stay the night just in case. I’ll have him drag something over to block the door. Shit, it’s going to cost a fortune to get a locksmith here.…”
“What is it?” Richard whispered.
“Hang on,” Nellie told Sam.
Richard pulled out his cell phone before Nellie had even finished recounting the story. “Diane?” Nellie recognized the name of his longtime secretary, a competent woman in her sixties whom she’d met on several occasions. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.… I know, I know, you always tell me that.… Yeah, a personal one—can you get an emergency locksmith over to re-key an apartment as soon as possible tonight?… No, not mine.… Sure, let me give you the address.… Whatever it costs. Thank you. Come in late tomorrow if you’d like.”
He hung up and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
“Sam?” Nellie said into her receiver.
“I heard him. Wow … that was really nice. Please tell him thanks.”
“I will. Call me when the locksmith comes.” Nellie hung up.
“There are a lot of crazy people in New York,” Richard said.
“I know,” Nellie whispered.
“But odds are Sam misplaced them again.” Richard’s voice had the same soothing cadence as when they’d first met on the airplane. “Why would she have taken the keys and not Sam’s wallet?”
“You’re right.” Nellie hesitated. “But Richard … all those hang-ups I’ve been getting?”
“Only three.”
“There was another one. Not exactly the same, but a woman called your apartment after you left for Atlanta. I thought it was you, so I answered without thinking.… She wouldn’t leave her name, and I—”
“Sweetheart, that was just Ellen from the office. She reached me on my cell phone.”
“Oh.” Nellie’s body sagged with the release of tension. “I thought—I mean, it was a Sunday, so…”
Richard kissed the tip of her nose. “Gelato. Then Sam will probably call to say she found her keys in the refrigerator.”
“You’re right.” Nellie laughed.
Richard moved to take the side next to the curb, between her and traffic, as he always did. He wrapped his arm around her and they continued walking.
* * *
After Sam called to say the locksmith had come and gone, Nellie went to the bathroom to change into her gauzy sleeveless nightgown and brush her teeth. Richard was already in bed, wearing his boxer briefs. As she climbed in next to him, she noticed the silver-framed photograph on his nightstand was tilted away so it faced the wall. It was a picture of her sitting on a bench in Central Park wearing jean shorts and a tank top; Richard always said he liked to see her when he woke up on mornings when she wasn’t there.
Richard noticed, too, and reached to turn it back around. “The maid was here.”
He picked up the remote and turned off the television, then pressed his body against hers. At first she thought his touch meant what it usually meant when he reached for her under the sheets. But then he released her and rolled onto his back.
“I need to tell you something.” His tone was serious.
“Okay,” Nellie said slowly.
“I didn’t play golf until I was in my twenties.”
She couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “So … those summers at the club?”
He exhaled. “I was a caddy. A waiter. A lifeguard. I carried clubs. I picked up wet towels. When kids ordered hot dogs that cost as much as I made in an hour, I served them. I hated that fucking club.…”
Nellie traced her fingers down his arm, smoothing the dark hairs under her fingertips. She’d never heard him sound so vulnerable before. “I’d always assumed you’d grown up with money.”
“I told you my dad was in finance. He was an accountant. He did the taxes for the neighborhood plumbers and handymen.”
She remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.
“Maureen got a college scholarship, then helped pay for me to go.” Richard’s body felt rigid under her touch. “I lived with her to save money, and I took out a lot of loans. And I worked my ass off.”
She sensed Richard hadn’t shared this part of himself with many people.
They lay together in silence for a few minutes as Nellie slowly became aware that Richard’s revelation pieced together something for her.
His manners were so flawless they seemed almost choreographed. Dropped into any conversation, he could hold his own—whether he was talking to a cabdriver or a Philharmonic violinist at a charity event. He knew how to wield silverware gracefully and change the oil in his car. His nightstand held magazines ranging from ESPN to The New Yorker as well as a stack of biographies. She’d thought he was a chameleon, the sort of person who could effortlessly fit in anywhere.
But he must have taught himself those skills—or perhaps Maureen had taught him some of them.
“Your mother?” Nellie asked. “I know she was a homemaker.…”
“Yeah. Well, a Virginia Slims smoker and soap opera watcher, too.” It could have been a joke, except no humor was in his tone. “My mom never went to college. Maureen was the one who helped me with homework. She pushed me; she told me I was smart enough to do anything I put my mind to. I owe her everything.”
“But your parents—they loved you.” Nellie thought of the photographs on Richard’s wall. She knew his parents had died in the car crash when he was just fifteen and that he’d gone to live with Maureen then, but she hadn’t realized how deeply formative a role his big sister had played in his life.
“Sure,” he said. Nellie was about to ask more about his parents, but Richard’s voice stopped her. “I’m beat. Let’s drop this, okay?”
Nellie laid her head on his chest. “Thank you for telling me.” Knowing he’d struggled—that he’d been a waiter, too, and hadn’t always been sure of himself—conjured feelings of tenderness in her.
The Wife Between Us Page 13
