Good Intentions

by Joy Fielding

  “I don’t know,” Kathryn said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m so afraid of all the time.”

  “I can understand your fears,” Philip said, his voice a magnet, drawing both women’s eyes toward him, although he concentrated his full attention on Kathryn.

  “Can you?”

  “I like to think so. Understanding,” he said, and he smiled shyly, “is what I do for a living.” Renee listened to them both laugh, wishing she could join in. “Come on, Kathryn, indulge me. My last patient canceled. I’m feeling lonely and insecure.”

  Kathryn laughed again, this time more boldly. “How can I help you, Doctor?”

  “Talk to me. Tell me what goes on in that pretty head.”

  “Not much,” Kathryn said, shaking off the compliment with a toss of her hair. Was she even aware of it? Renee tried to remember the last time Philip had paid her even so casual a compliment.

  “Tell me,” Philip urged gently.

  “It’s so trite.”

  “Feelings are never trite.”

  “I never felt loved as a child,” she began, then laughed self-consciously. “I’m sure Renee has told you the same thing.”

  “She has,” Philip concurred. “But we’re not talking about Renee now. We’re talking about you.”

  Renee listened as her sister spoke out loud her own thoughts of only a minute ago.

  “Arnie was the first person, the first man, to make me feel loved. Of course, what did I know of men? I was eighteen years old when I married Arnie Wright.” Kathryn’s eyes clouded over. “But he was so good to me. He was so kind, so thoughtful. I didn’t deserve him.”

  “You didn’t deserve to feel loved? To feel cherished?”

  “I wasn’t good enough for him.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Arnie?” Kathryn laughed. “Of course not. Arnie told me he loved me every day of our married life. He thought I was the most wonderful thing on earth.”

  “But you didn’t believe him.”

  “How could I? You see me. I’m nothing. I don’t do anything. I don’t have anything. My whole life was Arnie. I don’t exist without him. And after he died, whatever I had been died with him. Except here was this body still walking around, and it needed to be fed and clothed and taken care of. And I just don’t have the strength.”

  “You have lots of strength, Kathryn. You just need to locate it.”

  “And if I can’t? If I don’t want to?”

  “You would have made the cuts deeper,” he reminded her, taking her hands and gently turning them palm-up to expose her damaged wrists. Slowly, deliberately, Philip brought her wrists to his lips and kissed each one in turn. “You just need someone to kiss them and make them better.”

  “Oh God, Philip, I’m so afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Kathy.”

  Renee was as surprised at Philip’s use of the diminutive of her sister’s name as she had been by his earlier gesture of kissing Kathryn’s wrists. No wonder all his patients loved him, she thought, wishing she were anywhere else, feeling dirty for her deceit.

  And suddenly Kathryn was in Philip’s arms, crying against his shoulder. “I’ve made such a mess of my life,” she sobbed, burying her head into his chest.

  “We all mess up from time to time.”

  “Not like me.”

  “Just like you.” Philip pulled back, out of their embrace, although one hand remained in hers. “We all do stupid things from time to time. Sometimes we spend years doing stupid things.” He shook his head, his black hair falling across his forehead. “We all mess up.” Both women waited eagerly for him to continue. “My first marriage was a complete disaster,” he confided. “I’m sure that Debbie has told you her mother is beautiful. Well, she is. Also very bright and loving. At least that’s how she was in the beginning, when we first got married. Oh, she was insecure, but I told myself that was endearing. It’s funny how very beautiful women are often the most insecure. I guess I thought it was something she’d outgrow, but if anything, it got worse the longer we were married. She was insanely jealous. She’d call me at the office when I was busy with patients, demand to be put through. A couple of times, she actually stormed into my office in the middle of a session. One night, we were having an argument as we were getting ready for bed. I was too tired to fight anymore. She’d been screaming accusations at me all day. I just wanted to go to sleep, and I told her so, but she wouldn’t let up. She was shouting at me, and I thought, if I don’t get some sleep, I’m not going to be able to function in the morning, and I told her that if she didn’t stop yelling, I was going to spend the night in a hotel. When she didn’t stop, I put my clothes back on and walked out the door. And do you know what she did? She came running down the street after me, screaming at the top of her lungs, stark naked. My wife, the psychiatrist’s wife, chasing her husband’s car down the street like a yapping dog, and she’s absolutely naked. I knew then that I had to get out of that marriage or she would destroy me. My career, my practice, everything I’d worked so hard to achieve. Not to mention my sanity, my self-respect. I knew that if I didn’t leave, I was a dead man.” He shook his head, finishing off the last of his drink. “Leaving Debbie was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. She was just a little kid. I’m sure she didn’t understand. I know how unhappy the divorce made her.” He looked back at Kathryn. “We all mess up,” he said.

  “Debbie loves you. She thinks the world of you.”

  “Yes, but will she ever really forgive me?” He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m the psychiatrist. I’m supposed to be listening to you. Not the other way around.” He looked toward Renee. “I’ve never told that story to anyone. Not even Renee. Thank you.” Kathryn looked as puzzled as Renee felt. “For hearing me out,” he explained.

  “My pleasure,” Kathryn said. “You made me feel needed. I should thank you.”

  They fell silent. Why had Philip told Kathryn he’d never told that story to anyone? Not even to Renee, he had said. He’d told her that story almost verbatim soon after they’d started dating. Had he forgotten? Or had he used the story—exposed his own vulnerability—as a way of getting Kathryn to understand that she was not alone?

  Renee smiled and opened her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and concern her husband had shown her sister. Philip acknowledged her awakening with a nod of his head. Kathryn was sitting back in her chair, looking relaxed and even happy. Renee watched Philip take his hand from Kathryn’s, slowly, casually, as if he hadn’t realized it was there.

  ELEVEN

  “We’ll have the blackened snapper,” Marc Cameron told the waiter as Lynn suppressed a smile. “It got interesting results the last time.” He winked and Lynn covered her eyes with her hands, partly from embarrassment, more because she was afraid of what they might reveal. They were sitting across from each other in a quiet corner of a casually elegant restaurant in Pompano Beach. “So, tell me about your week.”

  “Is it my imagination,” Lynn asked, “or is it just because I know you’re a writer, that you always look like you’re about to take notes?”

  “I am taking notes.” He pointed to his head.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Any new and interesting cases?”

  Lynn fought the strong urge to reach across the table and put her hand in his. There was something in the way he asked even the most innocuous of questions that made her want to tell him everything, something about the way he looked at her that said she was the only woman in the room, that she mattered in a way others did not, that any man would be a fool not to pay close attention to her, that he was no such fool. “I spent most of the morning counseling a couple of newlyweds. It seems they spent the better part of their honeymoon beating each other up. They came in wearing matching black eyes to go with their matching wedding rings.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “I explained th
at this was not appropriate adult behavior,” Lynn said, fighting off the image of herself and Marc Cameron rolling through the sand. “I said there were better ways to work out their problems, that there was such a thing as self-control.” Lynn felt her breath become shallow and she turned away, pretending to be looking around the restaurant. She noticed for the first time since joining Marc at the back of the large room that it was almost full, and becoming increasingly crowded. She checked her watch. It was after eight o’clock. “It’s pretty busy for a weeknight.”

  “Popular place.”

  “Not too popular, I hope.”

  “You said you wanted out of the way. You didn’t say anything about unpopular.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Once, a few years ago. The food was excellent. I just never came back because it was kind of …”

  “Out of the way?”

  “Out of the way.” They laughed.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “Why shouldn’t you be here?”

  “My lawyer would kill me.”

  “Don’t tell him.”

  “Her,” Lynn corrected. “And it’s too late. I already did.”

  Marc Cameron’s eyes widened only slightly, revealing nothing.

  “Her name is Renee Bower. Have you heard of her?” Marc shook his head. “I went to school with her sister. Anyway, I like her a lot. She’s smart and shrewd. And nice. Very nice. She’s married to a psychiatrist. Philip Bower. Have you heard of him?” Again, Marc Cameron shook his head, although this time he smiled. “Apparently he’s very well known.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Renee thinks I should talk to him. At least that’s what she said. What I think she really means is that I should have my head examined.”

  “For seeing me?”

  Lynn nodded.

  “And what do you think?”

  “That she’s probably right.” Lynn looked directly into Marc’s eyes. “I mean, what am I doing here, Marc?”

  “I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about this?” He stretched across the table and kissed her.

  Lynn pulled back instantly, trying to figure out exactly how all this had happened, how she came to be sitting in the corner of a crowded restaurant in Pompano Beach kissing the husband of the woman her husband had run away with.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not. Are you?”

  “No,” she said, surprising herself yet again because she had meant to say yes. “But we have to stop this. We really do. We can’t keep grabbing at each other like a couple of teenagers.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not …”

  “Right?”

  “Smart. It’s not smart.”

  “What’s so great about being smart?”

  “It generally gets better results than being stupid.”

  Marc reached across the table and took her hands in his, unwilling to release them even when she tried to pull away. “I like you, Lynn. You like me. What’s so stupid about two people who really like each other having a relationship?”

  “Why?” she asked. “Why do you like me?”

  He looked confused. “Why does anyone like anybody? What can I say? You’re lovely, you’re bright, you’re interesting …”

  “I’m Gary’s wife.”

  There was a moment’s silence before he spoke.

  “Was that who kissed me just now? Gary’s wife? Or was it simply Lynn Schuster, the woman I’m having dinner with?”

  “They’re the same person.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  “You wouldn’t want me any other way,” she told him plainly, and felt his hands withdraw. Immediately she brought her hands into her lap, hiding them under the table. “Face it, Marc, you wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t Gary’s wife.”

  There was silence as Lynn scanned the faces of the other diners at the nearby tables, none of whom seemed to be looking their way. Had any of them seen the kiss? she wondered, as she had wondered on the beach during their last such encounter. She recognized no one, although for a fleeting second she wished she did. Anyone, she thought, so that she could jump up from the table and shout hello, make a few minutes of polite, inconsequential conversation, break the spell this man seemed to have over her, this man she shouldn’t be seen talking to, let alone kissing. In public. Just like someone had reported seeing Gary and Suzette. Was that why she was here? Tit for tat? Two wrongs struggling to make a right? What was wrong with her?

  The woman at the table closest to theirs turned toward Lynn and smiled, fidgeting in her seat, making Lynn aware she had been staring. Lynn looked away from the woman, careful at the same time to keep her eyes away from Marc’s, pretending to peruse the posters of old-time movie stars lining the walls. The restaurant, which looked like a small house from the outside, was surprisingly large inside. In fact, this restaurant was full of surprises, Lynn thought, knowing she would have to look at Marc sooner or later, wondering again how she had gotten herself into this mess when she had spent her whole life avoiding messes, being cautious, always weighing the consequences of every decision before taking action.

  “This is so unlike me,” she said finally, forcing her gaze back to his. “I don’t do things like this …”

  “You haven’t done anything.”

  “I feel so confused. I feel like such an idiot.” She heard her voice rising, and lowered it immediately. “I’ve always been in total control of what I do.”

  “Is being in control so important?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s nothing worse than feeling powerless,” Lynn stated. “You’re a man. You can’t possibly understand. You’re naturally in control. Women have to fight for it all the time. When we go into a relationship with a man, it’s a constant juggling act. We’re always trying to balance how much of ourselves we need to keep with how much we have to give away. Most women give away too much. Then when the relationship ends, they’re left with nothing.”

  “So you think that because I’m a man, I’m always in control?” Marc asked, not waiting for an answer. “You think I’m naturally in control. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Lynn nodded.

  “How much control do you think I had when my wife announced she was leaving me? I mean, here I am, forty years old, reasonably well established for a writer, all things considered. I think I have my whole life more or less arranged, all my ducks neatly lined up in the pond. And then she comes along and blows them all out of the water. In a matter of minutes, my life is irreversibly altered. I lose my wife, my house, my sons. Suddenly I get to see my boys all of twice a week, not to mention every other weekend. Do you honestly believe that I wouldn’t choose to do things differently if I had any control whatsoever over my life?” He laughed, but the laugh was bitter, hollow. “I think if I’ve learned anything from all this, it’s how little control any of us really does have. What is control anyway? I’ll tell you what it is—it’s a joke. We think we have power, but we don’t. So, Ms. Schuster, you might as well give up some of that precious control because you don’t really have it anyway.”

  The image of her mother in the final stages of Alzheimer’s flashed before Lynn’s eyes. “Tell me about Suzette,” she said softly, eager to displace the image.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  He smiled and she felt grateful.

  “What’s she like?”

  “Artistic,” he answered quickly. “Willful. Charming. Needy. Suzette,” he continued, and this time he was the one who was careful not to look in Lynn’s direction, “is a woman of many needs.”

  “And Gary is a man who likes to feel needed.”

  “Bingo.”

  Lynn looked at her empty glass, feeling a definite
thirst.

  “Gary isn’t the first man Suzette’s been involved with since our marriage,” Marc said after a pause. Lynn felt her mouth drop open in surprise and quickly closed it. “Since her parents died a few years ago—they were killed in a car accident …”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Yes, it was pretty terrible. Suzette took it very hard, which, of course, is perfectly understandable. She had a lot of guilt. I was part of that guilt. Suddenly the whole idea of the starving artist didn’t seem as appealing as it had originally. The rebellious daughter loses something of her edge when she has no one to rebel against. Anyway, that’s when the affairs started. Not that there were that many of them. Only a few. I never said anything because, quite frankly, I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t interested in ending my marriage. I loved my wife. I was trying to understand what she was going through. I didn’t want to break up my family, to leave my sons, the way I felt my father had deserted me when I was a kid. My boys mean more to me than anything in the world. I’d do anything to keep from hurting them.”

  “I’m so sorry, Marc.”

  He waved away her concern. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? Here’s a woman whose whole rationale for leaving me is that she wants some stability in her life, that she wants someone who’s settled and who knows where he’s going, someone she can look up to and feel secure with because she knows he’ll take good care of her, like her father always took care of her. And what does she do? In her search for stability, she disrupts the lives of everyone around her. My life, our sons’ lives. Yours. Your children’s. It’s ironic. I know”—he shrugged— “I’m supposed to appreciate irony.”

  “Maybe her relationship with Gary will just run its course, the way the others have.”

  “Maybe. I don’t think so. Do you?”

  “I thought so in the beginning. I was sure Gary would come back.”

  “Would you take him back now if he did?”

  “Probably,” she answered, thinking this was the truth. “Would you take Suzette back?”