Divorce.
Even after all these months, the word still leaves an aftertaste like cayenne pepper. It makes me want to choke.
Alex frowns. “How will that help matters? Your marriage has been over for a while now.”
I sigh. “It’s just…”
Hera’s face—half mosaic, half paper—smiles up at me from the design template. I wish I were more goddess-like at this stage of my life, but right now, I just want to put a pillow over my head or numb myself with sangria.
Hera says, Great, you’ve become a forty-year-old, divorced alcoholic. Girlfriend, this is not good.
I push to my feet, pour myself another glass of wine and turn to face my friends. “I’m not sure where things are going with him. I don’t know if I want to tie myself down to someone so soon after leaving one relationship. I guess I’m having trouble because this isn’t where I wanted to be in life when I turned forty.”
Rainey gets up, walks to the bowl of chips. “Is anybody where they thought they’d be?” She licks spinach dip from her fingers. “I mean, look at me. All Hank does is watch television and doze on the couch when he’s not working. Ben’s going off to college in the fall, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself.”
“I’m happy,” says Alex.
Rainey and I glare at her.
“Well, you suck,” says Rainey.
Alex shrugs. “Life’s what you make of it. I’m turning forty, and I haven’t spoken to my mother in ten years. And I’ve never been married. Some people would label my life a total mess. But I choose to see the good. Life’s a hell of a lot more peaceful without Zona pulling her antics, and I have a thriving law practice that keeps me way too busy to get involved with anyone long-term. It’s all in how you view it.”
We silently contemplate the idea for a minute.
“Oh gag,” says Rainey. “When did Pollyanna step in and what did you do with our old cynical Alex? We want her back.”
“Hey, watch who you’re calling old.” Alex stands in the middle of the blue room, hands on hips. “I’m serious. People are calling forty the new thirty. I like that, because if we’re looking in askance at how we got to this juncture in our lives, ten years ago we were totally clueless. Personally, I’d feel pretty cheated if the best years of my life had gone by and I’d missed them because I was so worried about arriving at the wrong station when I got here.”
Rainey frowns. “I guess. And if we can’t age gracefully there’s always BOTOX.”
We laugh.
“Let’s take a break and play this crazy game I brought.” Alex pulls a small book with a psychedelic cover out of her purse and holds it up. It’s called Zobmondo: The Outrageous Book of Bizarre Choices.
“Let’s get away from these paint fumes and go out into the living room,” I suggest.
We grab the chips, dip and drinks, file downstairs and settle on the pillows in the living room.
“Here’s what you do. The game pairs two weird situations. You’re supposed to choose between the two and tell why.” She stares at the cover. “I didn’t realize it before, but I think this game is particularly appropriate in light of the bizarre and outrageous fact that we’re each turning forty this year.”
She lifts her glass. “To the fearless forties.”
We clink. “Hear! Hear!”
Alex opens the book at random and fires a question at Rainey.
“Would you rather lick a frog or a public toilet?”
I almost drop my sangria.
“Disgusting!” says Rainey. “Neither, thank you.”
I cluck my tongue. “No, you have to choose one. Don’t be a party pooper.”
“I want another question.”
“No,” I say. “Let’s make a rule that you have to open the book at random and that’s your question. No picking and choosing.”
Rainey rolls her eyes, then weighs the pros and cons of frogs and public commodes.
Alex scoops some spinach dip onto a tortilla chip and drums one hand of perfectly manicured acrylics on the coffee table. We look at Rainey as if she’s about to reveal something earth-shattering.
“I have no idea how you can eat spinach dip with those horrific choices on the table,” says Rainey. “Contemplating myself performing either of these two acts has made me doubt whether I will ever be able to eat again. Not that it would be a bad thing.” She pats her belly.
“You’re not fat,” I say. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re a pal, but I am definitely carrying around way more meat than is considered chic these days. Sometimes I can kid myself into believing my curves are lush and voluptuous. Given how into my body Hank is these days, most of the time, I simply feel fat.”
She closes her eyes and scrunches her nose. “Ughhhhh. Frog or toilet? Okay, I’ll take the frog. Because sometimes I have a hard time even using public toilets for what’s intended, much less getting more intimate.”
Still grimacing, Alex nods in support of her choice and slides the book across the table at me. “Your turn.”
I take the book and start to flip to a page when the phone rings. I consider letting the machine pick up the call, but wonder if it might be Caitlin calling.
“Excuse me for a sec.” I lay down the book and walk into the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Kate, it’s Mom.” Her voice breaks on the last note.
“What’s wrong?”
She starts to say something, but it’s broken by an anguished sob. My blood goes cold. And I know.
“Is it Dad?”
“Honey…he’s dead.”
When I see Jon standing on the porch with a bouquet of flowers and a white teddy bear, all I can think about is Mom’s upstairs resting—she’s taken a sedative the doctor prescribed—and I don’t want her to wake up and find him here.
It’s crazy, I know. But she doesn’t approve of my dating before I get the divorce, and I don’t want to be the cause of any more stress in her life right now.
“Kate, I’m sorry.”
His words make me cry. He hugs me, but I feel nothing. It scares me not to feel anything. It’s as if I’m made of ice and have frozen so solid it’s killed all my nerve endings.
I pull away when I hear feet on the stairs. I’m relieved when it’s Caitlin coming down to see who’s at the door, not Mom. Jon hands me the bouquet, and I bury my face in the blossoms not wanting my daughter to see my tears.
I didn’t make her go to school today because she was awake several times last night crying over her grandpa. Between what’s happened with Corbin and this, she’s missed more school in the last month and a half than she missed all year last year.
“Did Molly come with you?” she asks, hopeful.
“No, kid, she’s in school. It’s just me and this bear today.”
He drops down to one knee and pulls her into a hug, then gives her the bear.
“I’m sorry about your grandpa. I’m sure he loved you very much.”
I have to do something or I’ll lose it. So I walk into the kitchen and pull out the big Waterford vase.
A wedding present.
I feel as though I should give it back. One less thing to divvy up.
I hear Jon and Caitlin chatting in the foyer. I can’t make out what they’re saying over the water I’m drawing for the flowers, and the crinkle of the paper as I remove the wrapper.
Just as well. I don’t want to hear him consoling my daughter. Because that might warm me and melt the ice that’s numbed me against all feeling.
The flowers are not the lavender from his greenhouse that I like so much, but a professionally grown bouquet of white lilies and roses.
It’s while I’m trimming the stems at perfect forty-five-degree angles that I feel Jon’s hands on my shoulders.
“What can I do, Kate?”
I shrug.
I don’t know what to do. How can I tell him what to do? Nothing anyone can say or do will make a difference.
He tu
rns me around, puts his arms around me. When he tries to kiss me, it’s as if I’m a third person in the room watching myself pull away.
I turn back to the flowers, shove them all down into the vase—cut or uncut—and put them on the table. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”
Jon stares at me. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s bewildered by my pulling away from him.
“I’m sorry. I— It’s not you. I just need—I just need a little time. There are so many things in my life that are broken right now, Jon. I don’t know how to deal with anything anymore.”
“Kate, let me help.”
I shake my head. “Nobody can help. I just need time to help my mother through this, time to help Caitlin get used to all the changes.”
He nods, but his eyes are sad. “I’ve said from the start that you don’t get over a twenty-year marriage overnight. Take all the time you need. But Kate, please, don’t get so wrapped up in helping everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself. Okay?”
With bittersweet regret, I watch Jon walk out the door.
Hera says, Girlfriend, you are making a huge mistake. That’s one of the finest men you’re ever going to meet. I just hope you realize it before it’s too late.
CHAPTER 18
Dad’s funeral unfolds like a three-act play.
Act one: We arrive at the church, and Mom falls apart.
Act two: Corbin shows up. He and Daniel, who flew in from Berkeley last night, take charge, greeting guests, accepting condolences on behalf of the family, acting like the men of the house.
Act three: As I help Mom from the mourning room into the sanctuary, I spy Jon over the sea of faces, sitting in the last pew. He gives me a rueful smile and nods. I haven’t talked to him since he brought the flowers three days ago. The way Corbin is acting, I know it must appear that we’re back together. Still, I can do little else but let him carry on, because Mom needs me.
None of the relatives, who have flown in from all over the country, know that Corbin and I are separated. In a perverse way, I’m almost relieved for the illusion that everything is status quo in our house so that it does not divert attention from the funeral. This is a day about remembering my father. Not a day for whispers like, You know the Conrad family never had a divorce until Bill and Mary’s only girl. I’ll bet he’s rolling over in his casket.
So I let Corbin be the man; and I let Jon sit in the back; and I let my mother cling to me because she needs me.
The rest of the funeral is a blur of flowers, hymns, Bible passages and recollections of my father.
He was cremated, so there’s no burial—we will gather in the fall to scatter his ashes at sea, just as he requested.
At the end of the service we follow the minister down the aisle. As we approach Jon, Corbin has the audacity to put an arm around me as if he cares. I sidestep away from him as if I’m moving into position to better secure my mother’s grip on my arm.
Corbin shifts to the other side of her and offers his arm. My mother, bless her heart, angles away from him, and I sense a silent stab of contempt.
He quickens his step to get the door for the procession.
Oh, so helpful and attentive.
He makes me sick.
When we form our receiving line in the lobby, Corbin goes to settle with the minister. Jon is one of the first to come through.
“I’m sorry, Kate, Mrs. Conrad.”
As I watch him walk out the church’s glass front doors, I’m sure that if I could feel anything, I’d regret letting him walk away. I might even go after him.
Go after him, urges Hera.
“Who was that?” Mom’s watching me.
“That’s Jon Beck. He’s the father of Caitlin’s friend Molly.”
Her gaze searches my face. “Oh, I see.”
I glance in the direction of Jon’s exit, but he’s gone.
Rainey and Alex skip the funeral to keep Caitlin and make sure everything is ready for the after-service reception.
I hope Jon will come, but am not a bit surprised when the last guest leaves and he hasn’t shown. It would have been awkward with the way Corbin is making himself at home.
I try to be understanding since Daniel is home for such a short time, and I know he wants to see his father. Corbin and Daniel sit on pillows in the living room—my Moroccan living room, thank you very much—talking for a long time.
Then later, Corbin comes into the kitchen and starts helping me clean up what the caterer did not.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” he says.
Kiddo? Since when does he call me kiddo?
I have an urge to ask him if that’s his pet name for Melody—Hmm, where is Melody today, and how does she feel about Corbin having so much family time? But I don’t ask because I really don’t care.
He stands beside me at the sink and picks up the dish towel that’s lying on the counter. “Daniel’s upstairs making some phone calls. I’ll dry.”
As we stand side by side doing dishes together, I can’t remember a single time in our twenty-year marriage when we did something as simple as this.
I realize with startling clarity that this man is a stranger.
“Where’s your mom?” he asks.
“Upstairs resting.”
He wipes a wineglass, sets it on the counter. He acts as if he’s going to take another, but he grabs my hand instead of the glass. I pull away and in my haste, the glass slips from my grasp and shatters in the sink.
“Oh!”
“Don’t worry about it.” His hand is on my arm, now. I shrug it off. I don’t have the energy to get into it with him right now.
“Kate, please. If I’ve learned one thing since your dad died, it’s how short life is. Your father’s death has reminded me that life is fragile and fleeting. Unlike that wineglass, it can’t be replaced.”
I squint at him because I have no idea what he’s getting at. All I know is if he says one more word about death I’m going to scream.
“It feels good to be home again—in my house, in our house.” He takes me by the arms and turns me toward him. I’m so aghast at his referring to it as my house, our house, that it takes a few seconds to register when he says, “Kate, I’m still in love with you. I want to come home.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already talking.
“I screwed up. I miss my family, and I want us all to live together again. I will go to counseling, anything to work through this.”
“Corbin, this is hardly the time to be talking about this. I—I can’t even think right now.” I take two steps back. So there’s enough distance between us for me to breathe. From this distance I look at the man who is the father of my children, the man who promised to keep himself only unto me until death do us part, and I try to imagine what marriage would be like on this side of the affair.
Lots of marriages survive infidelity. Lots of women pick up the shattered pieces and put them back together stronger than they were before. I guess I’m just not of that ilk.
“So, I take it that Melody’s out of the picture?”
He sighs, twists the dish towel, nods.
“Who left who?”
“That’s not important. What matters is that we’re—”
“Who left who, Corbin?”
“She left me, but I was going to break it off with her if she hadn’t moved out. I’m being honest with you.”
“Moved out? You were living together?”
“She’s not half the woman you are, Kate.”
The girlfriend’s gone? He wants to come back? Just like that? As if I should welcome him with open arms, like the dutiful wife?
“Frankly, Corbin, I can’t believe your audacity. You had your little fling, now you want to come back? I don’t think so. You blew it, and this time, I’m not going to be the one who fixes it.”
“What? Is it Beck? Do you two really have something going?”
How typical. That he would think me incapable o
f standing on my own two feet.
“I think you should leave.”
To my surprise, he slinks out of the kitchen as if I’ve beaten him. But I’m the one who feels bruised by life’s whiplash ride of late: Corbin’s cheating; these feelings for Jon; Dad’s death; Mom’s moving in; losing Jon.
For a second I have a panic attack—will life ever be right again? Or will it just keep spinning out of control and will I just keep falling from one plateau to the next?
I hear Corbin at the front door.
“Corbin, wait a minute!”
He’s standing in the foyer, looking hopeful, when I get there.
“How did you get here today?”
He looks puzzled, but smiles. “I drove.”
He drove. Despite the arrest, despite the suspended license, he drove. Now he’s getting ready to walk out and get in his car despite the drinks he’s had at this afternoon’s reception and drive himself away.
“I thought the only reason you were supposed to drive was to get yourself to and from work?”
He snorts. “If I get pulled over, I’ll just tell them I have an emergency at the hospital. They’ll never know the difference.”
Oh my God. His words reach all the way down to the pit of my stomach.
“That line fools them every time, doesn’t it?”
“Oh…Kate. I—” He reaches for me.
I shake my head.
“Goodbye, Corbin.”
CHAPTER 19
It’s only been a month, but in some ways it seems as though my father’s been gone forever. The memory of him settles around us like a fortress. His presence is larger than life and always with us.
That’s why I’m caught completely off guard the day my mother informs me she’s taken an apartment in a retirement community.
We’re sitting at the kitchen table having a sandwich, talking about what we’d like for dinner—we’ve fallen into a nice, comfortable routine of working together in the kitchen—when she drops the bomb. It goes something like: “We could have rosemary pork chops or chicken picatta for dinner tonight. By the way I’ve taken an apartment, and I’m moving out at the end of next week.” I nearly choke on my ham and cheese.
Out with the Old, In with the New Page 17
