by Jane Porter
“Tom and Rita Hanks,” Patti adds.
“Bode Miller,” I chime in, feeling utterly ridiculous for even having this conversation when my world is spinning wildly out of control. Nathan’s right. Why am I hosting this meeting tonight? Why am I doing this now? He says he’s moving. He says we have no money. He says we’re broke. I nearly sway on my feet.
Patti shoots me another worried glance. I pretend I don’t notice, and the young first-grade mom, Barb, definitely hasn’t noticed. She’s dazzled by what she’s hearing. “And you just . . . hang out . . . with these people?”
Patti shrugs. Her tone is casual, dismissive. “If they’re at the evening parties, and they usually are.”
“Is it hard to get invited to the evening parties?”
“Not if you know people, and ski.”
“Skiing is essential,” I agree, trying to pull myself together. “The people who ski like to get together in the evening for a cocktail party, and every night it’s a different house and party. Of course, the party is never ‘planned’ in advance, but is a spur-of-the-moment thing while on the slopes.”
“But don’t you believe they’re all that impromptu.” Patti laughs. “The cocktail parties are usually catered, and some people bring in chefs to cook for their friends.”
Barb is hanging on every word. “Are kids included?”
“Most kids stay home with the nannies, although there are evenings where kids are included. It’s not the norm, though, and you don’t want to take your kids to an adults-only party. Big mistake.”
They continue talking, but I can’t listen, can’t do this anymore. It’s starting to hit me, really hit me. Nathan hasn’t worked in months. He isn’t a vice president at McKee. We’ve been living on borrowed money. We’re out of money. Broke, he said.
That’s the part I have the hardest time with. How can we be broke?
I’m hit by an icy wave of panic, and then another. I’m shivering again, uncontrollably. I look around, trying to figure out how to escape. Patti grabs my arm, walks me into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she demands, her voice no-nonsense. “Tell me. I know something’s wrong. I’ve known it all night.”
I want to tell her. I want to tell her everything, but the problem is, I don’t understand everything. I don’t understand anything. My husband’s lied to me. My husband’s been living a lie. We’ve all been living a lie. We’ve been going on trips and spending money and buying expensive bottles of wine when we had no savings and Nathan didn’t even have a job.
My stomach heaves. I put my hand to my mouth, afraid I’ll throw up.
Patti suddenly understands. “You’re sick.”
I nod, my hand pressed even more tightly to my mouth as I battle to get my sensitive stomach under control.
“Go upstairs,” she orders. “Get in bed. I’ll wrap up the meeting, send everyone home.” She claps her hands as if I’m a wayward child. “Go. Now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I dash upstairs and climb into bed fully dressed. My head aches. My stomach continues to heave. I’m shivering like mad.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe Nathan’s been lying to me. Not just once, but again and again. For over seven months he’s deceived me. Gotten up and “gone to work” and allowed me to believe that everything’s okay when it’s just the opposite. Nothing’s okay. Everything’s changed. We’re facing disaster.
Chapter Nine
Nathan returns with the girls a little after nine. I get up and put the girls to bed and then robotically wash my face and prepare for bed.
As I leave the bathroom, I find Nathan standing at our bedroom windows, looking out. The clouds have again cleared, and the lights of Seattle sparkle across the low purple lake.
“Do you know what it’s like trying to provide for a family of five in Bellevue?” he asks as I turn off the bathroom light.
“No.”
“Did you ever wonder?”
“You never talked about it.”
“But then again, it’s not as if you wanted to be bothered,” he answers.
The coldness is back in his voice, the sharp tone that makes me feel as though we’re balancing on a knife’s edge.
“You’re oblivious,” he continues brutally. “You’ve no idea how expensive it is here. No idea how pressured I’ve felt. I barely sleep at night. I wake up early and go work out to keep from having a nervous breakdown.”
I sit on the side of the bed, slide my hands beneath my thighs to hide how much they shake. “I wish you’d tried to tell me.”
“I did.” He turns to face me. “I said, Taylor, stop spending. Taylor, we’re tight on cash. Taylor, don’t buy things. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.”
He did. I hang my head, the guilt and shame so dark and deep that I can hardly breathe. I feel lost and scared, the same fear I felt when I was fourteen and ashamed of my mother and ashamed of my father and ashamed to be Tammy Jones.
“Why didn’t you listen?” he demands, walking toward me. “Why didn’t you care?” His hands bunch at his sides. He’s furious, and he’s shaking, too. Nathan isn’t a fighter. He avoids conflict like the plague.
Just like my dad, I think, and my dad’s conflict avoidance meant he ended up becoming the laughingstock of Pasadena. Dad didn’t want to fight with Mom and did everything he could to avoid the truth, which included admitting that he was married to a woman with no moral fiber.
But this isn’t about my parents, it’s about Nathan and me and our life together. A life that seems as fragile as a sandcastle.
“I did care,” I whisper. “I do.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?”
I can’t answer him. He already knows I’m compulsive and obsessive. He knows the reason I try so hard to be perfect is to make up for my failures.
“Maybe it’s better if you don’t go to Omaha,” he says after a moment. “Maybe it’s better if you and the girls stay here. Better to keep the girls settled until you and I sort out our thing.”
I lift my head to look him in the face. “What do you mean, our thing?”
“Us. You and me. It’s not really working anymore, is it?”
He’s taken my heart in his hand. “I still love you.”
“And I love you. But—” He pauses, rifles his hair, his expression stricken. “But what good is love when it turns us into this?”
Chest burning, eyes burning, I look past him to the night and the lake and the lights of a boat slowly sailing by.
“Face it, Taylor, we’re not living in reality. We haven’t been in years. We both buy stuff to keep us busy. To keep from feeling empty.”
My eyes are watering. I’m trying to hold back the tears. I don’t want to cry.
“Taylor . . .” His voice drops, persuasive. “I know you’re not happy. I don’t make you happy—”
“But you do,” I interrupt, desperation making my voice too loud. “You do,” I repeat, more gently. “I love you. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone or anything. That’s what makes our girls so special. They’re you and me together. They’re us.”
He just shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says finally. “I realized this afternoon I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I need to get back to work, get back to earning money and paying the bills. Get back to the things that matter.”
“I don’t matter?”
“The family matters.”
I hear such a strong “but” in there. “But it’s not the girls you want to get away from. It’s me.”
He gives me a side glance, his expression remote, shuttered. “Taylor, you’re still not listening. I love you, but I can’t do this right now. I need to think. I need some time.”
Nathan goes to bed, but I can’t sleep. I pace downstairs. I eat four white-cheddar-flavored rice cakes. A handful of almonds. A couple of Oreos. Half a pint of ice cream.
Nathan has said things he’s never said before. He’s said the very things I’ve feared my whole life. I�
��m too flawed. Too broken. Unlovable.
My hand presses to my eyes to stem the tears. I wrap the other arm around my middle, holding in all sound. I have to keep it together. Have to keep me together.
I get scared when I hurt like this. So afraid there’s something really, truly wrong with me. None of my other friends ever talk about hurting. None of them talk about fear and shame. I went to counseling for a number of years after I graduated from USC. I was tired of being bulimic, tired of hating myself. The counseling did help. Maybe I need to go again.
At one, I make myself go upstairs and climb into bed. Nathan sleeps with his back to me. His shoulder is so wide, his legs so long. I creep toward him, lie curled just behind him, as close as I can without actually touching him. I need his warmth. I need his love. But most of all, I need him.
In the morning, I get the girls to their bus stop and return home to tackle the breakfast dishes, only to find that Nathan’s already done them and is now sitting with Tori on the couch, reading her one of her favorite stories, the Berenstain Bears’ The Bears Picnic.
I hover in the doorway, listening to Nathan read. It’s a story I’ve heard a thousand times before. Jemma never really took to the Berenstain Bears stories, but Brooke and Tori just loved them. Tori has her dad read them at least once a week.
When Nathan finishes the story, I drive Tori to preschool and come home instead of heading to the gym. Upstairs, I find Nathan packing. He’s dragged out a suitcase—a real suitcase, not one of those overnight bags that hold a few things. This suitcase could empty his closet.
That’s when I get it. Nathan’s leaving. Really leaving. Permanently leaving.
I lean against the doorjamb, my legs weak. “When do you fly out?”
“Tonight.”
“The girls—”
“Already know. I told them last night. I’ve promised them I’ll call every day. I told Jemma to keep her cell phone charged, as I’ll call the girls daily on that.”
“You don’t want to use the house number?”
“You’re not usually at the house, and I don’t want to risk missing talking to the girls. This way they know they can always reach me, too.”
I bundle my arms across my chest. “You make it sound like we’re getting divorced.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind. I love the girls. I care about you. But for now, I have to focus on getting my life back on track. I’ve had a hard year, Taylor. Things weren’t great at McKee before I quit, and I just want to start feeling better about myself again.”
I nod. I can understand that. “Do you need help?”
“No.”
I find it hard to just stand by and watch, though. “Do you want some coffee or a cup of tea? I can make you a cup of green tea. It’s really good for you—”
“Taylor.” His voice is sharp, and it silences me. “I’m fine.”
I nod, but I don’t leave and I don’t speak again as Nathan grabs more shirts and slacks and sweaters.
I search my heart for the right thing, the perfect thing, to say, but nothing comes to mind. In my heart I know I have to be the one to fix this, but I don’t yet know how. Instead, I watch as he selects a jacket. It’s getting colder in Omaha. He’ll need a heavy coat for the Nebraska winter.
I’m numb the first few days Nathan is gone. I don’t sleep well. I have a hard time falling asleep, and then I wake up in the middle of the night to either eat or cry or do both.
I want to sleep, though. When I sleep, I forget. But then in the morning when I wake up, it all hits me again. Nathan’s gone. We’re in serious financial trouble. We might even get divorced.
Waking this morning, I roll over in bed and extend my arm where Nathan should be and grab air, amazed all over again at the empty space. He’s been gone eight days now. He’s talked to the girls daily, but only twice to me, and one of those times I think it was a mistake. I think he’d meant to dial Jemma’s cell phone and dialed mine by accident.
For sixteen years, Nathan’s been not just my lover, but my best friend. I’ve talked to him about everything, shared all the little details along with the big things, and now overnight he’s gone.
I roll over onto my back, grab the pillow that would be his, and hug it to my chest.
What if he doesn’t want to get back together?
Another thought hits me.
What if, like Peter Wellsley, Nathan wants the kids?
Tortured by the thought, I climb out of bed and go to the adjoining office with the huge arched window that overlooks the lake and dock and beautiful estates of Hunts Point.
The desktop computer is still on, and I click on Outlook and check my e-mail in case Nathan’s written. He has.
I sit in front of the computer to read the e-mail.
I need you to gather up all the bills and mail and send to me here. They won’t get paid just sitting there.
Give the girls my love. Hope everyone’s doing well.
I close my eyes and press my forehead to my hand.
Nathan’s got to come home. Or we have to go there. We have to be together.
I type a quick response before I can have second thoughts.
N, I can get a sitter for the weekend. Why don’t I bring the mail myself? T
I push send before going to wake the girls.
While the girls brush their teeth after breakfast, I check my Outlook again. Nathan’s answered me.
I nervously click to open his e-mail.
Taylor, I don’t have the time and we don’t have the money. Just put it in Express Mail. It’ll be here tomorrow.
I read and reread the e-mail. I read it until my heart feels like it’s on fire.
I go through the day on autopilot. I show up at school, woodenly fulfill my obligations, send out e-mails to the various committees, and read the e-mail reminding me that the next book club meeting is coming up. I haven’t even looked at the book since that afternoon when I sat outside on the back lawn, watching Tori and Allison play.
I’m looking for the book when I remember Nathan’s request to overnight the bills to him. Damn. How could I forget? Glancing at my watch, I see it’s nearly five. Damn it again. Even if I rush to the post office now, the bills won’t reach him for two days, as I’ve missed the three o’clock cutoff for Express Mail.
I go downstairs to Nathan’s office and turn to his wood filing system on his desk. It’s overflowing with bills. I pull them off the top and then reach into the middle shelf. There are more there. And more on the bottom. Envelopes opened and unopened, stacks and stacks with some dating back three months or more.
No wonder Nathan’s depressed. He’s been facing this mountain of bills for years.
Suddenly I need to know what we’re dealing with. He might be the bill payer and the wage earner, but it’s time I got informed about our finances, too.
Picking up an envelope, I wonder where to begin. Or how one should begin. I haven’t paid bills for nearly thirteen years, since before Nathan and I were married, as he took over all finances the summer we were engaged. He’d wanted me to have great credit, not merely good credit, and he’d been appalled by my lackadaisical manner of paying bills, a system he considered hit or miss.
Nathan was the first person who made me realize that late was still terrible when it came to your credit score. Late meant a bad credit score, and it was better to make smaller but more frequent payments than my huge payments every now and then.
I don’t know why I didn’t understand the system before, but Nathan made it all clear. Nathan always made it clear. That was one of the things I loved most about him.
He took the time to explain things to me, filling those gaps in my knowledge base, and trust me, there were a lot of gaps. When you’re a girl growing up in a dysfunctional family, you’re far better at cleaning up others’ messes than your own.
Nathan.
I close my eyes, hold my breath, try to keep the crazy emotions in.
I miss him. I really wish he’d let
me come see him.
Reluctantly, I turn my attention back to the pile of bills, deciding I’ll start by organizing them. I’ll open all and then sort them by company, then due date, and then maybe finally I can see where things stand.
An hour later I’ve finished opening, stacking, and adding up what’s owed, and I think I’ve added wrong, so I clear the calculator and start over adding again.
Mortgage payment: $5,600, times three (How can we have not paid our mortgage in three months?)
Lexus SUV car payment: $435, times three
Nathan’s Porsche payment: $617, times four
Boat payments: $332—many, many times (six months late!?!?)
Country club golf membership and dues: $525 per month, times four
Bellevue Club membership, expenses, and dues: $675, times three
Landscape/gardening: $395, times three
Cell phone: $288, times two
House phone: $148, times two
DirecTV: $102, times three
Puget Sound Energy: $500, times three
Water: $600, times two
Nordstrom’s: $1,400 minimum payment, times three
American Express Platinum card: $17,400 due
Alaska Airlines Signature credit card: $6,000 minimum payment
Discover Card: $3,300 due
American Airlines Citibank credit card: $2,800 due
Hawaiian Airlines Visa credit card: $1,900 due
Neiman Marcus credit card: $1,450 due
Macy’s credit card: $800 due
Starbucks credit card: $375 due
Victoria’s Secret credit card: $240 due
Eddie Bauer credit card (who knew? must be Nathan’s . . .): $88 due
And there are more, miscellaneous bills from school, social obligations, medical, kids’ orthodontics.
The rough total of what we owe—right now, this month, this moment—is $70,000. Or to be more precise, $70,756.
And even if we should miraculously pay that, four weeks from now we’ll owe another $26,817. In fact, until we get rid of our credit debt, we’re going to owe $26,000 every month, which means we need an income of over $300,000 this year just to meet our expenses . . . and right now we’re not including food, new clothes, hair, travel, or entertainment.
