Emily woke with a hangover that was so bad she went back to sleep and didn’t get up till noon, at which time she made out a schedule for herself that did not include Ian. She still hadn’t slept in the yellow room and still had no intention of doing so. Something perverse in her made her carry her things down to the basement. It was all a finished room, carpeted and paneled with a bathroom and small summer kitchen that was outdated, but still worked. At the far side of the basement was what she referred to as her planting room. She could live quite nicely down here until she got some backbone and some guts to do something about her marriage. She knew she was being stupid, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She also knew she required some kind of professional help. She needed to get out her health insurance policy to see if it covered psychiatric care.
On the twenty-fifth of January, Emily signed up for classes at Middlesex County College. She scheduled a series of twelve appointments with a psychiatrist named Oliver Mendenares. She rebooked her appointment with the attorney on Park Avenue, kept it, and came away angry. With herself. Because of her blind stupidity, she’d signed away all of her rights to the family clinics. Either she could get herself a job or stay dependent on Ian.
She’d already made up her mind that she wouldn’t take the two thousand dollars a month if Ian offered it. “Once a fool, always a fool,” she muttered over and over to herself.
Ian’s return was nothing short of anticlimactic. He went about his business as usual, spoke to her the way he’d speak to someone he’d just met. He didn’t ask how she was, where she was sleeping, what she did with her days. He wasn’t home at any one time to do more than sleep, shower, and change his clothes. The white shirts were still piling up.
Spring heralded bright, sunny days. A new housekeeper named Edna arrived as did a bright red Mercedes-Benz convertible. A week later a Porsche was delivered. Both vehicles had giant silver bows sitting on top. Cards stuck under the windshield said, “To Emily, as promised. Love, Ian.”
The first thing Emily did when Edna arrived was to show her how to iron Ian’s shirts. She quit four hours later. A second, third, and fourth housekeeper arrived, but each one quit when the laundry basket was pulled out.
When the last housekeeper left after two days—the longest any of them had stayed—Ian came home with a wide smile and three jeweler’s boxes. He magnanimously cooked dinner outside on the grill and presented her with the boxes, gaily wrapped. He smiled benignly as he offered them to her.
“These are lovely, Ian,” Emily said carefully. “Is it safe to keep them in the house?”
“They’re insured. Do you like them? I think I got everything on the list. The ring is two full carats, the band has two carats in smaller stones. The two bracelets are worth twenty thousand, at least that’s what the appraiser said. Each set of earrings is two full carats each. You have five different strands of pearls. Are they what you like?” he asked anxiously.
“They’re lovely,” Emily repeated.
“I put thirty thousand dollars in your account for your three vacations. I think you can take a pretty decent vacation for ten thousand dollars each, don’t you? The travel agent said it was more than enough. I’m working on the shore house and boat. Did I forget anything, Emily?”
“I don’t think so,” Emily said, her mouth a grim, tight line.
“You’re trying to fool me, Emily,” Ian said jovially. “In the living room are your furs. You should keep them in a vault. There’s a place in Metuchen named Oscar Lowrey. You can store them there, but if you’d rather go someplace else, it’s okay. What do you think?”
What did she think? Dr. Mendenares pretty much said Ian had a screw loose, but then he’d pretty much said she had one loose, too. “I’ll think about it.”
“Aren’t you going to say thank you? I know you, Emily, you thought I wasn’t going to keep my end of the bargain we made. See, you should have trusted me. I always come through. You need to trust me more. What do you see as our problem in keeping a housekeeper?”
“Those white shirts, Ian. No one wants to iron them. Including me.”
“Are you going to sit there and tell me, after all I’ve given you, you aren’t going to iron my shirts?”
“I’m not going to do it. If you want to take back all these lovely things, go ahead. Dinner was…okay. I have to get back to my books now.” She walked away, into the kitchen and down the basement stairs. Only here, in this underground cavern, did she feel safe, reasonably content and free of anxiety. She left the jewelry on the wrought iron table and didn’t bother to check out the furs. She also left Ian with the dishes. The rule had always been: You cook, you clean.
Mendenares, if she was still going to him, would probably applaud her actions. But then, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d told her she had to stand up for herself, take charge of her life and not be a doormat. That’s when she stopped going to the sessions. At the beginning she’d made a pact with herself to take twelve sessions, and if she couldn’t see the light after three months, she would need more than one forty-five-minute session once a week. How disgusted Mendenares looked when she told him she wouldn’t be returning. “I have to work this out myself. I still love Ian. I will probably always love him. If that’s my weakness, then that’s what I have to work at. I want to try and save my marriage.”
She hadn’t done anything, though. She returned home and burrowed into the basement with her seedlings, her books, and her memories.
And now this strange dinner and gift-giving session. What did it mean? Everything Ian did was suspect. He was giving her everything he promised, everything she said she wanted. She hadn’t been able to work up any excitement when the cars arrived. The furs would probably stay in their boxes until Ian hung them up. Mendenares said she had to force herself to look at things squarely and to be honest with herself. And she was trying to do that. Ian was not a kind, generous person. In her heart she believed Ian was paying her off, and as soon as his debt was paid, he was going to leave her.
She smelled his shaving lotion before she saw him. It was the first time, to her knowledge, that Ian knew she was living in the basement, the first time he’d actually come down the stairs. She looked up from the pile of books on the card table she was sitting at. He was angry but trying to control it.
“Emily, I think we need to talk.” He looked around uncertainly. “Let’s go upstairs where we’ll be more comfortable.”
She’d learned a thing or two from Mendenares. She couldn’t give Ian any kind of an edge, because as soon as she did, she was lost to her emotions. “I’m comfortable right here. In case you haven’t noticed, I live down here.”
“I’m not blind, Emily. If you want to do something stupid like live in a cellar, that’s your business. It’s the same stupid principle that made you sign away your rights to the clinics. This is a magnificent house, a comfortable house. If you want to live like a mole, feel free.”
“I am and I will. What do you want to talk about? If you want to really talk, then let’s discuss that scene where you left me at Jacques’ Restaurant and then let’s talk about the clinics. In my opinion we do not have a marriage. If we did, you would never have left me and gone to the Cayman Islands by yourself. That was one of the cruelest things you’ve ever done to me and you’ve done quite a few. The list is long. I let you do it to me, though, so I’m as much to blame. You know it too. Giving me all those things is your way of trying to make yourself feel good. I thought it was a joke, a game we were playing when I made out that ridiculous list. I don’t want things, Ian. I want a husband and a family. That’s what I signed up for and you said you did too. I know you’re a doctor, I know you have weird hours, but if I was important to you, you’d find a way to at least call me once a day, have dinner with me, bring me a flower once in a while, something to show me you care. You don’t do any of those things.”
“Are you saying this house is to make me feel good?”
Emily stared at her husband, pleased that her heart was beating normall
y, pleased that she saw his eye twitch, a sign that he was upset.
“Oh, you bet. You have the biggest, the best bedroom. You don’t want me in it, but you were gracious enough to assign me one across the hall. When was the last time we slept together, made love? I remember the day, the hour, and what went on before and afterward. Women remember things like that. I don’t like the yellow room and I resent that you would think I would. Take away the surprise element, Ian, and what do you have? I would rather have known about the house, done the decorating myself. And how do you know I couldn’t do a good job? You don’t know a goddamn thing about me and that’s really sad. You broke my heart. You really did and I cannot forgive you for that. I’m still angry about those clinics.”
“Those clinics netted a hundred and forty thousand dollars last month,” Ian said coldly.
“How many babies did you kill for that, Ian? How many men jerked off in a bottle to store in your freezers? Give me a number, Ian.”
“Don’t go noble on me, Emily. Women have a right to choose. I’ve always believed that. Jesus Christ, you don’t even go to church, so don’t start that morality crap. You believe they have a right to choose, too.”
“If you truly believed that, Ian, I would know it in my heart and then I could live with the clinics, but you don’t believe it. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re in this for the money, and nothing you can say will ever convince me otherwise. You kill babies for money and then you buy me presents to try and ease your conscience.”
“That’s not true,” Ian bellowed.
It was true, she could see it in his face, read it in his eyes. She felt no satisfaction, only a deep sadness. Suddenly she wanted to wipe the look off his face, kiss away the look in his eyes. He still had a hold over her. “Take back all those presents and go outside in the garden and bring me one of the tulips, pick me a dandelion, a green weed. I don’t care what it is as long as you pick it because you want to give me something from your heart. Did you know dandelions are herbs?”
“No, I’m not taking back the gifts. I promised them to you and I never knowingly break a promise. The tulips are too pretty to pick and I think you know that. I didn’t see any dandelions in the lawn when I came home. And why in the hell would I give you a weed. And no, I didn’t know dandelions are herbs. I guess I wasn’t in class the day they discussed dandelions.”
“What else do you want to talk about?” Emily asked as she tapped her pencil on the table.
“Us.” He walked over to the table and reached down for her hand. “I want you to move into my room. I’ll order a king-size bed since we’re both restless sleepers. We need to start working on that baby. If I broke your heart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m a doctor, do you think I can fix it for you? Will you let me try? Do you still love me?”
Emily thought her heart would burst right out of her chest. It was the first time Ian had ever said he was sorry about anything. Maybe this time he meant it. She wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. “I’m willing to try, Ian. I love you. I will probably always love you. Do you love me?”
“Of course. How can you think otherwise?”
“Because I need to hear the words, Ian. If you loved me, how could you go off and leave me sitting at Jacques’? And go away without me?”
“I don’t know how I did that, Emily. It was a knee-jerk reaction and I was miserable. All I did was think of you and the business. I couldn’t wait to get home to apologize, and when I did, you didn’t want any part of me. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything. I was wrong and I admit it. What did you do while I was gone?”
“I drank myself into a stupor every night.”
“We really messed up, didn’t we?”
Mendenares’s face flashed in front of her. “You did, Ian, I didn’t.”
“Guilty!” Ian said cheerfully. “God, I’m glad we settled all this. Come on, let’s move your stuff upstairs. I’ll help you. Then, if you are agreeable, we’ll take a long, hot shower together and do our best to make a baby.”
Emily smiled. It was a start. You always had to start somewhere. “Did you do the dishes? You cook, you clean, I’ll watch you.”
“That’s fair,” Ian said, bolting up the stairs to the kitchen. Emily watched as he dumped the dishes, the condiments, the silverware into the trash barrel on the deck. “Done!”
In spite of herself, Emily giggled.
It took four trips before they were ready to strip down in the shower.
Emily thought she could feel her heart start to mend when Ian said, “Let’s get started on that kid who is going to look like you or me or both of us put together.”
Her heart was mending, she was sure of it as she stepped into his arms under the pelting water.
Chapter 7
The house on Sleepy Hollow Road took on a new life, albeit Emily’s life, over the following years. The days were busy days, the nights busier still with homework and the few hours Ian allotted to their “togetherness” program.
On the eve of her thirty-ninth birthday, Emily decided there was no such thing as pure happiness in a marriage. There was, she told herself, fulfillment and even contentment. Either you accepted or you rejected it, which was just another way of saying you went with the flow or you fought it. Emily opted to go with the flow, an expression she’d heard on television.
She’d finally given up on the idea of getting pregnant. It wasn’t even something she could fault Ian for. They’d worked at it arduously, playfully, angrily, determinedly, to no avail.
Today was going to be a bad day. Emily could feel it in her bones.
“What’s wrong, Emily?”
“I’m thirty-nine today. So tell me what are we going to do this weekend to celebrate this momentous day in my life?”
“We’re going down to the shore house and take the boat out. I bought you a Sunfish for your birthday. They delivered it yesterday.”
Two whole days with Ian. They were going to celebrate her birthday. Maybe it wasn’t going to be a bad day after all.
“We should have done something special to celebrate your birthday, Ian. Why didn’t we?”
“Because I hate growing older. I don’t even want to talk about it. Jesus, next year we’ll be forty. Half our life will be over. The chances of us living to eighty are pretty slim, if you want my opinion.”
“I plan on living to be a hundred. So there, Dr. Thorn.”
“Plan on being a widow then, Mrs. Thorn. So there.”
“Swear to me, Ian, that we aren’t going to go through that midlife crisis syndrome you read about in all the slick magazines. Swear to me if either one of us feels something is awry, we’ll talk about it. I’m really serious, Ian. I’ve read some real horror stories. Okay?”
“Sure,” Ian said, snapping the lid of his suitcase. “Listen, Emily. I have a confession to make. I don’t know if I’m ready to take that Sunfish out in open water. My stomach goes into knots the minute I start to think about it. I don’t honestly know if I’ll ever be ready to take it out.”
Emily burst out laughing. “Why did you buy it, Ian?”
“Because it was on your goddamn list, that’s why,” Ian said, his eyes wild.
“I think you should sell it. Maybe someday we’ll take a cruise. That will be boat enough for me.” How endearing, Ian admitting to a mistake, letting her see his vulnerability. This was the best birthday present. To think it took living thirty-nine years for Ian to show this side of him.
“I guess we can go then. God, I feel like a hundred pounds has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“Ian, can I say something here, something that’s important to me?”
“Sure, fire away.”
“The feeling you’re experiencing right now, I never had that. The relief, the weight taken off my shoulders. So many times I wanted to blurt things out, to tell you how I felt, but I was afraid of your reaction. I’m not talking about the dumb mistakes I made over the years. It’s oka
y now, we can’t go backward, I just wanted you to know. Life is too short to dwell on the bad things, and, Ian, there were a lot of bad things.”
“God, Emily. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s history. C’mon, let’s start to celebrate my birthday. I want it to be a great one.”
“I’ll make sure of that, Emily,” Ian said, smiling.
But before they were halfway there…
Emily opened her eyes and returned to the present…and the Federal Express letter that lay before her. “I’ve had enough of Memory Lane. I’ve had enough of you, Dr. Ian Thorn. Enough!”
She lumbered up from the sofa and made her way into the kitchen. She wished for more sticky buns, anything to stuff in her mouth to make the pain go away. On her way to the refrigerator she passed the open doorway to the downstairs bathroom. She must have left the light on earlier. Surely the hag staring at her from the mirrored wall wasn’t herself. She was so uncertain, so disbelieving, she walked into the bathroom and looked at herself. No, this wasn’t Emily Thorn. The only thing reminiscent of Emily Thorn was the bush of wild hair. Frantically she rummaged in the vanity drawer for a pair of scissors. She couldn’t find any. She ran to the kitchen, yanked open a drawer, and ran back to the bathroom with a pair of kitchen shears. She started to chomp and slice at her hair. Ian had always said he loved her hair. “Fuck you, Dr. Ian Thorn,” she blubbered. When she couldn’t hold her arm up any longer, Emily quit cutting. She looked like something out of a horror movie. She still didn’t look like Emily Thorn, wife of prominent physician, Dr. Ian Thorn.
If it wasn’t Emily Thorn in the mirror, then who was it? Emily leaned closer. Once it had been Emily Thorn, but years of abuse had turned her into this creature who was forty pounds overweight, had bags under her eyes and three chins. When and how had her complexion gotten so bad? Grease and sweets was the answer. She stretched her lips so she could look at her teeth. Good teeth. Pedigree teeth. Didn’t breeders check dogs’ teeth to see if they were fit? Well, hell, she was no pedigree. She was nothing but an ugly stray whose husband didn’t want her anymore.
Dear Emily Page 8
