“How are you?” He asked, from the doorway.
“Not good,” I mumbled. It was true. I certainly wasn’t feeling very healthy, but I was also incredibly sheepish. Lately, every time I tried to have sex with my husband, I humiliated myself. That was hard on my self-esteem, not to mention our marriage.
“I’m taking the kids swimming,” Paul said. “You rest. Keep your ankle elevated. And you might want to put some vitamin E on your chin.”
“My chin?” I sat up.
“Carpet burn.”
I turned to look in my dresser mirror. Sure enough, my chin looked like a lump of raw hamburger. I flopped back onto my pillow.
“See ya later,” Paul said, as he turned to go.
“See ya,” I mumbled.
“Oh…” He turned back toward me. “Karen phoned. She wants you to call her as soon as you’re up.”
“Okay.”
But I couldn’t call her. I was embarrassed by my behavior the night before, and I wasn’t in the mood for a reprimand from my friend. She had a right to be angry with me; I’d acted like a complete jackass. While I may not have said anything about her affair outright, I had probably raised Doug’s suspicions. Hopefully, he would just think I was a drunken, babbling idiot. I may as well face it: Karen should never have entrusted her secret to me. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I wasn’t exactly handling the knowledge with a lot of grace. I acted different around her now—at least when others were present. I couldn’t even spend one evening with her and her husband without getting completely shit-faced. And probably worst of all, I couldn’t get her affair out of my head. It was consuming me, turning me into a sex maniac—a sex maniac who couldn’t get any action. I felt more dejected than ever.
By Monday, I was physically improved, but my mind-set was the same. I still hadn’t spoken to Karen. I just couldn’t face her. I honestly could not handle listening to her gush on about the intensity of her feelings for Javier, their passion, their connection, their word-transcending love. Nor could I stand to hear her moan about how conflicted she was between the two men who loved her and craved her and couldn’t get enough of her. Maybe I wasn’t being a supportive friend, but I had my own sanity to consider.
I spent most of the day moping. There was no other word for it: shuffling around the big, empty house in my fuzzy slippers and an old pair of track pants, my chin slathered in vitamin E cream. The life makeover list sat unread, my inspiration to turn my life around, suddenly gone. I couldn’t help but blame Karen. Hearing about her newfound passion and zest for life had highlighted the blandness of my own existence. I didn’t want to cheat on Paul; I loved him. But is that what it would take to shake me out of these suburban-mom doldrums? I wanted something, needed something to change in my life. The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“This is Marilyn Chow calling from the principal’s office at Rosedale Elementary.”
This was not what I had in mind. “Yes… hello.”
“Mr. Dennison asked me to call. He’d like to discuss some important issues with you, in person, and was wondering if you could come in for a few minutes this afternoon?”
The principal wanted to meet with me? In person? To discuss important issues? Oh God! But somehow, I remained composed. “Certainly. I could come in just before 3:00?”
“Excellent. I’ll put you in his diary.”
I cleared my throat. “And what might this be regarding?” As if I didn’t know. Spencer had obviously informed his teacher about how much he enjoyed touching his butt hole. Or possibly, that his fondest wish was to have a diarrhea fountain in his front yard. On the other hand, this could be about Chloe. Perhaps she had been sneaking miniscule T-shirts to school in her pants pocket, and changing into them after I’d dropped her off. This meeting could be to discuss her parading around the classroom dressed like some chick in a Whitesnake video.
“Mr. Dennison didn’t give me any specifics. We’ll see you this afternoon.”
Three hours later, I was sitting in one of the hard, wooden chairs lining the wall in the school office’s reception area. I felt just like I did in ninth grade, when I got caught stealing Sandy Moresso’s bra out of her gym locker and hanging it from the basketball hoop during the boy’s gym class. It served her right for having such enormous boobs, when some of us barely—”
A door opened and Mr. Dennison, a tall, fortyish man with an extremely obvious dye job, walked briskly toward me. “Paige Atwell. Nice to see you.”
“And you,” I said, shaking the hand he proffered in greeting.
“Let’s step into my office so we can talk in private.”
Obediently, I limped along behind him, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. When I was seated in the cramped, airless office, facing Mr. Dennison across his large oak desk, I took a deep breath. “I think I know what this is about,” I said.
“You do?”
“Yes, and I agree that it’s a problem, but I’m at my wit’s end. I’ve tried, on numerous occasions, to talk to Spencer about his language. I’ve told him that there are parts of the body that are private, and also, the things that come out of those private parts, are a natural part of the body’s functioning, and they are not funny, or shocking, but also private, and not to be discussed, especially at school. But it’s like an obsession with him.”
Mr. Dennison looked puzzled and mildly amused. “Actually, I called you in today to talk about Chloe.”
“Oh.”
“But we can talk about Spencer’s issue too, if you like?”
“No, thanks.”
“Well, Ms. Blackmore and I are concerned about Chloe.”
I was not about to jump in with my theories this time. “Yes?”
“We suspect she may have some problems with her vision.”
“Her vision?” Was it wrong to be relieved?
“Yes. Ms. Blackmore has noticed her squinting at the chalkboard, and she had to move Chloe’s desk closer to the front. I don’t know if you’ve noticed any strange facial movements or expressions at home?”
Other than constant sneers of disdain.... “Not really.”
“We’ve noticed some in class, which are most likely caused by the tension of eye strain. We recommend she see an optometrist for a vision test. She’ll probably need some glasses.”
“Certainly, I’ll make her an appointment right away,” I replied cheerfully. It wasn’t like I was happy that Chloe needed glasses, but the problem was so wonderfully cut-and-dried. Daughter has bad vision: see optometrist, get glasses.
“This can be a tricky subject to broach with girls Chloe’s age. They’re just becoming aware of their looks, of fashion… That’s why I wanted to meet with you in person—to make sure you felt equipped to bring this up with Chloe on your own.”
What a thoughtful man. I was lucky to have such a caring principal at my children’s school. Not many men would be as sensitive to the issues facing young girls today. I smiled at him. Really, other than the blackish-red hair dye, he was not a bad-looking guy. If he let his natural hair color return and bought a better suit, Mr. Dennison would be almost attractive. And his hands… they looked quite strong and masculine, despite his desk job. Maybe he did carpentry on the weekends? I had always had a thing for manly hands. By looking at a man’s hands, it was almost like I could feel them—”
“So… do you feel comfortable talking to Chloe?”
“I think so,” I said, smiling at him. “I may need to call on you for backup, though, if things get difficult. Would that be okay?” My tone was sweet, almost cloying. What was I doing? Was I flirting? Oh God! Sure, I felt bored and lonely, but dye-job Dennison? Come on!
“Of course. I’m here if you need me.”
“I feel so much better knowing that.” Ewww! It was like I couldn’t stop!
When I had collected my children, I drove home on autopilot, lost in my own disturbing thoughts. I was perplexed by my earlier behaviour. Never before had I considered Mr. Dennison even remotely a
ttractive. Besides the bad hair and clothes, he was also married, the father of four, and my children’s grade school principal. And there I was, so syrupy sweet: I might need to call on you for backup. God! I was sick.
Surely, this must be the kind of attitude that prefaces an affair. The lonely housewife starts to see extra-marital relationship potential in everyone. I would have to stay in my house lest I start something up with the pimply faced check-out boy at Safeway, or the hairy old Greek man who owned the gas station at the entrance to Aberdeen Mists. What if I had to go to the dentist? Dr. Gillespie actually was quite good looking! I’d have to find a new, female dentist immediately.
I pulled into our driveway and parked the SUV, standing patiently on the pavement as my children scrambled to grab their backpacks, discarded coats and other school paraphernalia. Our mailman, Leon, was across the road, finishing his rounds. I returned his friendly wave. Gee, I had never noticed how muscular Leon’s calves were. All that walking must really—I stopped myself short. “Hurry up kids,” I barked. “I don’t want to stand out here all day.”
I would phone Paul. Hearing my husband’s voice would have a calming effect on my horny, adulterous imagination. This time, I would insist that we resexualize our marriage. There would be no more pushing it aside for work obligations or dinner guests. I was careening, out of control, into dangerous territory. I was terrified that I would destroy my marriage, my family, out of sheer loneliness and desperation. Something had to be done to stop me. Just as I reached for the phone, it rang.
“Hello?”
Jane’s voice on the other end of the line was shaky. “Paige. Thank God you’re home.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It—it’s Karen.” Jane seemed to be crying.
Oh no. Doug must have found out about the affair and kicked Karen out. Oh shit! I hoped I hadn’t given it away last night. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?” My voice was thin with panic.
“Oh God, Paige, no, no she’s not.”
“What happened?”
“Oh God! Oh God! I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”
“What? What!”
“Karen’s dead.”
Chapter 8
Karen couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t. She was too young, too pretty, too full of life… And she lived in Aberdeen Mists for Christ’s sake. People did not just up and die in Aberdeen Mists! But Jane assured me that it was the awful truth. She had first hand knowledge. Apparently, Daniel had decided to come home from work early to give Jane a little ‘afternoon delight’. As he drove past Karen and Doug’s house, he noticed an ambulance and two police cars out front. When he arrived home, he notified Jane, who raced to the scene.
“When I got there, she was already gone,” she said, in a voice gone nasal from crying.
“Gone?” I was having trouble comprehending. “Gone where? Gone how?”
“Dead, Paige.” She snapped. “She was already dead. The coroner said it was a head injury, probably caused by a fall. And Doug… Oh God, poor Doug…” She began to cry again.
“Doug was there?”
“H-he found her… lying in the attached garage. He’s absolutely devastated. He’d been in Chicago on business, but Karen called him and said she needed to talk to him when he got home. Something in her tone made him decide to catch an earlier flight. When he first arrived, he thought she wasn’t at home, but then he went into the garage and . . . and there she was!” Jane’s voice dissolved into sobs.
I should have been crying, too. Why wasn’t I? I loved Karen, would miss her terribly, but I felt numb, shocked, incapable of emotion. My thoughts were racing, madly. Doug had found her, just lying there, dead in the attached garage? While this was an entirely plausible scenario in my own chaotic garage, I knew Doug kept his in pristine condition. Did Karen just fall over and crack her skull? It was too weird, too bizarre… especially with what I knew about Karen’s secret love affair. “I have to go,” I said blandly.
“Are you okay?” Jane asked, composing herself. “You don’t sound like you’re okay.”
“No, I’m not. But I… I just…”
“You’re in shock, hon. Let me come over.”
“I’m okay, Jane. I just need some time to come to terms with this.”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.
“I-I’ll call Paul.”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind coming over. I know Paul’s very busy.”
Yes, Paul was very busy, but these were extreme circumstances. Of course he’d be there for me, wouldn’t he? After all these months of physical and emotional unavailability, if Paul didn’t grant me this request I’d… I’d… Well, I didn’t know what I’d do. But it would be something radical, insane even—like, running outside and licking Leon’s muscular calves. “He’ll come home,” I said. “He has to.”
When I hung up from Jane, I took the cordless phone to the formal living room and closed the French doors behind me. The children were preoccupied with a Jimmy Neutron cartoon, but I didn’t want them to see me in this state. I still hadn’t broken down, emotionally, but I wasn’t myself. Perched on the antique sofa, I stared at the curtained front window. If I were to walk over there and draw back the drapes, I’d be able to see Karen’s house. Was Doug still there? Was someone with him? Or was he at the hospital? Or the (ugh) morgue? But I couldn’t do it. My legs would not carry me to the window to look. It was too devastating, too unfathomable. I dialed Paul’s office.
“Paul Atwell,” he answered, tap, tap, tapping on his computer.
“You have to come home,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Karen’s dead.”
“What the fuck? Oh my God! What happened? Are you okay? Jesus Christ!” Paul tended to expletives when he was upset.
“I need you to come home and be with the kids. I-I can’t…”
“Yeah, okay, honey. Look… hang in there for an hour. I’ll wrap up a few loose ends and head home.”
“’Kay,” I said, weakly.
“I don’t want you to be alone. Can one of the girls come over? Jane? Or Carly?”
Oh my God, Carly! Carly was all alone. Did she know? Had she seen the police cars and ambulances? She worked from home so she probably had. They must have come while I was off flirting with my children’s principal, or I would have been alerted to the commotion myself. Poor Carly—she could be cowering in a corner, weeping hysterically at this very moment. She and Karen were so close. She had no one… “Come home as soon as you can,” I said, and hung up.
I would go to Carly: I had to. She only lived two doors down, and Chloe was responsible enough to look after her brother for a few minutes, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone. Karen could have been knocked on the head by some crazed psychopath who was still roaming the neighbourhood. Deep down, I knew this was not the case, but better safe than sorry. I called Mrs. Williams, an elderly lady at the end of the block, who sometimes babysat for us. Chloe would be pissed off, of course. She didn’t feel she needed a babysitter anymore… or a mother for that matter. But I’d rather my daughter be pissed off than attacked by some head-bashing maniac.
When I explained the gravity of the situation to Mrs. Williams, she promised to rush right over. I grabbed my coat from the front closet, and then went to the family room to address my children. “I’ve got to go over to Carly’s for a little while,” I said, zipping up my jacket.
Jimmy Neutron held their attention. Eventually, Chloe murmured an acknowledgment.
“Mrs. Williams is going to stay with you.”
Chloe’s head snapped in my direction. “What? Why?”
“I’ve asked her to come over for a little while. End of discussion.”
“That’s so like, totally stupid!” My daughter continued. “You can’t leave me in charge for like, ten minutes? You’re only going to be fifty feet away!”
“Fifty yards away.”
“Wha
tever. I can’t believe this. Why do you always do this?
“Because…” I felt a stirring of the emotions I’d been suppressing. “…Because I love you two… so much.” Chloe gaped at me like I’d just told her I was actually a lesbian. Thankfully, the doorbell rang, signalling Mrs. Williams arrival and my, somewhat relieved, departure.
Moments later I was on Carly’s doorstep. Even as I lifted the heavy, brass knocker, I had no idea what I was going to say to her, but she had to be told. And if she already knew, she had to be comforted. When there was no response after several seconds, I tried again… and then again. Maybe she was downtown at a meeting? Or sharing a free Diet Coke with the vending machine guy? I knocked one last time, and was just turning to go, when the door opened.
“Oh, hi, Paige,” Carly said brightly. Obviously, she didn’t know. She was wearing baggy, navy blue sweatpants, and a large, white T-shirt that said “Molson Canadian Rocks”. Around her neck were slung the headphones of the iPod she clutched in her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was downstairs in my office and I had my music on.”
“Can I come in for a minute?”
“Sure.” She stepped back to usher me inside. “Come on in.” In Carly’s three bedroom abode, it would have been easy to forget that a male of the species existed. Her walls were faux-finished in shades of peach and cream, a border of stencilled miniature roses running around the periphery. Her couches were off-white leather, accented with peach and mauve throw pillows. I perched awkwardly on one, taking in the plethora of vanilla-scented candles in hand-painted ceramic holders on the coffee table before me.
“Can I get you anything?” Carly asked. “Cup of tea? Glass of wine? Diet Coke?”
“No… no thanks. Umm… why don’t you sit down?”
“Okay.” She plopped down beside me.
“I have to tell you something… something terrible.”
“What?
“Uh… It’s… it’s… Karen...”
“Karen? What is it?”
I reached out and took both her hands in mine. “I don’t know hot to say this Carly… I just... I’m just going to come right out and say it. Karen… Karen has… passed on.”
The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom Page 6
