I was in a fog during dinner, nibbling on a piece of Hawaiian, consumed by my own thoughts. The children talked incessantly, and no doubt rudely, but I managed to tune them out. I couldn’t get Janet’s revelation about Karen’s condition out of my head. It made her untimely death sadder still, and I fought to control my emotions in front of the kids. But it had also increased my conviction that there was something fishy about the way she died. I had to tell someone about her affair with Javier—it was the right thing to do. I could call the police, but did I really want to blow Karen’s secret life wide open like that? I wasn’t sure. When Paul got home, I would confess all to him. He was practical and level-headed. He’d know what to do.
Something brought my attention back to the table. It was the girls singing.
“Grinding… and moaning…”
“Okay,” I said, standing abruptly. I’d had enough. “Time to go kids.”
“Already?” Cameron whined. “I don’t want to go yet.” He’d obviously had a change of heart since I’d let him say fart two hundred and forty times in the last hour.
“Yep. Get your coats on. Go! Go!”
Normally, we would have walked, but I was desperate to get rid of my extra charges. And at this point, I wasn’t sure my legs would carry me a block and a half. Within two minutes, we had rounded the corner and pulled up in front of Trudy’s house. It was dark, save for a faint light glowing from the family room. Trudy was probably still lying on the couch watching TV. “Emily and Cameron: out. Chloe and Spencer: stay here. I’ll be right back.”
At the front door I rang the bell continuously. If I had to, I would annoy Trudy off the sofa. It worked. She opened the door within a matter of seconds. It was obvious she’d ignored my suggestions to shower and get herself together. “Hi, kids,” she said weakly, kissing the tops of their heads as they filed past her. “Thanks Paige.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Listen, if it’s not too much trouble, maybe you could have the kids over tomorrow, too? It’s just hard for them to be here with me. I’m still so weak.”
“Sorry, but no.”
“Pardon me?” Trudy was surprised by my abruptness.
“I said no. You have to snap out of it, Trudy. We all miss Karen. We’re all devastated by what happened. I am barely holding it together myself, but I am, somehow, holding it together. We have kids. We don’t have the option of falling apart.”
“W-well…” she stammered. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me. Karen was—”
“I do understand,” I barged in. “I understand exactly how hard it is for you. And I’d like nothing better than to lie on my couch crying for the next six months, but I can’t. And neither can you. You have a family to look after.” And with that, I turned on my heel and marched back to my SUV.
In the darkness of the vehicle the tears poured silently down my cheeks. This was just great. I’d already lost one friend to a horrible tragedy, and now I may have lost another. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe I wasn’t being sensitive to other people’s feelings, but I was having enough trouble coping with my own. I had never felt so alone, so completely isolated in my grief. The secret Karen had entrusted me with was overwhelming me. I felt confused, guilty, deceitful… And now, I not only knew about her secret romance, but her secret pregnancy as well! I could no longer shoulder this burden alone; I just couldn’t take the pressure. When Paul got home, I would spill the beans. He’d be annoyed that I had been duplicitous for so long, but he’d soon get over it. And he’d be able to provide the support system that I so badly needed.
But my husband got home late that night. By the time I had cleaned up the kitchen, helped Chloe with her homework and read a bedtime story to Spencer, I was exhausted. I filled the bath with warm, lavender scented water, and submerged myself. When Paul finally popped his head in to say hello, I was nearly comatose. I barely had the energy to say a quick “How was your day?” let alone a quick “Sorry I didn’t mention it before, but Karen was having a passionate love affair and was also secretly pregnant.” My confession would have to wait. Soon, the perfect time would come, an evening when my mood was courageous and my husband’s receptive. But the longer I put it off, the harder it became to reveal the truth.
Chapter 11
The funeral was on Friday afternoon. I took great pains with my appearance—I still don’t know why. It was inevitable that I would become a snivelling, red-nosed basket case within moments of my arrival. Still, I blow-dried my hair, applied my makeup, and dressed in a black skirt, black pantyhose, and a bright pink, cowl neck sweater. Perhaps not appropriate funeral attire, but it had been Karen’s favourite.
Paul had taken the afternoon off and would soon be home to escort me to the service. I was grateful for his support. This day was not going to be easy for me, for a number of reasons:
One, one of my best friends was about to be cremated. Secondly, her widowed husband thought I was insensitive, annoying and an obnoxious drunk. And finally, another of my best friends probably hated me because I refused to pick up her children from school and told her she was a bad mother if she continued to lie weeping on the couch.
But I steeled myself for the occasion. Taking in my reflection in the bathroom mirror boosted my confidence a little. Karen had always gushed over this sweater, commenting on how the bright colour brought warmth to my skin and made my cheeks look fresh and rosy. It was a tribute to my friend, the fact that I was wearing this outfit to say our final goodbye. As I thought about Karen, a small, wistful smile found its way to my lips. At that moment, I felt glad that I hadn’t divulged her secret to Paul. Karen was a kind, sweet and special friend. She was a wonderful person who had made an error in judgment. If I could, I would keep the rest of Aberdeen Mists from remembering her as some out-of-control nympho.
The sound of Paul’s key in the lock summoned me downstairs. “Hi,” I greeted my husband. “We’d better get going.”
“Okay. Why don’t you go get changed. I just need to pee and brush my teeth.”
“I am changed.”
“Oh…. That’s what you’re wearing to the funeral?” He stared at me like I was wearing nothing but a bra with the nipple cut out.
“Yeah,” I replied uncertainly. “This was Karen’s favourite sweater of mine. I thought I would wear it as a sort of… tribute to her.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think I should change?”
“No, no,” Paul said, brushing past me. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
“I can change!” I called after him, but he was already upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of St. Matthew’s United Church, already burgeoning with well-wishers. Paul and I made our way silently up the walk, stopping only briefly to clasp hands or plant perfunctory kisses on cheeks. In my bright pink sweater amidst a sea of black mourners, I actually did feel like my nipples were poking out. But I managed to hold my head high as we filed in to the church, taking a seat in a pew several rows back. The room was filling quickly, evidence of Karen’s popularity, but the front of the church remained empty. Obviously, the first few rows were reserved for Karen’s family. Jane blew me a kiss from her seat just across the aisle and one row ahead. She wore a demure but stunning black suit, her nipples safely tucked away from view. Her husband Daniel, distinguished in his charcoal ensemble, nodded an acknowledgment, his hands busy clutching Jane’s in support.
As we waited for Doug and the family to arrive, I scanned the room. There was no sign of Trudy… or Carly for that matter. Oh no. I hoped my outburst the other night hadn’t upset Trudy so much that she was unable to attend. Perhaps Carly was with her, comforting and consoling her. She was probably telling her how rude and unsympathetic I had been to Doug and “not to take it personally”, because, obviously, I was the one with the problem, not Trudy. Maybe they were going to have their own, private, “close friends only” service for Karen—a service that I, of course, would be excluded
from.
“Who are you looking for?” Paul whispered.
“Oh… just Trudy and Carly,” I replied. “It’s getting late. I thought they’d be here…” Something caught my eye. It was a man, entering alone, and awkwardly taking a seat in the second to last pew. Why he grabbed my attention, I’m not exactly sure, but he seemed so out of place, even uneasy in his plaid, dress shirt and pressed, black jeans. And it was odd, him being alone. Everyone else had come in couples or clusters. Oh my God! My body tensed as the sudden realization hit me.
Paul leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” I swung my head around to face him. “Nothing. Why?”
“You seemed startled or something.”
“No. I’m fine.” I smiled to appease him. “Just wondering where those two are… Carly and Trudy.”
“They’ll be here,” he replied indifferently, staring ahead.
I forced myself to face forward, even as my mind raced with this sudden revelation. The stranger at the back was Javier! Of course it was! If he really loved Karen as she said he did, he would want to come and pay his respects. The Spanish were a religious and ceremonious people, were they not? God, what did I know about the Spanish? But I did know that some people needed the closure of a funeral to say goodbye to a loved one. I had also watched enough detective shows to know that even murderers sometimes showed up at their victims’ services.
I looked over my shoulder again. He wasn’t exactly what I had expected, but it had to be him. He had thick dark hair and tawny, Mediterranean skin. His eyes were dark, but from this distance, it was hard to tell if they smouldered or not. Javier was a little… beefier than I had expected, but he had broad shoulders and his face did have a lot of character. Yes, I could see how Karen would have been attracted to him. There was something so unique, mysterious and … foreign about him. He would have been hard to resist.
There was a discernible shift in the crowd as Karen’s significant others entered the church. Necks craned, then snapped forward, eyes darted then returned to the front. No one wanted to be caught gawking as Doug walked slowly in, flanked by a woman who had to be his sister, and Karen’s diminutive mother. Following them was an assortment of siblings, aunts and cousins, and then Trudy and Carly. Don’t ask me why, but their inclusion in this “inner-circle” irked me a bit. Jane and I had been just as close to Karen as they were. We were every bit as devastated by her sudden passing, and yet we were seated in pews five and six, respectively. And there were Carly and Trudy, easing into the second row, close enough to reach out and pat Doug’s back consolingly, which they did periodically.
But when the minister appeared on the stage and began to speak about “a beautiful young life cut short” any feelings of jealousy or envy dissipated. My focus was on saying goodbye to my friend, my sweet and beautiful friend who was leaving us much, much too soon. Karen should have been sitting there, beside me. We should have been paying our respects to some elderly lady who had lived a long, rich life, full of children and grandchildren. It was so wrong to be saying goodbye to a vital, young woman, on the brink of motherhood. That reminded me—somehow, I had to speak to Javier before he slipped away.
Finally the minister’s long-winded and rather generic sermon was over. I had endured it with great composure, having shed an ocean of tears in the privacy of my own bedroom. I was touched to see a silent tear trickle down my husband’s cheek. I gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Now,” the minister said, “I’d like to introduce a dear, dear friend of the departed’s…Carly Hillman.”
Again, I felt an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy as I watched Carly make her way to the pulpit. Of course, she was a perfectly appropriate representative for our group of suburban friends, so why was I feeling so perturbed? It was juvenile, I knew, and somewhat disturbing, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I was perplexed as to why this sudden tragedy was making me feel so… petty. Weren’t these life-altering events supposed to make you more accepting, more patient, more “don’t sweat the small stuff”? It seemed to be having the reverse effect on me. I felt almost… possessive of my friendship with Karen.
Carly addressed the congregation. “Hello everyone. Thank you for coming today to celebrate the life of our special friend… daughter… sister… wife.” She looked tenderly at Doug then. From my vantage point I could just see his profile. He was staring straight ahead, a steely set to his jaw. Carly continued. “Not long after I met Karen, I suffered a tragedy of my own. My husband of just ten months left me for an older woman with two children. I was devastated. I wasn’t sure I could go on, but Karen came to my rescue. She refused to let me fall apart, because… that’s just the kind of friend Karen was…”
Of course, I completely understood why Doug hadn’t asked me to speak at the funeral. He was probably afraid I’d show up drunk and spout inane gibberish about families and babies and who really needs them anyway… And it wasn’t like I was really a fan of public speaking but… I don’t know. In a way, it would have been nice to at least have been asked. It would have been a gesture that validated the friendship I’d had with Karen. It might even have made the burden of secrecy I was carrying, a little less heavy.
“…Karen touched all of our lives, every one of us here today. In my case, she actually changed my life… maybe even saved it… and for that, I will always be thankful. I will always…” She stopped for a moment, as her emotions threatened her voice. “I will always love her.”
Carly stood silently for a long moment, the tears she’d been holding in check now streaming down her face. The crowd shifted awkwardly, unsure of whether she was going to compose herself and continue or if the eulogy was over. I was vaguely aware of a rustling in the second pew and watched as Trudy moved to the stage. Tenderly, maternally, she put her arm around our distraught friend and leaned in to the mike. “Thank you everyone, for coming today. Your attendance is a tribute to Karen’s memory. There will be tea, coffee and cakes served in room nine. Just go down to the basement and follow the pink arrows with ‘Remember Karen’ written on them.”
Somewhat thankfully, the congregation got to their feet. “Well…I’m dying for some cake,” I said to my husband, by way of explanation as I launched myself into the aisle. There was no way Javier would stick around to make small talk with Karen’s friends and relatives. What would he say? “Yes, I will miss Karen terribly. She gave the best head.” I had to intercept him before he left. Unfortunately, the other mourners were not experiencing the same sense of urgency. The line inched forward, stopping every few feet to let another row of people into the aisle. I craned my neck to see if I could spot Javier. It looked like he was already gone.
“Hi, Paige,” a voice behind me said.
I turned. “Trudy!” How had she gotten from the pulpit to row six so quickly? “Uh—how are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m better—thanks to you.”
Was she being sarcastic? I couldn’t tell. “Look, I’m sorry if I was hard on you. I’d had a difficult day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
Trudy smiled. “I needed that kick in the pants. You did me a favor.”
“Really?”
“I was wallowing in self-pity. All I could think about was how much I missed Karen. When you confronted me, it really shook me up. I was hurt and angry at first, but then I realized that falling apart wasn’t going to help Doug. That’s when I decided to get off the couch and get busy.”
“Great.”
“Carly and I have been working non-stop on the funeral preparations—baking, organizing dishes and flatware, making a photo collage of Karen…”
I suddenly felt completely left out again. “… I could have helped, too,” I said in a small voice.
“It’s okay.” She squeezed my forearm. “We know you’ve been having a hard time with this. I’m just sorry that I was so self-absorbed that I couldn’t see how much you were hurting.”
“Umm… Thanks.”
She reached out and hug
ged me then, even as we continued to inch up the aisle. “I love you, friend,” Trudy said.
“I love you, too,” I replied, a little awkwardly. We were in the midst of a throng of neighbours and acquaintances, after all.
Trudy released me. “If there’s one thing this tragedy has taught me, it’s to let the people you love know it.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Oh! There’s Jane,” she said, waving toward our friend, still working her way out of her pew. “Excuse me, Paige. I think that girl needs a big hug right about now.”
For a few seconds, I watched Trudy struggle against the flow of well-wishers toward Jane. I also glanced at Paul, who appeared to be in deep conversation with Ed Winofsky from the golf club. Seizing the opportunity, I forced my way through the crowd. Turning my body sideways, I bumped and jostled my way out of the church, mumbling a continuous stream of excuse me’s as I went.
When I finally reached the lobby, I scanned the room for Javier. Dammit. I was too late. I rushed toward the exit door and burst out into the silent parking lot. Hugging my arms against the autumn chill, I scurried toward the rows of parked cars, hoping to catch him just about to leave. My eyes roved back and forth, looking for an occupied vehicle. What would Javier drive? I envisioned a beat up pickup truck, or a rusted 1983 Honda Civic hatchback. But what met my eyes was a sea of large, pristine SUVs or family sedans, all of them unoccupied. Dejectedly, I turned back inside.
As soon as I entered, I was met by my husband. “Where were you? I was looking for you.”
“I just needed some air,” I lied. “Sorry. I should have told you.”
“It’s okay. Doug and everyone have gone downstairs for tea and cake. We should pay our respects.”
“Of course.”
We followed Carly and Trudy’s pink, construction-paper arrows, until we arrived at room nine. Greeting us at the doorway was the photo collage Trudy had mentioned. I stopped to look at Karen as a toddler; an awkward girl of about twelve with braces and a bad perm; a pretty teenager looking tanned and lanky in cut-offs and a green T-shirt… There was her wedding picture… And a photo of Karen surrounded by Trudy, Carly, Jane and me, taken at a New Year’s Eve party two years ago. I felt the familiar lump of emotion forming in my throat. Tearing my eyes from the memories, I entered the room.
The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom Page 9
