The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “I’m sorry for the reason for this visit. How’re you doing, Katherine?”

  I held my head a little higher, sat a little straighter. “I’m all right.” Did I look and sound as brittle as I felt?

  “I know this week hasn’t been easy on either of you, but I’m glad you came to see us. Perhaps we’ll be able to discover what God would have you do. Let’s go to Him in prayer, shall we?”

  I bowed my head. What to do? What to do about what? About Nicole? About Brad? About In Step?

  “Father, we come to You with heavy hearts. Brad and Katherine are hurting, Lord, and in need of Your holy touch . . .”

  I don’t know if Brad’s hurting. Maybe it’s a pretense. How will I ever know what’s true and what isn’t?

  “. . . Open our eyes and our hearts to whatever You would have for us. Give us discernment and wisdom . . .”

  If I had any discernment, I would’ve known what Nicole felt about Brad. I would have sensed she wanted my husband. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “. . . Father, direct our words and our thoughts in the coming hour and in the coming days. We ask it in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  The prayer was over, and I’d heard little of it. But now that Mike was through praying, it would be our turn to talk. I wasn’t ready. Not even close. My stomach churned. My hands were sweaty. I rubbed my palms against my Levis.

  Mike leaned back in his chair. “Brad, why don’t you start?”

  “Sure.”He glanced toward me, but I pretended not to notice. “I already told you what happened the night of the banquet with that reporter. Then there was the complaint filed with the attorney general, probably by Nicole, although I’m not sure we’ll be told the source of the complaint.” His voice lowered a notch. “And now there’s her claim of an affair with me. I feel like I’ve been hit by a cannonball.”

  Me too.

  “The thing is, I’m confident we can prove there are no financial problems at In Step. It may take a while, but I don’t believe any laws have been broken. We’ll straighten things out with the AG. Stan knows how to handle the legal aspects. I trust him to see us through the mire.”

  He fell silent, and I knew he looked at me again.

  “What worries me most is what was on the news last night and in the paper this morning, the claims of sexual impropriety. I don’t know—”

  My head snapped up. There was something in the newspaper? I hadn’t thought to look at it before Emma whisked me off to her house.

  “—how to clear my name. It’s her—”

  I interrupted Brad. “What did the paper say?”

  He looked at me. “Pretty much what was on TV last night. They interviewed Nicole after the story first broke yesterday morning.” He shifted in his chair. “I was told some magazines have sought interviews too.”

  Was Stan right to tell us not to speak to the media? It seemed unfair that only Nicole’s story was being reported. Shouldn’t someone challenge her, call her a liar, demand a retraction?

  Unless, of course, her story was true.

  Mike said, “Tell me about your involvement with Ms. Schubert.”

  I held my breath, hoping against hope that Brad could explain it all away.

  “I hired her as In Step’s CFO two years ago last January. She came with great qualifications and stellar recommendations. From the start, everybody in the office liked her. Katherine liked her too and invited her to join us when we went to a play or a concert. Nicole’s young and attractive and sharp as a tack. Well, you know what I mean. You met her.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he going to sit there and sing her praises in front of me?

  “Mike, I promise you, I never treated Nicole any different than anyone else I work with, man or woman.”

  Brad knew how to be friends with everyone, from the governor of the state to the guy sweeping the streets. Whoever he was with, he was at ease, no matter a person’s gender or age or nationality or creed. He treated each one with the same genuine warmth and respect.

  Perhaps his charm and good looks had been his downfall.

  “I should’ve seen it coming.”

  I don’t know how much of Brad’s confession I missed while my thoughts drifted, but those words yanked me to the present.

  “I felt like such a fool.” He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair. “Nicole said she loved me and wanted to be with me. She said I’d made her believe I felt the same way.”

  My fingernails bit into my flesh as I clutched my hands.

  “I told her she was mistaken. I told her I loved my wife. That’s when she . . . kissed me.” He kept his eyes downturned, not looking at the pastor, not looking at me. “Katherine walked in a minute or two later.”

  I remembered that day I’d seen Nicole, looking flushed, as she left Brad’s office. Was that the day she’d kissed him? Was that the day she’d told him she loved him? I tried to remember Brad’s expression. Had he looked guilty or upset? I couldn’t recall.

  Brad looked at Mike. “A week or two later, Nicole came into my office again. She was angry, accusing me again of leading her on, of making her think I wanted her. God knows I’ve played it all over in my mind a thousand times to see if anything I said or did should have made her think that. But I can’t see what. She said my actions would come back to haunt me. I guess she was right about that.”

  Mike grunted his agreement.

  “She quit later that same day. I haven’t seen her since. She tried calling me a couple of times after that, but I had my assistant take messages. I never returned her calls. I thought that was the best way to handle it.”

  “And you never told Katherine about any of this?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Yes, why not?

  “I don’t know. I guess I should have. But I figured Nicole would come to her senses. I thought with a little time, she’d forget about it.” Brad turned toward me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Kat. But I’m telling you now. I was never unfaithful. I swear it.”

  He’d kissed another woman and never told me. Even knowing I’d befriended Nicole, he hadn’t told me. Did he have other secrets as well?

  How separate our lives had become. Why hadn’t I noticed it before this?

  As difficult as it was to sit through the hour and a half spent with Mike and Annabeth, it was worse to go home. Worse to be alone with Brad. With him and the gaping silence between us.

  After a supper of tuna salad sandwiches and leftover peach cobbler, I kept myself busy in the kitchen. First I cleared the table and rinsed the dirty dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Then I took a dishcloth and the spray bottle of 409 and cleaned the countertops, the stovetop, the front and inside of the microwave, and the handles and doors of the refrigerator. Next I decided the floor needed a good mopping. Only when every surface sparkled did I stop my frenetic cleaning.

  I glanced at the clock on the stove. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, much earlier than my usual bedtime. But I was exhausted. All I wanted was to get into bed and sleep.

  And never wake up.

  “Are you finished?” Brad asked from the kitchen entrance.

  I turned to face him, stiff and cold. “Yes. I’m done.”

  “Can we talk now?”

  “I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you said last night. You can’t give me the silent treatment forever. We need to clear the air.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “It isn’t about what I want you to say. It’s about what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. It’s about what you need to say to me.”

  I didn’t want to admit those feelings to myself, let alone to him. I didn’t want to give voice to my doubts and suspicions, to my disappointments and fears. To say them aloud would make giants out of them, and I was clearly no David with enough faith to slay Goliath.

  “Talk to me,Kat. Don’t shut me out. We’ve never kept secrets.�
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  My eyes widened. “‘Never kept secrets’?”My voice grew strident. “What do you call kissing Nicole and not telling me?”

  “She kissed me.”

  “That’s putting a fine point on it.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought when she quit that the problem was solved.”

  “Looks like you thought wrong.” I swept past him, wanting to get as far away from him as I could. Don’t follow me. Please don’t follow.

  I got my wish. He didn’t come into the bedroom then. Neither did he come an hour later or an hour after that or an hour after that. I know because I was awake, checking the clock every few minutes, until sleep finally claimed me somewhere around two in the morning.

  When I awakened, the pink fingers of dawn were poking through the blinds and stretching across the ceiling. I rolled my head on the pillow to look the other way. Brad’s side of the mattress was untouched. He’d never come to bed.

  My gut knotted, and I began to weep. Silent tears at first, followed soon enough by sobs that wracked my body. I pulled Brad’s pillow over my face, trying to muffle the sound of my heartache. Instead, when I breathed in, I filled my nostrils with my husband’s familiar scent, and the pain escalated.

  I loved Brad, but could I forgive him if he’d broken his marriage vows? Could I believe his professions of innocence? How would I ever know what was the truth and what was a lie?

  So many questions.

  So few answers.

  Twelve

  I WAS STILL IN MY BATHROBE WHEN HAYLEY CAME BY THE house, a little after eight o’clock that same morning.

  “Is Dad here?” she asked as she followed me toward the kitchen.

  “No.”

  “Did he go to the office?”

  “Yes.” I supposed it was true. He hadn’t been there when I got out of bed,my crying jag spent. For all I knew he’d spent the night at the office.

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You should eat anyway. Isn’t that what you tell me?”

  I released a humorless laugh. “Probably.”

  “I’ll scramble a couple of eggs. You go shower and get dressed. Then you and I are going out.”

  I’d sunk to an all-time low. I couldn’t remember a time since the age of twelve or thirteen when anyone had to tell me to fix my appearance. I was the one who was put together in any circumstance. I was the one who took care of others, the one they looked to for advice, the one who maintained control even in chaotic situations. Now look at me.

  I went upstairs and entered the bathroom, pausing in front of the vanity to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I looked even worse than I’d imagined. My hair was disheveled, my eyes red and puffy.

  How did I get like this?

  Nicole. Nicole had done this to me.

  I saw my mouth harden, my eyes narrow, as anger overwhelmed me. Anger and hate. I hated Nicole Schubert. I hated her, and I hated Greta St. James. I hated Channel 5 News, the Idaho Statesman, and the attorney general. I hated what had happened to my well-ordered life, and I hated the fear and the tears and the uncertainty.

  Before my eyes, I seemed to age, transformed by the malice in my heart. I touched the mirror with my fingertips. “What’s happened to your life?” I whispered. My reflection didn’t reply.

  What man wouldn’t choose Nicole over me?

  That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returned. Knees weak, I got into the shower, hoping the hot spray would wash away all thoughts of my nemesis. I wanted to be washed clean of her, once and for all.

  In my heart, I knew I shouldn’t give any validity to Nicole’s claims of an affair, no matter whom she said it to. Brad’s words should carry more weight with me. Twenty-five years of living with a man and serving with a man—twenty-five years of loving him and mothering his children—should count for more than accusations and innuendos.

  Shouldn’t they?

  Yes, those things should count more. They did count more. And yet, doubt remained. It was like a small sliver under the skin, something I couldn’t see but neither could I ignore, no matter how hard I tried.

  “Mom,” Hayley called through the closed bathroom door, “your eggs are ready.”

  “Coming.” I wasn’t hungry, but I would eat. Compliance was easier than arguing.

  When I arrived in the kitchen a short while later, my hair still damp from the shower, I found the table set with my good dishes and place mats, cloth napkins in clear plastic rings centered just so on the plates. Scrambled eggs with diced peppers filled one platter. Another held crisp bacon and wheat toast. A pitcher of orange juice sat between the two platters. Soft music played on the stereo in the family room.

  “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.” I took my place at the table.

  “I know, but I wanted to.”

  I would have done the same if the situation was reversed. My eldest daughter and I liked things to look nice. We found satisfaction in a well-set table, in the right mood and pleasant ambience. We enjoyed hosting parties, preparing food that was appealing to both sight and taste buds.

  Hayley sat in the chair to my left. “Do you want to bless the food?”

  “You do it. Please.”

  She obliged, taking my hand and saying a quick prayer of thanks.

  I didn’t feel thankful. I felt defeated, beaten, lost, confused.

  As if helping a child, Hayley filled my plate with food and poured orange juice into my glass. I picked up my fork and moved chunks of scrambled egg around in a circle. My daughter let me sit in miserable silence while she spooned the remaining eggs onto her plate and spread raspberry jam on a slice of toast. I felt her annoyance. Hayley wasn’t long on patience.

  When her plate was empty, she patted her mouth with the napkin, laid it on the table, and slid her chair back from the table. As she stood, she said, “If you believe Dad was unfaithful, you don’t have to stay with him. You can come stay with me and Steve until you get things sorted out.”

  Stay with her. Sort things out. Did she mean divorce?

  “You can’t sit around the house and mope forever.”

  “I’m not moping.”

  Hayley took her plate and glass from the table and put them in the dishwasher. Then she turned to look at me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, what are you going to do then? This stuff about Dad isn’t going away any time soon. Those reporters will keep sniffing around.”

  “There wasn’t more in the paper today, was there?”

  “No, but there will be. You can count on it.”

  I put down my fork. I couldn’t even pretend to eat now.“How can you be sure?”

  “Because Dad’s been in the news a lot over the last few years as In Step has become better known. They made a saint out of him for what he was doing in Boise and other places in Idaho. That’s one reason he was named Humanitarian of the Year. Saint Brad. Do you think they don’t love discovering he’s a saint with feet of clay?”

  “Do you believe it’s true, what they’re saying?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom. His own dad didn’t set him the best example in the fidelity department.”

  “Your grandfather wasn’t a believer.”

  “True, but no man is as flawless as you’ve made Dad out to be, either. I love him. Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think he’s perfect.”

  “I’ve never said he was—”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. It’s true. You’re like a poster child for unrealistic marital bliss or something. You need to get your head out of the clouds. Dad’s a man. He’s human. And humans make mistakes. Even Dad. If he didn’t make some sort of mistake, why is he in this mess now?”

  Her words caught me like a hard right jab to the solar plexus. I’d taken secret comfort in Emma’s unfaltering belief in her dad’s innocence. To know Hayley had lower expectations made my own doubts worsen.

  “I guess you’re not going to eat that.” She pointed at my plate.r />
  “No. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  She looked at her wristwatch. “It’s too early to go to the mall. Stores don’t open until ten.”

  “I’d rather stay home anyway.”

  Hayley frowned, and her mouth pursed.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I appreciate all you’ve tried to do”—only a slight exaggeration of the truth—“but I’m not in the mood for shopping.”

  “I guess I can’t force you to go with me.”

  I shook my head.

  “Then I’d better be off. I’ve got grocery shopping to do. We’re having friends over for dinner tomorrow night, and I’m nowhere near ready. Why is it remodeling always takes longer than we think it will?” She moved to where I sat and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Call me.”

  “Okay.”

  I waited until I heard the front door open and close. Then I turned to stare out the window at the backyard.

  “If you think Dad was unfaithful, you don’t have to stay with him.”

  Brad was right. I couldn’t continue to ignore him or the situation. The silent treatment would get us nowhere. Only I was terrified where talking might take us.

  Thirteen

  SECONDS PASSED LIKE MINUTES, MINUTES LIKE HOURS, AS I waited for Brad to come home. Numerous times during the day, I picked up the phone to call him. Every time, I set it back in its cradle without dialing. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. I only knew he was right, that we had to talk. Talk until we were sick of talking, if that’s what it took to resolve things between us.

  But what if talking resolved nothing? Or worse, what if talking told me more than I wanted to know?

  It was nearing four thirty when the doorbell rang. I don’t know why I didn’t check to see who was on the other side of the door. I usually did.

  “Mrs. Clarkson.” Greta St. James smiled at me as she placed her hand flat against the center of the door.“May I have a moment of your time?”

  I fell back from the doorway.

  She moved forward. “We’d like your comments regarding the interview I did with Nicole Schubert. I trust you saw it Wednesday night.”