The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  A hard lump formed in my stomach. Had Brad taken this call and not told me?

  I stood and hurried into the kitchen where I grabbed my purse and keys on my way out. I almost didn’t give the garage door time to rise before I started the engine and slipped the gear into reverse. God alone knows if I looked behind me before backing into the street, or if I stopped at red lights, or if I looked both ways when going through intersections.

  I drove aimlessly, no destination in mind. My eyes were dry, my heart cold.

  She’d come into my home, even attended my Bible study. She’d pretended to be my friend. But it wasn’t friendship she was after. It was my husband.

  It appeared she was after him still.

  Should I let her have him?

  The pain in my heart was sharp, and I groaned aloud as I pulled onto a side street and parked at the curb.

  Does he want her?

  He said he didn’t. Could I believe him?

  I should believe him. There must be something wrong in our marriage that my trust could be so easily shaken.

  But was Brad the cause?

  Or was the problem with me?

  It was early evening before I returned home. Brad opened the front door as I pulled into the drive. I stopped without entering the garage. When our gazes met, I turned the key, silencing the motor.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as I stepped from the car.

  I shook my head, nodded, shrugged.

  “I tried to call you.” He came toward me, stopping midway between me and the front stoop.

  “My cell wasn’t on.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “For a drive. I needed to think.”

  “That was a mighty long drive. You’ve been gone for hours.” His voice lowered. “I was worried, Kat.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  A frown furrowed his brow.

  There were more creases around his eyes and mouth than had been there a month ago. Maybe more gray hair at his temples, too. And his shoulders seemed bent under some unseen weight.

  “She called here, Brad.”

  “Who?”

  “Nicole.”

  His eyes widened. “You talked to her?”

  “No.” A pause, then, “Did you?”

  “No. I thought you said . . .”He shook his head. “When did she call?”

  “Last Tuesday. I saw her number on the caller ID.”

  He said something beneath his breath, then he turned and walked into the house. I closed the car door and followed after him. He stood waiting for me in the kitchen, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. Something about his stance made me nervous.

  “We can’t go on like this.” His voice was low, somber.

  I almost asked what he meant, but the words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t ask. I knew what he meant.

  “What’s made you distrust me this much?”

  “I don’t—” I stopped. Saying I didn’t distrust him would be a lie.

  “You don’t what?”

  “I don’t . . . know.”

  He turned and placed the flat of his hands on the counter, leaning into them, head bowed.

  Did he pray? Probably. But I didn’t. My heart was like stone, my prayers silenced.

  I’d loved Brad more than half my life. He’d been my friend, my husband,my coworker,my lover. He knew some of my secrets, most of my sins, and all of my dreams.

  Did I know him in the same way? A month ago I would have said yes. Today I didn’t know what to answer.

  “I can take everything else, Kat. I can take losing In Step. I can take the gossip and the garbage in the media. But I can’t take what’s happening between us. If you don’t believe in me, I’m done for.”

  “I’m trying.”

  He turned to face me. “You shouldn’t have to try. You should know.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  Something in his eyes made me wonder if my best would be good enough.

  Emma

  ON WEDNESDAY, EMMA MET HER DAD FOR LUNCH AT Applebee’s.

  “My treat,” she told him as they slipped into the booth.

  “I think I can still afford to buy my daughter lunch.”

  “I don’t care. This is my treat.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. I can tell when it’s useless to argue with you.”

  “Good.” She opened the menu, then looked at him again. “How’s the job hunt going?”

  “Not great. I thought I’d have something by now. I don’t feel old, but that’s how a lot of employers look at me. Maybe they’re unsure if I can handle the physical labor after so many years behind a desk.”

  “You’re not old. One look at you and they can see that.”

  He patted the back of one of her hands against the table. “Thanks, honey. Remind me of that on my next birthday.”

  “It’s so stupid. It isn’t like you don’t have a ton of experience. You had your own successful construction company, and even after you sold it, you were out helping on the In Step job sites all the time. Somebody’s gotta see the value of that.”

  “Maybe I should take you with me on my next interview.”

  “Maybe you should.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

  It hurt her heart to see him looking defeated. That went so against his nature. No matter what the circumstances, he’d always held on to hope. He was the first one to lend a helping hand to a neighbor or a brother in Christ. He was the guy who came up with a million ideas when a problem needed solving. And when all else failed, he was a great one for making people laugh.

  Now he looked like he might not ever laugh again.

  They spent a short while looking over the menu and were ready when the waitress arrived. They both ordered their favorites. Comfort food and lots of it. She would need to walk an extra mile or two on her regular evening stroll.

  After the waitress left their table, her dad said, “How’s Hayley?”

  Emma wished he hadn’t asked. Talking about her sister wasn’t likely to lighten his mood.

  “I’ve left her a couple of messages,” he added, “but she hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “She’s still pretty upset about losing the baby.”

  “She blames me for that.”

  She murmured something meant to sound like a denial, even though she knew he was right. Hayley did blame their dad. For the miscarriage, for the reporters, for the gossip, for it all.

  “Yes, Emma, she does blame me.”

  “Well, if she does, she’ll get over it. Give her some time. She’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  He lowered his gaze to his water glass that he turned slowly with his fingertips. His voice lowered. “Things aren’t good between your mother and me either.”

  “Oh, Dad. I’m sorry.”

  “Well . . .”He drew in a breath as he sat straighter, his shoulders back and head up. “I didn’t agree to meet you for lunch so I could depress you. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Didn’t I hear something about Jason bringing home a puppy?”

  Emma loved her dad. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to lift his spirits. If talking about the puppy Jason had given her for Mother’s Day would help, then that was what she would do.

  For hours if necessary.

  Twenty

  I NEVER SHOULD’VE AGREED TO THIS.

  I slipped the pen into the top of the clipboard and returned the completed paperwork to the receptionist. The young woman smiled and said, “Donna will be with you shortly.”

  Donna O’Keefe was one of three professional counselors Susan had recommended to me.“You’ll like her. She’s a Christian like you and very down-to-earth.”

  I had no business seeing a counselor. Not with the hourly rate charged. Brad’s medical coverage had ended when he began his unpaid leave, and COBRA was goin
g to cost us an arm and a leg. But I’d finally faced the truth. I needed help. I was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions. If I didn’t want to counsel with someone at our church—and I didn’t—then I would have to pay for someone’s services.

  I heard voices coming from the hallway. A moment later, two women entered the reception area. One was around my age, tall and slender, dressed in a business suit, a Blackberry held in her left hand. The other looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, and she was what my mother called pleasantly plump. She wore a turquoise T-shirt-style top coupled with a long, flowing skirt.

  I looked expectantly toward the younger of the two, but she walked past me and out the office door.

  “Ms. Clarkson?”

  I turned my gaze toward the older woman. “Yes.”

  She held out her hand. “I’m Donna O’Keefe. Why don’t you come with me?”

  I shook her hand, then rose and followed her down the narrow hallway. Nerves fluttered in my stomach. Maybe it would have been easier to talk to someone I knew rather than to a stranger. But at least Donna looked like a nice person. More like someone’s grandmother than a college-educated professional with a half dozen initials after her name.

  Her office had a modest-sized desk in one corner with a computer and a couple of bright-colored file folders on it. Two chairs, an upholstered rocker, and a sofa lined the walls, along with a bookcase and a number of children’s toys.

  “Would you like a beverage? We’ve got tea or coffee or a choice of sodas to offer.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  She motioned toward the sofa, then she sat on the chair nearest the desk, the clipboard with my completed paperwork placed on her lap.

  “Why don’t you tell me about yourself.”

  “Where should I start?”

  “Anywhere you wish.”Her smile was both kind and patient.

  I heard the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. “My husband is Brad Clarkson.” I clenched and unclenched my hands. “Perhaps you’ve seen the news reports about him.”

  The kindness remained in her eyes. “Yes, I believe so.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Donna O’Keefe nodded once as she scribbled something on the paper on the clipboard. I wondered what she wrote. Perhaps it was better not to know.

  I glanced toward the window, the lengthening silence making me uncomfortable, as if I was doing this all wrong. I wasn’t used to talking about myself. Not about such private things.

  I frowned. Susan said I had perfectionism and control issues. Was she right? I’d never thought so.

  “Go on,” Donna said.

  Haltingly at first, I told her about the evening of the awards banquet, about Greta St. James and Nicole Schubert, about the troubles at In Step and Brad’s decision to leave his position in an attempt to rescue the foundation from scandal and possible collapse.

  But I didn’t tell her how things were between Brad and me, about my fears and distrust, about how awful I felt that I had so little faith in him, how little faith I had in God to bring us through, about the anger that simmered below the surface of my emotions. I didn’t tell her I was afraid my marriage might end, or that I felt helpless to do anything to stop it from happening, or that I sometimes wished it would end, which scared me even more. I didn’t say that I felt like a failure, that I felt stupid and naive and ashamed and humiliated.

  I couldn’t. So I told her what I could, talking more about my daughters and their husbands, talking about the pain I felt over the lost grandchild, talking about my involvement at church, talking about anything except what mattered most. All the while, Donna watched, listened, nodded, and made an occasional sympathetic sound in her throat while she took notes.

  When she glanced at her wristwatch, then set aside the pen, I knew the session was over. Funny, I wasn’t ready to go. I wanted to say something that would make the past weeks disappear or change or become easier in some way. I wanted her to tell me what I could do to make that happen.

  “I’ve got you down for the same time next week.” Donna looked at her scheduling book. “Does that still work for you?”

  I nodded, but inside I wondered if I would keep the appointment. I couldn’t see that anything had been accomplished.

  As if reading my mind, she said, “Don’t worry, Katherine. These things take time to work through. Be patient.”

  I gave a half laugh. “I’m not a very patient person.”

  Another gentle smile—one that made me believe she might not think less of me were I to reveal the darker corners of my heart.

  Maybe I would return next week.

  Brad was mowing the backyard when I arrived home.

  I hadn’t told him that I’d made an appointment with a counselor. For that matter, the two of us rarely spoke to each other anymore. We’d been cocooned in silence since the day I discovered Nicole’s name on the caller ID.

  “I can take everything else, Kat . . . But I can’t take what’s happening between us.”

  The defeat I’d heard in his voice when he spoke those words tugged at my heart even now. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore than I wanted to be hurt.

  Or maybe I did want to hurt him. Maybe I wanted to see him suffer. I blamed him for our current troubles, and we both knew it.

  I stood for a short while at the kitchen window, watching Brad push the mower from one end of the yard to the other. He’d been out looking for work when I left to see the counselor. I hoped he wouldn’t ask where I’d been.

  The growl of the mower fell silent. An instant later I realized he stood near the patio, staring at me through the window. After a few moments, he walked across the concrete, removed his shoes, and opened the back door, stepping inside in his stocking feet.

  “Have you been home long?” he asked.

  “Not long.”

  He pointed toward the answering machine. “You’ve got a couple of messages from gals in your Bible study group.”

  I nodded. “I’ll listen to them later.”

  At least one woman from my study group had called me every day since this nightmare began. After canceling our regular meeting on the night of Nicole’s Our View interview, I’d made the decision to begin our group’s summer break several weeks earlier than other years. I was too emotionally overwhelmed to continue with it. Thankfully, they’d understood.

  “We’re praying for you,” were words I’d heard daily ever since.

  “I’ve got good news,” Brad said, intruding on my thoughts. “I found work. I start tomorrow. It’s temporary but the pay is fair.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “Framing. Swinging the old hammer.”He mimed the action. “The boss thought he could use me for about a month.”

  A month. That wasn’t long.

  “I’ll keep looking for a permanent position in my off-hours.”

  Our savings account balance was well below what it needed to be, and our retirement accounts were almost a joke. Our financial advisor had told us repeatedly that we needed to be more disciplined about setting aside money for emergencies. Brad would agree and promise to be better about saving. Then he would hear about an individual who needed financial help or about another good cause in need. And the money would be gone.

  I swallowed a sigh. “Have you heard anything from Stan about the AG’s investigation? If they clear you . . .” I let the sentence go unfinished.

  Brad shook his head.“No word yet. And even if that’s cleared up soon, the . . . other matter is unresolved.”

  Unresolved. Meaning the board still might not reinstate him because of Nicole. At least not any time soon.

  “Will we have enough money to see us through?” I asked.

  “God will provide, Kat.”

  “God will provide.” Brad said those words often. He believed them. Did I?

  Bad things happened to good people. I knew that. Even the Bible said “when” instead of “if.” Bu
t I’d believed we were exempt. After all, we’d devoted our lives to God’s service. We shouldn’t have to walk through the fire or pass through the waters. Should we?

  It isn’t fair.

  I heard the whine in my thoughts.

  I’m sure God heard it too.

  Twenty-one

  I WAS IN THE GROCERY STORE, IN THE CANNED FRUITS AND vegetables aisle, when I came face-to-face with Nicole Schubert. Our gazes collided, and we froze, like wild animals caught in a rifle’s crosshairs.

  Conflicting impulses warred within me. I wanted to whirl about and run from the store. I wanted to slam my grocery cart into her, causing her pain, maybe breaking something.

  I did neither.

  “Katherine,” she said at last.

  I wouldn’t dignify her greeting with a reply.

  “I know you must be hurt, finding out this way.”

  “Don’t speak to me.”My words were barely audible. “Don’t you dare speak to me.”

  “I never meant to hurt you. It just happened. I couldn’t—”

  I grabbed my purse from the cart, turned on my heel, and headed for the exit. I’d reached my car before I realized Nicole had followed me outside. I pressed the remote to unlock the door. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

  “Katherine, wait. We should talk.”

  I whirled around, blinded with sudden rage. “Don’t say another word. Leave me alone.”

  “Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?”

  “No.”The word was squeezed through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

  “I can’t help it that I fell in love with Brad.”

  Clichéd though it might be, I wanted to scratch her eyes out.

  “I’ll bet he denies the affair, doesn’t he? I’ll bet he swears he’s innocent.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw people stopping in the parking lot, staring at us—the betrayed wife and her husband’s mistress. Thanks to the local news, our faces were known to thousands of strangers.

  Nicole took a step closer to me. “He should have kept the promises he made me. None of this had to happen this way. No one else needed to become involved.” She paused and her eyes widened. “I don’t believe it. You’re going to stand by him, aren’t you?”