Abby was making a list when the phone rang again. This time it was Janie, calling to check on the progress of her house. "I don't want to be a pest," she told Abby, "but it feels like it's been a week since I was there. Although I realize that's not really true."
"To be honest, nothing has changed since you left."
"Nothing?" she sounded really disappointed.
"Paul's got Sheetrock guys lined up for next week." Abby reached for the notebook she'd created. "And I've got some photos of cabinets and windows and things that I'll make copies of to send you."
"Oh, good!"
"But probably not until next week. I just found out my granddaughter is coming to visit this weekend."
"That sounds fun."
"Oh, it is. Lucy is our little ray of sunshine."
"That must be nice." Again Janie's voice sounded sad, or maybe wistful.
"And don't worry about your house," Abby assured her. "These things go in fits and starts. But eventually they get done. In fact I actually showed the place to a potential buyer today." As soon as she said this, she wished she hadn't.
"A buyer?"
"Uh, yes, but I explained that it would be a while and-"
"Who was interested?"
"Actually it was Caroline."
"Caroline?" Janie sounded shocked.
"Well, it's very premature. She's not even positive she's moving back here."
"But she's seriously considering it?"
"She's going to pray about it."
"Pray about it?" Janie sounded bewildered.
"Yes, that's what she said this morning. She's going to ask God to show her what to do."
"Really?"
"Yes. She said that she'd made a promise to God back when she was being treated for breast cancer, and she means to keep it."
"What kind of promise?"
"Oh, you know, she wants to live her life differently. Something to that effect. I'm sure she could explain it better."
"I just never thought of Caroline as a praying sort of person."
"It turns out she is. I actually think Victor had something to do with it."
"Victor?"
"My guess is that he was an inspiration to her, since he's a praying kind of person too." Abby laughed uncomfortably. "I know I'm making it sound like I'm not a praying kind of person. I actually do believe in God, and Paul and I even go to church sometimes. But I've never been what I'd call strong in my faith. That would be my mother."
"Right."
"So anyway, I hope you don't mind that I showed Caroline your house."
"Of course not. Why should I mind?"
"Well, you know, it is your house. I don't want to overstep my bounds."
"Just don't go selling it yet," Janie said in a teasing tone.
"Oh no, I'll leave that to the realtor."
"Because who knows? Maybe I'll decide to keep it."
"Really?"
"Probably not. But I guess a girl can dream."
"Certainly," Abby said. "A girl can dream."
"Well, I better get back to work. Good talking to you. Tell, uh, the local folks hello for me."
Abby felt certain that Janie was referring to Victor, but also felt she shouldn't say so. "I'll do that."
"Enjoy that granddaughter."
"Oh, I will."
After they hung up, Abby felt slightly sorry for Janie. She wasn't even sure why. Perhaps it was simply that Abby would not want to be in her shoes. Although Janie did have beautiful shoes. Abby chuckled as she looked down at her comfy old sandals. Janie's fancy high-heeled designer shoes would probably cripple Abby within seconds.
"I already told Rob I'd play golf with him in the morning," Paul told Abby that night as they got ready for bed.
"That's fine. I can pick up Lucy." She squirted some lavender lotion into her hands and rubbed them together. "I kind of figured I'd have to anyway."
"Now you're mad at me."
"No, I'm not mad."
"But you think I'm being selfish again, don't you?"
"I did not say that, Paul."
"You didn't say it, but I can tell."
Abby stopped rubbing lotion into her elbows and looked at him. "Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
"I'm not the one picking a fight." He scowled, then left the bedroom.
Replaying their conversation in her head, she sat down and rubbed some lotion into her heels. It really did seem that he was trying to start an argument. But why? She considered finding him and demanding to know what was going on. If she did that, though, she'd likely be the one, as usual, to apologize and take the blame and do what she could to straighten things out.
She didn't really want to. She just didn't have the energy. Besides, he was probably in the den by now, lost in some stupid sports show or surfing the Internet. She just didn't care to put on her robe and slippers to go make peace. Really, why should she? Besides, she needed to get up early tomorrow in order to meet Brandon and Lucy. If Paul wanted to act like a juvenile, she'd let him.
Of course, once she was in bed, she felt slightly guilty. Maybe the episode really was her fault. Had she snapped at him without realizing it? Had she acted resentful about his golf game? Surely it wouldn't be the first time. But, even so, why was she the one who always ended up apologizing? Why couldn't he take the blame sometimes? She remembered her old house and the confession she'd made to Caroline. Maybe that part of her history with Paul was the whole problem. Maybe she had an attitude, like she really was mad at him. Maybe she still wasn't over it. Well, even if that was the case, she was not going to get out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and go out there to apologize. Not tonight anyway.
"Where's Grampie?" Lucy asked cheerfully after Brandon helped to transfer her booster seat into the back of Abby's SUV and kissed his daughter good-bye.
"He's playing golf today."
"I want to play golf too."
Abby smiled as she adjusted her rearview mirror and pulled out into traffic. "I don't know, Lucy, you might be too little."
"I'm not too little."
Abby remembered an old croquet set in the garage. "Maybe you and I can play beach golf," she suggested.
"Yes!" Lucy rocked back and forth in her seat. "Beach golfl"
"Are you hungry, sweetheart?"
"Yes. I want a hot dog."
"A hot dog?" Abby considered this.
"And I want to see the octopus."
"The octopus."
"Yes. Don't you remember the octopus, Grammie?"
"Oh, you mean at the aquarium."
"Yes. The 'quarium."
Abby thought for a moment. The aquarium was the opposite direction of home, but only thirty minutes out of the way. Plus it was starting to cloud up outside. Maybe the aquarium was a better option than beach golf in the rain. And unless she was mistaken, they had hot dogs at the aquarium. "The aquarium it is," she said as she pulled into a grocery-store parking lot and turned around.
Lucy entertained them both by singing songs and pointing out sights, and before long they were nearly there. Abby was just about to turn onto the aquarium's street when she noticed a familiar car ahead. Of course she knew there were other shiny red Corvettes around, but they did tend to catch her eye. She was close enough to see the plates. MMLCC. At first she thought she was imagining it, but then she saw the back of Paul's head. And next to him was a head of long, wavy brunette hair. She blinked, then looked again.
"Grammie," cried Lucy, "there's the big whale. Turn. Turn."
"Oops," Abby said in a forced cheerful voice. "I missed it, but don't worry, I'll go up here and turn back."
Lucy continued to complain in the way a four-year-old does, but it went right over Abby's head as she followed the red Corvette with one car between them. Eventually the car turned left at an intersection, and Abby knew Paul would spot her if she continued following. If she did follow, what would she say once they all came to a stop? What would she do? And what about Lucy?
With shaky hands and a heavy heart, she put on her right-turn signal, went down a side street, and eventually worked her way back to the aquarium. Then, as if on autopilot, she allowed Lucy to lead her around, listened as Lucy chattered away, somehow responded in ways that Lucy found acceptable, ate a hot dog, stopped by the gift shop, spent too much money, and eventually helped a very tired Lucy back into the car.
Lucy fell asleep, and Abby, still feeling robotic, drove home in silence. She told herself that she might be mistaken, that perhaps she'd read the plate wrong and only imagined she'd seen Paul with a strange woman. When she wasn't convinced, she told herself that maybe there was a logical reason for all this. Sometimes Paul met with clients who needed a remodel or wanted to build a custom home. He had worked up and down the coast for years. Surely that was the explanation.
"Are we home yet?" Lucy said unexpectedly.
"Oh!" Abby jumped. "You scared me."
"I scared you?" Lucy laughed. "Boo!"
Abby made a sound like laughter. "Yes, we're almost there."
"It's raining," observed Lucy.
"That's okay," Abby told her. "I got some fun things for us to do inside."
Soon they were in the house, and Lucy's energy was the perfect distraction to the painful hole that seemed to expand in Abby's heart. It was nearly three, and Paul was still not home. Lucy was happily coloring, so Abby checked the caller ID on their phone. Normally she never looked at this feature. In fact she was surprised she even knew how. But there was nothing unusual there. And why would there be? If Paul was seeing someone on the sly, he would certainly be using his cell phone.
What about his computer? She glanced toward the den. Had he left a trail on the desktop in there? She'd heard there were ways to check these things, but the truth was, Abby was pretty much hopeless on the computer. She barely knew how to go online. In fact that was one big reason she missed Nicole. Abby's daughter used to help her with the computer. Of course, Abby couldn't solicit her daughter's help in something like this. No, Abby was on her own.
Out of habit she began getting dinner ready. It was about four when Paul finally showed up. He went directly to Lucy, who was ecstatic to see him.
"Lucy Loo," he said as he hoisted her up to his shoulders. "How are you?"
"I want to play beach golf," she insisted.
"Beach golf?"
"Grammie said we could if it stopped raining." She pointed outside. The gray clouds had finally moved on. "And it did."
"But what's beach golf?" he looked helplessly at Abby.
She was peeling carrots in the kitchen, trying to look normal for Lucy's sake. "I thought we'd take the croquet set out to the beach to knock around some balls."
He grinned. "That's a great idea." He set Lucy down. "Your grammie always has great ideas, doesn't she?"
"Yes!" Lucy ran in to get Abby's hand. "Let's play beach golf."
"Why don't you and Grampie go play while I work on dinner?"
Abby suggested. And just like that, they were gone. Abby looked at Paul's jacket, which he'd draped over a chair in the dining room. It was quite possible his cell phone was in the pocket. But for some reason Abby didn't want to look. Maybe ignorance was bliss, or maybe she wasn't ready to find out anything for sure with her granddaughter here. Whatever was going on with Paul would have to wait.
She looked out the kitchen window to see Paul and Lucy taking turns whacking the big colorful balls. He even dug ballsized holes in the sand, then stuck driftwood sticks nearby to resemble the flags on a real golf course. The twosome actually looked terribly sweet out there, almost like a postcard or watercolor painting. Picture-perfect. Abby wondered how many parts of her life looked picture-perfect. "Your husband is such a dear," she'd been told many times over. "Your home is so lovely." And, "Your daughters are all so beautiful."
Abby knew that some people assumed Abby lived the perfect little life. She never did anything to change this perception. Not really. She wasn't even sure she would do anything now. And, really, wasn't Paul's philandering partially her fault? She was always pushing Paul away, saying she was too tired, or too moody, or too whatever-always putting him off, again and again. Who could blame him for looking elsewhere? It had been over a year since she'd been to her therapist. Of course things would fall apart. Why wouldn't they?
Chapter 20
JANIE
Sunday, the weather in New York was scrumptious. And as August was coming to an end, Janie knew she should get out and enjoy the sunshine. She remembered how she and Phil would sometimes take a ferry on a day like this, often with no specific destination in mind. The outings were adventures waiting to happen. She knew she wasn't going to do that today, though. She could go for a walk in the park, or a walk in her neighborhood. At the very least she could go down for coffee. She could sit at an outdoor table, read the paper, and people watch. And yet she knew she wouldn't. Janie rolled over and decided to go back to sleep. She didn't want to get up. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow either.
It was nearly two in the afternoon when she finally dragged herself out of bed. Her head throbbed, probably from a lack of caffeine. Unfortunately she was out of coffee, and she didn't want to dress and go out to get more. She looked at her frightening reflection in the mirror. Her unwashed hair was lifeless, and the circles beneath her eyes looked darker than usual, though she had slept more than twelve hours. She stuck out her tongue as if to see if she was sick. Other than feeling like a horse had died in her mouth, she knew she wasn't sick. Not physically anyway.
She got herself a glass of water and, still in her wrinkled silk pajamas, sat down at her dining-room table and turned on her laptop. There was only one thing she could do in this pathetic state of mind: She could work. And why not? It was preferable to sitting around feeling sorry for herself Besides, the best way to get past something was usually to simply do something else, right? The approach had served her well in the past.
The longer she sat there, however, staring at the sleeping screen, the more obvious it became that she was unable to work. It was as if her mind had shut down, and yet she had a trial next week-a trial she was completely unprepared for, and not because she didn't care about her client. She did. At the moment, though, she couldn't even remember his name. This was not good.
Janie stood up, went to the window, and looked out. Her view wasn't the most spectacular one in Manhattan, but if she stood in the right corner, she could spy Central Park. On a day like this, the park would be filled with life. Unfortunately she did not care.
"What do you want?" she asked herself She walked around her apartment, taking in the sleek furnishings, hardwood floors, Oriental rugs-everything one would expect to find in the home of two successful New York attorneys. Some of the more expensive things had come from Phil's family, as had the apartment, which Phil's father gave to him when the senior Sorenson retired. "You kids need a nice place to entertain business associates and clients," he'd told them. Unfortunately these rooms had seen little of that in the last five years. For the most part these rooms had witnessed a man sicken and die. They'd watched a young woman become addicted to drugs. They'd observed an older woman become addicted to work, and a young man who'd grown impatient to get away.
Janie felt sorry for Matthew. Really, what did she have to offer him if he did come for a visit, which no longer seemed likely? They might act as if they were having a good time. They might even take in dinner and a show. But it would all be filler, a space holder for a real life, for what had been taken from them. And Lisa. Well, Janie couldn't bear to think of her. The last she'd heard, Lisa was in the Southwest, begging Janie to send money. But the rehab counselors had warned her not to do this. "If you enable her, she'll never escape," they'd said over and over. All Janie was allowed to offer Lisa besides love, which she never took away, was more time in rehab. Each time she offered, though, Lisa insisted she didn't need it. She tried to convince her mother she was clean, just out of work. When Janie refused to send cash, offering airfare and
a stint in rehab instead, Lisa would go into a rage. That was always what gave her away. The old Lisa hadn't been enraged all the time.
Janie returned to the big window again, leaning her head against the cool glass and wishing that she could turn back time and do this whole thing all over again. Even if that were possible, what would she do differently? How could she possibly change anything? It was ridiculous to think about that. Crazy. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was going crazy. As a child, Janie once heard about an aunt who had lost her mind and been sent to some sort of lockdown facility. Janie couldn't even remember the woman's name, or which side of the family she was from. But it seemed possible that some sort of insanity ran in her family.
The sound of her cell phone ringing brought her back to her senses. She peeled her forehead off of the glass, leaving an ugly greasy spot behind, and searched for her phone. She found it in her purse, then fumbled to open it. She hoped it was Lisa, calling to say that she wanted to come home, that she wanted help.
"Hello?" she said eagerly, her voice raspy from lack of use.
"Janie?" The caller was male.
"Yes?" She didn't try to mask her irritation. If this was a solicitor, she would let him have it with both barrels.
"This is Victor. Sorry to bother you."
"Victor?" She felt strangely unfocused and slightly dizzy, perhaps from lack of food. But she sank onto the suede sectional, leaning her head between her knees.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure," she whispered.
"Is something wrong?"
"I think so."
"What is it? Can I do something to help?"
"I just feel ... sort of unwell."
"Do you need medical attention? Should I hang up and call for help?"
"No." She sat up now. The stars in her vision seemed to fade. "I think it's just low blood sugar. I get that sometimes."
"Have you eaten anything lately?" His voice was so concerned, which almost made it seem as if he were nearby, not on the other side of the country.
"Not lately."
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