It was just beginning to get cool out, so when he exited the car, Chris pulled up his collar, walking slowly toward the building. He had spoken to Audrey on the phone that morning and asked her what she wanted him to bring for her.
Chocolate, she said.
She always said the same thing.
Chris always found it frustrating, because chocolate was nothing. She liked it just the same whether he picked up a Kit Kat bar at a gas station checkout, or hand-selected something at the French chocolatier in town. He wanted to give her something that was essential. Something that he would know improve her life and make up for what had happened to her, and for her not living with him.
There’s no such thing, Chris, Robyn told him. All you can do is make sure she knows she’s loved. And she does know that. She does.
But he couldn’t help but feel the guilt anyway. Especially now, seeing the signs of time advancing on her face and knowing that she would always, no matter how she aged on the outside, remain forever a child. She would never have a wedding, a child of her own, or know love as he had come to know love.
He checked in at the front desk, smiling at the staff who let him back into the secure area, eyeing the bag he carried with him and nodding approvingly when they say that just as he always did, he’d brought Audrey her chocolate.
“She’s in a good mood today,” one of the attendants said. “Told me you were coming.”
“Good,” Chris said. “She puts me in good spirits, too.”
He found his sister sitting in her living area engrossed in a Pixar movie. She looked up when he entered, and for a moment, Chris was transported back in time, and saw the face of the mother he had lost.
“Hi, Christopher,” Audrey said. “You’re going to have to be very quiet, okay? I’m watching my movie, okay?”
“Okay,” Chris said.
He sunk onto the sofa next to her and leaned in to kiss her briefly on the cheek. She leaned into the kiss and patted his cheek like an old lady would. She smelled like a powdery scent that he recognized as one that Robyn had bought her, explaining to Chris that it was subtle enough that even if Audrey doused herself in it, as she was known to do, it wouldn’t overpower.
“It’s Coco,” Audrey explained in a whisper. “He’s in the Land of the Dead.”
“You don’t think you have this up a little loud?” Chris asked, reaching for the remote.
“No!” Audrey yanked it out of reach. “It’s better loud.”
“Fine. Destroy your hearing,” he said, mostly to himself.
After trying to watch the movie for a few minutes, he stood, walking through the apartment, checking the kitchen, looking inside cabinets, making sure she had everything she needed food-wise, and then moving to the bedroom.
“Stop looking through my stuff!” came a voice from the next room as he inspected her dresser drawers.
Chris ignored her and moved on to the bathroom, and checked everything in there too, flinching at the sight of the maxi-pads stashed in the drawer under the sink, a grim reminder that Audrey might act like a kid, but wasn’t. When he re-emerged, Audrey had discovered the bag with the chocolate and was turning a Cadbury bar over in her hand.
“For me, right?” she said, with wide open eyes.
“Of course, for you,” he said. “Who else would it be for?”
“Does Robyn like chocolate?” Audrey asked musingly.
“Yup.”
“As much as me.”
“Nooo,” Chris drawled, sitting next to her again. “Nobody likes chocolate as much as you.”
Audrey giggled and turned to him, beaming as though he had just paid her a compliment. Chris felt his throat tighten a little. What would he tell her? he wondered. If her mind had not been damaged, what would he tell her?
Would he tell her that he was, for the very first time in his life, finding himself without purpose?
Would he tell her that getting everything you ever wanted was as scary as fearing you might never get it?
Audrey struggled a little with the foil wrapper and handed it to him to undo it for her, so Chris did, and just as he was about to break off a few squares to hand them to her, she shook her head and snatched the whole bar back. Then, as though, remembering her manners, said, primly, “thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome very much,” Chris returned.
Audrey smiled at him again as if he’d made a joke.
“I love you,” he told her.
“Love you too,” Audrey said, her mouth full. “Lots and lots.”
Sighing, Chris relaxed into the sofa and tried to manufacture some interest in Coco.
Though the visit had only taken three hours of his day, Chris felt exhausted when he left Arcadia, as he always did. It was better when he took one or more of the kids, or when Robyn came. When he had his family with him, Audrey was more likely to engage, less likely to expect him to fold himself into whatever her regular routine was at any given moment. He knew she loved the novelty of the babies, especially taking to Caity, and wanting to hold and carry her everywhere. Landyn, though he was now a robust boy of almost eighteen months, she treated like he was an infant, afraid to drop him, or hold him too tightly.
Jasmin, she loved, combing and playing with her long hair as though she was a doll. Kaden she couldn’t stop kissing, and Deuce made her stare in wonder.
He’s like you, Christopher. Just like you.
Chris reached for console of the car and called Robyn’s number in her office, wanting to hear the reassurance of his wife’s voice.
She picked up immediately, and before he could say anything, started in.
“Did you hear anything about an interview?” she asked.
Chris heard rustling and then the sound of a door being shut.
“An interview?”
“For the GC position, Chris. Have you heard anything?” Her tone was urgent. “I saw some guy being walked around by Jamal. And he didn’t introduce him to me, which he always does, so I wondered whether he might be …”
“I haven’t heard anything,” Chris said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Oh. And you would though, right? Hear something if Jamal was interviewing someone?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You sound funny. Is everything …Oh! Baby, I forgot. You went to see Audrey. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Asked me if you like chocolate.”
Robyn chuckled. “Did you tell her she doesn’t have to compete with me for all the chocolate on the planet?”
“Something like that,” Chris said smiling.
“But she’s alright otherwise?”
“Yeah.”
There was a brief silence.
“I know those visits are hard on you,” Robyn said after a moment. “You want me to come home a little earlier? And after we get the kids in bed, sit out back and talk? Maybe we can rethink whether she needs to be there, Chris. I mean …”
“It isn’t about where she is, Robyn. It’s about how she is. And the fact that what’s wrong with her can’t be fixed. That’s what this is about.”
Robyn said nothing.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I keep goin’ over this, but …”
“It’s okay.”
“You’d think I could get over it by now. Decades later.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
“It’s like I … miss someone who’s still here,” he said.
“What?” Robyn said.
For a moment, he thought she was talking to him until he heard her muffled voice, like her hand was covering the receiver while she carried on another conversation entirely.
“Sorry,” she said. “People don’t seem to understand the significance of a closed door around here. What were you saying, babe?”
“Nothin’. I’ll see you at home.”
“Are you sure you’re …”
“Yeah, I’m good, baby. I’ll se
e you when you get home.”
“Okay.” She sounded uncertain.
“And maybe get a lock on that office door. I had one on mine.”
After hanging up, Chris drove the rest of the way in silence.
“I don’t know how I forgot this,” Robyn said, tossing her skirt aside and grabbing the dress off the bed, pulling it over her head. “I think it was just one of those things, where someone makes a casual invitation and before you even think about when or anything, you just say yes.”
“So, we’ll just stick around for an hour and then break out,” Chris said. “It’s not just us, is it?”
“I don’t know,” Robyn said, freezing. “I honestly wasn’t even completely listening to her. She kind of talks a lot, and after a while you just … tune her out, y’know?”
Chris rolled his eyes.
“I saw that look. She talks way more than I do, Christopher.”
“Okay. But it better not just be us over there by ourselves trying to listen to the chatterbox.”
Elaine Richards had invited them over to her house for what Robyn said she’d described as “a little soiree.” She only remembered it when Elaine came rolling up the driveway to pick Felicity up as usual and waved out the window, saying she would see them later.
Later, it turned out, meant eight o’clock that evening. So, after hastily dealing with family matters—like getting a fussy Landyn to lie down in his crib without standing up five seconds later and reaching for his mother—Chris and Robyn were dressing to go out.
“I don’t think so. I mean, why would she want to spend the evening with just us? She barely knows us.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” Chris said. “Although she says she did come to a party I had here back in the day.”
“Really?” Robyn paused to look at him with interest. “When was this?”
“A little after I bought the place.”
“Wow. Do you remember her?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
Robyn laughed. “Did you at least pretend to remember her?”
“No.”
“Chris. Seriously.”
“Those kinds of pretenses never end well, believe me.”
“Like … how well did you know her?”
“I don’t know. How can I answer that if I don’t remember her at all?”
“Could you have … slept with her?” Robyn asked, eyes wide.
“No. She said she was married back then.”
“Like that would have made a difference,” Robyn snorted.
“Not to me, maybe. But probably to her,” Chris said.
“You’re horrible.”
“And you’re the coolest woman I know. Look at you, talkin’ ‘bout some chick I might have fucked back in the day, and no reaction. None.” Chris walked up behind her where she was standing in front of the dresser, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him.
“Oh, believe me. If I really thought you had, it might get ugly,” Robyn said, applying her lipstick. “I would. Kick. Her. Ass.”
“Can you even fight?”
“Oh yeah. I even used to enjoy it a little bit, getting the best of girls who thought they could beat me up.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Chris said dryly. “Anyway, we drivin’ over there, or havin’ Rick take us?”
“It’s just down the road, we can make it. Although I’d love to get you all liquored up again like you were after Frank’s party. That night was just …bananas.”
“Stop acting like you could handle all that again. Had you beggin’ me to stop.”
“Oh, and you just loved that, didn’t you?” Robyn shook her head.
Chris kissed the side of her neck. “Yup,” he admitted. “Loved it.”
“Me too,” Robyn’s eyes met his in the mirror and Chris felt his dick twitch.
“We’d better get going,” he said, stepping away and patting her butt. “Otherwise, I’ll get comfortable and not want to go at all.”
Elaine Richards’ house was almost a mile down the road, and yet, was the house closest to theirs. Hers was an aging Tudor, with grounds that looked, even with the dim outside lighting, like they had seen better days. Chris was relieved to see when they drove up her long, winding driveway that there were a half dozen other cars parked along its length. He found a spot close to the door, so Robyn wouldn’t have far to walk, but one that would allow them to leave without waiting for another car to let them out.
“Ready?” he asked, when he shut off the engine.
“As I’ll ever be,” Robyn said. “What’s our signal?”
“Signal?”
“That we want to leave.”
“I’ll walk up to you and I’ll go like this, ‘Robyn, I’m ready to leave.’”
She sighed. “Okay, Chris. Whatever. If you get trapped all night listening to some desperate New Jersey housewife complain about her interior decorator, don’t blame me.”
“I won’t,” Chris said. “I’m a pro at party extractions.”
He got out on his side and went to open her door, helping her out and then looking her over for the first time.
“How’d you do that?” he asked, his voice low.
“Do what?” Robyn looked confused.
“Look so good all the time. So perfect.”
Robyn’s chin dipped as she blushed. She probably thought it was empty flattery, the kind that men dished out to their wives when they were about to walk into a party, just to boost her confidence. But it wasn’t. He meant it.
5
Despite all the things Robyn loved about her life with Chris—and there were many—there were some she didn’t think she would ever get used to. One of those was attending social events and realizing, partway into an evening that she and her husband were not just guests, but the main attraction. Sometimes, it was by design of the host who wanted to show off their connection to someone famous. But mostly, it was the innocent consequence of having a guest list that was imbalanced and tilted the scales toward Chris in terms of recognizability. Tonight, at Elaine Richards’ house, Robyn believed that was the case, and it was purely unintentional on Elaine’s part.
As soon as she and Chris were shown toward the back of the house and to the terrace, the heads of all the others in attendance turned and eyes surveyed her and Chris with interest and appraisal. That, by itself was not particularly meaningful because who didn’t look around at a party to see the most recent arrivals? But it was when the scrutiny continued, without anyone seeming inclined to approach, that Robyn began to feel as though she and Chris were on display.
There were, about ten other guests, some of whom were part of couples, Robyn guessed. The women had clustered together in a mass and the men were scattered, but they all seemed not to be able to tear their eyes away, riveted by the sight of Elaine simply handing Robyn and Chris glasses of wine.
“You have to understand,” Elaine said, sotto voce, “you’ve been the talk of the town for about a decade, and this is the first chance most of them have had to meet you in the flesh.”
Having not lived with Chris for anything approaching a decade, Robyn had to assume this was addressed to him, and not her.
“Well, maybe we should introduce ourselves and end all the mystery and speculation?” Robyn suggested.
“Oh! Of course,” Elaine said.
She hooked an arm through Chris’, and ushered him forward, leaving Robyn to follow. The names and faces were a blur. They all looked like what most of the town’s residents looked like. Well-off suburbanites who had, sometime around their late thirties, escaped Manhattan to raise a family in less hectic and they hoped, safer surroundings. The women were, like Elaine, mostly middle-forties and reasonably well-preserved. The men looked like Wall Street trader types who had gone on to “make a killing on the market” but still bore a few rough edges from their relatively humble beginnings.
“This is Chris Scaife, and his wife Robyn,” was how Elaine introduced them.
Most of the attention, and the eyes lingered on Chris as was always the case, and on Robyn’s rings, which were a source of never-ending fascination to women, wherever she went.
Once the introductions were made, Robyn watched as Chris got folded into a conversation with one of the men, a tall, tan broad-shouldered man with dusky skin and dark hair cut short.
She was pulled into a group of three women, who were all inquisitive about where she shopped, ate, worked. And finally, where she sent her children to school.
“Oh, they’re too young for school just yet,” Robyn said to one woman with blonde hair, streaked with a silvery grey, which looked intentional. “Just two and a half and eighteen months old.”
“Really? I thought I heard that you have older children. At least middle school age. No?”
“Those are my step-children,” Robyn said. “Chris has three others by earlier relationships.”
“Ah, yes, I think I remember now,” one of the other women said, exchanging a look with the blonde.
Robyn had no doubt they would fill each other in later, about the scandalous Sheryl, and the blogs that had been following her intermittent public disputes with her now ex-husband.
“Well, we never see you in town,” the blonde said. “You really should get out and about here more. Lots of cute little shops, and of course Elaine’s yoga studio, where we all go.”
“Elaine has a yoga studio?” Robyn asked, looking over her shoulder at where the host had joined Chris and the dark-haired man in conversation.
“Yes. It’s … her little business that David set her up with. Just before he left,” the third woman, who had been silent till this point said. Her tone was that of someone preparing to spread gossip.
“Her parting gift,” the blonde added. “That asshole. What he did to her …”
“The debt alone,” someone else chimed in.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 41
