by Nicola Marsh
It’s an odd thing to say, equating another child as a disruption, and I remember how fragile she appeared last week, a woman on the edge.
“Maybe I should send him back out? Perhaps I’m not so good at this comforting thing?”
There’s bite behind her words and I have to reassure her.
“Don’t be silly. We’re friends and your husband happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment, that’s all. In fact, I’m quite ashamed he got to see me bawling like a baby when I usually never cry.”
She’s not pacified as her eyes narrow, assessing, speculative. “Is Violette okay? I saw her out here with you.”
She’s implying I’m lying, that if Vi joined me outside I couldn’t have been that upset. Damn this woman and her suspicions. I hate having to justify myself to her.
“Turns out she was contrite for her behavior, but I think it had more to do with her wanting a snack before bed.”
“What’s her usual bedtime?”
Considering it’s now nine-thirty, she’s judging my mothering skills too.
“Earlier, usually, but she wanted to finish a jigsaw with me so I was lenient tonight.” I wrinkle my nose. “After how the evening turned out I won’t make that mistake again.”
She mumbles an agreement and that’s when I notice Andre is watching us from the same spot Frankie stood not long ago. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he’s a keeper. Vi would be lucky to have a full-time father like him in her life.
“I think your husband is waiting for you.”
She turns, sees Andre and gives a half-hearted shrug. “I guess I better head in. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. We all have our moments.”
I eyeball her and she realizes I’m referring to her little meltdowns a few weeks ago, first at Saylor’s dinner party, and later at my place. We’re nothing alike, she and I, but women can usually sympathize with each other when we admit life isn’t rosy all the time.
“If you ever want to chat, call me,” she says, and I’m surprised when she reaches out to touch my arm. “What else are neighbors for?”
I can say so much but I settle for a grateful smile, before she turns and skips up the steps again.
She doesn’t see my judgmental glare.
I don’t need her help.
But very soon, she may need mine.
Fifty-One
Frankie
THEN
Whoever said the years fly by faster after you have kids isn’t wrong.
I take to motherhood surprisingly well, considering I’ve never been one of those women who thought having kids was the be-all and end-all. I was more of the mindset “if it happens it happens.” And when it did, I still wasn’t sure about being a mom. But breastfeeding Luna, watching her smile and laugh and rollover for the first time, seeing her learn to crawl then walk, cuddling her when she teethed, listening for the sound of her breathing over the baby monitor, changed me in ways I never expected. She became my world and I’ve never loved anyone so much.
Andre takes to dad duties instantly and could win any father of the year award. He’s a hands-on dad, doing everything from changing diapers to late-night strolls with Luna in the stroller to help her fall asleep.
I adore my daughter and can’t imagine my life without her, but when she’s fourteen months I feel like I’m missing something. I need more than reading stories and cooking organic vegetables. I feel like I’m losing self-worth—my entire identity has become wrapped up in motherhood. While my body rebounded well after Luna’s birth, I’m still feeling unattractive, and though Andre is attentive in the bedroom, on the rare occasions we make love, it’s robotic. This can’t be good. I’m… languishing.
So I start losing myself in watching videos online, anything from crocheting to interior design. There are a lot of videos about motherhood online too and soon I become hooked. One day, for fun, while Luna’s napping, I set up my cell and I film myself making a kid-friendly lasagna. I upload it and am staggered when I check the next day and see my video has had over one thousand views. Who’d be interested in boring old me?
I try it again, demonstrating how to make the perfect lemonade. My hits rise to two thousand. Then I try filming myself live and I’m stunned by how many tune in to watch me recycle a few of Luna’s dresses by sewing sparkly brocade and spangles on them. Andre is supportive but I can tell he thinks my online vlog is a hobby, something to indulge. He doesn’t think that when, eighteen months after I start my vlog, I pull in my first significant bank deposit.
As one month blends into the next and Luna grows into a delightful girl—I even survived the terrible twos with only the occasional tantrum—I start to thrive in my new job. Not that I see filming as work. I have fun seemingly chatting to myself while I do everyday tasks or promoting stuff people have sent me. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday because of the surprise aspect of gifts and receiving freebies makes me feel like it is Christmas every day.
After Luna turns five, Walter sends me a text, asking me to call. It’s out of character because we never talk other than our yearly anniversary chats. I do it out of obligation, not for any real desire to talk to him. My ex-husband saved me at a time I needed him most. He gave me a new life. He supported me. But he also let me go and didn’t put up a fight when I wanted a divorce, so I know him reaching out to me like this means there’s something seriously wrong.
I call him back an hour after he texts, when Andre is at the grocers picking up fresh berries for my live stream tomorrow. Walter always picks up on the fourth ring so when he picks up on the second I realize he must be desperate to talk.
“Thanks for calling me, Francesca. How are you?”
Polite to a fault. “All good here. How are you?”
He hesitates, followed by a long sigh. “I’m exhausted.”
My heart skips a beat. “You’re not sick?”
“No, nothing like that.” By his flat tone, I’m not reassured. “I know this may seem out of line, but I don’t have anyone else I trust enough to confide in,” he says and I experience a momentary pang of anxiety. Being the only person he trusts makes me uncomfortable. I can’t be his support person, for anything. We don’t have that kind of relationship, not anymore. But then I remember how he was there for me when Andre cheated and I know I can’t turn him away.
“You can talk to me,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s Julia.”
Now I’m even more uncomfortable. Having him offload about his girlfriend, being his sounding board, isn’t ideal. But he’s so forlorn in the way he said, “It’s Julia,” that I can’t shut him down.
“What’s going on?” I ask tentatively.
“I’m worried about her. She’s behaving erratically and I’m concerned for her mental health…”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not.” Another drawn out sigh. “She’s becoming irrational and demanding. Harassing me with phone calls at odd hours. Turning up at the bank when she knows I’m working and can’t be disturbed. Planning vacations I have no intention of taking with her. She acts like she owns me, when we’re not even a serious couple.”
“What does that mean?” I’m confused. I thought they were in a committed relationship.
“We’re not together, not really, and haven’t been for years. We catch up regularly but that’s where it ends.”
“I don’t get it. Are you friends or more? Because if you’re just friends it sounds like you should cut her off.”
Easier said than done because if Walter couldn’t cut me out of his life completely and I’m his ex-wife, I can’t see him doing it with Julia, who he’s dated on and off for years.
“We’re friends… with occasional benefits.”
I snort. “Walter, she was your first girlfriend. Then you reunited with her after we split. And you’ve been sleeping with her since then? Of course she has the idea you’re a couple.”
“But we’re not. We don’t live to
gether. It just happens sometimes.”
This surprises me. The Walter I know is reliable and committed and caring. For him to have this kind of casual relationship with Julia is unlike him. It makes me wonder if I hurt him so badly he’s now afraid of commitment. I hope not. He deserves happiness.
“Is she wanting more?”
“Yes. Way more than I’m willing to give.”
“Then you have to tell her if your heart’s not in it. She deserves that.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
He sounds so anguished I wonder if there’s more he’s not telling me.
“Walt, if something else is going on—”
“There’s nothing.”
He cuts me off so quickly I’m left staring at the cell in my hand in surprise. The Walter I know is never impolite.
“I’m sorry, Francesca. I’m just on edge and at a loss.”
“That’s okay. But I’m not a mind reader and I can’t really advise you unless you tell me what’s going on.”
He takes an eternity to answer. “I wish I could. But she’s…” He trails off and a startling thought enters my head out of left field.
“She’s not violent toward you?”
“No.” I’m relieved there’s no hesitation. “But the way her mind works… I’m seriously floundering, unsure what to do.”
It’s not my place to tell him but I hate hearing this kind man sound tense, so I say, “You have two options here, Walt. You either try to reconnect and work it out or you end it. But from what I’ve just heard, if she’s making you this miserable, give it to her straight and distance yourself.”
“I wish I could but it’s not that simple.”
“Then make it simple. If you want to make a go of it, maybe recapture the magic? Do something sentimental. Take her somewhere that’s special for you both and talk it out? And if you don’t want to do that then you owe it to the both of you to be upfront with her.”
Though simplifying things is easier said than done, as I know all too well. I almost ruined my life by running into the arms of Walter for comfort when Andre betrayed me. We don’t always do the sane thing or make the rational choice. We’re flawed.
“Have you been back to Gledhill since you left with me?” Walter asks.
“No. Why?”
“There’s a secluded beach with this rocky outcrop that creates a cave, near a bunch of small cottages built on the outskirts of town. Did you ever go there?”
“No, but I vaguely remember reading about a murder taking place in one of those cottages.” I shiver involuntarily, trying to remember the details of what I read at the time. “A young pregnant girl came to town looking for the father of her child and he silenced her…”
“I don’t know about any of that but the first day I arrived in Gledhill, a day before I met you at your eighteenth, I took Julia to that beach and she’s loved it ever since. We’ve visited a few times over the years. That cave is our go-to place. Maybe you’re right and I should try the sentimental approach and talk to her there? Figure things out? Soften the blow?”
From what he’s told me I doubt sentimentality or a trip down memory lane is going to cut it with this woman, especially if he’s going to break up with her. But he sounds like he has a plan and I want him to be happy.
“Walt, you know her best. Do what you have to do because you know what? Life’s too short and you deserve to be happy. You’re a good guy.”
“You sound like you’re spouting advice on one of your videos.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I tune in occasionally.”
He sounds embarrassed by the admission and I laugh. “That’s sweet. But seriously, Walt, I hope you sort this out.”
“Me too. And thanks for listening. Though you know this call doesn’t count toward our annual chat, right?”
“I think it does. But we’ll see.”
I hang up, not sure I really helped but feeling okay about it anyway. I wasn’t lying when I told him he’s a good guy. But he’s not my guy anymore. I hope he sorts his life out because I’m at a peaceful place in mine. I’m finally happy.
Fifty-Two
Frankie
NOW
I can’t dislodge the image of Andre comforting Celeste out of my mind for the next few days. Celeste explained it away and I felt foolish for assuming anything more, but I can’t forget it.
She’s invited me over for coffee so the girls can play twice since then and our conversation has been easy. But since she mentioned her ex again, my concern for Luna’s safety has flared, a deep-seated niggle I can’t ignore. It makes me wonder if I should start keeping them apart a little more.
The girls have ballet class today and I’m tempted to drop and run, but Celeste spies me trying to make a subtle escape and she waves me over. She’s sitting close to the glass separating the studio from the parents’ waiting area, like she can’t take her eyes off Violette for a second. I’ve witnessed a few helicopter parent moments: she never lets Violette out of her sight at the park, even when the girls want to ride around the perimeter sidewalk, and she hovers when Violette eats, like she’s afraid she’ll choke and require the Heimlich maneuver.
I used to be like that a tad when Luna was younger, probably borne of having only one child. But I’ve learned to relax over the last few years as she grows more confident in her own skin.
Perhaps I can say a quick hi and make polite chit-chat for a few minutes before escaping. But Celeste has dragged a chair next to hers and I know I’m stuck.
“Hi,” she says, staring at my bag still clutched under my arm even when I sit. “Do you have errands to run?”
“A few, but they can wait.”
Stupid. Why did I say that? She’d given me the perfect opportunity to leave. Andre says I’m a people pleaser—probably par for the course with my job—but today it’s not doing me any favors.
“Good, because I want to ask you something. How do you feel about helping me throw Saylor a baby shower?”
If I want to distance Luna from Celeste and Violette, I should say no. But I’m hopeless at thinking on the spot and can’t come up with an excuse fast enough. There’s an awkward pause and when she raises an eyebrow, questioning my hesitation, I say, “Sure, I can help. But I’m a little surprised. I didn’t know you two were close?”
“We’re not, but I feel sorry for her.” She sounds genuine but I’m unsure of her motivation. “If I tell you something, will you keep it confidential?”
“Of course.” I don’t add, “Who am I going to tell?” It says a lot about me that one of my closest friends these days is a neighbor I don’t fully trust.
“Remember that day we heard her arguing with Ruston, while the girls were in the park, then you took them inside and I waited for her?”
“Yeah?” It slipped my mind and I hadn’t asked Celeste about it.
“I didn’t expect her to open up to me at all, and technically she didn’t, but I think she’s involved with Ruston somehow and it’s stressing her out.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knew him before and hasn’t told Lloyd.”
She’s staring at me, waiting for me to make the connection I’d rather not. “You’re not saying… is he the father of her child?”
Celeste shrugs. “She didn’t spell it out but she didn’t need to. It was pretty obvious.”
“Hell.” I wrap my arms around my middle, an instinctive protective reaction against the shock of learning a woman I’m growing to like is caught up in something so nefarious.
“I’ll never understand how a woman can dupe a man she loves like that, passing off some other guy’s kid as his.” Her mouth twists in disgust. “It’s appalling.”
My arms tighten so she can’t see my hands shake. It’s easy for women to pass judgment when they have no idea how they’d react in the same situation.
“Is she keeping it from Lloyd?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I hop
e she’s going to tell him. He seems like a nice guy and he deserves to know the truth.”
A thought pops into my head. “Do you think she moved to Hambridge Heights to be near Ruston?”
Celeste nods, somber. “Looks like it. Pretty damn convenient otherwise. And living opposite means she can keep an eye on him.”
“I wonder if they’re even over,” I mumble.
“That could be what they were arguing about.” Celeste gives a little shake, like she’s trying to clear her mind. “Anyway, if our supposition is right and Ruston is the father of her baby, she’s holding up remarkably well under the stress of keeping it a secret. But it may be taking its toll from what I saw that day in the park and I think a baby shower will help take her mind off it.”
“A lovely idea, and I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“Great. I’ll make a list of tasks. Do you think you could get a guest list from her?”
“Sure, no problem.”
I end up staying for the rest of the class and I’m glad. Celeste is chatty without being overbearing and we soon slip back into the friendship we’ve established. I really need to get a grip on my jealousy when it comes to Andre because I’m pretty sure I’m seeing things that aren’t there and I don’t want to be one of those women.
Celeste is doing a nice thing for Saylor and I’m glad they seem to have bonded if Saylor opened up to her about Ruston. It takes the pressure off my friendship with Celeste and gives me the perfect opportunity to back away a little, so Luna and Violette don’t have to see each other so much; a way of keeping my daughter safe if there is some vague threat from Celeste’s ex, yet preserving our friendship.
In a way I’m glad Saylor didn’t choose me to confide in. The last thing I need is for Andre to think I’m sticking my nose in Ruston’s business. I’ve seen him a few times since the dinner party, mostly to wave at across the park, and once when Luna had been riding past his place and he’d been coming home. We’d exchanged pleasantries, nothing more, and he seemed perfectly nice; especially when he didn’t mention my embarrassing behavior at the dinner party.
