by Nicola Marsh
I know I’ll regret asking this but the sooner I get to the bottom of this phone call, the sooner I can hang up.
“Why do you need to feel better?”
“Because I need to break up with Julia and I know it’s going to be awful.”
“So you’ve made the decision yet haven’t done it?”
“I’m a chicken.”
He starts making clucking noises that end up sounding like a duck quacking and I stifle a laugh. Walter is so honorable and upstanding I can’t imagine him tipsy, let alone drunk.
“Maybe if I drink some more, I’ll pluck up the courage?”
“No!” I almost yell, before lowering my voice. “You need to be sober to have a conversation like that with her. You owe her that much.”
“I guess… This is a disaster. Her. Me. Everything is screwed up. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Why wasn’t I good enough for you?”
Uh-oh. It looks the wine has already given Walter false courage because he’s dredging up the past and asking questions he should’ve bombarded me with back then.
“You were a great husband, Walt, and I cherished our time together. But we’re too different and ultimately, that led to us drifting apart.”
I can never tell him the truth. That I doubt I ever truly loved him. That he was a means to an end, a way for me to escape Gledhill and my parents, a way to never look back. When we married I cared about him a lot, may have even loved him a little. But I was never in love with him the way I am with Andre.
“You broke my heart.”
I wince and sorrow makes me tear up. He sounds so plaintive I wish I can offer him some comfort, but I can’t. It’s not my place.
“Walt, the wine is making you maudlin. It has the same effect on me. Why don’t you have something to eat, drink some coffee—”
“Is Luna mine?”
I freeze as a chill sweeps over me, raising the fine hairs on my arms, making me shiver. I sway a little and grip the table in front of me for support.
It’s taken him five years to ask the question and I should be prepared to answer. I’ve expected this long before now. And I hate the thought he’s been stewing over this for years and has only asked now because he has false courage from a bottle.
“No, Walt, Luna is Andre’s.”
He starts sobbing and I clench the cell so hard my fingers ache.
“I never wanted to make life difficult for you, Francesca, that’s why I haven’t asked before. But I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, hoping it’s true, because that would mean we’d have a chance…”
Appalled by how much he’s clinging to the past, I say, “This is the alcohol talking. Please, eat something. Take a painkiller and lie down. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I won’t. I was really hoping Luna is mine—”
“She’s not,” I snap, my patience wearing thin at his rambling persistence. “I’ll send you a copy of the paternity test if that’s what it’s going to take to get you to believe me. I had one done not long after her birth because of my slip-up with you and I wanted to be sure.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, sounding like Luna at her recalcitrant best. “I’m sorry for laying all this on you. You’re right. I’m never drinking again.”
“Just take care of yourself, okay?”
“Hmm…”
The dial tone buzzes in my ear and I put the phone down, surprised to find my hand shaking. I have no idea if he’ll remember any of this in the morning but I know what I have to do. Seeing tangible proof of Luna’s paternity will put an end to any fanciful daydreaming.
I can’t send it to the house we used to live in because I’m not sure if Julia still has access, so I’ll send it to the beach house. I could email but I only have his work one and I don’t want to attach private stuff to an address that can be scanned by antivirus software and possibly alerted as spam for others to see.
Sending a copy of the paternity test alone is too heartless, so I flip open a notebook and start writing.
Dear Walt,
* * *
I have no idea what to say. I value our friendship, but I wonder now if keeping in touch, albeit annually, has done you a disservice. It sounds like remaining friends, even if we usually only chat once a year, has given you some kind of false hope. Perhaps the alcohol made you say a bunch of stuff that isn’t true or it could’ve dredged up feelings long buried, but whatever the reason, this needs to be addressed.
It was never my intention to hurt you. Our marriage was good but we grew apart and when it ended, you were upset but stoic and understanding too. It’s in the past but from what you just said on the phone, you’ve been clinging to memories and wishing for things that will never be between us.
I consider you a friend. And as a friend I’m going to give it to you straight.
If you’ve been holding back emotionally from Julia because of some misguided hope for us, that has to end. Our relationship is in the past and there’s no going back. You say you want to break up with her but you need to re-evaluate why. Is it because you can’t give her what she wants or is there more to it? Women are intuitive and you’ve been dating a long time. It’s not surprising she may want some kind of commitment. If your doubt over Luna’s paternity has held you back, you need to move forward. Now.
Luna is not your daughter and I’ve attached the test results. I’m hoping that seeing cold, hard proof will free you and enable you to move forward with your life. I just wish I’d done it sooner.
This is the last time I want to speak about this with you. I encourage you to talk to Julia and whether you ultimately break up or not, make sure it’s what you truly want in your heart.
I’m not sure it’s wise we keep doing our annual phone call?
* * *
Take care,
* * *
Francesca
I don’t sign off with “love” as I need to establish clear boundaries now. I’m saddened beyond belief that the man who’d once given me a fresh start has been dwelling on the past. I hope this letter and the paternity test will give him the closure he needs.
If anyone deserves all the good things in life, my kind-hearted ex-husband does.
Fifty-Six
Frankie
NOW
I’m checking off the RSVPs for Saylor’s baby shower when my cell rings. It’s an unknown number and I usually ignore those but it could be an invitee who prefers to call rather than text an acceptance, so I answer.
“Hello, Frankie speaking.”
“Is that Francesca Forbes?” The woman’s voice is cool yet professional.
“Yes.”
This can’t be a baby shower guest, because I hadn’t given my full name on the invitations, just Frankie and my cell number.
“This is Betty Egmont from the Regional Bank.”
My confusion increases. Why would someone from the bank where Walter is the manager call me? “What can I do for you, Betty?”
“I’m calling because you’re listed as Walter’s emergency contact.”
My heart skips a beat. Something has happened to Walter. I knew there had to be a reason why he hasn’t returned my calls. Though in my moment of panic I’m slightly annoyed he hasn’t removed my name as his emergency contact.
“Is he okay?”
“That’s why I’m calling. We don’t know. Walter was due back at work a few days ago and he hasn’t shown. We’ve reported him to the police as a missing person.”
I stumble and make a grab for the nearest chair before collapsing into it. I scramble to think. How long ago did I first call him? A few weeks? Has he been missing that long?
“Do the police have any leads?” Even asking the question is surreal. I’ve watched countless police procedurals on TV; I never thought I’d get caught up in a real missing person case.
“I’m afraid not, but they advised me to notify you. They may want to interview you over his disappearance.”
A cold clamminess washes ove
r me. “But I don’t know anything. He’s my ex-husband and we haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Oh. Right.” She sounds surprised, and I don’t blame her—I’m his emergency contact, but I have no idea why. Then again, considering our last conversation about two months ago, when he’d been concerned about Julia and intent on breaking off their relationship once and for all, it makes sense he’d remove her. But surely he has someone else closer than me?
“If you hear anything at all, can you let me know, please?”
“Yes, I’ll keep you posted,” Betty says, and her voice wavers a little. “Walter was extremely well liked here at the bank. He’s a great boss and everyone respects him.”
I hate that I notice she uses past tense when describing how well-liked Walter is. There has to be a logical explanation for this. I refuse to consider any other outcome.
“Thanks for letting me know, Betty.”
She hangs up and I’m left reeling. I’m worried about Walter. It’s totally out of character for him to disappear without telling anyone, let alone miss work, which means there’s something seriously wrong.
I remember watching the news with him nightly in the early days of our marriage and one evening a story about a father who’d disappeared had come on. The reporter had gone on to say he’d been found safe and sound a few days later and that the man had wanted some timeout from the stress of his work and family. Walt had been appalled at the man’s selfishness and had assured me he’d never do something like that on a whim, that people who put their loved ones through the torture of not knowing what had happened to them should be made an example of.
So I know Walt would never walk away from his job, his life, which means it’s a big deal if he’s missing, and I’m terrified something awful has happened. But I’m at a loss what to do. I suppose I’ll have to wait for the police to contact me.
While I’m desperate for news of Walt, I’m concerned about the police coming around here asking a bunch of questions. Questions that will lead to answers I’d rather not give in the presence of my husband; like how I converse annually with my ex on our anniversary, how we’ve spoken to each other more frequently lately and why.
I can’t risk them finding my letter and the paternity test. Walt is so methodical I know where he keeps important documentation, which means if the police do a thorough search of the beach house, they’ll find it. I can’t let that happen.
I need to be proactive. Pre-empt them coming here.
To do that, I may need to take a trip.
Fifty-Seven
Celeste
The conversation I overheard at the last play date, when Vi told Luna she wanted a sibling, is haunting me. At the time I considered calling Roland, a silly move that won’t end well, before pushing it out of my mind and busying myself with work, Saylor’s baby shower and spending as much time as possible with Violette.
I know she’s lonely at times with just me for company but I try to fill her days with online educational shows and new toys. It feels like I’m buying her affection sometimes and that I’m overcompensating somehow, but I want my darling girl to be happy. She misses her dad and maybe I need to push aside my qualms about contacting him and suck it up for my daughter’s sake.
I wait until she’s asleep before heading downstairs to pour myself a glass of wine. I gulp half the Chardonnay before picking up my cell and bringing up Roland’s number.
I mentally rehearse what I’m going to say. Crazy, because I know when I hear his voice I’ll probably break down in tears. My thumb hovers over the number and I end up draining my wine glass before I tap it. My chest is tight, my palms slick with sweat, as I count the number of dial tones, belatedly realizing he won’t answer once he sees my number on the screen. He’ll let my call go through to voicemail. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when it does.
“Hi, Roland, it’s me. Considering how we ended things, I’m the last person you want to hear from. But Violette misses you. And no matter how bad our relationship turned, I’m sure you’re sorry for what you said the last time we saw each other and I’m sorry for taking Vi away. She needs you. I hope she can visit one day soon when we’re both ready. In the meantime, we’ve settled into a new home and we have great neighbors. Vi’s good friends with the girl next door, who’s the same age. I sometimes wish you were here to see how your daughter is thriving.” I realize I’m getting carried away and try to refocus. “I guess we both have to take responsibility for how badly we ended… I know you love Violette but we had to get away. I hope you understand why.”
I hang up, tears coursing down my cheeks, the pain in my chest expanding to unbearable.
He won’t call me back. I know because no matter what I say now, nothing will change the vile way things ended between us.
But at least I’ve called and given him some hope of a possible visit. He’ll want to see Vi even if I’m the last person he wants to acknowledge.
As soon as Saylor’s baby shower is done, maybe it’s time I instigate steps for Vi to visit her dad.
Fifty-Eight
Frankie
NOW
I’m so worried about Walter that I can’t sit around waiting for the police to call. I’m going out of my mind, envisaging worst-case scenarios, and I need to do something proactive. It’s crazy to even contemplate going back to the beach house but it’s the one place Walt would go if something was wrong and the last place he’d been seen.
I wait until Andre gets home from work mid-afternoon to give him a heads up about my plans and explain why I’m compelled to visit the one place I think Walt may be, but as he walks in on me packing, he overreacts.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I need to leave—”
“You’re leaving me?” He swears under his breath and drags a hand through his hair, tugging so hard the strands stand up. “I can’t believe this. After all we’ve been through, you’re giving up so bloody easily.”
He storms out, leaving me stunned as I hear his boots clomping down the stairs.
I can’t believe he actually thinks I’m leaving him. It’s bizarre and doesn’t make sense. Unless he’s done something to give me reason to, but I can’t contemplate that now. I won’t let my latent insecurities interfere with the task at hand: discovering if Walt is okay.
I zip my suitcase, pick it up and head downstairs to try and reason with my crazy husband.
I find him standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking so devastated I don’t know whether to hug him or chastise him for doubting me and thinking the worst, that I’d ever walk out on him and Luna.
“If you’d let me finish up there, I was saying I need to leave to check in on Walter at the cottage, you big jerk.” I whack him softly on his chest. “Where we first met, remember?”
He winces, before enveloping me in his arms and squeezing so tight I can barely breathe. “Sorry for overreacting. It really freaked me out seeing you packing, then hearing you were leaving.”
“Glad to know you care.”
He squeezes tighter and I yelp, so he releases me. “I love you, Frankie. You’re my world and I’d be nothing without you.”
I have no idea why he’s so panicked, but I don’t have time to delve now. “Maybe I should pack a suitcase more often?” I try to lighten the tone.
“Don’t you dare.” He kisses me, a hard, possessive kiss branding me as his. “You’re not going anywhere. Apart from chasing after your ex apparently,” he says, still somewhat rattled.
“I know it’s odd, but an employee at his bank called me because I’m his person to contact in an emergency and they’re worried.”
“This is nuts.” Andre starts pacing the living room before stopping in front of me, confusion furrowing his brow. “Why the hell are you the emergency contact person for your ex-husband? And why are you compelled to go looking for him?”
“I can’t answer your first question because I wondered that too. And I’m not looking for hi
m—”
“The hell you aren’t. You’re running off to that beach house in New Haven.” Anger turns his eyes flinty. “I don’t get this. Why would you go chasing after some guy you haven’t spoken to in years?”
I want to tell him the truth and I will, but now isn’t the time. I’m seriously worried about Walter and I can’t ignore a sliver of guilt I may be responsible for this. I didn’t sleep last night and have been mulling over it all morning, wondering if Walter has been unstable and that’s what his rambling phone call had been about. And worse, if my subsequent letter and the paternity test result drove him over the edge.
“Honey, you know I love you and I’ve told you about my past.” I take hold of his hands, hoping to convey my sincerity. “Walter helped me escape all that and I owe him.”
“You owe him nothing,” Andre mutters, but I glimpse a softening in his eyes. “Besides, if he’s a missing person, who knows what he might be involved in? It could be dangerous for you to go traipsing down there.”
Considering Walter only tried alcohol for the first time recently, I seriously doubt he’s involved in anything untoward. But I can’t tell Andre, not yet. If he learns about my yearly conversations with Walter, and our more recent phone calls, he’ll freak and leaving will be impossible.
So I reach for a little white lie. “The police want to interview me at the cottage. That’s why I’m going.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t mention anything about the police?”
“He’s listed as a missing person. Of course the police are involved.”
“I don’t like this.” He shakes his head and slips his hands out of mine. “I should come with you.”
“And drag Luna along with us? She’ll ask a million questions and I don’t want to put her through it. I’ll drive up now and be back tonight. I only packed a few things in case the police questioning takes longer than expected.”
