“Anyway,” Hayley went on, slumping in her chair, “I’ve seen Ethan only three times this summer. Nothing will probably come of the stupid idea, anyway.”
Amy felt a wave of pity wash over her. She loved Hayley. Hayley didn’t deserve to be so unhappy. “You need something to cheer you up,” she said.
“And what would that be?” Hayley laughed grimly. “The hundred dollars my mother lost magically reappearing in my wallet?”
“No. I mean, I’d make it happen if I could. Look, why don’t we get some onion rings at The Razor Clam?”
“What would Cressida say if she knew you were eating fried food?” Hayley asked, already reaching for her bag.
“I don’t care what she would say,” Amy declared, and at that particular moment she meant it.
Chapter 71
Leda had made a chicken casserole and was pleased to see that Amy had eaten a decent portion of it and not once had she asked suspiciously if butter had been involved. Her strange and irregular diet didn’t seem to be getting badly out of hand.
“How are things at work?” she asked.
“Okay,” Amy said. “Cressida told me that she does two hundred sit-ups every morning. I don’t think I could do even one.”
“Me neither,” Leda admitted, reaching for a slice of French bread. Cressida’s sit-up record hadn’t impressed Amy. Interesting.
“I don’t think Hayley has any respect for the idea of marriage,” Amy said suddenly. “She talks about wanting her mother to leave her father like it’s no big deal.”
“She has no other marriage to observe up close,” Leda pointed out. “The family is scattered, and as far as I know Nora and Eddie never socialized with other couples. All she knows is what she’s observed at home, and that’s been pretty grim.”
“I know. It’s just seriously hard for Hayley to understand what keeps her mother in the marriage.”
“I think it’s hard for a lot of us to understand,” Leda said, “but we have to accept that it’s Nora’s decision to stay.”
“Is it really her decision?” Amy pressed. “I mean, maybe she doesn’t believe she has the power to leave the marriage, and if that’s the case, she isn’t really making a decision, is she?”
“That is a point to consider,” Leda admitted. “And there’s the religious vow she took when she married Eddie Franklin.”
“But Hayley doesn’t know if her mother even believes in God anymore.” Amy sighed. “Hayley’s too young to be so bitter. I wish she didn’t hate her father, but I guess I understand why she does. Every time I’ve met him he’s given me the creeps. Maybe that’s because of what Hayley’s told me, but still.”
“She certainly has reason to dislike him,” Leda agreed. “He’s never been anything but trouble for his family. There was a brief time very long ago when I and probably everybody else in Yorktide had hope that Eddie Franklin was turning his life around. He stopped drinking and managed to keep a job at a mechanic shop for almost five months. It was so good to see Nora with a smile on her face. But then something went wrong,” Leda went on. “The next thing you know Eddie was sailing down Main Street one morning, rip-roaring drunk and the whole mess started up all over again. After that Nora seemed more downtrodden than ever. I think her husband’s reverting to his old ways really took the spirit out of her. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been better for Nora if Eddie had never attempted to get well. It gave her false hope. I know that’s a horrible thing to say, but still, I wonder.”
“False hope,” Amy said with a grim smile. “I think Hayley stopped hoping anything would change at home the day she was born.”
Leda got up from the table and brought her empty dish to the sink. “I’m taking a piece to a client’s house. I should be back well before eight.”
“Okay,” Amy said, rising from the table as well. “I’ll clean up.”
* * *
The drive to the heavily wooded area where Leda’s newest client lived was always a pleasant one but more so when the air was clear and cool as it was this evening. Leda drove with all the windows opened, and as she turned onto a particularly picturesque lane she was delighted to spot an owl flying low through the trees.
The conversation over dinner had got her thinking about the different marriages she had known. There was Lance and Regan Stirling, who had chosen to construct their union with infidelity as an integral part of it. She wondered if it had been something on which they had both agreed, or if Lance Stirling had strong-armed his wife into accepting the inevitable.
There was her own brief but contented marriage to Charlie. What would have become of the marriage had Charlie lived? Would they have stayed together? Would Leda have come to love him as deeply as he deserved to be loved? Would they have had more children? Charlie had wanted a big family.
Leda thought, too, about her parents’ marriage, which had been a genuinely happy one. And then, of course, there was the Priors’ marriage. Leda didn’t know much about it, but what she did know hardly indicated a state of marital bliss. The truth was there were as many blueprints for marriage as there were people to pledge at the altar to love and cherish each other until death parted them. To prescribe a particular blueprint as universally best was impossible, though it was something Leda bet most people spent a good deal of time pondering.
Leda turned onto Wysteria Lane and pulled into her client’s driveway. She should probably have parked down the road so that she could add a long walk to her almost nonexistent exercise routine. No doubt that’s what Cressida Prior did, take every advantage to burn off another calorie. But Leda Latimer was not Cressida Prior, and for that she was thankful.
As Leda made her way up the drive Rosie Kirby opened the door and waved. She held her one-year-old son on her hip, and her four-year-old son clung to her left leg. Leda waved back. She very much hoped that Amy would one day marry and have children. So far, Amy had expressed little interest in relationships. She had dated but not much and had never been in love. Sometimes that worried Leda, but when she remembered her own first experience of love, the sheer insanity of it, she was glad that Amy had managed to avoid an early romantic disaster. Amy was warmhearted; one day she would fall in love and most of Yorktide, including Leda Latimer, wouldn’t be sorry if it were with Noah Woolrich.
“Come in,” Rosie said warmly when Leda had reached the door. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve brought.”
Chapter 72
“Damn,” Hayley muttered. Her car’s engine was making an ominous sound. She had bought the 2005 Kia Spectra three years earlier from a former neighbor for the proverbial song and guarded it as if it were made of solid gold. The last thing she wanted was her father or her brother getting anywhere near it. Neither man had a good record with vehicles.
The engine complained again, and Hayley sighed. Well, the car was thirteen years old. It would have to be replaced at some point. And her mother’s car as well, though she hoped not at the same time. Hayley wasn’t at all sure she could make that financial necessity work.
Nora Franklin. Hayley’s mouth set in a frown. Her mother had repeatedly apologized for having fallen prey to the con man outside the post office. Her apologies had made Hayley feel guilty. The truth was that she had half-deliberately caused her mother to feel ashamed about her behavior. What sort of person was she to derive satisfaction from causing a person she loved emotional distress?
And that wasn’t all that was bothering her. The other day Amy had used the term trophy wife and it had caused Hayley almost physical pain. She had sworn to her friend a confidence in her intentions she didn’t really feel. In truth, Hayley wasn’t sure about anything. Amy was right. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to handle a world so vastly different from the one she had known to date. Maybe she really was meant for an obscure and depressing existence, playing referee for her parents and scraping off the mold in other people’s shower stalls, her good looks wasting away while her brain rotted for lack of intellectual stimulation and her deep need f
or beauty withered in the face of peeling paint and sidewalks littered with junk food wrappers.
Hayley turned onto Hawthorne Lane and parked in the Latimers’ driveway. She found Amy in the backyard at the little table. She was scowling.
“What’s up?” Hayley asked, dropping into a seat.
“What’s up,” Amy said, “is that my mother turned down a new custom client because she thought he was too difficult. I mean, that’s insane! I thought that with entering the FAF competition and being interviewed by that journal she might be becoming more professional.”
“Your mother has been working with clients for years,” Hayley pointed out. “She knows a difficult one when she meets one. It sounds to me as if she made a totally professional choice.”
Amy shook her head. “She has absolutely no business sense.”
“She manages to pay the bills on time, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Amy admitted. “Yeah, but she doesn’t have any real ambition. If she had, maybe we’d be living in a bigger house and have better cars and be able to afford a real vacation, not just stayca-tions.”
“You shouldn’t complain,” Hayley snapped. “Your mother has done a really good job of providing for you. You have a good life with her.”
“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t complain about my mother,” Amy snapped back. “Look at the things you say about your mom!”
“Sorry,” Hayley said. And she was.
Amy opened the issue of Vogue that was sitting on the table and was immediately absorbed in its glossy pages. Hayley, fiddling with the bracelet Mrs. Latimer had made for her, felt her conscience kick at her again. She knew that she shouldn’t criticize her mother, but the brutal truth was that Nora Franklin was no Leda Latimer. There had been many times in Hayley’s life when she wished she could have moved in with Leda and Amy to escape the alternately dour and angry atmosphere in her own home. That dream had come true once, if only for a short while.
When Hayley was about nine Nora Franklin was set to be admitted to the hospital for an operation and hadn’t wanted to leave her daughter in the care of her father and brother. She had asked Leda if Hayley could stay with her for the duration, and Leda had agreed. And what a wonderful ten days they had been, Hayley remembered, waking up in a big, comfy bed; the cats—Winston and Harry’s predecessors—chasing each other up and down the stairs; Leda laughing her bell-like laugh at their antics; Amy goofing around with hand puppets her mother had made. Hayley remembered doing her homework at the big kitchen table with no noisy interruptions from Brandon. She remembered how everyone was in bed at a reasonable hour, with no TV blaring into the night or doors slamming shut or anyone stumbling in after midnight. Meals were served at regular hours. Hayley’s mother had been in the unfortunate habit of holding dinner for a husband who might or might not show. “A family should eat dinner together,” Nora would say, to which Hayley would reply, “But we’re not really a family, are we? Dad doesn’t think so. If he did he’d be here, not letting his kids go hungry.”
Mrs. Latimer, on the other hand, never served dinner later than six o’clock. Homemade mac ’n’ cheese. Hamburgers cooked on the grill behind the house. String beans that were perfectly crispy, and peas that didn’t come from a can so they weren’t all gray and mushy. Angel food cake with fresh strawberry sauce on top! Hayley thought it likely that even in her dying moments she would see in her mind’s eye Mrs. Latimer bringing the cake to the table, the sauce chunky with bits of strawberry, the red fairly gleaming against the alabaster of the cake. Amy had said, “We’re having angel food cake again?” Hayley had been shocked. It had never occurred to her that her best friend was spoiled.
“Anything interesting?” Hayley asked, weary of reminiscing about those idyllic days long gone.
Amy looked up from the magazine. “I’m reading an article about a new wrinkle filler. It’s supposed to be way better than Botox. I am so going to get fillers when I’m older. I bet Cressida sees an A-list dermatologist.”
Hayley managed a smile. She thought of her mother’s worn face, a face that had witnessed too much hardship in her forty-seven years. With any luck one day Hayley would have the money to take her mother to spas for massages and facials and expensive haircuts. She would probably have to wrangle Nora into accepting such pampering, but wrangle her Hayley would. And Nora Franklin’s life would be better for her daughter’s efforts. Hayley was sure of it.
Chapter 73
Since the morning that Amy had witnessed Cressida slap her husband’s face she had been struggling to come to terms with the upsetting event. She had spent a lot of time reminding herself that what she had witnessed was a private moment. For all she knew a slap was nothing new to Will. For all she knew Will hit his wife. She hoped not, but it was possible. In the end Amy decided to forget as best she could what she had seen. She told herself that it had been minor in the scheme of things. And she knew she had grown up in a particularly warm and fuzzy home. Amy doubted Hayley would have been half as shocked as she had been, witnessing a moment of physical violence between a husband and wife.
The important thing, Amy thought as she climbed the few steps to the Priors’ front door, was that she not let Cressida see any of her discomfort. The important thing was that Cressida continue to consider her as someone worthy of being a protégé and a right-hand woman.
“You’ll be watching the children this morning,” Cressida announced when she opened the door to admit Amy. “I sent Will to Portsmouth on an errand.”
Amy felt panic rise in her. It was the first time that summer she had been asked to supervise Jordan and Rhiannon. What was she supposed to do with them? The words she had read so many times on the agency’s website came back to her. A nanny was supposed to see to the children’s every need, be it physical or emotional. So far, the only needs Amy had been required to meet were Cressida’s.
Cressida solved Amy’s dilemma by instructing Amy and the children to play an edition of Timeline. Cressida went upstairs to her office and Amy, Jordan, and Rhiannon sat at the kitchen table. As usual, Rhiannon was dressed in head-to-toe black. Jordan was wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. It was a nice shirt, but Amy doubted an eight-year-old boy cared about wearing designer clothing.
“I’ve never played this game before,” Amy said, with a smile. “Is it fun?”
“It’s not about having fun,” Rhiannon stated. “It’s about proving how much you know.”
Amy’s stomach sank. “Oh,” she said. “You’ll have to explain the rules to me.”
Rhiannon did, and the game began. Neither child seemed to take any real pleasure in it even though one or the other of them won each round easily. Amy had never felt her lack of general knowledge so keenly. She was relieved when Will returned home around eleven. Clearly the children were too, as they rapidly left the table to join him by the pool.
Amy went to the powder room, and when she returned to the kitchen she found Cressida, peeling cucumbers and slicing them into the blender. Amy cast about her mind for something of interest to say. As a potential right-hand woman she needed to appear well informed. Didn’t she?
“My friend Hayley,” Amy said suddenly, “the one who’s working as a nanny for the Whitbys this summer, they’re the people renting that big old house on Overlook Road, anyway, Hayley told me that someone is building a new convention center in Portland.” Amy paused. “At least, I think it was Portland.”
“Jon and Marisa Whitby?” Cressida asked with a frown.
“Yes. Do you know them?”
“I know them,” Cressida said sharply. “The wife is insanely jealous of me. Every time I buy a couture item Marisa has to run right out and buy the exact same piece. As if she could ever look as good as I do in Chanel!”
“She really buys the exact same piece?” Amy asked.
“Would I lie?” Cressida snapped.
“No, of course not,” Amy said quickly.
“And Jon. Dumping his first wife for a woman almost thirty years young
er than him? What a cliché! Marisa will be done with him in another year or two and he’ll be left a laughingstock like so many of his sort. Idiots.” Cressida picked up the glass of pureed cucumber. “I’ll be in my office,” she said.
Cressida had only been gone a moment when Will came back into the kitchen from the patio. He went to the freezer and pulled out a box of frozen pops. “Don’t tell Cressida,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “They’re all-natural but she doesn’t like the kids to snack between meals.”
Amy managed a smile in return. It was the first time she had come face-to-face with him since witnessing that awful scene, and she felt awkward and embarrassed.
“You haven’t had a full day off since you started working here, have you?” Will asked.
“No,” Amy said. “I mean, not really.”
“Don’t you think you deserve some time off each week?”
“No,” Amy said quickly. “What I mean is, I don’t mind a crazy schedule. Not that it’s crazy. I didn’t mean that.”
Will shrugged. “Thanks for playing Timeline with Jordan and Rhiannon earlier.”
“It’s my job,” Amy said automatically. And then the absurdity of the situation hit her. What was her job here, really?
Will went back out to the patio, and Amy stood uselessly by the marble-topped island. An upsetting idea occurred to her. She wondered if Will were going to approach Cressida about the issue of vacation days. She hoped he wouldn’t. She didn’t want Cressida to think she had been complaining. She didn’t want Cressida to be mad at her. She especially didn’t want to lose her job. Sure, Cressida could be moody and sometimes even unpleasant, and she hadn’t mentioned the Atlanta job after that first time, but . . .
“Aimee!”
Amy jumped at the shouted summons and hurried off to Cressida’s office.
Chapter 74
The sun was strong that morning. Leda was wearing her favorite floppy straw sunhat, woven by a woman she knew from the Blue Heron Circle, and the lightest, loosest linen pants and top she owned. Even so, she felt uncomfortably hot and sticky. She had come into town only for a carton of milk and a loaf of bread and was eager to get back to her studio and the big standing fan that worked wonders on days like this.
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