The Comfort of Lies: A Novel

by Randy Susan Meyers

  “I couldn’t go to see the child, however you thought it might happen, without telling Tia. It wouldn’t have been fair. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “You can’t even hear yourself, can you? Who do you think I am?” She stood and walked in circles. “I’m not your mother, filled with bottomless love and sympathy.”

  “You’re a good woman. I know that. Why else would you have even brought up the idea of seeing Honor?”

  “Savannah,” Juliette murmured. “Savannah, Savannah, Savannah.”

  “Savannah,” he repeated. “I love you, Jules.”

  “Promise me you’ll never see her again. Never.”

  “How can I do that and also do what you want: see Hon—Savannah?”

  “She. Gave. Her. Up.” Juliette said the words one deliberate syllable at a time. “She has no legal rights. The only ones we have to speak with are Savannah’s parents. Her legal and only parents.”

  “Wishing something doesn’t make it true. Like it or not, Tia gave birth to her.”

  “And then she gave her away. Don’t you get it?”

  “Don’t you?” Nathan’s patient tone gave way. “She gave her away because of me, because I abandoned her.”

  “Is that what you think? That your fragile girlfriend was forced like Little Nell out into the cold? You tore the child from her arms, did you?”

  Juliette went to Nathan, leaned over, and grabbed the arms of his chair. “What do you think I’d have done, if I were pregnant and you said, ‘Give it up’? If you told me, ‘I’ll have nothing to do with you’? Would I have aborted Max? Given Lucas away?”

  “That’s so different—you’re comparing totally different circumstances.”

  “No, Nathan. There are bottom lines, and this is mine. Nothing—nothing—would have made me give up my child.”

  Nathan looked up. He shook his head. “It’s different with her.”

  “I cannot believe that you’re taking her side.”

  “There are no sides. It’s simply a situation,” he said. Nathan the rational. “A horribly sad situation.”

  “Apparently it’s a situation in which you can go anywhere, while I’m only allowed access to you. Oh, except when your girlfriend charges into my office.”

  “She’s scared. She thinks we’re ganging up on her.”

  “Why shouldn’t we?” Juliette clenched her fists. “She slept with a married man. She gave up a baby. I owe her nothing.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s the same for me,” Nathan said. “It just doesn’t seem fair. I know I was awful. I did a terrible thing to you. But, Jules, I also did a terrible thing to her.”

  Nathan stood in front of her, and she saw regret and yearning in his eyes—a wistful sadness for someone who wasn’t Juliette.

  CHAPTER 25

  Nathan

  Nathan stared at his wife, waiting for her, willing her to soften, aware that he was asking for a miracle: a second round of absolution.

  “Get out.” Juliette spoke so low Nathan almost missed her words. “I want you out of here. Go.”

  “Go?” Nathan pretended not to understand. Jesus, it was all happening too fast for him to figure it out; to take care of everyone’s needs. He felt as though he were a cardboard clown head, popping up and down at a carnival booth, with everyone trying to knock him down.

  Juliette bent her head to the side and studied him, her eyes hot with hurt anger. He wished for the millionth time that he could erase everything he’d done wrong.

  “Nathan, it’s too goddamned late to play games.”

  “I love you, Jules. You know that.”

  She stared into his eyes. “You love me, you love me. I know you love me. But that’s not the issue. I don’t know what to think about you. You’re defending her to me, asking my understanding. Do you understand at all what is tearing me apart? Even after all of this, you did it again. You . . . your sin of omission is leaving me out. Once again, I’m the outsider.”

  He watched his wife trembling in front of him. Without a word, she walked to the bedroom, Nathan followed right behind. Still silent, she looked around as though an answer lay somewhere in their bedroom, and then she walked over to the door and shut it with a quiet deliberation that told Nathan she’d wanted to slam it so that the roof shook.

  “I don’t want the kids to hear.”

  He rose and caught up with her as she released the doorknob. “Jules, listen. You’re not the outsider. Oh, Jesus, never. But I need to make things as right as I can with her before we sort this all out.”

  Nathan reached for her; he touched her shoulder.

  She shook him off. “Don’t.”

  “I thought we were in this together.”

  “If we were in this together, you wouldn’t have gone there without telling me. You have a relationship with her whether you screw her or not, and you just proved it.” Juliette grabbed a nightgown and opened the door to their bathroom.

  “Please, don’t.” He wondered about the intent of his own words. Don’t what? Did he mean “Don’t leave me”? “Don’t walk away”? There seemed to be a million things that Nathan didn’t want her to do. Juliette never changed in the bathroom, always allowing him the quiet sexual simmer of watching her undress—an unspoken pleasure of their marriage.

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I can’t give you any more.”

  “Please, Jules. Let’s not get overdramatic. A kiss? God, it wasn’t a real kiss. We’re talking friendship, past connection. She simply gave you her point of view.”

  “Don’t tell me about overdramatic. Her? She? Why not name your beloved?” Juliette brought the nightgown closer to her chest. “Tia Adagio. Ms. Mother Teresa of mistresses.”

  “Jesus, she’s not my mistress, Juliette.”

  “Listen to yourself! So indignant.”

  “It was a million years ago.”

  “Six. Six years ago.” Juliette balled the nightgown between her hands. “If you were done . . . if you and that girl—that woman—if you were truly done, you wouldn’t have lied to me about seeing her.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “But you didn’t tell, Nathan.” She began weeping. “You didn’t tell.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Her rare tears silenced him. She was right. He hadn’t told.

  Juliette threw herself on the bed. Tears leaked from her eyes to the bedspread. Nathan lay beside her. He touched her hip, and this time she did not smack him away, so he leaned over her and kissed away her tears.

  Nathan loved Juliette. He hated that he’d hurt her.

  Her skin was, as always, soft, warm, and welcome under his fingertips. There was never a time he didn’t want his wife. That’s what she didn’t understand. He needed to make Juliette understand that they were two sides of the same coin—connected by their children, their love, and their years together.

  He’d seen this woman give birth to their sons.

  He kissed her salty lips.

  His wife.

  He unbuttoned her shirt.

  Heat rose, love rose, this woman, he loved her. In the best way. The right way.

  He kissed her throat.

  She pushed him away. “Don’t touch me. Go sleep in the guest room. Your study. The fucking lawn. I don’t care where, as long as it’s not here.” She drew her knees up close and cradled them in her arms. “I want you out of here tomorrow.”

  • • •

  Nathan cleared his throat as he prepared to wreck his son’s lives. His boys sat across from him in the pink and orange Dunkin’ Donuts booth. He’d pled with Juliette to reconsider.

  “How can we do this to the boys?” he’d asked Juliette.

  “I didn’t do this to the boys,” she’d answered. “You did.”

  “Max, Lucas—I have to go away for a bit.” Nathan had rehearsed this conversation, trying to find the best words, but in the end, he could do no more than simply get it out and over.

  Max’s eyes widened. Lucas
tightened his grip on his muffin until it crumbled between his fingers.

  “You’re leaving?” Max’s voice cracked. “Leaving us? Leaving Mom? Are you getting a divorce?”

  Why had Nathan chosen this stupid place? Could he have picked a worse place? People pressed close on all sides, and even if he didn’t know any of them, they might recognize him or the boys. Soccer. Little League. Town meetings. Word got around. What if Max cried?

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Nathan still couldn’t believe Juliette really meant it; that she’d thrown him out.

  “You should be the one to tell them,” she’d said. “You made this particular bed.”

  Nathan looked at the array of crap in front of them. Huge, frothy drinks filled with cream, chocolate, and caffeine competed for table space with sugary donuts and oversized muffins greasy with butter. Or lard. Without Juliette watching him, he’d probably drop dead of heart disease within a year.

  “No, no, we’re not getting divorced. It’s a break,” Nathan said. “Just a break.”

  “Bullshit. Since when do families take breaks?” Lucas asked.

  “Why do you need a break? How long of a break?” Max chewed at a ragged fingernail. “Where are you going? Why, Daddy?”

  Nathan’s chest contracted at hearing Max call him Daddy, a word he hadn’t used in years.

  “Mom’s making you leave, right?” Lucas asked. “She’s been acting crazy lately.”

  “Don’t you dare blame this on me, either,” Juliette had warned. “You want to lie, then lie—you’re good at that.”

  “It’s not about Mom. Sometimes adults just need some space.” Yes, Lucas. It’s bullshit. I have nothing else to offer.

  “Space?” Lucas snorted. “That’s what this is about? Space? You’re an asshole.”

  Nathan debated taking on Lucas about cursing; neither of his boys had ever sworn at him.

  “I know you’re angry, Lucas, but that doesn’t give you license to curse.”

  “Asshole,” Lucas repeated.

  “I don’t understand,” Max said.

  “So if Max and I say we want some space, do we get to walk out?” Lucas banged the fleshy part of his palm hard against the table. The elderly couple next to them looked up. Nathan sent them an apologetic smile. You know how boys are, his grin said.

  “Your mother and I have been married a long time. Sometimes, in these situations, people need a breather.”

  “You need a ‘breather’ from Mom?” Lucas made finger quotes in the air. “This just gets better and better.”

  “Not a breather from Mom.”

  “Then who? Us?” Lucas swept his hair from his eyes. Nathan saw how muscled he’d become; how close Lucas was to being a man. Nathan didn’t want to leave his sons.

  “No, no, never from you,” he said.

  “What’s left? The house? You want to get away from the house? The yard? The car? The driveway? What the fuck is it, Dad?” Lucas was crying. He’d worried about Max breaking down, but not Lucas. Jesus, how had he done this to his boy?

  “Come on, guys. Let’s go.” Nathan stood. He leaned over Lucas, placing an arm around his shoulders. Lucas got up, pulling away from Nathan with a dismissive shrug. Max stood close to his brother.

  Nathan guided his sons outside. Once in the warm air, he had no idea where to go, what to say. Yeah, boys, I need to get away from that old driveway. The yard and I need some time apart.

  Lucas was right. He was an asshole.

  • • •

  A week later, Nathan was living at a hotel. He hated it. He felt as though the staff judged him each time he came and went, as if they knew he was staying at the Royal Sonesta because he’d failed his wife.

  Feeling his mother’s eyes on him, he cleaned his room for the maid, so she wouldn’t think him an awful slob. He didn’t want to make her job any harder by leaving toothpaste in the sink. Now, even though it was evening, and there would be no maid coming, Nathan rushed around putting his dirty laundry in a bag. Chores made for one less empty minute.

  It was already well past seven. Tia expected him at seven thirty, and the Cambridge hotel was at least a half-hour drive from her apartment. He grabbed his car keys from the hotel water glass on the bureau.

  The last time he’d been at a hotel without Juliette, he’d been with Tia, the first time they slept together. Nathan and Tia drove the hour from Waltham, to be as far as possible from prying eyes, to an anonymous box built for businessmen and tourists.

  They had fallen on each other the moment the door shut behind them. Whoever said the first time wasn’t good had discounted the was-great parts. Maybe he’d been too fast, and maybe they were clumsy, their bodies crashing against each other, but frantic hunger outshone the awkward moments.

  Tia’s body had amazed him, all tight muscle. Having all that and then going home to Juliette’s lushness had been an embarrassment of riches.

  There was nothing justifiable about his time with Tia, except that it had felt good, great, and he’d chosen not to deny himself. When he met Tia, six years ago, Lucas had been nine and Max was four. Life had become a round of chores piling upon chores, at home, at work—even visits to his parents were filled with carrying enough baggage to care for a tiny country comprised of two small pashas, with his parents offering their worship in the form of adoration, pushing yet more stuff—toys, books, clothes—on Juliette and him to cram in the car for the ride home.

  Not that he slept with Tia because his parents doted on the kids. God, the thought made him sound appalling. But he’d gone from feeling as though he were on the edge of conquering the world—marriage to his stunning Juliette, a prestigious professorship, publishing his studies—to spending weekends doing laundry and following Max and Lucas around the playground while Juliette caught up with work she’d put to the side all week.

  Not that he blamed her for a moment. But his father had remained the center of his mother’s world, even as she made room on that pedestal for Nathan, and he’d thought it would be the same in his marriage.

  With Tia, he’d gone from being the daddy who was secretly sick of reading Caldecott Medal–winning illustrated children’s books to Max, and Harry Potter to Lucas, and from the husband tired of washing dishes after the dinners Juliette cooked, to appearing handsome, smart, and exciting. Even as it frightened him, what a god Tia seemed to think him. The young woman’s adoration became addictive. He felt in love with her loving him.

  It sickened him, but if Nathan took up some retrospective truthfulness, they both fell in love with him.

  Now, after working as long as possible, he burned time in the mall across from the hotel. He’d roamed from one chain to another: Sears, Yankee Candle, Swarovski—who knew there were so many ways to throw away money—looking for the store selling something that could make Juliette happy. Make her speak to him. If he bought her a crystal flask, would a genie emerge and grant him forgiveness?

  Then he’d come back to his hotel room and call Juliette, begging to come home. Every night she threw another ultimatum his way:

  “Make it right with Tia, so we never hear from her again.”

  “Find out if you love her.”

  “Convince me, Nathan. Convince me it’s truly over.”

  But she didn’t provide a single clue as to how he was supposed to make any of these things happen.

  Finally, he’d called Tia.

  • • •

  “You’re here.” Tia’s two-word greeting sounded wary. She stood in front of the apartment door with her arms crossed over her small chest.

  “Are you going to let me in?” Nathan asked.

  She gave a crooked half smile and stepped aside just enough to let him squeeze past. Waves of fresh shower scent washed over him, but her fragrance was unfamiliar. A different soap, something sharp and lemony, not the flowery scent in which he’d once become lost.

  Her hair stuck up in angry points, shorter than it had ever been. When they’d been together, her almost-bla
ck hair covered her head like thick mink, a cap revealing her vulnerable neck. She’d worn red lipstick and nothing else. Now, black and blue outlined her eyes. Her tight body, formerly draped in gauze and silk, looked scrawny under a black tank top and jeans.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “Can we sit down?”

  “I’m not sure. Are you here because she sent you?”

  “No.”

  She stepped aside. He walked into the living room and sat in a battered-looking chair. Tia followed, her anxiety apparent in the forward thrust of her shoulders.

  “Can we just talk?” he asked. “No bull?”

  She fell on the couch and crossed her legs.

  “I’m expecting somebody,” Tia said. “We don’t have a long time.”

  “Who?” Nathan immediately regretted the jealous-sounding word.

  “Who?” Her sudden sweet smile reminded him how it felt to care for her; vulnerability he could hardly afford.

  “None of my business,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Tia should hate him. It would make all this easier for both of them. He could do nothing worse than open her up to caring.

  “I admit that I was a coward.” Nathan chose his words with effort, working to avoid mentioning Juliette and still include everything his wife had demanded as the price for his return. “I deserve nothing and should get even less. That said, we need to talk about . . . everything.”

  He scrambled his questions into an order least likely to anger Tia. He took a deep breath and tried to speak like a normal person. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I’ve met someone.” Now she leaned forward. “I think it’s serious. I told him about Honor.”

  “Did you tell him about us?”

  “I told him about you. There is no ‘us.’ ”

  “What did you say about me?”

  She fell back against the couch cushion. “For God’s sake, what do you care? Anyway, he wanted to know about Honor, not about you.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Good. I’m happy.” He was. “What does he think about you having a daughter?”

  “He’s great about it.”