The Sidelined Wife

by Jennifer Peel

  Chapter Eight

  The thing about marrying someone is that you can divorce a man, but not his mother. At least not Neil’s mother. I loved her as much as I did my own. Gelaire Higgins was and is pink fuzzy perfection. I wasn’t sure how someone could be pink and fuzzy, but I’d had a pink fuzzy robe once upon a time, and she made me feel like that robe. Warm, cozy, safe, and loved. From the first moment I met her, I knew I would love her forever. She wrapped me in her arms that first meeting and told me we would be quick friends. She was right. I loved her before her son. She was one of the reasons I agreed to be Neil’s wife. I mean, how could a woman like her not raise a good husband? She had. He used to be.

  Gelaire lived in a Greystone townhome in one of the historic districts of Chicago. She was close to Lake Michigan and the cutest coffee shops around. A day with her meant sipping on tea and eating amazing peanut butter sugar cookies from the bakery in her neighborhood. It also meant taking her into the suburbs for groceries. She hadn’t driven in a good ten years. Chicago traffic frightened her like it should any sane person, but the older she got, the less she could handle it. Her faculties were all intact and her sight was still good for being in her seventies, but she was smart enough to know she shouldn’t drive anymore.

  For the last ten years, I had been taking her to the store and spending my Tuesdays with her. It was like that book, but this was Tuesdays with Gelaire. Her other son, Anderson, and his wife, Nina, lived in Ohio. Neil was too wrapped up in himself and his career to take care of his mom, so that left me, and you don’t know how glad I was about it. I looked forward to Tuesday every week.

  Gelaire’s home, which she had shared with Neil’s father, who passed away from cardiac arrest before I ever entered the picture, was like walking into a museum. The historic Greystone held treasures from around the world—masks from Africa, wood carvings from South America, books from dozens of countries. Oh, the books. Gelaire owned a first edition of Pride and Prejudice. I admired it under its glass case every time I visited.

  Neil’s father, William, was a professor of fine arts, so their home was riddled with paintings and sculptures. Gelaire was an heiress of sorts. Not to a massive fortune, but one large enough to support their travels and penchant for collecting art. Gelaire’s grandfather had owned large chunks of real estate in Chicago a long time ago, including the Greystone she lived in now. When he died, most of his assets were sold and divided among his remaining heirs, but the Greystone was promised to Gelaire and Gelaire alone. Her grandfather knew it was her favorite, and from the stories Gelaire had told of him, I think she was his favorite. Gelaire was the one to care for her grandfather in his old age, even spoon feeding him when it came to that.

  Today was Tuesday, so I parked as usual on the street in front of the three-story Greystone with a turret. The first time I saw it, I thought it looked like an urban fairytale come to life. I imagined Neil as the prince. I was twenty; what did I know other than I was dating an attractive med student and his mother lived in one of the most expensive parts of town. I was naïve to think I had arrived. But I blamed Neil for allowing me to think that way and treating me like a princess. He was so romantic those first years, even though his coursework, residency, and fellowship were grueling. He always made time to call me or slip a red rose and a note under the windshield wiper of my car. The man could wax poetic, and he used names and terms I had to look up, like mo chuisle, which meant my pulse, or buah hatiku that translated into fruit of my heart. They all meant the same thing; he was crazy about me. And I for him.

  I had to quit thinking like this. I had tortured myself enough trying to figure out where it all went wrong. And all that mattered was it went wrong. There was nothing I could do about it except move on.

  I pulled myself together before I walked up the steps to the covered stone porch. I knocked on the black double doors before I unlocked them and let myself in.

  “Gelaire, I’m here,” I called out into the foyer.

  Stepping into her home was like stepping into another time. A wooden spiral staircase greeted me on the left, and to the center was a round antique table with a crystal chandelier hanging above it. Neoclassic artwork filled the walls. Cody always snickered at the sculpture of the naked man that stood in the corner. One time I brought Mimsy here, and she had to touch it, and I mean every part. She informed us all it was anatomically correct. Then she made mention of how much she missed Grandpa. I’d never brought her back even though Gelaire found her to be hysterical.

  Gelaire’s light frame and lighter steps made it look like she was floating down the spiral staircase. The cream chiffon dress added to the illusion.

  “Love, you’re here.” Her pure white hair capped her head like a halo. Her smile made her look more angelic.

  I greeted her at the bottom of the staircase. We were about the same height, and when we embraced, she pressed her soft wrinkled cheek against mine. She smelled like lavender and all good things.

  Her grip was tighter than normal. Moisture landed on my bare shoulder.

  “Gelaire, it’s okay.” I knew it would be emotional the first time I saw her after the divorce was finalized.

  “No. No. It’s not. I knew the divorce needed to happen, but how I wish it wouldn’t have.”

  “I’m still your daughter.” I held on tighter.

  “Forever.”

  I was so happy she felt that way too.

  She kissed my cheek. “I’m not talking to Neil for at least a month. I’m very distraught over the whole situation. How could he give me another grandchild under these circumstances? The thought of that woman bearing a Higgins is detestable. My dear William must be rolling over in his grave.”

  “It’s not the baby’s fault,” I gently reminded her.

  She sighed. “You’re right, but this is so wrong.”

  I nodded against her.

  She leaned back. Her worried brown eyes met mine. “I’m sorry, love, you probably don’t want to talk about my moronic son. I don’t know what possessed him to ever let you go.”

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek so I didn’t cry. “All you have to do is look at Roxie.” There was no need to wonder. She was a bombshell with curves in all the right places.

  “Do not speak her name in this house.” She ran her delicate hand down my hair. “This is not about you, though I’m sure you feel like it is. This is all him. And unfortunately, he will come to see what a grave error he made. Deep down, I think he already knows. I fear for him once he admits it to himself.”

  I shrugged. “What’s done is done. And he knew very well what he was doing.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s go shopping. I’m going to buy you something pretty.”

  I grinned. “I don’t think they sell pretty things at the market.”

  “That’s why we must stop at the boutique first.”

  That was the thing about Gelaire. She shopped at boutiques and bought pieces, never outfits. I wasn’t sure she had ever stepped foot in a mall. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t a snob and she never looked down on my blue-collar family. She just lived a very different lifestyle.

  I think it was part of the attraction for me at first. It was fun to go to symphonies and lectures about European history. It was different than watching sports or going to obnoxious barbecues. I could honestly say I loved both, but Neil never could. He never enjoyed my family the way I enjoyed his. He began to complain about Sunday dinners and the constant sports on the TV at my parents’ home. My brothers were too loud for his taste and he couldn’t understand why no one wanted him to discuss his work at the dinner table. He dissected dead bodies and visited crime scenes for a living. That should have been his first clue. It didn’t matter that he had found bizarre items like diamond bracelets in stomachs. That would have been okay to mention, but he would go into detail about the fluids and smell involved until we were all ready to toss our cookies.

  I focused back on Gelaire. I had to quit
thinking about her son. “You don’t need to buy me anything.”

  “Of course I don’t, that’s what makes it so much fun. Besides, every single woman needs a fabulous little black number.”

  “I don’t plan on dating anytime soon. Possibly ever.”

  She took my hands and stood back to look me over. “You are too gorgeous inside and out, love, to stay single forever.”

  “You might need an eye exam.”

  She squeezed my hands. “I know your confidence has been shaken, but some day you will see what a catch you are, and that age has only refined you. Mark my words, forty is amazing. If I could choose any age, I would choose my forties again.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes. There is a confidence forty lends while not being cocky, and you’re still sexy as hell at that age.”

  “Gelaire!”

  “What? ‘Hell’ is a perfectly good noun.”

  I laughed, like in-my-gut laughed. She was always so proper. I had never heard her swear.

  “It’s good to hear you laugh again. Perhaps I will say ‘hell’ more often.”

  “I love you.”

  She pulled me to her once again. “And I you.”

  Chapter Nine

  I did come home with a sexy little black thing of a dress. Not sure where I was going to wear it to or why I let Gelaire talk me into getting it. Maybe because it was the first time in a long time I felt like a woman when I tried it on. And it was the first time since yesterday morning I looked at myself in the mirror for longer than two seconds. In fact, I stared at myself for a good five, pulling my hair up, sweeping it to the side to see what worked best with the dress. I stood on my tip toes, checking out every angle of the spaghetti-strap dress. Gelaire also insisted on buying me the most expensive Italian leather high heels that felt like butter. Gorgeous and comfortable was a win. I still wasn’t sure when I would ever use them, except she did mention me escorting her to some concert in the fall. Normally that was Neil’s job, but she wasn’t fond of her son at the moment.

  She was especially upset with his neglect of Cody. She begged me to bring him by before school started. Cody loved his grandmother, but he found her house boring. He didn’t appreciate art or the classical music his grandmother adored. He very much took after my side. The world could thank me for another loud-mouthed Decker man, even if technically he was a Higgins. Cody had asked if he could change his last name too. Part of me wanted to say yes, but I knew how much that would hurt Gelaire. And someday I hoped he and his father would work things out like they should. And maybe someday I would be a better person and help them figure all that out. Today wasn’t that day.

  But today was a bizarre day. Avery called while I was making spinach manicotti for dinner. Cody was in the shower, where I prayed he was washing off the stink he brought home from practice. It wasn’t bizarre that she called, but her yelling into the phone was unlike her, and her news was the most unexpected news I had ever received. I take that back. It was second on the list, but far more pleasant than the first.

  “Sam, Sam, Sam, you are never going to believe this!”

  “You sound too happy for there to be anything wrong, or is this so bad you’re losing it?” Honestly, she never sounded like this before.

  “I am kind of losing it, but it’s good. So, so good.”

  “Did James finally figure out that dirty clothes go in the hamper?”

  “Ugh, no. But you, my dearest, are famous!”

  “What are you talking about?” I opened the refrigerator to grab some parmesan cheese.

  “Your blog post.”

  “What about it?”

  “AUTUMN MOONE POSTED IT ON HER WEBSITE!”

  I stood frozen in front of the open refrigerator door staring blankly inside of it. “Autumn Moone? As in the author we secretly love, but hide her books and don’t tell anyone we devour them, Autumn Moone?”

  “The very one!”

  “How? What?” I couldn’t think.

  “Go to her website. It’s posted on her home page.”

  “Let me put you on speaker.” I set my phone on the counter and clicked the speaker button before I clicked on my browser app. The refrigerator door was still wide open. “It’s autumnmoone.com, right?” My hands were shaking.

  “Yes, but you should get her new app. It sends you notifications when she’s posted something new. By the way, a sneak peek of Hunter’s new book is out.”

  Avery and I were shamelessly in love with Hunter Black, the protagonist in Autumn Moone’s only series. It’s why we bought hardcovers of the books and hid them. Hunter Black covers weren’t the same on an eBook. He was best held and admired and then kept hidden under my bed. That sounded creepy. But honestly, he was the only romance I’d had in months. There was something about his chiseled face and how in love he was with his best friend, Laine. She, of course, didn’t know, and he kept having to watch her be with the wrong guy while he tried to be with other women who weren’t meant for him. The angst and the drama were captivating. And Autumn Moone had this way of raising your pulse without being graphic or crude. That new book of hers, A Black Night, needed to come out stat. I would probably read the sneak peek a hundred times tonight. But first, Autumn Moone’s post about me. How weird was that?

  “Are you there yet?” Avery was growing impatient.

  “Getting there. How good was the sneak peek?”

  “Oh my gosh, it’s running an ice cube over my chest good.”

  “Avery.”

  “What? James thinks it’s because we made out in the kitchen before the boys caught us.”

  I laughed at her, jealous, but happy my brother was the kind of man that let his wife know he still loved her, in all ways. I would give props to my parents—they raised good men.

  Autumn Moone’s site finally loaded on my smartphone. I didn’t have to scroll far to see her post, dated for today.

  “I’m there.”

  A friend shared this blog post with me today. Never have I read anything that has touched me so deeply. I ache for this woman, but applaud her spirit. If only I could write the kind of emotion in my books that this woman conveyed, I think I could count myself a true writer. Here’s to you, Sidelined Wife. Get back in the game of life and give ‘em hell.

  I wiped the tears out of my eyes and read her message one more time. “I can’t believe it. I wonder who gave it to her?” I thought no one knew who she was. Could someone I know be her friend? Autumn Moone was a mysterious character. She used a pen name and had never been seen. She started off as an independent author, but her first book, A Black Heart, was so popular one of the powerhouse publishers picked it up. Her profile pictures on all her social media sites were of the moon in various phases.

  “Who cares who she is, as long as she keeps Hunter Black books coming. But look at all the comments down below, and she added a link to your blog.”

  Scrolling down, I was barraged with over a hundred comments. Most all of them positive. Several women posted they’d had similar things happen to them and this was an inspiration to them. There were a few trolls who said I should get over my privileged self and quit whining. I ignored those and focused on all the other beautiful messages of hope and comradery.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it, sister, your fifteen minutes of fame have arrived.”

  “It’s probably more like one or two.”

  “Are you kidding me? Autumn Moone is the hottest author since J.K. Rowling. Her acknowledging your existence is huge. You should probably go check your blog. I bet you have a ton of new followers.”

  “No way.”

  “Check.”

  “You’re bossy today.”

  She laughed. “That’s what older sisters do.”

  I loved that we never used sister-in-law. “I’m checking.” I logged into my blog’s site. Avery was right. “I went from two hundred followers to seventeen hundred. That’s crazy.” I blinked several times, amazed. />
  “Did any of them comment on your site?”

  I looked at the comments section. I had to approve any comments before they would appear on any given post. “Yes. Several. It’s going to take me forever to go through these.”

  “Sounds like you have a good night ahead of you. See you tomorrow. That is, if you aren’t too famous by then.”

  “Ha. Ha. Goodbye.”

  I hung up, shook my head a few times, and finally closed the refrigerator. I forgot to get the parmesan cheese out. I forgot about dinner. Cody was quick to remind me of that when he came downstairs, clean and smelling like Irish Spring.

  Cody stood at the breakfast bar expecting food. “Are you okay, Mom?”

  I stood mesmerized by my phone. “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t tell him about the post. I didn’t want him reading it. I had mentioned having sex in there, or the lack thereof. Nothing a teenage boy wanted to know about his parents. Obviously, he knew his dad had been having some. Cody would be a brother soon. We didn’t know if the baby was a boy or girl. Neil and Roxie wanted to be surprised. I think it had more to do with the fact that it made it less real for Neil. He didn’t want to be a father again. From the tiny bit I caught the night I found out about the pregnancy, I knew he was unhappy about it. In a jerk move, he asked if it was his, and he told her she ruined his life. A baby was a secret he couldn’t keep very well. He begged me that night to forgive him. It was the first time he sounded truly sorry for the affair. I could see the fear in his eyes.

  That night had been a turning point for me. I had been afraid too. Afraid what people would think about me if I got divorced. I was afraid that Cody would hate me. I was afraid of my future, emotionally and financially. I was afraid to live without Neil. But in that moment, I had clarity. My fear had been preventing me from really living. I would be no one’s doormat.

  I looked up from my phone into my son’s eyes. “Do you want to go out to dinner? I want to celebrate.”