by Wendy Walker
“Should we make excuses for her?” Marie asked Love as they stood in the back corner of the patio.
“What could we possibly say? That she’s stuck in traffic?”
Marie sighed as she searched the crowd for their friend. “I don’t know. I just hope she gets down here.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.” Love thought about what must be going on in Gayle’s head. Listening to the board’s plans for the money she had raised could very well push her over the edge, if she wasn’t already there.
“I’m going back up.” Marie turned for the back door. “Wait here in case she comes.”
Love was watching her walk away when she heard the voice on the speakers. Marie heard it as well and stopped in her tracks.
“Good evening everyone, thanks for coming.” It was Gayle. She’d come from the front of the house, circumventing the party and the possibility of running into Troy.
There was loud applause, and Gayle managed a smile. She waited a short moment, then carried on in a strong, firm voice.
“The Cliffton Women’s Clinic is very dear to my heart. I have served on its board for seven years, and I have followed it through tremendous growth. With the generous gifts from people like yourselves, we have been able to save many young, at-risk girls from the devastating cycle of pregnancy and poverty. You’ve heard the statistics from our chairwoman, so I won’t go on and on. It’s getting late, and there’s a lovely dessert bar waiting. Let me just say that I am proud to be a part of this fundraiser. With your help, we have brought in over seventy-four thousand dollars!”
Gayle paused as the crowd applauded again.
“Yes, it’s wonderful! And with this money we will be able to launch a new initiative’an exciting new program that reaches girls before they even get to our doors. We are calling it Smart Choices, and it will focus on preventive sexual education. Starting at age twelve, girls will be eligible for a free after-school program that will provide information about nutrition, the body, sexuality, pregnancy and STD prevention. We will offer these classes in our facility, and also through community organizations that wish to participate. By using a standard prototype and by training educators, we hope to establish a standard in sexual education for girls that will be accurate, neutral, and effective. Smart Choices is a natural extension of the services we already provide. Controlling the decision to bear children is the cornerstone of individual self-determination. It touches every aspect of life, in Cliffton and around the globe. I thank you for making Smart Choices possible! Enjoy your evening!”
There was more polite applause from faces that were now glazed over. She’d lost most of them after her first few words, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was that the members of the board heard it all, and that they would now be in a pickle if they failed to hold a new vote on the use of the money Gayle had just raised. If Smart Choices didn’t come to fruition, it would be a severe embarrassment. And Gayle knew they would all choose to jump on board.
Marie watched her as she stepped down from the podium. “Holy shit,” she said.
“Holy shit is right.” Love’s eyes were glued to their friend as she walked through the crowd. They were up from their tables now, mingling and getting dessert. Everyone except Janie Kirk.
“Oh, no’look.” Marie noticed her first, standing in the shadows beyond the patio. She’d been watching the speech from a distance.
Love turned in time to watch Janie dry her eyes, then leave from the back side of the house.
“Thank God,” Love whispered.
“Yeah. But what about the other one?”
They both looked for Troy, but he was’thankfully’absent. Gayle didn’t seem to care either way as she approached them.
“Well done,” Marie said, giving her a long hug.
Love agreed. “Very well done.”
Gayle smiled at them, though it was empty.
“It’s done. Now we’ll see.” She was not glowing with satisfaction, or optimism. Nor did she seem the least bit excited that she had just turned the clinic board on its head. Instead, she seemed disgusted that the mutiny had been necessary, that her husband had been unfaithful, and that her friend had betrayed her. Disgusted, and perhaps, determined.
“Come and sit with us’have a cup of coffee.” Love motioned to the table where they’d left their husbands. “Take a break until the party winds down.”
Gayle hesitated. She still had to face the board members who had gathered together at a far table to share their bewilderment and discuss their options. She had to face her husband who was hiding upstairs. Then, she would have to face herself.
“Come on. Screw all this nonsense.”
Marie, as always, had called it as she saw it. And for a fleeting moment Gayle pictured another friend who had once been able to make her see clearly.
“OK. Coffee it is,” she said, though her mind was on the gentle man with the gray hair who had left so abruptly. And for the first time in days, she felt a hint of peace.
SIXTY-ONE
HOME
BILL DROVE THE CAR while his wife stared out the window. Making his way through the winding roads of Hunting Ridge, past the mini-mansions, the perfect lawns, and pristine, white churches, their world had taken on an unreal feeling. Troy Beck, a man they’d known for years, was sleeping with Janie Kirk. Two homes, two picture-perfect families shattered. Still, it wasn’t the affair itself that held the sting. That was common enough in the world at large. It was the fact that it had happened here. There was so much money, such inordinate sums of money, and that money paid for more than the million-dollar homes, the outlandish trips, and private airplanes. That money had purchased a glass wall that stood around Hunting Ridge, protecting it from the unpleasantries of adultery, abuse, the slightest unhappi-ness. Men went to their jobs, women tended to the homes and the children’keeping everything just so. And while there was idle chatter about life’s problems’husbands wanting more sex, wives wanting more help’it was just that. Idle. The ones who acted on it, who actually crossed the line from acceptable complaining to admissions of extramarital desires packed their things and left. They’d heard about these couples from Marie, and through the local chains of gossip. But in the decade they’d lived in Hunting Ridge, no one they actually knew had strayed, or divorced’until tonight. And the repercussions were alarming.
“I just can’t believe this,” Love said, her eyes still gazing out the window.
Bill glanced at his wife, then turned back to the road. He wanted to press her about L.A., the meeting with her father, what had been decided. As much as he was concerned for Gayle, he wanted to know what was going to happen to them.
“Was she all right when we left?”
Love shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Reaching out for her, Bill placed his hand on Love’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s stronger than we think.”
“Maybe.”
As they pulled into the garage, Love felt the quiet resolve returning. So much had happened in L.A., the answer to questions finally found, though not at all as she had expected. Or hoped. All these years she had been ashamed. Now she was just bewildered’by her father, her mother, and with herself for not dealing with this years ago. How much time had she wasted, navigating her life through lies and misperceptions? How many decisions had been made in the midst of fear’decisions that had landed her right here, in this garage, about to reenter a life where the fate of four people rested in her hands? Foolishly, she had expected to feel transformed’as though knowing the truth about that night so many years ago could change everything. As she walked toward the door anticipating with joy the sight of her children in their beds, yet wondering how she would make it through the next day, she knew that no such miracle had taken place. She had run from the abuse of Pierre Versande into the safe arms of Bill Harrison, and she’d been running ever since.
“I’ll get your bag. You go on up,” Bill said, popping the trunk.
Love smiled at him. She w
ent into the kitchen, paid the sitter, then walked her to the door. Taking the steps two at a time, she rushed up the stairs stopping first in the nursery. Baby Will was curled up on his stomach, little legs tucked under, thumb in mouth, butt high in the air. The burst of light from the hallway made him stir and open his eyes, just for a second. He sucked hard on his thumb, then drifted back off. Thinking how he would feel in her arms the next morning, Love pulled the blanket back over him, then gently touched his chubby cheek. She walked out softly, then closed the door, turning next to Henry and Jessica’s room. They, too, were lost in their dreams, Henry on his stomach clutching a Lego magazine, Jessica sprawled everywhere’arms, legs, every part of her open to the world. One by one, Love pulled blankets over her children and kissed their foreheads.
As she closed their door she heard Bill call up. “I’ll be right there.”
“No hurry,” Love answered. The truth was, she could use a few moments alone. He would want to know about the trip. He would be expecting answers. Was she reconciled with her father? Did seeing him again make her want something more? Was she going to disrupt their family, ruin their lives? But there were no answers to give. What did she know? That there was nothing to prove or disprove anymore. That she no longer wanted to go back in time, rewrite history, and claim the golden destiny she had been raised to covet. No’everything that went wrong in her life had led to something that was very right. Still, she thought about the coming weeks, the long summer days with all three children home from school. More than ever her life would be lived for them, and for Bill. There was nothing left to run from, but she could still feel herself in motion, perhaps running toward something instead.
Love walked the short distance to her bedroom, then opened the door. She turned on the light and stood there. The room was different. The bed was made, which was surprising, but it was more than that. In the corner was Bill’s small desk. For years, it had been an eyesore of clutter in a space too small to hide, and she had trained her eyes to ignore it. But today it drew her attention. Cleared of his paperwork, his loose change, myriad pens and pencils and other junk that accumulates in the pockets of men, there was nothing on the desk but a stack of brochures and a small lamp. Thinking through the implications, Love walked the few steps to the desk, and gave it further inspection. There were five brochures, catalogues from Columbia, NYU, Yale, Barnard, and Sarah Lawrence. All top rate universities within an hour of their home.
“I’ve been working at not being such an ass,” Bill said, standing in the doorway now with her bag.
Turning to face him, Love found herself without words. It was just a desk, and somewhere in this house, she knew she would find a box full of junk that would never get sorted out. Still, it was an act of love, a heroic act in the face of fear, which Love knew to be profound.
“There’s still time to enroll in some continuing-ed classes. Next year you could apply for the degree program.”
Walking over to her husband, Love cautiously wrapped her arms around his neck. It had been a long time since he’d felt her close to him, and for a moment Bill stood still, his arms at his side holding her suitcase.
“There are some things I need to tell you’things I’ve kept from you. I just don’t know how,” Love whispered, and the sound of her voice made him drop the bag.
“When you’re ready,” he said as he wrapped his arms gently around her back. And he held on, praying that he could do enough to make her want this life’and not just for the kids.
“So, what do you think about your desk?” he asked.
But Love was tired of thinking. Clearing the desk was a gesture, a grand gesture for a terrified man, but a gesture just the same. Whether they could afford a sitter and make the time for her to go back to school was yet to be seen. Love had no illusions that her life would suddenly give way to her need for more. Still, what she had in this moment was hope, and for that, she was grateful.
She rested her head on his shoulder, letting her body fall into his. Letting him hold her.
“I think I’m glad to be home,” she said.
SIXTY-TWO
PINK SLIPS
THE LAST TRUCK PULLED away just after one o’clock. Gayle made a final walk through the property to assess the damage. In the yard, stacks of tables and chairs lay on the grass. Bags and boxes of soiled linens were sprawled across the patio, along with crates of dirty dishes and glassware. The tent remained fully intact and would not be removed until the next afternoon. Gayle imagined that the raccoons would be very pleased with the remnants of the party. Still, there was nothing here that would not be gone come Monday.
Closing the last of the outside doors, Gayle switched off the lights, then moved room by room collecting stray glasses and plates from the guests who couldn’t help themselves from inspecting the inside of her house. The game room appeared to have attracted the most party strays, undoubtedly resulting from some sports event on the TV that the men couldn’t bear to miss. Thinking about the strangers who had roamed from the party, Gayle summed it up in her head. Men watching sports, my good friend screwing my husband. That was it, in a nutshell.
Walking the glasses back to the kitchen, Gayle added them to a tray, then left the tray by the door. Moving methodically through the downstairs, she closed down each room, turning off lights, shutting windows. When she was done, she moved with even steps up the staircase to her bedroom where Troy was waiting.
Still in his suit, her husband sat on their bed. With his legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed, and a defiant look on his face, Gayle could not help but stare in wonderment.
“You should know, Janie means nothing to me. It was just a stupid moment.”
Standing at the end of the bed, Gayle thought about his words carefully. There had been no apology, no remorse. And she wondered if any woman would be comforted by his admission. Was it really any better that he didn’t care about the woman?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
His tone had changed. It was slight, but discernible, and she was, as she always was, paralyzed by the rage that was beginning to seep from his skin. Still, something had shifted within her. The agony of her life had surpassed the fear.
Her voice was unsteady, her mouth bone-dry. But she got the words out. “Please go down to the kitchen. I’ll be there in a few minutes. We can talk then.”
She watched his face, watched the blood flow into his cheeks. Then it changed again, taking on the appearance of a schoolboy who’d been sent to the principal’s office, and he slid off the bed and walked past her toward the door. That he had given her this much power over him was clearly unsettling the man as he struggled to find a way out. He’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar’now there would have to be some consequences. Gayle could almost hear his thoughts as he calculated how much he’d have to put up with before his punishment ended. Before he could turn the tables on her.
When he reached the kitchen, Troy Beck was not alone.
“What are you doing up?” Troy asked Celia, who was sitting on a bar stool in her pajamas.
“Ask your wife,” she said with disdain. Gayle had pulled her out of bed and summoned her to the kitchen as well.
They sat in silence, Troy not knowing how much Celia knew about the Janie Kirk situation, and Celia too tired to form a sentence. Finally, Gayle appeared. Changed from her dress into more casual attire, she was also carrying a large suitcase.
“Where are you going?” Troy asked, thinking through the scenarios. Was she going to her mother’s house?For how long? Was she leaving? A wave of panic shot through him. Everything he valued in his life was tied to this woman’his house, his job, the company car, his social status as a Haywood spouse. And, of course, his son.
“I’ve decided to make some staff changes. Celia, this is nothing personal, but I want to spend more time with Oliver. Now that he’s in school, I really don’t need you anymore. I’ll give you two weeks’ pay, but I’d like you to leave the hous
e tomorrow.”
Celia looked at Troy with pleading eyes. This was a damned good job. But Troy knew a scapegoat when he saw one.
“Celia, I’m sorry. It’s Gayle’s decision,” he said, suddenly relieved.
But then she turned to him. “I’ve packed some of your things. I want you gone tonight.”
Troy felt a buzz in his head. The adrenaline was on full speed now as he looked at his wife, walking on shaky legs to the door where she laid down the suitcase.
It was a strange feeling to have his power so disrupted, but Troy was a survivor and his mind worked quickly, making deductions. This was nothing more than a ploy to gain some sympathy, contrition on his part. This was not the moment for taking the upper hand, and Gayle was grateful he saw it that way.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can see that I really hurt you.”
His words were hollow, the sentiment almost insulting. Gayle had been a lot of things she wasn’t proud of’weak, submissive, a willing victim. But she wasn’t stupid.
“That’s just it, Troy. I’m not hurt. That’s when I made the decision. When I saw you with Janie and didn’t care longer than five minutes.”
Standing beside her at the door, Troy took hold of her arms and found her eyes.
“Gayle, honey. Come on. Let’s talk this thing through.”
His grip was tight and it belied the softness of his voice, the pleading of his words. He was close to breaking now, she could feel it. She turned her head toward the kitchen and, finding Celia gone, felt the air leave her body. They were at the door. And although this was only the beginning of what would be a long road to remove him from her life, she was finally on it. It was this thought’this desperation to keep the momentum’that gave her the strength to carry on.
