The Intermission

by Elyssa Friedland

  “I blame his family. Betsy is so tightly wound. She expected perfection from Jon, as the oldest. She practically was in mourning when he turned down Harvard,” he heard Brett say.

  Cass’s voice interspersed:

  “So, Daniel was not your typical boarding school kid, right?”

  “Nearly expelled, huh?”

  “Yeah, of course Jonathan told me about it when we first started dating, but he didn’t like to talk about it much.”

  Then finally, Jonathan heard Cass say, “You know, I’m suddenly feeling like I need coffee desperately. I’ll be back.” Jonathan listened to the click-clack of her heels receding.

  Then only Brett remained. He pictured her sitting patiently on a folding chair outside his room, holding a vigil.

  33. CASS

  SHE WAS DIZZY.

  New information, so much of it, zapping her brain like a Taser against the skull.

  Jonathan had a secret that he kept hidden from her. A big one. That explained his commitment to the Big Brother program. He wasn’t the Boy Scout she thought he was. He was repenting and proving to himself, to her, to anyone who would take notice, what a good person he was.

  And he’d told Brett he’d asked for the break.

  She wanted to be upset, to charge into Jonathan’s hospital room and demand complete honesty. But she had secrets too. Secrets that had gotten them to this exact place. And she could rewrite history with the best of them. She and Jonathan were far more alike than she’d realized.

  She needed to get Brett out of the hospital. To speak to Jonathan alone. It was clever of him, pretending to be asleep when the two of them entered his room. Too bad for him she knew the exact rhythm of his breathing. If he’d been sleeping, he’d have been snoring. If she honestly thought Brett was the woman whose presence would help Jonathan’s bones heal and whose encouraging smile would make him work a bit harder every day in physical therapy, she’d leave the hospital in a mad dash and let the high school lovers have their happy ending. But she didn’t believe that, especially after learning Jonathan was more nuanced and deliberate than she’d ever appreciated. She and Jonathan needed to give their marriage another try, but this time, with complete honesty—his and hers. If, after full disclosure, her husband still preferred Brett, well, at least she had tried her best. The real Cass and Jonathan would be making the decision, not some fraudulent, manufactured versions of themselves.

  The ex was prettier than Cass expected, that much she had to admit. The Vera Bradley bag and the cherry-flavored ChapStick left behind in their apartment had really thrown her. She thought in person Brett would look like an overgrown teenager. She’d never bothered googling her, that’s how firm of an image she’d conjured of Brett after finding her belongings in their apartment. But Brett was light-years evolved from her high school yearbook photo, and she wore her white jeans with the strategic rips at the knees and the asymmetrical silk blouse quite well. The shoes, well, Cass didn’t know who made them, but they were expensive and spot-on. Brett spoke in that cool, confident tone of the upper class; sentences slipped from her mouth in pithy little punches. And a universal donor to boot? Of course she was. But the blood type said it all. Brett had something to offer to everyone, whereas Cass was uniquely matched with Jonathan.

  So why did that stupid resident look at Brett when he said, “Your husband is very lucky”? It had hurt so damn much. She had wanted to shout from the rooftops, “It’s me, it’s me! I’m Mrs. Jonathan Coyne!”

  Coffee, a few moments to collect herself, and then she’d head back up to Jonathan’s floor and force the reckoning they should have had six months ago. If she had been brave enough to be honest back then, they wouldn’t be where they were now. In a hospital. At the breaking point. It was time to tell him she’d been to New York, in their apartment, but that she’d fled like a coward. Time to say that and much more. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to mask how tired she was. She’d run a marathon only to return to the starting line. But perhaps that’s what she needed all along. To see her life come full circle and feel grateful to end up back where she started. Hopefully it wasn’t too late. Please, please, let it not be too late for us.

  34. JONATHAN

  DOWN THE HALL, he heard Brett on the phone with someone who had to be her mother.

  “Accident . . . Yes, she’s here too . . . No, I don’t know what’s happening . . . Kiss Lars for me.”

  He was so thirsty, his throat felt like sandpaper. He’d have to ring a nurse to bring him a drink or he’d expire, even if it meant alerting the two women in his life that he was awake. Just as he was about to shimmy for the buzzer, Cass appeared in the doorframe holding two bottles of his favorite: raspberry-flavored Perrier. She entered quietly and closed the door behind her, finding space on the far edge of his bedside for her bottom.

  For a minute they didn’t speak. She unscrewed the cap of one of the drinks and it released its telltale fizz. Cass rose again to fish in her purse for a straw and brought the drink to his lips. He took a much-needed sip and found his throat in working order again.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.” She sat back down. “How do you feel?”

  “Like hell. Is Puddles okay?”

  “Totally. Jemima’s got him for the week.”

  “Good.”

  “So?” she asked poignantly.

  “So,” he responded, sidestepping the doorway she’d opened for him.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

  “Cass,” he began.

  “No—let me. I freaked. The baby, my job. Worrying that we were turning into roommates more than lovers. I think you think I’m a certain way, but I’m not really the person you think I am.”

  “I could say the same, Cass.”

  “It turns out you could,” she said. “Did you really believe I would think you were some kind of bigot because of something that happened when you were seventeen years old? You think I don’t know you better than that?”

  “I was worried, Cass. I didn’t want to risk you misinterpreting. What if you couldn’t understand?”

  Cass nodded, like she got it. Enough to make him go on.

  “Remember that night we met in college and you told me you chose Brown because of RISD? Years later I heard you telling Leon’s buddies that it was because of the financial-aid package. Which was the truth? And after you left for California, I found a huge stack of programs from some theater in Los Angeles in the back of your night table drawer. We both have things we’ve kept from each other for too long.”

  “I agree. There’s mystery and there’s deception. It’s a fine line, but I think we both know which side of it we’re on.”

  Cass stood up again and came closer to his face. He thought she might kiss him or brush aside his hair.

  “You’re so banged up,” she observed, like he was a damaged work of art.

  “I haven’t looked in a mirror yet. But I can feel it.”

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can run out to get you a sandwich or pasta from Elio’s if you’re up to it.”

  “Not yet. Maybe later,” he said.

  “So . . . Brett?” she asked, settling herself back on his bed. He noticed her stiffen as she sucked air forcefully into her lungs. “I came to New York when the news first broke about Winstar. But then I found her things in our apartment and I ran.”

  “Really? I had no idea.” So she was human after all. “What about you and Marty Spiegel?”

  “It was a thing. But it’s over. You guys?”

  “I don’t know. Your leaving was like a Mack truck mauling me. And then an actual taxi did maul me. I can’t think straight right now. We’ve both made mistakes that need sorting out.”

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the background noises of the hospital. Brett’s voice sounded intermittently, broken fragments that we
re incomprehensible but still difficult to ignore.

  Cass finally spoke.

  “We should be more up-front with each other. About the big things. And some of the little things that were pissing us off. No married couple is perfect, right?”

  “I don’t think anyone would ever accuse us of being perfect.”

  She laughed heartily and he knew that if he never saw those overlapping teeth again, he couldn’t go on.

  “Cass, I cheated on you. Right after we lost Peanut.”

  Her face fell, like she’d been hit from behind.

  “I’m so sorry. Cass—there is no excuse, I know, I just—”

  “Jonathan, stop. I have to say something too. We didn’t meet by chance. Not in college. And not in New York City either.”

  Heightened senses shook them as the room flooded with anger and the deafening echo of truth.

  act three

  AFTER

  35.

  THE LAWYER’S OFFICES were located a few blocks away from his new office. He’d rented a cube in a WeWork office, where he shared a printer, secretary and copy machine with a dozen others trying to make something of themselves one day at a time. He had avoided working for his father—but just narrowly. Instead he was trying to build a new fund, though with the stench of Winstar following him, it was proving tougher than expected. He’d hoped to parlay his TV experience into a weekly gig, but so far nothing had materialized. Money was tight. He’d sold the apartment and was moving a few avenues farther east the following week, where a comparable apartment was much cheaper. It turned out the Coyne trust he’d assumed was growing at a steady rate had been mismanaged recently, and there wasn’t much there.

  He’d spent a lot of time in lawyers’ offices over the past four months. The recovery was quicker than the doctors had first anticipated (he’d had a good nurse), but the minute he was back on his feet he was called into depositions regarding Winstar. This was different, though. The law firm to which he was headed now, hopefully for the last time, specialized in family law. The others were white-collar specialists. They were basically the same, though, with their sterile atmospheres, enormous panes of glass, pin-drop quiet—decor designed to intimidate.

  Outside, he was blasted by the cold February air and bent down to zip his puffer. A group of young guys in Steelers hats was crossing the street en masse. The Super Bowl was on Sunday. Jemima and Henry weren’t even neighbors anymore—they had decided to move to London before Christmas. This year would be very different from last.

  He was too cold to remove his gloves to check his phone, though he felt the text messages buzzing. It was probably just Cass, letting him know she was running late. But when he arrived, she was already seated at the long conference table. She looked fresh and glowy on the outside, a peach peacoat draped over her shoulders and her hair blown out smoothly, but he didn’t know how she felt on the inside. For his part, he was a wreck. He nodded at her and she looked up from her phone and gave him a surprising smile. Couldn’t she be stoic, just for his benefit?

  “Hello, Jonathan,” Mark Hemmer, the senior partner, said when he entered. “Please have a seat. You and Cass are just here to finalize the documents and look things over one last time. Everything should be in order, I think you’ll find.”

  “Let’s do this,” Cass said, a bit too eagerly. She already had a pen in her grasp—an orange one that said Spiegel Productions on it. Or did it? He looked more closely and saw that it said Superior Podiatry, from that time Cass had bunion surgery. What was wrong with him?

  Mark slid duplicate copies of the papers in front of him across the table and asked one of his associates to bring in a notary.

  “Take your time and let me know if everything makes sense.”

  Cass pulled out reading glasses from her purse and ran the capped side of her pen under every line, gently nodding her head. Jonathan tried to eyeball his copy, but the words looked blurry, monsters with dots and crosses and slashes. He assumed it was all right. The lawyers hired were the best and all the terms had been agreed upon already.

  “Here on page three, this dictates where the property goes, right? And what about the stock accounts? Where is that detailed?” Cass was all business.

  One of the associates jumped from his chair to explain everything over her shoulder. Jonathan was barely listening.

  “Makes sense. Okay, I’m ready,” Cass said, uncorking her pen as sprightly as a champagne bottle. “You?” she said, looking at him expectantly.

  “Yes,” he said, and scribbled his name, barely legible, on all the places flagged with the yellow sticky arrows.

  Mark and the rest of the lawyers stood when they were done, hands extended.

  “That’s everything. Good luck,” he said, looking slowly from Jonathan to Cass and then back to Jonathan again.

  They walked out of the conference room in silence toward the elevator.

  “Well, that was pretty painless,” Cass said, once the elevator doors slid closed.

  “I guess,” he said, watching the numbers of the floors illuminate as the elevator eased down the shaft.

  “We had to do this. You know that,” she said, struggling with the buttons. “Ugh, this is tight.”

  He nodded.

  Outside, Cass raised her hand for a taxi.

  “You’re going to your office?” she asked him. He was looking down at his phone. Stocks had fallen while he and Cass were getting their lives in order. Money was shrinking and his obligations were expanding.

  “Yep.” He started to stalk off in the direction of his office, once he saw that Cass had gotten a free taxi’s attention. “Wait a second,” he said as her hand reached for the car door. “First this.”

  He bent down toward her waist and planted a kiss on her stomach, finally taking the shape of a curvy mound.

  “Bye, baby,” he added. “See you tonight.”

  She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a million tiny pathways.

  “Yes, you will.” She patted her tummy affectionately. “We’ll see you later tonight.”

  * * *

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  SHE STIRRED THE spaghetti after stealing a strand and returned the lid to the pot. The best part about being pregnant was the nonstop carb party. She and Jonathan both ordered dessert when they went out and had started a ritual of going for bagels on Sunday mornings. She was even, at times, willing to share.

  “I know this afternoon was weird, but I’m so happy we got our wills over and dealt with. Dahlia told me she didn’t get around to it until Brady was nearly one and every time she and Harris got on an airplane, she’d be in a full panic. All she could think whenever the pilot announced turbulence was that her crazy sister would get custody instead of her brother and his wife. She and Roxanna made their wills a day after Dahlia got pregnant this time around.”

  “I know it’s smart. It’s just not fun to think about our mortality. Especially with her on the way. Let me rub that genie lamp one more time,” he said, approaching her from behind.

  “It might be a boy,” she said, elbowing him back. The carbonara sauce was bubbling over. She didn’t want him to get burned.

  “No, it’s a girl. Cass 2.0. Buyer beware.”

  “Hilarious,” she said, but she found herself really laughing. They both looked down at her stomach, appraising its curves, portending its contents. “Listen, I need to talk you.” She saw Jonathan’s face freeze when she turned to him. PTSD from the intermission, something she’d inflicted on him and something she’d have to work hard to alleviate. She squeezed his hand protectively, watching the color rush to his fingers. She liked thinking about the three pints of her blood that swam through his veins since the accident, feeding his parts and nourishing his tissues. It was the physical manifestation of everything they’d confessed in the hospital room. A true commingling.

  “We’re low o
n groceries. Can you buy mint chocolate-chip ice cream and two dozen eggs? I thought maybe you could grab that on your way home from work tomorrow? I’m going to try to be in the library working all day tomorrow.” She had decided to take up playwriting, at least while she was pregnant and had an infant at home. Both she and Jonathan were starting over and it was new beginnings everywhere in sight, even in the signs of an early spring.

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  “Can you watch the sauce for now? I think I’m going to get a bit more packing done.”

  She reached for a small wooden box on the bookshelf and sifted through its contents. A sonogram, dated two weeks earlier, was on top. Underneath were some candids from their wedding, Playbills from her favorite shows and two Red Sox shot glasses. A glimmer of bronze in the corner caught her eye. A key. It opened the shallow drawer of the desk in their bedroom. She hadn’t unlocked it in years.

  “Look at this,” she said, showing Jonathan what was in her hand. “We should check that the desk is empty. I sold it on 1stdibs.”

  They walked into the bedroom together and Cass slid the key into the lock. The drawer opened with a light tug. Inside there were paper napkins in all shades of the rainbow, metallic monograms in flourishing script printed on each. Cass unfolded one.

  “J D R,” she read aloud. “You said fifty-plus, I said ten years tops. Now I can’t even remember who they are.”

  “A guy from my business school class,” Jonathan said. “No idea what happened to him.”

  Jonathan smoothed out the next one.

  “A C M. I think that was that girl Alice from your office, right? We both wrote thirty years.”