The Friends We Keep

by Jane Green

  She knew nothing about him then, had no idea who he was. All she knew over the course of the year was that she served him cappuccino with extra foam, and he went from wearing a wedding band to not wearing a wedding band. And he was clearly fascinated by her. He asked her very early on if she had been a model. He recognized her, he said. If she was busy serving someone else, he would wait off to one side, until she could help him. He was patient, and always polite. He was charm personified.

  She mentioned one day that her son loved hockey, and the next day he slid an envelope over as he was leaving. Once he was gone, she opened it to find ten tickets to a New York Rangers game, and not just stadium tickets, but a private box.

  Jack was beside himself with excitement. He brought all his friends. They arrived at Madison Square Garden to find free sodas, burgers, and french fries delivered to the box, and as much candy as they could eat.

  Evvie was speechless at the generosity. The next day she tried to thank Lance when he came in, and he said the only thanks he would take would be if she agreed to have dinner with him.

  “You’re not married?” she asked, confirming what she realized she had grown to hope was true.

  “Not anymore. Separated.”

  “Separated leading to divorce, or separated as a temporary measure?”

  “Divorce papers were filed last week.”

  She couldn’t hide her smile. “Then that’s a yes.”

  One week later, Lance picked her up at home, and it was only when she walked outside to his Maserati parked on the street that she learned he had built his own hedge fund and lived on Beachside Avenue, the most expensive street in town. Now she understood his air of authority, and why she felt safe with him, as if he would take care of her. Of course. A man like him was used to taking care of things.

  He didn’t take her to a fancy restaurant. He took her instead to a lobster shack in a pretty coastal town an hour’s drive away. They tied bibs around their necks and cracked their claws, and when a stream of juice squirted onto his beautiful cashmere blazer, he laughed. They both had french fries, and when she left half of hers uneaten, he gobbled them up unapologetically.

  Evvie had fun. More fun than she had had in years. He was a wonderful storyteller, and surprisingly self-deprecating. He didn’t ask her lots of questions, which she liked. Evvie had never liked talking about herself, and she appreciated that he didn’t quiz her about how she ended up a single mother and why the father wasn’t involved. He talked about his own kids, all five of them, from two different marriages, the youngest one a junior in high school, the rest all grown and flown.

  “Two marriages and counting,” Evvie mused out loud. She couldn’t help herself. “That’s . . . impressive.” She didn’t mean impressive, she meant concerning. Two marriages surely meant there would be little point in another date, in a future. What kind of prospect could a man be who had two marriages behind him? Third time’s a charm, she found herself thinking.

  She mentally berated herself. For God’s sake, she thought. This is one dinner, not marriage.

  “I know.” He grinned. “I’m a terrible proposition. My first marriage was one that absolutely should not have happened. It was my parents’ choice, not mine, doing the right thing, making other people happy, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Making other people happy?” Evvie gave him a cool stare. “You don’t seem like the sort of man who cares about making other people happy.”

  “Hmm. Now how am I supposed to take that statement?”

  “I just meant you seem like someone who is very self-possessed and used to getting his own way.”

  “I am now, but I also come from a family that had firm expectations, and I wasn’t quite so self-possessed when I was younger. I was more inclined to do what my father wanted me to do. So I married the girl he wanted me to marry, and it didn’t work out at all. We hated each other for years, but surprisingly, we have recently become friendly again. She seems to have forgiven me.”

  “Forgiven you for what?”

  “For not making a go of a marriage that was making us both miserable.”

  “And your second wife?”

  “She ran off with the electrician.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Completely. She is living with him in Fairfield. Poor bastard. She is one crazy bitch.” Lance got a steely look in his eye. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s not talk about her. Tell me how a stunning woman like you ends up working at the coffee shop.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, even though it implies there’s something wrong with working at a coffee shop . . .” Evvie had laughed, despite her discomfort.

  “I applaud anyone with a good work ethic, and you’ve certainly got that. I just see you doing something else. If you were working in a high-end clothing store, that I could understand. Or being a rich man’s wife.”

  Evvie let out a bark of laughter. “Is that an offer?”

  Lance grinned. “If you play your cards right.”

  Evvie hooted. “That, my friend, may be the best offer I’ve had in years.” She blushed. “I’m kidding. In all seriousness, I’m not proud and I have a son to support. A friend asked me to help her, and while I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to turn into something so regular, I love it. I still do style consulting, and every now and then I do the odd modeling job. It suits me. I get bored if I’m stuck doing one thing.”

  “Does your son’s father help?”

  Evvie had smiled and shaken her head. Jack’s father had no idea he even had a son, which was exactly the way she wanted it. “He’s not in the picture.”

  By the end of the night, Lance had made her promise to come and edit his wardrobe. It was clear from his Brunello Cucinelli cashmere jackets, Hermès ties, and John Lobb shoes that he didn’t need her, but she wasn’t going to turn the invitation down.

  “Come on Sunday,” he said. “Bring your son. We can have brunch. And bring your swimsuits—I have a pool that no one uses anymore. I bet your son would love it.”

  That Sunday, they pulled up outside huge wooden gates on the most expensive street in Westport. The gates slowly drew inward as Jack exhaled with an audible “whoa” muttered almost under his breath.

  “It’s big, isn’t it?” said Evvie, who had been to many houses equally grand when she was at the height of her modeling career.

  “Mom, this is awesome. Who lives here?”

  “Just a friend. A man I know from work.”

  “Does he have a wife?”

  Evvie couldn’t suppress a smile as she gave her son the side-eye. “Why?”

  “Could you maybe get married to him? Then I’d have a dad and we could all live here!”

  Evvie laughed, even while feeling a stab of remorse. It wasn’t often that Jack said anything about not having a father. It would come out unconsciously, in comments just like this, when Evvie realized how much he wanted a man in his life.

  “I think it’s a bit early for that,” she said carefully. “We’re just friends. But it’s interesting that you said that about having a dad. Is that something you want?”

  Jack shrugged then, but she continued looking at him, and he nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “If it was someone nice.”

  She reached over and ruffled his hair, her heartstrings pulling as she thought about what he had said. Evvie had always given him everything, but the one thing she hadn’t given him was a father. He so rarely brought it up that she thought she had done a great job, had left him wanting for nothing, until times like these when his desire was exposed.

  They pulled up a winding driveway, past a tennis court, past a caretaker’s cottage, past outbuildings and vast metal sculptures, to a cobbled courtyard in front of a huge white house, the blue-gray water of Long Island Sound a huge vista behind it.

  Jack’s eyes were wide. “Mom, is this a pa
lace?”

  “I think it’s about the closest thing to it that we’re ever going to get, so yes, I’d say pretty much.”

  Jack was awestruck. “Did you see the basketball court when we drove in? And the tennis court? And you said there’s a swimming pool too. I bet he has a boat as well!”

  The front door opened and Lance strode out in jeans and a polo shirt, a wide smile on his face as he extended his arms to welcome them.

  He’s really attractive, thought Evvie suddenly. Why hadn’t I ever noticed quite how attractive he is before now?

  They got married six months later. For the first few years, it was perfect. Evvie had never been taken care of in quite this way. She hadn’t ever wanted to be taken care of, had valued her independence and self-sufficiency, but now that she was, she found out how much she loved having nothing to worry about. Whatever she wanted, Lance provided. He was lovely with Jack. She went from worrying about money all the time, to never having to think about it. She went from worrying about everything to feeling safe. Until recently, when she caught him looking her up and down, judgment in his eyes, when the calm, reasonable, loving man she had married had, at times, seemed to disappear.

  When he first lost his temper with her, she was able to ignore it, even laugh at it, but it had been happening more and more, and it was beginning to wear her down. The last couple of times had been genuinely frightening.

  Last week he had been so angry, he threw his keys across the room. It wasn’t at her, would never have hit her, but his face was twisted in rage, and she had flinched nevertheless, terrified, thrown back to being a little girl, afraid of her father’s rages.

  Now, lying in bed, listening to Lance’s comments about her weight, the only thing she kept thinking was, Don’t make him angry; whatever you do, don’t upset him. She closed the magazine and looked down at the cover. “Are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I got fat?”

  “I’m saying let’s not go down that road and find out.” He said it without looking at her, before reaching over and switching off the light on his nightstand. Within minutes he was gently snoring as Evvie lay in bed, stunned at the threat behind his words.

  She had heard about his notorious temper at work, how he kept everyone on a tight rein, but she never thought he would apply those same unreasonable conditions to her. She was his wife, and not just his wife, but the One. She was different; she was the soul mate, the one he had spent his life waiting for. At least, that’s what he used to tell her when they were first married.

  Evvie lay down, her eyes open, thinking about her life as her husband snored beside her. These comments and his recent anger were jarring and upsetting, but not enough to leave, she thought. Not when she was able to provide Jack with the kind of life that would be unimaginable without Lance. He offered both of them safety and security, and up until recently, what felt like unconditional love. She just had to be a little better, a little thinner. Then everything would be perfect again.

  twenty-five

  - 2009 -

  You’ve done it again, haven’t you!” Karen threw her arms around Maggie. “Honestly, I don’t know what we did before you came along. What did we do without her, Pete?” She turned her head to her husband, standing in the doorway of the pub. “How did we manage?”

  “Badly,” he shouted, coming over and patting Maggie awkwardly on the back as Karen released her.

  “The village fete was perfectly fine before I came along,” Maggie said, flushing with pride because, although it was perfectly fine, it was really for the pensioners, and since Maggie got involved, the whole village now showed up.

  It was Maggie’s idea to have a petting zoo and pony rides for all the small children in the village. There was already a baking competition, but Maggie redid the categories so it wasn’t all Black Forest Gateau and Victoria Sponge, but Puddings, Pies, Cakes, Biscuits, Pastry, and Bread (she had won the cake category two years in a row).

  She gently suggested getting rid of the white elephant stand, given that it was usually filled with secondhand rubbish that no one wanted, and instead found local craftspeople to set up stalls, and her neighbor Emily, who was a graphic designer, designed beautiful flyers that they posted on everyone’s front door to ensure the best attendance ever.

  “What did I do?” Maggie asked, laughing as she perched on a stool in the pub. Karen and Pete were the landlords, and had become Maggie’s closest friends through her involvement in the village fete. Even though they were a bit older, they had never had children, and as a result, Maggie never felt the need to explain. They didn’t ask, presuming perhaps that Maggie and Ben, like themselves, had chosen not to have children.

  “You sweet-talked that grumpy old Charlie into donating his ice cream van for the day. Everyone’s over the moon! We’ve all been trying to get him to do it for years, but he always refused unless we paid him! How did you do it?”

  Maggie grimaced. “I would love to tell you it was my beauty and charm, but I paid him. This is out of my own pocket though. It’s my donation to the cause.”

  “As if you don’t already donate enough,” said Pete, pouring her a gin and tonic and sliding it over the bar. “What about you, love?” He turned to Karen. “Usual, or are you in the mood for something more exotic? Pineapple, perhaps?”

  Karen and Maggie both caught each other’s eye and giggled. They had gone on a girls’ night out last week in Bath, and both had had far too much to drink. Karen had a penchant for piña coladas, and had been drinking them as if they were mother’s milk.

  “I wish we had piña coladas here, if that’s what you’re implying,” said Karen, laughing. “Maybe we should do that? Have a cocktail night once a month? What do you think, Maggie? You and Ben would come, wouldn’t you?”

  Maggie nodded, because Karen didn’t know about Ben’s drinking . . . issue. Maggie couldn’t tell anyone about Ben’s drinking, nor how difficult things had been between them over the past year. She wished she could, but as much as she loved Karen and Pete, this was a small village, and news traveled like wildfire, particularly gossip.

  The only person she had been able to confide in was her mother. She spoke to her every day, sometimes crying on the phone at how incredibly lonely she was.

  “This will pass,” her mother said. “No marriage is good all the time. The most important thing in marriage is kindness, and Ben is a kind man. Even if he’s drinking again, he will stop. He always does. You just need patience.”

  Maggie hadn’t phoned her mother in three weeks. Not because she didn’t need to talk, but because she was fed up with her mother’s insistence that this wasn’t a big deal, that all men drink, that Maggie’s deep loneliness was something that she could, and should, live with.

  “Here you go,” said Pete, and suddenly a piña colada, complete with maraschino cherry and paper cocktail napkin, was in front of Karen.

  “What? How did you . . .” Karen started laughing as Pete grinned, which made her laugh all the more.

  “I do love you, Pete,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips.

  “I know how to make my wife happy,” he said, winking at Maggie, who loved seeing how sweet the two of them were together, even amid her own sadness at not having the same sort of marriage.

  Things had become harder and harder over the last few years. IVF hadn’t worked, and after a while, they stopped trying. They had talked about adoption, but Maggie adamantly refused, without giving him an explanation why. Ben had pointed out all the wonderful stories there were, but Maggie wouldn’t listen.

  They had each shut down, to the point where there was less and less to say to each other. Ben had his work, his hiking, and Maggie had her cooking. She didn’t hike with him anymore, let him go off with his hiking club on the weekends, while she went to Karen and Pete’s, or out with other friends.

  When they were together, if they weren’t talking about some
thing logistical to do with the house, Maggie felt they would run out of things to talk about. Ben didn’t seem to mind, but she hated it. Sometimes, when Ben was on his way home for dinner, she would make a note of things that had happened to her that day that might interest him, or maybe make him laugh. Anything to avoid the silence.

  On the rare occasions they went out for dinner, she would see other couples, a few their own age, some much older, who would sit there in silence, looking around the room or—presumably—eavesdropping on the lucky people who did have things to say to each other. Maggie never noticed those people until about two years ago, until she realized that unless she put in the work, they stood a very good chance of becoming one of those couples.

  For a long time, she blamed the drinking. Ben would manage a few months sober, sometimes a year, before one drink would derail him, and the chaos would start all over again. It always started with one drink. Ben could handle one drink, but before long it would be a vodka to start, then a second and third, before “splitting” a bottle of wine. Or two. Maggie only ever had a glass, at most, and she tried not to drink in front of Ben.

  She found herself saying things at the beginning of the evening like, “Please don’t drink too much,” or the more passive-aggressive, “Drinking again, I see?” and the evening would devolve into resentful silence other than commenting about the food.

  When Ben went into AA, as he did every once in a while, usually when she’d find him passed out on the stairs night after night, Maggie always hoped that sobriety would bring the easy, chatty conversation that had defined their courtship and the honeymoon years of their marriage.

  But Ben was an introvert, one who might have been very good at pretending to be an extrovert, but he lived in his head. It didn’t occur to him to share his thoughts with Maggie, who could happily burble away to anyone. After a while, she ran out of things to say to Ben. He didn’t seem that interested in stories of her life in the village, and although he was interested in politics, Maggie wasn’t particularly, and she didn’t have the will to learn about it.