Four Wives (36 page)

I
F THERE WAS ONE
thing the East Coast had over the West, it was the fall foliage. Vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds. That near-fluorescent green. When the sun’s light shone through the dying leaves from above, there was not a more impressive show of nature to be found. But the ostentatious display was inseparably tied to the cooling temperatures, a precursor to the long, barren winter months, and Love could sense it coming on’wool sweaters, the smell of burning wood, pumpkins, Halloween, and Christmas trees. Life’s memories were slowly being roused from their place of rest.

As she made the drive from the city, Love sighed at the thought of the work that lay ahead. The falling leaves, beautiful as they were, would need to be raked. The pumpkins gathered and carved, costumes chosen and ordered well in advance’before they could sell out and leave her kids disappointed and herself feeling guilty. The Thanksgiving feast would then be upon her. The shopping, cooking, and entertaining of Bill’s distant relatives would leave her exhausted on too many fronts. And just in time for the weeks of mad shopping sprees, wrapping, decorating, then hiding it all until the morning when the spoils of Santa’s miraculous journey around the world could be ravaged. These were the moments she would capture on film and video, the rituals that glued the family together and provoked bursts of joy in her children. But they were also moments littered with potential landmines. The Halloween costumes, an inadvertent misstep with Bill’s relatives, a last-minute addition to a Christmas list that could not be procured in time. There was so much room for failure that Love had come to wish it away before the first frost.

No,
she said out loud, repeating the mantra she’d been practicing for months. It was part of the new plan, the one where she admitted to herself that being the stay-at-home mommy all day, everyday, was just not in her. It was the plan where she tried not to hate herself for this indiscretion, or for those of the past. It was the plan where she said
no
to all thoughts that had dragged her down before.

Dr. Luster would be proud of her, getting in touch with her subconscious feelings, chanting positive thoughts. In the end she had not gone back for more treatments, choosing instead the therapy of truth. She had told them all about her past, in bits and pieces, over coffee, over the phone. Whenever and wherever she could. She talked and talked until she had nothing left to say. And, slowly, her pain had resolved over the summer months. No one ever knew for sure what had caused it. Of course, Bill remained satisfied with his theory that it was a virus, which had, thankfully, left her. Yvonne, on the other hand, had become a firm believer in Dr. Luster’s methods. Back and forth they went. Was it not obvious that the virus had run its course? Was it not apparent that confronting her father and learning the truth about her past had set her on the road to recovery? Love thanked the powers that be every day for the three thousand miles that kept the two of them apart, her husband and her mother. It was bad enough Yvonne had placed them on the
Sensory-Motor Self Monthly
mailing list.

Other than her return to health, there had been no life-altering watershed after the crazy events of spring. Love had waited nearly a week after the fundraiser to tell Bill what had really happened in L.A., instead remaining preoccupied with Gayle and the Janie situation, tending to her friend, avoiding her husband. And in the end, the disclosure of information that she had been certain would blow a gaping hole through Bill’s steady demeanor had instead produced barely a fizzle.

“So, you were drunk,” he’d said, making sure he was understanding her. Then he shrugged in a
what’s the big deal
kind of way.

“I was lucid. I remember that now.”

“You were still the victim of a much older man. He should have gone to jail. Your father should have killed him. I would kill anyone who did that to Jessica,” he’d said, causing both of them to shudder at the thought.

“The point is that I made a choice, a decision aimed at hurting my father. Only it backfired dead center into my life. Then I went running for cover.”

Finally getting to the part of the story that had repercussions for his life, Bill had nodded slowly. “You ran right to me.”

“Yes.”

They talked then about where that left them, now that Love was no longer in need of escaping. Now that she no longer needed to be someone else, anyone but the disgraced Love Welsh. They talked about what remained when they peeled away the layers of their pasts that had drawn them to each other. And they were still talking, learning to see one another in the full light of day. Hoping to build their love on steadier ground.

In the back seat, Baby Will began to doze. Glancing at his shuttering eyes through the rearview mirror, Love muted the lullaby CD, then returned her focus to the highway. He had adjusted well to the new schedule, taking his naps in the car, accepting the company of new faces at a day-care center near Columbia University. Three days a week she loaded him up and took him with her to New York. She was enrolled in Freshman Biology and Comparative Literature. They were two of the twenty-four courses she would need to complete her degree. At this rate, she would be fifty when it was finally done, and that thought could stop her dead in her tracks.

The decision had been difficult, as was any change that caused this much upheaval. That it wasn’t worth the effort was a fear that filled her head nearly every morning that she dragged herself to the city. The routine was hectic’getting everyone fed and dressed and packed up for the day, loading them in the car, dropping Henry at his school, then Jessica at hers. She wouldn’t get on the highway until well after nine, just in time to hit the end of rush hour. If the baby slept, which on most days he did, the drive would be tolerable. On the odd day he stayed awake, it took sheer will power to keep going. She’d drop him at the day care, then rush off to a lecture hall to sit among faces that made her feel like a dinosaur. Still, for all the hassles, all the complaining by Henry and Jessica about being picked up from school by Gayle, and the chaos it had thrown into her marriage, Love knew it was worth it. For the first time in many years she was present in her life, living each moment. She could feel it now, as she drove in silence among the falling leaves, the sense of peace that was edging out the noise.

“J
ESUS
C
HRIST!”
M
ARIE SAID
under her breath as she looked at the speck of blood.

It was the third time in under ten minutes she’d nicked her hand on the tape dispenser’a device that appeared simple and therefore had her all the more infuriated. The living room was finished. Items carefully packed, sealed, and labeled, ready for the movers who were coming first thing in the morning. But the kitchen was another story.

She checked her watch.

“Christ!” she said again. It was after three. She reached for the phone, dialing with one hand while she turned on the radio.

“Love?” she yelled into the receiver.

“What? I can’t talk, I’m in the car.”

“Will you get a bloody hands-free phone already! What’s wrong with your

Love answered, checking in her mirrors for police cars. “It’s on my list. Now what’s up?”

“It’s three!”

“Oh’OK. I’ll turn it on.”

Marie hung up, then went back to her boxes and the program that was coming on public radio. It was a taped interview with Gayle Haywood, founder of the innovative Smart Choices program that was now being prototyped in New York.

Yes, we have had wonderful feedback from the girls and their parents.
Gayle’s words floated through the room and Marie was near giddy with pride.
No, it has not been controversial. It’s a privately funded program, so there’s no state involvement. And, frankly, parents are grateful that their girls are being empowered with accurate, unbiased information.

She went on for ten minutes, answering questions, getting the message out. And although she sounded nervous to Marie, the rest of the world would hear nothing but an intelligent, passionate woman.

“Christ!” Now it was half past three and she hadn’t even finished the glasses.

Weighing the factors carefully, she tossed the tape dispenser on the counter and headed for her car.

It was the last play date they would have. There had been talk of getting together every few months, promises on her part to drive up from Brooklyn and the good intentions of her friends to bring the kids to the city. None of them believed any of it. They were forcing it now. The kids were outgrowing friendships imposed by their mothers, and, as the holiday frenzy ate up every ounce of spare time, Marie knew she would not see Love and Gayle for some time.

They had met every week over the summer months, unraveling the events of late spring. They had talked Gayle through the Janie Kirk incident, with Marie doling out legal advice and Love helping Gayle battle the self-doubt that was always sneaking up on her. In turn, Gayle had listened as only she could while Love worked through the decision to start at Columbia.

For her part, Marie had practically begged them to understand her decision to move back to the city. Not the city, exactly, but Brooklyn, where they could afford a small townhouse. Three bedrooms, two baths, a run-down kitchen and dreary living room, one small patch of grass and weeds out back’it was a far cry from the cute-as-a-button colonial they were leaving behind. Still, it was a house, and Marie was betting everything it would become a home where they could all be happy.

It was clear to Marie now, having spent most of the summer thinking about their life, trying to see herself through objective eyes. She had been slowly disappearing into nothing more than the anti-wife, a modern-day Katharine Ross running from her robot clone. How many hours had she devoted to picking apart the Stepford wives, judging them for being happy with a life that she had also chosen? That she couldn’t find her own happiness in that world didn’t make them less human. It simply meant that it was time for her to leave.

In spite of this conviction, nothing about the decision had been easy. The house wouldn’t be ready for three more weeks, and that meant a midsemester transfer for the girls to their school. And Marie was needed for a trial at her new firm in six days. There would be little help with the logistics now that Anthony had started back at the Center for Human Rights. The commute was ungodly at the moment, leaving little time to help with the packing’let alone golf. That he wasn’t completely convinced yet made it all the more difficult. He was doing this for her, she knew full well. They were renting for now, viewing it all as a one-year experiment. And that was how they’d sold it to the girls, whose protests weren’t nearly as catastrophic as she had planned for. Suzanne cried to her friends on the phone but then spoke of New York with pride.
I was horn there,
she’d say.
And it is the greatest city in the world.
Olivia was too young to understand. She cried because they were leaving the house but had already begun her plans for setting up the new bedroom.

Still, there were many moments when Marie felt the waves of doubt roll in, with nothing other than her family’s happiness on her shoulders. But it was done now’it was time to hope for a new beginning.

As for Randy Matthews, absence had done its job, forcing the kisses to recede to a place where she could manage them. And she was more than happy to keep them there.

She’d heard from him in August. As before, it came in the form of an e-mail. And, also as before, it contained few words.

Dear Marie,

How’s life in the cave?

She’d laughed out loud in spite of herself, then written a reply. She’d filled him in on the Farrells and their other cases. Her mind had shifted then to Randy autopilot and she started to write about the summer, the girls, the ongoing struggles with the move. But these things were not his concern. Not anymore. Randy had given her a gift, a look at her life from the outside in, and she could now see that life for all that it was and all that it wasn’t. And there was no room in it for him.

Deleting line after line, she’d left only the case updates, then added one final note.

Good luck out there.

Marie

There had been no further communication on either side. Randy would go on with his final years at Yale. He would pass the bar and become a brilliant attorney. And, despite the internal protests he would stage, Marie had no doubt that he would not escape love. It was possible that he could dodge marriage, maybe even a lifetime partner, if such a thing even existed. But no matter how deeply he analyzed the world around him, keeping himself at arm’s length, he was not immune. She had seen it firsthand. One day, she was certain, he would be a father. Love would find him and he would let it in, embrace it, and let it run away with him.