Good Little Wives (17 page)

Steven came in on the red-eye Saturday
morning and crawled into bed as Dana crawled out.

“How was your meeting?” she asked out of obligatory wifeliness.

“Noisy. Energizing. It's more peaceful at home.”

Ha! That's what he thought.

She grabbed her bathrobe and headed for the shower. “I have to pick Ben up at LaGuardia.”

“Send the car. Or send Sam.”

Dana shook her head. “No. I need some alone time.”

His cocked an eyebrow. “Honey,” he asked. “Are you angry with me?”

If she said yes she'd be admitting that she'd gone behind his
back. If she said no she'd be dishonest. “Go to sleep, Steven. I'll wake you in time for you to get into your tux.”

“I'm not going to sleep until you tell me what's wrong.”

Maybe that was why their relationship had worked so long. They'd always been able to communicate, hadn't they? To talk things out before they reached operatic crescendo?

“I have a headache,” she said.

“Then call the car to pick up Ben.”

“I can't,” she said. “I'm angry with you. I'm angry with myself. Worst of all, I am so pissed off at Sam, I'm not sure which one of us I'm more infuriated with.”

“Come back to bed,” he said.

“Why? Will sex solve my problems?”

“Yes. It always does.”

“Steven!”

He patted the edge of the bed. “Come back to bed, honey. And tell me what's going on.”

She hated that he was right, that orgasms could wash away more layers of tension than hours of heart-to-hearts. She hated that because he was a man, that concept came so easily to him.

“Please?” he asked. “Then I can forgive you for going to Michael behind my back and you can forgive me for second-guessing you on that one and we can have great sex and everything will be fine.”

So. Michael had told him that she'd been there. Should she be angry with him, too? “What makes you think everything will be fine?”

“Because I love you. Love conquers all, doesn't it?”

“You might not totally agree. When you hear the rest.”

“What ‘rest'? Did you kill Vincent DeLano?”

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

“Did you know that Sam was screwing Kitty?”

He paused, startled. “Ah, no. I didn't know that.”

The sight of his surprise, God help her, gave her momentary satisfaction, for which she instantly felt guilty.

Then Steven said, “Jesus, doesn't the boy have better taste than that?”

In spite of everything, she laughed.

He reached out to her, then patted the bed again. “Come here.”

“I can't. How can we make love when I'll only picture Sam and Kitty?”

He frowned. “That's true. You have a point.”

“Steven!”

He smiled. “Come here?” This time he asked softly.

And Dana took off her robe and went back to bed, not because she was such a great wife, but because she really loved this man and sometimes love really did conquer all, at least for a while.

 

Lauren touched the tiny folds of skin gathered at her throat that Dr. Gregg would never repair. They would show now, she knew. Now that her Mikimotos were gone.

Caroline had told Lauren the name of the man who'd bought her mother's sapphires—Wallace Ashton, who lived in Brooklyn Heights. After Lauren had argued with Bob—indeed, after he'd tried to rape her—she'd left the house. She'd called Caroline, asked for the name, then conveyed her regrets that she wouldn't be attending the gala after all.

“For what it's worth,” she'd added, “I don't think my husband killed Vincent. Tell the others I'm sorry, and that I'll be in touch.”

She'd gone to Mr. Ashton's, then spent the night in an Omni hotel on Route 95 somewhere off the highway in Connecticut.

Now it was morning. She'd had a surprising appetite that she'd filled with coffee and an omelet and a blueberry Danish at the restaurant on the nineteenth floor. She even enjoyed the view—what was not to enjoy? Lauren was finally free.

She had on the clothes that she'd worn to lunch yesterday. She had a toiletry kit that she'd bought in the small shop in the lobby. She had her big Mercedes that Bob could trace, but she hoped he wouldn't. She'd even parked it in self-park for the night instead of valet, in order to save seventeen dollars.

She had those things and an envelope, that, thanks to Mr. Ashton, held three hundred and ten thousand dollars in cash. She had a suspicion she could have held out for four hundred, but she was in a hurry and did not want to quibble. She would not touch the trust fund: She did not know how much of the money had been from her parents, or how much Bob had added. It would be easier to begin anew.

Nantucket awaited. And Lauren planned never to return to New Falls.

The rest of her life would be spent on a tiny island with over eighty miles of beaches and memories of a childhood that might have been quirky, but at least belonged to her.

There was only one thing left for her to do now.

Before leaving the parking lot, she turned on her cell phone and called Dory.

“Go home to Jeffrey,” Lauren said. “He is your husband, and you have a new baby. Go home and try to work something out. If you can't—if you truly can't—you'll know where to find me.”

 

“You look lovely,” Jack said, and Caroline was surprised because it had been so long since he'd said that.

“Thank you,” she replied, and eyed herself one last time in the full-length mirrored wall at the Hudson Valley Centre. She was glad she'd had the facelift done in time for tonight. The facelift and the Versace had been good choices, the latter with its halter top and long slit that skimmed up her thigh. Like the surroundings, the dress was soft yellow, which seemed ludicrous if the affair had been only “lust” as Elise had proclaimed. “You look rather nice yourself.”

He smiled a crooked smile, the same smile that had captured her heart a hundred years back when he'd had less money and she'd been determined. She had loved him then, she supposed.

She turned from him and surveyed the ballroom. In moments the doors would open and New Falls would step inside. The tables were set, the flowers arced perfectly in their vases, the lighting had a gentle glow. The twelve-piece orchestra had finished tuning up and sat there, violin bows poised, waiting for her cue. (She'd tried to get that little combo Condoleezza Rice played in, but was informed that “they don't do this sort of thing.” Whatever.)

Along the side wall the waitstaff stood in crisp, spotless white. They held small serving trays with delicate hors d'oeuvres: raspberries and Brie wrapped in phyllo, baked feta-stuffed
olives, wild mushroom pierogi with Oregon white truffles.

She'd stayed up most of last night, rearranging the damn seating. With Lauren and Bob out of the picture and Yolanda back in with whoever was her date, Caroline decided she might as well seat the DeLano party in the Hallidays' place. If nothing else, it would draw attention to their table and might give Caroline points for showing sympathy toward the new widow.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jack said because he was a geek sometimes.

“My thoughts are worth much more than that,” she said with a slow smile.

“So I've heard.”

What did he mean by that?

“Will she be here tonight?” he asked. “Elise DeLano?”

The halter seemed to tighten at the back of her neck. Her eyes stayed on the waitstaff. “Kitty's daughter?” Her heart beat once, then twice.

“I had a visit yesterday, from a fellow named Paul Tobin. I believe you know the man?”

She stepped away from Jack. She could not risk perspiring on the Versace, not now, not tonight.

He followed her to the door, to the place where they would stand, the king and queen of New Falls, welcoming their subjects, one and all. “I believe you underestimated the man. We need to talk, Caroline.”

“Not now,” she said, and motioned for the maitre d' to open the grand doors.

The music began, the waitstaff went into motion, a smile miraculously found its way to her newly plumped-up lips, the
kind of smile she'd mastered when she'd been a girl and her father had needed her to act as if Mother was not in bed, drunk.

Beside her, Jack's smile twinned hers.
Hello
, he said to friends and strangers.
Hello, nice to see you.
He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “It isn't like you to be sloppy, Caroline. We'll talk about that later, too.”

She couldn't tell if the music was the prelude she'd picked out. She didn't know if people were finding their place cards, if the waitstaff was circulating properly. It was as if she'd moved into a different dimension where it had become difficult to hear, to speak, to think.

And then Yolanda arrived. She wore the pink diamonds Vincent had bought her. She also wore a pink form-fitting dress—one that clung to her belly, her small but obviously pregnant belly.

“Yolanda,” Jack said because Caroline had not. “You look lovely tonight.”

Yolanda smiled and rubbed her belly. “I decided it was time to show New Falls that I'm going to have Vincent's baby.”

“That's nice,” Jack said, though Caroline half heard him because behind Yolanda was Elise—breathtaking Elise—dressed in a pale yellow gown not unlike Caroline's. She should have guessed the girl would come with Yolanda. She should have guessed they'd try to ruin her night.

“Nice dress,” Elise said to her.

“Elise,” Jack said as the odd couple moved down the king and queen's reception line. “My goodness, look how you've grown up.”

Just then Caroline spotted Dana and Steven, Bridget and
Randall. She broke away from Jack and from tradition and moved through the crowd of people to speak with her only friends.

 

“They've done it to get back at me,” Caroline said to Dana and Bridget, once the men went to the bar and they had a moment to themselves. “They've done it to thumb their noses.”

“You mean at
us
,” Bridget said. “It's obvious that both Yolanda and Elise hate everything about New Falls.”

“Where are they sitting?” Dana asked.

“With us. I decided to be kind, so I seated Yolanda's date next to me.”

“Oh no.”

“Mon dieu.”

“What's worse, Jack knows. Paul Tobin went to him. I guess Tobin is angry that Kitty is free and he won't get his trial of the year.”

“This is awful,” Dana said.

“Trés terrible,”
Bridget said.

”Where's Lauren?” Dana asked.

”She and Bob had a quarrel. They won't be coming. Oh, this is all simply dreadful.”

Then the drama relocated to the front door when Kitty suddenly walked in.

She was wearing a light green dress that they'd
all seen before—perhaps at last year's gala, perhaps the year before.

“I'm hoping to buy a ticket at the door,” she said as she boldly approached Caroline.

A chill crawled from Dana's fingers to her toes.

“Kitty,” Caroline said, recovering in an instant because she was still Caroline Meacham, after all. “I can't imagine why you've come, but it's not appropriate.”

“Why not? I used to live in New Falls. I raised my children here, or perhaps you hadn't heard. And I'm prepared to make a large donation. I'm about to come into two million dollars, in case you haven't heard that, either.”

“Keety
,” Bridget said, and Dana might have, too, if only she could speak, if only she could look at the woman and not see big-hearted Sam's face. “You don't want to cause more trouble, do you?”

But
Keety
raised an eyebrow. “I've only come to reclaim my rightful position in this godforsaken town.” Her eyes were distant, filmy, as they traveled the room. “But do tell: Has my successor come as well?”

Dana deduced that Kitty was drunk.

Caroline stayed composed. “Yolanda purchased tickets in advance,” she said, then cupped Kitty by the elbow. “Now I must insist that you leave.”

“But wait,” Kitty said, “I see her now. She looks rather shrunken standing next to that beautiful redhead—oh, look! That's my daughter. It seems she's stolen her, too.”

“Kitty, stop it,” Dana said, at last finding her voice. “Get out of here before you ruin the whole event. Which, in case you didn't notice, has nothing to do with you.”

But before Kitty made another sound, her eyes suddenly grew wide and her unlifted jaw went slack. “My God,” she said, her voice thundering now, “is that little hussy with child?”

Like the audience at a runway show, coiffed heads rotated toward the subject at hand, who now stood in profile to them.

“Mon dieu
,” Bridget said again, “it surely looks that way.”

Kitty laughed. Then she took off toward Yolanda before the wives could shout,
“NO!”

 

They watched in horror as Kitty wagged her finger at Yolanda's face. “I suppose you're going to try to say that baby belongs to Vincent.”

Yolanda blinked, but did not answer. She turned her back.

“Mother, go home,” Elise said, placing a protective arm around Yolanda's shoulder.

“Go home? Well, my darling daughter, I don't have a home.”

Her voice continued to hover above street level. The orchestra slowed, the sole focus turned to the pregnant young woman in pink, the redhead in yellow, the disheveled woman wearing last year's light green.

Caroline raced toward the musicians, telling everyone along the way to please have a good time, that everything was under control.

But it wasn't.

Kitty laughed again.

“You might fool the others, you little slut, but just so everyone knows, my husband could no longer father children. After Elise was born, Vincent had a vasectomy. A
vasectomy
. Do you know what that big word means, little girl?”

Thankfully, Dana spotted Detective Johnson, even though he wore a tux. She was grateful that, this time, Steven did not step forward, knight in shining armor that he so often was.

She signaled the detective with a plea for help.

He approached, he smiled, he whisked Kitty away, her final refrain resonating through the hall:

“That baby is not Vincent's! Vincent had a
vasectomy!
That baby belongs to some other worthless soul!”

 

The rest of the evening was a little edgy. Yolanda and Elise departed right after Kitty, which meant there were two empty chairs at their table after all, not counting the spaces where
Lauren and Bob should have been. Caroline acted distracted; Jack was unusually quiet; Dana and Steven, Bridget and Randall remained out of duty. Shortly after they presented Caroline with generous checks, the Fultons and the Hayneses gladly left.

Randall suggested they stop somewhere for a nightcap, but Dana had a headache and said thanks anyway. She did, however, notice the way Bridget held Randall's arm as they left Hudson Valley Centre. She didn't think she'd ever seen Bridget do that.

“Maybe they had a nap together before coming tonight,” Steven said when Dana mentioned it in the car on the ride home. He was, of course, referring to the “nap” they'd had together, after Steven slept most of the day and woke up wanting sex again as if the first time hadn't been enough.

They'd decided make-up sex was so much fun that they should fight more often.

In between, Dana managed to spend some time with Ben (actually, while doing his laundry and repacking his bags for Dartmouth), long enough to be reassured that Cozumel had not changed him into a boy that she no longer knew, not the way New Falls had changed his twin.

“It's nice,” she said to Steven now, “that sometimes there can be happy endings, like with Bridget and Randall.” She didn't mention that Sam and Ben had gone back to school while Dana and Steven napped, leaving a lame note that cited wanting to miss traffic.

Nor did she mention that she'd seen the sheets of Post-its stacked where she'd left them, as if Sam no longer cared who'd murdered his lover's husband.

Talking about those things wouldn't have made them go away, though it might have cushioned the surprise when they pulled into the driveway and saw Sam on the front steps.

“Hey,” Sam said, standing up awkwardly. It was the first time he'd spoken to his mother since she'd told him to put on his shirt. “How was the gala?”

“Boring,” Steven said. “Except that Kitty showed up. She caused quite a scene.”

Dana winced.

Sam cowered. “You look nice, Mom,” he said.

She glanced down at her silver Marchesa gown that looked less tired than she felt.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure,” Steven said, “but I thought you boys had already gone back to school.”

“Not yet, Dad. But I really just wanted to talk to Mom.”

“Oh,” Steven said. “Well, sure.”

He went inside the house because Steven was a good dad and a good husband and knew that mostly this was between Dana and Sam and he'd be called for advice if needed.

“Honey,” Dana said, “it's a little chilly to stand outside.”

“It's okay, Mom. I'm not a little kid.”

Apparently he thought she was concerned for him, not for herself, which was every kid's mother-child relationship, wasn't it?

“I couldn't go back to school until I apologized. Until you know how sorry I am for what I did. And for the part about you finding out.”

“Which is it, Sam? The fact you slept with Kitty or the fact I found out?” Her tone was biting; she wished it wasn't.

“Either. Both.”

She might have said it was okay, but she wouldn't have really meant it, until she saw the big tears that had sprung up in his eyes. “I told Ben we had to turn around. I told him you and I had a fight. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry and ashamed.”

Sorry and ashamed.
She sighed. She knew those were tough words for anyone to say. Anyone, let alone her sensitive, too-caring son.

Sorry.

Ashamed.

And then Dana remembered when she'd heard those words before. They were in a note, written by her father a long, long time ago. Written on a piece of paper that had been sent from a jail cell, accompanied by her mother's obituary.

She sat down on the steps. “I'm sorry, too, Sam. I didn't mean to judge you. Sometimes parents…well, sometimes we overreact when we think our kid's welfare is at stake.” That was what her father had done, hadn't he?

“But you were right, Mom. It was wrong, what I did with Kitty. It doesn't matter if it was her fault or mine. It was wrong. I knew that all along.”

He sat next to her and she put her arm around him. And that's when she decided it really didn't matter if they ever learned who'd murdered Vincent. It really didn't matter if Bridget ever knew that Dana knew Aimée wasn't Randall's daughter, or if the entire town knew Caroline liked women.
It didn't really matter if Lauren resurfaced after the supposed quarrel with Bob.

What mattered was taking the time to try and understand one another. Having patience, learning tolerance. What mattered was forgiving and being forgiven.

“Honey,” Dana said, stroking Sam's hair, “how would you like to help me with a little project?”

He groaned. “I'm off the case, Mom. I'm thinking of changing to corporate law instead of criminal stuff.”

“What if it's something we can do on your ‘indispensable Internet'? Something simple, like a missing person search?”

He sat up straight. “Missing person?” He might be like his father, but he had Dana's knack for gathering details, for wanting to craft the world's problems into a solvable puzzle.

“Yes,” she said. “We need to start in Indiana. It's time we found your grandfather.”