Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay) (19 page)

I could identify. It
’s difficult to be pissed at a dead man. I was still hurt beyond words, but talking it out had lessened my anger considerably.

“
What I’m trying to say,” Liam continued, “is that it’s hard to be someone you’re not, even if you’re in the midst of a life you’re proud of and enjoy. It’s not easy to become a celebrity in the world of classical music, and I loved the whole image of being a famous conductor. Hell, I
still
love it. But the persona
I’d
allowed to be created around me? Not the real me. The harder I tried to live the way I thought I should, the worse I felt.” He paused and glanced at Carrie out of the corner of his eye.

She sat in stony silence, obviously not prepared to give him one moment of quarter. All I could think was that he
’d better get to his point fast or he’d be sleeping over at Noah and Margie’s with his daughter tonight.

“
Charlie wasn’t—what was the word that woman used?” Liam raised his hands, palms up. “Superman? But that’s how all of us saw him and it’s how he saw himself. We depended on him to be a super hero. He thought he was.”

“
But
he
created that.” Carrie turned her whole body on the sofa to face him. “
He
did that. We didn’t ask him to be Superman. Julie never wanted him to be
perfect
. She loved him just the way he was.”

“
Perfect,” I whispered.

“
What?”
She swung around to me. “What did you say?”

“
Caro, I see it. I hate it, but I kinda see what Liam’s saying.” I stared at him. “I fell in love with this guy who worked so hard to be everything to everybody. Because he seemed so perfect, I worked hard, too, being exactly what I knew would make him happy and proud. I never once asked myself,
What do I want?
Always, always the question in my mind was,
What does Charlie want?
”

“
So he repays your devotion by finding another woman and screwing her brains out for sixteen years?” Carrie’s voice rose another octave. “How in God’s name are you making
that
work?”

“
Do you know that I used to get up really early and do my face and hair and then go back to bed and wait for him to wake up?” My mind was reeling and I knew I wasn’t making sense, but I had to process all of this mess, so I went on relentlessly. “He was a morning man, and I didn’t want him to have sex with someone who wasn’t… perfect.
Both
Charlie and I worked so hard to create and maintain that fairy tale life. No fucking reality.

“
Charlie never once had to
ask
for so much as a coffee refill, I was always right there, anticipating his every need. I got up with him each morning to brew coffee exactly the way he liked it and make breakfast, always elegant in my designer jogging suit or a silk nightie and robe. My hair was done, my makeup flawless.” I bounded out of the armchair, moving restlessly around the room. “Shit, Charlie never even felt razor stubble on my legs—I kept myself smooth and gorgeous, right down to the French bikini wax
he
adored, but
I
hated.” I grimaced. “Sorry, Liam—that’s probably TMI.”

“
No problem.” His teeth gleamed in the lamplight.

“
I didn’t do the Paris and New York shows, which could’ve put my career into orbit, because it might’ve interfered with
his
life. And I loved going out on gigs—it was the only time I got to think about just me. But I never pursued anything more than the catalog stuff. Instead I stayed right here, being… I don’t know… June goddamn Cleaver. Charlie built the perfect house for his perfect wife and kids and installed us there, while he went off to his perfect job of saving people’s lives. And he got to be the hero of the world.”

“
Dammit, Jules, if you say
perfect
one more time, I swear I’m gonna smack you!” Carrie pressed her stomach against the back of the sofa, having turned and risen to her knees to follow me as I paced.

“
But that’s it, don’t you see?”

“
No, I don’t see anything except you trying to take responsibility for Charlie’s awful behavior.”

“
Liam,
you
see, don’t you?” Beseeching, I turned to him.

“
Honey, I think what she’s trying to say is Charlie created such a fantasy that he couldn’t live up to it after a while, and yet, he couldn’t destroy Julie and the kids by
not
being that guy.” Liam put one hand on the small of Carrie’s back as he explained. “The other woman was a place to decompress. A poor choice, obviously.”

“
Why are you two making excuses for him?” Carrie slammed her palm on the sofa and expelled a frustrated breath. “What he did was
wrong
! He cheated. He took something he’d promised only to you and gave it to another woman.”

The irony of the situation struck me, and I couldn
’t help grinning at her. I’d come all the way to Willow Bay so my best friend could talk me through
my
anger and pain, yet sweet, tender-hearted Carrie was the one who was furious and unforgiving.
I
was the one trying to be understanding of what Charlie had done.

“
But, it didn’t affect my life one bit, Caro.” Even as I said it, I realized the truth of it. “He was still a wonderful husband, and he loved me.”

“
He
did
love you,” Liam said. “He was crazy about you. You could see it every time he looked at you. More than once, he told me how lucky he was to have you.”

“
Thanks for that, pal.” I walked around to perch on the coffee table in front of Carrie as she sat back down. “Realizing that I couldn’t be everything he needed hurts beyond words. But I bought into the
Leave It to Beaver
scenario, too. I never stopped to ask if our life was what he really wanted. Hell, I never stopped to wonder if it was what
I
really wanted. We started it and it took off—a fantasy marriage that ate him alive.”

“
So, that’s it?” She sank back, glaring first at me and then at Liam. “We chalk this all up to poor old Charlie having too much
perfection
in his life and let it go?”

“
No.” I knit my fingers together in my lap, struggling to find the words I wanted. “I have a lot of thinking to do. Why didn’t he feel he could come to
me
when he got overwhelmed? I’ve got to try to figure out what I might have done differently, so I don’t make the same mistake again. If I ever have another opportunity—”

“
I hate that bastard,” Carrie burst out. “You’re beautiful and wonderful and good, and he made you doubt yourself. I
hate
him for that. Why didn’t he delete all the damned emails?”

“
I imagine because he didn’t expect to die so suddenly,” I replied with a little shrug. “Part of the Superman complex. Charlie was gonna live forever, “It’s done now, Caro. But you know one thing that Emily said really stuck with me.”

“
What was that?” Liam had embraced Carrie again, stroking her arm, soothing her anger. It was working. She’d settled back against him, curled up next to him like a kitten.

“
She said, ‘I took nothing from you.’ At first, I was floored and furious. I couldn’t believe she said that. But you know what? She was right. I had everything—my marriage, my kids, my beautiful home, and Charlie’s devotion.”

“
But, he wasn’t—”

“
No.” I raised one hand to stop Carrie’s denial. “Don’t you get it? As far as
I
ever knew he was completely devoted. She
didn’t
take anything from me at the time.”

“
What about now? What about all the memories she’s tainted?”

“
I was the one who went looking for her. As far as she was concerned, it was done.” I shook my head with a small smile. “Those memories are
mine
, Caro, not hers. She can’t ruin something she was never a part of. Don’t you see? If I let over thirty years of wonderful be destroyed by this news, then that’s a choice
I
make. And why would I do that to myself? That would just be stupid.”

“
And that makes it all okay? You decide to let this go and Charlie’s still the big hero?”

“
No.” Wrapping my arms around myself, I scooted closer to the fire. “No, Charlie’s still a cheating son of a bitch. But he’s dead. I can wallow and spend the rest of my life hating him. Or I can square my shoulders and get on with my life. This time I get to choose.”

An unfamiliar, but suddenly empowering sense of self-assurance surged through me as I stared into the flames.

“
I
get to choose.”

TWENTY

I opened the gate and stood staring at the big beautiful house that Charlie Miles built. The clapboards were damp from the frost melting off the roof in the morning sun. The yard was covered in a thin layer of late winter snow. A piece of screen that had pulled loose from the enclosed back porch flapped in the breeze.

Charlie and I had talked about needing to fix that tear when we’d been at Mackinac Island over a year ago. It had been on his
honey-do
list, along with repairing the broken drawer handle in the powder room, redoing the master bedroom closet, and replacing the drain cover in the basement laundry room. None of it ever got done.

Stomping snow off my fur-lined boots as I entered the porch, I saw that someone—probably Carrie—had removed the cushions from the wicker furniture and rolled up the woven rugs. Charlie and I had spent many a summer night on this porch, snuggling on the settee, sipping wine, and listening to the sound of the waves on the shore far below.

Nostalgia welled up in me, but to my surprise, not melancholy. Instead I smiled at a vivid memory from years ago. Our eight-year-old twins, their faces grubby, careening into the screened porch with a jar full of lightning bugs one dusky July evening. Charlie had helped them punch holes in the jar lid with an ice pick, so the bugs’ lighted tails could be a lantern for a while. He’d always had time for the children, ready to wipe snotty noses, help build a soapbox derby car, explain a tricky math problem, or cuddle away a nightmare. He’d been a stellar dad. No one could deny it.

When I shouldered open the back door to the house—it always stuck in the winter—the scent of fresh paint smacked me. I gasped. Apparently, Liam had kept the painters busy in the kitchen as well as in the master bedroom
because Charlie’s lake-blue kitchen was now soft pale yellow. The old dark oak cabinets gleamed white in the morning sun, freshly painted and bearing new pewter hardware. It was gorgeous. Carrie’s handiwork, I was sure. As I removed my down jacket, I smiled at how well my dear friend knew me.

The yellow walls continued into the breakfast nook where
they’d painted the plantation shutters white as well. The round oak pedestal table had been replaced with a glass and bronze pub-style set, and the built-in corner cupboard also bore a new coat of white paint. With a bright red-and-yellow rug on the hardwood floor and cheery red and yellow flowered cushions on the tall chairs, the entire effect was cozy, French, and totally me.

I wandered slowly through the rest of the downstairs, trailing my fingers over the leather sofa, opening the blinds, straightening a crooked lampshade. Someone had cleaned recently—every surface was dust-free. Each room held memories of Charlie. His office off the family room where I could visualize him sitting at his massive mahogany desk, writing articles for some medical journal. The sofa where he
’d spent rowdy Sunday afternoons with Kevin and Ryan watching football, basketball, baseball—whatever sport was in season. The dining room where we’d served so many holiday meals together, toasting friends and family and stuffing ourselves silly.

Upstairs, I followed my nose to the master bedroom, which reeked of the primer the painters had applied the day before. The room was in complete disarray. Furniture was shoved into the middle of the room and covered with a giant drop-cloth, the bed was taken apart, and the mattress and box springs were nowhere to be seen. The wallpaper had been stripped and stuffed into trash bags that were neatly lined up in the hallway, and when I peered into the guest room across the hall I found the contents of my closet.

Charlie’s belongings had disappeared. Nothing of his remained except for a few of his favorite t-shirts and sweatshirts that Carrie had folded into a box and labeled it for Kevin, Ryan, and Renee. I reached for the faded
MSU Dad
hoodie that was on top, hugging it to my body, and holding it up to my face to inhale the scent of my husband that still lingered in the fabric. Shivering in the cool air in the house, I slipped into it, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton, the sleeves that fell past my fingertips, and the way it seemed to embrace me.