The Consequences (21 page)

CHAPTER 37

“W
e have to talk.”

“That sounds serious,” Kathy said lightly, moving over to the sink to fill the kettle.

“It is,” Julia said. She sighed dramatically as she assumed her usual seat at the kitchen table.

Although Julia was only five years older than her sister, she looked, dressed, and acted a lot older. It still gave Kathy a slightly guilty pleasure that the last time the two of them went out together, a waitress had mistaken them for mother and daughter.

Kathy's mind was racing; surely Julia hadn't somehow found out about Robert's affair? If she had, it would be just like her to rush over and break the news in person; she'd want to see the expression on Kathy's face.

“It's about Sheila,” Julia said, dropping her voice to a whisper, when it became apparent that Kathy was not going to ask her the obvious question.

And Kathy immediately knew what Julia was about to tell her, knew why her older sister had driven over to see her on Christmas Eve. Julia dispensed good news on the phone, but she took perverse pleasure in delivering bad news in person. “Sheila?” Kathy said, her voice carefully neutral. “What's she done now?”

“She's seeing someone. . . .” Julia began, and then stopped.

Both women heard the hall door open, then Robert's voice drifted in from the next room as he talked to the children. He stepped into the kitchen and said, “Hello, Julia,” though his eyes were fixed on Kathy's face. He walked around Kathy to stand by the sink, where he could look at them both. Was that fear she saw in his eyes? Then she realized that he thought she'd asked her older sister over to talk about his affair. Did he really know so little about her? She was half tempted to let him sweat for a while. She could see the white-knuckled tension in his fingers where they gripped the edge of the sink. But then she realized that he might say something to alert her sister. “Julia was just about to tell me about Sheila,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face. She watched his features relax as the tension flowed out of them.

“Is she okay?” he asked casually.

“She's having an affair with a married man,” Julia said in hushed, appalled tones, and then stopped, waiting for a response.

Kathy was observing Julia as she made the announcement. Was this how Julia—and those women like her—spread the news about Robert's affair? Would they each have the same shocked and horrified expression, but yet be unable to keep the tiniest note of glee from their voices as they passed on the news over wine and cheese?

“So?” Robert frowned, adding quickly, “What's that got to do with us?”

Kathy saw him glance at her before turning back to his sister-in-law.

“Oh, I should have known you would never understand,” Julia said peevishly. “Men never do.” Julia turned her full attention on Kathy. “I called her today, just to confirm that she was coming on the 26th for dinner.”

Kathy abruptly decided that she did not want to go over to Julia's for the endless ritual of dinner on Boxing Day. Julia's husband Ben was British, and Kathy not only detested him, she hated his pretentious family and their peculiar, archaic holiday. She needed to spend time with Robert, and she was guessing that she would not really get a chance to talk to him tonight; tomorrow was out of the question, so she'd keep the 26th for them to talk and plan.

“Well, she said she would,” Julia continued, “on one condition: that she could bring her current boyfriend with her. I was thrilled, of course. Sheila's thirty-six; it's about time she thought about settling down, and if she's going to have children, then she'd better start soon. . . . Her eggs are drying up.” Julia took a deep breath and pursed her lips. “Turns out her boyfriend is not such a boy; he's actually ten years older than she is,” she said breathlessly. “Ten years!”

Kathy didn't need to do the calculation: Stephanie Burroughs was sixteen years younger than Robert, ten years younger than Kathy was. She supposed she should at least be grateful that he'd not ended up with a twenty-year-old blond bimbo.

“And then she told me his name,” Julia persisted. “Alan Gallagher. And I thought: I know that name. So I said to her, ‘I know an Alan Gallagher—he's a chiropractor in Brookline who plays golf with my Ben.' ” Julia nodded triumphantly. “And that was when she said that she didn't think she was going to be able to make it on Thursday after all.”

Robert was standing behind Kathy's chair, staring out into the backyard. Kathy heard him ask, “So how do you know he's married?” She was aware of the tiniest undercurrent of anger in his voice.

Julia sighed. “The Alan Gallagher who Ben knows has boasted about his little bit on the side. I put two and two together: The ‘bit' is Sheila.”

“Brookline is so small,” Kathy murmured. “Everyone knows someone who knows someone.” She wasn't sure if she was speaking to her sister or to Robert.

“So I thought about it, and I called her back.”

“Julia, you didn't!” Kathy protested.

“I did.”

“But it's got nothing to do with you.” When did Julia take over the role of matriarch and moral guardian of the family? Kathy was suddenly conscious that she too was beginning to get annoyed with her sister.

“Well, you may not think so, but I do, and I certainly didn't want an adulterer sitting at my table.”

“Are you going to insist she stitches an
A
on all of her clothing?” Robert said evenly.

Julia looked at him coldly. “I called her. Asked her straight out. And do you know what she had the audacity to tell me?”

“That it was none of your business,” Robert snapped. The irritation was clearly audible in his voice.

Kathy caught him looking at her, frowned, and shook her head slightly.

“No,” Julia continued. “She admitted it. Alan Gallagher is married. So I told her straight out that she would not be welcome in my house.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kathy asked, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over her. Whether Sheila was having an affair or not was none of her business; none of Julia's either. What gave Julia the right to sit in pious judgment on Sheila? What gave her the right to spread the gossip?

Julia looked at her blankly. “Because . . . because . . .”

“This is Sheila's business. Hers alone,” Kathy continued, struggling now to keep her own rising anger in check. “Who she's seeing has got nothing to do with you or me.”

“But he's married!” Julia protested. “She's breaking up a happy marriage.”

“How do we know that?” Kathy snapped. “How do we know the marriage is happy? Do you have some kind of psychic power that enables you to know what goes on behind closed doors?”

Julia looked at her blankly, mouth opening and closing in stunned silence. Whatever response she had been expecting from her younger sister, it hadn't been this. Color touched her cheeks.

“There are three people in an affair,” Kathy said. “The mistress, the husband, and the wife. Takes all of them to make it happen.”

Julia pushed back her chair and stood up. “Well, this is not the attitude I expected from you. The wives are always the innocents in these situations, always the last to know.”

Maybe always the last to know, Kathy agreed, but perhaps not entirely innocent.

“I don't know why these women—these mistresses—are attracted to married men; I really don't.” Julia lifted her coat off the back of the chair and pulled it on. “I just hope you never have to go through what poor Alan Gallagher's wife is going through right now.”

Kathy could feel the color draining from her face as anger gave way to guilt and bitter exhaustion. She later realized that Julia must have completely misinterpreted the looks on both of their faces as anger and disgust.

“Well, I don't think that came out the way I meant it to,” Julia continued hastily. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply . . .” Looking embarrassed now, she turned to leave. “I'll let myself out.” She paused before she stepped out of the kitchen. “You will come over the day after tomorrow for dinner, won't you?”

“We'll let you know,” Robert said firmly, before Kathy could respond.

Julia ignored Robert and looked at Kathy. “We'll let you know,” Kathy repeated, although she had already decided that she was definitely not going over for dinner. She glanced sidelong at Robert, wishing he would leave her alone. She wanted a little time to think . . . and she wanted to talk to Sheila. She was brought out of her reverie by the high-pitched squealing scrape of metal on stone.

“She's hit the edge of the pillar,” Robert said. He was standing at the sink, pouring himself a large scotch. “She was parked at such an awkward angle. I'm not sure I would have been able to get that big SUV out of the driveway without hitting something either.”

He was talking just to fill the silence, she knew, chatting inconsequentially so that he could avoid discussing the major issue. He placed the bottle on the table between them and sat down in the seat recently occupied by Julia. He poured her a glass.

“I'm thinking I might have given her a different response a couple of days ago,” Kathy said quietly. “There was a time—in the very recent past—when I might have agreed with Julia. But when you become part of an affair, you discover a different perspective. There are two sides to every story, but in an affair . . . there are three. And you never really know anyone's story but your own.”

“Did you know about Sheila?” he asked.

“She told me on Monday,” Kathy said evenly. “We were sitting in her car outside the Boston Sports Club.” Kathy held the heavy glass in both hands and looked into the amber liquid; he always poured her too much. She glanced up and saw him staring at her. She took a swig of the bitter liquor, her eyes not leaving his face. “I sat there and watched my husband kiss another woman.”

That, for her, had been the defining moment.

Up until that point, Robert's affair had not been entirely real. Oh, she had known it was happening; she had the proof, but it was all hearsay and circumstantial evidence. But watching her husband of eighteen years take another woman in his arms and kiss her on the lips was like being stabbed. The pain had been physical; it was real, and it hurt. How it had hurt!

And suddenly she wanted to hurt him back, to make him pay for what he'd put her through. Something must have shown in her eyes or on her face, because Robert suddenly sat back, away from her. Kathy wondered if he thought she was going to throw the liquor in his face . . . because in that instant that is precisely what she wanted to do. But she carefully returned the glass to the table; it was part of a set from Crate and Barrel Julia had given her for a birthday present.

“I called you,” she said. “I sat in a car less than ten yards away from you and called you.” She saw him nod, saw the flush of color on his cheeks. “I asked you what time you were coming home,” she continued, and watched him nod again. “You told me you were just leaving the office and would be home in forty minutes.”

She suddenly stood and turned away from him so that he would not be able to see the tears in her eyes. She busied herself at the sink, carefully washing and drying the glass; then, when she had composed herself, she turned around and started to clear off the kitchen table.

“How long . . . how long have you known?” Robert asked, not looking at her. “About us? About me?”

“Not long. Why? Did you think I was the sort of person who would turn a blind eye to my husband's affair?” Kathy was pleased that she'd managed to keep her voice calm and without a tremor.

“No. I never thought that,” Robert said.

Once she'd discovered his affair, there had been no other course of action but to confront him. She had not been prepared to let it continue in the hope that he would come to his senses. She would not have been able to live with herself, not even able to look at him, if she'd known he was cheating and she had done nothing about it.

She pulled a cookbook off the shelf and flipped it open, then pressed it flat on the table and quickly scanned the list of ingredients. This was part of the ritual of preparing Christmas dinner. The recipe book had belonged to her mother and, written into the margins, in Margaret Child's tiny, precise handwriting, were her additions and corrections to the recipes. Kathy knew Julia desperately coveted the book; every Christmas she tried to borrow it, and every year Kathy refused and presented her sister with a handwritten copy of the turkey, ham, and pork recipes. Kathy started to pull out the ingredients that would go into the stuffing.