The Cottage (4 page)

The realtor left him alone as he wandered through the empty rooms. All he could think of were the good times they'd shared. There had been nothing wrong with their marriage from his perspective, and even Janet admitted that she'd been happy with him.

“I don't know what happened,” she said tearfully when she told him. “Maybe I was bored… maybe I should have gone back to work after Jason was born “But none of that explained to Mark adequately why she had left him for another man. She had admitted to Mark five weeks earlier that she was madly in love with a doctor in New York.

A year and a half before, Janet's mother had gotten very sick. First a heart attack, then shingles, and finally a stroke. It had been an endless seven months of Janet commuting back and forth to New York. Her father was devastated and developing Alzheimer's, her mother went from one medical crisis to the next. He took care of the kids whenever Janet was gone. The first time she went, after the heart attack, Janet was gone for six weeks. But she called him three or four times a day. He had never suspected a thing, and it hadn't happened immediately, Janet had explained, it had happened over time. She had fallen in love with her mother's doctor. He was a great guy, had been wonderfully supportive and sympathetic and kind to her. They had dinner one night, just casually, and it had taken off from there.

She had been involved with him for a year, and she said it was tearing her apart. She kept thinking she'd get over it, that it was a passing thing. She assured Mark that she had tried to end it several times. But they were hooked on each other, it had become an obsession for both of them. Being with Adam, she told Mark, was like being addicted to a drug. He suggested therapy and couples counseling, but Janet refused. She didn't say it to him then, but she had made up her
mind. She said she wanted to move back to New York, and see where things went. She needed to be out of the marriage, for the time being at least, so she could explore the affair honestly. And as soon as she got to New York, she told Mark she wanted a divorce, and asked him to sell the house. She wanted her half of the money out of it, so she could buy an apartment in New York. Mark stood staring at their bedroom wall, as he thought about the last conversation he'd had with her. He had never felt so lost and alone in his life. Everything he'd believed and counted on and thought would always be there for him no longer was. And the worst thing was that he hadn't done anything wrong, at least he didn't think he had. Maybe he worked too hard, or didn't take her out to dinner often enough, but it was all so comfortable, and she had never complained.

The second worst day of his life, after the day she told him about the affair, was when they told the children they were splitting up. They had wanted to know if he and Mom were getting divorced, and he had said honestly that he wasn't sure. But he realized now that Janet had known even then. She just didn't want to tell them yet, or him.

The kids had cried endlessly, and for no apparent reason, at first Jessica had blamed it all on him. None of it made sense to them. At fifteen and thirteen, it made even less sense to them than it did to Mark. At least he knew why Janet was leaving him, whether he deserved it or not. But to the kids, it was a mystery that defied any explanation. They had never seen their parents argue or disagree, and they rarely had. Maybe
over where to hang what on the Christmas tree, and once Mark had had a fit when Janet had totaled his new car, but in the end, he apologized and told her he was glad she hadn't been hurt. He was a pretty easygoing guy, and she was a decent person too. Adam was just more exciting than Mark. According to Janet, he was forty-eight years old, had a lively practice, and lived in New York. He kept a sailboat on Long Island, and had been in the Peace Corps for four years. He had interesting friends and a fun life. He was divorced, and had never had kids. His wife hadn't been able to have any, and they didn't want to adopt. And he was crazy about the idea of Janet's kids. He even wanted two more of their own, which Janet had not mentioned to Mark, or the kids. They knew nothing about him yet. She was going to introduce him into their lives once they got settled in New York, and Mark suspected she had no intention of telling them that Adam was the reason she'd left him.

In comparison, Mark knew he was dull. He liked his work, and estate planning was something he enjoyed and did well, but it wasn't something he could discuss at length with her. She had wanted to go into criminal law, or child advocacy, and tax law had always bored her to tears. She and Mark played tennis several times a week, they went to movies, hung out with the kids, went to dinner with friends. It had been a comfortable, ordinary life for all of them. And now, nothing was comfortable anymore. The emotional anguish he felt was almost a physical pain. He had had a knife in his gut for the past five weeks. He had just started going to a therapist, at the suggestion of his
doctor, when Mark called and asked for sleeping pills, because he said he could no longer sleep. His life had become a living hell. He missed her, he missed his kids, he missed his life. In the blink of an eye, everything and everyone was gone, and now so was the house.

“Ready, Mark?” the realtor asked gently as she stuck her head in the bedroom door. He was just standing there, staring into space, lost in his own thoughts.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and walked out of the room, with one last glance back. It was like saying goodbye to a lost world, or an old friend. He followed her out of the house and she locked the door. He had given her all his keys. The money was being deposited into his account that afternoon, and he had promised to wire Janet her half. They had gotten a good price for it, which meant nothing to him now.

“Are you ready to start looking for something for you?” the realtor asked hopefully. “I have some great small houses for you up in the hills, and there's a little gem in Hancock Park. There are some nice apartments around right now too.” February was always a good month to look. The holiday doldrums were over, and some great listings came on the market in the spring. And with the sale of the house, and the price he'd gotten for it, she knew he had money to spend. Even his half was more than enough to buy himself a handsome new place. And he had a good job. Money wasn't a problem for Mark. Just everything else.

“I'm fine at the hotel,” he said, slipping into his Mercedes after thanking her again. She had done a great job, and closed the sale smoothly and in record
time. He almost wished she hadn't been so efficient, or had even lost the sale. He hadn't been ready to move on. It was something to talk about with his new therapist, grist for the mill. He had never been to a therapist before, and he seemed like a nice guy, but Mark wasn't sure it would help. Maybe with the sleep problem, but what could he do about the rest? No matter what they said in the counseling sessions, Janet and the kids were still gone, and without them he had no life. He didn't want a life. He wanted them. And now she belonged to someone else, and maybe the kids would like him better too. It was a devastating thought. He had never felt as hopeless in his life, or as lost.

He drove back to the office, and was back at his desk by noon. He dictated a stack of letters, and went over some reports. He had a partners' meeting that afternoon. He didn't even bother eating lunch. He had lost ten pounds in the last five weeks, maybe twelve. All he could do now was keep moving, putting one foot after the other, and try not to think. He did his thinking at night, when it all came back to him, and he heard her words again and again, and thought about the kids and how much they had cried. He called them every night, he had promised to come and visit them in a few weeks. He was taking them to the Caribbean over the Easter vacation, and they were going to come out to LA in the summer, but now he had nowhere for them to stay. Just thinking about all of it made him feel sick.

When he saw Abe Braunstein in a meeting about new tax laws late that afternoon, the accountant was stunned. Mark looked like he had a terminal disease.
He usually looked healthy and young and athletic, he was always in good spirits, and even though he was forty-two, Abe always thought of Mark as a nice kid. He looked like the boy next door. Now he looked like someone had died. And he felt as though he had.

“Are you all right?” Abe asked with a look of concern.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Mark answered vaguely, looking numb. His face even looked somewhat gray. He seemed exhausted and pale, and Abe was genuinely worried about him.

“You look like you've been sick. You've dropped a lot of weight.” Mark nodded, and didn't respond, and then after the meeting, he felt like a jerk for not reacting to Abe's concern. Abe was going to be the second person he'd told, the first being his therapist. He hadn't had the guts, or the stomach, to tell anyone else. It was too humiliating, it made him seem like such a loser, and he worried that people would think he'd been a shit to her. He wanted to explain, and he was torn between wanting to whine, and needing to hide.

“Janet left,” Mark said cryptically as they left the meeting side by side. It was nearly six o'clock. He hadn't heard half of what was said, and Abe had noticed that too. Mark looked like he was having an out-of-body experience, and felt like it. But at first, Abe didn't get his drift.

“On a trip?” he asked, looking confused.

“No. For good,” Mark explained, looking grim. But in a way, it was a relief to tell the truth. “She left three weeks ago. She moved to New York with the kids. I just sold the house. We're getting a divorce.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Abe said, feeling sorry for him. The poor guy looked destroyed. But he was young, he'd find another wife, maybe even have more kids. He was a good-looking guy, Abe had always thought. “That's really rough. I didn't know.” He hadn't heard a thing, although he did a lot of accounting work with Mark's firm. But they usually talked about tax law, or their clients, not about themselves. “Where are you living now?” It was funny how men asked each other what they were doing, not how they felt.

“In a hotel two blocks from here. It's kind of a dump, but it's okay for now.”

“Do you want to go out and get something to eat?” Abe's wife was expecting him at home, but Mark looked as though he needed a friend. He did, but he felt too lousy to go anywhere. Closing on the house had made everything seem even worse. It was tangible evidence that his life with Janet was over for good.

“No, thanks.” Mark managed to force out a smile. “Maybe another time.”

“I'll give you a call,” Abe promised, and left. He didn't know whose fault the divorce was, but it was obvious that Mark wasn't happy about it. He obviously didn't have anyone else. And Abe wondered if she did, she was a great-looking girl. They had looked like the all-American couple, the boy and girl next door. Both blond, both blue eyed, and their kids looked like poster children for the American way of life. They all looked like they were off a farm in the Midwest, although he and Janet had grown up within blocks of each other in New York. They had gone to all
the same high school dances, but never met. She had gone to Vassar and he to Brown, and they finally met at Yale Law School. It was the perfect life. But no more.

Mark stayed at the office shuffling papers on his desk until eight o'clock that night, and then finally went back to the hotel. He thought about picking up a sandwich on the way, but he wasn't hungry. Again. He had promised both his doctor and his therapist that he would try to eat. Tomorrow, he promised himself. All he wanted to do now was go to bed and stare at the TV. And maybe eventually sleep.

The phone was ringing when he reached his room. It was Jessica. She had had a good day at school, and gotten an A on a quiz. She was a high school sophomore, but she hated her new school. And so did Jason, he was in eighth grade. The adjustment was hard on them. Jason was playing soccer, and Jessica was on the varsity field hockey team. But she said the boys in New York were all geeks. And she was still blaming Mark for everything she didn't understand about the divorce.

He didn't tell her the house had closed that day, or that they would never see it again. He just promised that he would come to New York soon, and told them to say hi to Mom. And after he hung up, he just sat there in bed, staring at the TV, with tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

Jimmy O'Connor was lean
and athletic and strong. He had broad shoulders and powerful arms. He was a golfer and a tennis player. He had gone to Harvard and been on the ice hockey team. He had been a superb athlete in school, and still was. And he was a great guy. He had gone to graduate school, and got a master's in psychology at UCLA, while he did volunteer work in Watts. He had gone back the following year to get a degree in social work, and had never left Watts. At thirty-three, he had a life and a career he loved, and still managed to get a little time in for sports. He had organized a soccer team and a softball team for the kids he worked with. He placed kids in foster care, and removed them from abusive homes, homes where they were beaten or molested or abused. He carried children who had had bleach poured on them, or been burned, in his own arms to emergency rooms, and more than once he had brought them home until the right foster home could be found. The people he worked with said he had a heart of gold.

He had classic black Irish looks, jet-black hair, ivory skin, and huge dark eyes. There was an almost sensual
quality to his lips, and he had a smile that knocked women off their feet. It had knocked Maggie off hers. Margaret Monaghan. They were both from Boston, met at Harvard, and had come to the West Coast together when they graduated. They'd been living together since junior year. And grousing about it every inch of the way, they had gone to City Hall and gotten married six years before. Mostly to get their parents off their backs. It didn't make much difference to either of them, they claimed, and then grudgingly they admitted to each other that it was not only okay, it was nice. Getting married had been a good thing.

Maggie was a year younger than Jimmy and the smartest woman he'd ever known. There wasn't a woman like her in the world. She had a master's in psychology too, and was thinking about getting a Ph.D. She wasn't sure. And like him, she worked with inner-city kids. She wanted to adopt a flock of them, instead of having kids of their own. He was an only child, and she was the oldest of nine. She was from good, solid Boston Irish stock, originally from County Cork. Her parents had been born in Ireland and had powerful brogues which she imitated flawlessly. Jimmy's family had left Ireland four generations before. He was a distant cousin of the Kennedys, which she had teased him about mercilessly when she found out, and called him “Fancy Boy.” But she kept the information to herself, she just liked to rattle his cage. About anything and everything. He loved that about her. Brilliant, irreverent, beautiful, brave, with fiery red hair and green eyes, and freckles everywhere. She was his dream woman, and the love of his life. There
wasn't a single thing he didn't like about her, except maybe the fact that she couldn't cook and didn't care. So he cooked for both of them, and was proud of the fact that he was a pretty decent cook.