The Hurricane Sisters (30 page)

“Okay, tennis then. Or kayaking. Or hiking. Something. The point is we need to find something to do that brings us together that we can do all the time that we like.”

“What’s the matter with grilling or gardening or traveling?”

“Nothing! Those are all great ideas too! Let’s go to Bali!”

“Really?”

“Yes! The point is we should enjoy what we have earned. You know, it’s time to spend some of the fruits.”

“Or we can leave it all to the children.”

“Dumb idea.”

“Well, at least we agree on something. Look, Clayton, here’s what it comes down to. Either we’re staying married or we’re not. But one thing’s for sure, if we remain married, we’re not going back to how things were.”

“I completely agree.”

“You’ll have to accept the fact that you’re not the center of the universe.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just that. You are no longer going to stroll out of here when you feel like it and stroll back in expecting my world to stop and for me to wait on you hand and foot. We’re at a different stage in our lives now. The children are gone. And now I want you to pay some attention to me, be nice to me, and be my friend. Start acting like you love me. Even if you don’t love me, maybe you can convince yourself you do if you act like it long enough.”

“No, Liz. I do love you. More than anyone in my entire life.”

“And you are never going to utter one syllable that devalues my work. Is that understood? What I do literally saves lives and you know it. You and Maisie act like I’m working with gunslinging, drug-addicted lowlifes who live like animals when nothing could be further from the truth. Just look at all the abuse among the clergy! And the police officer in Beaufort who was beating his wife for years until she finally shot him? It’s the people who are supposed to protect us that abuse us! There’s so much anger and rage out there . . . it has to stop.”

“You’re right. I know that’s true, and I promise to learn more about your work and your mission. I swear I will.”

And then what? I thought.

“This work is my legacy, Clayton. What’s yours going to be?”

He stopped and stared at me again. He surely didn’t want the world to say that he was nothing more than a philandering moneymaking machine with the soul of a miser.

“I don’t know. I guess it would be good if our family knew that I changed. That I became a changed man. A much better man. Maybe I’ll join forces with you? I do love you, Liz. When I realized I might lose you, I thought I would
die
because I don’t want to live without you. It made me see how much you mean to me and how much our family means to me. And I want to be your best friend, the best one you’ve ever had. Please, I’m begging you, Liz.”

“You’re begging for what?” I said.

“I’m so, so sorry and I’m begging your forgiveness. I swear on everything that’s holy that I will be a better husband and that nothing this stupid will ever happen again!”

There was a long silence then as he waited for me to respond.

“Okay, Clayton. You’ve got the new ground rules committed to memory?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then we’re going to put this ugly business behind us and never speak of it again. Is that clear?”

“Clear as a bell. So I’m forgiven then?”

“I’m going to work on forgiving you, Clayton. You can sleep in the guest room and maybe you can seduce me into full forgiveness over time.”

“Can we kiss?”

“Oh . . . okay.”

He stood and came around to my side of the table and pulled me to my feet. Then he kissed me like he used to and I felt a wave of something wonderful radiate through me like I just stepped into the warmth of the sun for the first time in years. He put his hand on the back of my head and ran it down my hair.

“I love you,” he said. “Thank you, Liz.”

“For what?” I said. I looked at all the little wrinkles around his eyes, the deep creases in his forehead that appeared when he worried, and I knew I loved him too. I did.

“For another chance,” he said. “Um, is that spaghetti over there on the stove?”

“Yes. Would you like for me to heat it up for you?”

“Please. I’m starving. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Oh, why not?”

Ingrained behaviors are hard to change. I was like the proverbial horse to the barn as I served him a plate of pasta and he poured wine for us. We truly were creatures of our habits. I watched with some measure of satisfaction as he twirled and devoured every last strand and with a heretofore unwitnessed gusto, declaring it was the best thing he had ever tasted in his whole life. At least that’s what he said. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t so. I’d had enough truth for one night.

Nonetheless, we stayed up late, talking and talking. And we wept together as we made a vow to take his affair off the list of topics for discussion. Tears were so rare between us that we were reduced to a kind of vulnerability I hadn’t known since my sister’s death when I learned that anything can happen. He told me I was beautiful and smart, no, brilliant and such a wonderful woman, so selfless and generous and he praised how dedicated I was to my family and how none of them, the wretches they were, deserved me. The whole time he was running his mouth, telling me what a magnificent creature I was, I kept thinking, This is some bodacious bullshit coming out of his mouth. But I sort of loved it. I did. Bullshit, used smartly and with discretion, could be a very pleasant change of pace.

So that’s how I wound up here at the stove making pancakes this morning. It was almost eight and I planned to leave for work by nine, to avoid traffic. I put some bacon in the microwave to cook and melted some butter into the syrup over very low heat. I was no Barefoot Contessa but I could put the hurt on breakfast food. All I needed was a box of Bisquick. I set the table, and a few minutes later there was Clayton in the doorway, in his bathrobe and flip-flops.

“G’morning!” he said. “Do I smell bacon?”

“Yes, sir! Coffee?” I poured him a mug because I knew the answer and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “You know what?”

“What?”

I poured some batter into the pan and took two plates from the plate rack and set them on the counter by the stove.

“You should try the guest room mattress. It’s fabulous.”

I looked at him and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“Maybe I will,” I said and smiled.

“I meant what I said about taking a vacation, just you and me. Someplace really exotic where we’ve never been before. Like what about Bali? You always wanted to go there, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’d love to go. Who wouldn’t want to see Bali?”

He already sounded more like the Clayton I’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Most important, he was thinking of a future with me, a future of mutual discoveries, a starting-over adventure.

“Well, then, let’s do it!”

“You arrange it and I’ll pack. Meanwhile, I’m going to be late for work.”

We had a quick breakfast.

“Liz, I’ve been thinking.”

“Seems like we’ve been working overtime in that department.” I smiled at him. A smile didn’t cost anything. “What are you thinking about now?”

“Well, I’ve got to retire from work. And I want to put the apartment on the market. So I was thinking of leaving for New York on Monday and I’d come back as soon as I can, if this is okay with you?”

“I think that sounds great, Clayton. I think that sounds like a good plan.”

“I can just call a mover, right?”

“Absolutely. They’ll pack up everything for you.”

“What are we gonna do with all that stuff?”

“We can put it in the beach house. It needs refreshing.”

“Perfect,” he said and added, “God, I love pancakes. And I love you too.”

“Who doesn’t love pancakes? And I sort of still love you maybe.” I laughed. “Would you like more?”

“No, no.” He patted his tummy. “I’m completely satisfied.”

“Well, good,” I said, and I got up to put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he said. “New rule. You cook? I clean.”

“I like that,” I said. “See you tonight.”

I got in my car and while I was buckling my seat belt I was thinking that Maisie was right about two things. One, a reconciliation might be fun after all and, most important, I wasn’t going to let the one really stupid thing that happened in all these years tear my marriage and my family apart. But hell would freeze before I’d admit that to her.

I had no intention of discussing my marriage with anyone but Clayton, except to say here that I’m really glad I went to New York and that privately I was grateful Maisie and Ivy gave me the impetus to make the trip. I feel like facing the problem and dealing with it as I did was the only course I could have taken. Was I certain that forgiving Clayton and letting him come home would work? No, I was not. Not at all. But listen, Clayton didn’t have a history of catting around and I had known Sophia for what she was a long time ago. She was not a nice girl. Men were playthings to her. I’d seen her melt them and pour them in the sink like cold coffee, watching them circle the drain without a care for the havoc she left in her wake. She was heartless and jaded. Clayton didn’t know women like her. I did. There was a reason why they called the catwalk a catwalk—there were some dangerous felines up there slinking around. Mostly there were nice girls in the modeling world, but every now and then you’d run into one who was so narcissistic it would blow your mind. Sophia was a sparkling example. I hoped she’d have fun with her five-foot-four-inch-tall polo player. Poor Clayton. But at the same time I was saying
poor Clayton,
I was hoping he never completely healed from the stinging humiliation of his encounter with her.

My cell phone rang. As expected, it was Maisie.

“All right,” she said, “tell your mother. Is everything hunky-dory between you and Clayton?”

“We are going to be fine, thank you.” That was all I said.

“Well, for the record, it was Skipper who told him he should beg your forgiveness.”

“How’s Skipper feeling this fine sunny day?” I said, wondering if she had told the story of Clayton and Sophia to the mailman and the UPS deliverywoman and the woman who did her hair too.

“Skipper’s fine. He’s like Lazarus!”

“Well, I’m so glad to hear it. What a relief.”

“So I guess you’re not going to give me any details?”

“As I said before when I was cornered by you and Ivy? I think it’s inappropriate to discuss the details of my marriage with anyone. I don’t mean to seem rude, but Clayton and I have to work out our issues ourselves. It can’t be a topic for conjecture or judgment with anyone else or how can we maintain our dignity?”

“You’re right,” she said.

For a moment I thought I should pull over to the side of the road so I could faint. I could count the number of times I’d been right in Maisie’s eyes on one hand.

“Okay, then. I’m driving so I should probably hang up. Maybe we’ll see y’all this weekend? And if you need a thing, like a ride to the doctor’s office, call Clayton. He’s going to be home until Monday. Then he’s going back to New York to take care of a few things.”

“Really! You trust him?”

“Maisie! Let’s not go there, okay? And he’s planning a vacation for us. He needs to relax a little.”

“Yes, that’s probably the best thing for y’all. Where are you planning on going?”

“We were thinking about something exotic like Bali.”

“I wish I could go on a vacation like that.”

“Well, I’ll be your guinea pig and I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Okay! Love you! Gotta go now!”

If she thought I was taking her and Skipper to Bali or wherever Clayton decided we should go to rediscover our romance, she was really cracked.

The phone rang again. The number was unfamiliar but I took the call anyway.

“Mrs. Waters? It’s Mary Beth. Ashley’s roommate?”

“Hi, honey! Is everything all right?”

“Oh, sure. I guess. I just wanted to talk to you about something and I was wondering if I could come by your office today?”

“Of course you can. Want to come for lunch? It’s pizza day.”

“Wow! Pizza. That would be great,” she said. “I just have a lot on my mind and I really feel like I need another perspective.”

“Well, these days, perspective seems to be my specialty so why don’t you come on over around noon? We’ll grab a couple of slices and close my office door. We can powwow.”

“That sounds great. I’ll see you then! Thanks!”

I gave her the address and we hung up. I started to wonder. What was bothering Mary Beth that was important enough to reach out to me? When she was just a freshman in college, we used to have soul-searching discussions all the time. But that was a long time ago. I’d find out soon enough. Well, whatever the reason was, I was very happy for her to come to me.

We ordered pizza at work one day a week, just for the fun of it. It brought the office together and gave us a chance to talk to one another about work and things other than work. Tom had a place he liked that delivered, so he always did the ordering. Our full-time staff was made up of only nine people including Tom and me. There was Dee, the director of Program Services, Lee Ann, our shelter coordinator, Sam, who ran Client Services, and Meg, Kristi, Lisa, Lee, and Barb, who did everything else. Our part-time staff provided counseling, advocacy, and all the other necessary help associated with Family Court and the Department of Social Services. Their backgrounds and experiences were as diverse as you could hope they would be. But here was the one lighthearted thing we all had in common: a passion for pepperoni and mushrooms on thin crust pizza. So Thursday was the appointed pizza day at My Sister’s House and every week Tom bought us two extralarge pies and a huge mixed green salad. I was so happy I didn’t have to eat boneless skinless chicken on a bag of salad that smelled like cellophane. And I didn’t have to eat white meat turkey on rye with mustard. And for one more day I could forgo white meat tuna packed in water on a bed of raw spinach with lemon juice. It was Thursday and by golly, I was going to eat pizza like a teenaged boy.