The Last Original Wife (18 page)

“What?”

“I miss her. You can't believe how hard it is to get along without her. I have to take my shirts to the cleaners, I have to fix my own breakfast—I mean, it's damn lonely. Can you pass the mustard?”

“Yeah. Here. Wes, I don't know what to tell you. To begin with, I have a really hard time thinking about Les and some other guy.”

“How do you think I feel?”

After lunch we went out to play nine holes, and the afternoon sun was bearing down on us something fierce. Still, we played some of the best golf we'd played in ages.

Every other shot Harold would say, “Women.”

And I would reply, “You're telling me?”

“You know what, Harold?” I hit my ball a clean two hundred yards, and it landed right in the middle of the fairway. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What's that?” He hit the ball with a clean
thwack,
and it landed close to the pin.

“Nice shot! You put that baby right up there on the dance floor!”

“Thanks. Now what are you thinking about?”

“Well, you don't really want more kids anyway, do you?”

“Whaddya out of your cotton-picking mind?”

“What if Cornelia gets pregnant?”

The look on Harold's face was beyond horror. I thought he might faint.

“You know, my momma used to say, marry in haste, repent at leisure. She sure had my number. I'm really starting to think this marriage was a mistake.”

“Well, she is young.”

“Yeah,
too
young. Are you really going to divorce Les?”

“Nah, I'm gonna make her beg to come home. Why should I spend the money until I have to?”

“So you're not all that upset about her being with that guy in the restaurant?”

“I don't love it, but isn't she the one who said I should consider us to be separated? I'm saving this nugget for later, if I need it. Wouldn't you?”

“Oh, man. I'm the litigator, and still, I wouldn't want to be on the other side of the table from you.”

“Thanks. Now let's get outta here before we drop dead from this heat and the women inherit everything.”

“Wes? I gotta tell you this, you ought to convince her to come home. She's a good woman.”

“Probably should. It would sure make my life a lot easier.”

“And think of all the money you'll save. I know these shrinks who run a very high end business. They save all kinds of marriages.”

“Well, let me have the number.”

We hit the showers. The soap and hot water felt so good. And then I was afraid my luck had run out. I felt a lump. This could not be a good thing.

CHAPTER 15

Les Dances

I
t was the last week of July. Jonathan and I were having our daily midmorning chat. I told him that I thought it was high time I made dinner for him, and he seemed delighted by the idea. The man had been spoiling me to pieces. We'd been to every restaurant in the city, west of the Ashley and east of the Cooper. We'd had take-out Chinese, Japanese, and Thai at his house on Sullivans Island and Harlan's at least twice a week. It was high time I stepped up and cooked. The sling was long gone.

“What's your favorite meal of all time?”

“Whatever you're in the mood to fix,” he said.

“So if I made fricassee of calves' liver and onions stuffed in the spleen of an iguana with boiled Brussels sprouts on the side, you'd be thrilled?” It was the weirdest combination I could think of at that moment.

“I'd eat mud pie made from real mud if you put it in front of me.”

“You're so full of it!” I laughed.

“Yes. Yes, I am. In any case, give me a clue on the menu and I'll bring the wine.”

“Deal. I'll call you after I shop. But I was thinking mousse of sole or whatever whitefish I can find, with a lobster sauce, little potatoes, and a nice salad, and maybe some kind of fruit for dessert? How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a lot of work. I don't want you to go to so much trouble.”

“Jonathan? I'll throw burgers on the grill another night. You've taken me out to dinner so many times that I need to put on the dog for you. Besides, my brother's kitchen has every gadget you can think of, so modern inventions will be doing most of the work.”

“Well, this dog appreciates it. I'm already starving. Look what you've done to me. It's only ten thirty and my mouth is watering for lunch.”

“Okay, my dear. I'll call you in a bit.”

“Great! I'll talk to you later.”

I got my things together and made a list for the grocery store. Just as I was pulling my phone off the charger, it rang. It was Wes. I had not heard from him since I e-mailed him I wasn't coming home, which was further proof to me that I shouldn't be married to him. Since I'd told him I didn't want to hear him scream ever again, I thought, Well, if he's calling me now, he's probably not going to scream. So I answered it.

“Wes?”

I thought I heard a man sobbing on the other end of the phone. Was it Wes?

“Wes? Talk to me! Are you all right? Is Charlotte okay? Dear God, nothing's happened to Holly! Wes! Answer me!”

“I have cancer,” he said with huge gulping sobs.

“Oh, my God! Wes!
What
are you telling me?”

“I have to have an operation.”

He sobbed some more, and I said, “Oh, Lord, Wes. I'm so sorry. Do you want to tell me what kind?”

“Testicular. I'm scared, Les! I might die!”

“You're not going to die, Wesley. You're going to be fine.” I didn't know that obviously, but my reflex was to reassure him. “Did your doctor say it spread?”

Wes cleared his throat and regained control of himself. “He's not going to know until they take out the tumor, and I guess some tissue around it?”

“Who's your doctor? I mean, are you sure it's the best guy?”

“Yeah, he is. This guy is Harold's client and he's the top urologist in Atlanta for this kind of thing. Don't worry, I checked him out too. He's the one to get. Jesus, Les.” He sighed so powerfully I could almost feel his breath. “I wish you'd come home and take care of me.”

I knew that was coming.

“When's your surgery?”

“August thirteenth. It was the first date I could get.”

“I'll try, Wes. Let me think about it.”

There was dead silence. Then he exploded.

“
Think
about it? Really? Well,
that's
nice! I'm your
husband,
Les! You're
supposed
to take care of me!”

“Excuse me, but I'm no longer taking orders from you!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! And lower your voice or I'm hanging up.”

“You don't tell
me
what to do either!”

“Hey, Wes? Why don't you ask Cornelia to come sit with you like you asked her to sit with me in Edinburgh?” I couldn't believe I'd said that to him, but at least he quieted down.

“Let me ask
you
something, Leslie. Just who's the man you're having a nice cozy dinner with in the picture I saw in the
Atlanta Journal Constitution
?”

Oh! My! God!

“What? Oh, please. He's just an old friend I grew up with. Besides, he's got nothing to do with you and me.” When did I learn to lie like that?

“Okay, Leslie. Have it your way. Your husband's got
cancer
and you'll
think
about whether or not you want to see him through major surgery. Very nice. Sorry I bothered you.”

The phone went dead.

I collapsed in a chair, practically breathless. It wasn't like I hated Wes or
anything
remotely close to that and I
was
really sorry to hear his news. But I really didn't want to walk back into that life, get trapped in the quicksand of it, and disappear. I just didn't want the anxiety of being there or of leaving again. I didn't need it, and to tell the truth, I was so happy in Charleston, the happiest I'd been in years. Why would I throw it all away? To go home to a screaming maniac? I don't think so. What
was
I going to do about Wes?

For the moment, I was going to put it all out of my mind and concentrate on making the most beautiful dinner I'd ever prepared. I needed to get my bearings again.

“I'll be right back, Miss Jo! Just going to the grocery store.”

I would swear on a stack of bibles that the dog speaks English. She practically nodded at me and hopped on her dining room bed.

Of course, it was ridiculous to think I could temporarily ignore Wes's phone call. It was all I could think about. I drove Harlan's crazy car down to Harris Teeter, and as I went up one aisle and down the other, dropping things into the cart I'd never eat, I thought about how frightened Wes sounded. He probably really
was
scared. On the other hand, we weren't on the phone for two minutes before he was yelling and pushing me around again. And what did I know about testicular cancer? Nothing except that it was pretty rare. I'd google it. I'd ask Jonathan. I wondered what he would say when I told him the news. I paid for my groceries, pushed the cart outside, and starting loading the bags into the trunk.

My cell phone rang and I looked at the caller ID. It was Charlotte. Even though cars were backing out and pulling in all around me, I answered.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “I'm just at the grocery store in the parking lot. It's one hundred degrees in the shade. I'll be home in five minutes. Can I call you back?”

“Mom! Don't hang up! You know Daddy has cancer, right?”

“Yes, I spoke to him this morning.”

“Mom! This is a
very
big deal!”

“Of course it is! Did you hear me say it wasn't?”

“He told me you weren't even coming home for his surgery!”

“Charlotte, listen to me. Don't get involved with this. It's between Daddy and me.”

“Mom! Even Bertie is flying home from Kathmandu!”

“Which your father probably demanded?”

“I don't know, but Dad's terrified. You've
got
to be here!”

“Guess what? I don't need you to tell me what I have to do. I told him I'd consider it.”

“Oh, nice. I bet
that
made him feel better.”

“It is no longer my job to make him feel better. Or to take any lip from you. Is that clear?”

Silence.

“Mom? What's happened to you?”

“Charlotte? What newspaper do you read?”

“The
AJC,
like everybody else. Why?”

“Who do you think might have called your father and told him to check out a picture with Mayor Reed in the foreground?”

Silence.

“Did he tell you I told him?”

“No. He did not. You just did.”

Pause.

“Mom? Look, I probably shouldn't have told him, but I did because I think the two of you are in trouble. You're my mother . . .”

“I'd still be your mother if I moved to Mars.”

“Daddy is so short tempered and miserable since you've been gone. I don't care what he says or how he acts, he loves you, Mom. And now he's got this horrible cancer. You can tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I really think you ought to come home. I mean,
please
come home because if anything happens to him I couldn't take it if I didn't have you to help me get through it.”

“Charlotte? I never told him I wouldn't come. I said I'd think about it. Okay? And nothing's going to happen to him. He's going to be just fine.”

“Mom, I know Dad's being very dramatic about this and I'm sure you're right, but what if the anesthesiologist gives him too much juice and his heart stops?”

“Now who's being dramatic?”

“That's how Jim Henson died, you know, the guy who created the Muppets? If it could happen to
him
. . .”

“Charlotte, come on now. And besides, Jim Henson died from pneumonia.”

“I'm just saying a million things can go wrong. People die in hospitals all the time. There's this disease called MRSA? And there's C. diff?”

“Let's talk later, okay?”

We hung up and I looked at my phone.

“You're just like your father,” I said, threw it in my purse, and got in the car.

So Bertie had been guilt tripped into getting on a plane and coming home. As I was driving back to Harlan's, I thought, Wes must have really laid it on thick. But if Wes knew anything, it was how to work your gizzards until he got what he wanted. And he had to have an audience. Why had it taken me so long to see that? In any case, it would be awfully nice to lay my eyes on my only son. I had not seen him in almost a year. But there was also nothing to stop Bertie from making a side trip to see me in Charleston, was there?

I brought all the groceries inside the house. Someone had set the table, and it was set perfectly as though they already knew what I was going to prepare.

“Thank you!” I called out to the thin air. “I wish you would iron.” Then I laughed.

My mind was still glued to Wes. I put everything away as quickly as I could and booted up Harlan's computer. I googled
testicular cancer
and got thousands of sites offering information in seconds. Memorial Sloan-Kettering had tons of information and I felt much better after I read it. The odds were that Wes was going to be fine. But still, the Big C was scary like all hell.

I called Danette while I sliced and diced. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey!” I said. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news? I was just going to call you!”

“About Wes?”

“No. What?”

I told her the whole story about Wes's cancer and she said, “Why in the world didn't Harold tell me?”

“Because he's probably focused on his life. Anyway, I have to figure out whether or not I'm going to come back and get Wes through his ordeal.”

“Well, I probably would if I were you.”

“Really? I guess I probably will.”

“Yeah. You have to. I mean, who's he got? Charlotte? Harold? Paolo? Look, if you decide to come to Atlanta, you know you're welcome to stay here with me. And I think I heard they do that surgery practically on an outpatient basis. It's pretty routine.”

“Unless it's spread,” I said.

“Let's hope not. Meanwhile, on a lighter note, I've got a hot date tonight.”

“How's that going?”

“Um. My coat's shiny.”

“Girl?”

Then we
really
laughed.

“Well, I've got to run too. Jonathan's coming for dinner, and I've got a ton of things to do.”

“Poor Wes. I'll say a prayer for him.”

“Wes sure needs prayers. Lord knows he does.”

I took a shower and blew out my hair, and threw on a sundress with my most comfortable sandals. The problem with cooking was that you stood on your feet while you cooked and then you stood some more while you served and then you stood again while you cleaned up. By the time the night is all over, you're so tired and your legs hurt so badly that you could lie down and die. Did I mention my lower back? Hence, the comfortable shoes. God, was I middle-aged or what?

But I was smarter that night than I normally was, perhaps because the fuel of family conflict put my brain in high gear. Everything was quickly put together, and all the prep dishes were washed and put away except for the bowl of salad and the platter of fresh fruit in the refrigerator. And the fish mousse was chilling in an oiled mold, ready to slip into the water bath in the roasting pan in the oven. The lobster sauce was in a saucepan (I was using premade lobster bisque that I reduced—much easier!) and only needed to be warmed up, and the potatoes were in another pot, ready to boil. My parsley was minced, and I was ready for a lovely night with Jonathan. This was one of those menus that looked hard but wasn't.

I hadn't made a meal like this in eons, but Jonathan was more than worth the effort. It was pretty obvious to both of us that we were more than old friends, but I still had these moments when I felt like we really shouldn't have been fooling around in the sack until I got divorced.
If
I divorced Wes, that is. But on the other hand, what was Wes going to do? Send me to my room? Jonathan was so nice and so smart, he had gorgeous manners, he was attentive, and he made me feel beautiful. Did Wes offer any of those qualities? No, he did not.