The Perfect Life (15 page)

Come Sunday morning, with Brad off to church solo, I wandered around the house, feeling restless and taking no pleasure in the solitude. Maybe I should have gone. Anyone at church who was prone to gossip would gossip anyway,maybe even more when they saw Brad without me.

After walking into the kitchen for the fifth time in half an hour, I poured myself a cup of coffee, then moved to the telephone, thinking I might call Susan. I picked up the cordless handset, set it down, picked it up again. It was early. She'd said I could call anytime, but I knew she liked to sleep in on the weekends. I should wait a while.

Telephone in one hand, coffee cup in the other, I walked to the easy chair in the family room and sank onto it. I blew across the surface of the hot beverage before taking several sips. My eyes went to the face of the phone. Fifty-seven calls in the log, the screen said. With my thumb, I began to scroll through the log in order to clear the screen. Susan's name and number. Emma's name and number. Hayley. Susan again. In Step. Emma again. Harvest Christian. Emma. Harvest Christian. Brad's cell phone. Stan Ludwig's office. In Step. Susan. Emma.

N Schubert.

I was several numbers past it before the name registered. I moved my thumb and scrolled backward.

N Schubert 10:23A May 6

Nicole called
here
? I glanced at the calendar. May 6. Tuesday morning, the day after Hayley miscarried. Were Brad and I at home when the call came or at the hospital? I couldn't remember.

I set aside the phone and coffee cup and massaged my temples.

I couldn't believe she had the nerve to call after what she'd said to the media. What gall! What on earth could she want? To apologize? Not likely. To talk to me? Never. To talk to Brad? Yes, that would be the reason for her call. She'd wanted to talk to Brad. She must have called our home dozens of times in the past two years, and I'd never suspected a thing.

A hard lump formed in my stomach. Had Brad taken this call and not told me?

I stood and hurried into the kitchen where I grabbed my purse and keys on my way out. I almost didn't give the garage door time to rise before I started the engine and slipped the gear into reverse. God alone knows if I looked behind me before backing into the street, or if I stopped at red lights, or if I looked both ways when going through intersections.

I drove aimlessly, no destination in mind. My eyes were dry, my heart cold.

She'd come into my home, even attended my Bible study. She'd pretended to be my friend. But it wasn't friendship she was after. It was my husband.

It appeared she was after him still.

Should I let her have him?

The pain in my heart was sharp, and I groaned aloud as I pulled onto a side street and parked at the curb.

Does he want her?

He said he didn't. Could I believe him?

I
should
believe him. There must be something wrong in our marriage that my trust could be so easily shaken.

But was Brad the cause?

Or was the problem with me?

It was early evening before I returned home. Brad opened the front door as I pulled into the drive. I stopped without entering the garage. When our gazes met, I turned the key, silencing the motor.

“Are you all right?” he asked as I stepped from the car.

I shook my head, nodded, shrugged.

“I tried to call you.” He came toward me, stopping midway between me and the front stoop.

“My cell wasn't on.”

“Where'd you go?”

“For a drive. I needed to think.”

“That was a mighty long drive. You've been gone for hours.” His voice lowered. “I was worried, Kat.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Have you eaten?”

I shook my head.

“I'll make you a sandwich.”

“I'm not hungry.”

A frown furrowed his brow.

There were more creases around his eyes and mouth than had been there a month ago. Maybe more gray hair at his temples, too. And his shoulders seemed bent under some unseen weight.

“She called here, Brad.”

“Who?”

“Nicole.”

His eyes widened. “You talked to her?”

“No.” A pause, then, “Did you?”

“No. I thought you said . . .”He shook his head. “When did she call?”

“Last Tuesday. I saw her number on the caller ID.”

He said something beneath his breath, then he turned and walked into the house. I closed the car door and followed after him. He stood waiting for me in the kitchen, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. Something about his stance made me nervous.

“We can't go on like this.” His voice was low, somber.

I almost asked what he meant, but the words stuck in my throat. I couldn't ask. I knew what he meant.

“What's made you distrust me this much?”

“I don't—” I stopped. Saying I didn't distrust him would be a lie.

“You don't what?”

“I don't . . . know.”

He turned and placed the flat of his hands on the counter, leaning into them, head bowed.

Did he pray? Probably. But I didn't. My heart was like stone, my prayers silenced.

I'd loved Brad more than half my life. He'd been my friend, my husband,my coworker,my lover. He knew some of my secrets, most of my sins, and all of my dreams.

Did I know him in the same way? A month ago I would have said yes. Today I didn't know what to answer.

“I can take everything else, Kat. I can take losing In Step. I can take the gossip and the garbage in the media. But I can't take what's happening between us. If you don't believe in me, I'm done for.”

“I'm trying.”

He turned to face me. “You shouldn't have to try. You should
know
.”

“I'm doing the best I can.”

Something in his eyes made me wonder if my best would be good enough.

Emma

ON WEDNESDAY, EMMA MET HER DAD FOR LUNCH AT
Applebee's.

“My treat,” she told him as they slipped into the booth.

“I think I can still afford to buy my daughter lunch.”

“I don't care. This is my treat.”

He chuckled. “Okay. I can tell when it's useless to argue with you.”

“Good.” She opened the menu, then looked at him again. “How's the job hunt going?”

“Not great. I thought I'd have something by now. I don't feel old, but that's how a lot of employers look at me. Maybe they're unsure if I can handle the physical labor after so many years behind a desk.”

“You're
not
old. One look at you and they can see that.”

He patted the back of one of her hands against the table. “Thanks, honey. Remind me of that on my next birthday.”

“It's so stupid. It isn't like you don't have a ton of experience. You had your own successful construction company, and even after you sold it, you were out helping on the In Step job sites all the time. Somebody's gotta see the value of that.”

“Maybe I should take you with me on my next interview.”

“Maybe you should.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

It hurt her heart to see him looking defeated. That went so against his nature. No matter what the circumstances, he'd always held on to hope. He was the first one to lend a helping hand to a neighbor or a brother in Christ. He was the guy who came up with a million ideas when a problem needed solving. And when all else failed, he was a great one for making people laugh.

Now he looked like he might not ever laugh again.

They spent a short while looking over the menu and were ready when the waitress arrived. They both ordered their favorites. Comfort food and lots of it. She would need to walk an extra mile or two on her regular evening stroll.

After the waitress left their table, her dad said, “How's Hayley?”

Emma wished he hadn't asked. Talking about her sister wasn't likely to lighten his mood.

“I've left her a couple of messages,” he added, “but she hasn't returned my calls.”

“She's still pretty upset about losing the baby.”

“She blames me for that.”

She murmured something meant to sound like a denial, even though she knew he was right. Hayley did blame their dad. For the miscarriage, for the reporters, for the gossip, for it all.

“Yes, Emma, she does blame me.”

“Well, if she does, she'll get over it. Give her some time. She'll come around. You'll see.”

He lowered his gaze to his water glass that he turned slowly with his fingertips. His voice lowered. “Things aren't good between your mother and me either.”

“Oh, Dad. I'm sorry.”

“Well . . .”He drew in a breath as he sat straighter, his shoulders back and head up. “I didn't agree to meet you for lunch so I could depress you. Let's talk about something else, shall we? Didn't I hear something about Jason bringing home a puppy?”

Emma loved her dad. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do to lift his spirits. If talking about the puppy Jason had given her for Mother's Day would help, then that was what she would do.

For hours if necessary.

Twenty

I NEVER
SHOULD'VE
AGREED TO THIS.

I slipped the pen into the top of the clipboard and returned the completed paperwork to the receptionist. The young woman smiled and said, “Donna will be with you shortly.”

Donna O'Keefe was one of three professional counselors Susan had recommended to me.“You'll like her. She's a Christian like you and very down-to-earth.”

I had no business seeing a counselor. Not with the hourly rate charged. Brad's medical coverage had ended when he began his unpaid leave, and COBRA was going to cost us an arm and a leg. But I'd finally faced the truth. I needed help. I was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions. If I didn't want to counsel with someone at our church—and I didn't—then I would have to pay for someone's services.

I heard voices coming from the hallway. A moment later, two women entered the reception area. One was around my age, tall and slender, dressed in a business suit, a Blackberry held in her left hand. The other looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, and she was what my mother called pleasantly plump. She wore a turquoise T-shirt-style top coupled with a long, flowing skirt.

I looked expectantly toward the younger of the two, but she walked past me and out the office door.

“Ms. Clarkson?”

I turned my gaze toward the older woman. “Yes.”

She held out her hand. “I'm Donna O'Keefe. Why don't you come with me?”

I shook her hand, then rose and followed her down the narrow hallway. Nerves fluttered in my stomach. Maybe it would have been easier to talk to someone I knew rather than to a stranger. But at least Donna looked like a nice person. More like someone's grandmother than a college-educated professional with a half dozen initials after her name.