The Perfect Life (16 page)

Her office had a modest-sized desk in one corner with a computer and a couple of bright-colored file folders on it. Two chairs, an upholstered rocker, and a sofa lined the walls, along with a bookcase and a number of children's toys.

“Would you like a beverage? We've got tea or coffee or a choice of sodas to offer.”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

She motioned toward the sofa, then she sat on the chair nearest the desk, the clipboard with my completed paperwork placed on her lap.

“Why don't you tell me about yourself.”

“Where should I start?”

“Anywhere you wish.”Her smile was both kind and patient.

I heard the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. “My husband is Brad Clarkson.” I clenched and unclenched my hands. “Perhaps you've seen the news reports about him.”

The kindness remained in her eyes. “Yes, I believe so.”

“That's why I'm here.”

Donna O'Keefe nodded once as she scribbled something on the paper on the clipboard. I wondered what she wrote. Perhaps it was better not to know.

I glanced toward the window, the lengthening silence making me uncomfortable, as if I was doing this all wrong. I wasn't used to talking about myself. Not about such private things.

I frowned. Susan said I had perfectionism and control issues. Was she right? I'd never thought so.

“Go on,” Donna said.

Haltingly at first, I told her about the evening of the awards banquet, about Greta St. James and Nicole Schubert, about the troubles at In Step and Brad's decision to leave his position in an attempt to rescue the foundation from scandal and possible collapse.

But I didn't tell her how things were between Brad and me, about my fears and distrust, about how awful I felt that I had so little faith in him, how little faith I had in God to bring us through, about the anger that simmered below the surface of my emotions. I didn't tell her I was afraid my marriage might end, or that I felt helpless to do anything to stop it from happening, or that I sometimes wished it
would
end, which scared me even more. I didn't say that I felt like a failure, that I felt stupid and naive and ashamed and humiliated.

I couldn't. So I told her what I could, talking more about my daughters and their husbands, talking about the pain I felt over the lost grandchild, talking about my involvement at church, talking about anything except what mattered most. All the while, Donna watched, listened, nodded, and made an occasional sympathetic sound in her throat while she took notes.

When she glanced at her wristwatch, then set aside the pen, I knew the session was over. Funny, I wasn't ready to go. I wanted to say something that would make the past weeks disappear or change or become easier in some way. I wanted her to tell me what I could do to make that happen.

“I've got you down for the same time next week.” Donna looked at her scheduling book. “Does that still work for you?”

I nodded, but inside I wondered if I would keep the appointment. I couldn't see that anything had been accomplished.

As if reading my mind, she said, “Don't worry, Katherine. These things take time to work through. Be patient.”

I gave a half laugh. “I'm not a very patient person.”

Another gentle smile—one that made me believe she might not think less of me were I to reveal the darker corners of my heart.

Maybe I would return next week.

Brad was mowing the backyard when I arrived home.

I hadn't told him that I'd made an appointment with a counselor. For that matter, the two of us rarely spoke to each other anymore. We'd been cocooned in silence since the day I discovered Nicole's name on the caller ID.

“I can take everything else, Kat . . . But I can't take what's happening
between us.”

The defeat I'd heard in his voice when he spoke those words tugged at my heart even now. I didn't
want
to hurt him anymore than I wanted to
be
hurt.

Or maybe I
did
want to hurt him. Maybe I wanted to see him suffer. I blamed him for our current troubles, and we both knew it.

I stood for a short while at the kitchen window, watching Brad push the mower from one end of the yard to the other. He'd been out looking for work when I left to see the counselor. I hoped he wouldn't ask where I'd been.

The growl of the mower fell silent. An instant later I realized he stood near the patio, staring at me through the window. After a few moments, he walked across the concrete, removed his shoes, and opened the back door, stepping inside in his stocking feet.

“Have you been home long?” he asked.

“Not long.”

He pointed toward the answering machine. “You've got a couple of messages from gals in your Bible study group.”

I nodded. “I'll listen to them later.”

At least one woman from my study group had called me every day since this nightmare began. After canceling our regular meeting on the night of Nicole's
Our View
interview, I'd made the decision to begin our group's summer break several weeks earlier than other years. I was too emotionally overwhelmed to continue with it. Thankfully, they'd understood.

“We're praying for you,” were words I'd heard daily ever since.

“I've got good news,” Brad said, intruding on my thoughts. “I found work. I start tomorrow. It's temporary but the pay is fair.”

“What sort of work?”

“Framing. Swinging the old hammer.”He mimed the action. “The boss thought he could use me for about a month.”

A month. That wasn't long.

“I'll keep looking for a permanent position in my off-hours.”

Our savings account balance was well below what it needed to be, and our retirement accounts were almost a joke. Our financial advisor had told us repeatedly that we needed to be more disciplined about setting aside money for emergencies. Brad would agree and promise to be better about saving. Then he would hear about an individual who needed financial help or about another good cause in need. And the money would be gone.

I swallowed a sigh. “Have you heard anything from Stan about the AG's investigation? If they clear you . . .” I let the sentence go unfinished.

Brad shook his head.“No word yet. And even if that's cleared up soon, the . . . other matter is unresolved.”

Unresolved. Meaning the board still might not reinstate him because of Nicole. At least not any time soon.

“Will we have enough money to see us through?” I asked.

“God will provide, Kat.”

“God will provide.”
Brad said those words often. He believed them. Did I?

Bad things happened to good people. I knew that. Even the Bible said “when” instead of “if.” But I'd believed we were exempt. After all, we'd devoted our lives to God's service. We shouldn't have to walk through the fire or pass through the waters. Should we?

It isn't fair.

I heard the whine in my thoughts.

I'm sure God heard it too.

Twenty-one

I WAS IN THE GROCERY STORE, IN THE CANNED FRUITS AND
vegetables aisle, when I came face-to-face with Nicole Schubert. Our gazes collided, and we froze, like wild animals caught in a rifle's crosshairs.

Conflicting impulses warred within me. I wanted to whirl about and run from the store. I wanted to slam my grocery cart into her, causing her pain, maybe breaking something.

I did neither.

“Katherine,” she said at last.

I wouldn't dignify her greeting with a reply.

“I know you must be hurt, finding out this way.”

“Don't speak to me.”My words were barely audible. “Don't you
dare
speak to me.”

“I never meant to hurt you. It just happened. I couldn't—”

I grabbed my purse from the cart, turned on my heel, and headed for the exit. I'd reached my car before I realized Nicole had followed me outside. I pressed the remote to unlock the door.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

“Katherine, wait. We should talk.”

I whirled around, blinded with sudden rage. “Don't say another word. Leave me alone.”

“Don't you want to hear my side of the story?”

“No.”The word was squeezed through gritted teeth. “I don't want to hear anything you have to say.”

“I can't help it that I fell in love with Brad.”

Clichéd though it might be, I wanted to scratch her eyes out.

“I'll bet he denies the affair, doesn't he? I'll bet he swears he's innocent.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw people stopping in the parking lot, staring at us—the betrayed wife and her husband's mistress. Thanks to the local news, our faces were known to thousands of strangers.

Nicole took a step closer to me. “He should have kept the promises he made me. None of this had to happen this way. No one else needed to become involved.” She paused and her eyes widened. “I don't believe it. You're going to stand by him, aren't you?”

I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of a reply. Or maybe I didn't know what to say. Was I going to stand by him?

“Katherine, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”

Her words were like a slap. They sent me spinning toward my car. I yanked open the door and got in. Hand shaking, I managed—after two failed attempts—to fit the key into the ignition switch. When I looked up again, Nicole was gone.

The shaking spread throughout my body. Drawing in a breath, I hit the steering wheel with the balls of my hands. Once. Twice. Again. A sound rose up from that spot just above the breastbone and tore itself from my throat. Part groan. Part squeal.

Why? I want to know why!

It was a good five to ten minutes before I felt under control again, enough to start the engine and leave the grocery store's parking lot. As I drove toward home, I heard voices from the past weeks replaying in my mind.

“Listen to me.”
Emma.
“She's lying. Anyone who knows Dad
the way we do won't give credence to what she says.”

Hayley.
“Mom, if you think Dad was unfaithful, you don't
have to stay with him. You can come stay with me and Steve until
you get things sorted out.”

Susan.
“I'm never surprised when a man strays. I guess I'm
more surprised when they don't.”

Nicole.
“I'll bet he denies the affair, doesn't he? I'll bet he
swears he's innocent.”

Brad.
“It isn't true, Kat.”

Nicole.
“Katherine, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”

Brad.
“I was never unfaithful. I swear it.”

Nicole.
“You're a bigger fool than I thought.”

A bigger fool . . . a bigger fool . . . a bigger fool . . .

“It isn't true, Kat.”

Who could find the truth in all the chaos that had become my life?