Authors: Tara McTiernan
"If I wanted to go back to college, I would've," Bianca had said over the phone when she'd called Chelsea. Her calling Chelsea just to talk was so strange that Chelsea didn't know what to say, so she said almost nothing. Luckily, Bianca had been chatty. Unluckily, it was mostly about John and her suspicions, which she continued to pursue relentlessly, prodding Chelsea for ideas.
Chelsea shivered a little and turned her mind quickly away from the thought of her betrayed friend, instead inspecting the stores she was passing. Ann Taylor was the next store and easy to pass, Chelsea already having raided their summer collection when she was at the mall last week. The next was Lamb's Moon, a baby boutique. She paused and gazed covetously at the little outfits that were displayed in the window along with many soft white lambs made of wool that cavorted on the green-painted floor.
Would she and John end up married with children of their own? And what about little Sebastian? How would he fit in to their new family? She couldn't imagine it anymore, her bright dreams clouded by guilt and the ever-present terror of Bianca finding out about her and John. Could she do this, what they were planning on? Would she even need to decide? John was more and more standoffish about future plans in the last few weeks. He said, in spite of bugging the house and searching through Bianca's things, that he hadn't been able to find out one bad thing about his wife. As well, the nanny told him Bianca's attitude had abruptly changed and she was insisting now on knowing if anything went wrong with the baby, going so far as to require a daily written report of his general health, behavior, temperament, eating habits, and even bowel movements.
"It's as if she knows I'm trying to find something," John said, lying in bed on his back and staring at the ceiling. He hadn't wanted to make love that night, yet another night when he'd seemingly lost interest as soon as they were in bed together.
Curling up on her side and stroking his exposed arm and hand that lay on top of the sheet, Chelsea said, "No, it can't be. She doesn't know. She suspects though. Not us, but still."
"I wonder if she found one of the bugs."
"She didn't, she would have told me. Did I tell you she even called me the other day? Just to talk! She never does that."
"Maybe she's changed."
"You said she was made of ice. How could that change?"
"People change all the time. Maybe she did," he said in a wondering voice.
She didn't say anything, didn't know what to say. If Bianca had changed, where did that leave Chelsea?
Then he'd rolled over and gotten out of bed, said he had to get home, that Bianca was expecting him. Chelsea would have felt more frightened by John's lowered interest in sex and his new attitude about Bianca if he wasn't so demanding now, so jealous and suspicious of anything Chelsea did. It was as if it wasn't enough to have her at his beck and call, he had to own every part of her, know her every movement and thought.
At that moment Chelsea's phone rang, John's ring, Nina Simone's "Wild is the Wind"
.
Chelsea put down her bags again and pulled her phone out of her purse. "Hi sweetheart!"
"Where are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, where are you?"
"Shopping?"
John groaned. "Again? I thought you were going to be here. I wanted to see you. I'm here now, at your apartment. Are you really shopping?"
"Yes, I'm really shopping. I'm in New Canaan. No one knows me here so it's safe."
"You're not out with somebody? Maybe enjoying a little afternoon delight with some guy you met in one of those bars you go to?"
"I never go out anymore, you won't let me. How am I supposed to meet this guy you're talking about?"
"Well, get back here. Right now. I want to see what you
bought
on this little shopping spree you claim you're on."
"John...fine! I'll be there in about twenty minutes. You'll get to see it all. Okay?"
"Good. Hurry," John said and hung up.
Chelsea put her phone back in her purse sadly. Where was the romance? Where was the passion they'd had, wild and raw and exquisite? Did she even want this anymore?
She picked her shopping bags back up and gazed at the baby clothing boutique's window with heightened longing. What she wanted was what Kate had. Or would have once she got pregnant again. Poor Kate! And Lucie, too! That night had been a horror show. When she and Sharon and Bianca went to the hospital afterwards, they met Grant, a handsome rugged-looked man who'd arrived still wearing his pajama top, though he'd been thinking enough to pull on jeans and shoes, the laces of his shoes poorly tied.
He'd looked devastated. He'd barely spoken to them, only barely greeting them. He sounded as if he was trying to hold back tears when he talked to the nurse in reception. "I need to see my wife," he'd said, and there was something in the way he said it, the real need, the way he said "my wife" that floored Chelsea. Grant loved Kate more than anyone in the world. Chelsea wanted that, more than money, more than excitement and unicorns and rainbows. Because true love was all those things and then some. You didn't need to decorate it. She wished she had known that earlier.
Chelsea sighed and then turned and walked up the street to her car. Her bags piled in her Honda's small trunk, she was driving out of the parking lot and turning onto the street when her phone rang again, the default ring. She checked the display. It was a local number. She contemplated not answering it, but curiosity got the better of her.
"Hello?"
"Chelsea, hey! It's Sharon."
"Sharon? Hi?"
"I know, I never call, I don't want to bother you, but this time I had to."
"What's up? Is everything okay?" Chelsea crossed her fingers as she turned the wheel of the car, taking a curve and heading toward the Merritt Parkway. Did Sharon know about John? Did Lucie tell her? She saw how chummy the two were the last few nights they went out and couldn't help feeling faintly envious of their instant chemistry and shared wacky sense of humor. When she tried to imagine Lucie telling Sharon about John, though, it didn't work. Lucie was as discreet as a person could be, an ideal friend to entrust with secrets.
"I wanted us to get together, the girls. I have something I want to talk to you guys about."
"Really, what?"
"Well, I'd rather talk about it in person. It's kind of delicate."
"Is it Dean? Is he back now?"
"No, it's not Dean. You've got to let that go. No, this is something else. So, are you in?"
Chelsea hesitated. John didn't want her going out with her friends to bars anymore. He said it was too risky, that she might slip and say something after she'd had a few drinks. He'd promised her it wasn't forever, but it still felt like it. Day in and day out in her small basement apartment, the same walls staring back at her, no one to talk to. She was lonely. She'd just go this once, make something up so John wouldn't know. Her mother! She would say she was going to see her mother and have dinner with her. Chelsea felt a pang, knowing she owed a real visit to her mother at her tiny apartment in Bridgeport, a place so sad and hopeless and gray that Chelsea avoided it.
"Okay? When? Wait," Chelsea said, realizing she didn't want to go after all. Bianca would be there, waiting, watching. "Well, maybe not, actually. I think I might have plans. I don't have my calendar with me. So it would just be the five of us?"
"Boy, that jobless depression is really getting to you. I've never heard you be so wishy-washy about going out, your very favorite thing in the whole wide world. You know what? You need to go out. I hope you can make it. It won't be your usual chichi scene though. We're going to O'Malley's. It's a little pub in Darien. It's also proudly one of the last dive bars in Fairfield County, thereby a historical landmark and the ultimate drunkards' hangout. You might hate it, but I still really want you to come."
Chelsea shook her head as she pulled onto the southbound ramp of the Merritt, heading towards Stamford. Actually, it sounded perfect. Get out and have some fun without anyone she knew seeing her. And, as an extra-special benefit, Bianca wouldn't set foot in a place like O'Malley's. Chelsea said, "Bianca is the one who will really hate it, not me. Honestly, it sounds pretty fun. I'd love to come."
"Well...," Sharon said. "I wasn't going to invite Bianca. I know she's a good friend of yours, I hope you don't mind."
"Oh? You're not going to invite her? Why not?" The hairs on Chelsea's arms stood up. They knew about her and John. And they were going to confront her at O'Malley's.
"Um...I just, let's just say I'd like to talk about Bianca with you guys. Just some things I've been thinking. Now, don't get all worried. It may be nothing, but I thought I saw something the other night. Anyway, like I said, it's better if we talk in person. I was thinking this Thursday at around six-ish?"
Chelsea, reeling from the revelation that Sharon had something to say about Bianca, did a quick calculation in her head regarding John and her phantom visit to her mother's. Yes, it could work; she would say her mother wasn't feeling well. "Yeah, that works for me. So, you won't tell me anything now, what you're thinking about Bianca?"
"No. It's just two days. I know you love drama, but you can wait that long. All right, see you then!"
"Okay? See you!"
Chelsea hit the end button and put the phone back in her purse while keeping her eyes on the road. Behind those sapphire-blue eyes, fears and hopes crowded, forming a riotous melee, each fighting for their turn. Sometimes hope won, but fear was the most frequent victor, raging and cruel, its piercing lancet raised high in triumph.
Corona
Kate lay curled up on her side in bed, staring at the shadows and shapes of early afternoon sunlight that played on the pale blue walls of their bedroom. She knew she should get up. She had to get up. Get up! This was just supposed to be a nap! But her body was leaden and weak, her mind not much help either. Tears filled her eyes again and she wept silently.
She was supposed to be at her job at the nursery school, the job Bianca worked so hard to get for her, but she couldn't bear it. She'd gone the first day she'd been allowed to get back to life after the miscarriage, a mere single day of rest and recuperation the doctor in the emergency room recommended. She had hoped that she could escape from her misery at work. Instead, being around all of her small pupils heightened it and she went home early, complaining about cramping pain to Wren, who had been kind and sympathetic and completely unable to help Kate.
No one was able to help her, not even Grant who was in his own pain, soldiering woodenly along and saying they would get pregnant again as if it was an incantation. She had to help herself, she knew that. And yet, she called in sick every day since, prompting a concerned visit from Pastor Grimes and a colorful finger-painted "Get Well" banner from her class. Three weeks had passed this way and she knew what she had to do. She had to give it up, her favorite job ever, because now it was the most agonizing job ever. Those children, happy or sad or mad, quietly playing or crying hysterically or laughing with delight, they were alive and her baby was dead.
Just then, the phone jangled on the bedside table. Kate jerked a little, wanting to curl up tighter like a little centipede and hide. Instead, she laboriously pushed herself up with one arm, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and reached to pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Kate? It's Sharon."
"Sharon...oh, it's so nice to hear your voice."
"Oh sweetie, you sound so sad. And you have every right to be."
"Thank you so much for the chicken noodle soup you made. I didn't know that you cooked? That was so nice."