His 1-800 Wife (33 page)

As soon as she hung up, Esther, Jarrod's mother, called. It wasn't even seven o'clock, and all the morn­ing papers had been delivered. Catherine could almost see all of Newport opening to Section B of the paper and finding her photo with the huge headline exposing the truth. It would blow over in a few days, she told herself, but her family would be hurt for much longer than that. "Jarrod isn't here."

"Is he at work?"

"I don't know. He left a few minutes ago." He'd walked out without anything. After their argument he'd left, wearing only the jeans and shirt he had on. He'd taken the jacket Robert had dropped near the front door when he and Elizabeth brought him home last night, but he had no shoes and no socks. She was worried that his feet would get cold. "He didn't say where he was going?"

"He was angry," Catherine admitted.

"Over the newspaper article?"

"That too," Catherine said. "We had a fight."

"Catherine, what were you two thinking? Didn't you know this kind of thing would never work? That you could never keep it quiet?"

She thought they could. Only three people really knew about it. Four now. She was sure Robert knew the details. It was only happenstance that Jarrod went to a bar and sat down next to a reporter. The odds of that happening in Newport had to be astro­nomical.

"We thought it would help us and no one else would be affected." Catherine didn't want to go through the same conversation she'd just had with her mother, but there was no getting Mrs. Greene off the phone. Her voice didn't hurt her as much as her mother's had, but it still dug into her. She repeated several times that Catherine and Jarrod never should have married. Catherine understood. She could only agree with her. Mrs. Greene said noth­ing that Catherine hadn't already said to herself. And the beeping in her ear continued.

When she finally hung up Catherine decided she wouldn't answer any more phone calls. She instructed Jenny to tell everyone she was unavailable and unplugged the phone in the bedroom.

Catherine was tempted to crawl back into bed and remain there for the rest of the day. It was the cow­ardly thing to do, and she was a coward. She hadn't stood up to her family and their constant chorus of marriage songs. Then, when she thought of a solu­tion, it was not of the love, honor and cherish variety. She couldn't get into bed. She had to make sure her face was seen everywhere until this died down. She went into the closet and looked for something to wear to work. She wouldn't explain herself to every acquaintance or stranger who stopped her on the street, but she was a target. There was no getting around that.

She chose the scarlet dress. She'd be easy to spot in it, especially for the people looking to point darts at her. This was as close as she could come to a bull's-eye.

***

It was the longest day in recorded history. Her office was a revolving door of curiosity seekers. Her phone calls were more from reporters or friends who wanted to confirm the story than from those with business interests. Catherine fielded them all. She only asked the secretaries to screen out the reporters. She took every other call. At lunch a contingent of reporters and photographers followed her to the restaurant where she ate and back. She refused to comment on anything they said.

Elizabeth and Robert showed up together after she returned.

"How's it going?" Elizabeth asked.

"Can't you tell?" Catherine sat back in her chair. "Didn't you just fight the lions to get in here? And what are you two doing here?"

"I went looking for Jarrod. I can't find him," Rob­ert told her.

"We had a fight," Catherine admitted. "He left." She stood up, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. "He had no shoes," she said. "He just left, wearing only what he had on."

Elizabeth came to her and hugged her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Catherine shook her head. "Only if you can turn the clock back to July and erase all this."

"It's been bad." Elizabeth stated the obvious.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"You look tired," Elizabeth said.

She
was
tired. She hadn't slept well in days, since Elizabeth's party, when Jarrod had left her. Last night she'd been up until two, when they brought Jarrod home, and the phone had waken her at six this morning.

"Why don't you pack it in for today?" Robert said. "We'll drive you home."

Catherine shook her head. "This will be over in a few days, but until then I can't let it seem as if I'm hiding."

"Business as usual is a lot of garbage," Elizabeth told her. "You're not getting anything done here. You're only answering phone calls."

"If I don't answer, people will just keep calling, and what they can't find out, they'll make up."

"They're going to make it up anyway," Robert said. "You've never been one to care."

"I care about my family. I hurt them terribly. That article makes it seem as if my mother and Audrey are monsters." Catherine felt anger rise in her like a giant animal. She wanted to scream, but she pulled back, forced herself to relax. She returned to her chair and sat down." Where did you look for Jarrod?'' she asked Robert.

"I tried his office and a few places we used to frequent."

"Bars?"

"You know Jarrod isn't a drinker. He probably only had a couple of drinks last night."

"He smelled like a still."

"I went to George's. He hasn't been there. I looked at the wall."

"What wall?"

"The one by the sea. He goes there sometimes." Catherine remembered the morning he'd found her there. Was it the same place, she wondered, the place where they had made love on the grass in the rain? "I drove all around town to places I thought he might be, but I haven't found him."

Catherine got up and walked around the office. She stopped at the window overlooking the marina. "I told him to get out. This was all his fault. He'd promised me he wouldn't tell anyone and he talked to a reporter. He didn't take any clothes." Tears ran down her face. "He left with. . .no shoes." Her voice cracked.

Catherine sat down across from Elizabeth.

Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair." That means he'll be back, Catherine.'' She said it softly, as if strong words would cause her to shatter. Catherine felt as if they might. She was wound tight Lack of sleep, the inability to eat, people shouting questions at her and Jarrod missing left her on edge.

Robert took her hand and pulled her out of the chair. "Put this on," he said. It was her coat. She didn't argue. She slipped her arms into it. "You're going home."

Outside the reporters waited for them. Robert sug­gested she take the side door that led from the ware­house and go through the locked fence. He and Elizabeth went the way they had come and drove away without much interference. They picked Catherine up at the end of the small alley. Catherine actually smiled at eluding them. She didn't know how long it would be before they found out she was gone.

Instead of taking her home, Robert drove to Eliza­beth's. Her house sat behind gates that closed elec­tronically. They went inside and the gates slid together like an interlocking fortress. The moment she was inside, she called the Ocean Drive house to leave word with Jenny in case Jarrod returned.

"I won't hide in here," Catherine stated when Rob­ert and Elizabeth tried to get her to take a nap and made references to a tray in bed.

"You're not hiding," Elizabeth said.

"I'm going out to dinner. Out in public, where all the wagging tongues are."

"You haven't had enough for one day?" Robert asked.

"When did you two become a couple?" Catherine asked.

"We're not a couple," Elizabeth said before Robert could answer. "And don't change the subject. Why do you want to subject yourself to that?"

"Elizabeth," Catherine said in a very soft voice, "I have to do it. If I hide, I'll have to do it from now on. If I'm lucky, this will all blow over in a couple of days, but if I hide it will never go away."

"I understand. It's just that there are so many vicious people out there. I don't want to see you hurt."

"They can't hurt me," she said. No one could hurt her any more than Jarrod had when he left the house this morning with no clothes and nothing on his feet.

"Where do you want to eat?"

"The busiest restaurant in town."

Robert and Elizabeth both left to make the reserva­tion. Catherine rambled through Elizabeth's closet for something to wear. Thankfully, they wore the same size, and Catherine's black shoes would complement anything.

Elizabeth convinced Catherine to take a short nap. She did, but slept fitfully, with dreams of Jarrod being stabbed at by a giant fountain pen that spilled rocks instead of ink.

An hour after she woke, she was overdressed for any Tuesday night dinner in Newport. She had on red again, not scarlet this time, but fire-engine red. The top of the two-piece outfit was freckeled with beads. She could be seen by everyone, and if it was fire they wanted, this evening she was a psycho-arsonist.

Catherine paused at the dining room entrance, Elizabeth and Robert on either side of her like senti­nels. She glanced at them.

"This is my show," she said. "I can handle it."

She took a breath and followed the maitre d', a step ahead of her guards. Heads turned, forks full of cordon bleu, Cornish hens with glazed oranges and creme-de-menthe truffles stopped as if stuck halfway to gapping mouths. Conversations ceased or contin­ued in whispered conspiracy as she angled between tables. Catherine played the room as she'd never done it before. She smiled, nodded, greeted the curious, the gawking and the uninformed. She made eye con­tact with everyone, waved occasionally as if she were a queen greeting her subjects after a prolonged illness from which she was not expected to recover.

Their table sat in the center of the room. Catherine wondered if it had been intended this way. She took her seat, accepted the menu and ordered orange juice to drink.

A low hum started as conversation went on. Cather­ine looked around, knowing everyone was talking about her. If anyone had failed to read the paper that morning, they were being filled in by the self-appointed reporters in the room. She smiled when­ever any of them made eye contact with her. Some smiled back, others turned their heads as if they hadn't seen her.

Mrs. Jessie Melchoir had moved to Rhode Island when her husband retired forty years earlier. She was the oldest resident of the island and it wasn't often that she left her home. Catherine spotted her with three dinner guests at a table on the other side of the room. She looked as if she was celebrating something. Her dress was fancy and she took a while to stand up. Catherine thought she might be leaving. But using her cane and with the help of a man Cather­ine had never seen before, she slowly crossed the dining room and came directly to where Catherine sat.

Catherine held her breath, wondering what the old woman, who had been one of her grandmother's friends, would have to say about the newspaper story. Catherine stood as she reached her. Robert and Eliza­beth rose, too.

"Catherine," she said. Her voice was raspy with age, but it could still be haughty and accusing. Catherine stiffened, ready to be chastised, reduced to a child whom her grandmother was ready to punish.

Mrs. Melchoir's eyes were gray with age, but there was still something behind them. "When I was your age," she began. "We couldn't afford a telephone. Newspaper ads were expensive. I was a follow-the-rules child. I always did what people told me to do. I would never have taken a telephone number to find a husband. If I had, I probably wouldn't have married Mr. Melchoir. He was much too proud to call a number like yours." Catherine looked at the man with her. He raised his eyebrows but said noth­ing. Mrs. Melchoir looked from Catherine to Eliza­beth and Robert. "But I approve."

Her comment wasn't lost on the room. It seemed everyone was observing what was happening at the center table. Catherine heard the audible sound of exhaled air that went through the room at her comment. Mrs. Melchoir took Catherine's hand. Her fingers were thin and spiny on her flesh. She patted it. "Don't let them get to you," she said and turned to return to her table.

Mrs. Melchoir started the parade. As soon as her cane tapped its way through the tables, the ice was broken.

"I love it, I just love it." Emily Colter came over. She hugged Catherine and plopped down in the empty seat at the table for four. "I wish I'd had the nerve to do it myself. And to catch a man like Jarrod. . .I certainly would forget the temporary thing the moment the ring was on my finger."

She chatted on and on. When she left another woman slid into the empty chair. A steady stream of friends joined her. The seat was never empty. Someone stood by it or sat in it, making Catherine ever mindful that Jarrod was among the missing, but also letting her know that she had friends.

Robert and Elizabeth had gone to the dance floor at Catherine's insistence that she was fine alone and didn't need them to protect her.

"Hello, Catherine." No voice was more distinctive than that of Julianna Stone. She slid into the chair that was momentarily empty. "It's amazing you came tonight."