The Consequences (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

A
t least half a dozen flights, the last of Christmas Eve, had landed within the past forty-five minutes, and the arrivals terminal in General Mitchell Airport was heaving with people. Airport security were desperately attempting to keep the area clear, but it was an impossible task, and the refrains of “White Christmas” were lost beneath loud reunions.

Stephanie wound her way through the crowd, heading for the Hertz desk. She walked past couples embracing, families locked together; she saw tears and laughter, and she was overwhelmed by a deep sadness. She'd flown in and out of airports throughout her adult life and had rarely been met by anyone, and it had never bothered her. Now, for the first time, she felt incredibly lonely.

“Stephanie . . . Stephanie!”

Right at the very edges of her consciousness, she caught the sound of someone calling out what sounded like her name. But that was impossible; no one knew she was coming in, except her parents, and they'd hardly drive all the way out from Madison to collect her.

“Stephanie . . . Stephanie!” The voice was coming nearer.

She fixed a smile on her face as she turned. It would be just her luck to bump into someone she didn't want to see only moments after landing.

“Stephanie?”

It took a heartbeat to recognize the rather plain-looking young woman standing before her, head tilted to one side, smiling quizzically.

“You walked right past me,” she said.

“Joan? My God, Joannie, I didn't recognize you.”

Joan Burroughs was Stephanie's baby sister, six years her junior, and the last person she had expected to see waiting for her in the airport. Stephanie wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her.

“Well, it's no wonder I didn't recognize you,” she said with a grin. Joan was bundled up in a bulky down jacket and black cargo pants over thick boots and was wearing a woollen cap pulled low over her forehead and covering the tops of her ears. Her exposed cheeks and the tip of her nose were bright red.

There were seven children—four boys and three girls—in the Burroughs family, and Stephanie had never been especially close to any of her siblings. Most of Stephanie's brothers and sisters had stayed close to home, married young, and started families early, whereas Stephanie had left for college at eighteen and had never moved back. Now, at thirty-three, she was the only one left unmarried. The last Stephanie had heard of her sister, Joan had been working as a graphic artist in a Milwaukee design studio.

“Wait, how did you know I'd be here?” Stephanie asked, then answered her own question: “Mom.”

Joan nodded. “Mom called me and told me you were on the way.” She stepped away from Stephanie to regard her older sister critically. “You've lost weight, and you look tired.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie said sarcastically. “I'll take the weight loss as a compliment. The last couple of days have been tough, and I had to take two flights to get here. I'm exhausted.”

“Well, I was still in the city, so I thought I'd hang around and wait for you.”

“I'm so glad that you did.” Stephanie linked her arm through her sister's, and together they moved through the crowd. “I really wasn't looking forward to the hour and a half drive home.”

“Luckily, I-94's empty, so I can probably get us home faster than that.” Joan smiled as she took Stephanie's suitcase. “I spoke to Mom yesterday, and she was complaining that you weren't coming home. Then she called me today to say that you were on your way.”

“Yeah, Mom called weeks ago and tried her usual subtle cocktail of blackmail and encouragement on me. I told her I was tied up over the Christmas period . . . but . . . well, things changed.”

“Well, she sounded thrilled on the phone. Looks like all the family will be there, and you know how much she loves that.”

The two women traversed the skywalk to the parking garage, where the air was thick with the stench of gasoline and bitter with the acrid tang of car exhausts. There were frozen patches of water on the ground, and Stephanie felt the chill seep up through the too-thin soles of her comfortable shoes.

“Here. I guessed you wouldn't have anything with you.” Joan pulled a wool hat from an inside pocket and produced a pair of gloves. “I didn't have boots in your size,” she added.

Stephanie pulled on the extremely unflattering green and yellow Green Bay Packers hat, grateful that no one she knew could see her now, and tugged on the gloves that were one size too small. But she was grateful. The air was so bitterly cold that it took her breath away. She'd momentarily forgotten just how freezing Wisconsin could be in December.

“We're here,” Joan said, stopping in front of a slightly battered VW van. The remains of dozens of stickers were still visible on its rear; in some places they had been removed so forcefully that paint had peeled off, leaving dappled rust spots in their wake.

Stephanie blinked in surprise. “You and Eddie were driving an SUV if I remember. . . .”

“The Cherokee. Yes, Eddie still has that.”

“Isn't he coming with us?” Stephanie asked, as Joan wrenched open the door of the van, revealing its disheveled interior.

A scrap of carpet covered the metal floor, and the back of the van was packed with cardboard U-Haul boxes, suitcases, and black garbage bags obviously stuffed with clothes. One had burst and spilled shoes across the floor. Joan snatched Stephanie's single suitcase off the ground and shoved it in between two boxes.

“No, Eddie will not be coming with us. Haven't you heard—or did Mother conveniently forget to tell you that piece of family gossip?” Joan indicated the back of the van. “I'm moving back home. I've left him.” She looked at her older sister. “Don't give me a lecture,” she added quickly.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Stephanie said quietly. “When did you leave him?” she asked.

“Tonight.”

CHAPTER 5

T
hey sat in silence while Joan maneuvered the sluggish VW through traffic. The heater lost the battle against the chill radiating through the thin floor. Every few moments, Joan would pluck a filthy rag from the dashboard and lean forward to defog an arc of window.

Stephanie huddled in the seat, arms wrapped around her body, gloved fingers tucked into her armpits. She was desperately trying to remember what she knew about Joan and her husband, Eddie. They hadn't been married long—twelve months, fourteen maybe. Yes, a little over a year. Stephanie hadn't been able to come to the wedding because it clashed with a week Robert had taken off. And, given the choice between spending a week away with her lover—their first real vacation—or attending a Catholic-Italian wedding complete with a Friday night fish-fry in downtown Milwaukee, she had chosen the vacation. At one point she had gently suggested to Robert that they might go to the wedding together, but he'd pointed out that it would raise too many difficult questions. She had sent an outrageously expensive set of Waterford crystal cut-glass goblets as a wedding present to ease her conscience.

“I'm really sorry,” she said eventually. “I had no idea.”

“Didn't you? I'm surprised that Mother didn't tell you.” This time Joan was unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice. “She thrives on my misfortune. She's told just about everyone else I know.”

Stephanie frowned. She didn't think that her mother had mentioned anything . . . and yet Joan was right. There was no way that Toni Burroughs would not have shared this tragedy with her other two daughters, discussing and analyzing it to death and wondering where she had gone wrong. Because of course, it was always going to be about her.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Stephanie remembered her mother's talking about Joan and Eddie's problems. “Okay, yeah . . . now that I think about it, Mom might have mentioned something about you and Eddie not getting along . . . but I wasn't really listening. Was it about kids? He wanted them, and you didn't.” Stephanie shut up; there was more, she was sure of it. She had the vaguest of recollections that her mother had told her a long and complicated story about Joan and Eddie. But she'd been too wrapped up in her relationship with Robert to really listen. Also, she knew she had a habit of tuning out when her mother was talking about her siblings.

“Sorry, do you want to talk about it?” Stephanie asked.

Joan shook her head. “I'm all talked out.”

Stephanie kept quiet, knowing that Joan would not be able to resist the temptation to give her side of the story to a new audience.

Traffic was moving steadily as they cruised along the highway. Snow had been forecast, but none had fallen. However, the temperature had plummeted, and ice was beginning to creep across the road in broad sparkling sheets. There was a sound of sirens in the distance, and the van slowed to a crawl. Joan Burroughs leaned forward and tapped the dashboard, where the temperature gauge was beginning to edge upward. “I hope we don't overheat before we get home,” she muttered.

“I'd be more worried this van would fall apart before it overheated,” Stephanie said.

“What do you want to hear?” Joan asked suddenly. “The truth or the version I told Mother?”

Stephanie took a moment to consider. “Which version do you want me to hear?” she said eventually. “I'm sure I'll get Mom's version anyway.”

Joan nodded and smiled. “I'm sure you will.” Then she hit the brakes hard and leaned on the horn as a truck cut into her lane. The sound was an anemic whine. Then, unexpectedly, she said, “I've always been a little jealous . . . no, jealous is the wrong word, envious is better. I've always been a little envious of you.”

“Envious of me? Why?” Stephanie frowned, unsure at the sudden change of topic.

“You live in Boston, you have a great job, a nice house, awesome car . . . at least that's what Mother keeps telling us all. She keeps hinting that you've got a man, but we all know that's untrue.”

“Why?” Stephanie blurted, surprised.

“Because we all know you're a lesbian. Well, she knows too, but she doesn't want to admit that two of her three daughters are gay.”

“What! What?” For a moment, Stephanie didn't know if she had heard correctly.

“CJ's gay,” Joan said matter-of-factly.

“I know that. I've always known that. But why do you think I am?”

Joan turned awkwardly in her seat to look at her sister. “There's no need to be embarrassed. You're thirty-three, pretty, successful, and single. It's kind of obvious. And Mom says you're always talking about this Izzie friend of yours. It was CJ who suggested that she must be your partner. And she should know!”

Stephanie started to laugh. It began as a giggle, then grew into a full, bellyaching laugh that came remarkably close to hysterics. She could feel the tension of the past hours seep away with the laughter. The thought of her rather straitlaced mother thinking that her daughter was a lesbian simply because she rarely spoke about men was hilarious. The only reason Stephanie rarely spoke about the man she was dating was because for the past eighteen months she had been involved with a married man. And that was hardly something she could share with her conservative Catholic mother on the telephone. But because of that her mother had assumed . . .

Pressing the heels of both hands against her cheeks she wiped away the tears. “I'm not gay. My friend Izzie is just that—my friend, my best friend, who is getting engaged tonight. To a man. And the reason I don't talk about men is because first of all, it's not something I want shared on Mother's weekly e-mail blasts, and secondly, I am concentrating on building a career and I don't have a lot of free time. It's why I don't have goldfish. Too time consuming. But—and please don't tell Mom—I have been seeing someone, a man,” she emphasized, “on and off for about a year and a half. But that's over,” she added, not saying just how recently it had finished.

“Mum's the word.” Joan laughed as she craned her neck, seeing something in the darkness. “There's the accident. Happens all the time on this stretch,” Joan said. Ignoring the sudden blaring of car horns, she floored the accelerator, and the VW lurched forward and managed to crawl across two lanes of traffic. There were flashing blue and red lights ahead and a trio of police cruisers were parked at an angle, blocking two lanes. Beyond them, ambulance lights rotated over a traffic accident. Just at the exit off the bridge, a small, nondescript Japanese import had run into the side of a white stretch limo. Half a dozen young men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns stood shivering on the sidewalk, while ambulance crews struggled to cut the driver out of the smaller car.

“Their Christmas party is ruined,” Joan remarked, nodding at the partygoers.

“Not as much as his,” Stephanie said, looking at the bloody driver of the small car, now being laid out on a stretcher. “I wonder if there's a family waiting for him to come home?” She suddenly glanced sidelong at her sister. “Is Eddie waiting for you? Does he know what you're doing?”

Joan drove in silence for a minute, then said suddenly, “No.”

Stephanie straightened in the seat. “You mean, he's expecting you at home tonight?”

Joan checked the clock on the dashboard, not entirely sure if it was accurate or not. “Yeah, he's probably home by now. I left him a note.”

“Joannie, he's probably frantic. Call him now!”

“No,” Joan said stubbornly.

“You have to talk to him.”

“I don't have to do anything. You have no idea what it's like to have a man lie to you for weeks on end.”

Stephanie opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. “Tell me what happened.”

“He lied to me,” Joan snapped.

“All men lie,” Stephanie murmured. And women too, she added silently. “But let's be honest, we wouldn't want them to tell us the truth about everything, would we?”

“We were married for a year in October. We were starting to talk about having a family.”

Stephanie was freezing. She was beginning to feel a headache—a combination of stress and recycled airplane air combined with jet lag and the bitter weather—pulse at the back of her eyes. Her stomach still felt queasy. She'd just flown halfway across the country, running away from her own affair; the last thing she needed to hear was that her brother-in-law was also behaving badly.

“We were doing fine: Eddie was working as a beer distributer for Miller Brewing; I had a part-time job in a graphics studio in Riverwest. We were even managing to save a little every month. We talked about buying a house and getting a dog. I really wanted to adopt a greyhound. I've always loved greyhounds.”

And Eddie got bored with this little domestic idyll, Stephanie thought, found himself a woman, made her some promises, told her some lies. . . .

“And for six weeks afterward, morning after morning, he went out to work. He even came home at the right time.”

“Stop, stop, stop! I think I missed something between beer distributer and greyhound.” Stephanie reached out to touch her sister's arm. “And would you mind slowing down a little—you're speeding.”

“Oh.” Joan eased up off the accelerator. As she'd been telling the story, she'd unconsciously been pushing her foot to the floor.

“I'm sorry, I'm a little edgy. What do you mean he went out to work?”

“After he was fired,” Joan snapped. “He pretended to go out to work. I only realized it when the bank statement came in and his salary was no longer directly deposited.”

“I'm sorry. . . . I thought . . . when you said he'd lied to you . . . I thought there was another woman involved.”

“An affair! No way, Eddie knows what I'd do to him—and her—if I ever caught him with another woman!”

“So you're leaving him because he lost his job?”

“No, I'm leaving him because he lied to me. More than once. He pretended to go to work for six weeks—and every day I'd ask him how things had gone at work, and every day he'd spin me a tissue of lies. One lie leading to another leading to another . . .”

Stephanie closed her eyes. Her own affair was built upon a series of half-truths, each one tugging her farther and farther into an intricate web. She hadn't fully realized until today just how deep and twisted that web was, just how limiting her relationship with Robert had been. A smile curled the corners of her lips: It had even made her mother think she was a lesbian!

“Maybe it was pride that prevented him from telling you that he'd lost his job,” she suggested cautiously.

“Maybe. But he told me that he'd been let go because they were cutting numbers. That was a lie—another one. He was fired for claiming overtime that he hadn't done. I only found that out today. Once I realized that, I knew I couldn't live with him anymore.”

“Why?” Stephanie wondered.

“Because I knew I could never trust him again. Once you catch your man lying to you about one thing, you know he'll lie to you about others. I didn't want to live with that mistrust.”

“What will you do?”

“Go home for Christmas. Talk to a lawyer in the New Year.”

“All because he lied to you?”

“Once the trust goes, what's left?”

Stephanie nodded. What was left? She suddenly felt bitterly sorry for Kathy Walker.