The Girls of Tonsil Lake (25 page)

Carolyn laughed loud enough that everyone in the waiting room looked up to see what was going on. “You’re fearless, Andie. Go. Enjoy. Feel. I repeat, breathe.”

Outside, I turned toward home, wondering what had possessed me to walk to Carolyn’s office in the first place. The sun had been out, I remembered, and the wind at my back, and I’d been fooled once again by Indiana’s fickle weather. An hour-and-a-half later, the sun had disappeared behind the dirty gray marshmallows of winter clouds, and the wind was shredding the skin on my face.

It would be freezing on the lake.

“Hey, woman, what are you doing out here?”

I turned toward the shout and waved at David where he stood outside the driver’s door of his car. “Going home,” I called back.

“Let me give you a ride.”

Before I could protest, he’d dropped back into his car and swung a beautifully illegal U-turn, coming up beside me.

“So,” he said, when I’d sunk into the delicious heat of his passenger seat, “are you going to the lake?”

“I don’t know.” I looked over at him. “Jean is, isn’t she?”

He frowned. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look very happy about it.”

“Sometimes I think the past should just be left alone. I’m afraid she’ll dwell on things that happened when you were kids. You know Jean; before it’s over, she’ll be taking the blame for everything and wondering what she should have done differently.”

I couldn’t argue that, since it was exactly what Jean would do, but I wondered if David’s objections went a little deeper than he was telling. “Why don’t you take me to your house instead of mine?” I suggested brightly. “It’s just as close and your wife will feed me.”

He dropped me off, waving to Jean when she came to the door to see who was in the driveway. She waved back to him, but she wasn’t smiling.

“Okay, what gives?” I asked, tossing my coat on her couch in a way calculated to mess up the perfectly arranged pillows. “David looks grim and you look grimmer. I can’t exactly go poking my nose into his business, but it doesn’t bother me at all poking it into yours. What do you have to eat?”

She led the way to the kitchen. “We had a fight,” she said, pouring coffee for both of us and setting it on the table with an entire cheesecake.

I snorted. “You and David don’t have fights. He gets mad, you sulk, and the next day you’re nice to him and he forgives you.”

She stopped the knife halfway through the cheesecake. “You take that back.”

“I will not. It’s the truth.”

My slice of cheesecake narrowed.

She sat across from me, scraping the tines of her fork over the surface of the dessert. “How did you feel when you found out Jake was cheating? I mean, I know it was different, but how would you have felt if it had been a woman you caught him with?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think I ever expected fidelity to go on forever. He traveled too much, loved women too much. I’d have been pissed, I’m sure, but not shocked.”

I waited a minute, sorting through the levels of pain in search of an honest answer. “But we’re different, Jean. I know you expected to receive the same kind of loyalty you gave. It hurt you more than it would have me.”

She didn’t say anything, just kept dragging her fork over the cheesecake until it looked like lumpy pudding on her plate.

I wanted to yank the fork out of her hand. “Jean?”

She looked up.

“I also know it’s been at least fifteen years since David’s...indiscretion. What in the hell are you doing pulling that particular skeleton out of the closet now?” I couldn’t enjoy my own cheesecake, sitting there watching her shred hers, so I pushed it away with a regretful sigh.

“It jumped out at me,” she said defensively. “Before I had surgery, I was cleaning some stuff out, getting rid of old things I didn’t want David and the kids to have to worry over if...if something happened. Right there in my bottom drawer was the letter she’d written him that was how I found out about it. With it was the letter she’d written me afterward and also the card from the flowers he sent when he was still feeling sorry. I didn’t read them then, because I didn’t think I could stand it on top of everything else, but yesterday I did.”

“You kept them?” I stared at her in horror. “Jean, what were you thinking, that they’d be a nice little thing to hold over his head for the rest of your lives?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she admitted, “but there they were, right where I left them when I abandoned the idea of cleaning out that drawer, and I got upset all over again. David asked what was wrong and when I told him, he got mad. Now, I ask you, what forny business does he have getting mad? He was the one who cheated, not me.”

She sounded for all the world like a petulant child, and if she hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed.

The slam of the front door made us both look up. David came into the kitchen, his features a study in controlled fury. He hung his jacket over the back of a chair and said, “We’re, by God, going to talk about this. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jean, but I’m goddamned if I’m going to walk on eggshells the entire damned time. Andie,”—he tossed me his keys―“go home. We’ll pick up the car later.”

“Glad to,” I said, practically leaping out of my chair. I patted Jean’s shoulder, gave David’s arm a squeeze, and got the hell out of there.

I swear I saw fireworks through the front window of their house as I drove away. It was kind of nice. Overdue, but nice.

Jean

I tossed David a scathing look when I heard the door close behind Andie. At least I hoped it was scathing. That’s not something I’m good at, unless I’m practicing on Andie. “What’s the point in talking about it? It happened. Nothing we say can make it un-happen.”

“You’re right,” he said. He went to the coffeepot, pouring a cup for himself and bringing the carafe over to refill my cup. “It did happen. I was stupid. I was wrong. I was a grade-A asshole. But it was half a marriage ago, Jean. We worked to make it succeed even after I almost blew the whole thing wide open, so why are we rehashing it now?”

Anger came over me so hard and fast I felt physical pain when I leapt to my feet, like the cheerleader I’d never been, and yelled, “What’s this
we
shit?
I
worked to make it succeed. You just went on your merry way, like all you had to do was buy the stupid little woman some roses and all would be well. Do you know how I felt, David? Do you?”

“No, I don’t,” he said calmly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “You were so into being noble and self-sacrificing that you didn’t tell me how you felt. ‘We’ll make it,’ you said, and thank God we did, even though you’ve been holding a part of yourself back for fifteen freakin’ years.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I crossed to where he stood and poked my index finger at the front of his flannel shirt. “You’re not turning this on me, buster. You cheated. You destroyed my trust. You destroyed me, for Christ’s sake. You made it like I’d never left Tonsil Lake. I was still in a space all by myself having to be strong because people were counting on me. Well, by God, I counted on you, too, and you let me down. How could you do that to me, David? How could you?”

His hands came to rest on my upper arms and his blue gaze was intense on mine. “What was it like?”

Bewildered by his response, I shook my head. “What?”

“Tell me what it was like for you. I know you suffered. I suppose I knew it then, but I was so glad you were so calm that I never tried to dig too deep. I was comfortable, so I assumed you were, too, like I always did. Now I’m asking. Digging.”

I stepped away from him because I couldn’t think when his hands were on me, when I could see his eyes. I stood at the sink, running water hard into a dollop of dishwashing liquid, and stared out the window. Remembering.

“I got a bottle of sleeping pills. Not from Carolyn, but from the kids’ pediatrician. And I set it on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, behind the rubbing alcohol, thinking that if it got too bad, I’d just take them all and it would be over. I never took any, but I did lift them down a hundred times. I didn’t throw them away for years after the shelf life had expired.”

The pain of talking about it was excruciating, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. “I found myself going through your wallet, your drawers, even that little zippered compartment on your golf bag where you carry tees, looking for evidence that you were still seeing her or were seeing someone else. I looked at other men, thinking if I could go to bed with one of them, then you’d be sorry. I met Suzanne for a drink one night and she caught on because there I was in a bar with her and I was wearing a dress and red lipstick. ‘Don’t,’ she said. That was all, just ‘don’t.’ And I didn’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was soft.

I still couldn’t look at him, so I went to the table, getting the plates with the uneaten cheesecake. “Because I still loved you. I didn’t want you to feel the way I felt. And maybe I was afraid you
wouldn’t
feel that way, wouldn’t care like I did.”

I scraped the sad-looking dessert into the sink and turned on the disposal. “I used to look around when we’d get together with people you worked with and wonder how many of them knew. Did they all think I was a schmuck? I knew you were embarrassed by me being a romance writer, and that hurt, too, so it got to where every party was a nightmare.”

“I was never embarrassed.”

“Yes, you were. You would never talk about what I did around those people. None of them even knew until I let it slip one time, having no idea in hell you hadn’t told them.”

“Because I was afraid they’d hurt your feelings. You know how people are about romance novels.”

I had to give him that. I’d answered the question, “When are you going to write a real book?” often enough to understand the truth of it.

“So why did you stay with me?” he asked. “Was it the money?”

The question made me look at him. I could feel my anger leaving me, dripping away like the soapsuds off my fingers. I regretted its loss because I wasn’t ready to let it go, but I couldn’t seem to get it back. “Is that what you thought?”

“Sometimes. We both saw Andie and Suzanne struggle on their own. You knew a lot of poverty growing up. Even though you made money with your books and I would have paid child support, it would have been a rough way to go if we’d divorced. So yeah, I thought that sometimes.”

He lifted his cup and drank, even though the coffee had to be cold. “We’d come home from those parties and you’d be all silent and withdrawn and I’d think oh, boy, here goes the punishment again. And I’d buy you something because I thought that would make you happy.”

“It wasn’t the money.” But I knew what he was talking about—I remembered the unexpected, and often unwanted, presents. “It was never the money, David. I was always here because I loved you.” I felt tears pushing at the backs of my eyes and tried to laugh to dispel them. “That’s not to say I didn’t hate you sometimes, too.”

He laughed, too, his effort as pathetic as mine. “I don’t blame you,” he said, “but why now? After all these years—most of them damned good ones—why are you angry?”

I made more coffee, thinking. “Because I can be,” I said finally. “Confrontation is still way down on my list of favorite things, but I can confront if I have to. If our marriage ends because I get mad, it wasn’t much of a marriage in the first place.”

I remembered saying almost those same words to Carrie early in the summer. I hadn’t believed them then, but I’d wanted her to. Even when I couldn’t be any other way but how I was, I’d wanted better for my daughters.

But I wasn’t done. “If my twelve-year-old editor doesn’t like the books I write, well, I’ll find an editor who does. If Andie and Suzanne squabble, I don’t have to be the peacemaker—I can jump in and squabble, too.”

I met his eyes. “Life’s too short to go around not knowing who you are because you’re making yourself into what other people expect you to be. This summer on the island, I found out who I was. I found out I have all kinds of faults and weaknesses but on the whole I’m a pretty good person and a hell of a romance writer. I’m a good wife and a decent mother and a wonderful grandmother. If I get mad sometimes, or unreasonable, or snotty, I’m still those things.”

He nodded. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“Sure do.”

I started past him to rinse our cups before pouring fresh coffee. He snagged my sleeve, and pulled me into his arms. “I think part of what you’re saying is that you’re going to face up to things so that you can really and truly put them behind you.” His gaze caught and held mine. “Is that why you’re going to the lake?”

“Probably.” I leaned back in his hold, picking invisible pieces of lint from his shirt. “I think maybe we want to open new doors and we feel like we can’t until the old ones are closed.”

I looked down at my hands, at the pair of bands on the left one. He’d placed the wide one there when we got married, the narrow, etched one twenty-five years later when we’d renewed our vows at a loud and laughing party in our backyard. I wanted the rings to stay where they were.

He sighed, his chest muscles moving against my hands. “Okay,” he said, “as long as you remember one thing.”

“What’s that?”

His arms tightened. “I’m not just some old hollow veneered door you can discard like yesterday’s kindling. I’m a genuine mahogany six-panel job, guaranteed to last a lifetime.”

Suzanne

The gun felt heavy, even clasped in both hands. My index finger, wet with the sweat from my palm, was slippery on the trigger. I couldn’t see worth a damn, and I kept blinking in the pre-dawn darkness, trying to make my eyes focus on the man in front of me. Andie’s arm was stiff under mine, keeping the pistol leveled. Jean and Vin were crowded in beside us, their hands with mine. My finger slipped from the trigger and was replaced by one of theirs. The gun wobbled.

My eyes cleared just as the loud report of the gun rang in my ears.

“Tommy!” I screamed. “Oh, no, Tommy!”