“Look at this,” Gwen says and picks up the remote, rewinding it a bit.
A news reporter stands on the sidewalk outside Villain & Saint, as yellow crime-scene tape flaps in the wind.
“I’m standing in front of the alley where police say Anton Khoury was struck by a car in the late hours of last night. His body was dragged behind a dumpster and was not discovered until early this morning when a vendor at the Farm Women’s Market arrived around six-thirty to open up for the day. Police are asking anyone who saw anything unusual or suspicious to contact them.”
Gwen pauses the TV. “They came here, you know, and knocked on the door. That woman, right there”—she waves her wineglass at the TV—“She called out,Gwen, Gwen, are you in there?As if we were friends.”
“Oh yeah?” Aimee’s eyes dart to the half-empty bottle of wine, and Gwen feels a shiver of resentment go through her. Who isAimee to judge? Gwen picks up the bottle and makes a show of refilling her glass, emptying the bottle, holding it upside down until the last drop is out, daring Aimee to challenge her. “Want a glass? There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Aimee hesitates and then shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’ve had a stupid day. Not as bad as yours, but I’ll take a drink.”
“Scott’s got the kids?”
“They’re at my place. Everyone’s there—Lisa, Marcus, Scott.”
“Barb swooped in and took the boys back to Virginia.”
“I know. Lisa told me. She said she spoke to your mom earlier today. Something about her wanting to allow the boys a few more days without having to learn the awful truth.”
“Huh. Lisa sure likes to talk about me. She’s great at spreading news.” Gwen reaches into a cabinet to get another glass before crouching down in front of the wine fridge. “Sauvignon, chardonnay, Riesling?”
“You have that green one I like?” Aimee asks. “Was that your idea to wait to tell the boys?”
Gwen is grateful her face is hidden, below the counter level, so Aimee can’t see her reaction. She can feel her lip curl as she reaches into the back of the fridge for the bottle of Hugl Gruner Veltliner. “No, it was my mom’s. She doesn’t want the boys tosee melike this. You know, as a human being. God forbid I show any messy emotion. I mean, my husband is dead. He was killed.” She stands, unscrews the bottle top, and fills both their glasses. “She doesn’t care. She’s already in spin mode. How will this all look to her friends at the club? She hasn’t asked me how I’m feeling. How I’m handling this. She won’t let me have any feelings. It’s all checklists.”
“That’s hard.” Aimee takes the glass. “I’m sure she’s just trying to help in her own way. People don’t know how to act when terrible things happen. They get weird.”
“I mean, maybe it is good that they won’t know for anotherfew days. Because once they know the truth it’s going to destroy them. I mean, how am I going to tell them their dad is dead? They’re so young. It’s so unfair.”
“It’s not fair. How are you feeling?”
Gwen takes a gulp of wine. “Empty. In shock. Scared. Furious.”
“Furious? You mean at whoever killed Anton?”
“Yeah, of course. But I also mean at Anton.”
Aimee puts her glass down with athunk. “Oh, Gwen, you don’t mean that.”
Gwen narrows her eyes at Aimee. She picks up her glass and the bottle and heads into the living room, where she takes her position on the sofa next to Sababa, who hasn’t moved in hours. The cushions are still indented and warm from Gwen sitting in the same spot all afternoon.
Aimee sits down in a chair across from her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t even imagine what you are going through.”
“No, you can’t.” The words are sharp, and they slice through the goodwill between them.
“You have every right to all your feelings,” Aimee says. “I am not here to judge you. I love you, Gwen. I want to help.”
But she will judge, Gwen thinks. Her friends back in Boston certainly did. Her family did. The people in her life were evenly split when they found out that Anton had cheated on her. Again. Some thought she was a doormat for staying with him, a loser, a failure as a feminist. She had made the mistake of confiding in her group of mom friends in her neighborhood. She hadn’t planned to, but at book club, she burst out crying. The pain after discovering Anton was cheating was so real, so raw, she couldn’t hide it. The marriage was surviving on a day-to-day basis, and she thought her friends would support her.
But they pulled away, one by one, as if infidelity was a virusthat was catching. As if whatever Gwen had done to make her husband betray her could be passed on to them like an invisible germ that they might carry home to their own husbands.
I could never stay with a man who cheated…
A woman who doesn’t respect herself…
One friend dropped a book at her front door calledFinding the Courage: How to Learn to Love Yourself Enough to Walk Away.
Her own family was in the opposite camp. Her older sister, whom she had never gotten along with, said, “Welcome to the club. Marriage is hard work.”