Her parents had met as freshmen in college and married one year after graduation.There are good years and bad years, Barb had said.Heck, there are good decades and bad decades.
They implored her to forgive. They even had their pastor call her and offer counseling.
“Think of what you will be doing to those boys if you break this marriage up,” the pastor said.
He’s the one, not me!Gwen wanted to shout. Her mother emailed articles about desperate single mothers, about how boys growing up without fathers were at risk, about the long-lasting trauma of divorce on children.
Gwen deleted them, along with the inspirational takes from her neighborhood friends—first-person narratives of women who had found their true happiness after divorce, pieces on children’s resilience and the risks to kids of growing up with unhappily married parents. She threw them all away, finding it nearly impossible to isolate her own voice in all the noise. What didshewant?
Slowly, with the help of a marriage counselor, she began to set the terms. Terms she could live with. Complete control of their finances. Access to all his tech. No secrets. They would move far away from the judgment of their so-called friends. Anton would leave his job at the college outside Boston where he had met his affair partner. They would start over where no one knew them.He applied for jobs, and he got an offer at American University offering less pay and not on a tenure track, but Gwen insisted he take it.
It was a test. If he really loved her, if he was truly sorry and wanted to make the marriage work, he would be willing to take the career hit.
They had been forced to turn to her parents for financial help. Her mom and dad were happy to do it, thrilled to have their grandchildren closer. That it was a bit punitive, the tiniest bit emasculating of Anton, was something Gwen wasn’t bothered by.
And Anton agreed.
Gwen searches Aimee’s face. Is she a real friend? One who will stick by her and not judge? Everyone will expect her to be sad and heartbroken over Anton’s death. And she is. Especially when she thinks of how it will affect the boys. But she’s got this anger inside of her that won’t go away.
She wishes she could tell Aimee the whole truth. Well, not thewholetruth. Certainly not what Anton revealed last night. Aimee would never forgive her. She wouldn’t understand. Aimee and Scott appear to have an almost perfect marriage, to not just love each other but, shockingly, tolikeeach other. Will that make Aimee more sympathetic to what she has been through? Or will Aimee not be able to relate at all?
“Anton cheated. In the past. Three years ago, in Boston.”
“Oh Gwen, I’m so sorry,” Aimee says. “You never told me.”
She shrugs. “I don’t like to think about it. We did a lot of work to repair our marriage. It was awful. We moved to D.C. for a fresh start. But lately I’d been having this weird feeling.”
“That he might be…” Aimee doesn’t finish her sentence.
Gwen nods. “That’s what the fight was about last night. I threw a coffee mug, it caught him on the side of the head. I swear I wasn’t aiming at him.” The truth marbled through with lies. Can Aimee tell which is which? “That’s the piece of bloody china you found this morning.”
“Makes sense,” Aimee says, then adds in a bashful tone, “I actually heard you guys fighting last night.”
“You did?” Gwen straightens up. “Then maybe you can understand. It’s what makes his death so complicated for me. I’ve been so furious at him lately that I’m having trouble shifting into grief.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—did he admit to cheating last night? I couldn’t hear the words. Just raised voices.” Aimee takes a careful sip from her wineglass.
Gwen thinks about this and how much she wants to reveal. She can feel the alcohol loosening her barriers. She has to be careful here. A little bit of truth will go a long way. “No. He denied it, of course, but…”
But then he said something so much worse.Something so terrible, something you would never forgive me for, Aimee.And Gwen realizes how lucky she is that Anton’s secret died with him. That her best friend will never know.
“But what?”
“But I don’t know if I bought his act.” Gwen proffers a tight smile. Aimee nods and the irony is not lost on Gwen. Her friend may be wondering the very same thing about her. Does Aimee buy her act?
12
NOW
Sunday morning means pancakes and bacon. Aimee sits at the counter surrounded by dirty dishes, sipping coffee and nursing a hangover. Scott is upstairs getting the boys into their soccer uniforms. The carpool is arriving soon. Noa is in her room doing Lord knows what, although when Aimee walked by earlier, she could hear her daughter talking to her stuffed animals.
Aimee stayed later last night at Gwen’s than she intended to, drinking more wine than normal. But Gwen kept drinking, and she felt obligated to keep up. She knew Gwen would keep drinking, and the thought of her friend downing glass after glass of wine all alone in her house was too depressing. Now her pounding skull and dry mouth are the price she is paying.
The boys clatter through the kitchen on their way to the mudroom to collect cleats and a ball, and just as quickly they are out the door. “Hi, Mom!” they yell and then, “Bye, Mom!”
Moments later, Scott comes in and pours himself the last of the coffee. “Make a new pot?”
Aimee shrugs. She’s not satisfied with the answers he gave her yesterday about his little trip to Villain & Saint on Friday night, but isn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding like she’s hounding him. She would have asked him about it last night, but by the time she returned from Gwen’s he was passed out in front of the TV.