“Don’t be.”
I inhale a deep breath and slap my knee. “Well. I should probably go home now. Clearly I need to get some rest.”
We stand up, and I move to say goodbye to Winston. I run my fingers through his soft golden fur, bend forward and kiss his cheek, and whisper in his ear. “Get some rest, angel. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”
I thank Nathan again, then call Carla to come and pick me up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I can’t deny that a small, petty part of me wants to reveal Alan’s infidelity to Zack—for no other reason than to exact revenge.
Think of it. I have the power to make my cheating husband pay for his betrayal by posthumously eroding the love his son feels for him.
But no.
Of course I would never do such a thing, because it would hurt Zack more than it would hurt Alan, because Alan is dead. Besides, I’m not a vindictive woman. At least I’m trying not to be. This is my anger talking. I need to beat that spiteful little devil down with a big fat Oprah stick.
When everyone is in bed, Carla pulls two of Mom’s best crystal snifters from the top shelf in the dining room and pours us each a brandy from the bottle we picked up on the way home. We sit down at the kitchen table to talk, and I tell her all the sordid details about my day—the things I didn’t reveal when we spoke on the phone, like how I practically carried Paula out of the bar and what the bartender said.
None of it seems real to me now as I sit across from my sister in my mother’s cozy kitchen, where Alan and I created so many happy memories together. We came here every weekend, ever since Zack was a baby, and for all those years, I truly believed that I was blessed to have the most loving, devoted, loyal husband a woman could ever dream of.
Now I have to accept that for him the lure of this town in recent years was not my mother’s delicious Sunday dinners or the fun we had as a family. It was Paula Sheridan and whatever they did together. Whatever plans they made to meet up with each other in secret.
By now, I’ve lost count of how many times Carla has refilled our glasses. I let my forehead fall forward into my hand and squeeze my eyes shut. “How could I not have known? Am I really that stupid? That blind?”
Carla reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand. “Abbie, you’re not stupid. You’re a good person, and you see the best in people. You’re trusting because you have faith that people are decent and honorable. You believed in Alan because you’re an optimist. Don’t let this change what I love most about you.”
I feel drunk and sleepy. My body feels like a heavy slab of iron. I can barely lift my head.
“You’re looking at the glass half-full,” I say. “You see me as an optimist, but maybe I’m just naive. I don’t know which is better. To be blind and optimistic—to wear rose-colored glasses and allow yourself to be vulnerable—or to be realistic and cynical? To be prepared for someone to disappoint you? To have your guard up and not be taken by surprise?”
Carla sits back. “Being an optimist doesn’t make you blind. A cynic can be blind too—in even worse ways. A cynic can miss out on something wonderful because they only see the dark side of it, so they steer away from a good thing because they expect it to go wrong eventually.”
I’ve had too much to drink, and I can’t fully comprehend what my sister is saying to me, although I know it’s very wise.
We sit in silence for a long time.
“It’s nearly two in the morning,” Carla says. “You should get some sleep.”
I nod in agreement. Though I still haven’t decided what I’m going to tell Zack—if anything. The problem is that if I don’t tell him, I’m going to have to learn how to become a better liar, better at hiding things, like Alan was, and I don’t like the thought of that.
But I’m in no condition to make any important decisions tonight. I just need to get some rest so I’m not so tired tomorrow.
As soon as I wake the next morning, I call the veterinary hospital. Ruby tells me that Winston is doing much better and I can pick him up anytime. I take a couple of Tylenols to take the edge off my brandy headache, and then I ask Zack if he wants to come with me. He says yes.
I don’t see Dr. Payne that morning because he’s out back performing a canine dental extraction, which is just as well because I feel a bit awkward about our conversation the night before. It’s not my habit to reveal the skeletons in my family’s closet to perfect strangers, and I certainly don’t want Zack to sense that I’ve shared something private with a stranger before I’ve told him about it.
Thankfully, those worries fall away when the door opens from the treatment room and Ruby leads Winston out to the reception area. Though he still wears the cone around his head, he’s on his feet, tail wagging, excited to see us.
Zack and I make a big fuss over him, and then I pay the bill, and we take him to the car. He jumps into the back seat, just like his old self, delighted about a ride in the car.
“He seems a lot better,” Zack says as we buckle in and pull out of the parking lot.
I glance at Winston in the rearview mirror. He’s smiling from ear to ear, tongue hanging out while he trots back and forth from one window to the other, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Maybe we should take him for a short walk today, down to the waterfront.”
“That sounds good.”
We drive in silence for a moment, and then Zack turns to me and asks tentatively, “Mom, when are we going to go home? I mean . . . now that the funeral’s over.”
I glance at him briefly. “You don’t want to stay another day or two?”
“I’ve already missed a lot of school.”
“I’m sure your teachers won’t expect you to come back right away. They know what happened. They’ll make allowances for that.”
“I know,” he replies, “but I’d still like to be at home. Sleep in my own bed. I want to start figuring out how we’re going to live.”
“You mean . . . without your dad.” My stomach turns over with dread because I’m not sure I’m ready to face this new future.
Zack gazes out the window at the houses as we pass. “It’s going to be weird. Especially when we walk through the door the first time. But I want to get through it, you know?” He turns to me. “Don’t get me wrong, Mom. I love being with Gram and Aunt Carla and the girls, but I keep thinking about the fact that Dad’s sneakers are by the front door. I noticed them when Maureen came to pick me up, but I couldn’t bring myself to move them. I’m kind of dreading seeing his stuff when we get home—like his clothes in the closet and his medical magazines on the coffee table. It’s hanging over my head.”
I understand exactly what he’s saying because I’m dreading it too. “You want to face it head-on.”
Those were Carla’s words to me.
“Yes,” Zack replies. “Let’s just get it over with. And after we get through all that hard stuff, I was thinking . . . maybe we could do something special for Dad.”
My stomach starts to actually hurt, because I’m not sure where Zack is going with this, and doing something special for my lying, cheating husband isn’t exactly at the top of my priority list right now. I just want to figure out how to get up in the mornings without wanting to smash our framed wedding portrait against the corner of the kitchen table.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, wrestling my true feelings into submission.
“I don’t know. Maybe we could brainstorm. But I was thinking about a scholarship fund for students in need. Maybe for kids who have abusive parents. Or even foster kids. I think Dad would approve of that because of how he grew up. He was lucky to get away from Grandpa and go to college and live a better life. I mean . . . seriously, Mom, we had a perfect life.”
A perfect life.
I bite my lip because I feel as if I’m being ripped in half, straight down the middle. Part of me is proud of my son for recognizing the challenges his father faced as a child, for wanting to do something to help other kids in the same position, and most of all for reminding me how rough Alan had it growing up. I can’t ignore the fact that he was raised by a cruel and heartless man who probably played a significant role in Alan’s need to feel adored. Maybe he genuinely needed the adulation Paula gave him when I was too busy at work or fielding Zack’s activities.
Another part of me doesn’t want to spend a single second of my time analyzing why Alan needed Paula—because he had a wife at home who loved him—nor do I want to expend effort to create a lasting legacy in Alan’s memory, where he will be honored for years to come . . . revered as a generous, courageous, loving family man.
Yeah, right.
There’s a heavy pounding in my ears, and my stomach burns.
“That might be awkward,” I say, “considering he was a drunk driver.”
The heated words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I want to take them back, but I can’t.
Zack darts a look at me, and my cheeks flush.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s fine,” he replies. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Why was he drunk, Mom? It makes no sense. I never thought he would ever do something like that.”