Field of Schemes (29 page)

“I wish I had a sister like you,” Darcy said when I recalled the story the next day.

“My mother-in-law did the same for me after Rachel was born,” I explained.

“Ah, mama karma.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Did you ever have post-partum depression?”

“More like post-partum oppression. Still have it. Apparently, there’s no cure.”

There was an awkward silence as we both avoided the topic of Ron’s straying. A few days after Darcy first mentioned it, I broached the topic again. She seemed uncomfortable and asked me to forget she ever mentioned it. For weeks, we pretended we never discussed her suspicions of Ron’s infidelity, but today she brought it up again. “I’m pretty sure it’s someone he works with,” she said. “He’s been at the hospital a lot lately, more than usual, but when I call it just rolls over to voice mail. Of course, he has to turn off his cell phone when he’s there.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Claire, men who cheat on their wives usually don’t have much of a problem lying to cover their asses.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him, Darcy?”

“I want to know the answer before I confront him,” she said, though I suspected there was more to it than that. The reality is that once you set the ball in motion, you need to be ready to get in the game. She had no plays, no moves, and no goal yet, so she remained on the sidelines until she was ready to take the field and kick some balls.

Dave and I had one more date and four more cancellations after I went to Kathy’s place that day. I felt about him the way I did about Darcy: immediate intimacy, but no desire to have a romantic relationship. He sat across the table telling me about the hoops he was currently jumping through to adopt a St. Bernard from the full-breed rescue mission, and how he was ready to just settle for a mutt from the pound. “I had to provide
six
references and answer a questionnaire about what type of environment I intend to provide for the dog,” he said. “I mean, I’m all for them making sure that dogs go to good homes, but I don’t know what my ‘discipline style’ will be, or who will take care of the dog if I die. Would you believe they asked where the dog will sleep? How do I know where he’ll sleep? Let him move in, sniff around a bit and figure it out. Am I supposed to have a bedroom set up for him?”

I laughed. “I think they just want to be sure you’re not going to beat him or make him sleep outside on a slab of cement.”

“No, Claire, they also asked who I planned to use as a vet and if they incorporated canine massage as part of their routine care.”

“Dog massage?!”

“You heard right.”

“Man, I want to be a St. Bernard,” I said.

“You are.”

I blushed. I know it sounds utterly ridiculous to be charmed by a man calling me a dog, but it was endearing. I sighed internally at how wrong Dave was about me, though. He deserved the St. Bernard he thought I was, but he was really getting an old flea bag that probably was not going to learn any new tricks.

I think he may have realized this after I canceled our last date. On Friday night, Rachel complained that she felt sick, so I emailed Dave to apologize for rescheduling again and explained why. He shot back a note right away saying that he was trying to be patient, but had to wonder whether or not I was really interested in him. The tone was light, with a subject line reading “She’s just not that into you?” But clearly he had doubts about my intentions. This made two of us.

Rachel woke up late Saturday morning and said she felt fine. As I was picking up the phone to see if Dave was still available that night, I stepped outside because I thought I heard a noise in my backyard. The sound was actually coming from Darcy’s yard. The clanking was a watering can that was accidentally kicked by Ron as he paced the far side of his yard, which also happened to be the fence that separated our properties. “No, I’m not saying that,” he whispered into his cell phone. “Of course I do, don’t be so dramatic.” There was a long pause. “I don’t know, maybe later.” Pause. Then his voice softened. “Okay, I’m sorry. I know. I know. Okay, okay. I have to go in to the hospital this evening so we can .... Oh, I don’t know. What? No, it’s not that ... All right, I already said yes, let’s leave it at that.”

As he walked back in the house, I remained hidden behind my neighbor’s fence, unable to move. Darcy was right. Ron was carrying on with someone at the hospital. I started trying to imagine whether he was having an affair with another surgeon, a nurse, or maybe a billing clerk. I don’t know why any of this mattered, but I wanted to have a clear picture of who he was cozying up to in the linen closet of Santa Bella General Hospital.

If Darcy didn’t have it in her to investigate her husband’s activities, then I would do it for her. If she needed evidence, I was hot on the trail to getting it. I knew he was meeting someone tonight at the hospital, and I would be there with my digital camera to document it for her. Then when we found out what a louse Ron really was, we could both evict him from our hearts once and for all.

That was the plan anyway.

As I sat crouched in the driver’s seat of my minivan, I watched Ron get out of his car and walk in the door at a fast clip.
Now what?
I wondered. I hadn’t thought this through very well.
Do I go in and follow him around the hospital corridors, ducking into doorways every now and then? Do I suit up in scrubs and a mask and try to sneak into the operating room?
I imagined that his lover would simply strut out into the parking lot in her naughty nurse costume and the two of them would lose themselves in an illicit embrace. I got out of the car and started walking toward the door, afraid he’d escape from my sight. I saw another doctor approach him, hand him a chart and lead him out of the lobby. Was that it? Was his earlier phone conversation an innocent chat with another doctor who wanted him to cover the night shift after he finished his evening surgery? Who scheduled surgery for the evening anyway?

Before I could ponder that question, I heard a familiar male voice behind me. “Claire?” Dave said. I turned around to see that he and Katie were also standing in the waiting room. “Claire, what are you doing here? Is Rachel okay? Did she get worse?”

“Oh, um, hi guys,” I stammered. “No, she’s fine, I’m just ... What are you doing here?”

“Jess spilled boiling water on her hand, so I gave her a ride over here. I was dropping off Katie and Sam’s not home, I gave her a ride. Jess is in getting patched up right now. What about you? What’s with the camera?”

“The camera?”

“Yeah,” Katie added, pointing. “Hanging from your neck.”

“Oh, this?” I said, hoping a little laughter would dismiss the question.

It didn’t.

When was I going to learn to use the camera on my cell phone?!

“Yeah, the camera.” His expression was clear:
You canceled a date with me so you could hang around a hospital emergency room taking pictures?

“This?” I said, waving my hand. “It’s just, I just, I volunteer here sometimes. You know, a lot of people think they’re not going to want pictures of their hospital stay, but it turns out they really regret not bringing a camera along. I mean, it’s a part of their lives, right? Why not put it in your scrapbook alongside vacations and graduations and other big events?” Getting softer, I finished, “It’s an experimental program. We’re going to see how it goes.”

“You take pictures of people while they’re in the hospital?” Katie asked as if she’d just met a mother even weirder than her own.

“Um, yeah, it really brightens some people’s days,” I said, hoping to hell that Dave was buying this.

“You told me Rachel was sick,” he reminded me.

“She was,” I replied. “She absolutely was. But now she’s better, and then the hospital called and said that they really needed me to come in tonight, so how could I say no?”

Mercifully, Jessica appeared. A nurse pushed her in a wheelchair as she smiled at her daughter and ex-husband, holding up her bandaged hand for them to see. “Hey, Claire,” she greeted me brightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi Jessica,” I said sheepishly. “I’m, um, a volunteer here. Want a picture of that hand? Make the memory last?”

Kathy was a new person by Rachel’s twelfth birthday party at our house weeks later. I was thrilled that the whole family could make our impromptu celebration. These things don’t always come together the day before a long holiday weekend. I was especially pleased to hear the familiar lilt in Kathy’s voice as she accepted the invitation. “Sure, sounds fun,” she said. Yes to fun means medication is working.

Rachel and I were traveling to San Luis Obispo for the Fourth of July weekend for the Patriots Freedom Cup, but still wanted to have a family gathering to mark Rachel’s birthday. Darcy popped in for a few minutes and told Rachel and me what to expect this weekend while the rest listened with rapt attention. The league created a colonial theme park with cobblers and blacksmiths who gave demonstrations right there on the cobblestone roads in front of their Main Street shops. The street was lined with façade shops, a bank, a saloon, and a post office. Women with long skirts and bonnets sold homemade chocolate fudge, while others sheared wool from live sheep, then spun it into nubby wool thread. On the first evening of the tournament, after the games ended, the Patriots typically hosted a reenactment of the Revolutionary War, providing red coats and muskets for participants. Thankfully, they weeded out nut jobs like Drunk Dick and Loud Bobby by making people go through a two-hour safety and history class. The Patriots took their tournaments even more seriously than Manchester did, which, ridiculously, filled me with a bit of American pride.

Darcy continued to fill us in. “They kick off the tournament with a morning parade where historical characters march down the street waving flags and ringing the Liberty Bell.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” my mother interrupted. “I brought the lira for my necklace. Put them close so they jingle when I get a little trot going.”

“She has a fist full of lira!” Rachel said in a voice resembling the evil Natasha from
Rocky and Bullwinkle.
Despite the fact that Mimi was as American as apple pie, Rachel and I found it befitting to use this accent whenever we brought up the oft-mentioned “fist full of medals.”

I added a maniacal laugh, “We will take this fist full of lira and rule the world!”

Everyone looked at us as if we were out of our minds, but we laughed hysterically. As much as I resented Mimi, it was fun for Rachel and me to share a common enemy. And I had to admit, Rachel was reading more than ever in order to keep up with Mimi’s book group. Mimi’s rule was that you couldn’t attend if you hadn’t read the book, and both Rachel and Kelly agreed that Mimi’s snacks were too good to miss. “Seriously, I’d sell my sister for one of those Girl Power bars right now,” Kelly recently told me as she and Rachel described in delicious detail how much they loved snack time at Mimi’s.

“Happy birthday, Rachel,” Darcy said after leaning in to kiss me goodbye. “Nice to meet you all.” With that final word, my heart dropped. This was not “all.” Aside from Steve, someone from my family was most definitely missing from Rachel’s party: her grandmother, Lil.

My mother reached into her purse and pulled out three autographed photos of Mia Hamm for her granddaughter. “You’d be amazed at all the soccer paraphernalia they sell on eBay,” she explained. “Rachel, I bought you a jersey from the Mexican National Team. I’ve got one too. We can be twins!”

Blake chimed in. “She watches soccer games on Telemundo now.”

“Viva Mexico!” she said, raising her glass of sparkling water.

We can be twins? Viva Mexico? How I wished I’d discovered soccer thirty years ago.