No More Lonely Nights (46 page)

Dominique could stand it no longer. “I don’t know!” she yelled. “I don’t know! I don’t know!” She sank back onto her pillow and covered her eyes with her arm.

Solange made no reply. She simply stared at her in shock.

After a few moments of silence, Dominique said wearily, “Mother, please go away. I’m tired.”

Dominique didn’t open her eyes, but she heard the mattress creak and felt the weight equalize as Solange got up.

“May I”—Solange hesitated—“may I bring you something? A glass of sherry? something to eat?”

“I’d just like to be left alone.”

Dominique heard her mother take a deep breath as though preparing to say more. She uttered only one word. “Gabrielle?”

Dominique dropped her arm and stared at her mother.

Solange continued. “Do you want me to—”

Dominique interrupted. “No!” she said sharply. “I’ll talk to her myself. I’ll get up.” She struggled to her elbows.

Solange leaned toward her, her face full of concern. “You’re too emotional just now,” she said in a soothing tone. “Wouldn’t it be better if you waited until tomorrow?”

“And leave my daughter alone all night wondering what happened? I can’t do that!” Dominique declared. “She needs to talk to me. She’ll have questions.”

“Clay told—”

“Clay!” Dominique expelled the word as though it were a piece of spoiled meat. “Who knows what he told her!”

“He said”—Solange hesitated, as though measuring the effect of her words on Dominique—“he said that you had mutually agreed to divorce.”

Dominique’s lips tightened into a thin line of anger. “Did he?”

“You mustn’t turn the child against her father!” Solange said the words in a rush, as though afraid she would be interrupted.

Dominique looked up at her mother, her expression icy. “How can you think I’d do such a thing?”

Solange replied defensively, “You’re very hurt. It would be understandable—”

“I would never hurt Gabrielle,” Dominique said vehemently. She gave Solange an accusatory glare and pushed herself off the bed. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Gabrielle, only Gabrielle, kept Dominique going. In the two weeks since Clay had left, Dominique found herself unable to rise from bed until noon. She would toss on a bathrobe, then go downstairs for an inadequate, hastily bolted meal of sweets from the freezer. All she craved were sweets: frozen cheesecakes, cookies, and chocolates. She had never been one to binge, but now she stole items up to her room to wolf down in solitary misery. She didn’t care that the food wasn’t healthy, or that she was rapidly gaining weight. The sweets provided comfort.

After eating, Dominique would go back to bed until it was almost time for Gabrielle to come home from school. Then she would shower and dress to await her arrival. It was important to keep up appearances for Gabrielle. For the same reason, she would descend each evening for dinner with her mother and daughter. The evening meal had become a desultory affair with little conversation, despite the fact that Dominique roused herself to ask Gabrielle questions about school. But she accepted the monosyllabic answers typical of youngsters without further probing, though she had never done so before. In the end, Dominique would leave most of the food on her plate and retire to her room with packages of sweets.

Then, one afternoon, as Dominique was zipping up her dress, she heard the crunch of tires in the driveway. With an inexplicable feeling of alarm, she rushed to the window to see who it was. An unfamiliar sports car shimmered white in the February sun. Before Dominique had time to wonder who it belonged to, she saw Gabrielle emerge, wave good-bye to the occupant, then jog up the stairs to the house.

Dominique slipped on her shoes and hurried down the hall to meet her. Her daughter was too young for drives with boys, and Dominique intended to tell her so in no uncertain terms. She mustn’t allow Gabrielle to take advantage of the fact that her father was no longer a force of discipline in the house.

“Gabrielle!” Dominique called out sharply.

Gabrielle stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up at her mother with a guilty expression.

Dominique marched down the stairs with more energy than she had shown since Clay’s departure and came face to face with her daughter. “Who was that who dropped you off?” she demanded.

Gabrielle looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? It was Daddy.”

Now it was Dominique’s turn to look astonished. “Your father? Where’s his car?”

Gabrielle said breezily, “He got rid of the Cadillac.” Her expression brightened with admiration. “That was an Alfa Romeo!” She gave her mother a sidelong glance and asked tentatively, “Isn’t it neat-looking?”

“It’s a little young for your father,” Dominique sniffed.

Gabrielle shook her head in denial. “All the girls at school thought he was so handsome in it! Like Paul Newman or something!”

Dominique suddenly became conscious of her dowdy dress—one of the few roomy enough to accommodate her weight gain.

“Why did your father pick you up?” Dominique asked in an even tone.

Gabrielle looked down. “He just wanted to talk,” she said.

“That was nice.” Dominique forced herself to say it without irony.

“He…” Gabrielle looked at her mother, apprehension written on her face.

Dominique crossed her arms, unaware that she was making the protective gesture. “Yes?”

“He wants me to spend the weekend with him.”

Dominique nodded. “That’s a good idea.” She was relieved that Clay was keeping up contact with Gabrielle.

“Well, it’s just that…” Gabrielle kicked at the newel post with her sneakered toe.

“Stop that,” Dominique said, enervated, “and tell me what’s on your mind.”

Gabrielle blurted out, “He has a new friend and she’ll be there!”

Dominique took a deep breath and suppressed an expression of disgust. “I know about her.” She had prepared herself for this and had vowed to accept it with good grace. Dominique remembered losing her own father at a young age, and it had hurt. It had to be even worse for Gabrielle, who was an only child, and whose father had left of his own free will. Dominique had no intention of saying anything to alienate Clay and Gabrielle.

“It’ll be weird with her there,” Gabrielle confessed.

Dominique reached forward and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “I know,” she sighed, “but it looks like she’s going to be your father’s new wife, and you’ll have to meet her sometime.” Dominique fought to smother the panic that welled up in her at the thought of the impending divorce.

Gabrielle studied her mother for a moment without speaking, then took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Dominique.

Dominique grasped her daughter tightly. It felt good to be touched again.

Dominique paced anxiously in the living room as she waited for Gabrielle to arrive home from her weekend with Clay. She was sure that her daughter would want to talk—pour out grievances, confess to feelings of homesickness. It couldn’t have been easy, Dominique thought sympathetically, trying to behave nicely toward the woman who would marry her father. She wondered if Gabrielle would guess that Marie had, in fact, been responsible for the breakup of their family.

Dominique had reached that peculiar stage of denial that allows wronged women to forgive the man his transgressions while holding the other woman responsible. Never mind that Dominique had exchanged marriage vows with Clay, had lived with him and supported him in his endeavors for fourteen years. It was easier to blame the other woman. Easier to believe that one’s own judgment hadn’t been wrong after all, that one’s husband was still basically a good man. He had simply been tempted beyond endurance.

Dominique cocked her head as she heard the car. She wanted to run to the window and look out, but didn’t for fear that Clay would see her. A moment later, Gabrielle burst into the house.

“Mom!” she called from the front hall.

“In here!” Dominique called back, hurrying to the foyer. She halted in astonishment when she saw Gabrielle. “You’ve cut your hair!” she exclaimed.

Gabrielle self-consciously raised a hand to her chestnut curls. “Do you like it?”

It was a sleek, short cut, far too sophisticated for the child. And there was something else different about her daughter. Dominique took a few steps forward and peered warily at Gabrielle’s face. “Are you wearing makeup?” she cried.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Mom, I asked you about my hair.”

“Your hair looks very nice, but are you wearing makeup?” Dominique insisted. She approached her daughter and carefully studied her face. There was no doubt about it! She was wearing mascara, blusher, and pink lipstick.

“You know you’re not allowed!” Dominique said menacingly.

“Dad said I could,” Gabrielle said smugly. “Marie said that you need makeup with a short cut. Anyway, I’m old enough. Susie’s only twelve and she—”

“I don’t care what your friends do!” Dominique interrupted sharply. “When you’re sixteen, you can do as you like, but not until then!”

“But that’s years away!” Gabrielle moaned.

“Go and wash your face,” Dominique snapped. “I don’t know what your father was thinking of. He doesn’t like makeup, and he’s the one who felt most strongly about you not wearing it until—” Dominique stopped abruptly. A sudden vision of Marie Annis came to her. Marie Annis, with her perfectly penciled lip-liner and her dramatically made-up eyes. How could Clay allow himself to be so influenced by her! How could he so casually abandon the rules by which he and Dominique had agreed to raise Gabrielle?

“I don’t know what the big deal is anyway,” Gabrielle said sulkily.

“Get upstairs and wash your face!” Dominique commanded harshly.

Gabrielle’s eyes widened with alarm. Keeping her gaze trained on her mother, she began to back up the stairs. Then, suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re mean!” she cried. “I hate you!” Then she whirled and scurried away.

When she was out of sight, Dominique sagged against the newel post. Her outrage gave way to remorse. It hadn’t been the child’s fault, after all. It had been Clay’s… and Marie’s. How, in just one weekend, had Marie won over Gabrielle? For clearly she had done just that. Gabrielle’s face lit up when she mentioned the young woman’s name. Dominique sank to the bottom stair and buried her head in her hands. But the worst was yet to come.

A few weeks later, Clay called her, his tone cordial, as though there had never been trouble between them. He spent several minutes on pleasantries before he got down to business.

“Say, Dominique. Don’t you think that house is too big for you?” He adopted a sympathetic tone.

Dominique bit back a retort. It wouldn’t do to anger him now. With a start, Dominique realized that she relied entirely on him for financial support. Her position suddenly seemed precarious. “We’re fine,” Dominique said flatly. He had promised to continue supporting them. She would hold him to it.

“You wouldn’t feel more comfortable in a smaller place?” His tone was wheedling.

Dominique’s reply was firm and swift. “Gabrielle’s life has been disrupted enough. I won’t have any more changes.”

Clay was silent for a moment. Finally, in a voice of deliberate patience, he said, “Neither of us wants to upset Gabrielle, but she seemed to be adjusting well when we had her last weekend.” He added as an afterthought, “Marie made a tremendous effort with her, and I think it paid off.”

“Good for Marie,” Dominique said dryly. Then she softened. “I’m glad Gabrielle seemed happy at your place. I was a little worried—”

Clay cut her off with a short laugh. “You always worry too much!”

Again, Dominique bit back a retort. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss, Clay?” she asked coldly.

The warmth left Clay’s voice. “Have you chosen a lawyer?” he asked abruptly.

The question caught Dominique off guard. A chill of fear went through her. She hadn’t hired a lawyer, for to do so would be to finally admit that there was no hope of saving her marriage.

“Have… have you?” she asked haltingly.

“Larry Beausoleil,” Clay answered.

The name meant nothing to Dominique.

Clay continued. “I want to hammer out a separation agreement, then get the ball rolling on the divorce. I need to know my financial position.”

“I’m not sure I understand. You said nothing would change for me.” And why should it? Clay had always spent money extravagantly. The company had seemingly provided an endless source of it.

Clay made a sound of impatience. “You’re always so literal. Naturally, I don’t want to disrupt your life, but I can’t afford to support you in the same way!” He paused. When he spoke again, his tone was confidential, as though sharing a secret with a sympathetic friend. “The business is going through a rough patch.”

Dominique was aghast. “This is the first I’ve heard of it!” she shot back.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Clay’s voice was low and soothing. “But… maybe you’d better get rid of the help. And you ought to think about going back to work.”

“Work!” Dominique exclaimed. “You never wanted me to work! You wanted me here for Gabrielle! It’s been years since I had a job. Who would hire me now?”

“Gabrielle will start junior high this fall,” Clay argued. “She’s almost a teenager. She can fend for herself for a couple of hours each day. Besides, she has Solange.”

“You know Solange goes to Danielle’s beach place every summer. It’s too hot for her here!”

Clay’s voice rose. “It won’t kill Gabrielle to be alone.”

Dominique’s voice rose, too. She was at the edge of panic. “You can’t just change your mind about this! Tell me to fire the Jeffersons and Lucy. Sell the house. You made certain promises to me!”

“I’m sorry,” Clay shouted, “but the situation has changed! Now, get yourself a lawyer and let’s get this settled so we can both get on with our lives.”

Dominique heard a loud click, then the dial tone. She stared at the phone with disbelief. Clay had never before hung up on her. She didn’t recognize him anymore.

“How could you let this happen?” Danielle asked her sister for the third time.

“If you’re going to ask me the same question over and over, there’s no point in my paying for this call. I can’t afford it anymore,” Dominique added sourly.