Underwater (2 page)

But that fall, her Aunt Stella died and left her an inheritance to attend her alma mater up north, the elite Wynnton College. Over the next several months, Candace starved herself down to a size six; ever since, she had maintained her figure through a newfound discipline in eating habits and exercise. At Wynnton, she majored in marketing, and just after graduation, she married her boyfriend, Ted Morgan, and moved to his hometown of Dallas.

There she began her career on the sales floor at the now-defunct women’s apparel store A Clothes Mind. She’d never understood the rationale behind the last word—she would have chosen the less objectionable
Mine
. Over the next few years, she was promoted to assistant buyer, then buyer—she was even awarded a bonus for coming up with the new slogan: “A Clothes Mind: Your Wardrobe Gold Mine.” No matter her successes, though, her in-laws denigrated her for stooping to work in retail, for hanging up (and marking down) trendy women’s fashions. Meanwhile, Ted studied law at SMU on his father’s dime.

After seven years, they separated and put their posh Highland Park home on the market. Once the divorce was final, Ted married a willowy six-foot-tall, twenty-something graduate of SMU. While Candace was out busting her butt working retail and developing a business idea that would yield her a fortune, Ted had been cheating on her with that blonde bitch.

What a different life she lived now. She owned a country home in the south of France but spent most of her time in her apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, with occasional visits to Atlanta. She braked quickly to avoid a Lexus SUV that cut her off on Roswell Road. The woman driving it was a thirty-something Buckhead mom, the target customer for the product Candace had invented during a simmering hot Texas summer. The product that had made her a millionaire.

She had thought her idea so obvious that she almost immediately dismissed it. It was an undergarment that provided the benefits of panty hose with none of the drawbacks. It didn’t have feet and it didn’t roll up, so it stayed in place: it was the first shapewear product. It erased VPL—Visible Panty Line—something previously avoided only by wearing a thong. Candace knew her invention was revolutionary and a potential gold mine. She kept her idea to herself because she didn’t want to have to defend it to naysayers. Without telling anyone, she had a prototype made and started pitching it to textile factory owners in North Carolina. After a few months, one of them took a chance on her after his wife convinced him that it was marvelous, and that it would take off.

Of course, it had, but not without Candace’s hard work. She patented her invention and studied the psychology of branding. She discovered that the
z
sound connotes pleasure, speed of gratification, and luxury, then selected a one syllable descriptive name using the sound and letter. She sent a batch of prototypes to a popular national talk show host, who loved it and chose it as her favorite product of the year.

Then orders flew in and her company became famous almost overnight. Over a decade later, the brand name SlimZ was as much a part of the English language as Kleenex. The company she founded when she moved back to Atlanta had added several product lines over the years. As CEO, her basic principles guided all of her ninety-nine mostly female employees: trust your instincts, ask for feedback, keep emotion at bay, and be willing to change—principles that Candace applied so well in business, but that she hadn’t fully adopted regarding Monty.

Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the screen and clicked it on. “Rob?”

“Hello, darling. How’s your day going?”

“Not well. It’s Monty again.”

“What’s he done now?”

“He went crazy last Friday with David, and today he threatened me in an email. I’m going to forward it to you.”

“Do. But don’t worry. He can’t do anything to you—I won’t let him.”

“David says it’s all bluster, that he’s just trying to bully me.”

“Don’t let him succeed. Where are you right now?”

“On the way to Midtown. I’m late for a luncheon.”

“Then what?”

“Meeting at the office around three, or when I get there.”

“How about we meet for cocktails, then dinner?”

“That could work,” Candace said while racing to make it through a yellow light. “Where?”

“Better yet, let’s don’t meet. I’ll pick you up at the condo. Shall we say six?”

“Six thirty. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere lovely. I want to surprise you. Let me.”

“If you insist. See you then, Rob.”

After dropping off her car with the museum’s valet, Candace hurried into the building and found her way to the table reserved for the board. Conversation hummed as waiters hurried to serve entrees and refill beverages. The program hadn’t begun yet.

Almost two hours later, her obligation completed, Candace took Peachtree Road to her company’s office in Buckhead. She dialed the number of her assistant, Jessica Copeland.

“Yes, Candace?”

“Hello, Jess. Is everything on track for the meeting this afternoon?”

“All except for Darlene. She had to take her son in for an emergency appendectomy this morning.”

“Oh my God. Is he going to be all right?”

“We think so—”

“Good. I’m assuming all the other department heads are in?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, make sure. Also, have you bought my ticket for New York yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Don’t. I may change the date. I’m not certain yet. Do you know what hospital Darlene’s son is in?”

“I think he’s at Scottish Rite.”

“Find out, then send a bouquet with a get-well wish from me.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. See you in a bit.”

That evening, wearing a dark blue cocktail dress that bared one sexy shoulder, Candace opened the door of her luxury penthouse condominium at exactly six thirty. She had appreciated Rob’s punctuality when their relationship began many years ago, as business associates only. When it developed into friendship, and eventually, romance, she valued it even more.

“My love,” he said. He kissed her, running a finger from her bare shoulder down the length of her arm.

“I need a drink, Rob. But I’m eager to find out where you’re taking me. You know I’m not fond of surprises.”

“You’ll be fond of this one. I promise,” he said, smiling. “But I like you eager.”

Candace laughed. Sometimes she felt a little bewildered that this tall, attentive, and gorgeous man wanted her—she couldn’t imagine such a thing when she was young—and that he was in love with her. “And I
expect
you eager. There’s a single malt over there waiting for you,
mon amour
.” She led the way to the mirrored bar, where French crystal sparkled and an array of spirits beckoned. “I’ll get some ice.”

“Martini with a twist?” he asked, reaching for a bottle of Grey Goose.

“Perfect,” she called from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the two sat opposite each other, drinks in hand, in the living room. One huge glass wall offered a splendid view of the lighted cityscape below.

“Where are we going? Tell me now.”

“It’s a new spot. You’ve not heard of it.”

Candace crossed her legs, impatient now. “How do you know?”

“It’s just opened. Trust me. You’ll approve.”

She gave him a look. “So, did you read the emails?”

He nodded. “Not to worry.”

“How can you say that, Rob? I think I need to take any threat from him seriously.”

“That’s just what Monty would like. You can’t keep giving him what he wants—”

“We’ve been over this before, and you know more about him than anyone, even David, probably—”

“Let’s just examine it, then. Monty can’t do anything public to you. At least, nothing that would have any consequence or hurt you in any way.”

“That’s what David said. But he could definitely embarrass me—”

“Worst case, he could. But what can he say that’s true, that isn’t already out there? You know what people see when they google you. The accident—”

“It was so long ago.” She shook her head and shuddered.

“Ages. You dealt with it back then, and there’s nothing new, legally or otherwise.”

“But Monty could say whatever he wants to about it. He could spin it, maybe twist the facts around. Who knows who’ll believe him? He won’t go get a job, but he’ll sit at his computer all day and fabricate lies.”

“Hasn’t he always been a loose cannon? Not just since the day your mum died, but all his life?”

“Yes, he’s always lied. He lies so much that he believes whatever he says to be the truth.”

“I know, love.” Rob took another sip of Scotch. “Just remember, you’ve
nothing
to feel guilty over.”

Candace sipped her martini, brows furrowed. “It’s just . . . I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I had—if I hadn’t—”

“Darling, don’t torture yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”

However, Candace believed there was, but it had been easier to push away the painful memory than to think about it. She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. She rarely shed tears, and remembering the event now didn’t summon them.

“Life is so unpredictable,” Rob continued. “Your world can change in one day. Mine did, the day my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor.”

“What a horrible day.”

He cocked his head to one side. “But it’s what happened, and six months later, he was gone.” He put down his rocks glass, drained of liquid. “But enough about the past. Let’s focus on the present. On tonight.”

“I’m hungry, Rob.”

“Then let’s not tarry any longer. Finish your drink. The owner is holding our table.”

“Okay. Let me go to the
‘
loo’ first, as you call it,” said Candace. “I hope I’ll like your new restaurant.”

“You will, I guarantee it,” he said while rising.

2

Lying

A
s the sky darkened with the threat of a thunderstorm, Helen Carawan pulled her Volvo sedan onto a cracked driveway and parked at the end, in front of the property’s small guest cottage. The detached garage that Monty wanted to have constructed next to the cottage was still in the planning stages, ground unbroken. Helen grabbed her purse and briefcase, unbuckled her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter from her car seat, and hastened to the door with the child in her arms as the first fat drops of rain fell.

“Mommy! I getting wet!” exclaimed Adele, laughing.

“It’s okay,” Helen said, unsmiling and feeling exhausted. Finding the door of the cottage locked, she rapped on it loudly. “Monty!”

A trim, fit man of just under six feet tall with a full head of blond hair unlocked the door and opened it. “You have a key,” Monty grumbled, turning away.

“My hands were full! And we were getting rained on,” said Helen. She put Adele down and dropped her bag and case. “Thanks.”

He gave her a backward glance as if to make sure no sarcasm was intended, then sat down at his desk and laptop in a corner of the small living area.

“Hi, Daddy! What’re you doing?”

He let out an irritated sigh. Helen shivered, hoping he would choose to be silent. She looked down at Adele. “Don’t bother Daddy, sweetie.”

Adele looked up at her mother. “But he’s not busy!”

“Yes, he is. Come on, follow Mommy.” Helen walked through the room to the cottage’s one bedroom with Adele toddling behind. Shutting the door behind her, Helen began to change her clothes as her daughter entertained herself in front of a full-length mirror.

“Why were you so late?” called Monty, a bite to his voice.

“Traffic,” answered Helen. She didn’t bother to add that she had to work late and had arrived at the day care center right before it closed. She flipped on the small television and turned to an educational channel for Adele, who plopped down on a blanket in front of it. Helen hoped it would distract the little girl until she got her dinner ready.

Helen pulled on a hoodie, then heard her phone vibrating inside her purse. She grabbed it. “Dawn?”

“Hi, sis! Is this a good time?”

“Well, no, actually. I just got home—late—and Adele’s probably getting hungry. Unless they gave her a late snack at school.”

“Oh. Well, can you call me later?” Dawn lived in Chicago, where the two women had grown up.

“I’ll try. I just have to see how things go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Monty’s in kind of a bad mood—”

“So? Does that mean you can’t talk to your sister?”

“Dawn, relax. It’s not just that. I want to talk, when I have some time to myself.” Helen evaluated herself in the mirror, reflexively pulling one shoulder of the hoodie closer to her neck to cover the scarred skin. “But first I have to feed Adele, give her a bath, and put her to bed.” The little girl had been mesmerized by Big Bird until she heard her mother’s voice—now she got up and began to pull on Helen’s legs and whine softly. “You know how she is. As soon as I start talking on the phone, it’s like a bell rings in her head, and she won’t let me.”

“Fine,” said Dawn. “Really. I know you’re busy. Just call me later? And if you can’t talk at all tonight, text me or something.”

“Is something up?”

“No. Everything’s great. Just wanted to know how you’re doing. With the whole situation down there.”

Helen exhaled. “Fine. I’ll call you. Don’t worry. Bye now.”

“Bye.”

Helen zipped up her jacket and gave Adele a kiss. “Now, baby, Mommy’s off the phone. Watch your show, okay?”

Adele sat back down on the blanket and Helen went into the small bathroom between the bedroom and the tiny L-shaped kitchen.

What had Monty been doing all day?
He usually claimed he had been working on the house, but Helen never saw any changes. Whenever she brought up the subject, he either gave her a cold stare and ignored her questions or flew off the handle, sometimes scaring her. She couldn’t risk the latter when Adele was in the house. Not that he had ever hurt his daughter, who had seen him go nuts more than once. When he had his rages, he just threw things or pounded on furniture and walls. Last fall he had broken all the china Helen had inherited from her grandmother. Over time, she had learned to read his face, tiptoe around him, and avoid looking directly into his eyes.

How had this become her life? Monty had been so wonderful and so romantic in the beginning, over three years ago. In her twenties, Helen had had a couple of serious boyfriends, but she’d never met anyone like Monty. Able to talk to anyone, he commanded attention whenever he walked into a room. His charm was overpowering, and during those early weeks, it was on for Helen, nonstop. He knew all the hip restaurants, all the fashionable places to go and the best things to buy. He was the
coolest
person she had ever known.

They’d met at a Christmas party, and by the end of the evening, he had seduced her. They began going out, usually ending up at Helen’s apartment in Vinings, though some weekends he claimed to be away on business. She had had no idea he was lying and living with his girlfriend, Jeanine, who knew how wealthy his sister was—and whose own baby clock was ticking. Weeks before Helen met him, Jeanine had given Monty an ultimatum: either set a wedding date or she would stop supporting him. Of course, he’d agreed, and Jeanine had bought herself a huge diamond ring.

That spring, Helen discovered she was pregnant. Without mentioning he was engaged—and that his fiancée was planning a November wedding—Monty promised to marry Helen once the baby was born. It was one of the few promises he had kept, though not until he’d demanded proof that he was the father. Adele was born in September 2007, and in mid-October, her parents got married in a courthouse on a Friday afternoon.

Walking into the kitchen, Helen peeked over at her husband. She didn’t dare ask what he was doing on the computer. She opened the fridge and tried to shake the memory of Jeanine’s wrath. She had blamed Helen, and looking back, Helen could almost understand. But then Jeanine had moved on and married someone else. Life was so weird.

With her back to Monty, Helen pulled out a hot dog and some leftover macaroni and cheese to warm up for Adele. She glanced over to see if Monty had unwittingly left the day’s mail on the counter, something he almost never did. Even though it was her paycheck alone that supported them and was automatically deposited into their joint checking account twice a month, he gathered the mail every day and paid the bills. At least, he said he did. Helen had stopped asking about it a long time ago, after a horrible argument about her lack of trust in him and her disrespect of his need for autonomy. When he caught her looking for the bills again the following week, he had broken a chair.

Not wanting things to escalate, she had meekly retreated and strangled her wish to fight back. What might happen if she did was just too frightening.

“That damn bitch,” Monty muttered, his eyes glued to the laptop’s screen. Helen glanced furtively over at him, then looked back at the plate she was preparing for Adele. After grabbing a pink vinyl place mat, she brought the food into the bedroom. Adele could eat on the blanket in front of the TV.

Helen wasn’t hungry herself. She’d had a late lunch at work, and recently she hadn’t had much of an appetite. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with some kind of stomach bug. The kids at Adele’s school—day care center—were constantly passing around germs, and Adele had been home sick a lot. Which meant that Helen either had to call in sick or take a personal day. Her firm didn’t allow many of either, and she’d taken several of both. And it was only March.

She looked out the window at the falling rain. It was coming down hard now, the tall pine trees surrounding the cottage swaying with the strong winds. The plan over two years ago had been to take them out when the property was landscaped, after renovating all three levels of the house. The entire project was supposed to take no more than a year, and then they were going to sell for a big profit.

Monty had assured her that he’d learned all about construction and home renovation from his father, Jack, who had made his living in the business. He drew up plans for a large gourmet kitchen and five bathrooms (the original house only had three), complete with imported tile, marble, and granite. The blueprints reflected a major increase in the home’s square footage, with an expanded master suite, one additional bedroom, and bigger closets throughout. There would even be built-in electronics and an outdoor Jacuzzi.

But the plans hung on his sister’s promise of financial help, which Monty claimed to have in writing. He met with her in late 2007 and said he had sold her on the idea. Why had Helen believed him when he said his wealthy sibling was more than willing to lay out all the necessary funding? That she would make loans to them without any expectation of repayment, and that she would fork over more money as gifts? That Candace
wanted
to give them all the money they might request, without even asking what it was for?

What a huge mistake it had been to go to Candace. They should have just bought a home they could have afforded and saved their money for any future upgrades. Helen was sick of making mistakes, and looking back now over the past few years, she realized she’d made several. Some of them weren’t her fault, but just bad luck.

Like when the home’s basement flooded in spring 2008, right after they had moved in and the kitchen and upstairs baths had already been demolished. It had rained almost nonstop for two months, and many neighborhoods in the city had flooded. Then a violent thunderstorm hit and took out the power for two days.

Water flowed into the basement, and the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living area were ruined. They’d had to move into the guesthouse—the cottage—with whatever they could salvage. It sat on a hill in the back of the property, and there had been no plan to redo it, thank goodness.

Sitting on the bed, Helen stared at the rain now pelting the windows. She felt so isolated and alone, and so tired. At least the occasional lightning and thunder didn’t bother Adele, who had finished her dinner and was still mesmerized by her television show. It was almost eight o’clock and the little girl had to be getting tired. She got up early every day with her mother, and the two got ready for the day while Monty slept.

Helen picked up Adele’s plate. “It’s almost time for your bath, sweetie.”

“Fi’e minutes,” said Adele, making a cute begging face. “Please, Mommy?”

Helen smiled. Adele was a precocious child and the joy of her life. Everything she was dealing with, everything she had been through, was all worth it for her sake.

“Okay, but that’s all. Then you get to pick out a story for bedtime.”

Adele nodded and reached her arm around to hold her mother’s ankle. Helen closed her eyes and lay back on the bed to rest for a few minutes.

A loud bang came from the other room—not outside—startling her and the toddler.

“It’s all right, Boo,” Helen said. She got up and grabbed her daughter’s small hand. “Come on.”

She closed the door from the bathroom to the living room and ran the bathwater while Adele used the toilet. A few moments later, as the girl played with her toys in the tub, Helen fetched her cell phone from the bedroom and sat down on the bathroom floor.

She typed in a text message.
Adele’s in tub & I’m beat. Will call u tmrw from work. All’s well. No worries. xoxo

Maybe Dawn wouldn’t realize she was lying.