We Could Be Beautiful (38 page)

A look of concern. He pressed his finger to his lips. “What am I to say?”

“That it’s fine?”

“Sure, then, it’s fine, darling.” He took his watch off the dresser, and as he was putting it on he let out a loud sigh, which wasn’t normal for him. He clasped the watch around his wrist, looked at the time. “I have to get to work, but tonight I’d like to have a talk with you. Something is not right here, and I need you to tell me what it is.”

I blinked at him, said nothing. He was upset. I was surprised he was letting me see how upset he was.

“Answer me, Catherine.”

I didn’t answer him. We stared at each other. I thought he would accept my silence and leave. I waited. But he didn’t leave. His cheeks turned red. He clenched his fists. And then he was standing over me, gripping my arm, saying, “Answer me.”

“Let go of me.”

He let go. “You, my darling, are making this difficult.”

“You don’t like difficult.”

He was clenching his fists in quick pulses now, still standing over me. His red face, the fury in his eyes. I’d never seen him so angry. This was not the William I knew. This was some other man. He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in my bedroom.

“Tonight,” he said, and left.

•

“Ted.”

“Catherine? How are you, dear?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations!”

“I need to talk to you about getting an advance on the will money.”

“I see. I’m not sure that’s possible, but—”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. Not really.”

“If I remember correctly, you have to be married in order to collect—”

“I know. The wedding’s in a few weeks. And I’m due in a few months. But we need the money now.”

“Send me your fiancé’s full name and Social Security number. I’ll see what I can do.”

•

Evelyn sat in the yellow chair.
The Price Is Right
was on. “Where’s my mother?”

Evelyn flinched. “You damn near scared me to death, Catherine. She’s right here. We are braiding Mrs. West’s hair today, aren’t we, Mrs. West?”

Half my mother’s head was covered in tiny braids, each tied with a rubber band.

“With rubber bands? And why is she on the floor?”

“She’s got a pillow, don’t worry,” Evelyn said. And then, to the TV, where a woman was spinning the lucky wheel, “Go, go, go!”

“Go,” Mom said.

“Mom,” I said, but she was watching the TV. Evelyn tied off a braid and started a new one.

“Mom!”

The wheel on the TV stopped turning. The audience sighed. “Oh no, she missed it. So close,” Evelyn said.

“Mom,” I said again.

Mom turned to look, and Evelyn quickly corrected her head so it was facing straight again.

“Evelyn, can you please stop that for a second? My mother isn’t your doll.”

She finished the braid anyway and tied it off. “Fine,” she said, and sat back in the chair.

I went and stood in front of the TV and just said it. “Mom, I know you had an affair with William. How could you not have told me?” I held my hand up so she could see the ring. “Do you understand he’s my fiancé?”

Mom touched one of her braids. Her eyes had gone dead.

But Evelyn had understood. I could see her wheels turning. And then she rubbed my mother’s shoulders and said, “You slept with that William, Mrs. West? He’s so young for you!” And then she was laughing, smiling. She thought this was hilarious. “You know, Catherine”—she laughed again; what was wrong with her?—“Mister William was here not two hours ago. You just missed each other!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He comes all the time, Catherine. William and Mrs. West like to play a little checkers together. Isn’t that right, Mrs. West?”

“Right,” Mom said.

“Sit down, Catherine,” Evelyn said. “You look sickly.”

A blur. A dry-heaving fit. My stomach pushing itself to a pinpoint, expanding into light, pushing again. The smallest, tightest point. That’s where it hurt the most. I kept pushing toward it. I couldn’t stop pushing toward the pain.

42

C
aroline’s housekeeper said, “She’s taking a nap.”

I found her in the bedroom, curled into a ball with a box of tissues by her head. She’d fallen asleep holding a tissue in her hand.

“Hey.” I tapped her shoulder. “Caroline.” And then I did the mean thing we used to do to each other as children. I squeezed her nostrils until she was fighting for air. She awoke, startled and out of breath and not aware of what had just happened.

“Catherine?”

“Did you know William’s been going to see Mom?”

“No.” She rubbed her eyes. “That’s so sweet. Bob never does that.”

“I need you not to talk to him right now. If he calls you, don’t answer, okay?”

“Okay.” She sat up. “But why?”

“It’s…I’ll tell you later. Just don’t pick up the phone.”

“Okay.”

I stood up.

“Where are you going? Hang out with me.”

Her bed did look comfortable. And I was exhausted. And the last place I wanted to be was home. But I didn’t trust myself not to tell her everything if I stayed, and I wasn’t ready to tell her yet. She’d be so upset, and she was already upset about Bob. I couldn’t handle her crying all day.

“We can watch a movie.”

“Fine, I’ll stay, but I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” she whispered, “I won’t talk.”

•

We stayed in bed all day. We ordered grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Caroline’s housekeeper brought them to us on a silver tray. At some point Caroline said, “Can I talk now?” I said, “Yes, but only about things that don’t matter.” She said, “I’m glad you’re here, sis.” She told me she’d gone paintballing to get her anger out, but it had been a bad idea. She showed me her bruises, and then the wart on her finger, which I told her to get iced off immediately. I asked her where Mom’s sunglasses were. She said she didn’t know. Whenever we were in bed like this, it felt like we were kids again, except for all the glaring ways in which we weren’t. Like when Caroline said, “I know we’re not talking about anything real today, but I might get a boyfriend. It seems only fair.”

In the evening the kids came home with all their nannies. Did I want to stay for family dinner? No, I really didn’t.

“Aunt Catherine has to go home,” Caroline told the kids.

Only Spencer understood. The twins were too young. “Bye, Aunt Catherine,” he said.

“Thanks for coming over.” Caroline squeezed me. “Lunch tomorrow with Mom, right? I’ll see you then.”

•

He’d been texting me all day:

I’m sorry about this morning.

Shall we do dinner in or out tonight?

I think we’ll both feel better after a chat.

Catherine, please write back.

I hadn’t responded. I couldn’t go home. The spot on my arm where he’d grabbed me was bruised. I didn’t think he would hurt me more than this, but then, that’s probably what every battered woman thought before the first time she got battered.

I wandered around the Upper West Side. I looked at shoes in store windows but didn’t really see them. I went to a diner and ordered toast. I hadn’t been alone like this since my junior year in France. I had felt very lost then. I had also been sure that when I got older, I wouldn’t feel lost anymore. A naive thought.

I could go watch a movie, in a theater, alone. But that was crazy—I couldn’t do that. I felt self-conscious sitting in the diner by myself. I knew the people who looked at me felt sorry for me. They wondered, Where is her husband? Where are her friends? There must be something wrong with her. The only thing worse than being lonely, I thought, is being lonely and exposed.

I checked into a hotel on Amsterdam. There was nothing sadder than the cheap landscape art of a hotel room. Nothing sadder than the crisp and sterile sheets of a hotel bed, with no one to remind you not to touch the cover because it probably hadn’t been washed.

I poured the overpriced bottled water into the tumbler; I opened the small sad fridge. A mini vodka. I took that out, unscrewed the top. I would get drunk now. Fuck being pregnant. Maybe I still had Xanax in my purse. Give up, who cares, this isn’t the life you want anyway. The balcony. I could jump off it. I opened the doors, touched the railing. It was cold outside. I took a small sip of vodka. This baby has no chance at a normal life anyway. A gust of wind. I set the vodka bottle on the railing. If the wind blows it away, I thought, I won’t drink it. The wind did not blow it away. For a whole minute the bottle didn’t move. “Fuck!” I threw the bottle over the edge. I didn’t look to see where it landed.

43

“B
ad news,” Ted had written. “I was not aware that your fiancé was the son of Edward and Donna Stockton. As you will see below, this presents a large problem.”

He’d highlighted the part he wanted me to read.

Following the death of Edward and Donna Stockton, no monies shall be distributed to the Stockton family in any way. If any beneficiary of this trust becomes involved with any member of the Stockton family, including any and all relations of Edward and/or Donna Stockton, said beneficiary’s inheritance will be promptly annulled. Involvement includes any and all types of communication.

Why would my father write this? Hadn’t Edward been his good friend?

But.

And.

Unless.

No.

This could mean only one thing. My father had known about the affair. And if he’d been paying the Stocktons, then the Stocktons had obviously known. And they had blackmailed him. My father had paid for their silence. Until their deaths. Which was a very long time.

I read the words my father had written over and over. I imagined him in his old office, hunched over the desk, with the window cracked open because it always was, writing these words. How horrible that must have felt. How the name Stockton must have haunted him, and all of us, and how that family was still haunting ours now.

Now it was clear why William had come back. His parents had died; the bribe had died with them. He wanted more, and he’d returned to his old source to get it.

•

I opened the door, touched the railing, looked at the traffic down below. And then I called him. “We need to talk.”

“Where were you last night? I was worried sick.”

“Why don’t you come to lunch today? Me, you, Mom, and Caroline. Da Castelli at noon.”

“Oh, I would love to, but—”

“You need to come.” A pause. I could hear him breathing. “I’ll see you there.”

•

Evelyn had taken the braids out of Mom’s hair. “It looks like they crimped it,” Caroline said. “And this makeup today?”

Bright blue eye shadow all the way up to her eyebrows, a Sharpie-thick line of liquid eyeliner both above and below her eyes. I would kill Evelyn. Or I wouldn’t. Maybe my mother deserved this.

“Are you talking about me?” My mother’s eyes. Muddy, bewildered.

“Yes,” I said. “Your makeup looks like shit.”

They were stunned. Caroline nervously grabbed a strand of hair and began twirling.

“What did you say to me?”

I was so angry. I hated my mother. This whole thing was her fault. “I said your makeup looks like shit, Mom.”

My mother touched her cheeks with trembling hands. She looked hurt and insecure and so fragile. She seemed both like a child and heartbreakingly old at the same time.

“I’m sorry. I’m just angry.”

Caroline touched my mother’s arm and my mother didn’t pull away. She looked up at me sadly. “Why?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you yesterday, Caroline. Maybe I should have told you.”

I saw his suit in the mirror just as Caroline said his name. “William?”

“Caroline, hello,” he said. “Catherine.” He didn’t try to kiss me. “Mrs. West.” He nodded politely, sat down next to me. Quietly he said, “May we have a word alone please?”

“No,” I said, too loud.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“A dirty martini, thank you.”

“Oh, that sounds delicious,” Caroline said. “I’ll have one, too.” Apparently she was in a great mood now that William was here. “I didn’t know you were coming to lunch! It’s so nice of you to take time off during the day. Our dad never did that.”

“Yes,” William said. He did not look at my mother, who’d been gaping at him since he sat down.

“I know you,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. West, that’s right.”

“That’s Catherine’s fiancé,” Caroline said. “Not Fernando. William.”

“You and William have been playing checkers together, remember, Mom?”

“Oh?”

“Checkers?” Caroline said.

When I looked at William, he didn’t seem uneasy or pissed off or even surprised. He just sat there twirling his hair with an eerie smile on his face.

“William’s been going to see Mom because they have a history together.”

“What?”

How to explain? There was nothing to do but just say it. “They had an affair.”

“That’s not true,” Caroline said. “That doesn’t even make sense. Catherine, what’s going on with you today?”

William looked down. His eyes were closed. He was toying with his cuff link. My mother had no idea what was going on. She was buttering a piece of bread with a fork.

“William?” Caroline said.

“Please, I can explain,” William said.

“Good. Please explain.”

“Oh my God,” Caroline said, and turned to our mother. “Mom?”

Our mother didn’t answer because her mouth was full.

“Mom, did you have an affair?”

Mom inhaled sharply, too sharply, and then she was choking on her bread, coughing into her napkin.

“Drink water, Mom.” I pushed the glass toward her. She drank, composed herself, patted her chest.

“Dear,” she said.

“It was a long time ago,” William said calmly.

“Oh my God. How old were you?” Caroline said.

“He was seventeen,” I said.

“What?”

The waiter dropped off the martinis. Caroline took a big sip, took another.