On Second Thought
Page 28
“People die in Alaska all the time,” Aaron echoed.
“Exactly,” I said.
“He’ll come around, sweetheart. He’s not that dumb.” There was a pause, in which I imagined her glaring at her son, then putting another pancake on his plate. “Are we still on for shopping on Thursday? I have nothing to wear for my cruise.”
See? Things were fine if she still wanted to go shopping with me. I assured her I was, then hung up.
I was supposed to have lunch with Rachelle. Good, that would be good. I’d get my mind off things, and who knew? By the time I got back, Eric might well be sitting on the front porch, waiting for me with a bouquet of roses in his hand and regret in his heart.
I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. It would only make things awkward when Eric and I got back together.
I showered and dressed with care, trying to empty my mind. Put on a cute checked dress, long silver earrings and strappy sandals. There. I looked like myself again, slightly plump (curvy, Eric liked to say), cute as a bug’s ear.
Except I could see the shadow of anxiety in my eyes.
We’d never parted on angry terms. We’d never gone to bed mad. We were that special couple, two halves of a whole.
Rachelle and I were meeting at the Blessed Bean, a sweet café in the historic downtown section of Cambry-on-Hudson, not far from work. I rode my bike into town, past Kate’s still-new studio, photos of brides, grooms, babies and animals in the window. She liked to say that photography showed the truth of people, and over the years, she’d taken a few pictures of Eric and me. We looked happy in every damn one. There was no I haven’t been happy for some time anywhere.
Or maybe there was. Maybe I should check.
As I passed Bliss, the bridal gown boutique, I tried not to look in the window. The dresses were works of art (especially the short lace one I saw out of the corner of my eye). But I couldn’t be thinking about weddings right now. No. Eric had some crawling to do.
There was Rachelle, checking her phone in front of the restaurant. “Hey!” I called, plastering on a smile.
“Don’t you look cute!” she said. Like me, she loved clothes. Shopping was one of the ways we’d become friends. “Did you check out the lace dress in Bliss? Oh, my God, I have to get married just so I can wear that!”
“It would look great on you. I’m starving,” I said. “Let’s go in.”
We were seated by a window and she flirted with the waiter. Rachelle was single and on the prowl, and he was pretty cute.
“So guess what?” she said after we’d ordered. “I have office gossip.”
“Oh, goody! Do tell.”
“Captain Flatline went on a date last night. Can you believe it?”
“Really?” I drank some water to cover. Of course, I’d seen Jonathan last night—not that I’d realized it was a date. It had looked about as romantic as a bunionectomy. But I didn’t want to tell Rachelle. After all, Jonathan had seen me in my moment of humiliation. He’d ignored me as I left the restaurant, and I was grateful. I knew he’d never talk about it with anyone.
Rachelle chattered and speculated away, and I nodded and smiled but didn’t comment. We then moved on to where she could meet a nice guy—her last date had tried to convince her to become a Druid—and I promised to give her the number of one of the Wall Street crew she’d met at Eric’s party.
“I could use a rich boyfriend,” she said. “I had to cancel my cable and I’m in deep mourning. And what’s-his-name was pretty cute.”
God, if only we could do that party over. I’d make sure Kate’s glass was full. Nathan would still be alive, and I’d be engaged.
When the bill came, I grabbed it, handed over my Visa and subtly checked my phone.
Nothing from Eric. Maybe he was home by now.
“What are you guys doing tonight? Anything fun?” she asked.
“Oh, no plans yet.” I forced another smile.
The cute waiter came back with the bill. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but your card’s been declined.”
My mouth fell open, and humiliation burned its way up my chest and throat, into my cheeks. “Oh...uh, right! I...I forgot, our card number was hacked. I’m so sorry. I was supposed to throw that one out. Here.”
Our credit card had not been hacked.
I dug in my wallet and handed him two twenties. “Sorry. Keep the change.”
Eric had canceled the card. I knew it in my bones.
Holy guacamole. Fear pricked my knees. “Listen, I should check in on my sister, so I’m gonna cut this short,” I told Rachelle.
“Of course,” she said. “Give her my best, okay?”
“Will do. See you Monday!” My heart thumped erratically.
I’d like you to move out.
I raced home, burst through the front door and went straight to my laptop—the latest Mac, a Hanukkah gift from Eric—and logged into our bank account, the one I used to pay the household bills.
My password was accepted, thank God. The dread didn’t lift. Ollie whined, and I petted him automatically, waiting for my bank account to appear. Our bank account.
There.
Checking Account Ending in 7839: Balance: $35.17.
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead and back.
Last week, there’d been more than twenty grand in there.
Savings Account Ending in 3261: Balance: $102.18
Last week, fifty grand and change. My breathing was fast and shallow.
All our—his—other money was held in a conservative stock portfolio. He kept some aside to play with; it was what he did for a living, after all. He liked to take some chances on new companies, always on the lookout for the next Google.
I sat back and tried to take a calming breath.
Back when Eric started making more than I did, I insisted on paying for half of our expenses (except rent, because there was no way I could’ve afforded our second apartment). But I paid for half the gas, half the electric, half the building fees. I didn’t want to seem like a kept woman, even if his job on Wall Street had boosted us into another tax bracket. And now, please. I didn’t earn enough at Hudson Lifestyle to live in the area the magazine covered. The irony was not lost on me.
When we bought the house, Eric told me to save my share of the down payment “for when we have a baby.” Logistically, I couldn’t manage a tenth of it, let alone half. I’d worried—a little, anyway—at the time, wanting a more modest house, but Eric had smiled, kissed me and said, “Honey, we can easily afford this.”
By which he’d meant I can easily afford this.
Otherwise, I never thought much about money. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The name on the deed...only his. We’d never changed that, had we? Had that been deliberate? My God, had he done that on purpose?
I never once questioned that it was our money, our house, our families.
Once or twice a year, I’d wrestle Eric for the check and say, “This one’s on me,” and we’d laugh, and he’d let me pay.
I realized I was sweating.
I did have my own savings account, which I checked now. The balance was the same as last week: $12,289.43. Not a lot to show for a decade of work.
My heart should probably be broken, or I should be furious, but right now all I felt was numb.
He didn’t mean this. A day or week from now, he’d be on his knees, begging me to forgive him. He loved me. He had always loved me.
“Exactly,” I said.
“He’ll come around, sweetheart. He’s not that dumb.” There was a pause, in which I imagined her glaring at her son, then putting another pancake on his plate. “Are we still on for shopping on Thursday? I have nothing to wear for my cruise.”
See? Things were fine if she still wanted to go shopping with me. I assured her I was, then hung up.
I was supposed to have lunch with Rachelle. Good, that would be good. I’d get my mind off things, and who knew? By the time I got back, Eric might well be sitting on the front porch, waiting for me with a bouquet of roses in his hand and regret in his heart.
I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. It would only make things awkward when Eric and I got back together.
I showered and dressed with care, trying to empty my mind. Put on a cute checked dress, long silver earrings and strappy sandals. There. I looked like myself again, slightly plump (curvy, Eric liked to say), cute as a bug’s ear.
Except I could see the shadow of anxiety in my eyes.
We’d never parted on angry terms. We’d never gone to bed mad. We were that special couple, two halves of a whole.
Rachelle and I were meeting at the Blessed Bean, a sweet café in the historic downtown section of Cambry-on-Hudson, not far from work. I rode my bike into town, past Kate’s still-new studio, photos of brides, grooms, babies and animals in the window. She liked to say that photography showed the truth of people, and over the years, she’d taken a few pictures of Eric and me. We looked happy in every damn one. There was no I haven’t been happy for some time anywhere.
Or maybe there was. Maybe I should check.
As I passed Bliss, the bridal gown boutique, I tried not to look in the window. The dresses were works of art (especially the short lace one I saw out of the corner of my eye). But I couldn’t be thinking about weddings right now. No. Eric had some crawling to do.
There was Rachelle, checking her phone in front of the restaurant. “Hey!” I called, plastering on a smile.
“Don’t you look cute!” she said. Like me, she loved clothes. Shopping was one of the ways we’d become friends. “Did you check out the lace dress in Bliss? Oh, my God, I have to get married just so I can wear that!”
“It would look great on you. I’m starving,” I said. “Let’s go in.”
We were seated by a window and she flirted with the waiter. Rachelle was single and on the prowl, and he was pretty cute.
“So guess what?” she said after we’d ordered. “I have office gossip.”
“Oh, goody! Do tell.”
“Captain Flatline went on a date last night. Can you believe it?”
“Really?” I drank some water to cover. Of course, I’d seen Jonathan last night—not that I’d realized it was a date. It had looked about as romantic as a bunionectomy. But I didn’t want to tell Rachelle. After all, Jonathan had seen me in my moment of humiliation. He’d ignored me as I left the restaurant, and I was grateful. I knew he’d never talk about it with anyone.
Rachelle chattered and speculated away, and I nodded and smiled but didn’t comment. We then moved on to where she could meet a nice guy—her last date had tried to convince her to become a Druid—and I promised to give her the number of one of the Wall Street crew she’d met at Eric’s party.
“I could use a rich boyfriend,” she said. “I had to cancel my cable and I’m in deep mourning. And what’s-his-name was pretty cute.”
God, if only we could do that party over. I’d make sure Kate’s glass was full. Nathan would still be alive, and I’d be engaged.
When the bill came, I grabbed it, handed over my Visa and subtly checked my phone.
Nothing from Eric. Maybe he was home by now.
“What are you guys doing tonight? Anything fun?” she asked.
“Oh, no plans yet.” I forced another smile.
The cute waiter came back with the bill. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but your card’s been declined.”
My mouth fell open, and humiliation burned its way up my chest and throat, into my cheeks. “Oh...uh, right! I...I forgot, our card number was hacked. I’m so sorry. I was supposed to throw that one out. Here.”
Our credit card had not been hacked.
I dug in my wallet and handed him two twenties. “Sorry. Keep the change.”
Eric had canceled the card. I knew it in my bones.
Holy guacamole. Fear pricked my knees. “Listen, I should check in on my sister, so I’m gonna cut this short,” I told Rachelle.
“Of course,” she said. “Give her my best, okay?”
“Will do. See you Monday!” My heart thumped erratically.
I’d like you to move out.
I raced home, burst through the front door and went straight to my laptop—the latest Mac, a Hanukkah gift from Eric—and logged into our bank account, the one I used to pay the household bills.
My password was accepted, thank God. The dread didn’t lift. Ollie whined, and I petted him automatically, waiting for my bank account to appear. Our bank account.
There.
Checking Account Ending in 7839: Balance: $35.17.
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead and back.
Last week, there’d been more than twenty grand in there.
Savings Account Ending in 3261: Balance: $102.18
Last week, fifty grand and change. My breathing was fast and shallow.
All our—his—other money was held in a conservative stock portfolio. He kept some aside to play with; it was what he did for a living, after all. He liked to take some chances on new companies, always on the lookout for the next Google.
I sat back and tried to take a calming breath.
Back when Eric started making more than I did, I insisted on paying for half of our expenses (except rent, because there was no way I could’ve afforded our second apartment). But I paid for half the gas, half the electric, half the building fees. I didn’t want to seem like a kept woman, even if his job on Wall Street had boosted us into another tax bracket. And now, please. I didn’t earn enough at Hudson Lifestyle to live in the area the magazine covered. The irony was not lost on me.
When we bought the house, Eric told me to save my share of the down payment “for when we have a baby.” Logistically, I couldn’t manage a tenth of it, let alone half. I’d worried—a little, anyway—at the time, wanting a more modest house, but Eric had smiled, kissed me and said, “Honey, we can easily afford this.”
By which he’d meant I can easily afford this.
Otherwise, I never thought much about money. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The name on the deed...only his. We’d never changed that, had we? Had that been deliberate? My God, had he done that on purpose?
I never once questioned that it was our money, our house, our families.
Once or twice a year, I’d wrestle Eric for the check and say, “This one’s on me,” and we’d laugh, and he’d let me pay.
I realized I was sweating.
I did have my own savings account, which I checked now. The balance was the same as last week: $12,289.43. Not a lot to show for a decade of work.
My heart should probably be broken, or I should be furious, but right now all I felt was numb.
He didn’t mean this. A day or week from now, he’d be on his knees, begging me to forgive him. He loved me. He had always loved me.
