The Consequences, page 20
In other circumstances, Kathy thought, they might have been friends.
When she’d set out to confront Stephanie, Kathy hadn’t known how the day would finish up. On the drive over she prepared herself for the worst: that Stephanie would fight for Robert . . . and that Robert would want to go to his mistress. Kathy even prepared the little speech she would give the children. Having Robert walk in on the conversation had been both terrifying and disgusting. He’d turned up at the house laden with an armful of presents. When was the last time he had taken his time over choosing a present for her, rather than just grabbing something at the last minute at the local Brookline florist?
But Kathy wasn’t going to need the speech for the children—not yet anyway—because Stephanie had done the decent thing. She had walked away. The only one of the three of them who had come out of this affair badly was Robert. He’d lied to her, lied to Stephanie . . . probably even lied to himself. How did he think the affair was going to end? Was he one of those men who thought that he could have his cake and eat it too, that he’d be able to manage his wife and mistress without someday having to face the consequences? Robert hadn’t been thinking—at least not with his brain.
Kathy was eager to get home; she still had the turkey to prepare for tomorrow’s dinner, though she didn’t think she was going to have any appetite. Her stomach had been upset from the moment she left home to drive to Robert’s mistress’s condo. Once they got through Christmas, she would insist that Robert go to a marriage counselor with her. A problem like this obviously needed professional help. Robert wouldn’t like it, she knew that—he was an intensely private person—but she’d make it one of her conditions. If they were going to stay together, then things would have to be different. He would have to change. She vowed that she would as well. There was no denying that if she’d been paying attention, to him, to the business, to their relationship, then he would never have found either the time or the opportunity to start and then maintain an affair with Stephanie.
As she turned onto Boylston Street, Kathy suddenly smiled. A bizarre thought crossed her mind: She should be grateful. At least she now knew that there was a problem in their marriage, and she had an opportunity to fix it before the problem became insurmountable. Her late mother had always said that Kathy could find the good in every situation. Her mother had been dead for the past eighteen months . . . just about the same length of time Robert had been having his affair. Kathy wondered if the two events could, in any way, possibly be connected. Had Kathy retreated in her grief? Had it made her so selfish, so painfully blinded by her own loss that she couldn’t see what was going on around her? Her therapist said that her mother’s death had triggered a fear of her own mortality. Well, her therapist was going to have a field day with the new information she’d be bringing to the office next visit.
Kathy slowed as she turned down her road. Although the weather had turned bitterly cold, there were plenty of little kids running around, bundled up in thick anoraks, Bruins hats, and woolen scarves. When they were wrapped up like that, she knew all sounds were muffled and their range of vision was strictly limited. She kept reminding Robert of that every time he drove down this road—she was convinced that he drove too fast through the neighborhood. Not that he listened to her of course; in fact it had been a long time since he had sought her opinions on any subject. Her lips twisted in a smile; it had been a long time since she had volunteered an opinion. What had happened to the self-confident young woman who’d gone to Bard, and double majored in philosophy and global marketing? The self-reliant young woman who’d traveled through Cambodia with the Peace Corps. The self-assured young woman who wanted to set up her own production company and make documentaries and features? Eighteen years of marriage, children, and keeping a home together, that’s what had happened.
Maybe it was time to start again.
The situation was serious, but she figured that they’d weathered the worst of it and managed to come through with a reasonable amount of dignity. There would be some tough times ahead, and although she still loved Robert—she didn’t really like him right now. He’d said that he loved her. If that was true—and she had to believe that it was—then they had something they could work with; they could start again and go forward together.
There were more cars than usual parked at the curbs and in the driveways; Christmas was a time for family and visitors. As she was turning into her drive, she caught sight of a big, dark blue SUV making its way gingerly down the road behind her. Kathy’s wry smile faded; it looked like she was about to have a visitor of her own, someone she would definitely not be sharing her latest bit of news with: her older sister, Julia.
CHAPTER 37
“We have to talk.”
“That sounds serious,” Kathy said lightly, moving over to the sink to fill the kettle.
“It is,” Julia said. She sighed dramatically as she assumed her usual seat at the kitchen table.
Although Julia was only five years older than her sister, she looked, dressed, and acted a lot older. It still gave Kathy a slightly guilty pleasure that the last time the two of them went out together, a waitress had mistaken them for mother and daughter.
Kathy’s mind was racing; surely Julia hadn’t somehow found out about Robert’s affair? If she had, it would be just like her to rush over and break the news in person; she’d want to see the expression on Kathy’s face.
“It’s about Sheila,” Julia said, dropping her voice to a whisper, when it became apparent that Kathy was not going to ask her the obvious question.
And Kathy immediately knew what Julia was about to tell her, knew why her older sister had driven over to see her on Christmas Eve. Julia dispensed good news on the phone, but she took perverse pleasure in delivering bad news in person. “Sheila?” Kathy said, her voice carefully neutral. “What’s she done now?”
“She’s seeing someone. . . .” Julia began, and then stopped.
Both women heard the hall door open, then Robert’s voice drifted in from the next room as he talked to the children. He stepped into the kitchen and said, “Hello, Julia,” though his eyes were fixed on Kathy’s face. He walked around Kathy to stand by the sink, where he could look at them both. Was that fear she saw in his eyes? Then she realized that he thought she’d asked her older sister over to talk about his affair. Did he really know so little about her? She was half tempted to let him sweat for a while. She could see the white-knuckled tension in his fingers where they gripped the edge of the sink. But then she realized that he might say something to alert her sister. “Julia was just about to tell me about Sheila,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face. She watched his features relax as the tension flowed out of them.
“Is she okay?” he asked casually.
“She’s having an affair with a married man,” Julia said in hushed, appalled tones, and then stopped, waiting for a response.
Kathy was observing Julia as she made the announcement. Was this how Julia—and those women like her—spread the news about Robert’s affair? Would they each have the same shocked and horrified expression, but yet be unable to keep the tiniest note of glee from their voices as they passed on the news over wine and cheese?
“So?” Robert frowned, adding quickly, “What’s that got to do with us?”
Kathy saw him glance at her before turning back to his sister-in-law.
“Oh, I should have known you would never understand,” Julia said peevishly. “Men never do.” Julia turned her full attention on Kathy. “I called her today, just to confirm that she was coming on the 26th for dinner.”
Kathy abruptly decided that she did not want to go over to Julia’s for the endless ritual of dinner on Boxing Day. Julia’s husband Ben was British, and Kathy not only detested him, she hated his pretentious family and their peculiar, archaic holiday. She needed to spend time with Robert, and she was guessing that she would not really get a chance to talk to him tonight; tomorrow was out of the question, so she’d keep the 26th for them to talk and plan.
“Well, she said she would,” Julia continued, “on one condition: that she could bring her current boyfriend with her. I was thrilled, of course. Sheila’s thirty-six; it’s about time she thought about settling down, and if she’s going to have children, then she’d better start soon. . . . Her eggs are drying up.” Julia took a deep breath and pursed her lips. “Turns out her boyfriend is not such a boy; he’s actually ten years older than she is,” she said breathlessly. “Ten years!”
Kathy didn’t need to do the calculation: Stephanie Burroughs was sixteen years younger than Robert, ten years younger than Kathy was. She supposed she should at least be grateful that he’d not ended up with a twenty-year-old blond bimbo.
“And then she told me his name,” Julia persisted. “Alan Gallagher. And I thought: I know that name. So I said to her, ‘I know an Alan Gallagher—he’s a chiropractor in Brookline who plays golf with my Ben.’ ” Julia nodded triumphantly. “And that was when she said that she didn’t think she was going to be able to make it on Thursday after all.”
Robert was standing behind Kathy’s chair, staring out into the backyard. Kathy heard him ask, “So how do you know he’s married?” She was aware of the tiniest undercurrent of anger in his voice.
Julia sighed. “The Alan Gallagher who Ben knows has boasted about his little bit on the side. I put two and two together: The ‘bit’ is Sheila.”
“Brookline is so small,” Kathy murmured. “Everyone knows someone who knows someone.” She wasn’t sure if she was speaking to her sister or to Robert.
“So I thought about it, and I called her back.”
“Julia, you didn’t!” Kathy protested.
“I did.”
“But it’s got nothing to do with you.” When did Julia take over the role of matriarch and moral guardian of the family? Kathy was suddenly conscious that she too was beginning to get annoyed with her sister.
“Well, you may not think so, but I do, and I certainly didn’t want an adulterer sitting at my table.”
“Are you going to insist she stitches an A on all of her clothing?” Robert said evenly.
Julia looked at him coldly. “I called her. Asked her straight out. And do you know what she had the audacity to tell me?”
“That it was none of your business,” Robert snapped. The irritation was clearly audible in his voice.
Kathy caught him looking at her, frowned, and shook her head slightly.
“No,” Julia continued. “She admitted it. Alan Gallagher is married. So I told her straight out that she would not be welcome in my house.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Kathy asked, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over her. Whether Sheila was having an affair or not was none of her business; none of Julia’s either. What gave Julia the right to sit in pious judgment on Sheila? What gave her the right to spread the gossip?
Julia looked at her blankly. “Because . . . because . . .”
“This is Sheila’s business. Hers alone,” Kathy continued, struggling now to keep her own rising anger in check. “Who she’s seeing has got nothing to do with you or me.”
“But he’s married!” Julia protested. “She’s breaking up a happy marriage.”
“How do we know that?” Kathy snapped. “How do we know the marriage is happy? Do you have some kind of psychic power that enables you to know what goes on behind closed doors?”
Julia looked at her blankly, mouth opening and closing in stunned silence. Whatever response she had been expecting from her younger sister, it hadn’t been this. Color touched her cheeks.
“There are three people in an affair,” Kathy said. “The mistress, the husband, and the wife. Takes all of them to make it happen.”
Julia pushed back her chair and stood up. “Well, this is not the attitude I expected from you. The wives are always the innocents in these situations, always the last to know.”
Maybe always the last to know, Kathy agreed, but perhaps not entirely innocent.
“I don’t know why these women—these mistresses—are attracted to married men; I really don’t.” Julia lifted her coat off the back of the chair and pulled it on. “I just hope you never have to go through what poor Alan Gallagher’s wife is going through right now.”
Kathy could feel the color draining from her face as anger gave way to guilt and bitter exhaustion. She later realized that Julia must have completely misinterpreted the looks on both of their faces as anger and disgust.
“Well, I don’t think that came out the way I meant it to,” Julia continued hastily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Looking embarrassed now, she turned to leave. “I’ll let myself out.” She paused before she stepped out of the kitchen. “You will come over the day after tomorrow for dinner, won’t you?”
“We’ll let you know,” Robert said firmly, before Kathy could respond.
Julia ignored Robert and looked at Kathy. “We’ll let you know,” Kathy repeated, although she had already decided that she was definitely not going over for dinner. She glanced sidelong at Robert, wishing he would leave her alone. She wanted a little time to think . . . and she wanted to talk to Sheila. She was brought out of her reverie by the high-pitched squealing scrape of metal on stone.
“She’s hit the edge of the pillar,” Robert said. He was standing at the sink, pouring himself a large scotch. “She was parked at such an awkward angle. I’m not sure I would have been able to get that big SUV out of the driveway without hitting something either.”
He was talking just to fill the silence, she knew, chatting inconsequentially so that he could avoid discussing the major issue. He placed the bottle on the table between them and sat down in the seat recently occupied by Julia. He poured her a glass.
“I’m thinking I might have given her a different response a couple of days ago,” Kathy said quietly. “There was a time—in the very recent past—when I might have agreed with Julia. But when you become part of an affair, you discover a different perspective. There are two sides to every story, but in an affair . . . there are three. And you never really know anyone’s story but your own.”
“Did you know about Sheila?” he asked.
“She told me on Monday,” Kathy said evenly. “We were sitting in her car outside the Boston Sports Club.” Kathy held the heavy glass in both hands and looked into the amber liquid; he always poured her too much. She glanced up and saw him staring at her. She took a swig of the bitter liquor, her eyes not leaving his face. “I sat there and watched my husband kiss another woman.”
That, for her, had been the defining moment.
Up until that point, Robert’s affair had not been entirely real. Oh, she had known it was happening; she had the proof, but it was all hearsay and circumstantial evidence. But watching her husband of eighteen years take another woman in his arms and kiss her on the lips was like being stabbed. The pain had been physical; it was real, and it hurt. How it had hurt!
And suddenly she wanted to hurt him back, to make him pay for what he’d put her through. Something must have shown in her eyes or on her face, because Robert suddenly sat back, away from her. Kathy wondered if he thought she was going to throw the liquor in his face . . . because in that instant that is precisely what she wanted to do. But she carefully returned the glass to the table; it was part of a set from Crate and Barrel Julia had given her for a birthday present.
“I called you,” she said. “I sat in a car less than ten yards away from you and called you.” She saw him nod, saw the flush of color on his cheeks. “I asked you what time you were coming home,” she continued, and watched him nod again. “You told me you were just leaving the office and would be home in forty minutes.”
She suddenly stood and turned away from him so that he would not be able to see the tears in her eyes. She busied herself at the sink, carefully washing and drying the glass; then, when she had composed herself, she turned around and started to clear off the kitchen table.
“How long . . . how long have you known?” Robert asked, not looking at her. “About us? About me?”
“Not long. Why? Did you think I was the sort of person who would turn a blind eye to my husband’s affair?” Kathy was pleased that she’d managed to keep her voice calm and without a tremor.
“No. I never thought that,” Robert said.
Once she’d discovered his affair, there had been no other course of action but to confront him. She had not been prepared to let it continue in the hope that he would come to his senses. She would not have been able to live with herself, not even able to look at him, if she’d known he was cheating and she had done nothing about it.
She pulled a cookbook off the shelf and flipped it open, then pressed it flat on the table and quickly scanned the list of ingredients. This was part of the ritual of preparing Christmas dinner. The recipe book had belonged to her mother and, written into the margins, in Margaret Child’s tiny, precise handwriting, were her additions and corrections to the recipes. Kathy knew Julia desperately coveted the book; every Christmas she tried to borrow it, and every year Kathy refused and presented her sister with a handwritten copy of the turkey, ham, and pork recipes. Kathy started to pull out the ingredients that would go into the stuffing.
“Will you please sit down and talk to me?” Robert asked suddenly.
Kathy didn’t answer the question, but continued her previous topic of conversation. “I suspected the truth last Thursday, when I was writing the Christmas cards. Once my suspicions were roused, it was relatively easy to put it all together.” She’d found the evidence because he had become careless; she knew that. He’d become just a little complacent; he’d gotten away with his affair for so long he’d stopped taking precautions. “There was a speeding ticket upstairs in your office. You got a ticket in Jamaica Plain on Halloween . . . even though you were supposed to be in Connecticut that night having dinner with a client.”
