Brunch at Ruby's, page 35
“I'm not trying to beat up on you, and this isn't the blame game. If it was, the majority would fall on me. But you asked me. You said you wanted to get it, and I'm sorry if you don't like my answer. This is the nitty gritty right here. The truth. The stuff you didn't want to hear because you thought you'd done nothing wrong. That's what was going on and why I was tempted by someone. David was paying attention. David told me things I wanted to hear. He showed me things I needed to see.”
“So why didn't you stay with him, if he gave you so much and told you so much and showed you so much? Why not call us done and move on with this man that was doing so much for you?”
I smile. “Because he isn't you. He's not the boy I fell in love with in high school. He's not the man I married. He's not the father of my baby girl. He's not the man I dream about growing old with.”
Willard fiddles with the keys in the ignition, then the buttons on the dashboard. He turns the navigation system off and back on. He scratches a patch of hair at the crown of his head.
“What uh… what are these things. You know? That you want me to tell you? And show you?”
“That you love me, for starters. Do you know how long it's been since you told me you loved me? That you need me for more than cooking and doing your laundry and raising your daughter. Maybe that I excite you, that you enjoy being with me and you think of me as more than the maid and the cook and the caregiver. That you like being married to me. That I'm the love of your life. Am I?”
He nods. I don't know if he means to, but his head bobs up and down in agreement. “I get that I work a lot and it takes a toll. Maybe I could try working from home some days, but it's not like I'm out there doing nothing, being nothing. I'm building something for us, Debra. That's what I didn't understand, what made me angry the most.”
“You were working hard for us and I was thinking about myself.”
He sighs and I know I've done it again, taken the wind from his sails. He wants to be angry, but I keep dismantling any reason to be.
The interior of the Lexus is quiet, the sounds of passing traffic muffled by the thick windows. Willard says nothing for a long while. Then, quite to my surprise, he turns to me and says, “I want my marriage. I haven't spent fourteen–well twenty-two years with you to throw them away. I'm not making a lot of promises about how everything's going to be perfect but… I want to try.”
He pauses, gesturing to me with the lift of his head. “Do you, Debra? Do you want us back? Do you want this marriage?”
“Yes,” I answer with relief. “More than anything… yes. And it's we. We'll try. We've got a long life ahead of us. We're young and Kendra will be out of our hair before we know it. We could spice things up some. I mean, I don't want to swing from a chandelier or anything—”
“Aw, Debra, come on!”
I try not to laugh at Willard as he turns his gaze toward the driver's side window and props his arm up on the door. He's biting his thumb, out of nervousness or shyness, I can't tell. Willard's way of asking for sex is to nod his head toward the bedroom and say ‘come on.’
“I just think any thoughts or desires that you might have, that you push to the back of your mind and think ‘Debra wouldn't do that'…I want you to tell me those things. Because I might do them for you.”
“Did you do them for him?”
“Willard…”
“Alright, I'm just playin'.”
He drops a hand to my thigh—the first time he's willingly touched me in months. His eyes meet mine and we gaze at each other for a few moments. If Willard could blush, he'd be beet red.
“So, if I said I wanted to have sex tonight, with my wife, in our bed… is that good? Is that what you're looking for?”
I'm grinning like a fool at Willard pushing himself to be forward. “That's good, baby.” I reach over and stroke his cheek, then tickle him behind his ear, like he likes it. He reaches for the gearshift and puts the car in drive.
“Maybe Kendra can go someplace later.”
“I'll find a place for her to go.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Maxine
* * *
My office is awash with a mixture of the purple glow of dusk beaming through the window blinds and the harsh overhead fluorescent bulbs shining down on me from above. I'm not paying attention to the sunset, which is my favorite time of day. I'm not annoyingly glaring at the reflection of the overhead lights in my monitor. My mind is hovering somewhere in the great unknown, trying to think about how I got there, how I live there, and how I can never go back.
I caught a terrible cold a month ago, the worst I've ever had. Donovan was busting at the seams and I felt I couldn't take the time off. My cold grew into something nasty and debilitating. I was down for the count, confined to the bed until Joseph, tired of my stubbornness, dragged me to a doctor. Three straight days of sleep and antibiotics and I was feeling somewhere near myself again. I even had enough energy to get dressed and go to dinner, and later, I felt good enough for a short but blissful bout of sex.
And that's all it took to take life as I know it and shoot it out into the realm of who-knows-what's-going-to-happen-now?
I don't know if stressed the word is for how I'm feeling about what I suspect is true. I should be out of my mind over it. This is not what I planned for my life. This is a detour I had no intention of taking. I should be angry that I let it happen.
But I'm not. I'm apprehensive. The smallest bit excited. And nervous, mostly about hiding it from everyone, including Debra and Renee until I know for sure that I am pregnant.
I've spent most of the day staring out of the window, rubbing my still flat belly and letting my mind wander. I had to stay an hour later to get a few contracts out of the door and now I'm about to be late for dinner.
I cannot be late for this dinner. It's important.
I pack up my desk, slip a Hermes bag over my shoulder and leave my office, locking the door behind me. I step to Virgil's desk and clear my throat, interrupting his session of mumbling while staring at printouts.
“Do I look ready to meet Joseph's parents?”
Virgil spins in his chair, his critical eye flowing from the form-fitting Burberry dress and Zanotti pumps to the glittering gems in my ears and around my neck.
He nods. “Maxine, you're flawless as ever. Where to, tonight?”
I roll my eyes. “Some steak place his parents like. Longhorn.”
“How… rustic.”
“This is how I know I love this man. I'm willing to eat at someplace called Longhorn. That's not the kind of place where people throw peanut shells on the floor, is it?”
I glance down at my new pumps. Joseph rolled his eyes at them, saying they looked exactly like every other pair of black shoes in my closet. But he makes me happy, which is why I'm willing to eat at a regular, non-elite steak house for dinner. Not Chops. Not Bones. Longhorn.
“You're thinking of Texas Roadhouse,” Virgil says. “Longhorn has good steak.” He wrinkles his nose. “No seafood.”
My hurriedly eaten lunch almost comes up. “Definitely, no seafood. Wish me luck.”
“Don't need it. They'll love you.”
I pass an open, lit office and think nothing of it. It's not unheard of for an agent to be working past six o'clock. I'm still in, as is Virgil. A sniffle and half of a sob makes me stop in my tracks. I'm late. I don't have time, but I double back anyway and stick my head into Vanessa's office. She's at her desk, which faces the door, but she's turned away, her head in her hands. She sniffles again.
“Hey. Vanessa. What's up?”
Her head pops up, and she nearly jumps out of her chair. “Maxine! I didn't know you were still here.”
“I was just leaving. Are you alright?”
Her face falls like she's going to cry again. “I just got some bad news.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
I've loved hearing her laughter waft down the hall into my office, but the chuckle she gives me isn't her usual fun and bubbly quality. It's sardonic and gritty.
“Unless you can work some kind of miracle? I'm fucked.” She gulps, her eyes flying up to my face to see if I've frowned at her utterance. “Sorry.”
I ease into her office and take one of the seats across from her desk. Her office is simple and tasteful, minimal without being plain. She's orderly and likes clean surfaces. Except for her computer, a file organizer, a three-line office phone and a few framed photos, her desk and credenza are clear of clutter.
“You've been quiet, I've noticed. Is there something going on?”
She shakes her head, moaning. “My husband. Soon to be ex-husband, rather. He's been living… what do they call it? A double life?”
“What's that? A double life?”
“He's having an affair. Well, it's more than an affair. It's like he's with me and her. And here I thought I was his one and only.”
She sniffles, leans over to grab the handles of her purse and rummages around in it until she produces a packet of Kleenex. She pulls one cloth from the plastic case and dabs at her eyes and nose.
“He's a salesman. Technology, cloud computing, all those buzz words. Business is booming, he says. He has all these business trips he needs to go on. Clients to schmooze. Deals to close. He's gone for weeks at a time and he's always on the phone, it seems like. I never even thought to question him. Everything was always taken care of.”
Her lip quivers and her nose flares and tears fill her eyes again. “They have a house together, Maxine. They take vacations together–vacations he and I planned but he could never get the time off of work. Meanwhile, our mortgage and our family and the life we built together–he left it all behind. I don't know which life is fake and which is real.”
“How did you find out about this? About her?”
She sighs, wiping away the streaks of mascara from under her eyes and down her cheeks. “He always handled the finances. He opened the mail and paid the bills. He's just always taken care of everything. I never had to worry. I never thought to save any money. That was for me and the kids and fun things.
“Anyway, a few months ago, one of the kids picked up the mail. I flipped through it and some envelopes looked serious.”
With bated breath, I wait for the dramatic reveal. Paternity results? A welfare check? STD Test?
“We were in foreclosure,” she answers, her affect suddenly flat and void of emotion. “Thousands in arrears, plus late fees and interest. I almost passed out.” She pauses and sniffles, taking another swipe with the wad of Kleenex clutched in her palm.
I'm almost afraid to ask. “And the others? What were they?"
“Notices from the IRS for back taxes. We file separately. He said that made more sense because of his business expenses. It turns out it's because he doesn't like to pay taxes. He hadn't paid them in years. He's into the government for almost fifty grand. That's where I lost it. What if they come after me? I don't have fifty thousand dollars!
“I confronted him and he swore on the bible, on our kids, on his mother's grave that it was a mistake. He'd take care of it. Well, I started snooping and finding things, stuff I hoped I wouldn't find and didn't want to believe, but it was right there in my face. He always said he didn't believe in Facebook, but he has a profile where he's connected to her. This woman. Jasmine. They have friends and a social life. Barbecues and couples nights and last spring, when our youngest had her kindergarten graduation and he said he had a conference he couldn't miss because he was the Keynote Speaker?"
She huffs. "He was at happy hour with her and their friends at Davio's.”
I'm floored. Jaw on the floor, limbs numb, speechlessly floored. “Wow. So bold.”
“He was always too busy to do anything with me or our kids. He always had to work. Now I know what he was working on. How does he even live with himself?”
“His day planner must be serious.” I instantly want to take back my snide comment, but Vanessa laughs.
“He's mega organized, obsessive about planning. That's why I couldn't believe he hadn't paid the mortgage. You don't forget to pay the mortgage six months in a row.”
“So today you got some bad news?”
She sniffles, the corners of her mouth pointing toward her chin. “Our house is scheduled to be sold at auction. I was hoping I could save it, but after the bank kicked me and the kids out, I've had a hard time getting back on my feet."
Vanessa sucks her teeth and sighs. "I love that house," she moans. My heart almost breaks. "It was the first piece of property I owned. We bought it together.”
“The first piece of property you bought with this man and he let it go under? For some other hot thing? That's we call a sign. Now you get to find a place that's all your own, that you will love just as much or more because it's yours. And that will happen in no time at all because your listings are selling–”
She snickers. “None of that matters with this foreclosure on my credit. He shut off our cards, drained our accounts, and he's gone… everything's gone. I sold everything I could, pawned my jewelry, put my nice clothes into consignment. The kids and I are in my aunt's basement. I don't know what to do.”
She warbles again, but I reach across the desk and lift her chin so she can see me. “What's this bastard's name?”
“Warren.”
“Is Warren Jackson sitting crying because the house got sold and his marriage is over and his credit is bad?”
She shakes her head. “I know you want to drown your sorrows and feel sorry for yourself, but you don't have time for that. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Grandma Elise used to say. You get yourself together and get back on your feet. Show Warren he might bring you down, but he didn't take you out. You have children?”
She nods. "Two girls."
“They're going to need you to be strong and press on. You can do this. I might not know exactly what you're going through, but I've been through some things in my life. Tomorrow, we'll do lunch and I'll tell you all about it. And we'll work on a plan to get you where you need to be.”
I stand and hook the strap of my bag over my arm. “For now, go wash your face and gather your things. Go be with those girls. There's more to life than work, and they need you more than Donovan does right now.”
I give her a nod and step out of her office. Now I'm late so I pull out my phone to text Joseph to let him know I'm on my way.
As soon as I use the bathroom.
“Are you nervous?”
Right this second, as I gauge my feelings, I'm miraculously calm as we wait in the masterfully appointed private office of Dr. Tracy Lewis, Obstetrician. I got a recommendation from Debra without her asking what it was for. Dr. Lewis is supposed to be really good, thorough and caring and willing to answer questions from frantic, nervous first-time mothers.
Though, I am neither frantic nor nervous. We already know what the blood test will say. We're waiting on confirmation so we can both know with all certainty that we have created a new life, one that will eventually become autonomous and take everything we taught him or her into the world.
Now that? That scares me.
“I'm okay.” I stretch an arm across the space between our chairs. He grabs my hand, scooting his chair over a few inches, closing the space. “Are you nervous?”
“Nah.” Joseph gives off an air of supreme confidence. It's faux, and I know it. And he knows I know it. But it's cute. “Just… I don't like waiting.”
“You are naturally impatient.”
“You would know. The speed of light moves too slow for you.”
“Why wait for something I can have right now?”
Joseph chuckles, wrapping his other hand around our intertwined fingers. “We probably need to talk about what we're going to do when she comes back in here and tells us we're going to be parents.”
“I was thinking about that, too.” I glance over at him, my eyebrows raised. “Suggestions?”
“Why even ask me? We're going to do what you want to do.”
“It's polite to pretend I am going to consider your opinion.”
“Well, I say we move into my condo and sell yours.”
I click my tongue and look away quickly, before rolling my head back toward him. “Would you be serious?”
“I am serious! Your place will sell for more and my place is cheaper—”
“In a less developed neighborhood with fewer amenities and no view. The carpet in your condo is ten years old—”
“Like we can't renovate?”
“And I think there's something growing in your freezer.”
“Okay. Well, your place is bright white even with the lights off and it's nowhere near child proof.”
“Like we can't childproof? The baby won't even move for the first six months.”
“Your furniture is Italian leather. White Italian leather. Expensive, white–”
“My furniture was an investment that has stood the test of time. It's sturdy, and it's held up well. It can survive an infant. Or a toddler.”
“I think you need to listen to reason, Maxine.”
“And you are the voice of reason.”
“I think I make more sense.”
“Hi, have you met me? Maxine Donovan, Donovan Realty. I know what I am talking about and no way would I live in that building.”
“So much for listening to my suggestions.”
He blows a puff of air toward the ceiling and lets his gaze drift to the construction scene outside of the window. Piedmont Hospital is adding on or tearing down, but they're making a lot of noise doing it.
“So… maybe we meet in the middle,” I suggest.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning… we move into something new together.”
“Hi, have you met me? Joseph Glass, Investment Banker. Three mortgages is crazy.”
“I meant that we'd both sell and move to someplace new.”
Joseph starts to respond, but the door opens and Dr. Lewis walks in and softly closes the door behind her. She's plain Jane, short with a choppy asymmetrical haircut. She wears baby blue scrubs under a white lab coat. Her smile is warm and her blue eyes are sparkling. She has a cheery disposition and a pleasant voice. I liked her right away when I called for an appointment.
