If You Only Knew Page 19

  "No," Mrs. Brewster says. "That's so tacky."

  "I have everything from Swarovski crystal to seed pearls to--"

  "It should be modest. Unadorned. Simple, as mine was."

  "Okay," Kimber agrees. "I like it plain, too."

  "I did not say plain," Mrs. Brewster says through her teeth. It's the first time she's spoken directly to Kimber this entire appointment, and I can feel the hate coming off her in waves. "I said unadorned. There's a standard of class you need to embrace, Kimber, if you're going to be seen socially with my son."

  Kind of hard to picture Kimber and Mrs. Brewster friends, no matter what the poor kid hopes.

  I glance between them. Mrs. Brewster doesn't deign to look at me. "Let me double-check some measurements, then," I say, grabbing my tape measure. "Kimber, if you wouldn't mind coming back into the dressing room." When I get her there, I whisper, "Kimber, don't let her railroad you. This is your wedding."

  "I...I just want her to approve," she whispers. "Once we're married, I'm sure she'll chill out a little. I don't want to get started off on the wrong foot. It's just a dress."

  "You're right. But it's an important dress. You shouldn't hate it, either."

  "I...I don't. I won't. I'm sure it'll be beautiful, Jenny."

  Yep. A rock 'n' roll angel, a cherub with those wide blue eyes and perfect rosebud mouth. I give her a hug. "You and Jared are going to make beautiful babies," I tell her.

  "Thanks," she says, blushing. "I can't wait. I love kids. Your sister's triplets? O-M-G, I love them!"

  She gets dressed in her own clothes again, and Mrs. Brewster once again tells me her next available slot...not the other way around. But again, a referral from her in this town will mean a lot. If she blacklists me, that'll hurt. "Kimber, I haven't even asked," I say. "What do you do for work? Or are you a professional singer?"

  Mrs. Brewster snorts.

  "I'm a nutritionist? Well, not really. Not yet? But I'm working for my associate's degree. I work at the middle school, making lunches. Trying to get the kids to like veggies, right?" She beams.

  "That's nice. It must be great to work in a school."

  "It is," she says. "I always wanted to--"

  "Thank you for your time, Jenny," Mrs. Brewster interrupts. "Kimber, let's go. We have to talk to the caterer."

  I sigh as they leave, then get busy closing up the shop. Poor Kimber. I wonder if Jared knows how his mother is bossing her around. Maybe I'll ask Rachel to say something to him. Then again, Rach has her own problems. I'll ask Kimber out, that's what I'll do. Rachel and she and I can have a girls' night out. I bet Rachel could use one, too.

  I get home--no music from down below today--and am just about to pour myself a glass of wine when someone bangs on my door.

  "Jenny! Shit, Jenny, are you home?"

  I run to the door. "Leo! What-- Oh, no."

  Leo is holding Loki in his arms. The dog is shaking. "He's having a seizure. Can you drive me to the vet?"

  "You bet." I grab my keys and run down the steps, open the back door for Leo, who gets in. "Which way?"

  "The emergency clinic. It's in Poughkeepsie. Can you hurry?"

  Of course I can hurry. I'm from New York. Speeding is the pace of my people. "Hang in there," I say, but he's crooning to the dog, who's still jerking, telling him what a good friend he is, asking him not to die, not to leave him.

  There's a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. Loki is old. I don't know how long that breed, whatever Loki is, is expected to live, but I find myself saying a little prayer that Leo doesn't lose him just yet. He loves that dog so much.

  "It's on Manchester Road," Leo says tersely, and I glance in the rearview mirror. His face is so tragic, his eyes wide and unspeakably sad, and I can tell he's trying not to panic. It's a raw, horrible thing to see.

  "I think I know the place," I say. A long time ago, Rachel hit a cat, and she and I drove the poor beastie to this same place. The cat made it, and Rachel visited him every day until he was adopted.

  "Can you go any faster?" he asks, and his voice breaks a little. So does my heart.

  I push the gas pedal a little harder.

  When we pull into the parking lot, Leo barely waits for the car to stop fully, just gets out and runs inside. I run in after him. "I'm Leo Killian," he says to one of the women behind the counter. "I called."

  "Come on back," she says, and Leo goes ahead. I start to follow, but the other woman stops me.

  "We need some information," she says, handing me a clipboard.

  "I...I just drove him here. I don't know too much."

  "Well, maybe you can get it started, anyway," she says. "Name, address, that kind of thing."

  I want to go back with Leo. "Can it wait?"

  "No," she says. "We need a guarantee of payment and some basic information."

  "Fine." I grab the clipboard, turn around to sit down. There's a woman there with a cockatoo, and something about her makes me freeze. At first I don't recognize her.

  Then I do.

  It's Dorothy.

  My father's Dorothy is here.

  Twenty-two years older, but I know it. My gut knows it. My face throbs as the blood rushes upward, and all I can think is It's her, it's her, it's her. Blond hair, black roots, still so pretty.

  "Hi," she says, and of course she doesn't recognize me. I was her boss's kid. She worked for him for three months. She saw me maybe five times, and I was eleven years old.

  "Hi," I say, sitting down.

  Her bird makes a croaking noise. That in itself is so weird--Dorothy, my father's mistress, has an exotic bird as a pet.

  "His name is Perry," she tells me.

  "Oh. Um, he's beautiful."

  "He started pulling out some feathers. I just wanted to be on the safe side, you know?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's wrong with your dog?"

  "Uh...he had a seizure." I glance at the clipboard and start filling in what I can--Leo's name, address; Loki's age: fifteen; breed: Australian shepherd/mutt. But my heart is racing, and my face is hot. First of all, Leo may be in there, saying a final goodbye to his dog.

  And secondly, Dorothy's here.

  I bolt up to the counter. "Can I go back there?"

  "He's already doing a little better," the woman says. "Seizures aren't uncommon in older dogs. We'll have you go back in a few minutes, okay?"

  "Okay. Thank you."

  I go back to my chair. Dorothy smiles. "He's a cute dog," she says, very nicely.

  Shit.

  I should tell her who I am. I could ask her why he did it, and if she loved him, and did she want to marry him, and was he going to leave my mother. I could call her a slut, tell her that she stained my memories of my father, my daddy, the man I loved best in the world, thanks a lot, whore.

  I want to know why. I want to know how a woman can sleep with another woman's husband. I want to know how it started, how my father took that first step away from my mother. Did he stop loving Mom bit by bit, the way Owen stopped loving me? Or was it pure, carnal sex, like Adam described to my sister?

  I hope Dorothy never found anyone. I hope she lay awake at night for years, thinking about the poor widow and daughters and how she tainted and polluted his last months on earth.

  I'm Jenny Tate. Robert Tate's daughter. Great. I'd sound like an idiot. My name is Inigo Montoya, and you slept with my father. What if she says, Big deal? or Who's Robert Tate? What if I'm wrong and it's not really Dorothy?

  I'm not wrong. Her face has been burned on my brain for twenty-two years. You don't forget the woman you saw your father kissing.

  But I just sit here like a lump, pretending to be totally engrossed in this form.

  "Leo Killian's friend? You can come back now."

  "Good luck," Dorothy says, and I remember that smile, that sweet smile. She looks so much younger than my mother. Still.

  "You, too," I say, then I go through the swinging door with the vet, down the hall. "How's he doing?"


  "We gave him some medicine, so he's groggy, but he'll be okay."

  She opens the door to an exam room, and there's Leo, sitting on the floor with his dog, rubbing his belly.

  Those blue eyes are wet, but he smiles.

  "Hey," I whisper, and before I can stop myself, I bend over and kiss the top of Leo's head. "You all right?"

  "Yeah."

  I sit in the chair and listen to the vet explain that this, while upsetting, isn't that uncommon, and for the most part, a seizure will pass on its own. Loki is an old guy, but he's in great shape, and obviously Leo takes good care of him. She gives Leo some medicine that should help Loki feel more energetic, then reaches down and pets Loki herself. "You're all set. Just see Gina on the way out."

  "Thank you," Leo and I both say. We sit there a minute, me in the chair, Leo on the floor with his dog, until he looks up at me. "Let's go home."

  "Okay."

  When we go out to the waiting room, Dorothy is gone.

  "Do you happen to know that lady's name?" I ask as Leo pulls out his credit card. "The one with the cockatoo? I think I know her."

  "Um, let me check," Gina says. "Dorothy Puchalski."

  Dorothy Puchalski.

  The name sits in my heart like a rock.

  *

  I drop Leo and Loki at home, then run to Luciano's and get us some eggplant parm, garlic bread and salad. When I get back, I go right into Leo's. He's sitting next to Loki's doggy bed, petting the old guy. The dog is snoring.

  "Everyone good here?" I ask.

  "Much better."

  I set our food on the table, then open a bottle of red wine and pour us both a big glass. Leo gets up. He looks older, the poor thing, not quite recovered from tonight's ordeal. God help him if he ever has a kid.

  "So where'd you get this guy, anyway?" I ask.

  Leo takes a sip of wine. "He came from a shelter."

  "Best place to get a dog, I hear."

  "It is." His eyes flicker to mine, then back again, as if he's embarrassed at what I've seen tonight. "So who's Dorothy Puchalski?" he asks.

  I jerk a little. I hadn't thought he was paying attention. "Um...someone my parents used to know."

  "How did your father die?" he asks, and it's such a normal question. It's true--my father is dead. Leo knows this. He's even seen Dad's grave; Rachel told me how he sat with her that time. Me, I haven't been there in years.

  "He was shot in a convenience store robbery," I say. "Buying a Green Watermelon Brain Freeze. He loved them."

  Leo doesn't say anything, but his face... Crap, I've never seen a face that holds so much before in my life. Maybe it's because I've seen Dorothy, or maybe it's the well of sympathy in Leo's eyes, but my throat tightens unexpectedly.

  Over the years, I've told dozens of people how my father died. It's become part of my life story, another fact, same as having a sister, same as having black hair. I'm used to it.

  But right now, I'm afraid to say anything else, because I haven't cried over my dad in a very long time. I didn't when I told Owen; horribly, I was almost glad to have something so unusual to talk about, to see the gentle sympathy in his dark, dark eyes.

  But Leo... It's different. Owen was almost always gently sympathetic, now that I think of it. Dr. Perfect, all day, every day with everyone.

  Sympathy from Leo somehow carries more weight.

  I clear my throat. "So my ex-husband and his perfect wife have invited me to a dinner party in the city, in the same apartment where I used to live with him. Want to come? Should be a fun little freak show."

  "Hell, yes." Leo smiles, and his face goes from tragic empathy to wicked, and I'm filled with relief. Back on safe land. "When is it? Doesn't matter. I'll clear my schedule. I'd miss dinner at the White House for this."

  I get up to clear the table, and Leo rises, too. "So glad to entertain," I murmur. "Feel free to laugh at my personal heartbreak."

  "You're not heartbroken," he says with a wink. "Not anymore."

  "Is it hard, being a woman trapped in a man's body?" I ask. "Because you know so much about the female heart, I can only assume you're--"

  He leans over and kisses me, just a warm press of his lips against mine, lasting just a beat too long for it to be just friendly... A kiss, and it's over before I can figure out what to do with my hands or my mouth.

  "Thank you for tonight, Jenny Tate," he says, and his eyes are warm. "You're a good friend."

  "And thank you, Leo Killian, for just kissing me and confusing me and making me think you like me."

  "I do like you."

  "'Like me' as in 'want to sleep with me'?"

  "Of course. I'm a guy."

  "But you don't want a real relationship."

  "Correct."

  I throw my hands up in the air. "I hate men."

  A delighted smile. "Get a cat."

  "Maybe I will. See you around."

  "Jenny."

  His face is like New England weather, sunny one minute, rain the next. I've never seen a face change the way his does. Right now, that sorrow is scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, and I think he's about to tell me something real, something more, and the hair on the back of my neck lifts in anticipation.

  "Yes?" I whisper.

  He doesn't answer right away, and then his eyes drop to the floor. When they return to mine, I can see he's changed his mind. "Thank you again," is all he says, then opens the door for me to leave.

  Rachel

  Lately, Adam is being perfect, which makes me irritable. I don't know why. I'm not myself anymore. Thoughtful things he used to do--bringing me flowers, offering to pick up dinner for him and me to eat after the girls are asleep--everything is suspect, a bribe, a cover, an apology. We talked about this in therapy, our weekly Tuesday night appointment.

  "I'm trying to do everything I can to show Rachel how much I want our marriage to work," Adam says. "Nothing makes a difference. I feel like I'll be punished for this forever."

  That sounds about right, I think.

  "What are your thoughts on that, Rachel?" Laney asks.

  I look at my hands. "I feel like he's trying to prove he's husband of the year, and while I do think he should be groveling--" Jenny's word "--everything seems like it's for show."

  Adam throws his hands up in the air. "Then, what? What can prove that I'm not being fake?"

  I don't answer for a second. Nothing. The answer is nothing. "Adam, if I knew the answer, I'd tell you. You broke my trust. You cheated. When I asked you about it, you lied. You swore you'd be faithful to me in a church, and if you can't live up to that, what can you live up to? Why should I believe you now?"

  "Like I'm the only man who's ever cheated. The only spouse," he hastily corrects.

  "I guess the fact that you still see Emmanuelle every day is hard for me to get past," I say. "If there was one thing you could do, it'd be leave the firm."

  He sighs hugely. "We've been over this, and over it, and over it." He looks at Laney, that tolerant "women are so irrational" look he's given me so many times. "I can't leave the firm," he says. "There's no way I could get a job that pays this much in this area. I could go work for the Public Defender's office and make a fifth of what I make now, but then Rachel would have to give up her house, and the private nursery school, and maybe you might actually have to get a job, too."

  "Is that something you'd consider, Rachel?" Laney asks.

  "Yes," I lie. Well, no, I'd consider it. I just haven't yet.

  What I want most is my old life. My old self. I miss me, if such a thing is possible. I miss the way I looked at Adam, my wonderful, handsome, funny husband. I miss that sense of wonder and happiness that he picked me. I miss the utter joy I felt when the five of us did anything together. Even if the girls were fussy or knocked over their drink, whenever we were in public, I'd be smiling. It wasn't smugness. It was just happiness. Plain, simple happiness.

  "So, Adam," Laney says, "why don't you at least try to see what else is out there?"


  "Fine," he grumbles. Resentment rolls off him like a thick fog. "You know what I'd like to talk about? Just to change the subject from what a shit I am to something a little different."

  "Go ahead," Laney says.

  He turns to me. "You're angry because I had an affair, and I totally understand that. But did you ever think about the reason I did it?"

  "Yes. I've thought about that a lot."

  "You ever think that maybe I felt like you weren't interested in sex anymore?"

  "What?" I shriek. "How dare you? We did it all the time! Much more than any other couple I know!"

  "Yeah, but you didn't like it."

  "What?"

  "What do you mean, Adam? Why do you think that?" Laney asks.

  He looks at her and crosses his legs. "She fell asleep. During. Not before. During." He says it with the same gravity and accusation as if he'd just found a crystal-meth lab in our basement.

  My face prickles.

  "You didn't even think I noticed, did you?" he says smugly, now the injured party. "So maybe I strayed because it was clear I was just burdening you with wanting a normal sex life."

  "Rachel?" Laney says. "Would you like to respond?"

  "I would," I say. "Yes, I fell asleep one time. The girls had had a stomach virus, I hadn't had a good night's sleep in a week, but I happen to love sex, and I've been very conscious of keeping it in our life together, and one time I fell asleep for a second."

  "How do you think that made me feel?" Adam asks.

  "How do you think I felt, Adam? I was exhausted! So what does this mean? I can't get tired or you have permission to fuck around?" There it is, the foul mouth that never existed before.

  "Rachel, let me just ask you this. Why didn't you tell Adam you were too tired, and all you wanted was a good night's rest?"

  I pause. "Because I didn't...I didn't want him to think of me like that."

  "Like a human?" she says with a faint smile.

  "Like a wife who's too tired for sex."

  "But you were too tired. Just that one time, maybe, but probably more. You're not letting Adam see you as a regular person, which can be distancing."

  "So...this is my fault? His affair is my fault?"

  "No, no, not at all. Adam is the only one responsible for the affair. But true intimacy is more than just sex on regularly scheduled nights. He has to know how you feel. You're a very capable woman who's a wonderful mother and has created a lovely home."

  "And that's bad?"

  "No. But maybe Adam isn't sure what his role is."