In Your Dreams Page 21

"Well, it's ugly."

  "Not according to our visitors," he said, his voice a little tight. He paused. "Honor knows what she's doing, babe. Maybe telling her to change everything on your first day wasn't the best idea."

  "Fine. Take her side. You always do."

  Her feelings of being persecuted baffled him. After all, his father called her sweetheart and always kissed her cheek and hugged her, Goggy beamed when Hadley made Jack show up at church each week, Pops told her she was the prettiest thing Manningsport had ever seen. Faith sent her emails and girlie gifts from San Francisco. Mrs. Johnson gave her the recipe for lemon pound cake, Jack's favorite dessert, which al-Qaeda wouldn't have been able to pry out of her. Pru invited them over and admired how good Hadley smelled, and Honor...well, okay, Honor didn't like her. But she never said anything that could even remotely be construed as impolite, not to Hadley, not to Jack.

  Granted, the first year of marriage was the hardest, everyone said. And it wasn't all bad, not at all. There were moments when Jack couldn't believe he had a wife who literally skipped into his arms when he came home (sometimes) and who constantly told him how smart and handsome and wonderful he was. Who put her head on his shoulder and told him that all her dreams had come true the day she met him.

  But Jack was learning that for every nice thing she said or did, he was expected to reciprocate in triplicate, and Hadley was definitely keeping score. One night, they went out to dinner to a really nice place in Corning, but Hadley barely spoke to him, becoming more and more sullen as the night went on, refusing to answer when he asked what was wrong. Finally, and only after they'd gotten home, she told him. He hadn't noticed that she was wearing a new black dress. When he pointed out that she owned quite a few black dresses (eight, to be precise, he counted later), she slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall.

  She had an endless need to be complimented. If he said she looked pretty, she'd pout until he said beautiful or gorgeous or sexy. She'd ask if he noticed anything different about her, and God help him if he didn't guess it was a new perfume or a different shade of pink on her toenails, because she'd accuse him of taking her for granted. She loved gifts, and though he often brought flowers home, she'd make a pretend game of patting down his pockets to see if had anything else for her. The thing was, she meant it. Whatever he did get her, it wasn't enough, the one exception being her engagement ring. Even so, she was already hinting for an anniversary ring--a sapphire-and-diamond band that, according to the website she showed him, cost twenty-four thousand dollars.

  Then again, there were days when she'd tell him a story full of dry humor and her musical laugh, and her eyes would dance, and he'd feel this almost painful pressure in his chest, because this was the way he'd always thought it could be. Sometimes she'd call him to say she just wanted to hear his voice. She might bake cookies and bring them down, still warm from the oven, for him and Dad and Pops.

  And, certainly not least of all, their sex life was fantastic. Frequent, boisterous, interesting...planned...mapped out, really. Choreographed. By her. Hey, he wasn't complaining. It was just always a bit of a production.

  In four months of marriage, not once had Jack just been able to go to bed at the end of the day and make love to his wife. Nor was he able to come home from work and kiss her and just take her to bed (or to the living room rug, or the couch and its many throw pillows). Morning sex was frowned upon. Lunchtime sex was okay, so long as he let her know a day or two in advance so she could get ready. Jack sort of thought that was his job, getting her ready, but...well. It was okay. Frequent and boisterous, those were good things.

  Still, it might've been nice not to have to spend all that time lighting candles. Or scattering rose petals (he'd done that on their honeymoon, and now it was kind of a thing). Or playing certain music. Sometimes there was a theme to the night, and Jack would be asked to guess what that theme was.

  These productions required a special wardrobe for Hadley, as well--new lingerie and red-soled high-heeled shoes, or skimpy little nighties, when all Jack really wanted was nudity.

  While it was great that she put so much effort into that aspect of their marriage, it was a bit...much all the, uh, staging. And, yes, all the money.

  "Is this a mistake?" he asked one night after he opened the AmEx bill. "Two grand at Bergdorf?"

  "Nope. Not a mistake, sweetheart." She smiled at him, dimple flashing.

  "When were you at Bergdorf Goodman?"

  "I ordered something online," she said, not looking up from the game she was playing on the computer.

  "And what did you order?"

  "A pair of shoes."

  "What else?"

  "Nothing."

  "One pair of shoes cost two grand? My God! Are you kidding me?"

  "Don't raise your voice to me, Jack Holland!" she said. "And don't take the Lord's name in vain. Yes. Two grand on one pair of shoes." She gave him a pretty little pout. "Don't you think I deserve nice things, baby?"

  This is where fights began, Jack was well aware by now. Two hundred would've been a lot in Jack's book, unless they were those really good steel-toed leather work boots Pru had given him for Christmas last year. But two thousand? "Of course you deserve nice things. But you have dozens of pairs of shoes already. Two grand--"

  "They're Christian Louboutin, babe! You sure didn't complain the other night." Another smile. Yes, the other night she'd done a very hot little striptease, leaving on only her trashy shoes. Even so, they weren't worth two grand.

  He took a deep breath. "Honey. That's way, way too much."

  "We have the money."

  Jack folded his arms. "We don't have two grand to spend on one pair of highly impractical shoes, Hadley."

  Well, that opened the door. She stomped her foot. Jack clearly didn't appreciate how hard she worked to make their home beautiful. How much effort she put into being attractive, because "that's what Southern women do, Jack, not like your sister, who looks like a man!"

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Honey, you can't drive us into debt because you liked a pair of shoes."

  "One pair, Jack! I think I deserve one pair of Christian Louboutin shoes!"

  Except, he learned, she had four pairs.

  They sat down that night and worked up a budget on how much discretionary spending money they had. She sulked.

  It was obvious she'd had the wrong impression of just how much Jack earned. Yes, Blue Heron supported the family. Yes, Jack was a part owner and received a salary in addition to vineyard profits (most of which went back into the land or a savings account--farmers never took income for granted). She gave him the silent treatment for the rest of the night.

  But the next morning, she apologized, said she'd been childish and kissed him sweetly. She baked a pie using one of Mrs. Johnson's recipes, and, after dinner, she called Faith and had a long giggle-filled chat.

  They flew down to Savannah for a Southern Thanksgiving. Hadley was overjoyed to be with her family again, and they were happy to see both of them. He played Southern football (which was an awful lot like Northern football) with her dad and two brothers-in-law, both very good guys, as well as the kids and Frankie.

  "You guys planning on having kids?" asked Beau, who was married to Rachel. The game had pretty much finished, and Jack was tossing a nephew in the air.

  "Absolutely," Jack said.

  "Might want to think that through," Frankie said, flopping on the grass. "Kids make things permanent. Right, ankle-biter?" she added, grabbing her niece around the waist.

  "Now, Frankie," Hadley's dad said, shooting Jack an apologetic look. "Come on, kids--I smell ham and turkey. Your grandmother's worked too hard for us to be late to her table. Y'all get in there and wash up, now!"

  Everyone went in, except Frankie and Jack.

  "Sorry if I put my foot in it," she said. "You just seem like a real nice guy is all."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I mean, Jack," she said with a smack to his head, just l
ike one of his own sisters, "Hadley's a handful. Gives us Southern chicks a bad name. Just be sure you know what you got there." She started in, then glanced over her shoulder. "By the way, I'm coming out to the family after dinner. Hope I can count on you not freaking. You knew I liked girls, right?"

  "What? Oh, yeah." He was still digesting her words about Hadley.

  Frankie's announcement wasn't exactly groundbreaking. Ruthie and Rachel stated that they'd known since Frankie was eleven, and Bill and Barb admitted that they had suspected but had hoped to be wrong, because it could carry some "difficult consequences."

  "What are y'all talking about?" Frankie said fondly. "I'm a Yankee now. There's lots of us lesbians up north. We're all the rage." This got a laugh, and Bill came over and kissed his youngest and told her they all loved her no matter what.

  "You'll look after her, won't you, Jack?" Barbara asked.

  "Of course," Jack said. He liked Frankie a lot. "Not that she needs looking after, but we're just an hour away from Cornell."

  "Jack and I are about ready to start a family," Hadley announced.

  He looked at her in surprise. Since that first conversation after the honeymoon, the subject of kids hadn't been brought up. But the conversation turned to babies and pregnancy, and when Jack looked across the table at Frankie, she said nothing. Just cocked an eyebrow, and it dawned on Jack that maybe his wife was, in some weird way, trying to steal Frankie's thunder and turn the attention to her.

  Hadley seemed a little blue at Christmastime, so Jack surprised her with a trip to Manhattan, earning a lot of happy shrieks and kisses (and the wrath of his grandmother and Mrs. J.). They saw a show, stayed in a nice hotel (though not in a suite this time), went skating at Rockefeller Center, Hadley clutching his arm and giggling as she wobbled and skidded.

  Though she paused meaningfully in front of Tiffany's, Jack didn't take the bait; he'd already bought her some very nice earrings in Manningsport and arranged this trip. He wasn't about to break the budget just for a turquoise box. She didn't seem to mind, and took his hand as they walked down Fifth Avenue.

  When they got back home, she seemed happier. The bumps in the road seemed to have smoothed out.

  Then, in February, Jack stopped by the post office, which was one of Hadley's jobs. She had clearly defined ideas about what husbands should do and what wives should. It was a husband's job to empty the trash and clean up Lazarus's victims (and Princess Anastasia's hairballs); it was a wife's job to make the bed and pick movies. Husband shoveled the snow and scraped cars; wife went to the post office.

  But Honor was expecting a package, and she asked him to swing by. He checked his own post office box while he was there.

  Inside were three envelopes--one from MasterCard, two from Visa--addressed to John N. Holland IV.

  Which was strange, since he only had one credit card, an American Express. He only used it when he had to, preferring to use cash whenever possible.

  With a cold feeling in his stomach, he went out to his truck and opened the envelopes, his breath frosting the air.

  One bill was for $6,008.01, one for $8,772.15, and one for $4,533.98.

  Almost twenty thousand dollars. At 24 percent interest, no less.

  The charges went back as far as October...well after he and Hadley had the talk about the red-soled shoes that cost so much. They were from stores that Jack knew only by reputation. Tiffany's...he remembered how good a sport she was when they didn't stop in at Christmastime. Guess she could afford to be, since she'd already bought herself a little something. Henri Bendel. Neiman Marcus. Chanel, Coach, Prada, Armani.

  Almost twenty thousand dollars on clothes, shoes and handbags.

  Jack found that he was sweating.

  After the flights back and forth from Savannah...after spending five months' salary on a Tiffany engagement ring and a diamond wedding band...after paying for the rehearsal dinner for seventy-five people...after the lavish honeymoon, the new couch, after Christmas in New York City, after all the crap she'd bought for the house...they simply couldn't afford this. Jack had never wanted for money, but this...this was twenty grand he just didn't have sitting around.

  Worse than the money, though, was the lying.

  She'd been lying to him for months.

  Jaw locked hard, Jack drove home. She was there, sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space, idly stirring sugar into her tea. "Oh, hey, baby!" she said when he came in. "What are you doing home so early?"

  He put the bills on the table in front of her. "Explain," he said tightly.

  She was calm; he had to give her that. Stroked Princess Anastasia and said that, yes, she may have "overindulged," she shouldn't have kept that from him, but shopping had always been a hobby. She liked nice things; he knew that. She believed in buying quality. No need for him to have kittens.

  He made her show him her purchases, and she sighed and complied. Some were right there in their closet, some in her jewelry box, some hidden in the attic.

  Shoes galore. Seven new black dresses, each of which looked identical to the last. Four leather jackets. Five winter coats. More makeup than she could use in years. Special soaps and moisturizers and cleansers and creams. Belts and scarves and gloves. Perfume. An eight-ounce bottle of bubble bath that cost $179. "I thought Faith might like that for Christmas," she said unconvincingly.

  "It's February."

  "So? I like to shop all through the year."

  "Hadley, we can't afford this!" he barked, and she folded her arms and stared at him patiently.

  "Jack, we can. I know you're on the stingy side, but that wasn't how I was raised. Where I come from, a man takes care of his woman."

  "By take care of you mean go into debt?"

  "Fine. I did a little retail therapy."

  "Maybe you should try the regular kind."

  "That was uncalled for," she said. "You have no idea how lonely it is for me! You're at work all day long!"

  "People who work for a living generally work all day long, Hadley."

  "Well, you misled me, then! I thought you were--" She stopped abruptly

  "You thought I was what?"

  Rich. That's what she'd thought. And he'd always thought he was--he paid his bills, owned a home, bought a new truck every 125,000 miles, didn't have debt (until now) and put a modest amount in the stock market and savings.

  But he wasn't rich. Not by Hadley's standards, anyway.

  She looked straight ahead. "I thought you'd value our time together more."

  "How do I not value our time together, Hadley?"

  "You always put your family first. You spend more time with your father than you do with me."

  "I work with my father."

  "That Mrs. Johnson growls at me any time I even look at her, and your sisters are horrible!"

  "My sisters aren't horrible, Mrs. Johnson growls at everyone and they're not the reason you spent twenty thousand dollars on clothes."

  "You're overreacting. I'm sorry you don't think I'm worth it, after all I do to try to make you happy." There was a challenge in her eyes.

  "This is practically hoarding, and it's money we don't have." He picked up a pair of long white gloves, the kind a woman would wear to...well, hell, he didn't know. "You forged my signature on three credit card applications, which is illegal, for one, and for two, means your own credit must be shot to hell. You're hiding things around the house because you know you shouldn't be spending so much. This is not how a responsible adult behaves."

  She grew stony and wounded. She said she'd pay off the credit cards by taking on a few clients if money was all he cared about. Apparently, she'd misread him.

  Jack loved his wife. He did.

  Or you did before you got to know her so well, said a voice in his head, sounding a lot like Honor.

  No. He did love her. But it was clear that she wasn't as straightforward as he'd thought when they first met. And it was also clear that she thought he was a wealthy vintner and not a guy who had to
work for a living. Maybe this wasn't the life she thought she'd signed on for.

  "Hadley, if you're not happy here," he began as gently as he could.

  She jerked as if he'd hit her. "If I'm not happy, what?" she said, and suddenly her voice was shaking.

  "Maybe we rushed into this. If you're not getting what you want--"

  "Jack, no! Are you...do you want a divorce? Oh, my God!" She burst into tears, her hands over her face. "Please, Jack! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll return everything I can, but please don't leave me, Jack!"

  He got up and put his arms around her. "Hadley, honey, it just seems like you expected something different," he said.

  "Please give me another chance!" The sobs were tearing out of her.

  He hadn't expected that.

  He got a washcloth and wiped her face, held her tight, feeling like an absolute prick...and wondering how exactly that had happened. Poured her a hefty glass of wine, and another for himself, and assured her he didn't want a divorce.

  And he didn't. He just wanted a better marriage.

  The next day, Hadley wasn't home when he got back from Blue Heron. She came through the door a half an hour later, her face bright. "Guess who just got a job!" she said.

  She was sorry about the credit cards. She would pay them off. He was right, she'd gone a little crazy, but now she had a job and all would be put right as rain.

  Her job was clerking in the gift shop of Dandelion Hill, another winery on Keuka, run by Oliver Linton, a transplanted Wall Streeter who'd retired at the age of forty and bought a vineyard. Nice guy, as Jack knew from the wine association meetings and various events all the vineyards participated in. Oliver even took them out for dinner, and they reciprocated by inviting him up to the house one night, and it seemed that, finally, things were on the right track.

  Jack was stunned at the relief he felt. Hadley had a job, a place to go every day, and it seemed like exactly what she needed. She laughed more and had more to say, funny little stories about the people she met or Dandelion Hill's grouchy shop manager. Things became more down to earth, more normal...happier.

  It was almost liberating, her feet of clay. When they'd first met, she'd been perfect. Now she was real. Yes, yes, she spent too much money and played the victim when she felt defensive. But no one was perfect. She was happier now. She even started talking about kids.