She was completely caught off guard. She had been asking him to apply himself a little more to what she thought had been a pretty satisfactory partnership. Their relationship was hardly perfect, but then whose was?
They’d been seeing a marriage counselor for three months, and she had no grasp of how that was working out. Some days Scott would say, I think we’re making progress here—I know I’m feeling better about things. Other days he’d grumble that she wasn’t really involved in the marriage, or their family life for that matter. He told her she was “emotionally unavailable” too often. “When was the last time you watched me play ball?” he asked. “When was the last time we went to a movie?”
Her work was very difficult and demanding, what more could she say? If she wanted to keep her job, she had to be on top of it. She worked sixty hours a week and brought work home, as well.
It was when he started saying things like, “I feel like I have a hole in my heart,” and “I’m not really living, just existing,” she began to suspect there was another woman. Those were women’s words. Scott didn’t say things like that. In fact, he had trouble sitting through a chick flick with dialogue like that. It made him roll his eyes. Now he was saying those things to her with a straight face.
In their thirty years together, two dating and twenty-eight married, she had suspected there were other women now and then, but there was never any clear evidence. Just a name that came up too frequently, that faraway look in his eye, a very unreliable schedule. He’d go MIA for a while. During their first decade of marriage, he traveled all the time while he was in sales. She’d had trouble getting pregnant and blamed his travel schedule. When she passed the bar, he was more than happy to take a less demanding, less lucrative job to improve their odds at reproduction. Seventeen years ago she had Amber and eleven months later, Olivia. He was a stay-at-home dad and she was so happy; her baby daughters were everything to her. She was a successful businesswoman with a supportive husband and two beautiful daughters. She didn’t have a jealous bone in her body.
But she had to work. She was the bread and butter of the family. Getting home to her husband and babies was her reward for every hard penny she earned. She was successful, Scott urging her on every day while he stayed home and planned their vacations. In more recent years when he had so much time on his hands because the girls were self-sufficient and he only worked part-time, she never wondered where he was—he was busy every minute. They texted and spoke several times every day.
Maybe she should have worried sooner. Now she didn’t know what to do. She had asked him about other women and he’d said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” That wasn’t a real answer, was it? Should she get a detective? It was a thought. She didn’t know what she would do, how she would live. What would the girls say? Do? Would Scott try to take them from her? They adored him. Would they want to be with her, when she worked sixty-hour weeks?
At first she thought she couldn’t let him leave. She didn’t know how she’d get by. It never once occurred to her that her life might be slightly less tense without him constantly keeping score on her hours and familial contributions.
Now that she thought about it, Scott had always been a lot of emotional work. It wasn’t easy trying to get a law degree while making sure she was always a good wife. True, she couldn’t do all the wifely chores and work as an attorney, but a good balance was that she made enough money for a weekly cleaning lady. What she did do was never mention she was the breadwinner, never minimize his contributions. She took time to praise his every effort, compliment his mind and frequently mention how stimulating she found him, scream with joy during mediocre sex. It wasn’t until he said he no longer loved her that she realized the enormous emotional weight of that effort.
Scott ran the house and made sure the girls got to school and every extracurricular activity, lesson or practice. Now that Amber was driving, he had even more free time. It took him roughly two hours a day to do his chores—she still did the laundry, stopped for groceries on the way home, cleaned the kitchen after dinner. The hours left over—some six or more a day—he could devote to biking, kayaking, working out, running, hiking, swimming or various sports training. He was a member of two bowling leagues and one baseball team. He watched hours of sports on TV, most of it recorded for later. He worked part-time at the sporting goods outlet off and on, never more than twenty hours in a week.
How dare he not love me, she thought angrily. If anything, I shouldn’t love him!
There was a time Adele was an adventurous soul, like back in college and grad school. But for the past six to eight years, she’d done little driving, staying close to home, rarely leaving Half Moon Bay.
This was an old town, originally called Spanishtown and settled before the gold rush, officially becoming Half Moon Bay in the late 1800s. The history of the town was carefully preserved. It was a sweet town on the ocean that attracted tourists. This part of San Mateo County was known for farming of vegetables and flowers, surfing and other water sports, a quaint and quiet getaway filled with and surrounded by beautiful state parks, redwoods and wonderful beaches. It got its name from the crescent-shaped harbor just north of the city.
Addie thought of it as calm, sometimes too calm. Maybe a little old-fashioned and stifling. When she was young, she couldn’t wait to knock the dust from that little old town off her shoes, to get out and enjoy the freedom of college in a bigger city. Now that she’d been held hostage there for eight years, she was nearly phobic about leaving.
But leave she would, if only for the day. She wasn’t going to let Justine down, even though it appeared Justine would let her down. They might not be the closest of sisters but if Adele had one shining trait, she was fiercely loyal. She thought she was more loyal to Justine than Justine was to her, but that was okay. She believed that what goes around comes around and she’d invest now, hope for good things to follow.
Plus there was Amber and Olivia, and Addie loved them.
Adele called Justine first thing in the morning. “I know we just talked yesterday but I need to see you, in person, alone, as soon as possible. I’ll drive to San Jose if necessary, but it would be better if you came here. I don’t want to try to talk to you with the girls or Scott around. It’s a very private matter.”
“What’s bothering you, Addie?” Justine asked.
Of course Justine would think it was Adele who had the problem, that it was something she was embarrassed to share or have anyone overhear. “We have to talk. It’s urgent. Please decide where we should do it.”
Justine sighed into the phone. It was clear she couldn’t imagine Addie having a truly urgent issue of any kind.
“I have a lot to do today. Are you sure this can’t wait?”
“I’m afraid it can’t. Do you want to meet somewhere or what?”
“Can you come to me? Scott’s playing golf and won’t be home until after two. Amber and Olivia are both busy with friends, and I expect they’ll be gone all day. If you come to me, at least I can get a few things done in the time I would have spent driving.”
“Okay,” Adele said in a shaky breath. She hated the freeway. And left turns. And other cars. She hadn’t driven to San Jose, forty miles away, in years and she recalled it as traumatic. In fact, she hadn’t driven out of Half Moon Bay in a couple of years. She was used to getting teased about it.
“Wow,” Justine said. “This must be important.”
“It is.”
Adele thought about the one time Justine had really come through for her—when she was brokenhearted, pregnant and alone. Justine was supportive and nonjudgmental.
“These things happen, kiddo,” she’d said. “But you’re doing the right thing. Adoption is a good option.”
“If I can make myself go through with it,” Adele had said. “I feel him moving and I want to hold him.”
“Of course you do. And women do raise their children without fathers all the time. But if you’re serious about that, there are legal ways to make the father responsible. He can pay support. Just think about it. I can help.”
But that option had been taken away from her when the baby didn’t survive. It was Justine who showered her with sympathy, paid for the mortuary and cemetery costs, held her while she cried and encouraged her to grieve, get counseling and try to move on. For that compassion, Adele would be forever grateful.