Sunday, August 12, 2018, 11:50 a.m.

N

ora called to Sophie and Ellie, telling them she’d be watching them from the picnic table. Reminding them that lunch would be ready soon.

Barbara didn’t shout anything to her boys. She gripped her bracelet and walked silently to a picnic table, and sat with her back straight, her hands folded. She didn’t try any more to conceal the bruise. It spilled out from under the bracelet, ugly and dark. When Nora sat opposite her, Barbara lowered her sunglasses, revealing a matching bruise under her eye.

Nora was aghast, speechless. Abuse? Was that the confidential personal matter Dave had been helping with? No. How could it be? Paul adored Barbara, doted on her. He lavished her with jewelry, foreign cars, exotic trips, designer fashions. Paul, an Ivy Leaguer, had attended Princeton, or was it Yale? He was a gentleman—charming and impeccable and handsome. She hadn’t seen him often, but whenever she had, his nails had been manicured. His teeth blindingly white. And for God’s sake, he was running for the U.S. Senate. No way would Paul Ellis beat his wife.

And yet.

Barbara replaced her sunglasses. “He wasn’t always like this,” Barbara began. “When I met him, he was thoughtful and sweet. My knight on horseback. Prince charming.” She paused, absently picking at slivers on the picnic table. “I don’t know what happened, when he changed.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone? You could have come to me. Any of us.”

“You don’t get it. Paul is… He’s not who he seems to be.”

“So let’s call the police. Now. Today. Have him arrested for spousal abuse.”

“Nora.” Barbara smiled sadly. “That would ruin him.”

“What do you care? The man beats you!”

“Shh!” Barbara stopped picking slivers and glanced around to make sure no one had heard. “Look, Nora. You have no idea what I’m up against or what kind of man he is.”

“I know he’s the kind of man who hits his wife. That’s enough.”

“No.” Barbara stiffened. “I have the boys to think about. He’d take them. He’d make me seem unfit. If I do anything to stand up to him, he’ll go after me. Trust me, it’s been building for a long time. Since I was pregnant with Harry. I was big as a house, swollen ankles, barely able to walk, and he accused me of cheating. I laughed. I thought he was joking until he slapped me. He still imagines that every man who looks at me is my secret lover.”

Nora swallowed a gasp. She thought back to first meeting Barbara at playgroup with little Colin, how she’d sparkled, standing out among the other moms with their limp hair and baggy sweatpants. Nora had been jealous of her energy, toned body, perfect makeup, highlighted hair. When Barbara’s designer tees and jeans got spattered with glue or finger paint, she exuded nothing but happy nonchalance. Had Barbara really been abused, even then? Had she been faking her cheery pep, covering a terrible secret?

“The last few years, ever since Harry’s birth…” Barbara paused. Her fingers again found the rough patch on the table and resumed picking at it. “Paul’s been unbearable. Possessive and, oh my God, controlling. He questions my every move. He doesn’t trust me and checks on me, makes me call him every two hours to make sure I’m not out with some other guy. Nora, it’s hell. I never know who he’s going to be. One minute, he’s romantic and giving. The next, he’s jealous and possessive. I can’t win, Nora. If I reassure him and tell him I love him, he accuses me of trying to charm and manipulate him. If I don’t reassure him, he accuses me of sleeping around and calls me a slut and says I’ll shatter his political future. Yesterday, I begged him to go with me to counseling.” She bit her lip. “Well. You’ve seen his
reaction.”

She held up her wrist, displayed the bruise.

“You have to leave,” Nora said. “Take the boys. Today. Stay with us.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? What are you afraid of? What can he do to you after you’re gone?”

Barbara rolled her eyes and swatted tiny sweat beads off her freckled nose. She looked around again, making sure no one was close by. “I know you mean well, Nora. But if leaving were easy, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?” She pushed her hair back, stiffened. “Look, you don’t even know him. You’ve met him, what, three times at crowded parties? And he’s been delightful and witty, right? Suave? Gallant? Trust me, Nora, you know nothing about my husband, so don’t presume to give me advice.”

Nora bristled, stung. She’d meant to be supportive, didn’t deserve to be snapped at. Obviously, Barbara didn’t appreciate her input. So what should she do, get up and walk away? She started to stand, but hesitated. Barbara had been hurt. Fierce, angry bruises mottled her skin. Nora couldn’t just leave her. She sat again.

“Sorry.” Barbara sniffed, wiped at her nose with diamond-clad fingers. “You’re only trying to help. I don’t mean to sound
ungrateful.”

Nora reached across the table and squeezed Barbara’s hand. “It’s okay.”

A few quiet moments passed. Barbara dabbed at her eyes, checking for mascara, calming herself. Nora gazed at the pool. Patty swam laps, and the children played. She looked up at the trees around them, their leaves almost motionless. Dead bare branches hiding among the foliage. Finally, her gaze settled on the table. And she noticed that the wood was moving. No, not the wood—tiny red dots on top of it. The dots scurried over the surface of the table and benches. Immediately, Nora’s legs and arms began to itch, and she thought of Tommy and his bugs, his ant collection on the loose.

“Barbara…” She was about to point out the dots—they were probably tiny spiders—when Barbara leaned across the table, her face inches from Nora’s.

“Here’s the deal. I might as well say it. I haven’t left Paul because Paul will not let me leave. Ever. He’s sworn he’ll stop me, and he means it. He’ll find me and lock me away somewhere. No one will ever find me. He’ll make me disappear. This…” she held out her bruised wrist, “is nothing. Even if I somehow managed to get away, he’d use his connections to find me and bring me back.”

Nora eased to the edge of the bench, hoping there were fewer bugs there. Maybe she could stand and talk? “Can’t you get protection? A restraining order?”

Barbara scoffed. “An order through the courts? Make no mistake, Paul will not allow a scandal. He’s running for public office and has a family-man image to keep up.”

“Piffle. Lots of people separate and get divorced. There’s no stigma anymore.”

“Like I said. You don’t know Paul. He won’t allow even an innuendo of imperfection. He’s the ideal husband with the
perfect family. And I am his perfect wife.”

“That’s medieval. It’s bull. You don’t have to—”

“He is a powerful man. Party bosses and big money supporters don’t pick nice guys to run for the Senate. They back ambitious, sociopathic egomaniacs, like Paul. Trust me, leaving him is not a matter of packing a bag and driving off.”

Barbara’s polished nails ripped splinters out of the tabletop. Miniscule red dots scurried everywhere, helter-skelter.

Nora tried to absorb what she’d heard, to redefine Paul as a bullying bastard and Barbara as a victim. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, finally. “I had no idea.”

“I hide things well, don’t I? Anyway, now you know why I turned to Dave for help.”

No, actually, she didn’t. Why Dave? Why not the police or a divorce lawyer? Why not a bodyguard? “But Dave doesn’t practice domestic law.”

“No. But more importantly, he has no connections or obligations to Paul. And I can trust him.” She paused, scratched her arm, then her leg.

The bugs were on her. Nora couldn’t interrupt Barbara’s life-altering talk, but neither could she sit still and let the things bite them. So, casually, as if to shift positions and stretch, she stood.

Barbara grabbed her arm. “Nora, I hope you understand why we’ve been so secretive. And I have to ask—to beg. Please please please. Don’t say anything to anyone. Not a peep. As far as our friends know, I’m a blissfully happy, loving wife who waxes her privates for her sexy, adoring husband. Okay?”

Nora blinked. What had seemed erotic days ago seemed horrifying now. “Of course. Not a word.”

Barbara smirked and stood, scratching her thigh. “I’m glad you know. It’s a relief not to hide this mess from you anymore. The way Dave and I have been sneaking around, I was afraid you’d think we were having an affair.”

Really. What an absurd idea. Nora tried to laugh, couldn’t.

“Oh, damn.” Barbara stood. “What time is it? I have to call and check in, and my phone’s back on my chair. ‘Scuse me.” She dashed back to her lounge chair.

Nora watched Barbara run off, backside jiggling. She wondered if there were bruises there, too. How was it possible that Barbara—sassy, confident, striking, strong Barbara—had been so brutally victimized? How was it that that stunning, sleek, smooth, prominent candidate Paul could have caused those ugly purple marks? Across the deck, Barbara dug her phone out of her bag, hurrying to call her husband on schedule—how revolting.

But how was Dave going to get Paul to change? Argue with him? Sue him? Threaten to leak the story to the media? Dave was just a criminal defense lawyer, not a power broker with heavy duty political clout. It seemed futile.

But still, Dave, her sweet husband Dave, was doing his best to help. Nora had had so little faith in him, had suspected him of cheating, when actually he’d been rescuing her friend. She flushed with a mixture of pride and guilt. And love. For sure, she owed Dave an apology. More than that. She owed him her trust.

Nora headed back toward the pool, absorbed in scenarios. She imagined Dave helping Barbara and the boys sneak away in the night. And Paul coming after them. No, not Paul himself. He played in the major leagues, so he’d send a hitman after them—not just Barbara, but her helpers as well. Oh God. Paul would never. Except that he might, if he was as controlling and ruthless as Barbara had said. As her black eye and purple arm had proved. Maybe Dave could negotiate with him. Provide Paul with an incentive of some kind, and a cover story to explain the separation without a scandal. Maybe Colin or Harry had asthma and needed to recuperate in the fresh air of the Alps.

“Mommy, no one will give me a turn.”

Nora had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed the dab of pink fabric and small limbs huddling on the lounge chair beyond Barbara.

Ellie sat alone, doing nothing. “Everyone likes Sophie better.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Except she was sure that it was. Sophie was easier, lighter, jollier, and Nora knew that as well as anyone. Just as everyone had known the differences between Nora and Tommy. But this situation had nothing to do with Tommy, and Nora would not compare him to Ellie. They were nothing alike.

Still, no one was playing with Ellie.

Nora made herself sound cheery. “Well, never mind. It’s time for lunch anyway.” She asked Ellie to call the others to come eat, and Ellie hopped off, pleased with her important job. Tommy would never have done that.

Nora turned to ask Barbara about her phone call, but Barbara was lying on her lounge chair with her wide straw hat covering her face like a big, round, Do Not Disturb sign. Had something happened during the call? Was she seething? Crying?

Patty returned from her swim just before the kids scrambled out of the water. She and Nora handed out dry towels and a picnic of sandwiches, peaches, chips, and juice. Nora kept moving, passing napkins around, switching apple juice for grape, making sure that Ellie didn’t eat alone, that Barbara remained undisturbed. She chatted and smiled as if she were a normal suburban mom relaxing at her friend’s pool on a hot summer day, munched celery sticks as if she hadn’t just learned the shocking, terrible, intolerable secret Barbara had entrusted to Dave, and now, to her. As if she didn’t recall how dangerously out of control big secrets could get.