Chapter 16

Justine

For once Mark didn’t drop his briefcase by the door. He walked right past me in the kitchen and went to sit on the couch we were still paying for. The decorator I hired said I had to have it as the focal point of the den. At the time I agreed with her. But as I watched my unemployed husband sit uncomfortably on the edge of a couch we still owed money on, it suddenly didn’t feel so urgent for us to have a focal point in our den.

I sat across from him on the coffee table. We still owed on that, too. “What are we going to do?” I asked. He stared ahead, not speaking. He wore a jacket even though it was 100 degrees outside. He held on to his briefcase like it was a security blanket. He’d called four hours earlier to say he’d been fired, and I couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been since then. I didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t really my business. What right did I have when I’d spent the last hour on the phone with Tom telling him that Mark had been fired, only hanging up when I heard his car pulling into the garage?

I watched Mark, trying to determine what I felt for him. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t really even like or respect. What I felt for him, I decided in that moment, was family. He had become my family in the years we’d been married. He was family like my mother was family, my sister, my stepfather. How could I hurt someone who was my family?

I reached out to him, patting his hand. “We can do this,” I said. I tried to use my most encouraging tone, willed my eyes to look sincere. Because the truth was, we couldn’t do this. He had been given very little severance. We had no savings. Our credit cards were maxed out. We had lived a life built on his paychecks showing up regularly. We weren’t prepared for this hurricane that had come blowing into our house, pulling the roof off so the rain could pour in. Mark had to believe he could do this so he could go find a job. Even a few weeks of no paycheck could bring the house down.

He looked at me as though he’d never seen me before, as though he was trying to place me. “I can’t do this,” he said.

I patted his hand again, noting the scar he’d gotten when he fell off the ladder while cleaning the gutters. Hadn’t I taken him to the hospital and sat by his side while the doctor stitched him up? Hadn’t I been there for him? I wasn’t a terrible person. “Of course you can,” I said.

“No,” he said. “I’ve been driving around thinking about this. I’m not going to be able to find another job. The economy’s too bad and what I do is so specialized there’s not going to be another job just around the corner, Justine. It’s going to take too long.” He looked directly at me for the first time. “And we can’t afford to wait.” He broke my gaze and looked at his lap. “So I think it needs to be you. You are the talented one, the one who can hold our family up. I’m just a loser.”

“Me? Mark, what do you mean?”

“You need to find a job.”

I laughed, my commitment to being supportive evaporating with his ridiculous suggestion. “That’s crazy talk, Mark. You’re not making any sense.”

He looked at me. “I’m totally serious,” he said. “You’re this capable, smart, beautiful woman. You’ve got what companies look for.” He sighed. “I don’t. It’s going to be up to you to keep our family from going under. I can’t.”

Anger flickered, then burned inside me as I looked at him. “You can’t ask this of me,” I said.

“I can. And I am. All I hear is how together you are, what an amazing person you are. Everywhere I go in this town, people stop me and talk about you. No one talks about me that way. No one. If one of us has to find a job in a hurry, it’s got to be you. It just makes the most sense.”

“No.” I shook my head, and though I tried to stop it, the thought entered my mind too quickly: Tom would never ask this of me. I stood up and walked into the kitchen. I couldn’t start comparing the two of them; holding Mark up to Tom wasn’t fair. We hadn’t spent enough time together for me to truly know what Tom would do. And then another thought torpedoed through my brain that was even more dangerous than the first … one simple word: yet. I shivered a little in the air-conditioning as I came to a stop at my kitchen sink. From there I could see the cul-de-sac of my street. If I strained, I could make out the roof of Tom’s house.

I felt Mark’s arms go around me from behind. He pushed his head into my neck, burying his face in my hair. He had held me like this that one time I tried to break up with him, when I first knew that marrying him was a mistake, before things had gone too far. I had given him his ring back, saying I needed time, that we had rushed into things. We’d only been dating less than a year, I told him. Didn’t couples need more time to know if marriage was the right thing to do? I’d been at his kitchen sink in his apartment, washing dishes. He’d come up from behind me and held on to me, his tears wetting my hair. “I love you,” he’d said. “I don’t need more time.” And I’d turned into his embrace, into his chest, and cried too. Because he really was sweet, a dream come true for any other girl but me.

Now his body shuddered, and I stiffened, but he seemed not to notice. “I’m sorry I let you down,” he said.

I knew what I was supposed to say. I was supposed to say that he hadn’t let me down, that we were going to be okay, that together we could get through this. But I said none of those things. Instead I said quietly, “Me, too.” After he left the room, I went to hide on the screened-in porch so I could text Tom to tell him what had happened. “That didn’t go well,” I wrote. As I put the phone in my pocket and waited for him to respond, I couldn’t escape the feeling that this had happened to punish me for what I was doing. But now more than ever, I couldn’t stop.

In spite of Mark losing his job, we had no choice but to go ahead with the plans to have Tom’s family over for dinner. It was too late to cancel, and besides, I looked forward to seeing Tom any way I could. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, applying lip gloss and practicing my “everything’s going to be fine” smile. I couldn’t fool Tom, but it was imperative that I fool Betsy. I needed her to believe that all was well with me, with my marriage. That I didn’t despise her for taking my part, even though she had no clue that she had. If she believed that, she wouldn’t look too closely. She’d believe exactly what Tom had told her when she figured out who I was: that it was just a crush from when we were young, no lasting effects, no harm done. I believed in keeping my friends close and my enemies closer. Besides, I could learn a lot about Tom by befriending Betsy. I finished with the lip gloss and practiced another look entirely—the look I would give Tom if we got a moment alone.

“They’re here!” I heard Cameron announce. “Mom, Dad.”

“Coming,” I called out, listening for the sounds of unfamiliar voices coming from downstairs. Above all the others, I heard the one I was listening for and smiled. This smile wasn’t practiced.

Dinner was grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. I had made baked beans, and Betsy brought coleslaw and potato salad. Tom hung out with Mark on the deck while I made small talk with Betsy. We talked about the schools the kids would be attending, the best sports and activities to sign up for, where to find the best bargains on groceries. Mom stuff. Betsy was cute and easy to talk to, and for just a moment, I felt bad for talking to her husband behind her back. Then I thought of her standing in front of my church in a few weeks on the Fourth of July, singing my solo. And I didn’t feel bad anymore.

Tom walked in from the deck, and our eyes met just long enough for me to know that I was kidding myself if I thought talking to him would be that easy to stop. I stifled a smile and turned to the sink, where I was slicing a tomato for the hamburgers.

“Where should I put this?” Betsy asked, holding up the large platter I had out for the hamburgers. I had painted the platter myself with the verse “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” Did I ever really believe that? Was I really the woman who had painted those words on that platter? I focused elsewhere and asked her to carry it out to Mark, who was presiding over the grill.

When she was gone, Tom came over to me. “I’ve missed you. It’s weird seeing you, with her here too.” He pulled me to him with a devilish-looking smile on his face. “But kind of exciting.”

I pushed away from him and slapped at his hand, trying to see where Betsy was. I spotted her talking to Mark over the grill. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all switch places? Trade spouses like the reality TV show?

“Stop it,” I said to Tom, like a mother speaking to a child. But I bit back a smile as I turned back to the sink. Sneaking around did feel … dangerous. To someone whose idea of pushing the limits was being overdue on a library book, dangerous felt good.

Tom came up behind me, leaning his weight against me. I could feel his breath on my ear. “I listened to our song today. Thought about you.”

I shuddered, wanting so badly to turn around and kiss him that I had to grip the counter ledge. He moved away and turned to pretend he was getting buns out of the bags just as Betsy came back in the house. His timing, I noticed, was uncanny. I exhaled, unaware that I’d been holding my breath. Betsy laid her hand on my arm. “You okay?” she asked me, concern etching her face. I was a horrible person.

“Yes,” I said. “I was just telling Tom about the news we got today.” She didn’t know I had already told Tom hours before. I started to peel off lettuce from its core, saving the best pieces to put out for the burgers. “Mark lost his job today,” I said, fumbling for an excuse for my clear exasperation.

Betsy’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Well, of course you’re not okay.” She looked over at Tom. “This is terrible,” she said to him.

“I know,” he responded, not meeting her eyes. He looked over at me. “It is terrible.” I knew he wasn’t talking about Mark’s job.

“Well, what can we do? Tell me what we can do,” Betsy said. She stood between Tom and me, which was, I thought, appropriate.

I shook my head. “There’s nothing really. Mark’s going to start looking, of course.” That was not true. He’d said nothing about looking, only that I should. “And I’m going to try to find something too. We need all hands on deck.” I gave her my practiced smile, and she fell for it, smiling right back.

“You’re a hero,” she said, her eyes kind and warm as they looked into mine. I looked away.

In a bold move, Tom walked over to me, put his hand on my shoulder. “She is a hero,” he said, looking at Betsy. “And we should help however we can. Why don’t I give you my cell-phone number and that way I can offer you counseling? I’m in HR at a huge company, and I can help you with your search, your résumé … whatever you need.”

Betsy’s face lit up. “That’s perfect, Tom. You could totally help her.”

He smiled at me. “I hope you don’t mind me offering. To help you,” he said, every bit the concerned old friend/neighbor he was pretending to be just then.

“Not at all,” I answered him. “That would be nice, actually.” I looked over at Betsy, shaking my head. “I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for eight years. I am totally out of my element in the corporate world.” Betsy clapped her hands together as she looked from me to Tom and back again. I went to call Mark and the kids in for dinner. I had to hand it to Tom, he was one smart cookie. He had just cleared the way for us to have sanctioned contact. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d planned that or if it had just come to him suddenly. Oh well, what did it matter?