“Are you excited for your first yoga class in Connecticut?” Elizabeth asked Abby, watching her exit her black BMW 650i. Wearing nude-colored FitFlops and an all-black ensemble of Lululemon yoga pants, fitted tank top, and Patagonia fleece, Abby looked pretty and polished.
“Absolutely,” said Abby. “I was up until two o’clock this morning unpacking boxes. My back is in knots.”
“Based on the number of cars already in the parking lot, it looks like the class is nearly full,” warned Elizabeth. “We better go in and put down our mats.”
Yogi Jack’s studio was on a small, one-way side street off of Cannondale’s main avenue. It was located in a converted art deco-style bank that dated to the 1930s. Its design—a fortified one-story, four-bay rectangular brick building with a large, open interior space—was ideal for yoga.
“Nice building,” Abby said as they walked up the worn granite stairs to the original bronze doors. “I love when towns preserve vintage structures like this.”
“The vault is used for the daycare,” said Elizabeth.
“Quinn and Lily would love that,” said Abby. “Let’s come back on a weekend.”
Hearing the hum of accumulated whispers in the studio, Elizabeth said, “Prepare yourself. Until class starts, there’s nothing ‘Zen’ about the atmosphere. It’s ladies’ social hour.”
“Got it,” Abby noted.
The room was nearly full. Elizabeth and Abby found an open space in the back right corner. As they settled in, Tory Blume entered and rolled out her mat next to Elizabeth’s.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” she said. “Late this morning? You never sit this far back.”
“Yes, Tory, a bit late today,” said Elizabeth, annoyed to see that Tory would be next to her during class.
“Who are you with?” Tory whispered as she peered around Elizabeth. “You two could be twins.”
“Tory, this is my sister, Abby,” responded Elizabeth. “She just moved to town with her two kids.”
“Abby!” Tory said incredulously. “I should have known. Now I understand why you’re in the back corner. Trying to keep a low profile, huh?”
Abby smiled warily at Tory and waited. She knew what was coming next.
“I heard about your husband, Colin,” Tory continued. “I followed the story really closely. I’m so sorry for you. To be left with two young kids and no life insurance money… It must have been terrible for your kids to see their dad’s suicide played on the news over and over and over again. I was praying for another tragedy so that the reporters would have a new story to focus on.”
Abby, who was used to passive-aggressive-type condolences from strangers and friends alike, simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“Few of us in Cannondale knew Elizabeth was related to you until several days after it happened,” Tory continued. “Your sister can be infuriatingly private. I was the one who organized the dinner drop-off for her. Elizabeth, did you tell her about it? We had thirty-seven women sign up. Elizabeth didn’t have to worry about making meals for over a month.”
“I appreciated that very much,” Elizabeth said, still angered by how this unrequested act indebted her to Tory and a number of other women she barely knew. “The lemon chicken your housekeeper made was delicious.”
“You’re welcome,” Tory said. “Isn’t Lucy a good cook? I’m hopeless in the kitchen… So why did you move to Cannondale?” Tory asked Abby.
“Work. I’m running White’s Realty,” responded Abby.
“Oh, that’s fortuitous,” said Tory. “Gene asked me to get a price opinion on our house just last night. He wants to go to town hall with it and dispute the taxes on our home. The last assessment was done in 2007 when home prices were sky-high.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you to one of my colleagues,” said Abby. “I’m having lunch tomorrow with one of our top producers, Cecily Morgan. Do you want to join us? She could tour your home after lunch.”
“Can’t tomorrow,” said Tory. “I have a private session with my trainer at noon.”
“We’re scheduled for a late lunch, though, starting at one thirty,” said Abby.
“Still can’t do it,” said Tory. “By that point, I’ll be fucking him.”
“You’ll be doing what?” choked out Elizabeth. Abby laughed.
“Was that too blunt?” Tory asked, feeding off Abby’s amusement. “I assumed you knew, Elizabeth,” she added. “Mitchell has sex with all his private clients. It’s the perk he offers to make up for charging $350 a session.”
“He must be good,” joked Abby. “Anyway, let’s exchange numbers after class and then we can find a date that works for you to meet Cecily.”
Elizabeth had met Tory two years before through a mutual friend who thought Elizabeth’s career in journalism and Tory’s background in media would be a good connection point. Elizabeth was eager to meet likeminded women in town, having not met many since relocating from Manhattan. Being career-focused put her in a different mindset than many local women.
Their original introduction happened during a party, and Elizabeth initially found Tory’s frank personality funny and refreshing. Afterward, Tory invited the Kellys over for dinner.
Several weeks later, Andrew and Elizabeth stood on the porch of the Blumes’ new home. It was an updated antique, similar in style to the home the Kellys purchased. Unlike the slew of large, generically designed homes that were currently being built in Fairfield County, Elizabeth and Andrew admired its details and proportions.
“Hi, kids,” said Tory as she and her husband, Gene, greeted them at the door. “So glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for having us,” Elizabeth replied.
“We cracked the wine a few hours ago and need you to join us before we get in trouble,” said Gene. “Anna and Devin are at my parents’ home for a sleepover, so we’ll be enjoying tonight to the fullest!”
“That sounds promising,” Andrew replied.
After a tour of their home and a few pleasantries, Andrew and Gene went outside to grill the main course. Elizabeth helped Tory make a salad.
“So how did you meet Gene?” Elizabeth asked as she chopped a pepper.
“In college,” Tory replied. “He was the guy who always followed me around. It was love at first sight for him.”
“How nice,” Elizabeth responded, feeling instantly uncomfortable and hoping she was joking.
“But I wasn’t into Gene during college,” Tory confessed. “I dated a guy named Brad Hagerty. Brad and Gene were fraternity brothers. Brad is one of those perfect guys—handsome, rich, fun. We dated on and off for years after college, but he wouldn’t get serious with me. We’d break up, and I would date someone else, but his trust fund always lured me back. It took me a long time to realize he was never going to marry me.”
Tory went on to explain how, as her thirty-fifth birthday approached, she started to panic that she would never marry. At the same time, Brad was planning a move alone to the West coast. “I called Gene—we’d stayed in touch—and asked if he wanted to go out,” she said. “He was freshly divorced. We went to dinner, and that was that. We’ve been married six years.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth said, more accustomed to sugarcoated, humorous versions of how married couples first met.
“The good news is that Gene will always love me more than I love him,” she went on. “That’s a guarantee.”
Elizabeth’s startled eyes wandered to Tory and Gene’s wedding portrait. There stood doughy, awkward Gene enthusiastically embracing petite, pretty Tory. After all those years, he’d finally landed her. How sad the truth was for him.
Elizabeth changed the subject.
“So do you ever think about freelancing or consulting?” Elizabeth asked. “You had such a great career in sports’ television.”
With a look that indicated Elizabeth was completely off the mark, Tory said, “Not at all. I was becoming one of those tough spinster types with a furrowed brow. I was embarrassed to still be working over the age of thirty. I wanted to be married and quit working altogether.”
Again, all Elizabeth could say was “Oh.” Elizabeth thought about how much she enjoyed work. How, if she ever quit, she would use her skills volunteering. Who decided that a woman having a successful career is embarrassing? Elizabeth thought.
“Don’t you hate going into the office?” Tory asked.
“No, I actually like my job,” Elizabeth asserted. “It gives me a lot of fulfillment, and I work with interesting people. I’d be bored otherwise.”
Knowing that comment wouldn’t lead to anything with Tory, Elizabeth changed the subject again. This time, she picked a safe topic, something every woman she encountered in Cannondale liked to discuss.
“I love your new home,” Elizabeth said. “It’s enchanting.”
“‘Enchanting,’” Tory quipped, “as in a charming little cottage?”
“No,” responded Elizabeth. “Enchanting as in delightful. I love antiques. Your home is similar to ours.”
“Well, I don’t think our home is big enough for our family of four, but Gene put me on a budget when I went house hunting. We have plenty of money, but Gene wants to keep some of our money liquid.”
Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? Elizabeth thought. She only knew a handful of people who didn’t have a limit to what they could spend on a home.
In the blink of an eye, Tory rolled out architectural plans, chattering about the large addition she was planning. As Elizabeth listened, she wondered why Tory felt the need to immediately add two more bedrooms, a library, and a large sunroom with a terrace to the four thousand square foot, four-bedroom house. In order to do so, the fully landscaped pool would have to be moved.
Then, looking conspiratorial, Tory abruptly stopped talking about the addition and leaned in toward Elizabeth.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.
“I think so,” Elizabeth replied, equally curious and afraid of whatever confidence Tory wanted her to keep.
“I’ve told Gene that I’m pregnant and that we have to add an addition to the house as soon as possible!”
“Congratulations,” Elizabeth perfunctorily said, noting Tory’s nearly empty wineglass. Since Gene and Andrew went outside, Tory had downed two glasses of Pinot Grigio. “That’s exciting news. You’re not even showing yet. How far along are you?”
“I’m not pregnant,” Tory said with the largest smile Elizabeth had seen on her face to date. “Being pregnant was the only way I could convince Gene to let me go ahead with the addition. After playing the morning sickness act for a few more months—which will also justify my hiring a live-in nanny—I’ll fake a miscarriage. By that point, our addition will be in full swing.”
She is actually faking a pregnancy to get a bigger house and a nanny, Elizabeth thought.
“Wow!” she said, finding her words. “That’s quite a lie. Now I understand why it was important for you to marry someone who loves you more than you love him.”
“Exactly,” Tory replied.