And then it happens, what you have feared all your life.
I read that. Or maybe I heard it in the hospital, something a therapist said. The words came back the night Erik told me that Kelly, my Kelly, had been selected to lead a two-week master class at Ten Chimneys. It was part of the inaugural Lunt-Fontanne fellowship program, and for weeks, we’d been speculating about who the actor would be. Even Erik didn’t know. The choice was in the hands of the advisory board, composed of theater dignitaries from around the country. We’d heard Kevin Spacey was a contender. Vanessa Redgrave.
No one mentioned Kelly.
“Are you sure you don’t know who it is?” I asked Annabelle as she was leaving for the board meeting where the announcement would be made. It had been sleeting all afternoon; she’d picked up Spencer at the diner and dropped him off at my house so I wouldn’t have to drive.
“Me? Keep a secret? You have such faith, Claire!” She hesitated at the door. “I thought it was supposed to be spring.” The sleet was coming down harder. Her headlights were the only brightness in the black and white afternoon.
After she left, I went back to the kitchen, where the girls were bickering and Spencer was agitated, flapping his arms and repeating phrases. He was upset because Annabelle had picked him up instead of me. I got the twins settled with snacks, but Spencer wouldn’t sit, following me so closely that twice he stepped on the backs of my shoes. Every few minutes, he’d ask, “Am I a good boy, Claire?” and I’d tell him of course he was and try to explain: I hadn’t met his bus because driving in icy weather scared me; it wasn’t because he wasn’t a good boy. In fact, he was the best boy ever! He’d nod, seemingly reassured, until three minutes later, he’d ask again, “Am I a good boy, Claire?”
All afternoon.
“No! You’re not good!” Phoebe shouted. “Stop asking! It’s annoying!”
“Phoebe,” I said, warning her with my eyes. “Be kind.”
Am I a good boy, Claire? Am I a good boy, Claire? Am I a good boy, Claire?
Finally, after dinner, I let him watch the Weather Channel in the TV room, the sound turned low, snowstorms moving in colorful swirls across the Doppler radar.
An hour later, muted light flickered into the hallway from that room as Erik, still in his damp overcoat, perched on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, watching me. I couldn’t stop staring at the copy of the official letter the Ten Chimneys foundation would send out in the morning. All I could see was her name.
Kelly Jarrell.
“I don’t understand.” I looked at Erik questioningly. “Does she know I’m here? How is this—why would they choose her? Fine, she’s starred on Broadway, but her fame is for TV.” Which the Lunts had famously hated.
“Even if Kelly knew you were here, the board invites the celebrities; they don’t come to us. But honestly, she makes sense. The publicity she’d bring would be…” He flailed his hand, then let it drop. “It’s what we need, frankly.”
Of course, I thought. Of course she’d bring exactly what they needed. More than fear or panic, what I felt was fury that this was even happening. “Did everyone think she was the best choice? Wouldn’t those other names bring great publicity?”
“The board was unanimous. If Kelly says no, they’ll move on, but right now, she’s it. And I guess they’ve made inquiries to ensure there’s interest, so…”
“Wait.” I’d been curled up on the couch, but now I sat up, pushing the throw blanket off my legs. “She knows she’s being considered?”
“I assume so.”
“But you had no idea?” My voice rose. “You have no say?” I knew he didn’t. Erik handled the day-to-day stuff: budget, staffing and docent training, scheduling, fundraising. The choice of plays, hiring of actors, the Lunt-Fontanne fellowship—these were the province of the artistic director and the advisory board. I was clutching at straws. “Can’t you talk to someone?”
“And say what?” He pushed himself up by the knees, then just stood there, as if he’d forgotten what he was doing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I need to eat. I’m about to drop.”
I followed him into the kitchen and stood by the bay window. The sleet had stopped. There was only the clink of Erik setting a skillet on the stove, the suck of the refrigerator door opening and closing. The night felt immense. How was this happening? It was ridiculous! How could Kelly be coming here?
I wandered back to the counter and pulled up a stool. The room filled with the smell of sautéing onions. “So, the letter definitely goes out tomorrow?” I asked.
He nodded. “Which means if I were to say something, I’d need to do it, like, now.” He laid his knife against the cutting board and leaned on his palms. “But what would I say, Claire? That you were married to Kelly’s brother, and what? Your daughter is her niece, but you gave her up? There’s nowhere for the conversation to go that doesn’t get into our private lives.”
“But isn’t it a conflict of interest that she was my sister-in-law?”
“A conflict for who?” He started cutting a tomato. “Jesus, the board would be thrilled to know she’d been your sister-in-law; they’d probably want you to put in a good word for them.”
“Ha! Maybe I will. That’ll put an end to her coming.”
“Well, there’s an idea.” He arched an eyebrow. “Why not contact her?”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“No. No way.” I stood, pulling my sweater tight around me. “I don’t want her to know where I am, Erik.”
“Whoa. Hold on.” He turned down the burner to face me. “I’m not saying we’ll do it. But can we talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to say. I don’t want her here. And if she comes…” I was shaking my head. “It would take so little for her to say something.”
“But why would she?”
“Because she despised me, Erik. And sure, maybe she’s changed, especially if Lucy really is healthy like my mom said….” I stopped and looked up at him. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I said quietly, “except that Kelly thought I should have been punished.”
“And she doesn’t think you were?” He spun to look at me. “Losing your child?”
“I hurt that child!” Tears burned my eyes, and I swiped them angrily. “She thought the second hospital was just a glorified—I don’t know, resort or spa or—she said that to my mom once.” I crossed my arms over my chest to stop from shaking. “And the idea that I’m happily married to someone like you, someone kind and successful and handsome—she would hate it, Erik; she’d find it reprehensible.”
I walked back to the counter. “What if I go away when she comes? If she really doesn’t know I’m here, let’s just leave it that way. The fellowship’s what? Two weeks? I’ll go to Chicago. I’ll be there for my show anyway.” In August, my work would be featured alongside that of renowned collagist David Grant, who had work in MoMA.
“That’s all fine,” Erik said. “Except Kelly will still be talking to people who know you, Claire. And you really think Eva won’t apply for a fellowship?”
My stomach dropped. Of course she would. The chance to work with Kelly Jarrell?
Erik shook his head. “And Annabelle’s over the fucking moon.”
Eva would be too. They loved Widows, loved “KJ.” I felt sick. I should have told them I knew Kelly as soon as we started watching the show. But they would have had a thousand questions, and it just seemed easier not to mention her at all. Because really, in what universe would she just show up in our little town for two weeks? How was this even happening?
I watched as Erik whisked eggs in a glass bowl, then poured them into the skillet. For a moment, the night felt almost ordinary: Erik cooking, me watching him, the flickering light in the hallway from the TV room.
“So, I guess there’s no choice,” I said furiously. “I have to tell them.”
“Hold it. Tell who what?” He glanced at me over his shoulder.
“Annabelle and Eva. Tell them about Lucy. Tell them Kelly was my sister-in-law. At least if they hear it from me, up front—”
“Up front? There is no up front, Claire. We’ve been lying to them for years. There’s—”
“We haven’t lied, Erik! Maybe we didn’t tell them everything, but—”
“Please. Every time you guys talk about Widows and you neglect to mention Kelly was your sister-in-law? You don’t think that’s a lie?”
I thought of the many times Annabelle had asked me if I ever wanted my own children, and all the moments she’d told me I would have been a great mom. I’d said nothing. I sank my head in my hands. “I hate this, Erik. God, I hate it. Of all people, why Kelly?”
“Believe me, we’re on the same page.” His voice was gentle. “But you cannot tell Annabelle about Lucy. You’ve got to trust me on this one, Claire. That you terminated your parental rights but are now raising our kids? There’s no way she’ll accept that.”
“You always say that, even though practically every other week, she sings my praises as a parent.”
“But Kelly did too, right?”
You’re a natural, Claire, she used to say. It’s like this is what you were born to do.
Erik slid his mound of scrambled eggs onto a plate and set it in the middle of the counter. “Take some,” he said. “I can’t eat all this.”
I shook my head, a darkness opening in me that felt awful. Outside the wind gusted, branches scraping the house. “You really think Annabelle can never understand?” At some level, I’d hoped I would one day tell her. I wanted to. Maybe because she was my best friend, or maybe because she saw me as a mom already. Or maybe it was just that the more I loved and cared for our children, the more I wanted to claim my own child. Was that so awful? Was it wrong? All I knew is that the thought flickered every time Annabelle told me what a great stepmom I was, every time she confided in me about her own failures as a parent or asked my advice about the kids. It was there at every dance rehearsal and chess club meeting and doctor appointment and parent-teacher conference I attended. Even when Erik missed them, I never did. The thought was there when Spencer got to be “the Big Cheese” for a day at his school (clearly a Wisconsin thing!) and was allowed to bring a special guest for show-and-tell, and he brought me. “Claire’s my mom too,” he said to his class, then fell all over himself laughing with delight. “Get it? Claire’s my mom too and I have two moms!” Annabelle was with us that day, taking pictures: Spencer and me in our foam cheeseheads, making peace signs for the camera. How could none of these things matter? They had to. And Annabelle wasn’t Kelly. She’d watched me love her children for six years.
Years.
Kelly had seen me with Lucy for seven months.
How perfect, I thought bitterly, how absolutely perfect that this was happening because of Ten Chimneys. A house that was all about pretense and artifice, a house that was a stage set. It’s what my life felt like.
“Hey.” Erik reached for my hand.
I shook my head. “What did I expect? That I wasn’t going to have to pay? That I’d actually get away with this?” Because that’s what it felt like sometimes—my life with Erik, the kids, my friendships—something I’d gotten away with but didn’t really deserve.
“It’s not that Annabelle wouldn’t eventually understand.” Erik smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you know her, Claire. She needs to be in control, and when she realizes we kept this from her…she’ll lash out, and she won’t think about the consequences until it’s too late. What if she says something to…I don’t know…the girls’ teachers or another parent?”
“But why would she?” That seemed as preposterous as anything. Annabelle was my best friend. I thought of how she’d catch my eye across the conference table at an IEP meeting and I’d know exactly what she was thinking. Or how the two of us always “debriefed” after Ten Chimneys events, assessing who wore what and said what and did what. Now and then I’d tell her, “We’re being awful, you know,” and she’d laugh and say, “Of course we are, but who cares? It’s just us.”
“I’m not saying she would say anything,” Erik said, “but do you really want to take that chance? Because I don’t.”
I didn’t either. Annabelle had an awful temper. We’d seen it with Scott—the vile things she’d shout in the midst of one of their epic fights. Hours later, she’d be beside herself with remorse, scared that this time she’d gone too far. One day she probably would, and then what?
“So, what do we do? Just sit back and wait for Kelly to ruin our lives?”
“She hasn’t accepted the offer yet. But even if she does come, it’s not until August. We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
I nodded. There was nothing to say. We both stood, and he set his dish in the sink and ran water over it, then flicked on the light over the stove as I turned out the overheads.
In the TV room, Spencer was asleep, storms moving across the TV in beautiful patterns.