what did she need with a car anyway, especially now that Tony was home all day and he could drive her anywhere she needed to go? No, the second car had been an unnecessary extravagance, one they simply couldn’t afford to indulge anymore. If necessary, if he wasn’t available, then she could always hop in a cab. “Hop in a cab,” Chris repeated, stepping into the foyer. “Hop in a cab. Hop in a cab.”
Just hop in a cab and go. Go where? Chris thought, dropping her coat and purse to the floor, stepping over the small heap as if it were a puddle. She was eight months pregnant, for God’s sake. Where was she going to go? Home to mother? That was a laugh. Mother was in California with husband-to-be number three. Daddy was in Florida with wife number four. And were either of them any happier than they’d been when they were together? She doubted it. No, they’d destroyed the family, uprooted the children, taken off for parts and partners unknown, turned everyone’s life inside out, and for what exactly? So that they could be just as miserable somewhere else. Was Chris seriously thinking of doing the same thing to her own children? To Tony? To herself?
Could she really abandon her husband on a whim,uproot her family because she was feeling a little down in the dumps? And that was all it was. She was being moody, the way she always got when she was pregnant. That’s all it was. Her hormones were making her so anxious about every little thing, causing her to talk back to Tony, to question his every utterance, to resent him for being concerned about her, for being so attentive. Didn’t he have her best interests at heart? Wasn’t he always trying to help her, to protect her, even when that meant protecting her from herself, if need be? “You’re your own worst enemy,” he told her, and he was right.
Maybe she should see a therapist, she decided, inching her way up the stairs to her bedroom, feeling her feet sink into the worn carpet, as if into quicksand, her shaking hand heavy on the wooden banister. It needs dusting, she thought idly, pulling one leg after the other, the muscles of her inner thighs twisting and cramping with the strain. I don’t need a therapist, she decided. I need a cleaning lady.
Or a lawyer, Chris thought, reaching the top of the stairs, gasping out loud. “A lawyer,” she repeated out loud, rolling the word around her tongue as she waddled into her bedroom and plopped down on the side of her bed, feeling as unwieldy, as stranded, as a beached whale. The baby inside her registered his displeasure with her thoughts by a sharp kick. “It’s okay, baby,” she tried to reassure him. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, Chris knew, catching sight of her reflection in the bedroom window, barely recognizing the lost soul looking back. Her eyes squinted toward the image, but the harder she looked, the faster she faded, until one quick turn of her head, and she’d disappearedaltogether, lost in an errant streak of sunlight. What had happened to her? Chris wondered. Where had she gone?
In the next second, her hand was on the telephone, and she was punching in a series of numbers, refusing to think about what she was doing, to question it, to stop it. “Vicki Latimer, please,” she said into the phone, surprised by the strength she heard in her voice.
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Latimer is in a meeting.”
“This is Chris Malarek, a friend of hers. It’s very important I speak to her as soon as possible.” Was it? Chris wondered. What exactly was she planning to say to Vicki? Was she planning on asking for her advice? For a loan? For the name of a good divorce lawyer? “I just need to know my options,” she said, not realizing she was speaking out loud.
“I’ll let Mrs. Latimer know you called,” Vicki’s secretary said.
Chris sat with the receiver pressed to her ear long after the secretary had hung up, the dial tone resonating against her brain, like the sound a heart monitor makes
Just hop in a cab and go. Go where? Chris thought, dropping her coat and purse to the floor, stepping over the small heap as if it were a puddle. She was eight months pregnant, for God’s sake. Where was she going to go? Home to mother? That was a laugh. Mother was in California with husband-to-be number three. Daddy was in Florida with wife number four. And were either of them any happier than they’d been when they were together? She doubted it. No, they’d destroyed the family, uprooted the children, taken off for parts and partners unknown, turned everyone’s life inside out, and for what exactly? So that they could be just as miserable somewhere else. Was Chris seriously thinking of doing the same thing to her own children? To Tony? To herself?
Could she really abandon her husband on a whim,uproot her family because she was feeling a little down in the dumps? And that was all it was. She was being moody, the way she always got when she was pregnant. That’s all it was. Her hormones were making her so anxious about every little thing, causing her to talk back to Tony, to question his every utterance, to resent him for being concerned about her, for being so attentive. Didn’t he have her best interests at heart? Wasn’t he always trying to help her, to protect her, even when that meant protecting her from herself, if need be? “You’re your own worst enemy,” he told her, and he was right.
Maybe she should see a therapist, she decided, inching her way up the stairs to her bedroom, feeling her feet sink into the worn carpet, as if into quicksand, her shaking hand heavy on the wooden banister. It needs dusting, she thought idly, pulling one leg after the other, the muscles of her inner thighs twisting and cramping with the strain. I don’t need a therapist, she decided. I need a cleaning lady.
Or a lawyer, Chris thought, reaching the top of the stairs, gasping out loud. “A lawyer,” she repeated out loud, rolling the word around her tongue as she waddled into her bedroom and plopped down on the side of her bed, feeling as unwieldy, as stranded, as a beached whale. The baby inside her registered his displeasure with her thoughts by a sharp kick. “It’s okay, baby,” she tried to reassure him. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, Chris knew, catching sight of her reflection in the bedroom window, barely recognizing the lost soul looking back. Her eyes squinted toward the image, but the harder she looked, the faster she faded, until one quick turn of her head, and she’d disappearedaltogether, lost in an errant streak of sunlight. What had happened to her? Chris wondered. Where had she gone?
In the next second, her hand was on the telephone, and she was punching in a series of numbers, refusing to think about what she was doing, to question it, to stop it. “Vicki Latimer, please,” she said into the phone, surprised by the strength she heard in her voice.
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Latimer is in a meeting.”
“This is Chris Malarek, a friend of hers. It’s very important I speak to her as soon as possible.” Was it? Chris wondered. What exactly was she planning to say to Vicki? Was she planning on asking for her advice? For a loan? For the name of a good divorce lawyer? “I just need to know my options,” she said, not realizing she was speaking out loud.
“I’ll let Mrs. Latimer know you called,” Vicki’s secretary said.
Chris sat with the receiver pressed to her ear long after the secretary had hung up, the dial tone resonating against her brain, like the sound a heart monitor makes
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