The Wife of Reilly by Jennifer Coburn Page B

eyes. “And my lids look like paper bags. After the lift, they won’t look so droopy.”
    “Your lids don’t look droopy,” Sophie said, a bit bored.
    “Yes, they do. I want them wide open and bright looking.”
    Devy raised her hand. She and Oscar had just started kindergarten and brought their school protocol wherever they went now.
    “Yes, Devy,” I said.
    “Will you see any better?”
    “What?” I asked.
    “When your eyes are more open, are you going to see better?” asked Devy.
    “No. No, honey, I won’t see any better. I’ll look better, though.”
    “Oh,” she shrugged and went back to picking the cheese off her pizza.
    “Maybe I’ll do Botox and get rid of this line,” I said, pointing between my eyebrows.
    Sophie laughed. “You can’t be serious, Prudence. You’d pay someone to shoot botulism into your face and paralyze your forehead? My friend in San Diego did that and she couldn’t feel her head for three months. I’ve only heard one idea nuttier from you, but have faith, the week has just begun.”
    * * *
    After the kids were in bed, Sophie asked me if I’d heard from Matt recently.
    “Every day,” I beamed.
    “And when is it that he’s coming to New York?” Sophie asked.
    “I arranged his visit for the same week Reilly will be in Tokyo,” I told her.
    “Where is he going to stay?”
    “At the loft.”
    “At your home?” Sophie gasped. “Isn’t that risky?”
    “The day Reilly leaves, I’m going to take all of his clothes downstairs and leave them in the gallery office. All photos, shaving kits, shoes, Speed Stick will go in boxes to be moved back as soon as Matt leaves, which gives me two full days to move Reilly’s stuff back in.”
    Sophie didn’t say a word, but her face showed that she disapproved.
    “I know it sounds cold,” I apologized.
    “It really does, Prudence,” Sophie said.
    “What’s colder, this, which he’ll never know about, or walking out on him? I realize how strange this whole thing sounds, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” I knew I’d hit a sore spot with Sophie as soon as the words started coming out of my mouth. Walking out on her husband Bob was exactly how she had made her migration east. I don’t know the details. None of us do because Sophie quickly dismisses all inquiries about her divorce from Bob, her husband of eight years. She offers one of her stock, blithe one-liners that make her sound like Mommy Go-lightly, and it’s clear that the conversation is going no further. Miss Free Spirit has her limits.
    “I just don’t understand what makes these times so desperate,” Sophie said.
    Sophie went into the kitchen and started boiling water for tea. She wiped down the counter with a cloth and tossed it into the sink when she was done. “Sometimes I think we must be the ones who are crazy for not understanding why you’re doing this. Maybe you’re the most generous woman in New York for going to such great lengths to make Reilly happy.” I knew there was more. “Other times I think this has nothing to do with Reilly at all.”
    Meaning what?
    The thing I hated about having an affair was that my friends felt it gave them free license to play my therapist. Chad, Jennifer and Sophie were constantly sharing their theories on what issues I was “playing out” with Matt and Reilly. If Chad asked one more time what my relationship with Matt was “really about,” I’d jump on his back and snap his neck. Now Sophie was my self-appointed guru.
    “You’ve got to take a good hard look at what’s driving you to do this,” Sophie offered.
    “I know what’s driving me, Sophie,” I said sharply. “I love him. I love Matt and I want to be with him.”
    “That part I can live with, but what’s behind this ridiculous plan? You’ve had to notice that no other women are out there doing this. We live in a very large city, Prudence. A city where people are known for doing their own thing, no matter how offbeat. Have