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Authors: Haywood Smith

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

Wife-In-Law (14 page)

BOOK: Wife-In-Law
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Kat stood in outrage. “That’s
it
? A five-year-old little girl plays show-and-tell behind an easel, and you call this
molestation,
and insinuate there may be
incest
in my home
?
”
I shot to my feet, alarming Emma, who started crying. “This is preposterous!”
Little Zach started howling too.
The principal didn’t back down. “Please sit down immediately,” she ordered in a voice that brooked no contradiction. “Let us act like adults.” When we sank to the edges of our seats, she went on. “We must ask these questions to protect our children.” She glared at Kat. “It concerns me to see you make light of what your daughter did.”
“It’s perfectly normal for children to experiment in that way,” Kat shot back. “Or haven’t you read any books on child psychology?” She joggled to soothe Little Zach, who had subsided to a whimper. “The proper response to such behavior,” Kat bit out, “is to quietly cover the child and explain that certain parts of the body are private.” She narrowed her eyes. “What did your
Miss Wilkerson
do?”
The principal shifted in her seat. “Well, the entire in-ci-dent was so upsetting, she picked your daughter up and tried to cover her, but your daughter started screaming ‘child abuse’ at the top of her lungs, and saying that Miss Wilkerson was breaking her arm.”
Mrs. Bainbridge looked to me. “That’s when your daughter bit her, Mrs. Callison.”
“I knew it was provoked,” I said. “Amelia was trying to protect her friend.”
Kat shook with controlled rage, her voice cold. “Where is my daughter?”
“In the clinic,” the principal said. “There is some discoloration on her arm, but only because she struggled to get away when the teacher tried to control her.”
Kat pulled open the door with a grim, “I am going to get my daughter and take her to have her arm examined. If there is any evidence of excessive force, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. And she will
not
be coming back here.”
Uh-oh. She might live to regret that last.
“Perhaps that might be best for everyone,” the principal clipped out.
I’ve never wanted to slap anybody so much in my life, but I had Amelia to think about, so I didn’t. “I’m taking Amelia home too. We’ll discuss this again when my husband and our lawyer are present.” I glided out behind Kat, then followed her to the infirmary.
The school nurse looked like ex-army. “Mrs. Rutledge?” she asked when we stormed in. I nodded, but Kat hurried to comfort Sada, who was still crying with an ice pack on her arm and a redeyed Amelia by her side.
“See, Sada?” Amelia said. “I told you our mamas would come.”
Kat managed to control herself as she gently started removing the towel and ice pack. “Hey, honey. It’s okay, now. I’m here. How are you feeling?”
Sada shot a look of gratitude at the nurse. “She gave me some ice, but it still hurts down inside.”
Kat’s eyes welled when she saw the purple marks that circled Sada’s forearm.
The nurse came over and whispered, “I’d have that X-rayed if I were you. Could be a spiral fracture, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you,” Kat told her. “You’re the only one who’s been decent in this whole situation.”
“New teachers,” she whispered after making sure nobody was nearby. “They tend to overreact.”
I’ll say.
“Come on, sweetie.” I gave Amelia a kiss atop her head. “Let’s all go to the emergency room with Sada, so they can make sure she’s okay.”
Amelia looked up at me with trepidation. “Mama, I’m sorry I bit Miss Wilkerson, but she wouldn’t stop hurting Sada. I begged her, but she wouldn’t listen, so I had to.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” I reassured her. “But everything’s all right, now. Come on. Let’s go.”
Two hours later at Egleston Children’s Hospital, the babies were wild with fatigue before the doctor finally came in to show Kat the X-rays. “The nurse called it.” He pointed to the two X-rays on the light box. “See that thin, white line? A classic spiral fracture.” He turned off the light. “We’ll put her in an air splint, and you can see your orthopedist to have it casted. Six weeks, and she’ll be good as new.”
Worn out from wrangling the baby, Kat nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. We don’t have an orthopedist. Could you recommend anybody in Sandy Springs?”
“I’ll check on that and give you a name before you leave.” He sobered. “You say this happened at school?”
I knew they probably had to report suspicious injuries, but this one was a slam dunk. “The teacher did it,” I volunteered in outrage. “First day of school, and look what happens.”
The doctor let out a low whistle. “I’ll give you my name and information, in case you need to contact me in the future.”
As in witness.
Kat thanked him again.
“I’ll go get that splint,” the doctor said. “Then you can take her to the orthopedist.” He left us alone.
Amelia busied herself entertaining Zach and Emma. Meanwhile, Sada chanted idly as she inspected her bruised arm, “Child abuse, child abuse, child abuse, child abuse.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.
Indignant, Kat straightened. “And what’s so funny, might I ask?”
“One hour,” I managed, overwhelmed by the twisted humor of the situation. “They’re only in school for one hour, and we’re talking lawsuit.” I couldn’t help myself. The tension and absurdity of the situation struck me as hysterical. “God help the teacher who gets them next,” I told her. “And God help us. One hour of kindergarten.”
Sada exploded with laughter, setting off Amelia and the babies, none of whom got it, but all of whom could use a good laugh as much as I could.
Kat tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it either. By the time the doctor got back, we were all weeping with hilarity.
“I’d like a shot of whatever y’all are having,” he said, gently positioning Sada’s arm into the cast.
“Hoo-hoo.” Kat wiped her eyes. “Trust me, you don’t want enny.”
I blew my nose on a paper towel and wiped my eyes. “Katie bar the door,” I warned her. “We’ve got twelve more years to go.”
Kat sighed with a wry smile. “Guess it’s Montessori for our Miss Sada.”
I nodded. “A much better fit.”
“Thank the good Lord for that trust fund,” Kat said. “What about Amelia?”
Considering the girls’ first day of school, I realized that both of them would probably be better off in separate schools. “I’m thinking D’Youville Academy.” We didn’t have a trust fund, but there was no way she was going back to that public school.
Amelia straightened, horrified. “But we don’t want to go to different schools!”
Sada started crying. “Don’t separate us! I swear,” she hollered at the top of her lungs, “I’ll never take off my panties again.”
“And I won’t bite the teacher,” Amelia howled, joining in and setting off the babies.
The doctor glanced at the guilty parties in surprise, then shot us a look of sympathy. “Looks like you two ladies have got your hands full.”
“You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie,” Kat said. She comforted Sada. “You’ll still be best friends, every day when you get home from school.” Sada’s tears abated.
Kat stood. “Come on, let’s get that arm fixed. Then I’m takin’ everybody to Shoney’s, my treat.”
And we were off to the orthopedist.
We didn’t sue. The teacher wrote a letter of apology, and Kat went to talk to her, coming home with the woman’s solemn vow that she would never get physical with a student again. “After all,” Kat said, “people make mistakes. Long as she learns from this one, I’m happy.”
The girls carried on something fierce about being separated at first, but they gradually got used to it, and their new schools were definitely what the doctor ordered.
But they still managed to get into plenty of trouble after hours, sneaking off to cruise for boys at Lenox Square. Putting on heavy makeup in sixth grade after we dropped them off at school. Trying pot—out of Zach’s secret stash. And cigarettes—out of Kat’s. The list of infractions was endless, but never dire—and never Amelia’s idea.
By some miracle, though, they escaped juvenile detention and lived to graduate high school. In Sada’s case, by the hair of her chinny-chin-chin. That’s when Sada decided to live
la vida loca.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
 
 
We’d all been reading about the whole Enron thing, but I was as shocked as anybody when I went to get the morning paper and opened it to see that Arthur Andersen had been indicted for fraud and tax evasion.
I stopped in the middle of the driveway and let out a strangled yelp.
Dear God. The goose that laid our golden egg was under arrest!
What if Greg lost his job? Ohmygod.
He was eligible to retire. If the company bellied up, would he lose his pension?
How would we manage? (I didn’t know about his condo developments in the Caymans till long after that. Or the racehorses. Or the stocks.)
Visions of homelessness and destitution chased me back into the house to call Greg on his cell phone.
He answered with an annoyed, “I really don’t have time to talk right now, Betsy.”
“Greg, the paper—”
“This whole thing is politically motivated,” he recited briskly, like a presidential press secretary facing reporters after the chief of staff got caught having sex with a hooker in the Oval Office. “The company is fine.”
Fine, with its founder indicted for corporate fraud?
Even I didn’t buy that.
My insecurities swelled as big, and as heavy, as Stone Mountain.
Greg had grown increasingly distant in the past few years, but I’d assumed that was normal. Relationships cycle, and he had a lot on his shoulders at work. The higher he went in the company, the closer to his vest he played it. And the longer hours he worked. After getting the top job in the Atlanta branch two years before, he’d begun to sleep over on the sofa in his corner office several times a week, but I hadn’t complained. I’d actually felt sorry for him. And I’d believed him when he told me they had so much business he couldn’t get it all done in a day.
When one gin and tonic turned to two or three whenever he finally did get home, I didn’t comment, or say anything when he came to bed so snockered that sex was nothing but a dim memory. I just had his drink and supper ready when he did come home, massaged his shoulders while he was in his chair, and made sure he always found peace and refuge at our house. But I needed to know if our home was threatened.
“Greg, this is me, your wife, not a reporter,” I pleaded. “Please talk to me. I deserve the truth. What does this mean for us?”
He covered the receiver, and I heard him bark muffled instructions to somebody. When he came back on, he practically shouted, “I told you, I’m too busy to talk now.”
He’d told me before we married that he had a bad temper, but I’d never seen it. Till then, when I finally stuck up for myself. “Don’t you dare hang up on me,” I insisted. “I deserve the truth.”
I looked at the headline again, and my blood ran cold. Indicted.
Could Greg be indicted too? His nickname at work was “the shark.” He’d always been so ambitious, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d cut corners to get ahead.
“Talk to me!” I all but yelled back.
I heard a chair scrape back, then the sound of footsteps, followed by a door opening, then closing. His words slightly deadened by close quarters, Greg turned into somebody else and started yelling a string of profanity the likes of which I had never heard, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass, crashing metal, and papers flying.
Oh no, oh no, oh no! Mustn’t make him mad, my inner child scolded.
When Greg ran out of breath from cussing, he panted hoarsely a few times, then tried to yell again, but his voice was broken by strain. “How will this affect us?” he accused. “Are you a moron? An idiot? How the hell do you expect me to know that? I’m up to my ass in Feds, here, trying to keep this office afloat! And now I’ve just trashed my storeroom, thanks to you!” He paused briefly, but I was too stunned by his transformation to say anything, so he added, “I could end up in jail, that’s what could happen!”
Jail. Would I end up homeless and destitute, married to a jailbird?
He inhaled deeply, collecting himself. “Or I could get another job. Or keep running the Atlanta office.” He was calmer, but his voice was still harsh. “Which I know you would prefer, since all you care about is having nice things, never mind what rules I had to break to get them.”
That one sent a javelin straight through my heart, because it was true.
I never should have confronted him, with all that was going on. “I’m sorry,” I said. Sorry, sorry, sorry. “I didn’t mean to make you so angry. Of course you’re under a terrible strain. Please forgive me.”
“Don’t ever ask me about this again,” he said, and hung up on me.
It took me a while to regain my equilibrium, hampered by an inner voice that said I’d ruined everything.
I needed to talk to Kat, but decided not to tell her about Greg’s lapse—after all, he was under all that pressure, and it was the only time he’d ever done it.
Such things should be private.
I dialed her number, and she answered with a cautious, subdued, “Hey.”
“Have you seen the paper?”
“Yeah. Zach showed me before he went to work. So what does this mean for Greg?”
Ironic, that she could ask me, but I couldn’t ask Greg without provoking the Hulk.
“I have no idea,” I lied. “I’m hyperventilating, here. I called him, but he said he couldn’t talk. All he told me was that this was all politically motivated, and the firm was fine, but it sounded like a sound bite from the PR department. He’s under a huge amount of pressure.” I sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever tell me the truth.”
After a pause, Kat said, “Well, sugar, good for you for finally waking up and smelling the coffee. I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.”
My frustration found a safe target. “What do you mean by that?”
“I just mean that you never look past the surface with Greg, and it may come back to bite you in the ass.”
“Thanks a lot for your support,” I snapped.
“Oh, honey, you know you have that,” Kat said, contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you when you’re down. This is all gonna be okay. Greg’s a whiz with money. He’s helped me and Zach make some really good investments, so I know he’s done well for y’all.”
An excellent point, though I had no idea how much money we really had. That was Greg’s department. All I knew was that he had three million dollars of life insurance, he’d made trusts and college funds for the girls, and I had an extra ten thousand dollars in my household account for unforeseen emergencies.
It occurred to me that I probably should get the particulars about our finances, but this was hardly the time to rock the boat.
Kat went on. “No matter what happens to the company, I’m sure y’all are well fixed.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling better. “I needed to hear that.”
“And I’m sure things at Andersen are a zoo right now, so that’s why he couldn’t talk to you.”
Another good point.
“It’ll probably get worse before it gets better,” she cautioned, “but I’m sure y’all will be okay, regardless.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think I can breathe again.”
Rule number one for best friends: even when the bombs are dropping, say it’s going to be okay.
Greg didn’t come home that night. Or the next. But when he did, I made him welcome and fed him his favorite foods.
Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.
I truly intended to find out where we stood financially—I mean, what if something happened to him? I’d need to know. But when I mustered up the courage to ask Greg, after his second gin and tonic, he frowned and said everything was all arranged, that the firm would handle everything, so I shouldn’t worry. The girls and I would be well provided for.
I meant to talk to him about it again, but he was always so harried when he got home, the opportunity never came up. He did confirm what Kat had said: we were fine, financially, no matter what happened. He even went so far as to tell me he’d sold off most of his company stock years ago and invested in managed portfolios, but that was as much as he was willing to discuss. So I swatted down my fears and hoped for the best.
Even after Andersen was convicted, and the company was sold off by divisions, Greg got a golden parachute and continued to do consulting work. He hired his secretary from Andersen, which I thought was very kind, considering she’d lost her job. So life at 3278 Eden Lake Court remained the way it had been, with both of us pretending everything was perfect, even though we knew better.
 
Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, but I can honestly say that the day Kat and I got back from a long weekend at Royal Palms Spa Arizona, I was completely clueless about what I’d find—or didn’t, to be more accurate.
Greg had been so sweet before we left. He’d actually begun to
see
me again, and I thought the last few years of distance between us had turned the corner back toward closeness. He’d told me I deserved a treat, then given me the plane tickets for Kat and me to go to the spa. When I told Kat, she said Greg had been planning this for weeks, which made me feel really special. So off we’d gone to take advantage of three days of pampering, though Kat still stubbornly refused to get a makeover.
I should have suspected that something was up, but as always, I took Greg at his word.
Zach picked us up at the airport, saying Greg was out of town. By the time we got to Eden Lake Court, I was ready for some rest.
Zach drove up my driveway, then left Kat in the car while he brought my things inside for me.
I turned, one hand grasping the edge of the front door. “Thanks, sweetie.” Seeing him in the afternoon light, I realized he looked exhausted. “Are you okay? You look whipped.”
He sighed heavily. “Frankly, I am. Kat keeps giving me vitamins, but I think it’s just my age. We’re not spring chickens anymore.”
Zach was violently allergic to needles, and doctors. “Maybe you ought to see somebody,” I suggested. He really did look awful. “It could be something really simple, blood pressure or anemia. One pill, and you’re good as new.”
“Start taking pills, and they’ll just give you more,” he grumbled, then left with, “Call if you need anything. And tell Greg, thanks again for including Kat.”
I watched him head down the walk toward the car. “Maybe we ought to send you to a spa.”
Zach shook his head with a wry grin.
I closed the door and locked it, then started for the bedroom with my carry-on before I saw the envelope on the table in the foyer. “Betsy,” it said in Greg’s impeccable handwriting.
Puzzled, I opened it and read:
Betsy—the last thing in the world I want is to hurt you, but the time has come for honesty. We both know our marriage has long been stale. It’s my fault. I admit it. I put so much of myself into my work, I didn’t have time for you.
 
The paper started to shake as the words sank in. I steadied it with both hands.
I never meant for this to happen. Melissa and I were just coworkers for so long. But when she came to work for me, everything changed. We’d been through so much together, spent so much time together, that we’d become halves of the same whole. And suddenly, there was love. Neither one of us planned it.
 
He was leaving me for his
secretary
? That officious little bitch? He couldn’t be more original than that?
I dropped to my knees on the hard stone tiles, but didn’t feel it. The last decade flashed past me, and I realized what a fool I’d been. Stupid, stupid, stupid! No wonder he’d left me. I was an idiot. It was right there in front of me all along, and I was too stupid to see it.
Gullible!
Kat was right! I should have wised up!
Nausea gripped me.
I didn’t want to see what Greg had written next, but couldn’t help myself, twisting the knife that had just slashed a hole in my soul.
I’ve filed for divorce, but I don’t want you to worry. I’m giving you the house and a generous settlement, and a hundred thousand a year in alimony till you die or remarry. You’ll also get my pension, if it’s still there after all the economy’s been through. I want to be fair about this.
 
He must be a lot richer than I’d ever imagined, offering to buy me off with that! God only knew what he’d squirreled away to keep it from me. After all, he’d probably been practicing fraud all along.
You’ve been a devoted wife, and don’t deserve to suffer in any way for what I’ve done.
 
Don’t deserve to suffer? The man had been cheating on me, abusing my trust, for years, and just abandoned me, but he didn’t think I deserved to
suffer
?
Time suspended, and the earth stopped turning on its axis. I heard wheezing, but didn’t realize it was coming from me.
For the sake of the girls, I’m hoping we can get through this as amicably as possible.
 
That
bastard,
using our daughters to try to keep me in line! Had he even considered what this was going to do to them, having their father desert their mother for another woman? What kind of example was that?
If you have any questions, please feel free to contact James Travis—
 
The sharkiest divorce lawyer in Buckhead! So much for being amicable.
He’s handling this for me. As I said, I’m hoping we can get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible. Again, I am so sorry. Greg
 
Damn right, he was sorry.
All the frustration, fear, and anger I’d suppressed since I’d married him exploded inside me like an atomic bomb, rising, red and lethal, obliterating everything else.
For the first time since I was five, I had an asthma attack.
Phone!
I didn’t dial 911, I dialed Kat.
When she answered, I wheezed out as loud as I could manage, “Who’s the second-best divorce lawyer in Atlanta? Greg just hired James Travis so he could divorce me and marry his
secretary
!”
“Oh, Betsy,” she comforted.
“I can’t breathe.” I burst into tears. “I want to kill him!” I gasped for air. “Never mind the lawyer. I want a hit man! Tell Zach I need a hit man.”
“I’ll be right over!” Kat said. “Don’t do anything till I get there!”
The line went dead, and I stood there sobbing, gripping the cordless phone. Then I threw up. Fortunately, the garbage can was close by.
My breath coming in high, tight squeaks, I heard Kat’s key in the door, then it burst open as she ran inside with a panicked, “Betsy? Where are you?”
“In here,” I managed, starting to see stars.
She took one look at me and blanched. “Oh, Lord.” She pulled the phone from my hand and dialed 911, then shoved me toward my room. “I need an ambulance at 3278 Eden Lake Court,” she said to the dispatcher who answered. “Asthma attack. Hurry. She’s about to pass out!” We went by one of Greg’s clean socks in the middle of the carpet as she steered me into the bathroom. “I’m going to put her in the bathroom with steam till they get here,” Kat told the dispatcher. “The front door’s wide open. Tell them to come in.”
Greg’s closet in the master bath was open, and empty.
My chest tightened even harder.
“Stay with me,” Kat ordered, urging me into the enormous shower Greg had insisted we put in when we’d added a new master suite and bath ten years before. She took me to the marble shelf in back. “Okay. Lie on your right side. Or is it the left?” Not waiting for an answer, she pulled off our shoes and set them out on the edge of the Jacuzzi, along with the phone, then closed us in and turned on the hot water. Thanks to the recirculator on our system, it came out scalding right away.
“Ouch!” I squeaked as a few stray drops hit me.
Kat adjusted the shower head away from us and added a little cold. “Sorry. Just stay on your side and try to breathe easily. The steam will help.”
I nodded and closed my eyes.
I heard the glass door open and looked to see Kat race out for a couple of towels. Back inside, she rolled them into a makeshift pillow. “Here. Put this under your head.” She studied me with barely concealed panic. “Let me know if the steam helps.”
The air was thick with hot vapor, and I began to breathe just a little easier. “Better.”
I heard an approaching siren, then the phone rang. “Don’t answer,” I said, but Kat just told me to sit tight and keep breathing long, slow breaths, then went for the phone.
“Callisons’ residence,” she said in her broad accent, accenting the last syllable. “Oh, hi, ’Melia.” She shot me a worried glance. “She’s kinda busy right now. Kin she call you back?”
“Fire department!” a male voice shouted from the foyer.
Kat stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “We’re back here, in the bathroom!” Then she said into the phone, “No, honey, the bathroom idn’t on fire. No, no, no. Yer mama just had a little asthma, so I called 911. Might as well git some use out of all that tax money, you know. But she’s doin’ okay.” She pointed me out as the paramedics entered. “Don’t you worry. The paramedics are here and she’s gonna be just fine.”
It wasn’t until the two men came in and turned off the shower that I realized my good white linen slacks and silk shirt had gone transparent, showing my pink panties and matching bra, and what was under them. But I was so glad help had arrived, I didn’t care.
“Hi, Mrs. Callison,” one of them said as he dropped his bag, then bent to check my eyes and my carotid pulse. “Do you have any drug allergies?”
I shook my head no.
“Have you ever had an asthma attack before?”
Words wouldn’t come out, so I raised five fingers.
“Five?”
I shook my head again, placing one hand at the height of a child and showing five fingers with the other.
“Oh. When you were five?”
I nodded, feeling really dizzy.
“Let’s get you some oxygen, first.”
He put a mask on me while his partner asked Kat, “What brought this on? Did she eat something she was allergic to?”
I tried to tell them, but nothing came out.
“No,” Kat said for me. “She just had a shock.” I heard Amelia’s response to that all the way from where Kat was standing, which prompted Kat to respond, “Honey, I’ve gotta go. Yer mama’s gonna be just fine, but I need to talk to the paramedics.” She frowned in frustration. “Well, she cain’t talk to you right now. She’s got a little oxygen goin’ there, which is a good thing. I’ll call you back in a minnit.”
Amelia wasn’t letting her off that easy. Kat scowled. “Now, don’t you go gittin’ all upset, or you’ll have a spell like yer mama.” She shook her head. “All right, I won’t hang up. Just hold on a second while I talk to these people.”
Kat set the phone on the edge of the tub, then stuck her head into the shower as the paramedics took my pulse and blood pressure. Lowering her voice so Amelia couldn’t hear, she told them what had happened—in way too much detail to suit me. I didn’t want my shame bandied about at the firehouse.
I lifted the face mask and stopped her with a high-pitched, “Kat! Hush!”
“Ooo, sorry,” she said in her regular voice, which echoed in the tiled space. “Yer husband just dumped you. I thought they needed to know how serious this is.”
Amelia’s voice squawked from the phone.
Perfect.
“I got upset,” I forced out. “End of story.” Now that the cat was out of the bag.
My chest got tighter, so I replaced the mask and tried to inhale, but couldn’t do a very good job of it. Glaring at Kat, I pointed to the phone, and she went over to start damage control, thanks to her big mouth. Now Amelia knew, but I didn’t have it in me to reassure her. I couldn’t even reassure myself.
The paramedic looked at the readouts on his medical gizmo and frowned. “Try to relax, Mrs. Callison. Your oxygen levels are low, so I’m going to give you something to ease your breathing.” I nodded as he rolled up my sleeve and swabbed my arm. “This will hold you till we get to the emergency room.” He shot a look to his partner, who went for the stretcher.
Kat followed him with the phone, still trying to appease Amelia.
My groan came out like the sound of a mouse fart.
Devastated by Greg’s loss and my own complicity, I lay back down on the bench and wished that I could die.
I didn’t. Forty minutes later, I was sitting up in the emergency room, breathing some kind of mist from an inhaler for the second time. The asthma was gone, but the doctor wouldn’t let me go till I finished the second treatment. When he finally came in to release me, he asked, “Do you need anything to help you sleep? Sometimes the steroids and adrenaline make it hard for people to sleep.”
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