Life and Other Inconveniences(32)

“Would you even want my saggy, baggy old body? I’m not Bailey, after all. I don’t run 10Ks and go to the fucking salon to get a blowout and get my pubic hair ripped out! I’m sorry I’m not thirty anymore! My vagina has been stretched out with your two kids!”

“How would I know? We’ve barely had sex since Evan was born!”

Mac barked, then began to howl, possibly picking up on the Mastersons’ mood.

Times like this, I was glad I’d never gotten married. As they yelled at each other, the screen froze, and I can’t say I was sorry. A second later, it clicked back in. They were still yelling.

“Enough,” I said loudly. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re welcome to get a divorce. There’s nothing stopping you. Your children can grow up in two households, and frankly, that might be better for them in this case.”

That stopped them dead.

“If you want to stay married, you have to do things differently. This isn’t about Bailey, as much as it seems that way. This is about the two of you. You’re here, you’ve made the time for counseling . . . that tells me, at least in part, that you want to stay married. So let’s schedule another session for later this week, and we’ll talk about what made you decide to get married. What you liked about the other, found interesting and exciting.”

Amy opened her mouth, but I shushed her. “You’ve been married for sixteen years. According to what you said, you were happy for at least ten of those. You know how to be a loving partner because you were one. Think of a few things you do for each other that shows that. Little things, maybe. Amy, you said Dirk always scrapes your car when it snows. Dirk, you mentioned that Amy takes books out from the library that she knows you’ll like. We’re going to need to focus on the positive here. Otherwise, you’ll just be in a spiral of bitterness and anger.”

We talked for another few minutes and then clicked off, and I sat back, satisfied. Whether or not the Mastersons took my advice was up to them, but it had been good advice, and I hadn’t pussyfooted around about the way they acted.

I opened the door to let Mac in, only to find that he’d left but not before shitting on the floor. With a sigh, I went to find some paper towels and clean up.

The Mastersons did not exactly inspire hope, not with Amy’s fury and Dirk’s simmering disappointment. But the intensity of anger they exhibited could only come after love. Maybe they would find their way back to each other.

Would I have been a good wife? Once, I’d pictured Jason and me together, first when we were in high school, later as I percolated Riley and then in the years of her toddlerhood. With every month that it didn’t happen, I knew the odds were lower. It was like being swept out to sea by the Gulf Stream, seeing an island that looked so beautiful, but never getting quite close enough to swim to shore.

Besides Jason, marriage had never been a consideration. I’d been putting myself through school and raising Riley. I’d dated three guys in the past sixteen years, but none had ever gotten to the “meet my kid” phase. None had gotten to the third date, in fact. And that was fine. My life was plenty full already. I had Calista, a few pals from the grocery store, school, my colleagues and clients. I liked to ride my bike and, um, other things. Movies and books, sure. I belonged to a book club that, yes, I’d been neglecting, but I was in one.

When Riley went to college in a year and change, I’d be thirty-seven. Sometimes, that felt as if I’d be all alone in a vast, cold ocean, with no islands at all.





CHAPTER 10


    Genevieve


I won’t tell you about my son’s disappearance because, frankly, it’s none of your business. Who wants to read about someone else’s worst nightmare, anyway? I don’t approve of this voyeuristic time we live in where everyone feels obliged to write a memoir about their drunken blackouts, their miserable childhoods, their cheating spouses. What good does it do, really? Social media is responsible for half of the misery in this world. All that sharing. Spare me.

That being said, I will tell you about how hope erodes. What it takes from you. You might view yourself as a strong person. You’re from a good family with an excellent education. You think you have the ability and skills to handle life, make a home, a family, a marriage. And you’re right. You are strong. Up until a point.

When the police arrived at our house to inform me that my son had “wandered off,” I remained calm. They drove me to Birch Lake, and when I saw Garrison’s too-wide eyes and Clark’s dirty face streaked with tears, I wasn’t afraid. Sheppard had just found something fascinating. He had a singular ability to concentrate, my son. Perhaps it was a fox den, and he was waiting to see the kits. Surely it was something innocent. He would be firmly lectured so he understood the danger he could have faced, not to mention the worry he put his parents through. Being the sweet boy he was, he’d apologize. Perhaps he’d write a note to Garrison and me. We would laugh about it someday. “Oh, such a free spirit, our Sheppard! Did he ever tell you about the time he got lost at the lake? He scared us nearly to death!”

Even as I called his name, my voice clear and strong, I imagined that—telling his beautiful fiancée this story over dinner, just the four of us, candles flickering, the young woman laughing gently, putting her hand over Sheppard’s, my grandmother’s diamond winking on her left hand. She’d be the daughter I never had. We’d be fast friends, certainly. Garrison would smile at me, and Sheppard would say, “Mother, please, not that story again.”