Mother of All Secrets(39)

“Jenn, that’s terrible. I had no idea.” Vanessa’s face was warm and open, eyes filled with genuine sympathy.

“Yeah. Thanks. This isn’t how I imagined new motherhood, you know? I always pictured her being around, helping me with the baby, showing me what to do. I miss her so much.” I was opening up to Vanessa more than I’d confided in anyone since Clara was born. I wasn’t sure why.

“I’m so sorry. This isn’t how I had always imagined it, either, for what it’s worth.”

I felt like this was my opportunity to ask. She had shared, I had shared. She had again alluded to her split. We were bonding. I pushed it a bit further.

I took a breath and a swallow of wine. Liquid courage. “Can I ask? What happened with Phoebe’s dad?”

She nodded. “Well. It’s a long story, but let’s just say he wasn’t who I thought he was, and I’m not who he thought I was, either. That’s for sure.” Her tone changed a bit; she sounded strangely proud. “He wasn’t interested in being Phoebe’s dad, and she’s better off without him, in my opinion.” For once, I mustered restraint and refrained from asking her to be more specific, though I was disappointed in how vague her answer had been.

She reached over and tickled Phoebe’s belly, immediately eliciting a big smile and squeaky, gurgly laugh from her. She bent all the way down and nuzzled her cheek. “It’s his loss, obviously. Who couldn’t love this girl? But we’re okay. I will be all the parent she needs.” As she and Phoebe smiled at each other, I noticed how they both had brow lines that sloped upward, giving an earnest, inquisitive quality to their faces. They both had a dimple that only appeared when they smiled really deeply. They had the same warm green eyes.

“What about you?” she asked. “How are things with your husband?”

“A little bumpy, to be honest with you,” I said, way too quickly. “He tries to be helpful, but he hasn’t had that much time to bond with her yet, because he’s always at work. We’ve been . . . a bit off, since Clara was born.” I felt guilty whining about him after what Selena had said to me yesterday, and knew that my problems with Tim were trivial, especially when Vanessa was doing this all on her own. After all, a well-meaning, albeit slightly clueless, partner was still more beneficial than no partner at all. But I also didn’t want to be disingenuous with her. Maybe it was the wine, but I felt like we were truly connecting. And opening up felt good. Though I certainly wasn’t going to mention the piece about Tim contacting Isabel. It was far too mortifying.

“Just curious,” I continued, “since we’re on the subject of husbands”—smooth, Jenn—“did Isabel ever complain to you about Connor? He didn’t seem very involved, when we were over there the other day. I’m not saying he has anything to do with her disappearance, but—I don’t know. I got a bad vibe, to be honest. Right?”

She looked at me intently. “She did allude to feeling a bit trapped in her role within their marriage, between you and me. He didn’t want her to work—of course, she didn’t need to—but she . . . expressed some regret about not having more autonomy in their partnership.” She was choosing her words carefully and still studying my face as she spoke. “Did you know him at all, before the other day? Not like know him, know him, but just—know of him, or anything?”

“No, not at all. I mean—I googled him,” I admitted. “After she disappeared. Otherwise, no.”

“Didn’t he say you looked familiar when we were over there?”

He had—I’d almost forgotten about that strange moment. “Yeah. Not sure what that was about. Probably just passed him on the street or something.”

She nodded slowly. “Well. At least he’s got tons of money, so I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to find Isabel and bring her back.” Is he, though? Why are there no news alerts?

Out of nowhere, Clara started wailing. It was already 4:00 p.m.; she would soon be ready for her final short nap of the day. And I needed to get ready for a dinner with my husband that I couldn’t really imagine sitting through right now. I thanked Vanessa for having us and promised to be in touch during the week. I was no closer to figuring out what might have happened to Isabel, but still, it was nice to be leaving feeling closer to Vanessa. Apparently, Isabel had felt the same way about her.





Chapter Fifteen



Tuesday, October 6

Even notwithstanding our fight, going out for a fancy dinner was pretty much the last thing I felt like doing. All I really wanted, all I ever craved these days, was to log some time on the couch after the baby was sleeping. To be by myself without anyone touching or talking to me for an hour while I numbed out to some trashy TV show. But October 6 was our wedding anniversary—three years—so we were obliged to go out and celebrate.

Tim and I had gotten married at a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont. It was unseasonably freezing that day, but I didn’t care. In all our pictures, we’re laughing about how cold we are, my goose bumps visible, since the photographer basically insisted that we take our coats off for the photos. Our wedding was casual. We had lots of good food and local craft beers, only eighty guests, a Ben & Jerry’s truck at the end of the night (which, obviously, we’d booked before we knew it would only be forty degrees). I danced with both my mom and my dad, eschewing tradition. I loved everything about that day. I didn’t feel the stress that so many brides describe. And I assumed that our marriage, like our wedding, would be smooth sailing.