The Wife Between Us(13)

But as long as he is with her—the woman who blithely stepped up to become the new Mrs. Richard Thompson while I pretended to be oblivious—I will never have peace.





CHAPTER





FIVE




When she took a good look at her life, Nellie felt as if she’d been splintered into several different women during her twenty-seven years: the only child who’d spent hours playing alone in the creek at the end of her block; the teenager who’d tucked her babysitting charges into bed, promising no monsters lurked in the darkness; and the social director of the Chi Omega sorority who’d sometimes fallen asleep without bothering to lock her door. Then there was the Nellie of today, who’d walked out of a scary movie when the heroine was being cornered, and who made sure she was never the last waitress to close up and leave Gibson’s Bistro after the one A.M. final call.

The preschool also saw a version of Nellie: the teacher in jeans who’d memorized every Elephant and Piggie book written by Mo Willems, who dispensed organic animal crackers and cut-up grapes, and who helped children create handprint turkeys for Thanksgiving. Her coworkers at Gibson’s knew the waitress who wore black miniskirts and red lipstick, who would join a tableful of rowdy businessmen in tossing back shots to earn a bigger tip, and who could effortlessly palm a tray of gourmet burgers. One of those Nellies belonged to the day; the other, the night.

Richard had seen her navigate both of her current worlds, though he obviously preferred her preschool-teacher persona. She’d planned to resign from her waitressing job right after they married, and her teaching job as soon as she became pregnant—which she and Richard hoped would happen quickly.

But not long after they’d gotten engaged, he suggested she give notice at Gibson’s.

“You mean quit now?” Nellie had looked at him in surprise.

She needed the money, but more than that, she liked the people she worked with. They were a vibrant group—a microcosm of the passionate, creative types who flocked to New York from all over the country, drawn like moths to the bright city. Two fellow waitresses, Josie and Margot, were actresses trying to break into theater. Ben, the headwaiter, was determined to become the next Jerry Seinfeld and practiced comedy routines during slow shifts. The bartender, Chris, a six-foot-three dead ringer for Jason Statham who was probably single-handedly responsible for drawing female customers into the place, wrote scenes for his novel every day before he came to work.

Something about their fearlessness, the way her coworkers exposed their hearts and chased their dreams despite the rejection they continually suffered, spoke to a part of Nellie that had been switched off during her last year in Florida. They were like children in that respect, Nellie realized—they possessed an undaunted optimism. A sense that the world and its possibilities lay open to them.

“I only waitress three nights a week,” Nellie had said to Richard.

“That’s three more nights you could be with me.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re going to stop traveling so much?”

They’d been lounging on the couch at his apartment. They’d ordered in sushi for Richard and tempura for her and had just finished watching Citizen Kane because it was his favorite film and Richard had joked that he couldn’t marry her until she’d seen it. “It’s bad enough that you hate raw fish,” he teased. Her legs were slung over his and he was gently massaging her left foot.

“You don’t need to worry about money anymore. Everything I have is yours.”

“Stop being so wonderful.” Nellie leaned over and brushed her lips against his, and though he tried to turn into a deeper kiss, she pulled back. “I like it, though.”

“Like what?” Richard’s hands were running up the length of her leg. She could see his expression turn intent and his deep-sea eyes darken, the way they always did when he wanted sex.

“My job.”

“Baby”—his hands stilled—“I just think of you on your feet all day, then you have to run around and fetch drinks for jackasses all night. Wouldn’t you rather come with me on some of my trips? You could have had dinner with me and Maureen last week when I was in Boston.”

Maureen was Richard’s older sister by seven years; they’d always been close. After his parents died when he was a teenager, he’d moved in with her while he finished his schooling. Maureen now lived in Cambridge, where she was a professor of women’s studies at the university, and she and Richard spoke several times a week.

“She’s dying to meet you. She was really disappointed when I said you couldn’t come.”

“I’d love to travel with you,” Nellie had said lightly. “But what about my Cubs?”

“Okay, okay. But at least think about taking a painting class at night instead of waitressing. You’d mentioned wanting to do that a while ago.”

Nellie hesitated. This wasn’t about whether she wanted to take a painting class. She repeated, “I really do like working at Gibson’s. It’s only for a little while longer, anyway. . . .”

They were quiet for a moment. Richard seemed as if he was about to say something, but instead he reached down and pulled off one of her white socks, waving it in the air. “I surrender.” He tickled her foot. She squealed and he pinned her hands above her head and went for her ribs.