Well Behaved Wives(18)

Carrie suddenly looked older—worn, even—which troubled Ruth.

“Maybe I would. You can trust me.”

Carrie shrugged.

Ruth would have to take the first step. “What if I tell you a secret first?” When Carrie raised an eyebrow, Ruth continued. “I went to law school. Actually, graduated at the top of my class.”

“What?” Carrie was frowning. “And Asher knows?”

Ruth chuckled. As if she could have kept law school a secret. “Of course he knows. When we met, I was already planning to go to law school. But my in-laws don’t know I’m going to take the bar exam and look for a job.”

When Carrie nodded, Ruth knew she had a trusted ally.

“Do you think Asher will allow it?”

Allow it? Permission had never been part of their relationship. “Of course. Asher’s all for it.”

Carrie seemed to ponder something. “No offense,” she said. “Who hires lady lawyers?”

“I guess I’ll find out.”

The girls shared an easy laugh.

“Please don’t say anything,” Ruth said. Though she trusted Carrie, theirs was a friendship in its infancy. She felt the air pressure release from the balloon that was inside her. “We can’t let his parents find out before we tell them ourselves. That would be a disaster that may never be forgiven.”

Carrie drew an imaginary X on her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”





Chapter 9


LILLIAN

Alone in the living room the day after the lessons, Lillian stepped into a warm ray of midafternoon sun. Normally she’d welcome its glow, but she wasn’t feeling quite right. Her fingers were icy. She closed her eyes against the glare, and colorful sparkles danced on the inside of her eyelids like personal fireworks. Her heart pattered and she struggled to catch her breath, once, twice, three times.

She opened her eyes and reached into the end table drawer for a cigarette, certain to calm her nerves. Sunny was in the kitchen preparing dinner, so Lillian had a few moments to pull herself together. She might as well use them. She grabbed her lighter.

This smoking habit had snuck up on her about ten years ago, when it started seeming less of a choice and more of a necessity. What bothered Lillian more than the cigarettes was the fact she used them when she was flustered or anxious. Like now.

Was this how it had started for her mother?

No. Shortness of breath and occasional unease were not the same as a nervous breakdown. She was no longer going to push her feelings aside. This new resolve made her anxious.

Besides, she was worrying for nothing. The first etiquette lesson had gone well, even if she had to ask Shirley to go home. It wasn’t so much that Lillian had wanted Shirley to leave, as that Lillian had wanted to handle the etiquette class on her own.

Well, maybe that was the same thing.

No wonder Lillian had been flustered. She’d been selfish and insulted her teacher, guide, and friend. Shirley didn’t deserve to be pushed aside. Over the years Shirley had helped Lillian. It would have made her happy had Lillian included her.

Then there were Ruth’s novel ideas complicating things. According to Ruth, it wasn’t Lillian’s job to make anyone happy but Lillian.

What an absurd concept.

Lillian had no idea what would bring her happiness.

She clicked her jaw and exhaled smoke rings, a brash, private talent usually reserved for teenagers congregating on street corners or diner waitresses on break. Ruth’s words floated inside the last circle. “We could do some real good.” It was the only time Lillian had heard her old thoughts aloud, out of someone else’s mouth. She couldn’t shake them.

“I’m going out front,” Lillian yelled to Sunny.

On the patio, Lillian lit another cigarette, inhaled, and filled her lungs. With the cigarette dangling, and the ashes growing, she raced against the precarious embers and picked up a few golden leaves that had floated to the front path. Keeping busy was the best distraction from troubling thoughts.

Sunny pushed open the front door, carrying a glass of iced tea. After two decades, Lillian still checked behind Sunny, half hoping her mother would be trailing behind her friend, carrying sugar cubes and a long spoon, even though Lillian had stopped using sugar after high school. The other half of her was relieved it was only Sunny with saccharin tablets. No mother.

Sunny was short and round. Anna had been tall and slim. But when Lillian allowed herself to think of her mother, she did so most easily in the wake of Sunny’s expressions, her laugh, her walk. This proximity to her mother’s oldest friend afforded Lillian closeness to her memories—and distance from guilt.

Would Lillian have been happier or more content if she’d visited her mother more than twice a year since she was eleven? She wouldn’t venture a guess, but she was certain life would have been different if her mother hadn’t been committed to Byberry.

Sunny set the iced tea on the wrought-iron patio table decorated with scrolls and flowers that always reminded Lillian of her childhood birthday cakes. Sunny wiped the condensation on the glass with her hand and dried her hand on the corner of her apron. “Send the girls in when they get home—I made cookies,” she said.

“They could do with half a grapefruit.”

Sunny disagreed. “On the first day of school, they deserve to be happy.”