Dead to Her(24)
“I can try,” she said, eager for his approval. Kind Billy was always preferable to mean Billy. “You’ll have to help me with invites. I only know about five people.”
“That’ll change, honey.” He reached for his coffee. “Oh, that reminds me, I’ve booked you in for some tennis lessons at the club. We can go down to the pro shop and get you fixed up this morning. Maybe try the driving range too? Work on your swing. The girls here love golf and tennis as much as the guys. You’ll meet some great people. Soon you’ll be running charity galas like it’s second nature.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Her heart sank. Golf and charity galas. He was already trying to shrink her into Eleanor’s shape. Who was he trying to kid? Her or himself? She wasn’t like Eleanor and never would be. He was displaying her like a piece of art he picked up on his travels. And calling his friends girls and boys was laughable. They were all so old.
But, she thought as she ate some more of her croissant, she’d play the game for the time being.
She had no choice.
15.
It had been a bad couple of days. Alone in the house, Marcie stared into her box of private things. She’d tossed the photo of Jason and her over the side, resisting every urge to tear it up and flush it. While she’d tried to keep her suspicions to herself and behave normally, he’d been coming home late, snappy and distracted. He’d rarely had his phone out of his pocket and when it was, he put it facedown. Casually, as if accidentally, but she knew better than that. This wasn’t his first rodeo. You’d think he’d have learned not to be so obvious. He hadn’t even mentioned trying for a baby or wanting sex, which until she turned up had been the only addition to their new house he seemed interested in.
She thumbed through the various pieces of old paper, all folded tightly, reluctant to be examined. Things she wished she could throw away but knew she had to keep. Documents she might need one day. Relics of the past. This ritual of hers was normally a comfort, a reminder of how far she’d come—now she was trying to find her old strength in it. Maybe she’d have to be that person again. Someone who had the power and resolve to start over from nothing. And do it fabulously. But this life had softened her and now she wasn’t sure she could. Just the thought of it was exhausting. Maybe she no longer had the balls she’d had in her twenties. A couple of weeks ago she’d been feeling suffocated and quietly longed for some freedom, and now she was terrified of losing this smothering safety. No, she realized. She wasn’t afraid of losing it. What she couldn’t stand the thought of was someone else daring to try to take it from her. She hadn’t changed that much in the past decade.
She closed the lid and hid the box back in the ceiling before taking a deep breath to pull herself together. She looked in the mirror. There were dark rings under her eyes but nothing that some carefully applied concealer wouldn’t hide. She had to keep a cool head. She would not become the paranoid wife—at least not visibly. Whatever he was doing, Jason wouldn’t divorce her. Certainly not yet. It had taken a long enough time to make him picture a life without Jacquie, and where one divorce could be forgiven in this polite world they inhabited, she wasn’t so sure he’d get away with two, however many people might privately gossip that she was getting what she deserved. Not combined with what his father had done. The fine families of the South would start to withdraw. Jason came from good stock, but certainly not the best.
How far back could the Maddox name claim heritage? A century? Longer? Certainly not as far as William’s, Noah’s, Eleanor’s, and Iris’s families. They were American blue bloods. Never a shameful moment of history with their ancestors, if the way they told it was to be believed. No doubt anything that might harm their good names had been smoothed away with cold hard cash. Maybe that was the shackle that bound them. All that virtuous goodness constantly on show. Not like her own tribe.
She started to brush brown shadow onto her eyelids, highlighting her blue eyes. There had been no virtue in her family. Scrabbling for dollars. Living on welfare. Looked down on by everyone. Resenting every new accidental mouth to feed as if it were the baby’s fault rather than that no one had thought to stick a rubber on his dick or get some birth control. Never enough money to go around. She imagined William’s blood to be a rich red wine. Hers would stink of rust. Name had never counted for anything good in the trailer park in Boise.
As each layer of makeup went on, she felt better. At least she’d taken a small revenge yesterday while Jason had been at work. She’d ordered three new divine pieces of furniture for the second dining room out at the back of the house. They were one-offs and handmade to order. Eye-wateringly expensive for a room they’d probably never use and which Jason had been insistent they didn’t need to furnish right away. Her stomach clenched at the thought of the argument to come when he got the bill, but she reminded herself he deserved it. He’d lied. He was lying, constantly, about something. Or someone.
She dressed in a slim-fitting pantsuit, consumed by the memory of that lie.
Just needed the bathroom.
The few words that had forced the widening cracks in her marriage to finally shatter. It hadn’t helped that over the past day or so she’d come to the lonely conclusion that she didn’t even have a friend she could call and confide in. Someone to reassure her and calm her down. Iris was away, and although she could be snooty, she was sage. There was no one else Marcie could trust to listen sympathetically without then blabbing to all and sundry that Marcie Maddox thought her husband had fallen out of love with her. People might be endlessly polite face-to-face here, but one thing she’d learned was, good lord, this city loved to gossip.