The Shadow Box(34)
“Yes,” I said, not lying.
Outside, I heard voices coming from the main house. My pulse raced—it was only three thirty, too early for Griffin to be home. Even though he was publicly accepting of my friendship with Nate, privately there was hell to pay whenever he knew I saw him.
“Oh boy,” I said.
“The monarch of all he surveys?” Nate asked.
I went to my studio’s north-facing window, looked out. Griffin stood on the terrace with Wade Lockwood. At least he wouldn’t blow up in front of Wade—or Nate, for that matter. But there was always later. As I watched, I saw Griffin and Wade walk into the house.
“He’s home,” I said. “He must have seen your car, and I guess he’s giving us the chance to catch up.”
“Nope,” Nate said. “I came by dinghy, beached her at the foot of the bluff. I doubt he knows I’m here. C’mon, let’s go. We can go get the bigger boat. I’ll spirit you away, take you to Shelter Island for dinner, and regale you with tales of humpbacks.”
“Next time,” I said, giving him a hurried hug. “Do you mind just . . .”
“Leaving?” Nate asked. “Okay, I get it. But Claire . . .”
I saw the worried look in his eyes. Even though Griffin shone his charm on Nate, my ex-husband was too sensitive not to see what lived below the surface. And there was no doubt Nate was picking up on my anxiety now. The thing was—at that moment, I didn’t care whether Griffin saw Nate or not. I just wanted my next encounter with Griffin to follow the script I’d written in my mind.
“I’ll get out,” Nate said, his expression grave. “But this exhibit . . . it makes me worry for you. You want me to think it’s geopolitical.”
“It is,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s all you. The darkness is personal. He’s a power-hungry asshole, no matter how much you try to protect him, and there’s something going on. Tell me, Claire.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let’s drop it, okay?” I asked, glancing out the window. “Will I see you at the gallery on Friday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nate said, giving me one last skeptical, worried glance. Then he left by the seaward door and disappeared down the narrow overgrown path to the beach. After a few minutes I heard his outboard engine start up. I went back to my studio’s north window, stared at the house, and waited.
19
SALLIE
Sallie wished she could take a shower and wash yesterday from her body and mind. The memory of waiting for Edward aboard his boat and fending off Ford filled her with feelings of disgust, mainly for herself. She had scheduled a design consultation with a couple who had just bought an antique Georgian house on the Connecticut River, but she canceled. She needed to stay home. She gave Harriet, the nanny, the day off.
She wore her comfiest jeans and the pink Someone at Black Hall Elementary School Loves Me T-shirt that Gwen had given her for Mother’s Day, just two weeks ago. She sat in the living room on the sofa with Maggie snuggled by her side. She called her sister, Lydia, to ask her to come over, but Lydia was a publisher’s rep for children’s books, and she was visiting bookstores in New Hampshire and Maine today.
Sallie couldn’t shake off the slimy feeling of Ford’s hands grabbing her, the sound of rage in his voice, and the smell of his vomit. She felt like running out of the house, but she had nowhere to go. Her most important refuge, Abigail Coffin’s yoga center, had turned into a place she now felt unwelcome.
At first, it had been wonderful. Abigail taught deep breathing and talked about mettā—the Pali word for loving-kindness. While Sallie had always felt compassion for others—her family, friends, and strangers—she had never directed it toward herself.
Feeling semigood about herself was a new skill. It was partly what had led her to Edward, to allowing love—both physical and emotional—into her life. After class one evening, Abigail handed her a bottle of water.
“I’m so glad you started coming,” Abigail said. “We have to stick together.”
“Women, definitely,” Sallie said.
“Actually, I meant the Monday Night Sisterhood. Wives of the Last Monday men. Our husbands have their secrets, don’t they?” Abigail asked, watching for Sallie’s reaction.
“I suppose,” Sallie said. “But Dan doesn’t go anymore.”
“Really?” Abigail asked, frowning. “Why?”
“One day he just stopped,” Sallie said. She knew it had something to do with a disagreement with a member, but she didn’t want to say that in case it was Abigail’s husband.
“No one just stops,” Abigail said. “It’s a lifetime membership. Only twenty at one time—it’s an honor to join.”
“I suppose,” Sallie said.
Abigail backed away, as if Sallie had suddenly turned toxic. Sallie wondered what she had said that was so bad. Abigail disappeared into her office for a few minutes. Sallie heard her voice, muffled on a phone call. When Abigail returned, she was smiling again, as serene as ever.
Abigail, with her long brown hair and big eyes, her yoga body, seemed so able to bounce back from negative feelings. Sallie had never returned after that incident; she still felt hurt by Abigail’s reaction to what she had said about Dan leaving the club.