Accidents of Marriage (41 page)

“You had to leave because of me.”

“That’s not true, Em.” Ben clutched her hand. “I was wrong. I should have told your mother how the accident happened. And then I got so mad . . . you were forced into telling her.”

It was true. He’d made his daughter begin to uncover his sins, and then he made sure Maddy found out the rest all by herself. What a coward he’d turned out to be.

Emma threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry you’re not here.”

Ben squeezed her hand. “Me too,” he said.

•  •  •

Ben wondered if the waitress thought he was pathetic, sitting at the table in Zaftigs restaurant for so long. He’d finished his eggs, bacon, home fries, and fruit, drunk four cups of coffee, read every article in the
Boston Globe
and
New York Times
, and it was still only ten a.m. He could think of no way to fill the empty day ahead of him except by going to work. Hey, he could work in jeans—that almost made the day festive, right?

Driving downtown, he detoured to see his father—a sudden decision, which he confirmed as a good decision when he got a parking spot only five houses from his parents’ brick townhouse. They lived in a particularly dense antique street in Beacon Hill, a neighborhood noted for gaslights, brick sidewalks, and old money.

“What are you doing here?” his father asked when he opened the door.

“Are you going to ask me in?” Ben asked.

“Your mother’s not here,” said the Judge.

“I know.” Saturday morning. Choir practice.

His father stepped away—reluctantly, it seemed—giving him room to enter.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” his father said. “I’m seated in the library.”

Ben filled a cup and carried it carefully. When he entered the study, his father seemed to have forgotten Ben’s presence. Finally, he looked up, neatly folded the
New York Times
along its original crease line, and placed it on top of an inlaid side table.

“What brings you here?” the Judge asked.

Ben stared into his father’s eyes. “Maddy’s kicked me out.”

“Because of the accident?”

“And other things.”

“Such as?”

Ben examined the pattern in the Oriental rug, counting the numbers of boxes within boxes.

“Don’t want to say?” His father lifted his white china cup, took a sip, and set it down with a sigh. “I’m limited to one a day now. Can you
believe it? It hardly seems worthwhile to wake up. Sometimes, when your mother isn’t looking, I sneak an extra one. Of course, who am I fooling? So who did you sleep with?”

“
Who
doesn’t matter. It was back when Maddy was in the hospital.”

“Do you love her?”

“The girl? Don’t be ridiculous.” Ben leaned his elbows on the leather arms of the club chair and steepled his fingers. “I need help.”

“I can’t remember the last time I heard you admit that.”

“Don’t make this any harder for me than it is,” Ben said.

“Why shouldn’t it be hard for you? You did a damn foolish thing.” His father stood and began pacing. “I did many stupid things in my day, but I was always loyal to your mother.”

Sarcastic remarks almost slipped from Ben, but he caught himself. His father should be proud of his faithfulness. Ben wanted that for his parents.

“Anyway, this is about much more than that,” his father said. “Your behavior throughout your marriage has been abominable. All that yelling and screaming.”

Ben stared at his father as though seeing an apparition.

“Did you think we didn’t notice? Your family is our family.” The Judge placed his large hands on his knees. “It shamed us.”

Ben formed words to lash out and then swallowed them. “How come you never stopped me?”

“How come you never stopped yourself?” His father’s face sagged. “Perhaps you blamed me? Perhaps we made our home too restricted, too silent, and once you had freedom you took it too far. Or perhaps you simply caught that penchant for anger from your grandfather.”

“Grandpa Charlie?”

“You knew him when he became mellow. Your mother grew up with glasses whizzing past her head. When I proposed, she made me promise to always keep myself in check.”

Ben thought of the quiet cool house in which he was raised—apparently it was a haven for his mother.

“You always had a temper. Remember how we fined you each time
you raised your voice? I wish we’d gotten it all out of you. You loved the sound of your own loudness.”

Awareness chilled him, thinking of the relief brought on by his tirades.

“What are you planning?”

“I’m trying to get her to forgive me. I think she still loves me.”

“Love. You say it as though it solves everything.”

“Doesn’t it?”

His father fixed his eyes on Ben. “If you’re out of the house, you better start thinking about a lawyer, Ben.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “Another one.”

Ben drew himself up. “We’re nowhere near that level of acrimony.”

“Her father will hire her one in a New York minute.” His father snapped his fingers. “A sharpie, that’s for sure. They’ll take every cent you have.”

“Back up, Dad.”

“Don’t be a fool—wouldn’t you give the same advice to Caleb, if you were in my shoes?”

“If I were in your shoes, I’d wonder why Caleb had screwed up so royally and how to help him get his family back.”

His father stopped pacing. “If you can get your wife back, fine and dandy, although she probably deserves far better than you. Nevertheless, you’d best start worrying about protecting what’s yours. Without a lawyer, your bank account will become a leaky faucet. And don’t tell me you can do it yourself—because in that case you’ll have the stupidest lawyer of all.”

What had Ben been thinking, coming here for help? How sad that even after turning forty, he still thought that somehow his father held wisdom that Ben himself lacked.

•  •  •

On Sunday, Ben woke early, made a crummy cup of coffee in his hotel room, laced up his sneakers, and drove to Jamaica Pond before breakfast. The boathouse, the bathrooms, everything was locked up. The
cracked cement fountain was dry, the water turned off for the winter. The pure blue morning light depressed him. Gray clouds would afford some cover, some comfort.

An elderly man approached, so bundled Ben knew his age only by his gait. A large collie bounded past. Two women deep in conversation came toward him. Like lovers, they only had eyes for each other. One woman listened, rewrapping a fleecy pink scarf around her neck as she nodded and laughed. The other almost skipped as she related what must be good news. Scarf woman hugged her friend and shrieked with delight.

“July twenty-second—I can’t believe it!”

What couldn’t she believe? A baby? A wedding? Europe? Whatever it was, she seemed thrilled.

They seemed like best friends. Ben always thought he and Maddy were best friends. Yes, they fought. His fault, no doubt. But he wouldn’t dream of leaving her—not before, not after, not now.
This is for life, Mad,
he’d said when he gave her the engagement ring.
Not pretend forever.
He’d meant it. Richer, poorer, better, worse, sickness, health. Hadn’t he proved his commitment—done his part? Time for her to keep up her end of the bargain.

Running now, Ben stripped off his gloves. What was she thinking? Who’d take care of her and the kids? She could barely read. Was she planning to move back with her parents and let Anne and Jake raise his children? Over his dead body.

His footsteps matched the hammering in his temples. Despite chastising his father, he thought of smart lawyers, ways around this. He could have Maddy declared incompetent, be appointed her guardian ad litem.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, tried to figure out how to grab back his life as it slipped through his fingers.

He wanted his best friend back. He needed her.

She needed him, for God’s sake.

•  •  •

“I went to my father. For advice,” Ben told Maddy as she unpacked the groceries he’d brought. He’d gone from the pond to Whole Foods, buying every expensive organic piece of produce he thought Maddy might like. Runny cheese. Crackers thick with seeds. Canned goods branded with smiling fish and vegetables. He hoped his own smile appeared endearing and not the grimace it felt like.

Maddy sat on the floor in front of the cabinet where they kept the cans, pulling them out and then putting them back, using some system that Ben didn’t understand and Maddy wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

“Impressive. Or stupid. Not sure. Don’t care.” She measured cans of chickpeas and string beans next to each other.

“Nothing my father said was the least bit helpful,” Ben pressed on. “Yet somehow he helped simply by being him.”

Maddy looked over at him. “Stop being devious. Say what you want. To say.”

He knelt next to her. “Maybe I’m more like my father than I ever knew. It’s always about me, right? All the time. Even when you were hurt, I still worried about me. I think I’m finally getting a clue.”

She held a can of wild salmon, waiting. The floor gleamed.

“But I realized today—just now, as I ran at the pond—that it’s about you. You were hurt. You were the one damaged, and it’s your life that’s . . .” He stopped.

“You’re just finding out. Now?”

“Of course not. But finally, it’s in my bones. And I know that you need me. I can help.” He ran a hand over his cheek. “You still love me.”

“I don’t even know. Anymore. Anyway, I’m too busy. Learning how to live.”

“But—”

“It will hurt. To say good-bye. Of course. But it must end.”

“No. There’s no must. We’re meant to be together.”

“We were meant to be safe. With each other.” She built a tower of tuna cans.

He dropped to Maddy and took her hand. She didn’t pull it away,
just let it remain limp in his. “I know I’ve been awful. But I can be a good man.” He stared into her eyes, trying to will her back to him by force.

“Too late.” Maddy pulled away and stood. “Maybe you have to love. A bad man. To learn to love a good man. Maybe. You’ve just been. My bad man. For too long.”

“I care about you. More than I care about anything.”

“Care?” Maddy looked down at where he crouched. She grabbed her omnipresent notebook from the counter, riffled through the pages, and then stabbed her finger at the paper. “Listen:
The ideal man. Bears the accidents of life with. Dignity and grace. Making the best of circumstances
. That’s Aristotle. I copied it. From Zelda’s office. I so wanted to be. Dignified and graceful. But now I know. How could I? I didn’t have an accident. Of life. It was. An accident of marriage.”

CHAPTER 39

Maddy

Maddy pulled four plates and glasses from the kitchen cabinet. She bent to get napkins from below, pushing aside the stack of organic tuna Ben had brought two weeks before, evoking all over again the annoyance she’d felt as he spread the Whole Foods wares before her as though presenting offerings to some domestic goddess who had never been Maddy.

Maybe it was supposed to be like this: just the kids and her.
Bashert,
her grandfather would say. Meant to be.

Ben had begged her to go to his Christmas party that evening. He promised
she
wouldn’t be there, but why would she take the word of a man who cheated? Why trust a woman who’d jump a man while his wife was in a coma? She’d probably be there ready to grab Ben as though he were an appetizer—her personal plate of pigs in blankets.

And then there were his coworkers. Did he think she could stand being under the glare of their concern? She’d dealt with this each time she visited her own workplace, her weekly acclimation visits as she worked toward someday getting back there on a regular basis. Coworkers took her hand and asked their poor-Maddy questions with big cow-pity eyes.
How are you? Really. Are you feeling better?
All the
while searching her face for fresh kill for the gossip bank. Scanning for brain damage.

So what do you think?
Ben’s office buddies would ask each other after talking to her, holding little plastic glasses of crappy wine in their hands and eating even crappier cheese and crackers as they examined her for signs of intelligent life.

No, thanks.

Tonight Maddy planned to devote herself to conquering a major recovery objective, making dinner by herself. Notes outlined the steps she’d take, an assignment from Zelda. She’d planned the menu with her mother—something nutritious the kids would like. Nothing that required perfect timing. Maddy needed to begin with food that was patient.

Cooking supper plan:

Turkey meatloaf. Honeyed carrot pennies. Baked potatoes.

Get recipes from mother.

Start cooking three pm to eat at six.

This would be her first night making supper completely alone since the bad night.

There’d be no Ben listening from the other room for the sound of flames crackling; no Gracie at the kitchen table, pretending to do homework as she tracked Maddy’s every move; no Caleb bouncing between watching television and studying his mother. Emma wouldn’t monitor her like a miniature nanny.

Maddy’s father had taken the kids out Christmas shopping—no doubt buying entire sections of Target and Macy’s to make them happy. He’d wanted her to come, but she’d declined. Stores overwhelmed her these days. When she’d let him drag her the month before to pick out a Chanukah present for her mother, she’d barely made it through the afternoon. Clothes, jewelry, purses, sizes, colors, types, departments, negotiating, people pushing. Too multimedia, Zelda said. Maddy would opt out of consuming for now. Saving money for when she became post-Ben poor was an excellent idea anyway.

After she said no to joining them shopping, her father wanted to bring dinner back—
you don’t have to keep pushing yourself,
he’d said—and eat with them, but she’d said no to that also, telling him to just drop the kids off and not to come in when he did. Tonight was for Maddy and the kids.