Some Women (10 page)

“Just Lucy.” Piper bit into a Hershey bar. “So, do you want to know what happened or not?” She turned to Annabel.

“You tell me.”

“He was with a woman.” She spoke deliberately.

“Great.” Annabel's eyes stung and her throat felt suddenly parched.

“But, as far as I could tell, there was nothing physical. Nothing really romantic.”

“Nothing
really
romantic?”

“Nothing at all. I mean, except that they were having dinner together at an expensive restaurant.”

“Henry doesn't do cheap dining, so that's nothing to write home about.” Annabel flicked her wrist in the air. “How did he greet her and say good-bye?”

“Kiss on the cheek. No more.” Piper spoke decisively.

“Was she pretty?” Annabel narrowed her eyes.

“Attractive.” Piper didn't hesitate.

“Well, what did she look like?” Annabel pressed.

“Shoulder-length black hair. Simple features. Nothing that stood out.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A red suit.”

“Was it slutty?” Annabel dug deeper.

“Not really,” Piper answered uneasily.

“Not
really
?”

“No, it wasn't slutty.” Piper panted, trying to keep up with Annabel's rapid-fire interrogation.

“Did you take a picture?”

“I couldn't. That restaurant is tiny. I was afraid to blow my cover.”

“Ooh, good crime speak,” Mackenzie interjected.

“I thought so.” Piper smiled. “Listen, it's just a start. I'm on it. I promise.”

“Correction.” Mackenzie held up her index finger. “
We're
on it.”

“Thank you.” Annabel sighed. “Looks like I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

“We all do.” Mackenzie bowed her head and placed her hand gently on her stomach. “Anyway, isn't that what friends are for?”

Sometimes the only answer was to go home. There really was no place like it, as Dorothy had said. After losing the baby, Mackenzie needed an escape. A familiar setting where she could be herself without any of the pomp and circumstance that came with the lifestyle she had married into. Where she could breathe the uncontaminated air down South and eat food that wasn't polluted with preservatives. Cue the ruby slippers.

She'd told Trevor that she needed to be with her family for Thanksgiving, maybe even Christmas, if he could see to being without her for a whole month. More to the point, if he could convince his mother to permit something so out of line with her expectations, both professionally and personally. Of course, they'd told her what had happened. “She's my mother; how can we not?” Trevor had asked when Mackenzie had gently suggested that they not burden her with their problems. Translation:
The last thing I
need is more guilt.
Ultimately, though, she'd relented. He was probably right, after all. If it had been anyone else in CeCe's position, she wouldn't have given it a second thought. She'd never have considered concealing their loss from her own parents. The thing was, she knew that CeCe would count it as yet another strike against her. Not Trevor, but her. Because wasn't the woman always to blame when a couple had difficulty conceiving—even if it wasn't actually her fault?

Come to think of it, CeCe had never once suggested bringing Trevor in for testing. What if his sperm were slow swimmers? Or the count was low altogether? But it felt pointless to even broach the subject. Mackenzie knew Trevor would feel emasculated and, more so, that if anything did turn up, it would launch CeCe into a ferocious tailspin. So instead of focusing on the real issue at hand, she'd decided that getting away from the stress at home for a while would be the most cathartic course of action. If CeCe had put up a fight, Trevor hadn't mentioned it to her. He'd said only that he felt awful that he couldn't join her and that he would miss her terribly, though she suspected as long as someone fed him and washed his clothing, he'd be just fine without her for a few weeks. And then he'd handed her a long, thin box covered in thick gold paper with a bright red bow—her Christmas gift, he'd said—and made her swear not to open it until December 25. In turn, she'd said his present was on the way and would arrive wrapped and ready with plenty of time.
As soon as I find something and order it online.

The real surprise had come when she'd shared her plans with Annabel and Piper, and Annabel had said she was going to be all alone for Thanksgiving, since she'd agreed, albeit begrudgingly, to let Henry take Harper and Hudson to his sister's house. It would
be the first holiday apart from her children. And further evidence that Henry wasn't going to change his mind about the divorce. “Come with me to Georgia!” Mackenzie had exclaimed, assuming Annabel would decline. Only she hadn't. Instead, she'd agreed readily, explaining she could come only from the Wednesday before Thanksgiving through the weekend, but that she'd be delighted to join her if that was okay.

It had been nice to have the company on the airplane. She'd never traveled with someone like Annabel, who planned everything from the moment they got into the cab to the airport to the moment they'd set foot on Georgian soil. She'd toted just one carry-on bag, insisting that it was the only way to fly. If ever she needed anything more, she'd clarified, she shipped ahead, though that obviously wasn't necessary for such a short trip. And she'd packed her bag with the efficiency of a soldier in training, allowing her to sail through the security check, where she waited patiently on the other side with everything back in its place, while Mackenzie struggled to shove her laptop anywhere it would fit and retie her sneakers. “You should really wear slip-ons,” Annabel had commented, shaking her head at Mackenzie's disheveled appearance. “Rookie mistake.” Then she'd directed them to the gate, where she'd handed Mackenzie two blueberry muffins and told her to hang tight while she ran to the sundries shop to get them drinks. “Thanks, Mom,” Mackenzie had called after her, wondering if she approached everything in life with the same manic compulsion. Although by the time they'd reached her childhood home, she was fairly certain she had her answer.

“Good morning, love.” Mackenzie had awakened to the ring of her parents' telephone and Trevor's soothing voice easing
through the line as she picked up the receiver. “I tried your cell, but it went straight to voice mail.”

“Yeah, sorry. We have little to no reception here.” She sat up in bed. The same bed she'd slept in during elementary, middle, and high school.

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay. It's nice to be home.”

“I miss you.” She could hear the concern in his tone. He'd been so kind in the wake of the miscarriage, not that he wasn't always kind. It was just that, since they'd lost their baby, he'd been more overprotective and attentive than usual. “I wish I could be there to take care of you.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Did you get my notes?”

“I got one note.” She smiled to herself. She'd found it in her toiletry case the previous evening. He'd written
I love you
at least twenty times in his crooked handwriting. “But I haven't unpacked entirely yet.”

“Well, there may be a few more.”

“There may be?” She laughed.

“Fine, there are six more,” he admitted. “Or was it seven?”

“You're the best.” It felt nice to be doted on, especially when she was still in such a fragile emotional state.

“I wanted to make sure you had a piece of me with you, since I can't be there in person.” He paused. “I love you, Mackenzie.”

“I love you too.”

“I want you to take it easy down there, okay? Let your parents and Annabel do the heavy lifting. You hear?”

“Loud and clear!” she teased. “I'm going to have some breakfast now.”

“Okay, my love. Have a relaxing day, and I'll check in on you later.”

“You too.” She blew a kiss into the phone before hanging up. Then she slid her feet into her slippers and headed downstairs.

“Hello, sweetheart,” her mother greeted her, as she ambled groggily into their small kitchen, which hadn't seemed constricting when she was growing up. She'd never forget the first time she'd returned home with Trevor after they'd moved in together. Everything had appeared so tiny. Like a life-sized dollhouse. She'd had to arrange the six chairs at their dining room table so the four of them and her parents' next-door neighbors could squeeze around it, their elbows knocking together every time they'd lifted their forks to take a bite of food. Even the blue-and-white checkered curtains framing the windows in the living room looked to have shrunk into wisps of fabric that barely obscured the penetrating rays of the morning sun filtering through them.

“Hey, Mom.” She kept her voice low. “Annabel is still sleeping.”

“Good for her.” She smiled, brushing a graying tendril of hair off her face. It was already eight thirty. There was no doubt that her mother had been up for hours. She'd probably finished four loads of laundry. Scoured the countertops. Vacuumed the rugs. And fed the animals—three dogs, two cats, and a hostile turtle she'd won at a local fair and refused to get rid of because it would be, in her words, “inhumane.” That in and of itself spoke volumes about Loretta Jane Baker, who'd aged naturally and beautifully into a marginally puckered version of her former self, still with long blond hair and the purest ivory skin.

“Something smells amazing.” Mackenzie moved toward the stove.

“That would be tonight's dinner casserole. I hope Annabel likes beef and beans. If not, I can make her something else.”

“I'm sure that'll be fine, Mom.” Although, for all she knew, Annabel could be a vegetarian.

“I figured what with tomorrow night's turkey, I'd do something simple.”

“If I'm sure of one thing it's that she'll never have eaten such delicious home cooking in her entire life.” Mackenzie came up behind her mother, who was scrubbing plates and glasses at the sink, and hugged her tightly. The word
dishwasher
was not part of her mother's lexicon. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her motto was and had always been,
Why waste money on appliances when you can do it just as well, if not better, yourself?
Which she truly believed she could.

“I'm so happy you're here, sweetheart.” She squeezed Mackenzie's arms, which were wrapped around her waist. “Dad is too.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?” Mackenzie released her grip and walked toward the table to sit down. Sure, she could have offered to help, but to know her mother was to understand that the kitchen was her domain and she'd shoo away anyone who made an advance.

“Fixing something on that stupid old shed.”

“Do you think maybe it's time to get a new one?”

“And then what would your father do?” She laughed. “I'm pretty sure it's more of a hobby than a necessity.”

“You're probably right.”

“So, tell me about this friend of yours. She seems lovely, but you've never mentioned her before.”

“She's actually kind of a new friend.”

“Oh, that's nice.” Mackenzie had confided in her mother how hard it had been to meet people she connected with in Connecticut. There weren't many women her age with no kids in their neighborhood.

“Yeah, it is. She was the one who drove me to the hospital and stayed with me all night.”

“Then I like her even more. Although . . .”

“Although what?”

“She seems”—her mother paused—“troubled.” She placed a basket of warm biscuits on the table and then went to the refrigerator, returning with a tub of butter.

“Your instinct has always been spot-on.” Mackenzie helped herself to a biscuit, unaware of how ravenous she'd been until the scent that was so evocative of her childhood permeated her senses. “She's going through a divorce.”

“That's a shame.”

“And, from what I can tell, it was unexpected.”

“Even worse.”

“I know. I'm really happy she decided to come with me. She needed a break. We both did.” Mackenzie focused on the faded metal sign hanging above the back door to their patch of a yard. The one that had been there for as long as her memory stretched back. It read:
Home Is Where the Heart Is
. And she couldn't help but feel, in that instant, that nothing had ever been more accurate.

•   •   •

“I have never eaten more in my life or been this happy about it.” Annabel massaged her stomach in a circular motion.

“Welcome to my world.” Mackenzie stretched her legs down
the length of her parents' plaid wool sofa, each stain and tear in the fabric evidence of a useful existence.

Sometimes she thought about what it would be like to return to Bowman for good. To give up all of the frivolities she'd become so accustomed to. Because when she was there, all of a sudden weekly manicures and monthly hair appointments seemed like nonsense. Not to mention the blow-outs and professional makeup applications that were expected every time she attended an event. Things felt so much simpler at home. So much easier. When you walked down the street, people actually said hello, even waved, while bearing a wide grin. Imagine that! In Eastport, you were lucky if someone didn't run you over in a parking lot or shove past you to get one spot ahead at the grocery store.

Growing up, she'd never thought that way. Living in New York City or even a suburb of Manhattan had held the promise of glitz and glamour. Opportunity and culture. It was sophisticated. It was a challenge. And Mackenzie had never been one to shy away from a challenge. After all, as Frank Sinatra had famously crooned, “If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere.” Her father, on the other hand, had begged her not to go. Probably because he knew she'd never come back if she did. He'd been right. Manhattan had been her first true love. In the months immediately after she'd moved there, Mackenzie had seen three Broadway shows—waiting in long lines to snag the cheapest tickets available. She'd sampled every variety of cuisine, from the ducks hanging in the windows in Chinatown, to the hot dogs from the street vendors in Central Park, to the illustrious black cod at Nobu, where her roommate had taken her on her father's black American Express card. She'd never seen a black American Express card prior to that. But, nothing—
nothing
—had
compared to the sight of the towering and shimmering Christmas tree presiding over the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. A friend of hers had accompanied her to the lighting and had told her afterward that she'd never witnessed an expression of such untainted joy on anyone's face.

Why was it that she didn't do any of those things anymore? Somehow real life had interfered with experiencing it.
Really
experiencing it.

“I like your world.” Annabel smiled, lying opposite her, their bodies in line with each other's.

“I'm surprised to hear you say that.” Mackenzie adjusted the throw pillow behind her back and tossed one to Annabel.

“Really? Everyone here has been so nice and accommodating.” She shook her head. “I think your mom has offered me three snacks since breakfast. And I'm fairly certain that in addition to making my bed, she washed my clothes from yesterday too. It's like being at the Four Seasons, without the hefty price tag!”

“I'd hardly compare it to the Four Seasons! But my mom definitely likes to take care of people. It's her thing.”

“Well, it's a great
thing
.” Annabel considered this for a second. “You must have had a blissful childhood.”

“I did.” Mackenzie nodded, though she'd never thought about it in quite those terms before. Perhaps she would have given it more consideration had it not been. “What about you?”