The Consequences (24 page)

CHAPTER 40

S
he dozed rather than slept for the next couple of hours.

Whenever she closed her eyes, events and incidents from the previous days came rushing back. Suddenly she would find herself remembering the look in Stephanie's eyes when she'd opened the door and found Kathy standing there. Somehow Stephanie hadn't seemed to be in the least surprised; maybe she too had been relieved that events were coming to a head.

In an affair time stopped. An affair existed in a bubble. It was only when it was discovered or ended that people could go on with their lives. In her own situation, Kathy had been trapped in a world of white lies, half-truths, and evasions, while Stephanie had been equally trapped by the same lies for the past eighteen months. And in the middle was Robert, spinning the lies, trying to balance both worlds, telling both women what he thought they wanted to hear.

She heard movement. The bathroom door opened, then slow and heavy footsteps went downstairs. Maybe Robert also couldn't sleep.

Kathy got out of bed and went to stand by the window. The front yard and road looked like a traditional Christmas card. No tracks broke the pristine snowy surface; even the tracks left by Robert's car several hours earlier had been covered over. Some of the houses had lights on, and, across the street, she could see the seven-year-old Brady triplets in their matching Spider-Man pajamas, clustered around the Christmas tree ripping paper off their presents.

She found herself remembering her own childhood, and in particular that morning when she had awoken to find that it had snowed overnight. She shared a bedroom with Sheila, and she'd shaken her little sister awake. She would have been about nine or ten, she thought, old enough to begin to suspect the existence—or nonexistence—of Santa Claus, but not prepared to question it too deeply. Just in case. Together, the two girls had huddled in the window, with the quilt pulled around their shoulders, and simply looked at the snow and the world that they knew so well, now changed beyond all recognition. They'd scanned the roofs of the houses across the street looking for reindeer tracks in the snow before finally deciding that magical reindeer probably didn't leave tracks.

She remembered, with absolute clarity, what she had gotten for her Christmas presents that year. An Easy Bake oven with miniature trays to make chocolate cakes, a Scoobie Doo Mystery Mobile that she used to cart around her Barbie dolls, a paint-by-numbers art set of Wonder Woman that she'd never finished, three Nancy Drew books, and two pairs of overalls—one of which still had a Sears tag on it . . . which she remembered thinking was a strange place for Santa to get his clothes from.

She couldn't remember the following Christmas, nor the previous one. It was the snow that had made that particular Christmas special and memorable.

Other Christmases stuck in her memory; the first Christmas after her father died, the first year she was married, the year Brendan was born, the year Theresa arrived, their first year in this house. The rest melted into one vaguely similar event, with the same rich food, the same movie marathons on TV, the same “Is that all?” feeling at the end of the day.

And now this Christmas. She would certainly be adding this to her list of memorable Christmases. This was one she would never forget and, she was afraid, would forever taint all future Christmases.

A creak on the stairs disturbed her daydreaming, and she turned away from the window and quickly slipped back into bed.

The bedroom door cracked open, yellow light from the hall spilling into the room. She heard Robert move around to her side of the bed and then the rattle of a cup and saucer as it was put down. She didn't remember the last time he had brought her up a cup of coffee. “Kathy.” His voice was a hoarse, exhausted whisper. “Kathy?”

She opened her eyes. He looked wretched. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, and the skin on his face seemed to have sagged. She fought to quell her rising concern.

“I brought you some coffee,” he said, then added, “Merry Christmas.”

“You went out last night.” It wasn't what she had intended to say, nor was it what she wanted to ask, but she had to know; she had to ask the question, and she had to hear his response. She had worked hard to keep her voice carefully neutral.

“The office alarm went off—I got a call from the alarm company. I had to go in.”

She searched his face, looking for the truth. But would she even know if he were lying? He'd spent the past eighteen months lying to her, and she hadn't picked that up; he must be an expert at it by now. “You were gone for a long time,” she said, pushing up in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Roads were terrible. Mine was the only car out; I crept along. And then when I got there, I had to make sure everything was okay.” He'd moved around to stand by the window and look out at the dawn. Was that because he couldn't bear to look her in the face, she wondered. But no, he'd stared into her eyes countless times lately and lied to her.

“I take it there was no problem with the office.”

He shook his head. “Probably snow or ice falling off a neighboring building, hitting our roof, and setting off one of the sensors. I could hear other alarms ringing out across Storrow Drive as I drove home.”

Kathy nodded. It had the ring of truth to it, especially the reasons for the alarm to go off in the first place. Surely he wouldn't be able to make up that detail himself?

“Drink your coffee,” he said. “I'm sure the kids will be up soon.” He padded silently out of the bedroom, and then she heard his office door close.

Kathy sat up in bed drinking the rich brew, noting that he had remembered to put in soy milk for her, feeling guilty that she'd ever suspected him of sneaking off to Stephanie's in the first place.

 

They missed ten o'clock Mass.

When Kathy finished her coffee, she closed her eyes and then woke again at ten minutes to ten with a start, convinced that it had all been nothing more than a dream, a terrible, terrifying dream. All she had to do was to open her eyes and look around, and there would be Robert asleep beside her, and Stephanie and the last twenty-four hours, the last week would all be nothing more than a . . .

She opened her eyes.

It was no dream.

She could hear muted sounds coming from below, and although she'd been bright and alert earlier, now she felt as if she were moving in slow motion. Robert and the kids were up. Pulling on her robe, she padded silently downstairs. The kids were in the midst of opening their presents, and Kathy arrived just in time to hear Theresa say, “Thanks, Dad, how did you know I was looking for this one?”

Robert, standing beside the tree while the children scattered Christmas paper across the floor, had the grace to look embarrassed as Kathy paused by the door. “Don't you know I had a little help? As always.”

Kathy turned away and headed into the kitchen and was aware that Robert was coming in behind her. He had two badly wrapped presents in his hands alongside a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a card sticking out of it. She wouldn't read the card, not for a while. Robert was a beautiful writer, and she didn't want to read what he had or had not taken the time to write. She needed her head to be clear of his charm. “Merry Christmas,” he said awkwardly, holding the gifts and the flowers.

What had he gotten his mistress, Kathy wondered. She couldn't help but compare the two small items he was holding in his left hand with the carefully wrapped and beautifully presented boxes he'd carried into Stephanie's house yesterday. And where was the balloon? For a moment, she was going to refuse the gifts. Whatever they were, she would never wear or use them; she wanted no memories of this particular Christmas. But then she relented and took them from his hands. “Thank you,” she said simply. She thought he was leaning in to her, perhaps expecting a kiss or a hug, but she turned away quickly. “I'll give you yours later,” she said, without turning around. “It's upstairs in the closet. Now, come on, we'd better hurry or we're going to miss eleven o'clock Mass too. And midday Mass goes on forever.”

 

Next year, Kathy promised herself, walking down the steps as she left the church, she was going to early Mass. Very early Mass. The service had been interrupted every few minutes by the blips and pips of some handheld computer game or the irritating ringtone of a newly acquired phone, and every so often a doll would cry realistically or an action figure merchandised from the latest movie franchise would fire off his laser.

As the family filed out through the gates, they bumped into Julia, who was holding court to a group of women, all of whom seemed only too delighted to make their escape when Kathy appeared. Theresa and Brendan awkwardly hugged their aunt before excusing themselves to visit with their friends.

“There you are. I was hoping to see you,” Julia began, then quickly kissed Kathy and Robert on the cheeks. “Merry Christmas . . . Merry Christmas. And it's a white Christmas too; isn't it lovely.” She made the question into a statement. “And you look lovely too—though you shouldn't have worn that outfit in this weather.”

Kathy had dressed simply in her tailored black slacks, worn over black, square-heeled boots and, although she knew it made her look small and dumpy, she'd pulled on her heavy navy-blue peacoat. It was like wearing a blanket, but the open-plan, high-ceilinged church could be draughty. Julia, on the other hand, was wearing what Kathy called her country-lady look: tweed skirt, Wellington boots, a blue blazer, and a hat with a short feather in it. And this was the lady giving her fashion advice! Kathy suddenly found herself biting the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face.

“Now, about tomorrow,” Julia began. “We're going to start about . . .”

“We won't be there,” Kathy said suddenly.

Julia looked blankly at her, then turned to look at Robert. “We're starting about four. . . .”

“I'm not sure if you heard Kathy correctly,” Robert said with a smile, “but we've decided not to come over this year.”

Julia's mouth opened and closed. “But it's a tradition.”

“We're breaking with tradition,” Robert said.

“Starting some new ones,” Kathy added. “Have a Merry Christmas, Julia. Give our love to Ben.” Then she turned and walked away.

Robert nodded to his dumbstruck sister-in-law and hurried after Kathy.

“Thank you,” Kathy said.

“For what?”

“For supporting me.”

“We should have done it years ago,” he said.

“You're right. But it's time to make some changes,” she said, glancing sidelong at him.

Robert nodded, eyes distant and lost. Then he blinked and tried a smile. “And what was she wearing on her head? She looks like those women . . . those princesses from the royal wedding. Bibi and Eunice?”

“Beatrice. Beatrice and Eugenie,” Kathy corrected him and then she laughed, and Robert laughed with her. Climbing into the car, she couldn't remember the last time they had laughed together so easily.

CHAPTER 41

T
he moment the telephone rang, Kathy felt her insides twist, and the little bubble of good humor that had remained with her since Mass instantly evaporated. She moved away from the oven and heard Brendan call out, “Dad, phone!”

“You get it,” came the mumbled response.

“It'll be for you. It's always for you.”

Rubbing her hands on her striped apron, Kathy started to move into the dining room to get the phone when Robert—looking bleary-eyed and haggard—appeared and grabbed the phone out of the cradle. “Hello?”

She wondered who would be calling at this time on Christmas Day, and immediately thought: Julia. No doubt she'd spent the past couple of hours working herself up into a self-righteous frenzy and now had a dozen cast-iron reasons why they should come over for dinner tomorrow. At some point in the conversation she'd play the “it's what Mother would have wanted us to do” card.

“Hello?” Robert asked again.

Kathy glanced at him, eyebrows raised in a question. She saw him swallow and lick dry lips, and then he smiled.

“Sure . . . sure,” he said, and then he added, “And a Merry Christmas to you too.” He took a breath. “Let me just step out of the room away from the TV. . . .

“It's Jimmy Moran,” he said, phone pressed against his chest, “just calling to wish us Merry Christmas.”

Kathy nodded as she sank the skewer into the turkey. “Don't talk too long; I'll be serving dinner soon.”

Robert moved out into the hall. “I'll be just a minute.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and knew he'd be more than a minute. He always was. Her husband had no concept of time. She glanced over at the counter, checking to ensure that everything was in place. This was the one big meal she cooked every year. When the kids had been younger she'd cooked almost every night—chicken, pasta, hamburgers, salmon. On Wednesdays, they'd always order pizza and Greek salad; anchovy for her and Brendan and Hawaiian for Robert and Theresa. On Friday night, she'd usually cook a huge chicken that they'd eat all weekend, along with Chinese or Indian takeout. It had been a family tradition for many years. But by the time the children were into their teens, and were busy with after-school activities and piles of homework, they simply had no time to sit at the table and eat, and often she found herself cooking just for Robert and herself. More recently, she found she was eating alone. Robert would come home “not hungry” or having “had a big lunch”; now she wondered how much of that was true, or was he not hungry because he'd been eating with
her?

Kathy veered away from that thought.

If they weren't going over to Julia's tomorrow—and she was determined that they were not—then maybe they should invite Jimmy Moran to the house, and Sheila too. Kathy stopped and straightened. And what if Sheila wanted to bring her boyfriend? Kathy took a deep breath; Sheila could bring him. Kathy was in no position to stand in judgment over someone else's relationship.

She heard the door to Robert's office creak open and, when he came down, he looked ghastly. There was no color in his face, and the bags beneath his eyes looked like physical bruises.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, he's fine,” Robert said, licking dry lips.

“Not with him—with you.”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted,” he admitted. “I might try to grab a nap after dinner. If that's okay,” he added.

“It's what you do every year,” she reminded him.

 

The long table in the dining room had been opened out and covered with the Irish linen tablecloth Jimmy had given them as a wedding present, which only made its appearance one day a year. Four full place settings had been laid out, Theresa taking great care to ensure that the correct knives and forks were in the right position, while Brendan organized the soup bowls and large plates.

Robert sat at the head of the table, Kathy at the opposite end, facing him, while the two children sat at either side. Kathy looked around the table, deliberately and consciously impressing every detail into her memory. Maybe this would be their last year at home for Christmas. Every year—usually on Christmas Day and at about this time—she would come up with the idea they would go away for a vacation next year. Enjoy Christmas in some warm and sunny climate. Ever since she'd been a child, and discovered that the seasons were reversed in the southern hemisphere, she'd wanted to spend Christmas on a beach in Australia. Next year, she promised herself, next year.

She had little appetite for food—nor did Robert, she noticed, and it gave her some little satisfaction to realize that he was feeling as bad as she was—but the kids quickly finished the homemade tomato soup, and Brendan finished off his father's barely touched bowl. Kathy stood up and started to gather the bowls when the phone rang again. She caught a glimpse of something move across Robert's face—some emotion she could not identify. “Let the machine get it,” she said quickly. “This is one of the few meals this family sits down to together.”

Robert nodded dubiously even as he was standing up. “I'd better get it. I'll just be a minute.”

Kathy sighed as she carried the soup bowls out to the kitchen. Next year they were definitely going away. She dropped the soup bowls in the sink and turned to the turkey, which she'd left cooling on the draining board. Peeling back the silver foil, she breathed in the distinctive aroma of turkey and spices.

“Hello . . . Yes, this is Robert Walker. . . .”

Half listening to Robert's conversation, she plugged in the electric knife and prepared to start slicing into the bird. Brendan would take a leg, while Robert preferred the white breast meat and sausage stuffing. Theresa was going through one of her periodic vegetarian phases and announced she was only having vegetables.

“Hi. What can I do for you?”

Kathy put down the knife and stepped over to the kitchen door, eyebrows raised in a silent question. She could tell by Robert's voice there was something terribly wrong.

“James . . . I don't know . . . Oh, you mean Jimmy.”

Kathy frowned. Jimmy Moran? But Jimmy had just been on the phone to Robert.

“Is he okay?” Robert asked. He looked at her and shrugged and then said into the phone, “Today?” He quickly covered the mouthpiece and muttered to Kathy, “Mass General. Jimmy's been admitted.”

“But you were talking to him less than half an hour ago,” Kathy said.

But Robert had turned back to the phone. “Yes, yes, I'm here. . . . It's just it's . . . Christmas, and I'm with my family. . . .”

Kathy turned away and unplugged the knife; if Jimmy was in trouble, then she knew Robert would go to him.

“Is it an emergency?” Robert asked, then added, obviously responding to a question from the nurse, “Yes, yes, a good friend.”

Kathy watched his expression change; there was something like fear in his eyes now.

“Tell him I'm on the way.” He hung up and looked at Kathy. “It sounds really serious. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. . . .”

“I know. You should go. But how did he sound when you were talking to him earlier?”

She watched his eyes blank for a minute, and then he said simply, “He sounded fine.”

“Go. Get your coat and gloves. I'll fill a thermos with coffee.”

Kathy stood at the door and watched Robert gingerly inch the car out of the drive. She found herself waving out of habit, and then turned and closed the door behind her. She wondered when she'd see her husband again. When she got back into the dining room, Brendan and Theresa had drifted away to the television, and she didn't have the heart to call them back to the table. Having a Christmas dinner without Robert seemed wrong somehow.

As she passed the phone, she stopped and looked at the caller ID. The last call showed a 617 area code—she'd no doubt that was Mass General Hospital—but the call before that read Blocked . . . which was strange, because Jimmy Moran had an apartment in the North End, and his name always popped up when he called. Maybe he'd called from Angela's phone and it was unlisted.

Kathy stopped herself, realizing what she was doing, and feeling guilty that she was checking up on Robert. She turned away and started to busy herself cleaning up the kitchen, putting away the meats, wrapping up the vegetables, pouring the sauces—apple, cheese, and cranberry—into small containers. Just about everything would keep. Knowing that the children would be looking for something to eat in a couple of hours, she cut slices off the turkey and ham and put them onto two side plates, covered them in Saran Wrap, and left them in the center of the table.

“I've left some meat out if you want to make yourselves sandwiches later, and listen out for the phone, will you?” she told Brendan and Theresa, who were sitting on either end of the couch, playing one of the new games Brendan had gotten for his Xbox. “Your dad's gone to visit Uncle Jimmy in the hospital. I'm just going upstairs for a nap. I didn't sleep too well last night.”

“When's Dad coming back?” Theresa asked, without looking away from the screen.

“I have no idea,” Kathy said truthfully. “Depends on what he finds when he reaches the hospital.”