The Good Wife (37 page)

“Why not?” Boone persisted.

“I’ve a game tomorrow.”

He brushed a long tendril of hair back from her cheek. He seemed fascinated with her skin. “What kind of game?”

“Beach volleyball.” She gave him a look. “And I’m good.”

“I bet you are. You have serious legs.”

“They could kick your ass.”

He laughed, hard. He wiped his eyes. She’d made him cry.

She smiled at him reluctantly. “So why don’t you come down here tomorrow and watch me play?”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Then rent one.”

“And if I do?”

She shrugged. “You’ll see me crush the competition, and then maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll have lunch with you.”

“That’s it? Just lunch?”

“Hey, bud—”

“Not bud. It’s
Boone
.”

She’d laughed now, too. She liked him. “So, Boone.” Her lips twitched. “I don’t have lunch with just anybody.”

“I’m not just anybody.”

“You’re really confident.”

He shrugged. “I know what I want.”

Heat rushed through her. She knew what he meant. He wanted her.

Sarah called in sick the next day. The rest was history.

The wind blew, cool air off the sea, and sitting on the front steps of the old beach house, she shivered inside her blanket.

If she hadn’t met Boone that day in Capitola, she would have gone to law school. But meeting him changed everything.

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have dropped out of the law program.

She shouldn’t have dropped everything for him. But he’d pursued her hard. And it’d been flattering, gratifying, to have a man like Boone want her. It’d made her important and incredibly desirable. And maybe it was good to enjoy being a desirable woman, but she’d taken it too far, dissolving her boundaries and melting—melding—into him.

Mistake.

She should have kept part of her separate. Part of her sacred.

Should have kept at least one of her goals . . .

Like law school.

Was it too late to go? Pursue a career? She was thirty-five. Law school would take a couple of years, and then she’d have to study for the bar . . .

But why not? Lots of people changed careers, reinvented themselves midlife. Why couldn’t she?

Have work she found meaningful. Income of her own. An identity that was solely hers . . .

It would have been so much easier being Boone’s wife if she hadn’t felt like an accessory to his life.

Shivering, Sarah left the steps, returning to the house. She turned off the hall light, locked the front door, and climbed the stairs to the girls’ bunk room on the second floor.

As she settled into her bed, she tried to imagine herself back on campus, a student.

It was an intriguing idea. A little scary. But she liked learning, she wouldn’t mind studying. It’d be good to have something external—objective—to think about.

There were so many areas of law that interested her, too, but one immediately came to mind. Sports law. Having been married to Boone for thirteen years, she understood the world of professional sports, and the demands it placed on athletes. She’d find it fascinating to be on the other side of negotiations and contracts. Would love to work in an office and represent players. Would love to represent someone like Boone, someone so committed to the game.

She fell asleep dreaming about contracts and athletes and player lockouts.

* * *

S
arah woke late, discovered it was nearly noon. Everyone else had gone for breakfast already. She walked to Mr. Toots, got her coffee and a bagel, and returned home to eat.

“You slept in late,” Kit said from her seat on the porch. She’d been grading papers all morning and looked sick of it.

“I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about things.”

“What sort of things?” Kit asked, leaving her chair and stretching.

“I need to work,” Sarah said, sipping her coffee. “Need to contribute to life again. Do something with my brain.”

“It doesn’t have to be a job,” Kit said, leaning against the railing. “You could volunteer, get involved with an outreach of some sort.”

“I know. But I’d like to have income.”

Kit glanced down at her hands and feet. “I’m swelling.”

“It’s probably just the heat. And you’ve been sitting for hours. You need to move.”

“Want to go walk with me?” Kit asked hopefully.

“As long as I can take my coffee.”

They left the house, walking at an easy pace. “Remember how I once wanted to go to law school?” Sarah asked as they crossed the street.

Kit nodded.

“I still want to go.” Sarah glanced at Kit’s profile, checking her reaction. “I think maybe this fall I should apply for next year. See what happens.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Kit nodded approvingly. “You’re smart. Probably the smartest of all of us. And the most ambitious. And you’ve been a wonderful mom, and a good wife, but I think you need to use that brain of yours and channel your thoughts, harness your drive, so you can feel good about yourself again.”

“And be someone,” Sarah added under her breath.

“You are someone already,” Kit retorted, “but there’s no shame in wanting more. You’d always planned on working. And you know, Mom went back to school and earned her MBA at the same age you are now.”

That’s right, Sarah thought. Mom had gone back to school in her midthirties.

“And you are like her, Sarah. Not physically, but on the inside. You have her smarts, and strength—”

“I’m not strong.”

“You’re very strong. But you’re self-destructing because you have no place to channel all your drive and energy.”

They crossed the street and turned the corner, dodging a woman walking five different-sized dogs on very long leashes.

“Did you ever read ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman in any of your women’s studies classes?” Kit asked as they stepped back off the path to avoid a speeding cyclist.

Sarah shook her head, walking next to Kit again as they headed for the eighty-six stairs to Depot Hill.

“The story was first published in 1892; it’s written in first person, about a young woman who is also a new mother. She’s suffering from depression and needs an outlet. Instead of allowing her to be active and physical and work, her doctor and her husband confine her to an attic room to recuperate, but the confinement backfires. It makes her obsessive, and pushes her over the edge.”

They were climbing the stairs now and Kit slowed, taking the steps one at a time. “I’m not saying you’re mad, but you aren’t seeing the big picture anymore, just the patterned wallpaper in your mind.”

The patterned paper in her mind being Boone.

Sarah stopped midstep. “I obsess about Boone. Where he is, what he’s doing. I don’t even care about the rest of the world anymore . . .” She frowned. “That’s not right. Not normal.”

“As you said, it’s time to figure out what you want. Will you be happier with him? Or without him? Regardless of your decision, the obsessive stuff has to end. It’s not healthy.”

Sarah glanced past Kit to the sea, which could be glimpsed through the buildings and trees. “I just wish I knew definitively that he was faithful. Wish I could know once and for all.”

“You know Jude has a dangerous job,” Kit said after a moment, tugging on her auburn braid. “His dad died on the job. Jude could, too. And I could spend every day thinking about him dying and leaving me and our baby. I could imagine the horrible things that could happen to him, but why? How does it benefit me to imagine terrible scenarios?”

“You’re preparing yourself. In case.”

“Yes. But let’s be honest. He probably won’t die. He could very well live to ninety-five. And then wouldn’t it be pointless for me to spend all these years we have together worrying and obsessing about something that might not ever happen? And I’m not taking Boone’s side, but I think it’s important to consider the possibility that he is innocent. And since you’re the one who once wanted to go to law school, let’s entertain the possibility that since screwing up so badly three years ago, he’s been absolutely faithful to you.” She paused, her gaze resting on Sarah’s face. “Wouldn’t it be terrible to go through your life fearing the worst, tormenting yourself, only to find out at the very end that Boone was a good husband? That he was faithful and he did protect you?”

Sarah didn’t answer.

Kit started climbing the stairs again. Sarah trailed after. They reached the top in silence, and as they walked to Grand Avenue, Sarah was thinking about everything Kit had said.

It would change everything if Boone was faithful.

It would mean she could relax. She could stop obsessing. She could just love him, and feel good about them again.

Kit picked up the pace. Sarah lengthened her stride to catch up. “I just wish I knew for sure,” she insisted. “It would change everything.”

“So let’s play prosecutor,” Kit said. “Let’s build a case against him. Tell me all your incriminating evidence, and what we know so we can convict him.”

“He cheated three years ago. Had an affair that lasted a couple of months.”

“Yes, we have that. And that was bad. He didn’t come clean willingly. You found out. He denied it. You did some research and confronted him with evidence, and then and only then did he confess and apologize.”

Sarah hated the facts. “That alone would influence a jury.”

“Yes, if that’s the only evidence presented. But now you’re the defense attorney. What would you say about Boone in his defense?”

Sarah sighed. “He’s a good father. For the most part a thoughtful husband. He is affectionate. Compliments me. Is great in bed. But that could work against him in a courtroom, too.”

“Is he reliable? Does he show up when he says he will, fulfill his commitments, support you and your family?”

“Yes. And yes and yes and yes.”

“Do you have any evidence at all that he’s been unfaithful these past few years?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing that couldn’t be explained. The receipts for breakfast that were for two, were actually for Boone and a team member. The waitress he likes turns out to be a teammate’s girlfriend.”

“So there is nothing in the past three years to make you doubt him? It’s just the past.”

“The past
haunts
me.”

“You’re still angry.”

“And hurt.”

“You haven’t forgiven him.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I think you could figure out how, Sarah, if you decided you
wanted
to forgive him. The real issue seems to be, do you
want
to forgive him?”

They’d turned onto Hollister.

“I’m not sure,” Sarah admitted.

Kit glanced at Sarah. “Maybe you should talk to Meg about that.”

“Why?”

“Jack couldn’t forgive her for what she did, and it broke her heart.”

“But Meg’s . . . Meg. She’s a really good person.”

Kit’s eyebrows arched. “And Boone’s not?”

* * *

B
ack at the house, Sarah showered and changed into a sundress, and then called her dad, who Brianna said was staying at the house with the kids so Boone could go to the park each night.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Okay.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about missing your birthday.”

“You weren’t feeling so hot.”

“I was upset. Not sick.”

“You were heartsick. Worse than flu sick, babe.”

Her throat swelled shut. “You know Boone and I are . . . not . . .” Her voice faded. She couldn’t say “divorcing,” not to her dad. “Not . . . doing so good?”

“He told me that he was moving out of the house permanently before he leaves this weekend.”

Sarah didn’t even know what to say.

“Sarah, people make mistakes,” her dad said gruffly.

“I don’t want to be hurt like that ever again.”

“And I don’t want you hurt again. I don’t like my girls getting hurt. I don’t like my kids hurting. I don’t want anyone I love to hurt. But it’s part of life. To live . . . to love . . . you take risks. You have a child . . . there’s a risk. They walk across the street. Risk. They put pizza wrapped in foil in the microwave—”

“Boone told you.”

“Brennan told me. He thought that as a fireman, I should know.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “As Mom always said, there are no guarantees.”

“That’s right. There are no guarantees. And you, of all people, know that. You grew up playing every sport there was. You even played lacrosse before anyone here in the city had heard of it. And why did you play it? Because someone said that girls couldn’t play. So you begged for a stick and that was that.

“Sarah, you’re the competitor in the family. And yet you, who love your husband so passionately, have walked off the field in the middle of the game, claiming defeat. But the game’s not over. It’s not even the fourth quarter.”

“He’s so mad at me, Dad.”

“He wants off the leash.”

“He’s not on a leash.”

“You’re snooping and sneaking and checking up on him—”

“I’m trying to protect us.”

“Listen to me, babe. Trust on a leash isn’t trust.”

* * *

S
arah hung up, wandered outside, wandered across the lawn, then crossed the street to the beach, watched the waves break on the sand and the kids jumping waves. The sun was beginning to drop into the sea, a bright orange ball that turned the horizon copper. Families were gathering towels and blankets. Teenagers flirted by the volleyball nets.

She could see the place where Boone had sat, watching her play volleyball that second day. She’d worn a pink bikini, the bottom so tiny her mother had almost had a heart attack.

God, she’d been so confident then.

She’d fallen for Boone, but she didn’t let him know it, keeping him guessing, making him work.

She’d loved the chase, and the challenge. It’d been thrilling. Those long-distance calls. Her first visit to him in Atlanta. Her first night there, and how they’d made love for hours.

With Boone, she felt like the most amazing thing in God’s creation.

He proposed before the end of summer. They married at Thanksgiving. She left San Francisco to be with him. They were only in Atlanta another year before he was traded to Houston.