The Good Wife (5 page)

“For how long has it been going on?”

“Months.”

“How do you stand it?”

Meg made a soft sound, her shoulders lifting, falling. “I love my kids. I love my family. I want to keep us together.”

Sarah glanced toward the door, making sure everyone was gone. “Do you still love Jack?” she whispered, remembering Jack’s words last night in the kitchen at her parents’ house. “I care for Meg,”
he’d said
.
Not “I love Meg,” and it’d been bothering her ever since. But this wasn’t a conversation she’d want any of the kids to hear, particularly Meg and Jack’s. JJ, Tessa, and Gabi had been through enough this past year.

Meg hesitated, thinking, then nodded. “I do.”

“Romantically? Sexually?”

Now Meg squirmed. “He’s the father of my children.”

“But do you want him?”

“Yes.” Meg frowned. “I mean . . . if he wants me. But I don’t think he does. And I don’t think he has. Not for a long time.”

“Since your . . . affair?”

Meg stared off across the dining room, her brow knitted. “Since before. It’s like he’s lost his . . . drive. It’s been gone awhile. Couple of years maybe.”

“Do you think he’s having a midlife crisis? Apparently men’s hormones change around forty, too.”

“My friend Farrell said the same thing. Her husband went out and got Botox and joined a gym and bought a new car at forty. She was convinced he was having an affair.”

“Was he?”

“Not that she knew, and she hired a PI to follow him.”

“She didn’t!”

Meg nodded, smiled wistfully. “The PI found nothing. Apparently Jeremy just felt old, and he didn’t like it.”

Sarah studied her sister for a long moment, thinking it’d been months, maybe years, since she’d seen Meg really, truly happy. “Does Jack still love you?”

Meg fiddled with her knife, and then her teaspoon, and then touched the frayed thread in the tablecloth again. “I would hope so.”

“That doesn’t sound very confident.”

Meg looked quickly at Sarah and then back down. “We have children. They deserve stability. I’m trying to focus on what they need.”

“But the kids—”

“
I know,
” Meg interrupted fiercely, staring Sarah in the eye, her expression almost defiant. “You’re right. I should have remembered them before. I should have thought about the consequences then. But I didn’t. I didn’t.” She swallowed, shrugged, her expression no longer defiant but regretful. “And they’re paying the price. We are all paying the price. But I can’t give up, Sarah. Won’t. I can fix this. Us. And I will.”

“What if . . .” Sarah paused, struggling to voice what had been bothering her all night and morning.

“What, Sarah?”

“What if . . . Jack . . . doesn’t want it fixed?”

Meg jerked upright. “Did he say something to you?”

Sarah flushed. “No. But I also know, from being on the . . . other side . . . of things, that it takes two to make a marriage work. You can’t do it alone. You need him to meet you halfway.”

Meg said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together, but Sarah felt her pain, and she reached across the table to cover Meg’s hand.

“I’m not judging you, Meg,” she said softly. “Maybe last year I did, but I was caught off guard. Shocked, and surprised that you of all people would cheat—” Sarah broke off as Meg winced. “Affairs are just so hard on a relationship. They shatter trust and make you question everything. Like your commitment to this other person. As well as your desire. Do you really want to be with him or her forever? Do you need to be?” Sarah shrugged. “I went through all of that with Boone after I found out about his affair. I’m still going through it. It’ll be three years this summer, and I’m still struggling, but I’m also still with him, because I love him. I’m crazy about him.” Her smile wavered. “Maybe too crazy.”

Meg squeezed Sarah’s fingers. “I love that you love him so much. It’s the way it should be.” She released Sarah’s hand, leaned back in her chair. “Maybe if Jack and I had some of your passion, we wouldn’t be in the situation we’re in now.”

Sarah drew a slow breath, counting to ten before asking, “Is Jack going to forgive you?”

Meg took an even longer time to answer. “Have you been able to forgive Boone?”

Sarah thought about it, then shrugged. “I’ve tried.”

“And Jack’s trying to forgive me, too.” Meg hesitated. “But it may not happen. And if that’s the case, then he may want something . . . someone . . . else.”

“But you and Jack . . . you’ve been together forever. Since I was in high school.”

“I know.” Meg stood up and began stacking dishes on top of platters and adding cutlery to that. “And I can’t imagine life without Jack in it.”

Three

I
n her small one-bedroom apartment close to Alameda’s historic downtown, Lauren pushed aside the frosted chocolate layer cake she’d just made and reached for the stainless-steel mixing bowl to start over.

Third time was a charm, she reminded herself, turning her back on the two abandoned cakes on the counter. She didn’t feel sorry for them. They’d soon find a home. Her neighbors loved it when she baked, especially the college kids on the third floor. Those boys were always hungry.

With the mixing bowl clutched to her middle, Lauren studied her recipe on the counter, a recipe she’d been editing and marking up all afternoon. This was the chocolate cake that had always sold well in Napa at the bakery and café she’d started with her sister. But when she’d baked it last week for Mama’s Café in Alameda, it’d disappointed her. It didn’t matter that the cake had sold out by early afternoon. It’d tasted a little dry to her—and that could very well be due to the ovens at the café—but it’d also tasted bland.
Boring.

True, it was her great-grandmother’s chocolate cake recipe, which made it old and old-fashioned, but she’d made tweaks to the cake recipe over the years, improving it. Or so she’d thought until earlier in the week.

So here she was, spending what was left of her Sunday trying to make the perfect chocolate cake, and it’d been a good decision to bake. It occupied her hands. Kept her mind busy so she wouldn’t think about Blake and her drive to the cemetery this morning.

She’d cried driving back from Napa, the loss feeling fresh again. Fresh, and shocking, and heartbreaking.

Coming back to her cramped little apartment made her just feel worse. She missed her life in Napa. Missed her family. Missed being a mom.

Unable to handle the pain, she marched into the kitchen and reached for the bowls and pans, swiftly lining up ingredients on the counter. Cake . . . a cake . . . strawberry or chiffon, spice with salted caramel frosting, chocolate or maybe banana . . .

Chocolate won.

So she cracked eggs and stirred and whisked and baked.
Don’t think
, she’d tell herself when she rinsed the mixing bowl at the sink.
Don’t think
, she’d repeat, sliding pans in and out of the oven.
Don’t think
, she’d chant every time her thoughts turned inward, turned to home.
Don’t think
, just bake.

Baking gave her a sense of purpose. Purpose was good. Purpose got her out of bed in the morning. Purpose would get her through the day.

* * *

S
arah spent part of the afternoon helping Meg tidy the house. She was in the middle of adding water to the four floral arrangements in the living room when a small card fell from the lavish purple and lavender arrangement. She was tucking the card back into the plastic holder when the message caught her eye.

To Meg & Family,

From all of us at Dark Horse Winery

Craig, Chad, Jennifer, and Victoria

So Chad knew Meg had lost her mother. Or someone at Dark Horse Winery knew.

Sarah felt the corners of the small, heavy card stock in a silvery cream. It wasn’t your usual cheap florist enclosure, and somehow it felt weighty and thick. Sincere.

But perhaps she was reading too much into it. Perhaps Jennifer, the winery receptionist, or this new Victoria, had ordered the flowers and purchased the elegant card. Perhaps Chad had nothing to do with it.

But looking at the darkly lush arrangement in deep, passionate purples and delicate violet, Sarah felt emotion, as well as love and loss.

Someone cared for Meg. Someone cared enough to send something beautiful. Meaningful.

Someone like Chad.

Feeling ridiculously emotional as well as conflicted, Sarah grabbed a bottle of wood polish and a dustrag from the mud room and tackled the dining room furniture, dusting and polishing everything made with wood. She needed the work to occupy her hands and distract her thoughts from Meg’s affair with Chad.

Sarah didn’t like Chad Hallahan. Didn’t respect him. Couldn’t respect a man who’d make a move on a married woman, threatening her marriage and family. Marriage was sacred. Families were to be protected.

But as she rubbed and polished the dining room buffet with the enormous arrangement of orchids, hydrangeas, calla lilies, and sweet peas, she tried to picture Meg smiling, laughing, but couldn’t. It’d been a long time since Meg had been happy. Sarah couldn’t even imagine her as light, or joyous, never mind bubbly.

What had Chad seen in her? What had they been like together? Had Chad been able to make her laugh? Was Meg happy when with him? Had he made her feel good? Girlish? Beautiful?

Sarah snapped the dustcloth in frustration. She didn’t even know why she was thinking these things. Meg was married. Married to Jack. Chad didn’t factor into the equation. He didn’t.

And yet . . .

Jack didn’t seem to want to be with Meg, not now, or in the future. And if that was the case, if it was true that he’d soon be out of the picture, then Sarah wanted Meg happy. She wanted to see Meg smile, and hear her laugh, and know that someone loved her deeply. That there was a man who wanted her, and would protect her, and stick with her through thick and thin.

But even more importantly, she wanted Meg to feel the same love and desire. She wanted Meg to run to her man the same way she herself still ran to Boone.

Heart heavy, thoughts tangled, Sarah moved into the living room and tackled the end tables before going to the piano with its half-dozen framed photos. Family shots, individual portraits, and a picture of Mom that immediately caught her attention.

It was Mom the night of her fortieth birthday, and she was smiling up at the camera, glowing in her bronze metallic gown, her dark, glossy hair tumbling over one shoulder. She was smiling with her mouth and her eyes and the photograph radiated joy. Joy and love.
My God, how Mom loved Dad. And life.
She knew how to live. She’d known what mattered. Faith, family, friends, community.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Sarah blinked hard and turned toward Meg with a shaky smile. “I love this one of Mom,” she said.

But it wasn’t Meg in the hall, it was Jack in shorts and a T-shirt, flushed, sweaty, tan following his run.

“I like that one of Marilyn, too,” he answered, mopping his brow. “Meg said it was taken the night of her fortieth birthday.”

Sarah nodded and put the photo back on the piano, surprised to see Jack in running shoes, looking fit and trim. She’d thought of him as academic, unathletic, but there was nothing soft about him today. “I didn’t know you ran.”

“Started to in D.C. Needed something to do when I wasn’t working.” With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the elegant living room with its high ceiling and thick white molding. “We never use this room. Such a waste of space.”

“I think it’s pretty.”

“But nonfunctional. I have a problem with that.” He reached up to catch a bead of perspiration on his temple. “I’m sure I reek. I better go shower and then pack.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tonight. I’m on the red-eye.”

Sarah watched him climb the stairs two at a time, whistling as he went. Strange to see this lean, tan Jack practically bounding up the stairs. He had so much energy. He looked downright boyish, which was such a contrast to Meg, who’d put on ten to fifteen pounds in the past six months, weight she didn’t need.

Meg entered the living room, her low heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her dark hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. “Did I hear Jack?”

“He’s showering,” Sarah said, increasingly concerned about her oldest sister. Meg wasn’t a classic beauty, but she’d learned to cultivate an elegance and sophistication that made her beautiful, but that elegance and beauty wasn’t in evidence today. “He’d apparently gone for a run.”

“Good. He should be in a better mood now.” Meg tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she entered the living room to take the bottle of furniture polish and dustcloth from Sarah. “Let’s get out of the house. Go do something fun with the kids.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Whatever your kids would enjoy. It’s your last day here. Let’s make it fun.”

“They like everything. We could go to a park . . . a movie—”

“How about a movie? I need to relax. Escape.”

“I’ll check Fandango and see what’s playing.”

Twenty minutes later, Meg, Sarah, and the four younger kids climbed into Meg’s Lexus wagon and headed off to see
The Lorax,
which was still playing at one of the smaller theaters in Santa Rosa. Jack stayed home to finish packing, and JJ went to hang out at his girlfriend’s house.

They got to the theater almost a half hour before the movie started, so Meg gave Tessa money for snacks and sent her and the kids out to the concession stand while Meg and Sarah camped out in the virtually empty auditorium, saving their seats.

“No one’s here,” Meg said, scanning the rows of empty seats.

“The movie has been out for months, which I like. I love having the theater to ourselves,” Sarah said, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her. “When it’s empty like this, I don’t have to worry about Ella annoying people by talking or Brennan bouncing in his seat.”

“Your kids are still so little.”

“Ella’s easy. A little clingy, but she’s so sweet, I don’t really mind. It’s Brennan who pushes my buttons. He just doesn’t listen.”

“He’s only eight.”

“Almost nine.”

“But that’s young.”

“Dad expected us to listen and follow directions by the time we were three.”

Meg shrugged, unable to disagree. Obedience was as important as respect in their family. If you were told to do something, you did it. The first time you were asked.

Well, unless you were Brianna, because Brianna had her own rules. Probably because Brianna was her own species. Sarah laughed.

Meg glanced at her. “What?”

“I was just thinking about Bree.”

“Thought you were mad at her?”

“It’s hard to stay mad at Brianna forever. She’s just so . . . Bree. Free Bree. Doesn’t listen to anyone. Not even Mom or Dad.”

Meg didn’t answer, and for several minutes neither said anything, both looking at the screen, reading the parade of movie trivia, before Meg broke the silence. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

“Besides being certifiably crazy?”

“Sarah!”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m joking. Come on. You’re the one always feuding with her.”

“We’ve called a truce.”

“Is that because she looks like she’s dying?”

Meg suddenly looked stricken. “Don’t say that!”

“I was
joking
.”

“But she does look terrible. She’s skin and bones.”

“And jaundiced.”

“What do you think it is?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. Dad told Kit he thought Bree had malaria.”

“Malaria?”

Sarah chewed on her bottom lip. “Kit thinks it’s hepatitis.”

“And Brianna won’t say.” Meg sighed. “That’s the part that worries me. If it was nothing, she’d tell us. But she’s not talking about it, which makes me wonder if it isn’t more serious.”

“Like what? Cancer?”

“Or she’s HIV positive.”

“Meg, stop.” Sarah jerked upright. “That’s not . . .” Her voice drifted off as she considered the possibility. Brianna did live in the Congo. She was a nurse specializing in infectious diseases. Brianna was the family wild child and admitted to experimenting with drugs, as well as enjoying . . . “adventurous” . . . sex. But Brianna was also street-smart. She knew how to take care of herself. Didn’t she?

The kids returned just then, their laughing voices echoing in the hall just before they emerged into the dimly lit theater, carrying buckets of popcorn and cold drinks with boxes of candy tucked under their arms.

Sarah watched Tessa stop and help Ella up the stairs. What a good cousin Tessa was, she thought, before glancing at Meg. “Do you really think it could be HIV?” she whispered.

Meg whispered back, “I don’t know, but my gut says it’s serious.”

* * *

A
fter the movie, they stopped at a playground so Brennan could burn off some energy before they returned to the house. The late afternoon gleamed gold with the lingering sun.

“Love the longer days,” Meg said, taking a seat on the park bench closest to the swings where Tessa was pushing Ella while Gabi and Brennan raced up and down the slides. “Have been craving more sunlight.” She looked at Sarah, who was standing next to the bench. “You don’t get a shortage of light in Florida, though, do you?”

“No, but I miss the light here in Northern California. It’s different. And you still get seasons here, and none of our humidity.”

“Do you think you’ll stay in Tampa when Boone retires?”

“Hope not.” Sarah saw Meg’s expression and hurriedly added, “I’ve made good friends there and Tampa’s a great city, but I miss being near family.”

“Will you come back here, then?”

“I don’t know. Boone doesn’t love the Bay Area. It doesn’t feel like home to him.”

“Where would he like to go?”

“Back to New Orleans. He loves the big mansions in the Garden District.”

“That’s where he grew up.”

“Yes, but in a smaller house, at the outskirts of the Garden District. He’d love to return and get a proper house . . . a real Southern mansion.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’d be great, provided the house doesn’t come with any ghosts.”

Meg laughed. “I don’t think I’d want a haunted house either.”

Gabi suddenly let out a piercing squeal and then Brennan was crying as Gabi flung herself on top of him, punching him for shoving her off the top of the slide.

“Hey!” Sarah practically leaped over the bench to get to the kids. “Brennan, don’t push Gabi, she could have been hurt. And Gabi, no punching,” she said, hauling Gabi off Brennan and setting her firmly on her feet. “Brennan is still a couple of years younger than you.”

“I could have broken my leg,” Gabi said, brushing bark chips off her knees and butt.

“But you didn’t.” Sarah turned to Brennan and picked him up. “Brennan, what were you thinking, pushing your cousin off the slide like that?”