The Pretend Wife (23 page)

T
HERE WAS A STIPULATION
printed on the invitation to the un-funeral:
Attire: Casual, Un-black.
That Saturday I woke up early and put on a pale blue dress. I found my father working at the dining room table.

“Are the cusk eels talkative this morning?” I asked.

“You're dressed. Are you going out?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to talk to your thinker?”

“I'm going to try.”

He got up then and hugged me. It was a great big bear hug that tipped me almost completely off the ground. It was so big that I felt like I was made of air, like I was just a little girl. It wasn't the hug of someone who gave love in small doses—but more like someone who'd chosen not to live that way anymore. I felt like I'd gotten something returned to me, something lost so long ago I didn't even really know it had once existed, but it felt right and good and mine.

The un-funeral was going to be a catered event at the lake house, starting at noon. I headed east, and in a few hours I was making my way down the same dirt roads that I'd ridden along with Elliot in the convertible. I didn't know what to expect from an un-funeral, from Elliot, from myself. I wasn't even convinced that once there, I would be able to get out of the car and walk up to the door. How would I start to tell him something if I didn't really know what that something was? Was I ready for Elliot Hull—to love him and be loved by him?

I slowed down as I approached their long driveway, which was already lined with parked cars. I was surprised by how very many cars there were, but it was a party after all. What had I been expecting? A quiet moment alone with Elliot in the rowboat? I was coming unprepared. I didn't have a symbolic rake to hold in a field, and I was desperate to see Vivian healthy, growing stronger, but I couldn't envision it.

I sped past the entrance and drove until I came to a gas station. I pulled into a parking space and, while resting my hands on the wheel, I took some deep breaths. I watched people come and go—three kids on dirt bikes, a hassled young mother with a baby who was pulling on a wisp of the mother's hair, a few construction workers, and all the while, the man behind the counter, looking at the ceiling-hung television set to Court TV.

I realized that I had unfinished business. I couldn't see Elliot until I'd talked to Peter. I didn't need permission to see Elliot—permission was no longer a part of our marriage. And I didn't need release from the marriage itself—that would take time, wouldn't it? Emotionally, it would
take years. What did I need? Maybe only to hear Peter's voice—a sober admission of the truth?

I opened up my cell phone and dialed. It rang once and he picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Gwen,” he said. “Are we on speaking terms now?” He sounded contrite.

“I couldn't listen for a while there. You could have spoken all you wanted, but I knew I wouldn't have been able to hear it.”

“And now?” he said.

“Try me.”

There was a pause. “I'm sorry.”

“I am too,” I said.

“Don't say it in that voice.”

I hadn't realized I'd used a certain voice. “What do you mean?”

“You say it like you're sorry for the whole relationship.”

“And what are you sorry for?” I asked, staring into the convenience store, its rows of shelves, packed with brightly colored junk.

“For that mess with Helen. It was stupid. It was idiotic. It meant nothing. I was just acting out.”

“Acting out? Doesn't that mean you were rebelling? Were you rebelling against me?” I felt like he was casting blame.

“That's not what I meant. Idiotic and stupid. That's what I meant.”

“And by
that mess with Helen,
you mean sleeping with my best friend?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I do.”

“I'm not sorry for the whole relationship,” I said.

“Good,” he said, sighing. “You don't know how good that is to hear—”

I cut him off quickly. “But I'm not coming back.”

He wasn't ready for this. He started rambling. “Let's have lunch. Let's talk this out. We should go to therapy. Faith says that therapy can work wonders—or just lunch, if that would be easier.”

“No,” I said, thinking:
I'm a woman in a field with a big rake, and I'm done. It's over. I'm finished.

“We can salvage this. We can get back to the best of what we were together.”

If I was a damaged girl who made a damaged mistake, I didn't want to make the same mistake just as I was beginning to feel stronger. “I want more than the best of what we were together.”

“What?” he said. “We had something great. You want more than that? We were perfect together.”

“Some version of me was perfect with you, but it's not the version of myself I want to be.” The man behind the counter was looking at me now. Maybe he'd been keeping an eye on me for a while, wondering if I was coming or going or casing the joint. “I've got to hang up now.”

“No,” Peter said.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“I refuse to accept this,” he said. “I absolutely refuse.”

And then I hung up.

By the time I made my way down the driveway, the cars had thinned out. Votive candles in bags lined the front walkway. A few kids in puffy jackets were running on the lawn. I found a spot and parked.

As I walked up to the door, I saw Bib, wearing a ski hat
and boots. The frilly white of her dress bounced around her stockinged knees. Her cheeks were bright red from all of the chasing. I didn't want to interrupt her.

I gave a knock, hearing the clamor of voices and laughter inside. When no one came to the door, I let myself in.

The hospital bed was gone. In its place were a few people holding glasses of what looked like cider. Sonny was among them, as was the woman that I'd seen in Elliot's car. I startled at the sight of her and took a step backwards. Was he still seeing this woman? Had he lied to me? I felt flushed. I had my hand on the knob ready to turn back. It wasn't too late. No one had seen me, not even Bib in the yard.

But then I heard my name.

I looked up and saw Sonny charging over. “I wasn't sure you'd come.”

“I wasn't sure either.”

“Miranda,” he called to the woman. She looked up. She was elegant, holding her glass of cider, smiling. “Come here. I want you to meet Gwen.”

“Oh!” she said.

“No, no,” I whispered to Sonny. “It's okay.” I tried to edge around him.

He looked at me, confused, for a moment, but then introduced us. “Gwen, this is my sister Miranda. She's staying here for a while. She's a nurse and is between things in her life so she's been helping Vivian a good bit.”

“Oh,” I said. “Hi. I'm Gwen.”

“I know,” she said, taking my hand. “I've heard so much about you.”

“Good, I hope?” I said, laughing the way people do. I was so flustered I was relying on clichés.

“Angelically good,” she said.

“Let me bring you to Vivian,” Sonny said, and he wrapped his arm in mine and led me into the kitchen.

Vivian was sitting on the sofa, the one I'd found so out of place in the kitchen. With some help from a woman about her age, she was holding Porcupine—who'd grown leaps and bounds. They were proclaiming his great fatness. “Look at these chins! These thighs!” Vivian was saying. “Look at this ample girth!”

“Look what I found!” Sonny said.

Vivian lifted her head, caught my eye, and smiled brightly. She showed me the baby. “Isn't he enormous! So healthy! Come here and congratulate me for being alive!”

The woman next to her took the baby onto her lap, and then stood up to show him off to the others. I walked to Vivian, took the seat next to her, and gave her an enormous hug, and when I thought the hug would end, it didn't. She kept on holding me.

“A miracle,” she said. “See, when you have no choice, you have to believe in them.”

She held me by my shoulders now and looked into my eyes. I started crying. I wasn't sure that I'd ever felt more like I had a mother in my life. I'd expected my mother to show up at the bridge by the river, but no. It seemed like she was here, in Vivian, in this moment at an un-funeral on a sofa in a kitchen.

Jennifer appeared in the doorway. “Gwen!” she said. “You came!” She looked around the room, for Elliot, no doubt.

Vivian smiled and then nodded out through the French doors to the backyard. “He went out for some air. There's only so much un-funeral anyone can take. Go on,” she said.

I looked at Jennifer. “Go on!” she said.

I walked out the French doors, across the deck, and saw him standing there, looking out at the dock, the pair of rowboats, the lake. I was surprised by the simple and astonishing fact that he existed at all in this world. Elliot Hull—he was right here in front of me. He was a man looking out on a lake. He was the person I loved and I'd loved him since the first time I met him at the icebreaker our freshman year of college, when we were just two kids who were supposed to compliment each other's shoes.

I walked down the deck's set of stairs, stepped onto the grass, and he turned around, not expecting to see anyone, most likely, but there I was.

He stopped and smiled.

I stood completely still, not sure what to do next, but I was suddenly no longer worried about what to say. I wasn't thinking about words at all.

He started walking toward me. His stride picked up speed and I knew what he was going to do. He was going to pick up the right girl this time. He was going to pick
me
up and spin
me
around. He was almost running by the time he reached me. He fit his hands around my waist, lifted me up off the ground, and then around and around and around.

If you enjoyed
The Pretend Wife
,
don't forget to try Bridget's other novel

My Husband's Sweethearts

Unfaithful husband Artie Shoreman is dying.

And, thanks to his wife, his love-life is about to
flash in front of his eyes …

Lucy Shoreman discovers in one fell swoop not only that her husband Artie has been cheating on her, but that his heart is failing and he's dying.

So in a drunken moment she takes his little black book, and dials up all his former lovers, asking them to schedule their turn caring for him on his death bed. After all, they were there for the good times, so why should she deal with the bad times on her own?

The last thing she expects is that any will actually show up. But one by one they do. The one who hates him. The one who owes her life to him. The one he turned into a lesbian, and the one he taught to dance.

And amongst them is one person with the strangest story of all …

Turn the page for a short extract …