The Wednesday Group (8 page)

“No, of course not. Meet my wife.” Jonah gestures. “The Honorable Judge Larson.”

Gail smiles politely, wondering if he's compensating for her not being thin and pretty. Camille begins to sort papers on Jonah's desk.

He rubs his hands together. “Well,” he says to Gail, “it was nice you came by.”

She doesn't make a move to get up. There's the beautiful picnic lunch she made for them, almost untouched. A pair of Tiffany earrings on her lap, and a young woman wearing cowboy boots, who seems much more at home in this office than Gail ever has.

“Camille,” Gail says. “I brought some éclairs. Would you like one?”

She stops sorting for a moment and looks at Gail. “No, thank you, Judge Larson, but thanks so much for offering.”

“We really have work to get through,” Jonah says.

“I suppose I should have phoned first.” Her tone is acerbic. She stands.

Jonah cradles her elbow. “No, of course you shouldn't have. You're always welcome here. It was a magnificent surprise. I wish I didn't have so much to do.” He kisses her on the lips, right in front of Camille. He knows just what to do when her insecurities get in the way.

“So, I'll see you this evening?” she asks.

“I'll be home at the usual time. We can go out and celebrate.”

“Nice meeting you,” she tells Camille on her way out.

Jonah carries the basket as he walks her to the elevator.

He presses the button. “I wish I had more time.”

“It's all right,” she tells him.

“Just this morning I received an invitation to dine at the Harvard Club. It's in a few weeks. I know it's only some stuffy professors, but I would like it if you came.”

The elevator door opens. He holds it for her.

For a second she wonders if he's asking her out of guilt. If he's trying to make up for having Camille in his office. Then she tells herself to stop doubting. They are past that. They are a couple, partners, with a long, healthy relationship ahead of them.

“I would love to join you.” She brushes her fingers along his cheek. He reaches for her hand, then skims it with his lips, kissing her as if she's royalty.

On the way out of the building, she passes a vending machine. She stops, puts the basket on the floor, and buys a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips.

 

Hannah

When Bridget called last week, it wasn't a surprise, at least on a rational level, to hear that her husband had been keeping more secrets. But each time Hannah thinks about the late phone call last Wednesday night, she feels as if she's just been punched. Bridget could barely talk. It took forty minutes for her to explain, in stops and starts and gasping breaths.

Hannah will help Bridget get her feet on the ground before she extricates herself from the group.

Seeing as she'll be out in the evening, Hannah has decided to make sure the kids get her full attention this afternoon. They should not have to suffer because of the trouble she and Adam are going through.

For two consecutive days the temperature has finally climbed up and hit sixty. The result—soggy lawns, wet sidewalks, and Sam soaked, proud to announce he has jumped in every puddle. Hannah finds him dry clothes as Alicia hurries to her room.

“Alicia,” Hannah calls. “Come to the kitchen for a snack.”

No reply. Hannah goes to her daughter's room and opens the door. There is a lump under the purple polka-dot quilt. She walks to the bed, sits, and puts a hand on the cover.

“Are you feeling sick?” she asks.

Alicia kicks her legs. “Get out.”

“Don't speak to me that way.” Hannah is sharp.

“It's not like you care.” Alicia stays under the quilt and turns so that she's facing the lavender wall.

“Of course I care. Tell me what's wrong.”

“You'll just yell at me. That's all you do. You're a big, fat yeller.”

It's true, she's been short-tempered lately about their rooms not being tidied, about homework not being finished before the TV goes on, about hair and teeth not being brushed.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell. Can you just poke out that pretty face of yours and tell me what happened?”

“I'm never going back to school again.”

“Did you get into trouble?”

Another leg kick, but with less force, a sign of defeat.

Hannah pulls down the covers. Alicia claps her hands over her face.

“It can't be that bad,” Hannah says.

Alicia keeps her hands over her eyes. “I don't want to talk to you.”

“Sometimes when we feel embarrassed about something, the best thing we can do is talk. I promise you'll feel better when you get it out.” She leans in and kisses the top of Alicia's head.

“It was Tori's idea. She said if I didn't do it, she'd tell everyone I copied her spelling test.”

“You need to tell me what it was you did.”

“We put on makeup.”

Hannah tugs Alicia's hands from her face. Glittery blue eyeshadow is smeared over her eyelids. “Whoa.” Hannah laughs.

“I hate you,” Alicia says.

“Honey, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I guess I'm relieved. I thought it was something worse.”

“It wasn't the makeup we got in trouble for,” Alicia mutters.

Hannah feels a twinge in her chest. “What was it, then?”

“I didn't want to do it. I told Tori we shouldn't.”

“Shouldn't what?”

“I'm only telling Dad.”

“No. You will tell your father when he gets home, but now you are going to tell me.”

“Fine.” She pouts. “I said that Peter was gay.”

“Why would you do that?” The twinge deepens to an ache.

“Tori made me.”

“Stop saying that someone else made you. If you said something like that to Peter, you need to own up to it. What anyone else said or told you to do doesn't matter.”

“Peter likes boys.”

“He is allowed to like whomever he wants to without you saying anything. How would you like it if someone called you a name?”

Alicia glares. The blue shadow shimmers. “You think you're so perfect.”

“We're going over to Peter's house as soon as you wash off that makeup, and you will apologize.”

“You make everything worse. I knew you would. It's not better to say something.”

Hannah stands. “Get out of bed and wash your face. I'm calling Peter's mother.”

Alicia stomps out of the room. Sam is in the doorway, tears in his brown eyes. Hannah scoops him into her arms and kisses him.

“What's the matter?” she asks.

“No one is nice anymore.”

“Hey, little man.” She tugs at his nose. “How about after we stop at Peter's house, I take you to the bookstore?”

He dives his head into her shoulder for a hug.

At five-thirty, they return from the bookstore. Alicia had begrudgingly told Peter she was sorry and that she didn't mean to hurt his feelings. She managed to slip in that Tori did it too, which made Hannah furious. A terse lecture on accountability followed. Of all the frightening, awful things Hannah has imagined happening to her children, she never thought that one of them would be a bully, especially Alicia, who has always been so sensitive.

It's nearly six, and Hannah is in her bedroom, getting ready for group. She picks out a gray cashmere turtleneck, then puts in a pair of gold hoops. With everything that happened today, there is no way she'd be going to group if she hadn't promised Bridget.

Gabby, their babysitter, is due any minute. The one good thing about tonight is that Hannah will not have to see Adam. By the time she gets home, probably nineish, maybe later if Bridget needs her, he will be in the guest room. The rules are simple but firm. In the morning Hannah takes care of the children. After they leave, she goes to her studio. Adam cleans the kitchen, showers, and heads to work. They do not see each other. In the evening, after they eat politely as a family, they split homework chores and story-reading duties. By nine, he is in the guest room, and she is in what used to be their bedroom. The only time they spend alone is during the car ride to couples' therapy. Hannah has debated taking her own car, but their therapist is on Newbury Street, and it's difficult enough to find one parking spot, let alone two.

Her phone, which sits on her long mahogany dresser, vibrates. It's too early for Adam to be texting. She hurries across the room, guessing it's Bridget.

Am almost home. Don't worry about getting a sitter. A

Goddammit. She's already made the plans. What does he not understand about needing to stick to the schedule? She types furiously.

Gabby is on her way. You weren't supposed to be here until seven.

She wants to tell him not to come home until then, but the thought that he'll have over an hour of free time frightens her. She presses send.

I'll still pay Gabby.

That's not the point.

Wanted to spend time with kids. Knew you had group.

She whips the phone onto the bed.

“Mumma,” Sam shouts as he races into her room. “Gabby is here.”

Gabby is in the kitchen, handing Alicia a headband. Sam bounces as he waits for his surprise. It's a kid's place mat from a restaurant. His eyes light up.

“Adam is coming home earlier than expected,” Hannah says.

“Can Gabby still stay?” Alicia asks.

“She can. But she certainly doesn't have to. Either way, we'll pay you.”

“It's fine, Mrs. Jenkins. I can't take money for not working. Really.”

Hannah takes a twenty from her wallet anyway just as Adam walks in through the back door.

“Dad, we want Gabby,” Sam says.

Adam's laugh is gentle, and as he stands smiling at his son, Hannah feels a familiar draw. After everything that's happened, he's still the man she's attracted to.

“I'll come again soon.” Gabby zips up her blue parka.

“Can I watch TV?” Alicia asks Adam.

“It's up to your mother,” he tells her.

“No. Not tonight. You need to wait in your room and then tell your father what happened.”

With red cheeks, Alicia runs off to her room and slams the door.

Gabby lets herself out. Sam scampers off to the den, and Hannah is left in the kitchen, holding a twenty-dollar bill.

“What happened?” Adam asks.

“She'll tell you.”

“Was it so bad that you had to embarrass her that way in front of Gabby?”

“Yes, actually, I think it was that bad. But it's better Alicia tell you. And I also don't appreciate your changing the schedule.” She grabs her purse from the counter and a scarf from the rack next to the back door.

“Have fun,” he tells her.

Really? Have fun?

She glances over her shoulder at him. “Go fuck yourself,” she says, and walks out.

 

SESSION TWO

Kathryn's door is open. Hannah pokes her head in and sees that once again she is the first to arrive.

“Hannah.” Kathryn swivels around and stands. “I'm so pleased you decided to return.”

Hannah sits on the same hard wooden chair and looks through her purse for her phone. Damn. She left it at home on the kitchen counter.

A few minutes later, Lizzy walks in. She takes her corner of the couch and pins up a loose curl.

“I'm so glad you're here,” she says to Hannah. Her smile is honest.

“Thanks.” Hannah glances away, feeling guilty that this is going to be her last group and that she only came for Bridget.

Flavia, wearing a scoop-neck sweater that complements her long neck, strolls past and also sits on the couch, same as last week. Kathryn folds her hands on her lap.

Lizzy smiles broadly, warmly, and Hannah wonders again why men married to these women would ever jeopardize their relationships. She reminds herself that, as in her case, the addictions have nothing to do with the women. But still.

Kathryn glances at a small oval alarm clock with bold black numbers. “It's just about seven. I haven't heard from either Bridget or Gail, so I assume they're coming. I thought perhaps you could each take a moment to think about what you want to get from this group.”

Hannah tugs at the sleeves on her sweater. Last week she came here hoping the group would magically enable her to start living again. Now all she wants is for Bridget to show up so she can somehow make her see that coming here will be beneficial. She recognizes the hypocrisy of her goal, but it's the best she can do.

“I would like to find out what it is I really want. Do I want to stay with Dema?” Flavia holds out her hands as if they are the scales of justice.

“We can—” Kathryn starts to say as the door opens.

Hannah is ready to jump up and greet Bridget. But it is Gail who stands, out of breath, on the threshold.

“Gail.” Kathryn beams. “We're so happy to see you.”

She fans herself. “Am I late?”

“We were just getting started.” Kathryn gestures to the chair Gail had taken last Wednesday. It is obvious, at least to Hannah, that Kathryn is pleased her group is living to see another week.

Gail places a hand, with long, manicured nails, on her chest.

Kathryn taps a pencil on her knee. “We were just talking about what people hope to get from the group, but before we continue, I'd like to quickly review the norms. It's essential that we all understand that everything said in here is done so in confidence. Please be mindful of allowing others to speak and, if possible, refrain from giving advice.”

Gail clears her throat. “Are we expecting Bridget tonight?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Kathryn answers.

“I think that punctuality should be a norm. Personally, I find it difficult when people come late to meetings and topics need to be repeated.”