Totlandia: Spring

Totlandia: The Onesies, Book 3 (Spring)

by
Josie Brown
Bought by Maraya21
kickass.to / 1337x.org / h33t.to / thepiratebay.se

Palo Alto | San Francisco

Wednesday, 2 January

4:55 p.m.

In clear defiance of Bettina Connaught Cross’s edict, Bettina’s sister-in-law, Lorna Connaught, rounded up her friends in the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club Onesies group to inform them that Kelly Bryant Overton had been dismissed, and therefore, their memberships in the club, and hers, were now guaranteed.

The relief on the faces of Jade Pierce, Ally Thornton, and Jillian Fredrick was all the proof she needed to know she’d done the right thing.

Her aching concern over a far bigger issue, her one-year-old son’s well-being, numbed her own joy. Dante had recently been diagnosed as autistic.

She’d held back this knowledge from her husband, Matthew, only to have him overhear her discussion on the matter with Dante’s doctor.

Stunned by the news, it had left him helpless.

Since then, she’d punished his inability to accept this new reality with her silence.

But now, it was time to go home and face the music. To come clean with him and to express her own sorrow and shame over her duplicity about Dante’s condition.

The expansive Tudor home Matthew had inherited from his paternal grandmother sat on the highest crest of Vallejo Street—east of Van Ness, on the block between Jones and Taylor, right where Vallejo plummets into Ina Coolbrith Park before emerging out the other side, in the neighborhood of North Beach.

Had the Summit—the residential high-rise, which was home to a few of San Francisco’s swells, including Matthew’s sister, Bettina, and her family, four-year-old daughter, Lily, and her husband, Art—not blocked them on the north side, their home’s panoramic vistas would have been a complete three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Instead, they made do with a slim peek-a-boo view of San Francisco Bay, albeit one that afforded them a straight-on shot of Alcatraz, Berkeley and Mount Diablo beyond.

Matthew, sitting by the living room’s large picture window, stared out at a cargo ship that was inching its way through the sailboats dotting the bay. When Lorna entered, he didn’t move. She stood there motionless, resolved not to say anything until he turned around on his own. Their mutual silence transformed the room into an echo chamber for Dante’s insistent humming, making it sound much louder than it really was. They’d always assumed his drone was the start of infant babble they’d heard from other children his age. How they longed to hear those sounds from Dante. Now they knew better. Maybe someday he’d talk, but no time soon.

Finally, Matt turned his swivel chair in order to look at her.

Lorna stared at his face. “You’ve been crying,” she said. It wasn’t a question but a declaration.

“Okay, yeah. I’m upset! What did you expect? I just found out—from a doctor I’d never met, at a damn
New Year’s Eve party
, no less!—that my wife’s been hiding the fact our son is autistic!”

“Matthew, please! I’ve only known for a couple of weeks. And I was going to tell you the next day, in fact! I just…I just didn’t want to ruin the holiday.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “To hell with ‘the holiday!’ What about the rest of our lives?”

“Believe me, Matt. It’s a blow to me, too. But we both have to be strong, if not for our own sakes, then for Dante’s.”

Instinctively, both of them looked over at their little boy. By now they’d become used to his unfathomable gaze. Now, knowing that his face might never express laughter or tenderness, or for that matter, pain, their hearts ached that much more.

“Lorna, answer me truthfully. Why is it that you’ve never introduced me to your family?”

“I…I guess I figured you’d find them too unorthodox. And heaven knows Eleanor and Bettina would find something to hate about them.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. All my life I’ve been on the receiving end of their disapproval.”

“They both adore you, Matt. You know that.”

“Is that what you think? Admit it, Lorna. I’ve never lived up to their expectations. Then again, I’ve never lived up to yours, either.”

She knew she should say something, that he wanted her to protest, to prove him wrong.

Instead, she said nothing. If she denied it, she’d be lying. They both knew that.

Finally, he shrugged. “And yet knowing all my faults, you married me anyway.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Is that what you think? That my goal was to marry a rich slacker, have a child with him, then pawn any genetic issues he may have, God forbid, as yours?”

“In your opinion, I’m just ‘a rich slacker?’” His smile was thin and cold. “I’m glad you’ve finally come out and said it.”

“Okay, yes, I admit it. I don’t think you’re living up to your potential. Heaven knows you’ve got all the brains and money and connections to do so.” She wiped away a tear. “Still, that’s no reason to blame me for Dante’s autism.”

“Lorna, try to hear me out. All I’m trying to say is that I”—he paused, as if considering the best way to put it—
“I thought you had leveled with me, too.
I thought since you were—you know, ‘perfect,’ it could make up for all my bullshit. I could hold my head up high, because you’d be there for me, to set things straight. Hell, even Eleanor has come to realize you’re damn close to perfect. At least, as close as anyone who would’ve married me can be. I guess we were both wrong. No one is perfect.” He looked down at his feet. “I know you never talk about your family because there’s some pain there. It’s why I’ve never pushed you on the topic. But now, I need you to be honest with me. Is there anything I need to know about them?”

She shook her head angrily. “What exactly is that supposed to mean? Are you insinuating that I’ve been hiding some deep, dark family secret?”

“Don’t twist this around on me. All I’m trying to do is to make sense out of this. All I’m asking is if—well, if you have a family history of this kind of thing. I looked it up, and there is some genetic correlation.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute! I’m guessing there are as many broken branches on your family tree as there are on mine.” She poked him in the chest. “Look, Matt, if you want to spread the blame, start by holding up a mirror. How about all that pot you smoked in high school and college? And what about all the times you refused to hold Dante when he was an infant? Don’t you think that could have a negative effect on his development?”

“That’s my point!
I never said I was perfect
. But at least I’ve been honest about it.”

“I am
so
out of here!” She started for the front door.

“
What?
Wait! You don’t get it!”

But yes, she understood perfectly. He wanted her to fess up. About her parents. About her past.

She couldn’t do it. Not now. Not when anything she said or did could stain Dante, too.

She looked down at her son. No matter what his issues were, he was still the one love of her life. He was still her whole world.

At that moment, she knew what she had to do.

But she couldn’t do it with Dante in tow. She turned back to Matt and thrust Dante into his arms. “Take care of him until I get back.”

Before his shock thawed into concern for her and the doubt she knew he felt for himself showed, she ran out the door.

Thursday, 3 January

10:13 a.m.

There comes a time when every woman must face one simple fact:
she is not happy with the life she has created for herself.

For Bettina Connaught-Cross, this realization came to her during the first of her three dry cleaning errands.

In San Francisco’s Pacific Heights, dry cleanliness was next to Godliness. The fourteen laundering establishments, located just down the hill within Cow Hollow’s thirteen-by-four-square blocks, made the adjoining neighborhood a Mecca for those who, like Bettina, obsessed over the meekest shadow of a stain, be it on a couture frock or her reputation.

Bettina’s first stop was the Peninou French Laundry and Cleaners, where her silk blouses were waiting for her. She was just about to hand the cashier her claim ticket when the little voice in her head first whispered, “It’s okay for you to cry.”

Bettina’s hand froze.

The woman waited patiently for a moment or two. Then, very gently, she pried the ticket from Bettina’s freshly manicured fingers.

Bettina pretended to be miffed and accused the woman of smearing her nail polish, but in truth, she was embarrassed to have someone witness her despair. She grabbed her blouses (on hangers and secured in couture breathable bags) and stormed out the door.

She had almost reached the threshold of Deluxe Cleaners just one block over, where three of Art’s suits were waiting for pickup when the voice added, “And with all you do for him, how could he have done
that
to you? And with
her
of all people!”

Bettina knew the
he
and
her
the voice inside her referred to. Just seventy-two hours ago, as the clock was striking midnight on New Year’s Eve, she had walked in on Art screwing her supposedly oldest and dearest friend, Kelly Bryant Overton.

During the Connaughts’ annual New Year’s Eve party, of all times and places.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. While in the throes of some grotesque act of sexual debauchery, Art declared his hate—not anger or even disappointment, but
out-and-out loathing
—for his wife.

Bettina fled before either of them realized she was in the room.

To top it off, Bettina knew she wasn’t the only one who had walked in on her husband
in flagrantedelicto
. Lorna Connaught, her sister-in-law, whom she despised, had run out of the adjoining bathroom just prior to Bettina walking in.

The next day, Bettina had said nothing to Art. Ironically, he’d been blissfully unaware of her silence.

Was he also completely oblivious to her pain?
Perhaps her recent Botox injection, which helped to keep her brow placidly wrinkle-free, made it impossible for him to notice her shock and awe at his betrayal. And no doubt he presumed her stoic demeanor was proof of her post-party contentment.

It was all she could do to keep from punching him square in the gut so that he’d truly feel her pain.

The past two days had passed in a fog. But this morning, as the founder and leader of the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club, she had to smile through her anguish while she led the club’s “T☺p M☺ms Applicati☺n C☺mmittee” in a vote to eliminate one of the five probationary members in the club’s most junior families, those in the Onesies.

Both Lorna and Kelly were in this group.

Needless to say, Kelly had been duly ousted.

The official reason (Bettina would have been horrified to tell the committee members anything approaching the truth) was that Kelly had cheated by getting professional help with her probationary challenge—hosting the club’s after-Thanksgiving potluck.

At their ladies’ lunch yesterday, Bettina had enjoyed informing Kelly she knew about her and Art, and that she was now exiled from the club. Bettina’s goal was to crush Kelly like a bug under her Louboutin bootie, dissolving Kelly to tears.