Читать книгу A Stranger on the Beach - Michele Campbell, Michele Campbell - Страница 17

Heading for the house was the longest walk of my life. I was thinking, This can’t be happening. We’re not those people. We’re teammates, best friends. We’re inseparable. But then I thought, We’re not inseparable. We used to be, but not anymore. This had been a long time coming, actually. Hannah was a preemie, high-strung, not popular in school. I sweated parenting her. Maybe—I’ll be honest—maybe I loved her more than I loved my husband. Anyway, she sucked up all the attention. My life revolved around her. Volunteering at her school. Homework and dance lessons and her social life. Her clothes and her hairstyles and whether she’d go to summer camp. Her college applications. On top of that, yes—the house, the apartment, my Pilates class, my nutty sister who had plenty of drama of her own. None of it was about him. Maybe he felt slighted, or ignored, and so he did what men do. He looked elsewhere.

But then I thought, Hell no. This isn’t my fault. I don’t deserve this. I made that man. Jason was nobody when he met me. Meeting him now, you’d think he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the way he dresses and talks and carries himself. Well, I’ve got news for you—that was all me. That was Caroline, telling Jason what to do, and how to behave, over a period of twenty years. It was hard work, too. When I met him, he was working two jobs, scraping by, struggling to pay for school. He had those dark, chiseled good looks, and he was smart. I saw the potential. But he was rough around the edges. I was the one with the drive, the vision, and, yes, the cold hard cash. I put Jason through business school, or he never would be the tycoon he is today. I used the money Dad left me to do it, blood money, that I lost siblings over. Everything Jason Stark has, every penny, is because of my sacrifice. And yet, he goes and cheats, right when our daughter left, when I’m so alone.

That bastard.

That’s how I was feeling as I walked back to the house. I was furious. I admit that.

Inside, I looked around the living room, but there was no sign of him. It was late, and the crowd was starting to thin out. I walked up to my friend Stacey Allen, whose daughter Grace went to high school with my Hannah, and whose lawyer husband, Josh, represents Jason’s firm. And I didn’t have to say a word. Stacey already knew. She knew who I was looking for, and she pointed at the door.

“He went outside a few minutes ago, with a woman. Caroline, what the hell’s going on?”

Stacey has one of those very expressive faces—wide-eyed, with big features—and it brimmed with pity for me, mixed with excitement, and a subtle touch of schadenfreude. People thought I had such a perfect life. To have something like this befall me would naturally be titillating, and Stacey could spread gossip like wildfire. By tomorrow morning, my entire social circle would know about Jason’s affair, whether I’d invited them to the party or not. As the realization sunk in, my head literally went hot, as if steam was coming out of it, like in the cartoons. I’ll kill that asshole, I thought. Stacey’s eyebrows shot up into her carefully trimmed bangs, and I realized I’d said that out loud. Well, screw her and her ladylike shock. I have the Logan temper. We say things.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Who is she? Do we know her?” I asked, because that was the biggest thing on my mind at that moment. Was Jason doing it with somebody I knew? That would make it so much worse.

Stacey shook her head. “I doubt you’d know her, and you definitely didn’t invite her. She crashed.”

“How could you tell?”

“Jason showed up first, alone. I tried to say hi, but he was on his phone, and he looked distracted. Less than five minutes later, the front door flies open, and she comes in. Rushes in. Almost like she’d chased him here. He basically dragged her out the door to get her away from people, but it was too late. Everybody saw. They’re probably still out there, it’s only been a few minutes,” Stacey said, nodding toward the front door.

“Don’t tell anybody about this,” I said.

“Caroline, they already know.”

I turned and rushed out to the driveway. Jason was still there, talking to her. Her back was to me. The first thing I saw was, she had dark hair. It made no sense. Jason likes blondes, or at least he used to. Like me (though I get a little help with the color). But he had her by the arms, like she was trying to run away, and he wanted to stop her. The intimacy of it made me sick.

I marched right up to them. “What the hell is going on?”

They turned in unison, and Jason jumped away from the woman, like he’d been caught. Goddamn right he had, and with a tramp, by the looks of her. And the smell. The woman reeked of this cheap gardenia perfume. I nearly gagged on it. I started thinking, Maybe she’s a prostitute. This is who he’s cheating with? She wasn’t young, wasn’t beautiful. She had one of those faces that’s almost catlike from too much plastic surgery. I’m sorry, but she was a big step down from me.

Then she opened her mouth, and it got worse.

“Who is this?” she says to Jason, and she’s looking me up and down like I’m dirt. In my own house. But it came out like—who is zis? She was Russian, or maybe Czech. Flashy, hard-looking, heavy eyeliner, a tight leather skirt and fuck-me pumps. A younger, more beautiful woman, okay. Or a more educated, a smarter woman, a woman who was powerful in her own right? I’d get that. But to get betrayed for this, this whore? I was devastated.

“I’m his wife, who the hell are you?” I said.

My hands were twitching, I wanted to slap her so bad. But there were guests within earshot, just inside the door. And I wasn’t about to give them more to gossip about than they already had.

Instead of answering my question, she made this contemptuous little noise—the sound of air escaping between gritted teeth. Like I wasn’t worth her consideration. A car drove up, a brand-new cobalt-blue Audi coupe that looked like it cost real money. The valet stepped out and handed her the keys. She made another impatient sound at Jason and slid into the front seat.

“I go,” she said.

“Galina, wait,” Jason said.

“You need to decide,” she said. Then she pulled the door closed and took off with a spray of gravel.

My jaw was on the ground.

“Decide what? What is she talking about?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Bullshit. You bring another woman to my house, to my party, and let her talk to me that way, and refuse to explain?”

Jason turned to me like he hadn’t even noticed I was there till that minute. He was so caught up with this Galina woman that I didn’t even register. And he got this appalled expression on his face and started sputtering.

“Wait, no, it’s not what you’re thinking. We work together. There’s a problem, a work problem, and she followed me here to discuss it, that’s all.”

“I know the people at your firm. That woman doesn’t work there. They wouldn’t even let her through the door.” Which was one hundred percent true.

“I didn’t say she worked there.”

“Yes, you did. You just did. Stop lying.” I was about to burst into tears. I mean, people were watching.

“Caroline. You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I told you, she’s a business associate.”

“And I told you that I don’t believe you.”

“After twenty years of marriage, you need to give me the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

“I don’t have to do a goddamn thing.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. But I can’t fix that right now. I have a crisis situation on my hands. I need to go in to the city.”

“What?”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“If you leave this party to go after her, don’t bother coming back.”

I regret saying that. I certainly regret saying it in front of people. My threat didn’t work anyway. He went after her. And I’m thinking, Screw him, I’ll get the best divorce lawyer in New York and take everything. The beach house, the apartment, the cars, the jewelry. I’ll take custody of Hannah, or—since she’s too old for custody—I’ll make her hate him. Hate his guts. He’ll never see her on holidays. He won’t be invited to her wedding. No walking her down the aisle, I’ll do that. He gets shit. He can die alone and see how he likes it.

I thought all those things. Anybody would, if their husband brought another woman to their big party, and then left to run after her. But never once did I actually think, I’m gonna go buy a gun and shoot my husband dead. Okay, well, maybe I thought it. But I didn’t do it.

Swear to God.