Out With The Old, In With The New

“Ohhhhhhhh! Don’t forget, okay?”

“All right, sweetie. Can you put Daddy on the phone for a minute?”

“No.”

No? My heart kicks against my breastbone, and I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. “Why not?”

“He’s sleeping.”

What? In all the time I’ve known this man, he’s never napped. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

“I think so.”

A bad feeling creeps into my veins. Caitlin isn’t a baby, of course, but if he’s sick he should’ve called my mother to come help, rather than leaving her to fend for herself while he slept. I turn toward the window. It’s dark outside.

“How long has he been asleep?”

“I dunno.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, and I’m hungry.”

I stand up. It’s nearly bedtime. I knew this trip was a bad idea.

“Take the phone into him and tell him Mommy wants to talk to him.”

Rainey and Alex have stopped their shopping show-and-tell and are staring at me.

“He’ll get mad. Just like you’re mad.”

I take a deep breath and soften my tone. “I’m not mad, honey. I’m concerned about Daddy. And you. I’m sorry if I sounded angry.”

I walk into the living room, away from my audience. “Honey, put him on the phone, and then I’ll talk to you again before I hang up. Okay?”

A few moments later, a groggy voice croaks, “Yeah? Doctor Hennessey.”

“Corbin, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

He grunts. I picture him sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and running his hand over his eyes and through his hair in one motion. “Oh, Kate. It’s you.” His voice is breathy. “I thought it was the hospital. Oh God… I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I just…passed out.”

Passed out? I quell the mother tiger urge to tear into him. You don’t pass out when you’re taking care of a child. Staring at the maroon-velvet-striped wallpaper, I silently count to ten and give him the benefit of the doubt. “Are you sick?”

“No. I was…tired.” His voice tightens on the last word. “I’m entitled to take a nap every once in a while.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. But it’s seven-thirty, and your daughter hasn’t even eaten dinner. When you’re caring for a six-year-old, entitlement gets put on hold for the weekend.”

He snorts.

The urge to ask if I need to come home wraps around me like a scratchy wool blanket begging me to throw it off my shoulders and onto the table. But I draw it tightly around me and endure the itch.

“It’s only two days. Come on, you can handle it.”

The long, drawn-out silence underscores every mile that stretches between us, until I can’t stand it anymore.

“Corbin, she’s only six. If you have to check out, or pass out or whatever you did, take her to my mother’s house so someone’s looking after her, okay?”

“Oh, for God’s sake—” He draws in a heavy breath. Lets it out. “You’re right. You’re always right, Kate. I’d better get in there and start cooking. Have fun shopping. Goodbye.”

“Don’t forget the—” click “—lasagna in the refrigerator.”

I look at my phone. Call ended.

He hung up on me.

Oh! Irritation simmers in the pit of my stomach, threatening to rage into a full boil. I squeeze the phone until my knuckles turn white and stare at it as if it will channel all my anger back to my husband and reach out and slap him. What is his problem?

A vision of my daughter’s face pops into my mind. We didn’t even get to say good-night. I start to call home again—

“Everything all right?” Alex asks.

I jump and turn toward her in one quick, jerky motion, and snap the phone closed. Alex is standing in the middle of the living-room floor, hands on her hips. From the concerned look on her face, I’m certain she heard every word of my conversation. Through the bedroom doorway, I see Rainey seated at the dressing table, touching up her makeup, watching me in the mirror.

Heat floods my cheeks. I feel like an idiot.

“Everything’s fine.” I grab my purse off the coffee table and shove the phone inside. “We’d better go or we’ll miss our reservation.”

Out in the hall the air is cool and carries that old, upscale hotel smell of brass polish and carpet shampoo. Our suite is at the end of the corridor. Three doors down a fortyish man and twenty-something brunette step into the hallway. They don’t see me. Or maybe they do, but they don’t care. He closes the door, draws her to him in a feverish kiss. I watch them shamelessly. His hands skim her slim body, wind their way around to her derriere where they linger, kneading and pulling her into him for the duration of the kiss.

They laugh, kiss again, coo at each other, and finally walk away, arms entwined, past the other rooms that stretch down the passage like twin rows of soldiers standing at attention, guarding tawdry secrets. Shiny knobs and numbered plates glint in the dim light, but betray nothing of the lovers who grace these halls.

A voice deep inside me prods and pokes me in vulnerable places. “You know what’s going on, Kate. You know. Now you have to decide if you’re going to turn the other cheek or start opening some doors.”

We get back to the hotel before midnight. I’m remarkably relaxed. Equalized, you might say. Amazing the miracles worked by good friends, a delicious meal and more than a few glasses of Chardonnay.

Ahh… Medicine to soothe the weary soul.

I fall onto the overstuffed, floral sofa, let my head loll back into the cushion and close my eyes for a minute.

“This is exactly what I needed,” Rainey says as she toes out of her sandals. “It’s good for us to get away. It makes our men miss us. And appreciate us.”

I nod and look at Alex. I see two of her and blink until the images meld into one. My head is spinning. I put my hand on my forehead to make it stop.

I never drink this much. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. It was either anesthe…a—nes—the—tize—phewwww, say that after several glasses of wine. Anyhow, it was either numb myself or cry in my soup and ruin everyone’s dinner. That wouldn’t have been very nice. Especially given that the girls didn’t even ask about my phone call. Wise women. I like that about them. Good friends. They have a sixth sense that tells them when to prod and when to leave it alone.

Instead, we talk about tomorrow’s plans—more shopping, the beach, a massage. Then Rainey goes off on her usual hour-long tirade about how her husband pays no attention to her, which I suspect may have been meant as a segue for me to jump in and talk about my phone spat with Corbin, but I don’t cross the threshold. Uh-uh. Not going there. In fact, that little voice that keeps nagging me saying—“You know what he’s doing, Kate. You know.”—I tell it to shut up.

And then Alex gives Rainey her standard logic against Rainey’s staying with a man who won’t make love to her. “Did you get married to become a nun?” She asked her that.

It’s kinda funny if you think about it.

Well, naaaa, really it’s not. It kinda sucks, actually. At least Corbin and I still do it. Well, we used to. It’s been a while. But I don’t want to talk about it. So anyway, after Alex goes off, Rainey starts with her defense of the ups and downs of holy matrimony.

All this in the span of two bottles of wine. I couldn’t get a word in if I wanted to. All I do is sit, sip and go along for the ride.

Now, we’re back at the hotel, and they’re all talked out. It’s a good thing, because my head hurts.

Alex stands up and stretches. “It’s way past my bedtime. I’m calling it a night.”

“I’m not far behind you,” says Rainey. “Who wants the bathroom first?”

The two disappear into the bedroom to sort it out. Inertia takes hold of me, and tugs me into a prone position on the couch. Maybe closing my eyes will make the dizziness go away.

Yeahhhhh…that’s better… Except that all I can see in my mind’s eye is the long double row of doors outside in the hotel hallway and that damned kissing couple a few rooms down. And this time when the man draws back from the embrace, it’s…Corbin who’s grinding himself into the brunette.

I sit up too fast, which causes my already pounding head to split. I swallow against a wave of nausea.

My purse is on the coffee table, and I fish out my cell phone, letting my PDA, lipsticks and receipts fall where they may.

Dialing my home number, I pay no attention to the little voice that warns me that it’s after midnight. Shut up! Weren’t you just saying, “You know. You know.” Well, I’ve had enough of you. Shut up.

The line rings twice before a young woman answers.

“Hennessey residence.”

I’m jolted sober. A coppery taste fills my already dry mouth and bile burns the back of my throat.

“This is Kate Hennessey. May I speak to Corbin, please?”

My words are short and enunciated. Much too polite for this woman who’s in my house, answering my phone. I should call her a home-wrecking bitch-slut. Because that’s what she is—

“Hi, Mrs. Hennessey. This is Jenny Long. Dr. Hennessey had an emergency at the hospital and called me about an hour ago to come in and stay with Caitlin.”

“Oh.”

My hand flies to my mouth in an automatic reflex. This young woman, whom I nearly called a home-wrecking bitch-slut, is, in fact, the college girl we call when we need an overnight sitter and my mother’s not available. Why did Corbin call her and not my mother? What about Dave and Mac? One of the moron twins was supposed to be on call this weekend. Why is Corbin at the hospital instead of them?

Ask your husband what he’s been doing all those nights he claimed to be at the hospital.

A scream blooms low in my belly and expands, threatening to overpower me. Somehow I manage to ask in a civilized tone, “Hi, Jenny, when did Corbin say he’d be home?”

“He wasn’t sure. He said he might be late—or early, depending on how you look at it. He said if he wasn’t home by the time Caitlin woke up, I should feed her.”

I can’t breathe and the walls start to close in on me.

Not only is the room spinning, but now the floor is dropping out from under me. “Thanks, Jenny.” I don’t know where my voice comes from, but it catches me like a safety net, and I’m grateful for it.

“Sure, Mrs. Hennessey. If it’s urgent, you can always page him or phone him at the hospital.”

“Yes, thanks, I’ll do that.”

I hang up the phone, sick with dread, knowing what I have to do. The longer I put off the call, the harder it’ll be to place. I’m not going to call his cell phone because if he’s not where he’s supposed to be, he’ll know he’s caught. But if I call the hospital and he’s there, I can tell him I felt bad about the way we left things when we spoke earlier, tell him I love him and want to end the night on a better note.

Yes, that’s it.

I pull up the numbers stored in my phone and page through the list until I come to Winter Park Hospital. I hit the automatic dial key. My heart pounds so hard I feel faint.

The automated attendant picks up, and I press O. “Operator, how may I direct your call?”

I can barely speak, but I manage. “This is Kate Hennessey, Dr. Hennessey’s wife. Would you page him, please?”

I suck in a breath.

“Sure. Hold please.”

A moment later she comes back on the line. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hennessey, Dr. Hennessey isn’t here this evening.”

Her words are a white-hot jolt, an arrow shot straight through the bull’s-eye of my heart, confirming every inkling of doubt I’ve had for the past three weeks.

Ask your husband what he’s been doing all those nights he claimed to be at the hospital.

No!

Believe him or leave him.

“I believe he was called in on an emergency. Could you check one more time, please? It’s urgent.”

I’m shaking. Not a little quiver, but huge quaking shudders racking my entire body. I hold on the line, feeling small and sure that the operator knows how pathetically insecure I am. Yet, I have the mental clarity to wonder what I’m going to say to him if somehow, miraculously, Corbin’s voice comes on the line.

But deep down I know my husband’s not at the hospital. I have no idea where he is or who he’s with.

“Mrs. Hennessey, I spoke with the charge nurse and she says Dr. Hennessey hasn’t been in all evening. Have you tried paging him?”

No. I don’t want to talk to him. I want to know if he’s where he told the sitter he’d be. “That’s a great idea.”

“May I take a message in case he comes in?”

I’m slipping, melting from the inside out.

“No, thank you. I’m out of town. I must have misunderstood his schedule for this evening.”

“Well then, have a good night.”

CHAPTER 4

Picture Thelma and Louise chauffeured by Lorena Bobbitt. That’s what we look like as we drive back to Orlando from Palm Beach.

We check out of the Breakers at two o’clock in the morning after Rainey and Alex discover me collapsed in an inconsolable, sobbing heap.

I don’t want Rainey and Alex to leave because of me, and I’m perfectly prepared to rent a car and drive myself. They won’t have any part of staying.

“Whether we come with you or not, the weekend is ruined,” says Alex.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, Kate.” She takes me by the shoulders and forces me to look at her. “I know I speak for Rainey, too, when I say we can’t stay here and let you go home to this situation alone. You’re in no condition to drive. Besides, we want to be with you when you catch the bastard with his pants down.”

I dissolve all over again.

Rainey murmurs, “Shut up. You’re making it worse.” She sits down next to me on the couch and hugs me. “It’s going to be okay, Kate. You’re a strong lady. You’ll be fine. Until you can stand on your own, we’re here for you.”

I try to sit up and realize snot is stringing from my nose. I try to wipe it away with the back of my hand. Alex hands me a tissue.

“God, I’m ruining everything—”

“You’re not,” says Alex. “We’ll reschedule for another time. Right now, we have more important matters to tend to.”

Rainey sits with me in the backseat and every so often she reaches out and squeezes my hand. The drive from Palm Beach is taking an eternity, as if I’m stuck in a surreal time warp. Rainey gave me a Valium before we left. I’m sure that’s why everything has a soft-focus, blunted feel. It would be good if we were stuck in a time warp. I wouldn’t have to face him.

Just when I’ve convinced myself this is a bad dream that will be over soon, Alex hisses something like, “That no-good, dirty, lying, son of a bitch,” and I’m jolted back to the here and now.

As Alex’s black Mercedes rolls over the endless black ribbon of Florida Turnpike, all I can think of is how Corbin lied to me.

To us.

To our family.

My forehead is pressed to the cool window. The car is eerily silent except for the rhythmic wrrrrrrrr of car wheels spinning over flat highway. Alex doesn’t turn on the radio. We all settle into a companionable silence. The headlights shining across the median hurt my eyes. I squint as another car speeds by. Thank goodness there’s not much traffic at this hour.

My eyes feel heavy, threaten to close. I’m so sleepy, but I don’t want to sleep, because if I do, the next time I open my eyes we’ll be back in Orlando. If I can only stay awake… It’s the Valium—and the wine and the hour—tempting me to drift…off.

“Where did you get the Valium?” I ask, not lifting my head from the window.

“I have a good doctor.”

This time I can’t distinguish if my silent tears fall because of the way the words good doctor stab at my heart, or because I’m thankful to have these women in my life.

A while later I startle awake to the sound of Rainey’s voice. “There could be a logical explanation.”

They think I’m asleep. I was asleep. Damn it, how long did I sleep? I shift my head ever so slightly until I can see Alex’s brown eyes looking at Rainey in the neon-green glow of the lighted rearview mirror.

My neck hurts, and I long to sit up and rub it, but I don’t move because if I do they’ll stop talking. I wait for one of them to say something, to reveal the logical explanation my life is depending on. There must be something obvious I’ve missed. Please, please enlighten me.

“Maybe he’s truly been called out on an emergency.”

Alex answers with dead silence. Her dark eyes look black as they alternately shift from the rearview mirror, to the road, back to the mirror. I get the creepy sensation that I’m stuck in a scene from a bizarre David Lynch movie. Especially when I hear Alex groan.

Or maybe it’s me.

Being on this side of the truth feels a lot different than I imagined before I dared let my mind venture into the what-ifs of the dark, lonely place inhabited by scorned wives. Speculating on Corbin’s infidelity was like standing atop a cliff overlooking a tumultuous ocean. Finding out is like falling headfirst and crashing into the waves and rocks below.

“Why doesn’t she just call his cell phone?” Rainey says.

“No. That’s the worst thing she could do. She was smart not to. If he’s not at the hospital and she calls him on the cell he’ll have time to concoct some cockamamie story to cover his ass. This way, she can get some answers.”

The unspoken words good answers or bad answers loom over me like henchmen.

Alex holds the steering wheel with her left hand and digs in her purse with the other until she pulls out her cell phone. She holds it up. “Rainey, take this and scroll through my phone numbers until you get Hal Washington.”

The Mercedes swerves a little. It shimmies as Alex returns to her lane.

“Hey, watch out. Both hands on the wheel.” Rainey takes the phone.

“That’s why I’m asking you to find the number and dial it for me.”

“Why are you calling this guy now? It’s three-thirty in the morning.”

“Believe me, Washington thrives at this hour.”

“What is he, a vampire?”

“Close. He’s a P.I. I’m going to get him to tail Corbin.”

Rainey leans forward and wraps her arms around the passenger headrest. “Shouldn’t you ask Kate if that’s what she wants before you hire a detective on her behalf? I mean, it’s a big deal. And it could be a little pricey.”

“Washington owes me a favor. Actually, several, but who’s counting? The sooner Kate knows for sure, the better.”

I sit up. The crick in my neck screams. “A P.I. could also prove whether Corbin was innocent. Right?”

There’s a beat of silence as Rainey’s head whips around and Alex’s eyes dart to find me in the rearview mirror. I’m not sure whether they’re surprised that I’m awake and listening to their scheming, or dumbfounded that I still harbor hope. I rub my neck waiting for them to answer me.

“I suppose,” says Alex. “Whatever he’s up to, Washington will find out. So yes, if Corbin’s taking a midnight flower-arranging class, Washington will let you know. Can I call him?”

The moment of truth. My stomach clenches. Do I really want to know? I’m not sure, but one thing I do know is I can’t go on not knowing. “Sure.”

Rainey lets go of the headrest and settles into the backseat. She punches in the phone number. “Here, it’s ringing.” She hands the phone to Alex.

I think Rainey and I are holding our breath in the silent seconds before Alex starts talking. I’m looking out the window again so I can’t see her. We roll past a series of lighted billboards advertising the virtues of Yeehaw Junction, the turnpike exit before Kissimmee. We’re twenty minutes or so outside of Orlando. My stomach accelerates from clenching to pitching as I realize the moment of truth is nearly staring me in the face.

What next? If I go home and he’s not there, I’ll have to explain to the babysitter why I’m back.

Oh God, she’ll know.

I can’t go to the hospital. It would be humiliating to walk in and ask if they know the whereabouts of my husband in the wee hours of a Saturday morning.

Alex holds the cell phone away from her. “Kate, can you meet with Hal at ten in the morning?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Ten it is. My office. See you then.”

I glance at my watch and realize that’s only a few hours from now.

Alex hangs up and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat. “What do you want to do when we get into Orlando?”

Go to Disney World? Shop the designer outlet malls? Catch my husband in bed with another woman? Oh, the endless possibilities. “I don’t know what I want to do. I just know what I can’t do. I can’t go home, and I can’t go to the hospital.”

Rainey pats my hand.

“But we need to see if Corbin’s at home,” says Alex. “Chances are—now bear with me, this is worst-case scenario, chances are if he’s gone off with someone, he’s not going to be back yet.”

“I don’t know,” says Rainey. “Don’t you think he’d try to sneak back in and get rid of the sitter before Caitlin wakes up? Because Caitlin will tell Mommy.”

“That’s a good point,” says Alex. “It should be interesting to see if he tells you he brought in the sitter. Would be a good way to see if he’s forthcoming with information. If he tells you up front, then maybe he’ll have a logical explanation to go along with it.”

I nod. A crazy mixture of hope and fear meld inside me.

“It’ll be a good gauge to see what you’re dealing with,” Rainey says.

Alex steers the car off the turnpike, pays the toll and merges onto Interstate Four. “Okay, let’s make a plan.”

The house sleeps dark and quiet. Just as it should in the five o’clock Saturday morning dusk. The only thing out of place is the red Honda Civic parked in the driveway behind my garaged Lexus.

Jenny’s car.

I love this house—its old-world Mediterranean charm, the overgrown live oak between us and the neighbor’s that shelters us like protective arms, the rolling lawn that stretches to the street like green carpet.

Before we bought it, Corbin made such a production of showing me the place. “Close your eyes,” he’d said before we turned onto Via Lugano. “Don’t peek…. Okay, now open them. I found your dream house, Mrs. Hennessey.”

“Stop and let me out,” I say.

Rainey grabs my arm as if she fears I might jump out before Alex comes to a complete stop. “You’re not going in there.”

I shake my head. “I want to see if his car’s in the garage.”

“What?”

“Why?” They say in unison.

“That’s the sitter’s car, right?” Alex says. “Honey, he’s not home.”

I nod. I don’t know why I want to check. I just have to see for myself that his car’s not there. “Maybe he’s home—”

“Is he sleeping with the babysitter?” Rainey narrows her eyes.

“Jenny?” The possibility jolts me. I hadn’t even considered it. “No. No way. I thought that maybe…” Both of them are staring at me, patently horrified, as if they’re afraid I’m going to do something to harm myself. “I don’t know. Maybe he just got home?”

“If that’s the case,” says Alex, “then we’d better get out of here fast, because Jenny, or whatever her name is, will walk out any minute and blow our cover.”

I fish in my purse for my keys. “Then pull down the street a little. I’m going to let myself in the side garage door and have a peek.”

I hop out of the car, take three steps and my foot lands on a small pebble in the street. I lose my balance and turn my ankle.

It dawns on me that I’m still wearing the little black dress and strappy sandals I wore to dinner last night. God, that seems like aeons ago. Why didn’t I change clothes before we left? Come to think of it, I hope Alex and Rainey got my suitcase, because I have no recollection of packing it or putting it in the car.

My ankle throbs, but I ignore it and glance up and down the street looking for any neighbors who might be lurking in the predawn darkness. The air smells of winter and has that cold, dewy quality that rains on Florida in the middle of the night instead of blanketing the ground with frost. I shiver.