PART ONE GILLIAN #2
I couldn’t exactly call Gram’s Connecticut farmhouse home, because I’d been raised in a rent-controlled New York apartment, which I had moved out of during college because I couldn’t bear to look at the bathtub where my mother had died.
But when the cab pulled onto the treelined driveway that led to Gram’s century-old white clapboard house, I was grateful to retreat to a place that felt familiar, where I felt safe.
It was a good spot to lie low for a while and avoid dealing with Malcolm.
Sitting forward slightly, I peered out the cab window at the thick carpet of leaves along the edge of the drive.
In contrast, the front lawn was beautifully groomed, raked recently by my father, no doubt.
He loved yard work, which had been part of the allure when he finally decided to sell our apartment and move here to care for Gram after she fell and broke her hip a few years back and needed help while she recovered.
She was fine now, but he’d decided to stay.
The taxi pulled to a halt at the door, and I paid the driver. Dad stepped onto the covered porch.
“Hi.” He descended the wooden steps to greet me as the taxi drove off. “It’s good to see you.”
Most fathers would hug their daughters in a moment such as this, but Dad and I weren’t like most fathers and daughters. There was a small emotional gully between us—which neither of us liked to acknowledge—so the first few seconds were always awkward.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, insisting on carrying my suitcase up the steps. I followed, gazing nostalgically at the weathered gray porch swing where Gram used to sit with me and play checkers.
I entered the house and smelled fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen.
Glancing into the living room, I spotted Grampa Jack’s faded green recliner, still in the same corner as always, and Gram’s wicker basket full of knitting supplies—balls of colored wool and two needles sticking out of a half-completed project draped over the basket handle.
Probably another small woolen hat for the children’s cancer ward at the hospital.
“Where’s Gram?” I asked, noticing how quiet it was.
“At the nursing home. It’s Saturday, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
Gram had been going to the nursing home every Saturday afternoon for the past twenty years to play piano for the residents—mostly show tunes from the 1930s and ’40s. I found it amusing whenever she told me how much she enjoyed playing for the “old people,” when she was over ninety herself.
I followed Dad into the kitchen.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “There’s some leftover chicken in the fridge, or I could make you a grilled cheese.” Food was always a good icebreaker for the two of us.
“I’m fine. I just had a salad on the train, but that coffee smells good.”
He poured me a cup and handed it to me. “So. Let’s start with you. What happened last night?”
“Oh God. It’s a nasty story.” I sat down at the table. “I’m embarrassed to even tell you about it.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway. As you are aware, last night was Malcolm’s fiftieth birthday party. At the Guggenheim.”
“Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, it’s probably best that you weren’t there because…” I paused and stared down at the coffee in my cup and wanted to sink through the floor. “Because I caught Malcolm with another woman.”
It was a tasteful way to describe what I’d seen—the man I wanted to marry with his pants down around his ankles, bouncing a naked blonde on his lap. In an empty screening room in the basement of the Guggenheim. While a party was going on.
Dad made a pained grimace. “Oh dear.”
“Yeah. She was a fashion model.” I sat back. “One of the ‘fresh new faces’ from the latest marketing campaign for his cosmetics company.”
That wasn’t the only company Malcolm owned.
He was CEO of several successful corporations, including an international gaming company, the Reid Theatre on Broadway, and a multinational investment firm.
He also owned a massive share of Manhattan real estate.
Add to that his charitable donations to dozens of worthy causes—including the non-profit organization where I worked—and he was a man who, in certain circles, was sometimes referred to as a god.
“When I saw them together,” I continued, “I just bolted. I ran straight out the door and flagged down a cab. Then I went home to our apartment, packed a suitcase, and walked out.”
Dad sat down across from me. “Have you talked to him about it? Did he have anything to say?”
“Oh yes. He followed me home and begged me not to leave, but I didn’t want to hear any pathetic excuses, so I took off and went to a hotel. He texted me this morning while I was on the train and apologized again, but I just can’t forgive him.”
My father regarded me intently. “What did you see, exactly? Was he flirting with her, or—”
“Oh no, it was way beyond flirting. I caught them…how shall I say it? In the act. Malcolm with his pants down, literally. You get it.”
“Ah.” My dad’s eyebrows lifted as he studied the coffee in his cup. “Not so forgivable, then.” He patted my hand from across the table without ever looking me in the eye.
What an uncomfortable conversation to be having with one’s straitlaced father. On top of that, we were never very good at expressing our emotions around each other, for reasons that had nothing to do with Malcolm. I wished Mom were still around.
“So here I am,” I said, exhaling heavily, “with no place to live until I figure out what to do.” I swirled my coffee and watched it settle.
“I’ll look for an apartment, but it’s going to be a tough transition from a Fifth Avenue penthouse to whatever I can afford on my salary.
But I’d rather live in a dump than go back to Malcolm. ”
“At least you have a steady job,” Dad reminded me. “You’re self-sufficient. And I hope it goes without saying that you can stay here as long as you need to.”
“Thanks, Dad. That’ll give me some breathing space until I can find something.”
The wind gusted outside the kitchen window.
“Do you have anything in the way of savings?” he carefully asked.
“I do. Quite a bit, actually, because Malcolm always covered our living expenses. I put some away with every paycheck. Maybe I saw this coming. I don’t know. I just thought I should have something socked away for a rainy day.”
“Good for you.”
My cell phone chimed, and I reached for it in the pocket of my jeans, then shook my head. “It’s him again. He’s not giving up.” I sat back and read his text.
Gill, I can’t stop thinking about you. Please respond and tell me when I can see you.
I need to apologize in person so that you can see how sorry I am.
What happened last night was messed up. It was the biggest mistake of my life.
Please believe me. I promise nothing like that’s ever happened before and I swear it’ll never happen again.
It makes me sick just to think about it.
I regretted it the second it started happening and I hate myself.
Please respond. Give me another chance. I love you and I can’t live without you.
I pushed my hair back from my forehead.
“What’s he saying?” Dad asked.
“He’s apologizing and begging for another chance, but I can’t do it. If it happened once, it’ll happen again, right?”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”
Continuing to ignore Malcolm’s message, I set my phone down on the table. “Did you and Mom ever cheat on each other?”
“Good Lord. Never.”
I gestured toward him with a hand. “Well, there you have it. Either you’re a cheater or you’re not.”
“Maybe.”
I inclined my head, curious. “You don’t sound so sure. Am I wrong?”
Dad shrugged. “Sometimes you think you know someone, but maybe it’s impossible to really know everything about a person, even someone you love. Maybe good people—the very best people—are just better at keeping secrets.”
I frowned at him. “What are you talking about, Dad? Is this what you were referring to on the phone?”
He turned his gaze toward the window over the sink and stared at the glass, as if transfixed. “I found something in the attic yesterday, and I don’t know what to make of it.”
“What was it?”
He finally looked at me. “I think you should take a look at it yourself, and then…” He couldn’t seem to finish the thought.
“And then what, Dad?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just go up there before I have to pick Gram up at the nursing home. She finishes at three.” He checked his watch. “We have about an hour.”
“Okay.” More than a little curious, I drank the last of my coffee and stood up from the table.