Chapter Five
Four weeks later, I pulled into the parking lot at our country club, in no mood to spend time with my husband.
Wednesday was our long-standing date night, wherein we fulfilled our obligation as club members to meet a monthly spend quota in the dining room.
It also provided a grand opportunity for Robert to promote his family-man persona, publicly and to the desired crowd.
I checked the time as I crawled the lot in search of an available space. Robert hated tardiness, and I was sure to get a lecture on punctuality if a spot didn’t open soon. The wind picked up as I circled. Strings of white bistro bulbs bobbed on tree limbs along the pavement’s perimeter.
A storm was coming.
I really didn’t want to get caught in it.
The taillights of a Porsche illuminated before me, and I hit my signal to claim the space. Victory curved my lips as I parked only a few yards from the building’s front door.
I savored the small win before climbing out and hurrying into the clubhouse.
A group of men on their way out paused to let me pass. One held the door politely. Another offered an appreciative nod as I entered. On any other night, the small bit of attention might’ve buoyed me, but I was far too distracted tonight.
Mom was home from the hospital with round-the-clock care.
I’d hired a nurse to look after her, but she hadn’t spoken since the day she told me about my biological father.
I couldn’t help wondering if keeping that secret had been the only thing keeping her in motion.
When I’d told Robert about her hospitalization, he made it clear that I was to utilize her existing health care to its fullest, because we weren’t contributing any funds to the cause.
Unfortunately, her insurance didn’t cover the amount of care she needed. So, I’d paid with my hidden savings. I blamed Robert for that.
And for the fact I had to start over on my quest to save up enough to leave this miserable marriage.
In the dining room, the lights were slightly dimmed for the dinner crowd.
Neat rows of round tables, dressed elegantly in white linens, centered the floor.
The flames of votive candles flickered from the centerpieces, and soft classical music rose from a piano in the corner, a local pianist swaying with the tune.
A server led me over plush scarlet carpeting to our usual table. He clasped his hands behind his back while I sat. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”
“Just water for now,” I said. “I’m meeting Mr. Bianco.”
His gaze flickered over my shoulder, and he nodded. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
I opened a social media app on my phone when Robert didn’t appear, and I marveled at the wonderful things everyone had going on.
I tagged Camilla in a post for a female-only adventure cruise, encouraging her to get her girl-crew together and make youthful memories this summer.
She spent too much time with Jeff. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose her best friends.
Alicia had stubbornly stuck around after I’d made Robert the center of my world. Not everyone was as lucky as me.
Alicia had seen through Robert from the beginning.
She called him out on his need to be in the spotlight, on his inability to focus on my needs after his initial push to make me his girlfriend.
And he’d hated her in return for not being fooled.
She’d seen his mean side for exactly what it was, while I’d wholeheartedly believed he was just joking, or I was just overthinking things.
Even my mother had hated him, but she hated everyone, and especially anyone that made me happy.
A group of women walked by my table, chatting quietly among themselves, and something pink caught my eye.
A brunette I recognized from my flower-arranging classes passed a small business card to a redhead at her side, whispering in earnest. “I hear she’s cheap and incredibly talented.
Most importantly, she’s discreet. She was trained in Paris but left the country after a major scandal. ”
I twisted on my seat, rubbernecking and openly gawking at their backs. That was my business card! I pressed my fingertips to my mouth, awed and delighted at the gossip about the Invisible Baker. I needed the sales. Mom’s in-home caretaker wasn’t cheap.
I needed to convince Robert to contribute to her care before the next payment.
I looked for the server and smiled politely. Maybe I did need a drink.
As if thinking of my husband had summoned him, the sound of his laughter reached my ears. According to my watch, he was more than fifteen minutes late. Given his obsession with timeliness, I hoped he had a good excuse.
I rested my hands on my lap, waiting to greet him. But he didn’t come.
The waiter returned and I asked for a merlot. Then I scanned the room, puzzled. I was sure I’d heard Robert a moment prior, but where was he?
“Have you seen Mr. Bianco?” I asked the young man. “We were supposed to meet almost twenty minutes ago.”
His eyes flickered over my shoulder again, toward the lounge attached to the dining room. “I believe he’s with the men he golfed with earlier.”
His words stung, and my jaw locked.
Robert wasn’t running late. He was fifty feet away, drinking with friends, while I waited.
“Would you like me to tell him you’ve arrived?” the waiter offered.
“Please,” I said.
Resentment sliced through me as I watched the server cross the room.
A moment later, a fresh round of raucous laughter reached my ears, and I imagined I was the butt of that joke.
When Robert arrived, his eyes were glossy from scotch, and his shirt was rumpled.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “Lunch.”
“It’s twenty after seven,” I said. “Have you been drinking all this time?”
My words seemed to sober him and he scowled.
The server returned with an expectant smile.
“I think we need a minute,” I began.
Robert spoke over me. “Chef’s special. Medium rare. Garlic potatoes.” When he realized I was talking, he said kindly to the waiter, “My apologies. I guess we need another moment.”
The young man relaxed, charmed by my husband’s smile. “Of course. Take your time. Would you like another scotch while you wait?”
Robert nodded, and the server disappeared.
Robert returned his focus to me, agitation on his face.
I wanted to ask him why he was so kind to everyone around us but so rude to me. The question would only start an argument, though, and I already had a topic sure to start that fire tonight.
Tension coiled in my throat at the thought.
The constant tiptoeing around him and preplanning everything I said was exhausting.
Marriage shouldn’t be like this. My life shouldn’t be like this.
I hadn’t even told him my mother wasn’t getting any better for fear he’d be furious about the cost of her care.
It was ridiculous, and I knew it, but I couldn’t make the nonsense stop.
Robert eyed me, as if reading my thoughts. “What’s the problem?” He sucked his teeth, staring hard into my eyes until I looked away.
The server set my wine and Robert’s glass of scotch onto our table, then hastened away. He probably felt the force field of tension around us.
Robert lifted his drink immediately.
“My mom’s still ill,” I said, taking the leap to get ahead of his simmering anger.
If I wasn’t direct, we’d wind up arguing about something completely different, and I’d have to wait for another week to ask him for money to help my mother.
“She needs round-the-clock care, and her insurance doesn’t cover that until it’s considered end-of-life care.
” I paused to swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’m her only child, and I can’t exactly move in with her.
I don’t know what else to do.” Robert didn’t even like me to visit. “We have to figure this out.”
His red face contorted into disgust. “You want me to spend my money on your mother because she drank her way through her trust?”
The couple at the table beside us cast sideways glances in our direction, and I flushed.
I lowered my voice, hoping Robert would follow suit.
“I’m not asking for more than we have readily to give, and I’m willing to spend time over there helping, if I won’t have to argue with you about it every time I come home.
She’s in liver failure, Robert,” I pleaded. “It’s been weeks without improvement.”
He wiggled his short glass, rolling a giant sphere of ice inside.
“And when she dies, we inherit her debts,” he said dryly.
“Seems to me like this is a lose-lose for us.” He sloshed the amber liquid into his mouth, then set the glass on the table with a muted thud.
“You don’t need to spend more time there.
That’s not going to heal her. You can’t control this like you try to control everything else with your lists and endless fussing. ”
I bit back my rage at his callousness and shoved it into a pit with all the other emotions I’d swallowed for years. I took a long drink of my wine before meeting Robert’s eyes again. “I make lists and fuss so you have less to complain about,” I said. “It’s a countertactic.”
Heat flashed in his eyes. Nothing was ever Robert’s fault, and I knew I’d crossed a line by suggesting as much. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
My phone rang, interrupting our quiet standoff.
He muttered apologies to the neighboring tables as I pulled my phone from my handbag. I’d clearly embarrassed him.
“It’s the nurse,” I said, loudly enough for everyone listening to hear. “Hello?”
I rose and moved toward the exit, hoping for good news. Maybe Mom had finally spoken again. Maybe she’d told her nurse to fuck off and go home, and the woman was letting me know.
I had my clutch already tucked beneath one arm, ready to race across town to her.
“Mrs. Bianco, this is Rebecca.”
“Where are you going?” Robert barked as I reached the clubhouse foyer.
“Hi, Becca,” I said. “What’s up?”
She sniffled, and I froze.
“Becca? Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital. Your mom . . . EMTs worked on her all the way to the ER, but—”
My world tilted and tunneled.
“I’m so sorry. Hold on. Dr. Bartlet is here.”
“No,” I growled, the word ripping through me.
“Sophie?” Dr. Bartlet’s voice crossed the line to my ears. “I’m sorry to tell you that your mother went into cardiac arrest and passed away en route to the hospital. I made the call when she arrived.”