Chapter 2
T he ride to Paley’s mother’s house was awkward, to say the least.
“I brought five thousand dollars into the marriage,” she said, making one attempt at a plea for justice.
“We spent that much and then some trying to keep your jalopy going. The house and my car are in my name,” he said.
She sighed, a heavy sound that did nothing to ease the anxiety in her chest. What was she going to do? Aaron must have been wondering the same thing.
“You need to get a new job, Paley.”
“I like my job,” she said.
“You have a college degree and you decorate cakes for a living. Maybe it’s time to grow up,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll take advice from you when you stop impregnating other women,” she said. He shot her a look of surprise. Sarcasm wasn’t usually a weapon in her arsenal. She was passive by nature, and not even passive-aggressive. All she wanted from life was peace and happiness. She thought she had found that with Aaron.
They had been so happy their first year of marriage. They rented a tiny cottage with a grand garden; it had resembled a house in a fairy tale. They relied on Paley’s tiny salary while Aaron went to law school full time. He had worked hard, becoming second in his class. The prestige of that led to an offer from one of the big law firms in town, and that was when things went downhill, at least in Paley’s mind. With the promise of a six-figure salary in his future, Aaron hadn’t been content in their tiny rental, he hadn’t been content with his used Honda. He had wanted the McMansion and the Lexus, pronto.
“‘Give them to me now,’” she sang the song from the old Willy Wonka movie. Aaron shot her a look of disgust. He hated it when she burst into song. He must hate everything about her, and she somehow hadn’t realized. When had that happened? Was it when she uncharacteristically put her foot down and tried to get him to wait for the house and car?
We owe so much on your school loans, she had cautioned. Why don’t we stay in this house until that debt is paid off and then we can upgrade? We’ll be in better shape financially. Based on his reaction to that statement, one would have guessed she had suggested blowing up a baby hospital. Aaron had gone ballistic. He railed at her for days over all the ways she was holding him back, regardless of the fact it was she who had been supporting them for the last three years of law school and she who did all the work around the house, including a hundred percent of the cleaning, cooking, laundry, and yard work.
“I even ironed your clothes,” she muttered. And she had done it cheerfully, thinking it was what a good wife did. Some might say she had deferred her dreams and career for him, but they would be wrong. She had enjoyed helping him succeed, had enjoyed working at the store and puttering in her garden. She had been happy, blissfully so, and all the while her husband had been building a life with someone else.
They reached her mother’s house. She put her hand on the door and Aaron spoke. “Look, if you agree to a dissolution, we don’t have to go to court.”
“What’s in it for me?” Paley asked, taking a page from his book.
“You won’t have to try to afford a lawyer, and you won’t have to try and find one who can match mine.”
She wasn’t fooled; the dissolution would work in his favor, but she didn’t care. She had no fight in her. She never had. “I’ll need money to survive for a while.” This morning they had been partners. Now she made the request shamefully, like a beggar.
“I guess I could try to find a couple thousand for you.”
Two thousand dollars, that was what she was worth to him, what five years of her life meant to him. She had labored every day to support him, to feed him, to clothe him, and all that work amounted to two thousand dollars. Briefly she wondered about the next Mrs. Marshall. Would she take care of him the same way? Or would they have to hire a maid? If so, she was bound to charge more than two thousand dollars. “Sounds good,” she said. She eased from the car and let herself into her parents’ home. Unlike the first door she had tried that day, this one opened immediately.
She followed her nose to the kitchen where her mother was making a feast fit for a twenty people. She glanced up at Paley with a smile, “Oh, hey, hon.” Her parents were from northern Wisconsin and had never lost their twang. They could still be counted on to routinely pop out phrases such as, “You betcha,” and “Don’tcha know.” The fact her mother was preparing so much food was a testament to the fact she already knew about the separation. Alternately feeding or ignoring problems was her parents’ solution to everything.
“Hi, Mom.” She slid onto an oak bar stool. Her mother’s kitchen was all oak and powder blue, as if the 80’s had stopped by for a visit and decided to stay. Stranger still, her mother had remodeled it no more than a year ago, ripping out the sleek lines and modern design that came with the house.
“Supper will be ready in no time at all. Do you want a snack?”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry. Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s watering the lawn or some such. Tis the season, you know.”
Her father had a love affair with green grass and was willing to use any amount of chemicals to make it that way, cancer concerns notwithstanding. No one was allowed to walk on the grass. His wife wasn’t allowed to stake bird feeders or decorations that might harm the grass. He was obsessive about trying to get the right blend of seed, water, fertilizer, and weed killer, not realizing by taking things to such extremes, he often killed his lawn so it was dotted with crusty yellow patches and scorched earth. The ugly patches drove him to try harder and use more product so he spent a good six months of the year babying his dead yard. He was a lesson in all the ways retirement could be brutal without a solid plan. One year Paley and her siblings pooled their money and hired a lawn service for him. He spent the entire time watching the workers with narrowed, suspicious eyes, sure they were sabotaging his hard work. After they were done, he retrieved his supplies and undid everything they had done to try and fix the lawn. And then he blamed them when the grass came back browner and crisper than ever.
“Listen, Mom, I know Aaron had my things delivered here today. You must be wondering about that.”
“Just a little hiccup. I’m sure you two will work it out,” her mother said, pointedly ignoring eye contact as she made a roux for the gravy.
“I don’t think we will, Mom.”
“Nonsense. Every couple has hard times. You need to get in there and work on it until it’s better.”
No amount of work would undo the baby he was having with another woman. “Mom…”
“Taste this.” Her mother shoved a fork of pot roast between her lips. It wasn’t the first time her mother had stifled any attempt to talk about her problems, and it wouldn’t be the last. If Aaron thought she lived in a dream world, she had nothing on her mother.
“Really good,” Paley said. “Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you. You go watch TV or something.”
“I guess maybe I should unpack.”
“No.” Her mother smacked a potholder on the counter for emphasis. “There will be no unpacking. Unpacking spells defeat. You hear me, Paley? You unpack, and you won’t work on things. This is temporary.”
That was where they agreed. Paley needed to find somewhere else to live, as soon as possible. She loved her parents, but their brand of crazy rubbed off too easily. One month of living at home and she would be sporting an apron and a beehive in a vain attempt to woo Aaron back.
“Maybe I’ll say hi to Dad.” She stepped outside and didn’t see her father anywhere. Maybe he was in the garage. She took a step and he spoke.
“Off the grass.”
There was no way to get to the detached garage without walking through the grass. Perhaps there was a method to his madness after all. Defeated, she went back inside and down the hall to what would be her room. Her mother had put her in the tiniest guest room, no doubt to urge her to go back to Aaron as soon as possible, as if lack of space could induce her to resume life with a man who had cheated on her. It probably could, Paley admitted to herself. If not for the fact that Aaron didn’t want her, she probably would be willing to turn a blind eye and go back. She had inherited too much of her parents’ preference for ignoring things. If not for the other woman and her impending baby, Paley could probably return to her marriage and pick up as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, facing her daily routine with a smile and chipper attitude. But that wasn’t going to happen because Aaron didn’t want her. Now what?
She scanned the tiny room as if it could offer clues or advice. Her boxes towered and teetered, blocking her view of the mirror. That was probably a good thing. She had no desire to stare at the sad specimen her reflection would show—twenty six, fifteen pounds overweight, and about to be divorced. Where was her happily ever after? She remained staring listlessly at the boxes until her mother called her for supper.
Her father smelled overpoweringly of weed killer, making it hard to eat or breathe. She choked down enough food to satisfy her mother, offered to help clean up, and retreated to the safety of the den when the offer was refused. The lack of conversation over supper had been as draining as if they had talked of nothing but the separation. Her parents’ attempts to ignore the situation at all costs was going to cost Paley dearly.
She meandered over to her mother’s movie collection, trailing her finger absently over the titles. For as long as Paley could remember, she had been fed a steady diet of Disney cartoons and musicals. They stared back at her now, mocking, confirming all the ways her life had gone off track. Her Prince Charming had turned out to be a toad. She didn’t fool herself she had been perfect in her marriage and all the problems were Aaron’s fault, but at least she hadn’t strayed. At least she had been willing to stay and work things out.
Bypassing her mother’s collection, she moved on to her father’s. His movies contained a different sort of fairy tale, action flicks and spy thrillers where the strong hero always caught the bad guy and came out on top. Tonight his brand of oblivion appealed to her much more than the romance in her mother’s collection. She selected the first of the Bourne trilogy and popped it in the DVD player. No Blu-ray here—it was miraculous her parents weren’t still watching VHS. They had only reluctantly upgraded after Paley and her siblings bought them a player for Christmas.
The movie droned and Paley watched with half-hearted interest. She had seen it before and knew the outcome, but it provided a distraction from her thoughts. When it was over, she went to bed, hoping her mental exhaustion would equal sleep.
After spending an hour searching the boxes for her toiletries, she was physically exhausted as well. Aaron had packed her toothbrush and even her toothpaste, leaving no detail to chance so that she might have to return to the house to retrieve something. He had packed her clothes, her books, her movies, and even her favorite pots, pans, and utensils. The sum total of her life fit into twelve boxes, and she took some comfort in the order. If only her emotions were so easy to organize and file.
She went to bed and fell almost immediately asleep, too quickly to be relieved by her body’s easy acquiescence. The blissful deep of unconsciousness didn’t last long, however. With a start, she woke two hours later. Her arms were reaching to the spot beside her. For Aaron? Not likely. When was the last time they slept a full night in the same bed together? She had tacked his late hours and odd disappearances up to law school. How many of those nights had been spent in the arms of his mistress? Her mind cast about for a distraction, something, anything other than the picture of her husband and the other woman.
The Bourne movie popped into her head and put itself on replay. Paley tried to replicate it scene by scene and was frustrated when she couldn’t. She had just watched it. Even though her attention had been half-hearted, how could she not remember? When it became clear sleep was becoming a distant memory, she slipped out of bed and back to the den. The movie was still in the player. She turned it on and watched again, this time with full focus.
In many ways, her life was like Jason Bourne’s, Paley thought as her hand lay listlessly inside a bag of half-eaten potato chips. On the television, Jason was currently roundhouse kicking six bad guys, conveniently flashing a view of his solid twelve pack. So maybe they weren’t identical twins. But they had both woken up to a new and unwelcome reality. They both had no idea who they were. They had both been wronged by someone. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she, like Jason, could take control of her life and fix everything that was bad? The movie ended and she put in the second in the series. When that was done, she watched the third until her parents were awake and it was time for breakfast.
The movies had comforted her in a way she couldn’t explain. As she stood in the shower and analyzed why, she realized it was because the princess movies relied on someone else for a happy ending. In each movie, the heroine had been rescued by a handsome prince. Not so Jason Bourne. He rescued himself, and he hadn’t let anyone stop him from reaching his goal. He had been prepared for every situation, capable of handling what life threw at him, even when what life threw at him was certain death.
After breakfast her parents left to do whatever it was they did. Paley had no idea. It was her day off, and she was sad about that. How was she supposed to fill the long lonely hours? She had intended to work in the garden at her house, to try and bestow charm and originality to the McMansion that looked like every other house in the neighborhood. Now the day stretched out before her as one long attempt at avoiding her thoughts.
She meandered back to the den and perused her father’s movie selection again. She could rewatch the Bourne movies, but that left too much opportunity for her mind to wander. Instead she reached for James Bond. She had never watched a Bond movie before. Her father owned them all. He had thoughtfully placed them in chronological order for her. She started with Moore and was halfway through Connery when her parents arrived home.
They traded worried glances when she stumbled zombie-like to the kitchen but didn’t stop her when she grabbed her food and took it back to the den.
She watched James Bond all through the day and long into the night before finally falling into a restless sleep. As with Jason Bourne, she found Bond oddly comforting. He always knew what to do, always did the right thing, always took care of business.
The next morning was work. Paley had barely slept in two days, but she wasn’t tired. Instead she was numb. She plastered on her usual smile, hoped it would be convincing, and set to work.
A short time later the store’s manager, Herb, interrupted her. Somehow he looked like a Herb, even though she had never known another. His hair was slicked back with what she hoped was gel. He sported a thick mustache and left one too many buttons on his shirt undone. If he had driven a Camaro, the picture of a ‘70’s lothario would have been complete, but he drove a conservative Japanese sedan. Even though he had been her boss for three years, she’d had very little to do with him in that time. She preferred to fly under the radar, to show up every day, do her job well, and go home again. No muss, no fuss, that was her philosophy. They said hello to each other whenever they happened to meet. Two years ago, he promoted her to the head of the department, and that was the extent of their interaction.
Today she guessed he had heard the rumors and wanted to make sure she was okay. While a part of her was touched at his concern, she felt embarrassed by the pending intrusion into her personal life. She need not have worried, though. Herb had no concerns about her or her life.
“I’m promoting Trudy to department head,” he declared when she had barely taken a seat across from his desk.
“What? Why? Did I do something wrong?” She mentally surveyed her work, checking for holes. She found none. She had done a good job at the bakery, excellent really.
“No, I think she’s a better fit.”
She stared at him, sure he was joking. “Trudy thinks a lot is one word.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, and he was serious.
“Last week she did an engagement cake and wrote ‘Tom an Vera.’”
“So?”
“It’s and, Herb, Tom and Vera.”
“So she saved a letter and used less frosting. That’s the kind of resourcefulness we need in these hard financial times.”
“She can’t spell. Don’t you think grammatical correctness is sort of important when you’re writing words all day?”
“You can oversee her and help her out.”
“You want me to oversee the woman you’re promoting to my job?” she clarified.
“We’re all on the same team, Paley. Oh, but this shift will result in a reduction of your pay. You’re going to need to pick up some extra hours.”
Not for the first time Paley wished she were one of those people who knew how to stand up for herself. She was a doormat, and everyone knew it. She stared at Herb, unable to muster one word in her defense. What would Jason Bourne do? No, nix that. People who crossed Jason Bourne usually ended up dead. She didn’t want Herb dead. Did she? No. Probably not. She shook her head. Definitely not. She wanted her old job back with no fanfare or confrontation. Instead she stifled everything she felt and went back to work, as Herb probably knew she would. For the first time she wished her store was part of a union, but that was probably a cop out. Why should she expect a union to fight for her rights when she wasn’t willing to?
Trudy stood at the counter, a triumphant smile on her overly made-up face. “Back to work, Paley,” she said and immediately left to take her fourth smoke break of the morning.
“What happened?” Carla whispered.
“Herb gave Trudy my job. I’ve been demoted.” The words hurt. After Aaron, all she had was her job. It wasn’t much, but she loved it.
“What?” Carla hissed. “Trudy is literally the worst employee in the department. You know why he did this, don’t you?”
“No,” Paley said. She had run out of understanding for people. All she wanted was to keep her head down and get by in life. Why lately did it seem like everyone was intent on keeping her from it?
“Because he thinks he has a shot with her,” Carla said.
“But they’re both married,” Paley said.
“Trudy’s been going after him pretty hard. Maybe it was to get your job, or maybe that’s who she is.”
Herb walked by them, presumably on his way to join Trudy outside. He eyed Carla and Paley suspiciously. They moved apart and returned to work, but Paley couldn’t shake her lingering disillusionment. What was wrong with people? She wanted to believe the best of everyone, wanted to believe there were good people in the world. Until a few days ago, she had succeeded nicely in being an optimist. But now everything was upside down. The world was a dark, unfriendly place, especially for a gentle soul.
The day turned busy. Paley was thankful for the steady stream of work. She lost herself in the beauty of the flowing script she put on each cake.
“That’s wrong.” She hadn’t heard Trudy approach, but now she was hovering over her shoulder, staring at the cake she had just finished. Paley picked up the ticket and double-checked the order.
“You’re the best. That’s right,” she said.
“It’s your, y-o-u-r,” Trudy said.
“No, it’s y-o-u apostrophe r-e, as in ‘you are.’ It’s a contraction.”
Trudy looked at her in confusion. “Now you’re saying there’s a dash in there?”
“No, not a dash. This.” She showed her the apostrophe and explained the contraction again. Trudy stubbornly shook her head.
“It’s your. Fix it.”
“It’s not wrong,” Paley said. There were many things she could tolerate; grammatical errors weren’t one.
“Fix it or you’re fired,” Trudy said.
“You can’t fire me,” Paley said.
Trudy practically rubbed her hands together in expectant glee. “Maybe not, but I know someone who can. Maybe I’ll have a word with Herb about your insubordination.”
You’re is a mystery to her, but insubordination she knows , Paley thought. Was it worth it? Was the fight over proper spelling worth her only source of income? Could she reasonably handle getting divorced, living with her parents AND being unemployed right now?
She scraped off You’re and rewrote it as Your, ignoring all her better instincts. What choice did she have? She needed the job. It was one thing to have principles and another to need money to pay the bills.
Trudy walked away, a self-satisfied smile on her face. What had Paley ever done to her? She had been a kind and fair supervisor. What had she done to earn such vitriol? She felt as if she had woken up, had her sleep mask ripped off, and was now viewing a different world. Things had changed somehow, and she couldn’t understand them. Last week she had been a happily married woman with a job she loved. Now she was soon to be divorced, living with her parents, and borrowing their car to get to a job she now hated. Worse, the future stretched before her in an endless line of repeats. Tomorrow would be like today, and the next day would be the same, and the day after that. Where once her monotonous routine had seemed safe, it now felt stifling. How could she stand it? But what could she do to change it?
Nothing. She had no money to start over and wouldn’t know what to do anyway. She wasn’t adventurous enough to step out on a ledge and try something new. She would go on decorating cakes until her hands became too arthritic to hold the pastry bag. Then she would enjoy a meager retirement and die alone in a state-run nursing home.
Such was Paley’s mood that the death part of the equation sounded like a welcome friend.