Chapter 12 #2
In sticking to the game, I would need to release the Stanley Cup pressure building up inside me.
If I could somehow swallow (ugh, what a terrible word, considering his offense) my pride, look past his infidelity, and continue being the perfect wife, then I would have to find a release.
And I don’t know about you—if you’ve hung around for the end of this love story—but I didn’t think mismatching socks would cut it.
Nor would scrubbing the toilet with a toothbrush.
Stabbing him with skewers might have worked, but wouldn’t violence defeat the purpose?
That little skewer daydream, by the way, scared the hell out of me, and I must tell you it wasn’t the only violent one I’d had in the past five days.
Maybe I already mentioned a few of them, but don’t you go telling people.
Let’s just say that hurting my husband during my soaker-tub daydreams became one glorious way to turn the valve.
Anyway, what pressure release was worthy of a Stanley Cup finish to my year? The answer was on the tip of my tongue.
Considering my decision to stick with the plan, I didn’t touch a cookie as they cooled in front of me.
Back to the diet, back to air. I put a couple of warm cookies on a plate and took them to Jasper.
He was playing Liszt from memory. Though I didn’t have his skills or talent, I was no slouch when it came to understanding the emotional and technical aspects of music, and I could hear the magic in his playing.
You don’t win the lead in big productions without being good at what you do.
I could list my insecurities, failures, and weaknesses for as long as you want to listen, but the one thing I never doubted was my strength as a musician.
I sat and listened to him play—the way he struck the keys, the notes he let linger, the personal stamp he put on the piece.
Something was different.
Tears pricked my eyes as the beauty of his music showered over me.
I’d never heard him play so well. Not with such emotion.
From my healthier vantage point, if I could point to the best thing that resulted from what Rory had done to our family, it’s that Jasper took a giant step as a musician that week.
He was no longer a kid running from competition to recital, going for the win.
He wasn’t playing like a student anymore.
There was a growth, a maturity to his playing.
Unfortunately, perhaps he was drawing from the angst he’d been forced to endure.
Over the past few days, he’d become a professional.
Yes, he’d get better and never stop honing his craft, but he had reached a level that very few musicians ever would.
It made me sad that I’d been thinking so much about myself, but his playing at that moment was him telling me he’d be okay no matter how things unfolded.
As my son played his heart out, achieving his dream, I thought of my own dreams and almost felt jealous of his ability.
He hadn’t yet graduated from high school, but he had it all figured out.
What about me? What about my dreams? I couldn’t let Rory steer me away from my destiny.
I wondered: What if I could do it all? What if I could get my family back and have a bed-and-breakfast?
I smiled devilishly. Rory could never refuse me now.
Maybe I could turn this devastating week into a good thing; Jasper had.
Not wanting to disturb him, I left the cookies on a nearby table.
Fully enthused about this idea of having it all, I took my laptop to the kitchen, settled in at the island, and found my favorite real estate website.
Trying not to salivate at the sight of the tray of cookies on the stove or their delicious aroma, I created a search for places within thirty miles with at least five acres.
Knowing I didn’t want to endure a massive renovation, I only included commercial properties.
No way did I want to rip up an old home and add bathrooms.
There were quite a few results, but I’d done enough realty research over the years to eliminate the listings that didn’t stand out.
I clicked through pictures. Though I hadn’t found what I was looking for, I was getting closer.
I noticed I was even sitting up too straight, a bit too excited.
Rory had no idea what he was getting ready to buy.
After thirty minutes of clicking, I chose the three listings I wanted to see.
Immediately! Each one had its individual charm.
As I clicked through their pictures, I imagined the things I’d do, starting with the area surrounding the inn.
I suppose I was showing signs of life. Maybe I would survive this nightmare.
Would there be chickens? What do you think?
I’d have more birds than anyone else in Vermont.
Would I stop there? No, no, no. This would be my farm sanctuary.
Margot’s Ark. Rory didn’t have a “no” left in this marriage.
I stared at one inn for sale called The Sage Wind.
The photos showed a magical backyard with ancient oaks reaching up to the sky like wizard hands.
The picture had been taken in the fall, and shades of yellow, red, and orange spread through the leaves.
I could almost hear the first fires of the season crackling.
The chicken coop would go right there by the shed.
I imagined an idyllic scene with my little hens running around, pecking the grass.
I saw turkeys—happy turkeys we’d save from Thanksgiving dinners.
I could see Philippe running around with a pack of friendly dogs.
They were doing their best to herd my sheep.
I even thought about horses. This property was big enough.
A B it would be so fun!
The bathrooms were cute, though. Most rooms had clawfoot tubs, which, as you know, I hold dear to my heart.
A guest of a good inn should always be able to enjoy a warm soak after a long day that resulted in tight muscles, whether from the stress of a business meeting or from fun activities like biking and hiking.
My brain swelled with excitement. I thought about the soft towels I’d offer and the organic shampoos and conditioners.
My beds would be the comfiest in the state.
I had all sorts of ideas on what art I’d hang.
We’d have to install a fountain in the backyard.
News of my inn would spread, and the results of my eye for detail would draw tourists from all over New England who’d want to experience my vision.
I needed to see those houses before I actually exploded.
I picked up my phone and stared at it, wondering if I should call Erica, because she was a realtor.
I could have called the listing agent of each property, but Erica would absolutely kill me.
Even if I ended up loving what I found and used Erica to close the deal, she would kill me for not having contacted her immediately, and she’d have every right to.
Telling her my decision regarding Rory, however, seemed like the worst idea on earth. She still didn’t know about my pressure-cooker releases.
What to do? What to do? I looked at the freshly baked coconut chocolate-chip cookies and wanted one so badly.
What to do?
I needed to call Erica. Might as well get it over with.
When she answered, I said, “You will not be happy with me, but I’ve made some decisions and want your help.”
“What are these decisions?”
I wasn’t ready for her to go off on me, so I offered her the minimum amount of information. “It’s a long story, but it involves buying my bed-and-breakfast.”
“What!” she screamed. “You’re going to do it! I’m so proud of you.”
She would be proud until I told her I wasn't leaving Rory. Leaving that matter out, I said, “I'll send you links to the three places I want to see, and if possible, I want to see them today. Can you make that happen?”
“Sure, send them. You’re not going to tell me more?”
I hesitated and then, “I’ll tell you in the car while we’re driving over.”
“Wow, you’re leaving the house today?” she asked. “Are you ready?”
I looked out the kitchen window toward the forest. Jasper was still playing his little heart out in the living room. I was becoming afraid of everything outside my house, which was a terrible feeling.
“Ready or not,” I finally said, “I can’t stay in here forever.”
“I’m coming to pick you up right now. Send me the listings. I’ll set up showings on the way.”
I returned my eyes to the laptop. “I’ll send them to you right now.”