Chapter 9 Natalie #2
Natalie scanned the petition. “You might be onto something. Remember when Cliff did that talk at the yacht club two years
ago? He’s a Master Gardener. If we could get him to come out and look at Mrs. Smith’s place, he might—”
“Slap her with a fine,” finished Elaine. “And nothing will change.”
Beth’s eyes went to her clipboard. “Maybe we should skip the petition and bring cuttings of her invasive plants right to Cliff.
That would really get him fired up.”
“It would,” Elaine agreed. “She has more than one variety, too. There’s the oriental bittersweet, the Japanese honeysuckle,
and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen patches of garlic mustard from my bedroom window.”
Natalie raised her glass in the air. “Beth, you’re a genius.”
Elaine shook her head in dismay. “But what if the power of the town supervisor’s office is limited? Maybe all Cliff can do
is give her a warning or a fine?”
“I remember his yacht club talk, too,” said Beth. “He wants to make his mark on the town by increasing public gardens and
green spaces. Today’s newspaper mentioned a fundraising campaign to put in a garden around the Cold Harbor sign. If someone
wrote a big check to the campaign, I bet he’d do more than give her a fine.”
Now Elaine raised her glass. “Benjamin and I would be happy to contribute.”
Natalie heard a shuffling sound coming from the hall and turned to see Justin standing in the doorway. He was in his dinosaur pajamas and carried a tattered blanket in one hand and a toy car in the other. He looked out of sorts.
Beth opened her arms and he floated into them.
“Hello, angel,” she whispered into his hair. “Would you like a cookie?”
When he nodded, she looked to Natalie to be sure she hadn’t overstepped.
Natalie smiled at her son. He was such a darling boy. Sweet and cute and smart. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have favorites,
but she did, and everyone knew it. “Just one. But then you’ll have to brush your teeth and go right to bed.”
Beth picked out a cookie with raspberry jam. She put it on a plate and showed it to Justin. “This is the best one.”
“Thank you,” Justin murmured sleepily.
While he sat on the edge of Beth’s chair and nibbled his cookie, Natalie’s friends smiled at him. Women were always taken
in by his round, flushed cheeks, the sweep of his dark eyelashes, and his thick, tousled hair. His small feet dangled above
the floor, and he clicked his heels together as if he wanted to teleport home from Oz.
When the cookie was gone, Justin handed Beth the plate and snuggled against her. Beth’s expression turned dreamy, and Natalie
knew she was pretending that Justin belonged to her—just for a moment—so she let her son stay where he was.
She immediately regretted this decision. Justin’s presence had altered the mood. The momentum the women had begun to build
in their campaign against Mrs. Smith was fizzling, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.
At some point, and Natalie couldn’t say when, she’d decided that Mrs. Smith was the only thing standing between her and her first sale.
Why should this woman whom she’d never seen or spoken to wield so much power by ignoring conventions?
It was high time Mrs. Smith took responsibility for the eyesore that was her house and property.
Natalie refused to let one woman thwart her success.
She wouldn’t let anyone condemn her into spending the next ten years cooking, cleaning, and driving the kids all over town.
Beth gently swayed from side to side, and when Natalie saw Justin’s lids growing heavy, she tenderly wiggled his big toe.
“Go brush your teeth like a big boy. I’ll come kiss you good night in a minute.”
When Justin slid off Beth’s chair, he dropped his Hot Wheels car. It tumbled on the rug between Natalie and Beth, but Beth
stretched out her arm to retrieve it before its wheels had stopped spinning. She handed it to Justin and, after whispering
his thanks, he trundled down the hall to the bathroom.
Beth took a gulp of her cocktail and stared after Justin. “I want to bake things for little boys like him. Choux pastry cars.
A cinnamon-swirl brontosaurus with raisins for eyes. Boat-shaped cakes floating on a pudding ocean. I want to make cupcakes
with sprinkles in the middle and brownies with monster faces. I want to make things for my own kids.”
Natalie took hold of Beth’s hand and was about to offer words of encouragement when she noticed the marks on her friend’s
arm. “Did Don do that?”
Beth tried to pull down the sleeve of her blouse, but it was too late. Natalie had already seen the purple, finger-shaped
bruises marching across her skin. “It’s not what you think.”
Elaine scooted to the edge of the couch and tucked a strand of Beth’s hair behind her ear. The tenderness of this touch loosened
something in Beth, and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Don doesn’t want to fuck me anymore.”
Natalie stiffened.
“I know, I know. Ladies aren’t supposed to use that kind of language, but it’s true. Don and I fuck. Like rabbits. We don’t make love. We’re wild and rough and loud. Sex is a huge part of our marriage, and we’re not having any.”
She picked up her glass and tossed back the rest of her drink.
“Last night, Don was already asleep by the time I finished getting ready for bed, so I thought I’d wake him up in a really
nice way. I started touching him, and he got hard. I thought everything was okay, even when he grabbed me by the arms and
pinned me down, because he’s done that before. But before, it was playful. Sexy. Last night, he just held me there. I couldn’t
move and there was nothing playful about it. I screamed at him until he let me go.”
Elaine stared at Beth’s arm. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he didn’t realize he was hurting you.”
“It wasn’t an accident. He said, ‘For fuck’s sake, I’m trying to sleep. Don’t touch me again!’”
Beth pushed back her sleeves and held out both her arms. A school of purple bruises swam over her skin.
Natalie picked up Beth’s clipboard and pressed it into her hands. “We’ll make sure Mrs. Smith is too busy to bother Don anymore.
Won’t we, Elaine?”
Elaine knocked her glass against Natalie’s and whispered, “Fuck yeah.”