Chapter 25
CHAPTER
I WAS SITTING NEAR the coffee shop window late one Friday afternoon when I saw Max leave his office.
He checked his phone, looked up and down the street, and then reached into his pants pocket.
He pulled something out and worked it onto his finger.
Even though it was hard to make out the details from where I sat, I knew right away what it was.
A wedding band.
A moment later, an Uber Black pulled up to the curb and a woman got out. Swaying her hips and dangling her Marc Jacobs purse from her forearm, she walked up to Max, put her arms around his neck, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. I followed them as they walked to a restaurant a few blocks away.
I lingered across the street. When they came out about an hour and a half later, I followed them back to Max’s apartment. I knew it was his apartment because I had followed him there many times.
Of all the girls I’d seen Max with, including me, he had never taken any of us to his apartment. If he’d slipped on a wedding band, did that mean he was married to this girl?
I started following Miss Perfect, trying to learn her name.
I discovered she worked part-time at a doctor’s office downtown, but there was no way they would give me any info on her.
One day, I saw her get out of an Uber and walk into the doctor’s office.
I ran over to the Uber, knocked on the driver’s window, and offered him fifty bucks if he would pull up his passenger’s profile and tell me her name.
Madison Hunter.
I was right. Max had a wife.
A thousand questions filled my brain. Was Max a serial cheater? Was I just one girl in his endless line of side pieces? Did Madison know about all the other women—and our baby?
I had to keep following the both of them. I needed answers.
The thing that got me out of bed each day? Following Max and Madison. I had to track down more information about her—about them. If I could just find out what the story was—the explanation for what had happened to me—maybe I would feel normal again. Maybe I could move on.
It was surprisingly easy to find a digital copy of Madison’s high school yearbook online.
I scrolled through page after page of rich, picture-perfect classmates until I found her—Madison Clark.
At first glance, she looked like the quintessential, beautiful, All-American teenage girl, but I could sense a darkness behind her eyes, emanating off the page—maybe because it was speaking to the hidden darkness that was growing inside of me.
On a page of candid shots from around campus, I came across a photo of Madison with her arms around another girl. The caption read: “Two peas in a pod! Best friends, Madison Clark and Leslie Prescott.”
A quick Google search found Leslie Prescott on LinkedIn, where she listed herself as the Director of Memberships at Marin County Country Club—where, apparently, I needed to apply for membership as soon as possible.
Leslie Prescott greeted me in the lobby. She wore a tight, navy-blue dress with a fitted black blazer and heels. Her black hair was in a flawless French twist and diamonds twinkled in her ears. She smiled and reached out to shake my hand.
“Hello! You must be Samantha Henry,” she said, reading my alias from the clipboard she was holding. I had chosen a girl from Madison and Leslie’s graduating class who had light blonde hair like my own, figuring I could pass for her closely enough, if they should try looking me up.
“Yes! Thanks so much for seeing me.”
She led me to her spotless office overlooking the emerald green golf course, with the sparkling San Francisco Bay in the distance. The green was dotted with wealthy white men and their golf carts, enjoying an afternoon of leisure in the midday sun.
“So! Tell me what brings you to the Marin County Country Club,” she said.
“Well, I just moved back to town. I grew up here, but I moved away for many years.” It was so easy to make it up as I went. “I went to Woodgrove High. Class of 2015.”
“No kidding! I’m Woodgrove High Class of 2015!”
“Yes, I know! I knew you looked familiar when I saw you on the club’s website! I opened my old yearbook, and there you were.”
“What a small world!” Leslie tapped her index finger against her lips. “Did we have any classes together?”
“No … but I did have some classes with Madison Clark. I know the two of you were close friends.”
“Oh, yes! You know, the Clarks are still members here. Have been for thirty years, at least.”
“Oh, wow, I haven’t seen Madison since graduation! Do you … keep in touch with her?” I tried to keep my voice light so I wouldn’t give away how eager I was to hear about her.
“Oh, yes, of course! Madison and I are still the best of friends. She splits her time between Sausalito and the city now, with her husband.”
“Oh! She’s married? Well—of course she is. She was always so beautiful. Always drove all the boys crazy, am I right?”
“Without a doubt! Yes, she married her husband Max about four or five years ago. I was her maid of honor, naturally.” Leslie beamed proudly. “They have an apartment in the city, but they still come up to Sausalito all the time to visit her family at their estate.”
“How nice. Do they have any children?” I swallowed, trying to keep my cool.
“Oh … no, poor thing.”
I struggled to keep my expression neutral. “Oh?” I wanted to hear more.
“They’ve been trying for years. Madison is just heartbroken about it. But sadly, it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen for them.”
“Oh, no. That’s so sad.”
“Yes, we’ve been talking about it a lot lately. I keep trying to tell her—there’s no shame in adoption.”
“That’s so true. But … she doesn’t want to?”
“No. She seems very against it.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You know how those old-money families can be … they’re not keen on adoption.”
“Oh … yeah, I guess. I’ve heard that.” So …
Madison can’t get pregnant on her own. My mind was racing.
But what about all of Max’s women? If I hadn’t lost my baby …
if she had eventually learned that Max had gotten me pregnant, and not her …
I grimaced inwardly, thinking about how ugly that could have been.
“So do you think they’re going to keep trying?” I asked.
“Last time I talked to her, she was researching surrogacy, but it sounds like that’s a very slow and painstaking process.
Who knew there was so much you have to do?
Medical tests, criminal background checks, and psychological tests?
Good grief. They’re a wealthy, loving family who wants to have a child!
” Leslie sighed and shook her head. “Guess we’ve just got to wish them luck, right? ”
“Oh—right, right. Yes, of course.” I nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. Play it cool, I reminded myself. “Well, how about you, Leslie? Are you married?” I could already see the rock on her ring finger.
“Funny you should ask! Do you remember John Barlowe, from our class? My high school sweetheart? Well, we’re getting married in June! It’s going to be right here at the club, actually.”
“Oh, my goodness—you and John! Of course!” I bullshitted. “Congratulations, Leslie.”
“Thank you.” She beamed and wiggled her ring finger, causing the light to dance off her huge diamond. “But anyway—should we take a tour of the club so you can see all the amenities?”
“Yes, please!” I clapped my hands together like a fellow spoiled rich girl.
As Leslie led me all over the club, droning on about all the fabulous features, such as the women’s tennis and pickleball programs I could join, and the lobster brunches on Sundays, my head was spinning.
Max’s wife can’t have children of her own. Her family doesn’t like adoption. She’s researching surrogacy. Would Max stop sleeping around with other women if they were finally having a baby with a surrogate?
I couldn’t stop thinking about how things might have gone if I hadn’t lost my child—my child with Max.
Madison would have been hurt. Furious. She can’t have a baby, yet her husband gets another woman pregnant.
Wouldn’t that be the ultimate betrayal? I wondered how Max would have handled it.
He had seemed excited when I told him I was pregnant.
Would he have left Madison to be with me?
Or would we have become his secret second family?
And would he ever have told me the truth, that he was married?
After our tour, Leslie took me back to her office to go over all the costs of membership.
Normally, I would have to be sponsored by a current member, but since we were fellow Woodgrove Lions, Leslie said she would waive the requirement.
I nearly choked when she explained the annual fees, but I tried to match her enthusiastic smile and took the folder she gave me.
I told her I’d get back to her with my decision.
And then, Max found himself another new girl. I called her Plain Jane.
I followed Max as he left work one night.
He walked to a bar about six blocks from his office—the 21st Street Bistro.
The place was crowded, so this time I took a risk and followed him inside.
I wore a baseball cap pulled down low over my brow and sat at a table on the other side of the dining room, with a line of sight to Max.
I watched as he greeted some of his coworkers at a high-top table in the bar.
I was starting to think this was going to be an innocent night for Max, just hanging out with guys from the office, but after a little while his eyes began to wander in that certain way I’d come to recognize.
His eyes came to rest on a woman with chin-length brown hair, sitting alone at the bar. She was drinking a glass of red wine and eating dinner alone. She chatted a lot with one bartender in particular, a woman around her age. They seemed to know each other well.