Chapter Seven #2
A wave of relief flooded over her, and yet as she untied the apron from her waist, she wondered what excuse he’d give her for not coming home the last few nights.
Never mind all that, she told herself, he’s home now.
She reapplied her Cardinal Red lipstick in the reflection of the kitchen window, kicked her wool slippers into the hallway closet, and slipped into her pumps.
She took two crystal glasses out of the cupboard and poured two gin and tonics, then, once she’d heard the excitement die down from the living room, she went back to the steak.
“Milly bird,” Lloyd said, placing his hand on her waist and kissing her cheek. “What happened to the hallway? There’s a hole in the wall.”
She paused as it sank in that she’d hurled her shoes down the hallway more than a week ago, and he hadn’t been home long enough, or cared enough, to notice.
“Oh, one of Jack’s toys,” she said, trying to push her resentment down into the pit of her stomach with a hard swallow.
“That darn scooter—the handle went right through the wall,” she said, handing him a highball.
She tried to force a smile but she just couldn’t do it, she couldn’t help herself.
“Where have you been?” she asked quietly, one hand on her hip.
“Work, dinners—I told you,” he said, hanging his hat on a hook behind the door.
“You told me that on Monday, Lloyd. It’s Friday.”
“Milly, it’s been a busy week. You know how demanding Beverly Douglas can be; she wants to be treated like royalty, go to the most fashionable dinner clubs. You know what she’s like.”
“I have no idea what she’s like,” Milly said, cringing as she heard her husband casually drop the name of a beautiful actress into his conversation, as if this were normal.
“Well, let me tell you,” he went on. “She’s brilliant on screen, just brilliant. Everyone is awed by her, but when the camera is off, she’s a child; she needs a chaperone, she wants to see everyone, everywhere.”
“Your children would like to see you now and again,” Milly said, thinking of her husband and Beverly Douglas snuggling in together in a booth, ordering martinis, eating dinner, laughing, drinking, and worse.
Lloyd looked at her crestfallen—so handsome, a face so perfect, eyes a clear, piercing blue. Milly always thought he should have been in front of the camera, not behind the scenes.
“Do you think I want to be away from my children?” he asked in a low whisper.
“I don’t know, Lloyd, I don’t know what you want. We moved here so we could get away from all that and start acting like a family again.”
“‘All that’ is my work, Milly, my work that pays the bills around here and pays for this house. I can’t just get away from that.” He picked up his glass and took a swig. “If anything, being all the way down here is just making it harder. The commute, the traffic.”
“You said you wanted to move,” Milly said.
He shook his head. “Let’s be honest; you were the one who wanted this. You insisted.”
Now, Milly picked up her gin and tonic and took a gulp.
“You agreed to it, Lloyd. You even seemed excited about finding the house. If you thought you’d never be home you should have said something; we wouldn’t have moved.
” She slammed the glass on the counter harder than she intended, sending it spilling over the rim.
“You made it clear you couldn’t stay in Los Angeles anymore.
What was I supposed to do, force you to stay?
I don’t want to see you unhappy all the time, not again.
” Lloyd shook his head, and Milly knew he was referring to those months after Jack’s birth when she’d been so out of sorts, anxious one minute, unable to get out of bed the next.
“Look, I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said softening, as he reached over and squeezed her arm.
“Let’s not argue; the children will hear. ”
Milly took a deep breath and tried to focus on that; she never wanted to fight in front of the children.
She tried to ignore the thoughts of where he’d been and with whom.
She tried to erase the image of Beverly Douglas seared in her mind.
He’s here now, she repeated in her head as she turned away from him, stirred the sauce in the pan, and turned the heat down. That’s something.
At the table—Jack in his high chair, though way too big for it now, and Debbie seated next to Lloyd—Milly served the barbecued steak with potatoes and Lloyd dug in. “Nothing like a home-cooked meal.” He looked up at Milly and smiled.
“I chose a new book at the library today,” Debbie said, grinning.
“Is it Bambi?” Lloyd asked. Debbie shook her head. “Is it Lassie?”
“No,” she said.
“Is it The Red Balloon?”
“No, Daddy,” Debbie said and laughed. “You’re not going to know it. It’s a grown-up book, a ladies’ book for children.” She waited to see if he’d guess it anyway.
“Jiminy Cricket?”
“No. Daddy,” she said, laughing again and pulling it up from her lap and holding it up. Mary Alden’s Cake and Cookie Cook Book for Children. “I’m going to make the Angel Puffs and the Snowman Cookies and the Polka Dot Roll and the Wonderland Bars. Right, Mommy? Can I make them?”
“Yes, darling, but not all at once,” Milly said.
“Do we have marshmallows and chocolate pieces and almond extract?”
“Smarshmallow?” Jack repeated, looking up from the food on his tray. “I want smarshmallow.”
“Debbie, let’s look at the recipes later,” Milly said, hoping to avoid an escalation into a tantrum about “smarshmallows.”
“I really want a smarshmallow,” Jack whined as if on cue.
“Maybe for dessert, if you eat all your dinner,” Milly said calmly.
Lloyd reached over and gave Debbie’s hand a squeeze. “It sounds like a wonderful book. It’s going to teach you how to become a real little lady.”
Debbie beamed at him, while Milly shuddered at the thought of Debbie’s early interest in domesticity. She hoped that by the time Debbie was of marrying age there’d be more for her than this.
“Well,” Milly said, not looking up from her plate, “today we joined the club.”
“What club?”
“The Island Club. You know, Sylvia and Walter’s club; they talked about it at dinner, remember?”
“You said you’d like to take a tour.”
“Well, I took a tour and I signed us up. We’re members now.”
“Milly, how much…” He glanced at the children and stopped himself, forcing a smile. “We should have spoken about it first.”
Milly cut a piece of steak. “How could we”—she smiled right back at him—“if you’re never here?
” There was a burning silence between them.
No one looked up from their plate. Even Jack seemed to know to keep his focus on smooshing his peas on his fork in front of him.
“Anyway, I was thinking we could get back into tennis.”
“We barely ever played tennis,” he said.
“We used to love watching it; maybe we could actually play this time. There’s a young girl who watches the children while the parents are indisposed.” She waited but he said nothing. “Or we could swim.”
“I want to swim,” Debbie chimed in.
Lloyd finished his meal, gulped down his gin, then stood, pulling at the tie around his neck. “I’m going to get changed.”
Later that night after the kids were in bed and Milly had washed the dishes, wiped down the countertops, and finished the last of their cocktails, Lloyd joined her at the kitchen table.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said.
“It’s too late, I’m all done,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, untying it, and throwing it in the laundry hamper.
“I’m not talking about cleaning up,” he said. “I’m talking about joining that tennis club. I wish you’d asked me first.”
“Lloyd,” she said as calmly as possible, “I shouldn’t have to ask your permission for every little thing I do.
I have to make decisions about our household, especially in your absence,” she said, even though she’d asked his permission throughout their entire marriage.
He didn’t seem angry—it was disappointment she could hear in his voice, and that was almost worse.
“If you had spoken to me first, I would have told you to wait; I would have told you that we just bought a house and that I just put a deposit down on an apartment near my office.”
“You did what?”
“I’m going to need somewhere to stay on those long days followed by business dinners. They won’t go away just because we don’t live in Hollywood anymore.”
“What’s wrong with a hotel? You didn’t seem to have a problem with staying in a hotel the past several nights.”
“It’s not a long-term solution.”
Milly took the gin from the counter and poured a shot onto the melting ice cubes in her glass.
“Are you saying you want to live apart?”
“No,” he said, then hesitated. She could have sworn she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Do you?”
“Of course I don’t. But I don’t want to live with someone who’s got one foot out the door either.
” She glared at him, waiting for him to tell her she was wrong about this, that he was committed to her, committed to their family, that of course he didn’t have one foot out the door, that he would change, that he would make more of an effort to be home in time for dinner, to be home at all.
But instead, he sat down at the table, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples.
He looked exhausted, beaten down. He didn’t even have the energy to argue.
“Look,” he said weakly. “Maybe it makes sense if I stay up in Hollywood during the week and come here on the weekends, to spend time with the kids.”
It stung to hear him say that, no mention of her, just a visit for the sake of the kids. Milly felt her chest tighten. It was happening, exactly as she’d feared. Her master plan to tie them back together on this impossibly happy little island was going to be the thing that would tear them apart.