Chapter Twenty-Nine
SYLVIA
Sylvia lit the candles on the dining table, stood back, and surveyed the spread.
It was a far cry from the sturdy walnut table that sat fourteen in her last dining room.
At the old house this table sat in the corner of her patio—but at the new house it was the only thing that would fit.
With the sage-green tablecloth, her floral china, matching napkins folded and perched atop the plates, and a few small vases with wildflowers from her overgrown yard placed in the center, it looked quaint and cozy.
She opened the wine, placed three glasses next to their table settings, and brought the salmon spread and crackers to the table.
She’d leave the chicken salad casserole and green beans in the kitchen until they were ready to eat, she thought, realizing she was actually a little nervous.
She hadn’t cooked a full meal, unassisted, for years, maybe not ever.
She was so used to having Maria by her side doing most of the work and all of the cleanup, she just hoped she hadn’t messed this up.
It was important to her that Milly and especially Adele, if she came, felt that she’d put forth her best efforts to try to make amends.
Milly arrived first, looking pale and windswept, as if she hadn’t had a chance to fix her hair and had quickly pulled it into a loose bun instead.
“It beautiful, and it already has your touch,” Milly said as she walked through the tiny living room, looking around. “Warm and inviting.”
“I’m getting used to it,” Sylvia said. “But it feels cramped. None of us want to be in the same room with each other, and there’s nowhere to escape to.”
“You’ve still got the club, those big open tennis courts,” Milly said.
“For now.” Sylvia walked to the back of the house. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“Yes! I could use a stiff one,” Milly said.
“I have gin.”
“Perfect.”
Sylvia poured a tall gin and tonic and sliced a lemon. This she had plenty of practice in; it was the dinner she was worried about.
When Adele knocked, Milly answered and brought her back to the dining room.
“I’m so glad you came,” Sylvia said, walking over to give her a hug. Adele tensed in her arms.
“I’m not a hugger,” Adele said, standing stiffly.
“I know, but I am,” Sylvia said, “so get used to it.”
Adele handed Sylvia a small bouquet of roses, their stems beautifully wrapped in paper and dusty-pink ribbon. “From my garden,” she said.
“They’re gorgeous.” Sylvia took them from her, surprised by the gesture. She inhaled their sweet scent and placed them in a vase on the table.
“Your front yard needs some work,” Adele said. “It’s a wilderness.”
Sylvia suppressed a smile. Classic Adele. “Maybe you can give me some gardening tips,” she said.
Adele shrugged. “Start by pulling up all the weeds and plant some roses.”
“I’ll do that,” Sylvia said, laughing. “Cocktail or wine?”
“Wine, thank you.”
“So, Sylvia,” Milly said as she took a seat at the table, “how are things with you and Walter? Any improvement?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Honestly, I can barely look at him. I’m still so sick—about the money, the house, but also that he’s made it impossible to save the club. And he had no excuse for missing his part in the Bathing Beauty Contest. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let all of this go.”
“You have to,” Milly said emphatically.
Sylvia looked up, surprised.
“He messed up, but he’s a good man, Sylvia, and he loves you so much—anyone can see that. And you love him.”
“I know,” Sylvia said, though she barely believed herself when she said it. How could he love her and be so reckless with her life? How could he be so stupid?
“He made a huge mistake, there’s no getting around that; he shouldn’t have done it, but marriage isn’t about being perfect.
If you really love each other, which you two do, it’s obvious to anyone who’s been around you both, then it’s about growing together and lifting each other up when you fall and when you fail, and becoming more than you could ever be alone. ”
“How can we be more together? There is no more. He’s taken everything from us.”
“That’s just money,” Milly said.
“Money and a house and our self-respect, our livelihood.”
Milly reached over and put her hand on Sylvia’s. “What you two have is worth so much more than that.”
Sylvia nodded and took a sip of her wine. “I suppose,” she said.
They were quiet for a moment, possibly the longest Sylvia had stayed quiet ever, but she was trying to absorb all that Milly was saying. Milly was a good friend, but she was usually a listener more than anything, not one to push so hard for something she believed in.
“What do you think, Adele?” Milly asked.
Adele shrugged. “I am not one to give advice on relationships. I have never been married. But I would think if you can find it in yourself to forgive him, then you should forgive him, for your sake as much as his.”
“I know you’re both right, but I’m having a hard time getting to that point.” Sylvia said, sighing. “Anyway, enough about me. Has Lloyd shown his face yet?”
Milly sighed. “I’ve seen him, but not here. I went to Los Angeles to find him.”
“You did?” Sylvia said, shocked. “What did he have to say for himself? Good God, don’t tell me you caught him red-handed. Was he with that actress?”
“No.” Milly shook her head and looked down at her hands in her lap. “No, but it was awful. He lost his job. He was fired, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell me. He was so ashamed.”
“So there was no affair after all?” Adele asked.
Milly shook her head again. “If only it were that simple.” Milly kept her eyes down, as if thinking how much to share, but weren’t they beyond that by now?
“What do you mean?” Sylvia persisted. “Milly, either he is or he isn’t,” she pressed, but Milly shook her head.
“He is having an affair, or he was, I don’t know, it’s just not with the person I thought it was.”
“Oh, Milly. I’m sorry,” Sylvia said. “What a mess. All three of us. We’re a disaster.”
Milly took a long drink of her gin and tonic.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I have two young children.
I don’t have a job. I can’t support us. And what would people think?
We’d be the disgrace of the island. I suppose I have to accept the fact that I’ll spend my days with a man who doesn’t love me, who can’t love me,” she said, “ever.” She knocked back the rest of her drink.
“Well,” Adele said after a while, “I’ve been thinking about the reporter.”
“And?” Milly asked.
“And I realize now, it’s not your fault, either of you; you didn’t know who I really was or why I was keeping my past a secret. I was wrong to blame you when he came snooping around.”
“We really didn’t know,” Milly said.
“I should have recognized you,” Sylvia said, “but I just didn’t put two and two together.”
“That was my plan, to not be recognized,” Adele said. “And it worked. It was just a matter of time until someone figured it out.”
“Have you spoken to him?” Milly asked. “Mr. Rutherford. Has he bothered you? I made it very clear to him that he should not disturb you.”
“If he knocked, I didn’t answer,” Adele said. “I have barely been outside, and I have not opened my door.”
“I can attest to that,” Sylvia said. “I began to wonder if you were alive in there.”
Adele shrugged. “Yes, well, it’s why I came today. I cannot play dead forever. I’ve done that for too long.”
“So what happens next?” Milly said when Sylvia brought out the next course. “I know I already said it, but I’ll make him leave the guest cottage; just say the word and he’ll be gone.”
Adele shook her head. “No, let him stay, let him pay you rent a little longer. If he doesn’t stay with you, he’ll just find someone else to put him up. Hopefully he’ll get bored and go home eventually.”
“Just let us know what we can do to help,” Milly said. “We’re in this together now.” She took a bite of the chicken casserole. “This is delicious, Sylvia.”
“Is it really?” Sylvia beamed. “I had to call Maria three times today to make sure I was doing it right,” she said, laughing. “Good Lord, I miss having her around.”
There was a noise at the back of the house, and they all looked up.
“Is that Judith?” Milly asked.
“No, she’s staying at her friend’s house tonight.
I wasn’t expecting Walter home for dinner, either.
” She got up and pushed in her chair, mildly annoyed.
“Walter? Is that you?” He’d said he’d eat at the club with Hank, their accountant, and she thought she’d have more time with Milly and Adele.
They couldn’t talk freely with him around, and there was no space for privacy in this house.
“Walter?” she called again. No answer. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.
Please don’t let him be drunk, she thought, hurrying toward the back door. “Why are you—”
She stopped and gasped.
Walter was stooped over, leaning on the counter holding his ribs, his white shirt covered with blood. “My God,” she cried, rushing to him.
When he looked up, his face was almost unrecognizable.
One eye was swollen shut and blood was covering his mouth, chin, and clothes.
Walter moaned and allowed Sylvia to put his arm around her shoulder and steer him to a chair.
“What happened to you?” she asked after he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, Milly and Adele now joining them.
“Oh my God,” Milly said, hands over her mouth.
Sylvia imagined possible scenarios—a car accident, a bar fight—but in the pit of her stomach she knew it was something to do with the men he’d paid off. “Walter, please, tell me what happened.”
Adele had already grabbed a kitchen towel and drenched it with water, rung it out, and handed it to Sylvia, who dabbed at the blood on his face. He winced and pulled away. “This is bad, Walter,” she said, breathless. “I need to call Doc.”