Family Inheritance (6 page)

The mystery man stirred beside her. Suzanne groaned in agony. Shame flooded her body
as she surveyed her nakedness, trying to forget any memories she had of how she had
gotten here and what had happened last night.

Her clothes were scattered all around the room. Without even looking at the man in
the bed, Suzanne grabbed her belongings and headed out of the bedroom. Pulling on
her clothes, she walked toward the door and stepped outside. The morning light assaulted
her as she gazed around the apartment complex's parking lot. She couldn't find her
car, but she was used to that.

Her stomach contents pushed up into her throat as she rushed behind a nearby tree.
Afterward, she limply clung to the coarse bark. Then wiping her mouth, she pulled
her hair up and away from her face, walked several blocks until she found a phone
booth, and called a taxi to take her to her car.

Chapter 6

Atlanta, Georgia

It was Tuesday and Helene typically played tennis on Tuesdays. This morning she had
struggled with whether she should, but it had been a week since she had attempted
to talk to Thomas and apparently it had helped. He was coming home after school each
day and spending time with her and Lily, the way he had since he first started school.
She convinced herself that Thomas was no longer missing school and that he must have
just had a bad week or two.

As Helene drove her Mercedes into the wide circular driveway of the country club
in an upscale suburb of Atlanta, her stomach tightened. It always did that. Even
after all these years of clubhouses, cocktail parties, and fancy restaurants, her
stomach still turned into knots when she interacted with the wealthy population in
which she lived. Although she was an adult and sophisticated on the outside, on the
inside Helene still felt like a little girl, with long dirty braids, dirty elbows,
and clothes that were old, wrinkled, and often stained. Even though she was always
appropriately dressed, she often felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for
them to make fun of her, to tell her she didn't belong, yet she was never quite sure
who “they” were.

The valet stepped out from the curb as she pulled up to the front of the country
club. “Morning, Mrs. Foster.” He smiled as he opened her door. “Nice to see you today.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Helene said with a smile, then headed inside.

Laura, Catherine, and Stephanie were waiting for her in the lounge, and although
it was still morning, Stephanie had a mixed drink in front of her, and from her demeanor,
Helene could tell that it wasn't her first.

She smiled as she walked up to the group of women, her “friends” she spent time with
at the club. “I hope you haven't been waiting long. Lily insisted I sit down to have
a muffin and fruit before I left.”

“Really, Helene,” Catherine sneered. “She's your servant. How can she insist you
do anything? I just don't understand why you let the hired help interfere in your
life the way you do.”

They had had this conversation before, and Helene didn't want to get into it again.
Some people couldn't understand that Lily was her friend, probably the only real
friend she had. She could be herself with Lily. Here she couldn't. She knew there
was a guise of friendship with these women, but beneath the surface their claws were
long and sharp.

Her mind jumped to a reoccurring dream she had where she, Catherine, Stephanie, and
Laura were ten years old. They were outside her old schoolhouse in Minnesota, and
the three of them were jumping rope as Helene watched from the sidelines. Their frilly
dresses bounced around them as the ribbons in their pigtails streamed and bobbed
with each jump. Helene stood there with her long, straggly hair and an old hand-me-down
dress that her mother had gotten from somewhere. As their young legs jumped to the
rhythm of the rope, their sing-song voices filled the air. “Helene's daddy is a drunk.
Helene is a big, old frump.” Then the three faces turned toward her and continued
their ditty. “Go away, 'cause we won't play, not today or any day.” Helene tried
to smile at the absurdity of her dream, but a shudder passed through her.

Coming back to the present, Helene observed the fake smiles on Catherine and Stephanie's
faces and tuned in to today's conversation.

“This one isn't much different than all the other women Mark has had affairs with,”
Stephanie said in a bored, monotone voice. Then taking a long drag on her cigarette
and exhaling, she stared off into space before adding, “It just means I'll get a
month at a spa and the new Mercedes I've been eyeing.”

Even though these conversations had become “normal” with this group, Helene was always
surprised at the nonchalance in which the topic of infidelity was handled.
How can
you talk about it so casually? Doesn't it rip you in two?
She didn't talk about Bill
to these women. In fact, she didn't talk about her life at all. Until recently she
had accepted her life as it was because she knew life wasn't perfect, and hers was
certainly a lot better than most. She wasn't about to rock the boat to which she
was clinging. But she wasn't going to make Bill's infidelity or her worries a part
of casual conversation with these women either.

After Stephanie finished her drink, they walked out to the tennis courts. Stephanie
was already unsteady on her feet, and Helene wasn't sure how she would be able to
play tennis today. She wondered the same thing week after week, but Stephanie always
managed.

Tennis was hard for Helene. She felt as though she had to run harder, hit harder,
and play harder than anyone else just to stay even. In fact, life felt that way.
No matter how hard she played or tried, she still came in last, or third, or second
place, but never first. Over the years, she had accepted that fact and settled for
being in the game.

They just finished their second set when Nick called to her, “Hey, Mrs. Foster, I'm
off in an hour. If you're still around the club, I'd love to play a set with you.”

Helene smiled. “Thanks, Nick. But today's my day for errands and this is my last
set. I'd love to take you up on it another day. Maybe next Tuesday.”

“Sounds great.” Nick smiled as he turned toward the clubhouse.

“I don't know why you bother with that lowlife,” Catherine scowled.

Helene peered at her in surprise. “He's not a lowlife. He's a nice, hardworking
young man who enjoys tennis.”

A malicious grin crossed Stephanie's face. “Aw, Helene, Catherine's just miffed because
she couldn't get him into bed the way she has most of the young men around here.
Nick won't be bought off, and Catherine doesn't know how to handle the rejection.”
Catherine made an obscene gesture at Stephanie and sulked off to shower. Stephanie
headed back to the lounge.

As Catherine and Stephanie went in opposite directions, Helene watched and wondered
why she socialized with them.
Because you're familiar with the behavior,
a small
voice from within Helene's mind suggested.
No, I'm not,
she silently argued, then
she realized that Catherine and Stephanie reminded her of her father—drunk and surly.

It was funny how money could clean up even the ugliest habits.

As Helene watched the two women stagger away, she suddenly began to understand that
the ugliness was still there.

“Why do we keep spending time with them?” Laura voiced Helene's silent questions.

Helene turned. At thirty-five, Laura was younger than the rest of them. She had short,
dark hair, hazel eyes, and a young, athletic body. Helene knew she had two children
in grade school and that her husband was the CEO of a company. She didn't know more
than that. In fact, that was all she knew about any of them. They had been playing
tennis together for five years now, had gone to each other's houses for parties,
and talked on the phone from time to time. Even with all of that, she didn't know
much about them, the real them, down underneath their skin. She didn't know what
they thought, what made them tick, and what they really, really felt. Whenever the
conversation started getting too deep, someone always changed it. Fear of closeness
seemed to permeate the air in their worlds.

“Because it doesn't get dull with them around, I guess.” Helene smiled.

“Helene . . .” Laura's voice became serious. “Do you have affairs?”

Helene fumbled around in her purse, pretending to search for her keys as she tried
to figure out what to say
,
flustered by the personal question, the kind she typically
avoided.

Laura looked uncomfortable. “I know that's a really personal question, Helene. I
thought we were friends, and well, friends talk personal, don't they?”

Helene watched
Laura for a few moments.
Oh, for heaven's sake, I'll just be honest
. “No, Laura,
do you?”

Laura seemed to sense Helene's unwillingness to continue the conversation. “Helene,
I'd really like to have you as a close friend. I have feelings, thoughts, and ideas
I'd like to share with another woman, and in our circle that seems hard to come by.
I'm so lonely.” Sadness was etched on her face.

Helene stood there speechless. How could Laura be lonely? She had everything. She
came from a family with money, she married a nice man with money, and they lived
in a great house, had two great kids, and seemed to get along well.
I'm not lonely
,
Helene assured herself. Yet from deep down inside a tiny voice whispered,
Yes, I
am. Listen to me. Yes, I'm lonely.

Inside, Helene was fleeing. This was too close, and she began to panic. “Sorry, Laura,
not today. I've got tons of errands to do. Can we do it some other time?”

“Sure.” Laura's voice was sad, but Helene tried to ignore it as she escaped to the
comfort of her lonely, safe, controlled world.

“Helene, Helene, wake up.” Bill gently shook her.

She opened one eye and peered at him, fresh from his shower. He leaned close to her.
She caught the scent of freshly applied aftershave. “Time to get up, sleepy head.”

Still wrapped in the fringes of soft, innocent sleep, Helene smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. Tough morning?”

“I can't seem to wake up. I know the alarm went off, and since you're all dressed,
that must have been some time ago.”

“About an hour.” He smiled. “Why don't you just curl up and go back to sleep?”

“I've got an exercise class this morning,” she groaned.

“You could probably miss one if you're tired.”

Helene lay still for several minutes watching him. Last night, the movement of the
bed had awoken her, and she'd become aware of a body slipping in beside her. She'd
started to reach up and curl her arms around her husband's neck, but the strong smell
of another woman stopped her. In the beginning, Bill would shower either before he
came home or before he climbed into bed with her. Now he did neither.

Why was he always so nice the morning after his late-night escapade with another
woman? And why did Helene want to make love to him anyway? A deep sigh escaped from
her. It had been over two months since they'd made love.
Right now, I'd take sex,
just raw, wild sex.

She pulled herself from the bed and walked to the shower.
Maybe I'm just oversexed.
How was she to know? Maybe married couples really didn't make love very often. Maybe
most husbands had affairs because most married women didn't like sex.
How would I
know what couples do? From my parents?
Helene uttered a cruel laugh as she turned
her face up to the flow of the water.

Bill was still sitting on the bed when Helene came out of the bathroom, wrapped in
a towel, her hair damp and her face fresh and without makeup.

“Has Thomas been sick a lot lately?” His voice was sharp.

“No, why?” She ran her hand through her damp hair.
Now what?

Bill watched her as he stood up from the bed. “His school just called. They said
Thomas is absent again today. Apparently, he has been absent a lot.”

“Why did they
call you?” She stood in front of him, pulling the towel snugly around her. “What
is this? They call one parent and if they don't get an answer they like, they call
the second one?”

“Helene, settle down. They called here a few minutes ago and I answered the phone,
but why did you lie?” He glanced down at her, then stepped back and sat on the bed.

“I talked with him. He needed some space, that's all. Pressures just build up. We
all need some time and space once in a while.” She walked toward the clothes she
had laid out on her side of the bed and began to dress.

“That's the purpose of evenings and weekends. How is he ever going to learn responsibility
if you keep lying for him?” Bill's voice started to get louder. “Helene, you're not
helping that boy by babying him. He's going to turn into a useless bum if you don't
make him accept some responsibilities. You're mothering him to death.”