Lost Along the Way (4 page)

C
ara stood over the kitchen sink at her mother's house with a wrench in her hand, trying to figure out how to make the leaking water stop. “I know,” she muttered to herself as she slammed the wrench on the faucet in frustration, the clanging sound so loud it actually made her jump. The water continued to drip, and drip, and drip. Finally she flung the wrench on the counter, admitting that she hadn't the first damn clue what to do with it, no matter how many hours of HGTV she watched, and covered her cheeks with her hands. The millionth droplet escaped from the faucet and dribbled down the basin, and she wished for the millionth time that just like the water she too could slink into the drain and disappear forever.

When her mother died, four months ago on a steamy day in June, Cara had assumed she'd have her husband, Reed, with her when it came time to dismantle her childhood home. She glanced around at the empty kitchen, the dusty shelves, the vacant cabinets, and once again stifled the ever-present urge to cry. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was too young to be rendered an orphan. She had taken her mother to every doctor in the Northeast looking for alternative treatments and medicines. She'd even gone to church and prayed—on her knees—and she hadn't been in a church in almost twenty years. It seemed like a waste of her too precious time, and she spent too much time on her knees washing floors and dusting baseboards and folding
laundry to volunteer to do it in church. She was only thirty-seven years old and had somehow dusted away her youth, or folded it up like one of Reed's shirts, tucked neatly in a drawer next to his socks. With every shirt she folded and every dish she washed, she forgot a little more, and a little more, until she didn't remember anything about the girl she used to be. She had no idea who she was anymore, or how the hell she'd allowed any of this to happen.

She liked to think that her mother never knew how bad things were between her and Reed, but Cara was beginning to wonder if maybe she wasn't as good at hiding things as she thought she was. Not long before her mother died they'd been sitting watching daytime talk shows and chatting about a house that had recently come on the market. Her mother hadn't brought up Jane or Meg in years, but for some reason she'd decided it was time to discuss the subject that Cara had placed off-limits a long time ago.

“I think you should reach out to the girls,” her mother said, seeming so frail under the blankets, the shadows under her eyes making her look impossibly pale. It had been just the two of them since Cara's father abandoned them when Cara was three. She honestly had no idea how she was going to exist in this world without her mom, either. “I don't want to even think about you being alone after I'm gone.”

“What do you mean alone? I have Reed,” Cara said, choking out the words.

“You do?” Her mother scoffed.

“We all have our limitations,” Cara whispered. She believed that the secrets of marriage should be kept secret. Even from her mother.
Especially
from her mother.

“Hmmm. That's a good euphemism. You stick with that when you're talking to people who don't know any better. Just don't think for a minute that I'm one of them.”

“Mom, we don't have to talk about this. Really. I'm fine.”

“Promise me you'll try to make things right with them. I need to know that you'll reach out to them when the time comes. Don't let your anger with them overpower your love for them. It's not a good way to live. Promise me.”

“Okay. I'll try. When the time comes, I promise I'll try. Now can we please talk about something else?” The truth was, Cara had been thinking about Meg and Jane both a lot lately. She tried not to wonder about how different things would be if they were still around, or if they could've helped her though this awful time. They certainly couldn't have made anything worse. Well, that wasn't exactly true. According to the news reports, Jane's life was in total chaos, and chaos was the last thing Cara needed.

They'd gone back to watching TV and Cara had tried not to think any more about her mother's request. Shortly thereafter, she was gone, and even though Cara was married, her mother had done what no mother should ever do to a child she loved.

She left her alone.

Reed went with her to the funeral, but that was the only effort he made to support her. After the public mourning period was over, he didn't lift a finger to help her get her mother's affairs in order. He didn't go with her to meet with the executor of the estate; he didn't offer to help her deal with the sale of the house or pack up her mother's clothes and personal belongings. She remembered that Jane and Meg used to be jealous of her for being an only child, and would tease her for her tendency to get whatever she wanted. Only-child syndrome, they called it. What they
didn't realize was that the syndrome doesn't just mean that you get what you want; it also means that you get what you don't want—like the sole responsibility for clearing out your mother's house after she's gone.

Cara wondered if maybe she'd be able to manage her grief better if she had someone to help her though it, but her husband didn't seem to think that it was his job. In his mind, it was her responsibility to deal with her emotions and soldier on as if nothing had happened, to lock her feelings away and show a brave face to the world. That was how the people in his family dealt with hardships. It probably explained why his sister had been married three times and his mother was addicted to sleeping pills.

Cara had started selling real estate in town years ago, and her job was the only thing in her life that kept her sane. She had always loved real estate and architecture and all the promise that a new home could hold. She loved meeting people who actually listened to her and valued what she had to say. Her clients made her feel important, like she had a purpose in life other than being Reed Chase's wife. She liked making her own money, even if it all went into their joint account; she knew that she contributed, and in her mind that meant she remained independent. Of course, the job had the added benefit of keeping her busy and out of the house for a few hours every day, something that she needed more than ever now that she couldn't spend time visiting her mother. Truth be told, while she loved her job, she'd have worked for the garbage company if it meant she could get away from Reed.

If she ever told anyone that he made her feel this way, they'd think she was crazy. Everyone loved Reed and stupidly believed that he was the perfect guy, a persona that he had delicately
crafted for his entire life. His leather loafers were never scuffed, his tweed blazers were impeccably tailored, his shirt collars were crisply starched. Over the years Cara realized that it was one of the things that women who didn't know the first thing about Reed found enticing: that he managed to always look like a J.Crew model. Cara saw them in the grocery store, the women who ignorantly envied her without really knowing anything about her at all. Cara wore her dark hair in a neat, even shoulder-length cut, and her pearls and white button-downs like a uniform, not because she was too lazy to get dressed in anything else in the morning but because she had learned it was the only outfit she could wear that her husband wouldn't criticize. He liked things clean, orderly, unfussy, and that included her attire. Years ago she had dared to wear patterned shirts and large dangly earrings. One particularly brazen day, she'd donned a zebra-print coat, and the ridicule that rained down on her had been so relentless it made her afraid to descend the stairs in the morning to meet him at the breakfast table. Finally she realized that this particular uniform would allow her to move about without his pulling at the small threads that were left of her self-esteem, and so now it was all she wore.

The women in town called her “classic,” she knew, like she was so stylish and naturally chic that she believed all a woman needed to look her best was minimal makeup, a pair of J Brand jeans, and a stark white shirt. It amazed her how truth can differ so vastly from reality, and how utterly painful it was to be the only person in her entire life who actually knew the truth.

Cara was aware that her mother had never really approved of her being in love with Reed Chase, but when Meg and Jane first
met him, they liked him. At least, Meg did. If Cara was honest with herself, she'd admit that Jane was never a fan of Reed, either. Cara had assumed Jane was jealous and ignored her friend's obvious lack of enthusiasm where her new boyfriend was concerned. In fact, Cara's assumption that Jane was jealous of her probably marked the beginning of the end of their friendship. The irony was that Cara never took Jane's opinions all that seriously, and Jane might have been the only person who had the guts to try to point out that Reed might not be the guy he was pretending to be. Back then, Cara thought she knew everything. It became clear over the years that she actually knew nothing.

She met Reed during her junior year of college, and they hit it off immediately. They had so much in common. They were both overachievers with type-A personalities, both athletes, both popular, both more mature than other kids their own age. Cara's friends at college called Reed “Mr. Wonderful,” always the charmer with the big smile and the jokes and the jovial personality that made everyone want to be near him. When she was home for winter break, Reed came to visit for a weekend. Cara introduced him to Meg and Jane at a party, so happy to have a real man in her life. Jane was right. Staying at Bowdoin was definitely the right decision.

“What kind of name is Reed Chase? It sounds like some sort of rich-people sport involving mallards or racehorses or something,” Jane said when they met for lunch a few days later after Reed had returned home. “He's good-looking and all, don't get me wrong, but I don't know. He seems a little off to me. He's kind of bossy, isn't he? He wouldn't let you refill your beer at the keg last night. Worse than that, you listened to him! What's that about?”

“He was doing me a favor!” Cara answered in Reed's defense. “I'd had enough at that point. The last thing I needed was another beer.”

“I don't know. If you like him I'm happy for you, but he kind of comes across like one of those rich dickheads who thinks he's better than everyone else,” Jane said.

“So what if his family has money? That's not why I like him!”

“Only someone who was dating a guy with money would pretend like it didn't matter,” Jane said. “Just be careful with him, that's all I'm saying.”

Jane was jealous, and Cara knew it, which bothered her. Friends are supposed to want the best for each other. She didn't appreciate feeling like she needed to apologize for the universe bringing her and Reed together at a keg party, and she certainly didn't need to defend him to Jane.

“He's hot,” Meg chimed in. “That's what I care about. He's smoking hot. If I wasn't madly in love with Steve, I'd totally go for him. On paper he seems just about perfect.”

“He is cute, isn't he?” Cara said, feeling somehow proud that she'd been fortunate enough to grab someone as good-looking as Reed. It almost validated her own vanity, reaffirmed that she was a beautiful person, too. Looking back on it, it was clear that she was already starting to define herself by him. That trend only worsened over time, and she learned the hard way that being good on paper didn't actually mean anything.

She'd been telling the truth when she said that the money had never been something she thought about. Jane was the one who was interested in meeting a guy who could buy her Chanel purses and a prewar apartment in Manhattan. All Cara ever wanted was someone to make her coffee in the morning in one
of those old-school French presses and go to the movies or to brunch with her on Saturdays. She suspected that Reed's name was worth more than he was, anyway. She was pretty sure that the family's old money, allegedly stored in old vaults, had been spent by old men on young women along the way. Still, that was a subject she never dared broach. It was ironic that she had worried that he was faking his finances when she should have been worried that he was faking being something else: a normal human who didn't think that women should be silent and obedient, and not necessarily in that order.

She'd heard stories of women who got married and then claimed that their husband's entire personalities changed after the honeymoon ended, but she'd never thought she'd be one of them. When they were first married, life with Reed was more than she ever could've imagined. He was never overly sentimental or affectionate, but he was a WASP and wasn't exactly in touch with his emotions, so that was never a big deal to her. He was thoughtful in his own way: buying her jewelry or new clothes. Once he even bought her a designer bag that all the women in town were carrying, but which she'd found to be way too big of a splurge to ever buy for herself. He worked as a business manager, spending most of his time monitoring finances for his family and his boarding school buddies. His friends were constantly calling him to ask questions about their investments, or their trusts, or how to write off the expensive gifts they bought for their wives and their girlfriends. He loved his job, and at the end of the day he'd come home and they'd spend their nights having quiet dinners in restaurants in Brookville. Slowly, they settled into a routine. Wasn't that what married life was supposed to be like? Wasn't an end to chaos and the emergence of a routine one of the benefits?
After about two years of marriage, though, she began to see the jewelry and the purses not as thoughtful gifts from a loving husband, but as something else entirely. She felt like he was trying to change her, to mold her into the type of woman he wanted her to be, instead of accepting her for the woman she actually was. It was a gradual shift, so subtle she didn't even realize it at first, but eventually he developed an obsessive need to control everything in her life, including her.