But it hadn’t been just the locale Lila had resented. She had shied away from the celebrity Cahal’s talents brought him, the legions of fans who recognized him even in the most faraway places. She hated knowing that he was not just being kind to the fans but that he was happy to sign autographs, to listen to their opinions on the team’s chances, to pose for a photograph. He accepted it as a part of his job, as integral as the time on the ice, and he had grown used to the notoriety.
Lila had hated, too, the things he had been unable to change. Cahal could have snubbed the autograph seekers but he was unable to keep his face out of the newspaper when he played hockey games three or four times a week.
She had resented the danger inherent in his playing hockey, the inevitable minor injuries that might one day become career-ending. The muscle strains, the groin pulls, the more routine stiffness or soreness. Occasionally during the playoffs, he might not sleep through the night because of pain.
She had resented never being able to hold down a job because any work she might find would have conflicted with his own unusual hours. Resented being away from her friends so that she was denied even that small way to spend her time. Instead, she joined the Wives and Girlfriends’ club in Chicago, joining other players’ wives and partners in organizing charity and social events. She would rather have been around when her grandparents had died, would have rather spent that time by their sides.
There was no point in blaming Cahal. He could have insisted that she marry him right after high school, refusing to put her through university, refusing to allow her those four precious years with her grandparents while she had attended school. Those four years had been years he had spent alone in Chicago.
In the privacy of her small apartment, Lila’s nutmeg-colored eyes darkened.
No, she did not imagine that Cahal had been alone all of those years. Along with fans, there were always hockey groupies, young women who were eager to get closer to their favorite player in whatever way they could. Young and handsome and a rising star to boot, Cahal must have had his pick of young beauties while Lila remained innocent, waiting for him in Toronto.
The color came to her pale cheeks as she remembered just how innocent she had been on their wedding night and how surprised that Cahal seemed to know exactly what to do to bring them both pleasure. At the time, like a silly fool, she had thought that such things came instinctively to men. She had not imagined that while she had wanted to save herself for him alone, her new husband might have acquired some experience along the way.
No, Lila told herself, she would not allow her thoughts to take her back to those times. For months she had brooded on the past, searching her memory for any prior signs of her husband’s true nature.
In retrospect, she had found it only too easy to find significant clues. Only, after such a long time, she no longer knew if she could trust her memories to be accurate or trust herself not to blur those recollections with her own anger and hurt.
Well, she could not stop herself from having been angry and hurt by Cahal. There was nothing she could do about the past. But there was no way that she would be hurt again. Not by Cahal and not by any man.
• • •
Monday nights were the usual time for meetings of the Toronto Wives and Girlfriends’ club. A reluctant Lila had been urged by her new boyfriend to join two months before. Now she found it a pleasant way to occupy her time.
The other women were cheerful and interesting, and the charity events they planned were useful rather than being decorative social affairs. Last year, Lila learned, the Wives had raised almost half a million dollars for a local children’s organization. This year they were planning the same sort of outcome for an earthquake relief fund.
This Monday, however, Lila felt a faint shimmer of apprehension as she arrived at the home of Catherine and Edward Monahan.
Although the meeting times of the Wives were set, the location often varied according to the women’s whims and inclinations. Sometimes the rotation occurred every week, with a different woman hosting the club each Monday. Other times one woman would host for weeks on end, taking the pressure off the other families.
At first Lila had felt like an interloper. The majority of the women were actually wives of the players, not merely girlfriends. Lila had wondered whether her status as Jack’s girlfriend would give her a diminished role in the club. She had not wondered for long.
The women had been inviting and welcoming. They could well afford to be. Some of the wives had been in Toronto for a dozen or more years. Most had been there for at least a couple of years. Of the three girlfriends who attended, two had been going steady with their boyfriends for several years and the other for at least a year.
Lila’s apprehension was that she was now going to be cast in a role she had avoided discussing — that of Cahal Wallace’s wife. But tonight was also the first time she was going to attend a Wives meeting without seeing the face of Jessica Gerard, the wife of Toronto’s previous goaltender. Jessica had been well liked and respected amongst the Wives. This was the first time that one of the Wives had left for the sake of another’s estranged husband.
• • •
She could feel the tension the moment she stepped into Cathy Monahan’s decorated home. Her hostess’s smile was polite in the extreme but it was patently false, an exaggerated attempt at friendliness.
This was worse than Lila had anticipated, worse even than she had feared.
Cathy Monahan led Lila toward the living room where she saw that she was among the last to arrive. There were already more than a dozen women in the room, comprising most of the membership of the Toronto Wives and Girlfriends.
Most of the women were dressed more casually than Lila, wearing the slacks, pullovers and blouses that branded them as mothers of small children. Nadia Ivanov had been a gymnast before she had married and Cathy Monahan had been a model but other than that, none of the women worked or desired to do so. Being the wife of a hockey player and mother to children of an often-absent father was a demanding occupation.
Lila felt out of place in her tailored work clothes. There was never any time to change after work.
Ignoring the strain that she felt, Lila greeted the other women, trying not to show any of her discomfort in her posture or her tone.
Unfortunately, the other women had known her for too many weeks to be deterred by a straight backbone or mild tones.
“Ethan told me that you’ve seen our new goalie,” one of the women remarked almost immediately after pleasantries had been exchanged. Ethan was her husband. “What’s he like, Lila? It’s so hard for a man to tell you what you want to know.”
Lila held her breath. Was it possible that they did not know? Could the tension that she had perceived be attributed merely to the fact of Jessica Gerard’s husband being traded away from the team?
“I’ve seen his picture on television,” Nadia offered, “but that didn’t give me any impression of the man.”
Lila’s hostess turned cornflower blue eyes upon her. “Yes, Lila, tell us what our newest arrival is like. Eddie told me that you had spoken to him yesterday at practice.”
“Forget that,” Nadia said. “What does the man look like in the flesh? He is absolutely gorgeous on TV.”
There were enthusiastic murmurs of agreement this time, even from women who had attractive husbands of their own waiting at home.
“Well,” Lila said, wanting to defer any further prompting, “he’s about six foot four, blond, gray eyes, with broad shoulders and a long dimple in one of his cheeks which is hard to see unless he laughs. He has a deep voice, sort of hoarse and raspy.”
Another woman immediately interjected. “You can do better than that, Lila, being his wife and all. I don’t care how he plays on the ice. What’s he like in bed?”
Lila went silent. Since none of the other women had ever lived in Chicago or mentioned Cahal, she hadn’t realized that they knew about her marriage. After all, the Wives knew her by her grandparents’ name of Ramlall.
Now she saw how naïve she had been. Of course the other women didn’t have to know Cahal personally to have read the sport pages or seen her picture on the Internet.
Before she could speak, the doorbell chimed again and Cathy Monahan ran to answer it.
Cathy brought back a woman Lila did not know, a slender blonde. At first Lila assumed it to be one of the Wives who had not attended the meetings for the past few months, who had perhaps been away or having a baby, but the way the conversations all halted when Cathy returned told her that this was not a woman with whom the other Wives were acquainted.
“Ladies,” Cathy announced, her excitement suppressed, “may I present Victoria Brantford, Cahal Wallace’s significant other.”
Lila’s first reaction was one of total shock, but that soon gave way to a feeling of all-encompassing relief. She was spared the need to explain her relationship to Cahal, just as she would be in the future spared the questions that would inevitably result from their having had a relationship together. It would be Victoria Brantford who would receive all of the questions, who would have to appease the curiosity about the newest Toronto player.
Victoria was soon settled into a chair by the door where Lila couldn’t see her. Even before Cathy could begin the necessary introductions, the new arrival was peppered with questions. How was she doing after the flight over from Chicago? How did she feel about the trade? Had she ever been to Canada before?
They were all polite questions, perfectly reasonable, though they came swift and sure from all corners of the room.
Lila could afford to take pity on the girl, remembering how she had been subject to a similarly well-mannered interrogation upon joining the Wives and Girlfriends. The women were curious, and added to that the superstar status of Cahal Wallace, Victoria was sure to attract some attention.
Lila remained in the background, sipping on the soft drink that the Monahan’s maid had given to her. From her distant vantage point, she couldn’t see the newcomer. She could just make out the clear confident answers that the new arrival made to the questions the other Wives were throwing at her.
How closed-mouthed Cahal had been the previous day. He had virtually forbidden her remarriage yet he had had a girlfriend tucked up his sleeve. A year ago, she would not have believed him capable of such casual deception. She was a great deal wiser today.
Finally, the other women’s inquiries being exhausted, Cathy Monahan was able to perform her function as hostess and introduce the other women to the newcomer.
As Lila’s name was spoken, she stepped forward, her hand outstretched. Instead of reaching out her own hand, Victoria Brantford gasped and took a step backward.
After an embarrassed moment, Lila dropped her hand to her side. She could feel her cheeks heating. The other woman had obviously shunned her and she had no idea why.
There was a prolonged moment of silence in the room, broken only by one of the wives’ nervous laughter.
“Uh — do you two know each other?” one of the women asked.
Their hostess moved in to dispel the discomfort. “Well, of course they must know each other. Victoria’s father is one of the owners of the Chicago team.”
As there was no way to deny it, Lila nodded. The question that continued to haunt her was how did Victoria Brantford know
her
, when she was perfectly certain that she had never met the other woman before in her life?
It was Victoria who provided the answer to the question in Cathy Monahan’s cornflower eyes.
“Of course I know all about her,” the blonde woman said in a high, tight voice. “She’s still married to my boyfriend.”
One by one, all heads turned toward the woman seated in the corner of the room.
Ignoring the rest, Lila’s eyes met Victoria Brantford’s gray-green stare. “I’ve never met you,” she said. “How do you know who I am?”
The reply was not the expected one.
“From the pictures,” the blonde woman responded, her voice only slightly less taut. “There must be dozens of photographs around his house, all over the place. Your wedding photos. Your high school prom. I’ve seen them all.”
And, apparently, had memorized them all.
Lila was torn between being angry at Cahal for still having the photographs up and daring to show them to his new girlfriend, and being saddened at the thought that he had still lived in that house in Chicago, the one they had picked out together, surrounded by all of their memories.
“After seeing those photographs,” Victoria continued, “I could never mistake you.”
It was impossible to tell if there was real venom behind that high unnatural voice, so different from the smooth tones that she had used to answer those initial questions from the Wives.
“Maybe I should leave,” Lila said, getting to her feet. She gave her hostess an appealing glance. “Surely, there can’t be enough room in the club for a girlfriend and an ex-wife.”
Ethan’s wife was indignant. “I don’t see why not! It might never have happened before but there is a first time for everything. It’s not as if we were men and incapable of behaving rationally about such things.”
This comment earned a few welcomed chuckles.
“I do not see why Lila should leave,” Nadia Ivanov added. “She’s not just Cahal Wallace’s wife, or ex-wife, but she is also going out with Jarrett.”
Jack.
Lila had almost forgotten him in the turmoil of the past few minutes. Jack had been enthusiastic about her joining the Wives. Perhaps he envisioned them next season posing for the yearly calendar the team put out, the one that included pictures of the players with their families.
There were, somewhere in the distant past of Chicago, pictures of she and Cahal posed for a similar calendar. A younger Cahal and a naïve Lila, smiling into the camera for the benefit of nameless fans.
Without thinking, she turned toward Cahal’s girlfriend. “Did he tell you to come here tonight? Did you mention to Cahal that you intended to come?”