Kizzy. She never stayed late at her kitchen shop on Friday.
Kizzy answered her phone on the second ring.
“I've got an emergency. Could you watch the girls for an hour?” Angela begged.
“Oh, my God. What's wrong?” Kizzy gasped.
“I'll have to tell you later,” Angela said, not wanting to get delayed by explanations and, knowing Kizzy, counseling sessions. It was too late for counseling now. She was Oprah bound.
“Angela, what's wrong?” Kizzy asked again once Angela was on her doorstep.
Angela plopped Mandy in her arms. “Be good for Aunt Kizzy,” she told Gabriella. To Kizzy she said, “I don't have time. I have to get there before five.”
Otherwise, it would be awfully hard to follow Brad and Rachel to whatever seedy hotel they were going to. Who was she kidding? They weren't going to any seedy hotel. They were probably going someplace really expensive.
She roared down the freeway, zipping in and out of lanes of traffic, using every Italian curse word she could think of and when those ran out she switched to good, old American ones.
She'd deprived herself of pasta and cookies and chocolate, had sex like bunnies with that man, even learned how to pole-danceâand for what? So she could whet his appetite for Rachel.
“Move it,” she yelled at a pokey Cadillac in front of her. Of course, no one was in a hurry when your life was falling apart. She
swerved into the slow lane and sailed past the Caddy, then whipped back into the fast lane. This was not good driving. She had to slow down or she was going to kill someone. Or at least get a ticket. Unless the cop was a woman. A woman would understand.
She lightened her foot on the gas and forced herself to take deep breaths, but that didn't help. It only made her feel like she was going to pass out. Maybe she would. She'd pass out and crash into a cement wall and die behind the wheel and Brad and Rachel would raise the girls together. That possibility started her crying.
Oh, Brad, we were so happy. What have you done?
Maybe she should forget Brad and ask herself what she'd done. Had she taken him for granted, taken their good life for granted? Had she just set herself on happy homemaker autopilot and cruised through these last few years? Yes, she had to admit that until recently, she had done just that. And now look what happened.
She got to First National's loan center at ten minutes to five and parked on the corner where she could have a good view of the parking garage. Then she turned off the car and waited. When Brad and Rachel came out, she'd follow them.
But what if they didn't come out? What if they waited until everyone else had gone and then went into his office and went at it on his desktop? The image that came to mind blurred her eyes with fresh tears.
How could you do this to the woman who stuck with you through thick and thin?
Okay, more thick than thin lately, but that was beside the point. She'd wait until twenty after five, then if Brad hadn't come out, she'd go in there and catch him in the act.
The thought of catching her husband naked with another woman broke her heart. It was raining now. Hordes of fat drops beat on the windshield, and she had to turn on her wipers. Even with the windshield wipers going she could barely see for her own tears.
At ten after five the office started emptying. There went Gary, there went Marion the receptionist who was supposed to have been retiring. There went. Oh! There went Brad's car, shooting out
of the parking garage. She started her engine, but forced herself to wait until another car was between them, like any good private eye would do.
They were halfway down the block when she realized that the car between them was Rachel's red PT Cruiser. It was all Angela could do not to ram it. As they threaded their way through the downtown streets, she tried rehearsing what she'd say.
I've given you the best years of my life and this is how you thank me?
That was what women said in movies. In real life it didn't seem like enough. Sadly, it was all she could think of.
Their sick little convoy got on the freeway, northbound. Where was Brad taking this woman, anyway? Angela let out an angry shriek when they took the Heart Lake exit. What was this? He was having an affair right in their own front yard? Brad was a monster!
Her husband and his mistress parked their cars in front of Brewsters' Brews microbrewery and restaurant. As they got out of their cars Angela scrambled out of hers and ran across the street. Brad had just opened his car trunk and was handing off a pink carry-on suitcase when Rachel saw Angela approaching and nudged him.
He saw her and suddenly looked like a little boy who had just gotten caught raiding the cookie jar. Well, that would teach him to pick a cookie jar so close to home! “Ang,” he stammered.
“You lied to me,” she cried.
“I'll just take this inside,” Rachel said to Brad, and scurried away like the cockroach she was.
Angela stepped up to Brad and gave him an angry poke in the chest. “You, you, you.”
Poke
, poke, poke
. “You bastardo,” she sobbed. “I want a divorce!”
“What?” Brad was looking at her like she'd just gone nuts.
“Oh, stop pretending already. I caught you red-handed with that, that home wrecker.”
He threw up his hands. “Okay, I give up.” He reached into the trunk and pulled out some sort of plastic banner and unfurled it. “Surprise,” he snapped.
She tipped her head and read, “Happy Thirtieth ⦠Angela?”
“You have just officially crashed your surprise party,” Brad informed her, looking at her as if she was Gabriella, caught coloring on the wall.
“Birthday?”
He reached in and pulled out a roll of pink crepe paper streamer and then a white one. “I've been trying to plan a surprise party for you. That night you came home and caught me on the phone we were choosing the restaurant. You caught us, all right. You caught us dropping off the decorations for the party tomorrow.”
“You're not? She's not? Oh, Brad!” Angela threw herself against Brad with such force she almost knocked him over. The rain was drenching them. She didn't care. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as tightly as she could. He was still hers. Thank God. She looked up at his frowning face. It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. “I was so worried. I've been such an idiot.”
“Yeah, you have.” He took her hands and pried them off him. “I told you over and over again that I wasn't cheating on you, that I wasn't lying to you, but you wouldn't believe me.”
She hung her head. “But you were acting so suspicious, and I got fat,” she said in a small voice.
He gave a snort of disgust. “My God, Ang, what kind of a shallow prick do you think I am?”
“I didn't think,” she realized.
“Oh, you thought all right,” he said bitterly. “You thought you couldn't trust me even though I've never given you a reason not to. Well, here's something new to think about: what man in his right mind wants to be with a woman who doesn't trust him?” He slammed the trunk shut and stamped to the driver's side of his car.
“Brad! What are you doing?” She rushed after him and grabbed his arm.
He threw it off and got in the car, shutting the door in her face.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
He didn't answer. Instead he started the car and squealed away from the curb, drenching her pants in a rooster tail of water in the process.
She barely noticed. “Brad!” she shrieked after him. He didn't stop. The rain was coming down hard now. Cold droplets slipped under her coat collar like icy fingers. “Brad,” she whimpered. What, oh, what had she done?
S
he trudged back to her car and fell inside, laid her head on the steering wheel and wailed. All this time she'd been afraid of losing Brad. Now maybe she really had.
Still crying, she finally forced herself to start her car and turn toward home, praying all the way that by the time she'd stopped at Kizzy's and collected the girls Brad would have beaten her there.
Once in front of Kizzy's house, she sat in the car and tried to pull herself together. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror and nearly started crying again. Her eyes were all bloodshot, her makeup was a mess, and her wet hair was plastered to her skull. She looked like she should be in a horror movie. As far as she was concerned, she was.
Outside the rain was still sluicing down her windows. The sky was leaden and angry, and under it the lake looked depressing and gray, its surface pockmarked by the barrage of raindrops shelling it.
She covered her face, wishing she could rewind time. If only she'd trusted her husband. If only she hadn't jumped to the conclusion that he was as unhappy with her overweight condition as
she was. She'd thought less of herself, so she'd assumed he did, too. How dumb! She'd been so quick to suspect another woman of taking her husband. Now she'd driven him away, maybe for good, and the only woman she had to blame was her own insecure self.
A tap on the passenger side window of the car made her jump, and she let out a startled yelp. She looked to see Kizzy's concerned face. And then Kizzy was climbing into the car. “I saw you from the window. Is everything okay?”
“Nothing is okay,” Angela cried. “Brad, Brad ⦔
Angela gathered her into her ample arms. “Oh, now honey, don't go crying. Your husband loves you.”
“Not anymore,” Angela stammered between sobs.
Kizzy sighed. “All right. I shouldn't be telling you this, I'm going to blow the surprise.”
“I know about the surprise,” Angela howled.
“Well, then. Why do you think he doesn't love you?”
“Because we had a fight and he drove away and didn't even tell me where he's going.” She turned desperate eyes to Kizzy. “He's really, really mad. And he said, he said ⦔ Again she couldn't go on, couldn't say those terrible words Brad had said to her.
Kizzy stroked her wet hair. “It will be all right,” she crooned. “You'll see. Come on, now. Pull yourself together. You don't want your girls to see you like this, do you?”
The girls. She had to be strong for the girls. She made a determined sniff.
“That's better. Now, blow your nose and dry your eyes.” Kizzy pulled a tissue out of her sweater pocket and handed it to her. “This will all be history by your party tomorrow. You'll probably get home and find Brad there waiting for you. The girls are fed. You can put them to bed early and then you two can curl up on the couch and make up. Okay?”
Angela forced herself to nod her head even though deep down she knew Kizzy was wrong. Brad couldn't even stand the sight of her right now. Maybe he'd never be able to stand the sight of her again.
She forced herself to smile for the girls as if her heart wasn't in shreds. She gritted her teeth to keep from bursting into wails when they returned to an empty house.
“Where's Daddy?” asked Gabriella.
He could be anywhereâhis parents' house, his brother's. “He had to work late, honey,” Angela lied, trying to keep her voice steady.
Gabriella's lower lip went out. “I don't want Daddy to work late. I want him to come home and read me a story.”
I just want him to come home
. “I know,
bambina,”
Angela said, laying a hand on her daughter's head. “Mommy will read you a story tonight.”
And wouldn't you know? The story Gabriella wanted to hear was Cinderella. Angela felt like her head was a fire hydrant about to burst. Any second tears were going to splash everywhere. “And they lived happily ever after,” she finished and almost choked. She and Brad had been doing that until she had to go and spoil it all.
“I want another story,” Gabriella pleaded.
“'Nother story,” Mandy echoed.
“No, we need to get to bed,” Angela said firmly.
The thought of going to bed by herself just about did her in. She wiped away the tears leaking from the corner of her eyes.
“Mommy, are you crying?” asked Gabriella.
“That nice story made me cry,” Angela lied. “Come on, now, let's go brush our teeth.”
She held it together until she got the girls settled, then she scurried to the bedroom, buried her head under a pillow, and had a good cry. She stayed in bed alone, sobbing, until she gave herself a headache. Then she got up and went in search of aspirin. While she was up, she called Brad's cell. Of course, he only gave her his voice mail.
“Brad, please,” she begged. “I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please come home. I promise I'll never mistrust you again. Ever, as long as I live.”
But he didn't come home. And he didn't call her back. And on her thirtieth birthday she woke up alone.
Kizzy called her shortly after ten. “How are you doing?”
Having to answer started a fresh flow of tears. “Brad never came home,” she said in a wobbly voice. “I called his cell and he never called back.”
“Uhn, uhn,” said Kizzy, and Angela couldn't tell if that disgusted tone of voice was for Brad or her or both of them.
“I don't know what to do,” Angela confessed. “You've got a lot of experience. Tell me. What should I do?”
“Send him an e-card,” suggested Kizzy. “Then work on getting pretty for your party.”
A surprise party without her husband there? That would be the ultimate humiliation. “I can't go.”
“Yes you can.”
“Not without Brad.”
“Angela, honey, your life will go on with or without Brad. You have a lot of people who love you coming to this party. And I suspect, in the end, one of them will be your husband.”
“He's so mad at me.” And she couldn't blame him.
“We all do things to disappoint each other. Brad will come around. And if he hasn't come around by seven, Lionel and I will be by to pick you up.”
“Thanks,” Angela murmured and hung up.
She so didn't want to go to that party. What did she have to celebrate? Hitting thirty as a failure. Maybe she would get pneumonia or the flu or something before seven tonight. Maybe she'd call in sick, tell Kizzy she was throwing up, had a fever, her feet had fallen off, she'd had a heart attack.
Except the heart attack had happened yesterday. She couldn't believe she was still alive today.
She called Brad's cell phone again and still got no closer to him than his voice mail.
“Brad, are you ever going to talk to me again?” she asked sadly. “I
guess I can't blame you. I was such a stupido to think that just because I didn't like me that you wouldn't, either. Except now you don't like me. And I hate me. I wish it was yesterday and I wish I'd never come into the city. I wish you could forgive me.” She hung up with a sob.
When she still hadn't heard from Brad by five-thirty she knew her life was over. And that was all the reason she needed to give Kizzy for not going to the party. There was no sense going to a birthday party when you were a corpse. She would stay home tonight, turning her house into a fort, hiding inside these four walls, protecting her dead self from gawkers and kindly mourners who might think they could somehow bring her back to life when her life was over.
She was making dinnerâpizza, who cared about losing weight now?âwhen the doorbell rang.
From the living room, she heard Gabriella cry, “Daddy!” Angela knew her daughter would be on her way to open the door. But she wouldn't find Brad there since he had a key and wouldn't have used the doorbell. And it wasn't the babysitter, either. Angela had already called her and canceled. So, whoever that left at the front door, it was someone she didn't want to see.
She hurried from the kitchen and across the living room, hoping to stop Gabriella from opening the gate to Fort Baker, but it was too late. Kizzy and Erin and Megan were already walking into the entryway, Lionel trailing behind.
“It's time to get dressed,” Kizzy informed her.
“I can help you with your makeup,” Erin offered.
“I brought Visine,” added Megan, holding up a small bottle. “Good thing, too,” she muttered. “You look like a vampire.”
Angela shook her head. “I'm not going.”
“We're having pizza,” Gabriella added.
Erin picked her up and gave her a kiss. “That will be fun. Is Emily coming over to have pizza with you?”
Gabriella shook her head. “Mommy told Emily not to come. We're going to have a party.”
Kizzy cocked an eyebrow. “Canceled the babysitter, did you?”
Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm not going.”
It was about to get ugly. “Let's go out and check on that pizza,” Erin said to Gabriella, and carried her out of the room.
“I'll go help Erin with the girls,” Megan said. “Here,” she added, passing Angela the bottle of Visine. “Don't forget to use this.”
“I don't want it. I'm not going.”
“Yes you are,” Kizzy informed Angela. “It won't do you any good to sit in here and mope.”
“I can't go to a party and pretend everything is all right,” Angela protested.
Kizzy put an arm around her. “Come on, honey, try. Brad is probably feeling pretty bad right now. I bet you'll walk in and find him there, waiting for you.”
Angela shook her head violently. “He won't take my calls. I haven't talked to him all day.”
“Sometimes it takes guys a while to cool off,” put in Lionel.
“He hates me,” Angela wailed.
“Naw,” said Lionel gently. “He's just real pissed.”
“Come on,” Kizzy urged. “Call the babysitter back, then let's go upstairs and get you all pretty. If Brad isn't there, then you can say you're sick and we'll bring you right back home. How's that?”
Angela began to wring her hands. This was awful. She and Brad had never had a big fight like this. “I don't know what to do.”
“I think you do what we all do when we're not sure,” said Kizzy. “You put one foot in front of the other and just move forward the best you can.”
It took an hour of persuading and primping, but finally Angela was able to set foot outside the house, ready to endure her birthday party alone. “But only for a few minutes,” she reminded Kizzy. “If he's not there you have to bring me home.”
“We will,” Kizzy promised.
With every step toward Kizzy's car Angela kept an eye on the street, hoping to see Brad pull up, but he didn't.
They walked into the private party room at Brewsters' and found it filled with all Angela's friends, her parents, and even her grandparents, who had flown in from Florida, but no Brad. She immediately burst into tears, thus managing to convince the guests that she was completely surprised.
People hugged her and told her how great she looked. Many asked her if she'd lost weight. She wiped at her eyes, nodded, and tried to smile, but smiling hurt. Thinking about how she'd managed to ruin Brad's surprise and their life in one afternoon was really making her sick now. She had to get out of here. Where was Kizzy?
She searched the room. Oh, no. Here came Brad's parents. Did they know? They couldn't. They were smiling. They still didn't know what a rotten, untrusting person she was.
“Happy birthday, dear,” said her mother-in-law.
She couldn't answer. Tears choked her throat. She looked longingly toward the door.
And that was when she saw him. He was wearing the same suit he'd worn yesterday, maybe even the same underwear. Poor Brad. He looked at her and the hard set to his jaw softened. Ignoring the greetings of the other guests, he was walking straight toward her.
“Brad!” she cried and flew to him.
She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist as the other guests cheered like this was all planned.
She looked up into his handsome face and begged, “Please say you forgive me.”
“I didn't want to, but I love you too much not to,” he said softly, and kissed her.
Now everyone was applauding. “You got her good, Brad!” someone called.
“Yeah, well, wait till she sees what else I've got up my sleeve,” he said, and smiled at Angela.