Not To Us (41 page)

The old house has sold. I’ve already deposited the check into my savings account, mine, not our joint one. But, do I tell Michael? No. And, I ask Robert not to tell him, either. I’ve already transferred the two hundred thousand that Michael borrowed from Robert back into my ex-husband’s account, but I don’t tell Michael about that either.

Secrets
.
I continue to hold them, to keep them from Michael.
I cannot say why.

I’m waiting for something. I’m not sure what, but I’m busy making plans. I book a trip for two to Italy. I find a villa similar to the one that Court and I stayed in and make a reservation for two weeks around Valentine’s Day to be there. I’m extravagant with these plans, buying first class tickets from Seattle to Rome, leaving on the 5
^th
of February and staying at villa that is private and decadent for two whole weeks. But, even I don’t know who I’m going to take with me. I do all of this without telling Michael. Keeping secrets, making plans, making mistakes over and over. This is what I do, when I’m not caring for the twins and Mathew and Emily.

By mid-morning, I finally have the babies down for a nap. Already exhausted, I pull off my wig and stand in front of the bathroom mirror. My hair is slowly coming back in. I look like a boy with this quarter inch blonde crew cut. That’s me. There are new dark circles under my eyes and I trace them with my index finger.

The crimson scars at my breasts are healing, but they’re still there and I trace them, too. I turn away from the mirror with a feeling of disgust and disappointment.

I’m Ellie. The woman, who keeps secrets and makes mistakes over and over.

I should cancel my plans with Court. I should cancel my plans with Court.
If I keep thinking this over and over, will I do this? Cancel my plans with Court?

I sink into the bath water and slide all the way under, sloshing water over the sides of the tub. I only come up for air, when I can no longer hold my breath. The hot water feels good on my body, as if, it is cleansing me all the way to my soul. My mind drifts. I think about Court. This is what happens when I let my mind wander.
Why do I do this?
I love Michael. I love Michael. I love Michael. Why do I think about Court, when I love Michael?
Why do I do this? Why?

I’m fighting some kind of depression. That’s what this is. I think about Court because I have happy memories with him, not so with Michael. There’s been too much grief, too much devastation, too much sadness with Michael. The happy moments have been too few. It’s not enough. It’s not.
I love Michael; don’t I?

I finish my bath and tell myself to think of nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

With shaking hands, I get dressed in black slacks and a white blouse. I pick up my cell.

“I can’t see u.”
I text to Court.

“Why?”

“Just can’t.”
I text.

“Can’t or won’t?”
His petulance makes me smile. The man is used to getting what he wants when he wants it.

“Both.”
I text back. Our communiqué is interrupted by a cell phone call from Lisa.

“Dr. Chatham,” I say with irritation.

“Hi. Am I interrupting something?” Lisa asks. I detect the hint of sarcasm in her contrived cheeriness. I don’t trust that voice. The woman is clairvoyant at times.

“No, of course not,” I say. Too quickly.

“Yeah, sure.” I hear her sigh. “Look. You were supposed to be here at ten this morning. It’s Wednesday. I guess you forgot.”

“I did,” I say in this small voice.

“Are you okay?” Lisa asks in her best clinical searching tone.

“I’m…I’m fucking tired.”

“You need a nanny. Why are you being so stubborn about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Ellie, you cannot take on the whole world. You’re recovering from having twins and from fighting cancer. You can’t do everything.”

“Did Michael put you up to this?”

“Noooooo,” Lisa doesn’t lie as well as me, not that my finesse with lying has been stellar lately.

My ego still smarts from the heated exchange with Michael, three weeks before.

She sighs. “He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. You need to keep your stress levels low. You need a nanny!”

I give in to the argument that Michael and I have been having for days about getting help. “Fine,” I say with a heavy sigh. The truth is I can’t fight Michael and Lisa, too. The immensity of my life weighs me down.

Lisa doesn’t miss a beat. “Fine,” she says. “She’ll be there this afternoon. I’ve re-scheduled your appointment for ten on Friday.”

“Friday?” My upcoming liaison with Court evaporates at her words.

“Is there something wrong with Friday?” Lisa asks with an edge to her voice.

“No. Friday’s great.”

“Great. Ellie, have some tea, drink some water, eat something, and go take a nap. We’ll be there at one this afternoon.”

“You will? Lisa, you’re a great friend,” I say.

“Not as great as I should be,” she says to me now.

Her gentle tone unleashes tears I’ve been holding back for weeks now. They stream down my face as I end the call.

≈≈

I can only stare at Rachael Williams. She is twenty-five, having graduated from Seattle University five years before. She just finished serving in the Peace Corps. She loves children. She loves Bainbridge Island. Her husband of three years is serving his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. She is intent on working for the next year as a nanny, while she waits for his return. She is intrigued about a family with four children. She has no problem living in a smaller home. She doesn’t mind getting up at night with babies. She did this in the Peace Corps, quite often, she assures me at one point.

She’s perfect. I’m in awe of her. Rachael Williams is amazing. At twenty-five, she has done more living than I could ever have hoped to have done, I tell her. She looks at me in surprise when I say this. Her grey-blue eyes search my face. She swings her long, braided dark hair behind her back and smiles at me. She is pretty in a Peace-Corps-saving-the-world kind of way. Her beauty comes through with her easy smile and the sparkle of her incredible eyes. Rachael has the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to be made up every day. I feel this stab of envy and find myself unable to look away. There’s something about her that’s so familiar and I just can’t place it.

“You just gave birth to twins and survived breast cancer,” she says to me now. “I think you underestimate yourself, Mrs. Shaw.”

“If you’re going to take the job, I insist that you call me Ellie,” I say with a laugh. I give her my best yeah-team smile. I watch its immediate impact on her as she smiles back at me.

“Okay,” Rachael says with a laugh. “I’ll take it.”

I glance over at Lisa. “How did you find her?” I ask when Rachael leaves the room for a few minutes.

“I didn’t.”

“Then, who did?”

Lisa gives me a twisted smile. “Court Chandler.”

I take in air and am unable to let it out. I get up and look out the window. Slowly, I allow myself to breathe again. “Damn it, Lisa. You’re not helping me out here,” I say, uncertain.

“He insisted. He said you would love her.”

“I do.” I look over at Lisa. I helplessly lift my arms and wince at the pain it causes at my chest. “I’m drowning here.”

“I know.” Lisa gives me this measured look. “I took the liberty of prescribing something for you. I think you’re combating depression. The list is long as to why, but I think for now, we should just deal with it. I’m recommending a therapist, too.”

“I don’t need a therapist!”

“No? You think most people can go through what you’ve been through this past year and not have any repercussions from it? Your marriage is going swimmingly, right now, huh?” I avoid meeting her gaze. “I’m fielding phone calls from
everybody
.”

“Like who?”

“Carrie. Robert. Michael. Court. Stephen thinks I’m over-reacting, but I don’t think so. I’m worried about you, Ellie. Court told me about the episode in Paris. You never told me about that.”

“It wasn’t that big of deal.” I stare back at her.

“It
is
a big deal. Ellie, I want to help you.” Lisa stands too, and towers over me. “I want to see you…happy.”

“I’m happy.” Tears gather at my lashes. Lisa hands me the pills.

“There’s a sixty-day supply. Take one a day and let’s see where we’re at in a couple of months.”

“Fine.” I finger the pill packet, take a deep breath, and finally ask the question I need help in answering. “Should I see him?”

I stare at her, willing her to answer. “Yes,” Lisa finally says.

≈≈

“What made you change your mind?” Court asks. He absently twirls the stem of his wine glass as we sit at the corner table of
The Pink Door
, drinking chardonnay in the middle of the afternoon.

Lisa’s answer released some sort of hold on me. I left the house inside of an hour to go meet Court in downtown Seattle, leaving my babies behind in the capable hands of Rachel Williams and a dismayed Lisa Chatham.

“Not sure,” I say with hesitant smile. “I wanted to say…thank you.”

Court gives me an uncertain look. “Ellie, I just left in the middle of a major meeting with the board to be here with you. I didn’t do it so you could
thank me
.” His irritability makes me laugh. He looks angry with me for a moment, then that charming crooked grin spreads across his face. “I can think of a number of ways that you
could
thank me though.”

I nod in answer. “I just want to say thank you for being so amazing, for taking care of me in Paris when the world was so dark. Thank you for being
you
, Court.”

He’s looking at me in that special way of his, the one that makes me want to breathe him in. Court personifies the finest Cabernet, the finest cognac, the best drug
—
all addicting, but too much for the mind, body and soul, all at once. I experience this longing for him, while at the same time I realize I’ll never see him again. I return his gaze and betray my sadness at this discovery.

“Ellie,” he groans with clairvoyance. “We can make this work.”

I hear the desperation in his tone and steal myself against feeling anything more for him. “We could. And, it would be wonderful.” I take a deep breath and try to smile.

“But, there are too many people we we’d hurt in the process.” I look at him more closely. “Eve,” I say and watch him shudder. I nod and take another breath. “And, I love Michael.” I watch the truth of my words cut across his handsome face, chasing a variety of emotions. First he’s incredulous, then stunned, and finally resigned. I covertly ride the wave of emotions with him.

“On a secret list, you’re my only wish, Court. But, I have Michael and Mathew and Emily and now, Ava and Beau to think of. All these other wishes on another list I’m choosing,” I say.

“Ellie.” Court finishes his wine glass and flashes me his crooked smile filled with pain. “We can’t be friends,” he finally says.