Of Happiness (19 page)

T
he next morning I wake to the whine of an alarm clock, but in the comforting cocoon of Harris’s embrace. Over the night I draped my body across his chest, burrowing my cheek into his pectorals and sliding a leg between his.

Carefully, he moves my body adjacent to his and flicks off the offending noise.  Through the haze of sleep, I mumble good morning to him as he whispers the same against my lips.

“I’m going to get you a membership to my gym, so we can work out together,” he tells me.

“No.” I draw out the word in a moan, then turn away from him and snuggle deeper into the blankets. He chuckles and I feel the weight of the bed redistribute as he leaves the room and heads into the bathroom.

“Enchanting Edith, you wouldn’t have to wake up this early to exercise,” he tells me after I hear the telltale sounds of teeth brushing. He sounds oddly alert for—I crack one eye open—4:52 in the morning. My eyelids fall closed again.

“Too early to be enchanting,” I grumble.

A few moments later, Harris’ lips find my hair. “Text me when you’re really awake.”

“Yes.”

“I love you,” he says huskily.

With that proclamation, my eyes flicker open and I smile sleepily at him. “I love you back.”

“That’s my girl.” We kiss briefly and he hustles out of the room, leaving me to sleep for another few more precious hours.

Eddie: Good morning, hunky Harris.

Harris: Good morning, sleepy Edith.

Eddie: There’s no alliteration in that text.

Harris: No, but sleepy Edith is exquisite.

I grin giddily with his message. I sit at the breakfast bar, editing a blog post and sipping coffee. Now it’s a reasonable hour of 7:30, and I’m dressed and ready for the day.

Harris: What’s on tap?

Eddie: Blogging now, scheduling and planning content for the next two weeks. Meeting with my client this morning, the friend of Luke and Sean. Later, I may call Amanda.

Anxiously I bite my lip waiting for his response.

Harris: What are you going to tell her?

Eddie: Don’t plan on bringing up Claire. Will try get on better terms with her. Not expecting to win her business back, but hoping she’ll realize I wasn’t involved with Peter.

Harris: Whatever you decide to tell Amanda, I stand behind you. If you need me, call me and I’ll be there.

Eddie: Thank you for that. I love you.

Harris: I love you. Be home by 6:30, dinner at 7:30.

After I’ve gotten a hold of my blog schedule and emailed Beth, my top virtual client, I prepare for my meeting with Sean and Luke’s friends. This morning I’m only meeting with one half of the couple. He’s a teacher and isn’t working during the summer, and we’ll chat about my proposal to decorate their den and dining room. The job isn’t one of my biggest by any means, but it’s the only non-virtual client that I have left. The couple lives in the same neighborhood as Amanda. If she welcomes me, it won’t be hard to visit after I’ve had the meeting.

Two and half hours later, I exit my new client’s duplex, signed proposal in hand. Luckily they agreed to my terms, and by next week, we’ll have our second meeting to discuss vision with both members of the couple. One piece of good news for the day; now I’m hoping for another.

When I tug my cell phone out of my tote, I find my palms sticky with sweat.

You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

Before my worries can stop me, I dial Amanda.

“Hello?” she says with a scratchy voice like she’s talked her throat raw.

This is the twenty-first century; she must have seen my name on the caller ID before she answered. Her accepting the call was my first win.

“Hi, Amanda.” My throat feels dry, too, so I roughly clear it. “How are you doing?”

How is she doing? What a great question to ask a woman whose husband of five years has been screwing around.

“All right. And you?” Her voice drops, softer now. Still she doesn’t hang up. I forge on.

“I’ve been doing well, thanks. Amanda, I’m in the neighborhood and if you wouldn’t mind, I’m hoping I could stop by and we could talk.”

There’s enough time for me to count to ten in her silence. Finally she says, “Yes.” Her voice even softer than before, almost a whisper. “When will you be here?”

“Less than ten minutes, if that works.”

“See you soon.”

“Soon,” I confirm.

I stand before Amanda’s door, my hand raised to knock. Before my knuckles hit the wood, the door swings open and there she stands. The woman before me is a cross between the polished Amanda of our first meeting, the carefree party girl at Luminous, and the distraught wife just discovering her husband’s affair. In tight skinny jeans and a plain, striped T-shirt, she looks more her age than ever before. Her honey-colored hair is pulled into a high ponytail, curly strands brushing the nape of her neck. To my pleasant surprise, she offers a weak smile when she catches me mid-knock.

“I was waiting by the door,” she admits in her sweet southern twang. “Please come in.”

My hand falls to my side and I offer my own shy smile. “Thank you,” I say gratefully after she closes the door behind me. Without comment, she pivots around and walks into the place of our first meeting—the contemporary and cozy living room. We take the same seats as before; I’m on the couch and she sits next to me on a brightly patterned accent chair. This time there’s a noticeable absence of pleasant feelings between us.

A full minute—I know because I count each second—goes by in silence. The room that used to feel comfortable now is claustrophobic. Innately I understand I should be the first to speak, especially because I called this meeting.

“Coffee?” Amanda asks as the same time that I blurt out, “Amanda, I’m…” When our words mesh together, we both stop short. Our eyes meet and, despite the thick tension, we share another hesitant grin.

“I would love some coffee, thank you.”

Amanda shifts around and calls out to her housekeeper, Paloma, requesting beverages for us both. The familiarity of the gesture makes me relax a smidge.

“Beautiful day out,” Amanda mutters as Paloma enters the room, placing a tray on the coffee table separating us.

“Yes,” I agree.

Amanda and I both thank Paloma as she departs. I pour milk into my coffee to gain another free moment before tackling the topic at hand.

Where do I start?

“Amanda, I’m here because I need to apologize to you.”

She raises her eyebrows quizzically. “For what? I already know you weren’t the one having an affair with my husband. It was another one of Claire’s games.”

Another one?

I don’t realize that I’ve spoken out loud until Amanda laughs bitterly. “You probably know better than I do how easily she twists the truth.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” I grimace. “But, Claire aside, I wish that this was all some ugly nightmare and with one pinch we could wake up and realize it never happened.”

“Me too,” she says grimly. “I owe you an apology, Eddie.”

“Why?” I ask incredulously. 

“This isn’t the first time Peter’s had an affair. When Claire told me you were sleeping with him I was fast to accept it because it was easier to be furious with you than myself or Peter.” She shrugs her slim shoulders, avoiding my eyes. “At the Franklin & Smith party I saw the way Harris looked at you, and I saw the way you looked at him. It was clear as a cloudless day you were smitten by him. I should have put it together that Claire would sabotage your relationship with Harris by using Peter’s affair.”

“Amanda,” I say softly. Her eyes flicker to mine and she smiles sadly. “We were both victims of Claire’s deception. The ramifications were tenfold worse for you. I cannot express how sorry I am for what happened and for the part that I unknowingly played.”

She gives me a wobbly smile.

“I kicked him out.”

Placing my cup carefully in its saucer, I lean my body across the table and cover her hand with mine.

“And I told Claire never to call me again once she confessed that she lied about you and Peter.”

Amanda meets my eyes and gives a weak smile. I settle back into my seat. “I slipped into their lifestyle so easily. Doing blow with Claire before we went out. I was disgusted with myself. But I thought if I did it, I would fit in better with Claire, and even my own husband. It turns out it was a common interest between them. Peter admitted that the first time he slept with Claire, it was after snorting cocaine. Can you believe that?”

I nod gloomily.

“I should have listened when you said it was Claire and Peter all along. Of course my best friend”—her lips dip down when she says the words—“never confessed to anything. It wasn’t until I asked Peter that I found out they’ve been sleeping together for two years. Two stinking years my husband screwed my best friend.”

I wince as she punctuates her words by slamming her fist onto the coffee table, making our drinks jump.

“You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided to take your advice,” Amanda announces once some of her anger has thawed.

I lean back in my seat against the couch. “Oh?”

“In the fall I’m going to start taking interior design courses.”

“Amanda, that’s wonderful!”

“But not in Chicago. I’m moving back to Texas, closer to my family. It’ll be easier to move on from Peter if I’m further away.” Her nose wrinkles. “I’m sorry I won’t need your services anymore.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t come here for that. I wanted to talk to you because I care about you.”

At that, Amanda’s face softens. She shakes her head sadly. “Claire’s web of deceit stretched over to Melinda Fletcher.”

“Yes, unfortunately I lost her business.”

“It’s a small gesture, but I called Melinda over the weekend and explained to her that Claire’s not well. Now she knows I trust you implicitly and I suggested she rehire you.”

“Amanda—”

“I’m not finished,” she interrupts. “Melinda told me she had her own suspicions that her husband was having an affair.”

“Claire?” I guess.

Amanda shrugs, pausing to take a neat sip of coffee. “That was my first inclination, and I told her as such. But Melinda has no concrete proof that Landon’s stepping out on her. Yet.”

“For her sake, I hope she’s just paranoid,” I mutter, forgetting my drink and crossing one leg over the other.

“Me too. Over the next several weeks I’ll be packing up with plans to leave around Labor Day.”

“In another life I think we could have been real friends,” I tell her truthfully. “I’ll miss you, Amanda.”

“So you’re going to stay here then?” she asks, sounding and looking shocked.

“Harris and I worked things out,” I admit with a mixture of shyness and pride.

For the first time since I walked into Amanda’s home, she gives me a true smile, one that reaches up to her eyes. “That’s one piece of good news today. And I think we could have been friends in another life, too. Maybe it’s not too late?” She says the last part hopefully, lips pressed together and leaning slightly.

“I would love that chance.” Uncrossing my legs, I rise and she does too. We meet in the middle for a brief hug. “Thank you for listening.”

“Thank
you
for listening,” she says.

I collect my tote back from its position next to the sofa and follow Amanda into the foyer. “How about we meet for lunch next week? I’d love to pick your brain about school,” she suggests as she pulls open the heavy door.

I step part way through, then turn back with her request. “Let’s do it.” We exchange another friendly smile. The mood has completely shifted from where it was when I entered her home. I feel much lighter, and from the gentle, but weary expression she wears, it’s easy to see that she’s experiencing a similar relief. “I’ll call you over the weekend to set a date,” I tell her.

“Please do.” She shuts the door behind me firmly.

When I’m no longer in sight of the house, I pull my phone out of my purse and check for messages.

Harris: Found Claire

I dial him immediately.

“Edith.” He answers the phone on the first ring. By his sharp tone, I can tell he’s not pleased.

“Hi there. What’s going on?”

“She called an hour ago. Says she’s at some spa in Florida. Says she’s not
ready
for therapy.”

“Harris, you can offer the best advice that you know. Only she has the ability to truly listen and take action.”

“Right,” he mutters, clearly in disbelief.

“Look on the bright side, now we know where to find her. You can call off the investigation. Give her some space.”

He grunts.

Undeterred, I continue. “As much as you want to control her behavior, you can’t.”

There’s no response, just a heavy sigh.

Now less than ten feet away from the entrance to the Elevated Train, an oncoming subway car makes its loud presence known at the stop, screeching as it slows to a halt.