The Good Enough Husband (23 page)

Despite her best efforts, she was going to end up alone.

Hannah woke to the sound of her cell phone buzzing near her ear.

Michael.

She made up her mind right then. If he wasn’t going to behave rationally, then he was going to get the same response Ben had given her.

“Hello Michael.” His voice cut in and out. She made her way downstairs to the little deck her parents had built years ago. Ha
nnah shivered on the warped planks, wishing she’d thought to wear a sweater. The signal was good out here. She looked up at the sunlight as it filtered through the maples bare of their summer leaves. “I’m in Brooklyn at my dad’s house. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“I won’t ever do that again.”

“Do what, Michael? Stalk me? Humiliate me?”

“What in the hell was I supposed to do, Hannah? Stand there while you ride off into the sunset with your vet in shining armor?” He paused, recalibrated. His voice was much calmer when he spoke again. “I got the papers from Grady. I guess you’re serious.”

Hannah brushed dead leaves from the old wood chaise and sat down.

“Dead serious, Michael.”

“Do you want to marry that other guy?”

This had to be the most awkward conversation she’d ever had. Life hadn’t prepared her to discuss marriage prospects with the
person she was already married to. “I think I do, Michael. But after Thanksgiving, I’ll be happy if he ever speaks to me again.”

“I talked to my parents. It was long overdue. They’ve been real asses sometimes, but I’ve got them straightened out. I talked to my brother, Matthew and he’s willing to help in any way that he can.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you can come back.”

“I was unfaithful.”

“I love you, Hannah. I always have. I know why you married me.” Hannah’s heart beat a little faster. Every woman had secrets she kept from everyone, even her best friend. How could he know the one thing she’d never told anyone? “How long are you in New York?”

The change of subject threw her. She answered without thinking. “I’m leaving for Copenhagen on the eighteenth.”

“Staying with your mom.”

“She’s one person that’ll take me in no matter what.”

“I didn’t throw you out. You chose to leave. You can always come back.”

“Are you going to look at the papers?”

“I will. I promise.”

***

One long, cold week later, Hannah was debating whether she was big enough for warm maternity clothes when her father’s doorbell rang.

“Can you answer that?” Shay yelled. He was in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. Her father was a great cook, but he rarely took the time. It was a pleasure waking up every morning to some variation of grits, eggs, and toast smothered in gravy. Getting up from the table, she realized her pants were tight and too thin for this weather. She’d never survive New York, much less Copenhagen unless she got something a little warmer. But getting maternity clothes seemed like it would be going overboard. She wasn’t even showing yet.

Without pulling aside the lace curtain and looking through the large glass panel, she pulled open the door. California had softened her. Too late, she realized she should have checked to see who it was. Hannah shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Michael.”

A Lincoln Town car idled, double-parked at the curb. Of course Michael would hire a car service. At Michael’s cue, the driver opened the trunk and took out Michael’s Tumi weekender. “Can I?”

“You can come in out of the cold.” She gestured to the bag the taxi driver had in hand. “I can’t stop you from staying in New York, but you can’t stay here.”

The driver brought the bag up the stairs. Tipping the driver, Michael entered her father’s house.

“Who was it, honey? I’m not expecting anyone.” Throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder, her father came into the living room where Michael stood awkwardly with his bag. “Michael Keesling. I have to say you’re the last man I expected to see.” He looked at his daughter. “Hannah?”

“It’s okay, Dad. I was going out anyway. Would you like to come?” She directed her question at Michael.

“Sure.”

“Daddy, I’m going shopping. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Shay looked dubious. “If you’re sure.”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

Hannah pulled her old down jacket from the hall closet, and stepped outside. Michael followed her dutifully. She walked toward the Court Street subway station. “I guess I wasn’t too hard to find this time.”

“Who moves in New York?”

They both said, “New York inertia,” at the same time and laughed. For the first time in weeks, there was no tension between them. Michael was for a moment, back to being the close friend she’d had for years.

They rode the N up to Herald Square. For the first time in her life, all the holiday decorations and elaborate window displays didn’t make a dent in her surly mood. As a kid, she’d loved pres
sing her nose to the glass at Macy’s, Bamberger’s, and A&S, peering at the wonderlands the designers created. Despite the holiday crowd, Michael didn’t complain once as Hannah went through a few floors of Macy’s and a few other stores, getting a mix of maternity clothes, and some things in bigger sizes. The outsized stomach pouches made her laugh too much to seriously consider purchasing them. Michael was funny, charming, and helpful. It was like being reunited with her old friend—not the sullen, narcissistic asshole she was divorcing.

“Let’s check the bags,” Michael said, gesturing to an escalator moving down. They left all her shopping bags at the counter in return for a solitary claim ticket. “So which Szechuan place do you want to hit?”

Hot, spicy food had always been one of Hannah’s favorites. It wasn’t nearly as popular on the west coast where other regions dominated Chinese food and culture.

After wandering through mid-town, they finally settled on a place on West 39
th
Street. Michael took the initiative and ordered all her favorites.

“About Ben,” Michael said.

His name alone caused her stomach to bottom out. Hannah cut him off with a frown and a swift movement of her hand. “The only way this is going to work is if we don’t talk about Ben. Okay?”

Michael nodded.

Hannah put down her chopsticks.  “Are you going to tell me?”

“What?”

“The results of the retesting?”

Michael turned his face toward the large plate glass window. He watched the comings and goings of the eclectic New Yorkers getting their spicy fix. “I know why you married me.” That again. “I’ve been puzzling it out. We used to get along great. We hung out, saw movies, ate out, and walked this city dozens of times over. Remember that time we decided to bike across the Brooklyn Bridge?”

She did remember. They’d gotten bikes from the shed behind her dad’s house. It had been a last minute impulse to try out the new so-called bike-friendly Manhattan. They were going to cross the bridge, then take the much-touted Greenway bike trail along the Hudson River side of the island. Neither one of them had thought to check the weather, and they were drenched in a late summer thunderstorm, halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge.
Soaked, they’d biked back across the bridge and holed up in her apartment under the Manhattan Bridge overpass waiting out the downpour. Of course, they’d gotten undressed and in the steamy apartment, while they were waiting for Michael’s clothes to dry, Hannah had let her guard down. That was the day their relationship had changed from friends to lovers.

“I remember,” Hannah said softly.

“I fell in love with you that day.” Shit. Was this going to be true confessions? She couldn’t take any more crushing guilt. She started to speak. “No, let me finish. I’ve always liked you, from the day I first met you. I’d been angling for a way to meet you for months. We had a lot of the same friends, but every time I saw you at a party or something, there was always some guy keeping you all to himself.” Hannah had to acknowledge there had been a lot of assholes in those days. One after another. They had dominated her life, and not one of them liked to share. Although that hadn’t stopped them from sharing the love with women everywhere. “Then you were alone at that gallery opening for that guy with the horrible pictures.”

“Oh, God. The one with nothing but pierced women’s body parts.”

“I think you’d broken up with someone. Anyway, it was the first time I’d ever seen you by yourself.”

“Was that the first time we talked? Really?” She had to admit the memory was vague. She’d been coming off a bad breakup with another unsuitable guy she thought she could tame. She was searching her memory, had this one been a drinker, unfaithful or both?

Michael grimaced. “You were a little tipsy. We sat in that Greek diner while you poured your heart out. I got you home in a cab. Then you started dating another guy, and I didn’t see you for a while.”

Ah, the singer. Hannah remembered that one. He’d been on the road most of their relationship. “In between guys, you called. We’d hang out, then you’d disappear again.”

“Did you think I was using you?”

“It’s okay. I wanted to be used. Slow and steady wins the race. Isn’t that the lesson of the Tortoise and the Hare?”

Hannah shrugged. She leaned against the booth, sated. She declined the To Go box the waiter offered, and was glad when the table was cleared. She requested more fortune cookies and more hot, black tea.

“After your thirty-fifth birthday, you changed. You finally started looking at me as a man, not a buddy. You were flailing and I was there to catch you.”

“The wedding,” Hannah said, caught up in the long-dormant memories he was rousing. She’d taken him as her friend/date to yet another Connecticut wedding. It was trite, but she started to feel like she was going to be a bridesmaid forever. It was about the same time that her ‘auntie’ Joyce had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Hannah had done what she could to support Joyce. But at the end of the day, Joyce was alone. She didn’t want to be Joyce in twenty-five years.

“I courted you in my own inept way. You married me because you thought it was time. You married me because you wanted to
settle down. You married me because you wanted children and a father for them.”

Hannah couldn’t look at Michael. He’d known all along. She hadn’t fooled him one bit. “Why did you do it then?” she asked, her voice rough with self-reproach. Her secret was out. Her secret had never been a secret. He’d known the worst, and married her anyway.

“Because I loved you. Because I thought you’d fall in love with me eventually. It works in arranged marriages. Most of the time, the couple ends up loving each other. The divorce rates for those marriages are lower than those in so-called love matches. Because I thought I loved you enough to make it work.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Hannah asked, her voice hoarse.

“Because I waited before. I can wait again,” he stated plainly.

“Did you think our marriage worked?”

Michael nodded. “For me it did.”

She’d been avoiding this conversation for years. No, avoiding wasn’t the right word. She’d never planned to have this convers
ation. “It didn’t work for me, Michael.” Hannah wanted to cry for not being able to will her heart to do what it should, what would be right, what would smooth everything over like the wallpaper she’d glued over horsehair plaster walls when she was a teenager.

She looked at the man across from her. Objectively, he was good-looking. Everyone always told her he was handsome. He was generous, and could be nice. He was a banker, for Christ sake. For every ninety-nine percenter out there who hated bankers, there were three Seven Sisters alumnae, Junior League volunteering,
Lilly Pulitzer wearing women who loved bankers. There were a thousand women in this borough alone who’d crawl on top of her not-quite-dead body to get to him. Why couldn’t she want him like that? Was there something wrong with her?

“Why?”

“I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“I’m a big boy, Hannah,” Michael said, pulling himself up to his full height against the red vinyl booth.

Hannah took a deep breath. She was about to set the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg bridges on fire. “You didn’t support me.”

“What? I paid the bills. I told you that you could do whatever you want. How have I not supported you?”

“Since we left New York, you’ve never been to one of my shows. Not when I was singing. Not even the gallery show of celebrity portraits.”

“I was busy making a living for us, Hannah.
You know
, I think you’re very talented. How is
that
not enough?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to argue with you. I’m only answering your question.”

“You don’t look like you’re done. What else?”

The waiter absentmindedly refilled their glasses. She was so glad she wasn’t in L.A. A west coast restaurant host would have tried to turn over the table ten times by now. “You treated me like your maid, Michael.”

“I told you that you could hire whomever you wanted to do whatever you needed. I’ve never asked you to cook or clean or do my laundry.”