Take It to the Grave Part 2 of 6
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Zoe Carter
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Sarah
The door to the nursery creaks open. Squinting as the light from the hallway blinds me, I can just make out Bridget’s face.
“Sorry if I startled you. I thought I’d see if you’d like anything else before I head off to bed.”
“What time is it?” Yawning, I glance over at Elliot, who’s sleeping beside me in his crib, a thumb tucked in his mouth. Lately I’ve taken to sleeping in the rocking chair beside Elliot’s crib after feeding him. If it weren’t for Bridget waking me and taking the bottle from my hand, my farce would have been exposed weeks ago.
“After ten.”
“Guess the fair is still going strong.” There’s been no word from Warwick, but I didn’t expect one. I remember how rowdy the East Hamptons fair’s dinner and dance can get. Jessica’s probably making sure it’s plenty rowdy.
Only a year ago I’d had more than enough energy to keep up with my husband and hold the Jessicas of the world at bay, but now I was exhausted—not to mention out of shape.
My son chuckles in his sleep, interrupting my inner critic before she can do much damage.
Elliot is worth it. Every pound, every sleepless night. Every missed dance. I wish Warwick felt the same.
“Maybe some iced tea?” Even after being married to Warwick for over a year, I’m not used to having people wait on me, not that Bridget seems like the hired help. She’s more of a second mother. She’s been a better mother to me than Alice, that’s for sure. Not that that’s saying much.
I feel guilty asking her to do more, but I don’t trust myself to refill the drink. My queasiness comes and goes in waves.
“Oh, sweetheart. Your tummy’s not any better, is it? I’ll put some ginger in the tea. It’ll help with the nausea.” She goes to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my little boy—and my torment.
Once I’m sure it’s safe, I read the email again.
I know your secret, Sarah. I’m going to tell.
The words send another jolt of fear through me.
Maybe a client found out about my marriage to Warwick and decided he could make a fast buck by blackmailing me. That would be bad, but I have more than enough money to make that particular problem go away.
It would be so nice to have a friend—a real friend—to talk to about this. I have a sudden longing to call the one person who would understand what I’m going through, but things didn’t end well between us. What if she doesn’t want to talk to me? What if she hangs up when she hears my voice?
When I hear Bridget’s footsteps in the hall, I put my phone in sleep mode.
“Here you go, honey.” She puts a glass of tea on the table beside me, eyeing the phone in my hand. “Did Warwick text you?”
“No, not yet.” The scent of fresh ginger tingles my nose, sharpening my senses. I feel better already.
She frowns, crossing her arms. “I really wish he wouldn’t stay out so late. He’s not a college boy anymore. He’s a married man, not to mention a father with a newborn baby at home. It doesn’t look good for him to be carousing at the fair without his wife.”
Bridget has been with Warwick’s family since he was a little boy, but she always takes my side. My husband barely tolerates her mothering, but I secretly love it. She’s also much less formal with me, telling me what I need to hear. I appreciate how real she is, especially considering the fake world I’m part of now. Her disapproval of him makes me laugh. “He’s not carousing, Bridget. His mother is with him, remember.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still don’t like it.”
“He’s allowed to have a good time. He’s married, not dead.” Rubbing my stomach to soothe it, I smile ruefully, recalling the fun I’d had with Warwick at the fair last year. “It’s not his fault his wife has turned into a lightweight. Why should we both suffer?”
“Well, you’re more forgiving than I am. If it were my husband, he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.” Her face brightens with a mischievous smile. “Should I make up the love seat for him? That would teach him a lesson.”
“You’re terrible, Bridget.” I pretend the idea isn’t tempting.
She smooths my hair from my face, pressing her palm to my forehead to check the temperature. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor? You’re feeling a bit warm.”
“I’ll be fine. Honestly, Bridget, you worry too much. I’m sure it’s something I ate.” Taking her hand in mine, I rest it against my cheek for a second before letting her go. “Go on, go to bed. Your work here is done.”
“Okay, I’m going. But don’t stay up too late. You should get some sleep while you can. Elliot will want another feeding soon, the greedy little guy. I’ll be right upstairs if you need me. I’m going to read for a bit, so don’t be afraid to holler.”
I point to the door. “Go!”
She pats my hair before leaving. At the doorway, she hesitates. “You’re a lovely girl, Sarah. I hope he appreciates you.”
“Thank you. I’m sure he does. Now good night.”
“Good night.”
As soon as she leaves, the walls press in on me. Even in the nursery, my favorite room in the house, I find it hard to breathe. The need to talk to my friend, to hear her voice, is irresistible.
I know your secret, Sarah. I’m going to tell.
With trembling fingers, I punch in her number from memory. I don’t dare have it on speed dial.
She answers on the second ring, before I can think better of it and end the call. “Cherry Red,” she says in an exaggerated Southern drawl.
“Hey, Di. It’s me. Don’t hang up, please.”
“Sarah, you ol’ whore. Why would I hang up? You’re not selling insurance now, are you?” Her voice is music to my ears. It’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.
“Don’t worry. I may be low, but I’ll never be that low.”
“Good to hear it. How you doing, girl? I was beginning to think I was never gonna talk to you again.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to. You didn’t exactly wish me well when I left, Di.”
There’s silence on her end, and for a moment I worry I’ve gone too far. But then she laughs. “Oh, that. That was only a love tap. You know better than to take something like that personally.”
“A love tap? I had bruises for weeks.” Di had decked me good when I’d told her I was leaving to marry a client, of all people. I probably deserved it. We’d had a pact, she and I—we were supposed to stay together until we both agreed to leave. We’d had enough abandonment to last us a lifetime. Unfortunately, I was ready to leave long before Di was.
“You always were a delicate flower. Let’s leave the past where it rots. How the hell are ya? Tell me everything.”
Tell me everything. How I wish I could. Even when I’d spent most of my waking moments with Di, she’d never known all my secrets. No one did.
“I’m better now that I’m talking to you. Being an upstanding member of society is a lot harder than it looks.”
Her laughter blasts my eardrums. “You don’t say. So Mr. Pretty Boy actually followed through and married you, did he?”
Di had never trusted Warwick. I feel the urge to defend him, but I’m not sure why. “He did. Last spring. And we have a baby now—a little boy. His name is Elliot.” My son snores delicately in his sleep, making me smile. “You should see him. He’s beautiful. I never used to picture myself as a mother, but it’s actually really nice.”
My friend snorts. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Too much hassle for me. Can you see me hauling a kid around? I just hope that man of yours is carrying his share of the load.”
I think of how Warwick rolls over and goes back to sleep whenever Elliot cries in the night. My husband blanches at the sight of a diaper—even a clean one. Whenever our son spits up, he flees the room, gagging. “He’s been great.”
“Well, good. It’s his kid, too—only fair. I have to say I’m surprised. Usually men like that are worse than useless.”
I bristle at her words. What was her problem with Warwick? Maybe calling her hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. “Men like what?”
“You know. Guys who were born with a silver spoon up their arse. Come on, Sarah. This is me. I may be guilty of a lot of things, but talking shit isn’t one of them. If you’re going to get offended when people tell you the truth, you shouldn’t have called me.”
Diane had seen through Warwick the second they’d met, and hadn’t been shy about expressing her opinion. Even though I’d been desperate for her approval in those days, I’d accepted her warnings were coming from a good place. “You can be honest with me. I always appreciated that about you.”
“Have you ever known me not to be straight with anyone?”
“You? Never. You take blunt and tactless to a whole new level.”
“Yes, ma’am, and proud of it. That said, if you’re getting tired of him, I’m willing to give it a go. Just to help you out, mind.”
Picturing it makes me grin. Warwick wouldn’t know what hit him. I imagine Di’s reaction if he’d pulled that stunt with her today instead of me. He’d probably need a proctologist’s assistance if he wanted to use his cell phone again. “I’ll take that under advisement. How’s business?”
Di snorts again. I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes. “You know you don’t have to ask. It’s the same parade of losers every night. Nothing new there.”
“I really wish you’d come with me.” It’s a well-worn fantasy, as Warwick would never have agreed to it. Still, I hate to see my dearest friend keep company with the cruelest men in New York. Sooner or later, her luck was bound to run out.
“I appreciate that, honey, but it never would have worked. I need my independence, just like you once needed yours.”
“Let me take you away from this, Sarah.” Like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, Warwick lowers onto one knee and opens the velvet box. “I’ll give you a wonderful life, I promise. The very best. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.”
“But I don’t need to be taken away,” I tell him. “I love my life.”
Lies, lies—there had been so many. It was difficult to tell who had lied more in that moment, Warwick or me. Pushing the memory aside, I return to the real reason for calling Di. I know your secret, Sarah. I’m going to tell.
“Have any clients been asking about me?”
“Of course they’ve been asking. You were the hottest thing around, and you know it. Face of an angel with the body of Marilyn Monroe. None of us mere mortals can compete.”
Di’s put-on petulance has the faint ring of truth. I had been good at my job, but not for the reason she thinks. It didn’t have a thing to do with the way I look; I just didn’t say no. To anything. No need to. It wasn’t like I was actually there.
“I can’t see you languishing in anyone’s shadow, Cherry.”
“True enough. I have my own fan base. Why are you asking, anyway? Is the princess planning to ditch Prince Charming so soon?”
“And leave the castle? Not on your life. But I think one of the boys may have tracked me down.”
There’s a pause. “Could be. There are a couple with more than sawdust between their ears.”
I smile. “Well...maybe just a couple.”
“But you say you think someone tracked you down. Don’t tell me you gave any of those scumbags your number. I taught you better than that.”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I—I got this email.” I lower my voice in case Bridget hasn’t really gone to bed. “It kind of sounds like a threat.”
“Hmm...Dan was always sweet on you, and wasn’t Harvey a cop before he became a prosecutor? He’s clever enough to track you down if he wants to.”
Harvey. A vision of his red face hanging over mine, his mouth gaping as he gasps in pleasure, flits through my mind before it’s mercifully replaced with the memory of making daisy chains in the meadow.
“Sarah? You still there?”
I drag myself back to the present. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that last bit. Come again?”
“I said, do you want me to talk to the jerks? I can put a little fear of God into them for you.”
The thought of my dearest friend confronting either of those monsters makes me pull the afghan tighter around my shoulders. None of them would think twice about killing her and dumping her body in the trash. To guys like that, that’s exactly what we were—trash. “No, Diane—don’t you dare. Promise me you’ll stay away from them.”
I’d been in the meadow for every assignation with Harvey, but I remembered one thing well—the man had liked it rough. I’d return to reality to find my body covered with welts. It wasn’t great for business, but Harvey didn’t mind when I charged him triple. It was worth it, he said. He loved the way I never screamed.
“I know a few guys who would love to knock some sense into those assholes if you change your mind.”
“I’m not even sure it’s one of them. If I figure out who sent it, I’ll let you know. It could be completely unrelated.”
“Who else would threaten you? One of your little high-society friends, maybe?” Her casual tone doesn’t fool me; I can hear the suspicion in her voice. She’s as sharp as ever. I’ll have to tread carefully.
“Nah, they don’t have the balls.” Please don’t ask me why anyone would threaten me in the first place, I pray, crossing my fingers.
“In any case, it’s no big deal, right? I mean, Warwick knows about your past. So who cares?”
For a second, I’m tempted to tell her everything, but of course I can’t. It’s not my place to confide in her. “His family doesn’t know. My friends here don’t know.” I can imagine how delighted Jessica, Tessie and Genny would be if they learned the truth about me. That juicy tidbit would feed the gossip mill for decades, if not forever. Everyone loves to see the mighty fall.
“Hoo-eee—that would be a mess. Are they as bad as I think? Butts puckered so tight that a single fart would blow their brains out their ears?”
I snicker in spite of myself. Tessie did walk like she had something shoved up her ass—something large and unpleasant. “Worse. You should have seen the grief they gave me today, simply because my makeup was smudged.”
Di gasps. “The horror! How dare you show your face in public, you dirty slut? I’m surprised they didn’t burn you at the stake for that transgression.” She sighs. “Seriously, girl, I don’t know how you stand it. It would drive me crazy, being around people like that. At least the jerks you associated with here were honest. You knew where you stood with them. Or didn’t stand, as the case may be.”
Trust Di to make the life I escaped from seem worthy of envy. “It’s not that bad here, honestly. I have everything I could want—a beautiful home, a loving husband, a gorgeous child...”
Elliot whimpers in his crib.
My friend’s voice softens. “Is that the baby I hear?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Send me a picture?” I can tell from her tone that our conversation is coming to an end. She’s the same old Di, but I’m not the same old Sarah. We’re worlds apart, and the realization crushes me.
“I will.” I’d give anything to see her again, to go out on the town like we used to. But as much as I miss her, I wouldn’t trade Elliot for the world. “Take care of yourself, Di.”
“You, too, hon.” I know she hasn’t been fooled by my performance. Di is the one person I’ve never been able to con. “Watch your back.”
“I’ll try my best. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I clutch the phone to my heart for a moment, picturing Di and how much fun we used to have. We ruled the world once, she and I. We were queens of Manhattan.
Somewhere along the way, I had lost myself. Remembering how I’d gorged that afternoon, I cringe. Even though Tessie’s buns are long gone, I swear I can feel them swelling in my stomach, making me uncomfortably full.
The stink of something vile fills my nose.
“Don’t make me eat those, please. They’re rotten.” Maisey’s voice trembles as tears spill over her cheeks. She gags, pressing a hand over her mouth and turning her face away.
The memory causes bile to rise in my throat. I’d forgotten how my stepfather had tortured my sister, forcing her to eat rotten eggs and moldy bread until she vomited. Whenever I’d tried to intervene, he’d gotten angry and pushed me away. Afterward, I’d stay with her until she fell asleep, pressing cold cloths to her head and giving her ginger ale.
How could I have forgotten?
Locking the unwelcome memory back where it belongs, I remind myself of the task at hand—fixing the mess my life has become. My binging must end. I refuse to live like this any longer, feeling sluggish and ashamed; I’m going to lose this weight for good. I’m going to remind my husband exactly who he married.
Warwick used to trail after me like an addict desperate for a fix. Somehow, after Elliot was born, the power shifted.
My son’s whimpers turn into a howl as I reach for him. In spite of my cracked nipples, I decide to give nursing another go. Anything to make Warwick happy.
Elliot promptly hits me in the breast, pushing his face away. His tiny lips are pressed together, his skin hot against mine.
“Come on, El. You have to eat.”
As my baby screeches, my newfound confidence fades. How am I supposed to control my husband when my own son won’t listen to me?
“Why do you keep torturing yourself?”
The voice startles me and I jump. I’d thought we were alone. I’m relieved when I see it’s Bridget again, not Warwick or Eleanor.
The sympathy in her voice makes me want to weep. She must think I’m the worst mother ever. “He...he won’t latch on.” There’s no point in hiding it, not from her. Bridget sees everything that goes on around here. In many ways, she’s the true matriarch of the house.
She lifts Elliot out of my arms, and for once I don’t panic at having him taken from me. “Some babies aren’t meant to nurse. Don’t keep beating yourself up about it.” She catches a glimpse of my raw nipples before I can re-button my blouse. “You’re bleeding.”
“I never thought it would be this hard.”
Bridget smiles. “If you think this is hard, wait until he’s two. Why don’t you get some balm for your skin and another bottle? I’ll keep him company, don’t worry.”
“Eleanor will never be okay with this.” I say the words without thinking. I’ve never criticized my mother-in-law publicly before, not even to Warwick.
“Well, it’s not her baby, is it?” Bridget sticks her tongue out, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “If Her Highness has a problem with it, tell her to talk to me.”
The levity doesn’t last. As I warm a bottle for my son, I survey the spacious kitchen, so high tech it resembles the set of Star Trek. I don’t know how most of the appliances work, or even what they’re for.
This house was going to be my castle. Warwick promised me I’d be treated like a queen. Why, then, do I feel like such a prisoner?
