The View From Alameda Island. Robyn Carr
“I miss her so much,” Beth said. “It’s just the two of us. I’m there for you. You’re there for me—let’s remember that. You’ve been to this lawyer how many times?” Beth asked.
“Leaving a man like Brad takes very careful planning,” Lauren said.
“Are you afraid of him?”
“Of course. Not afraid he’ll physically hurt me. He never does that...”
“A pinch here, a squeeze there...” Beth said, inexplicably rewashing a perfectly clean serving tray.
“He calls it affection gone a bit rambunctious,” Lauren said.
“Because he’s a liar. An experienced gaslighter.”
Lauren sucked in her breath.
“All right, all right,” Beth said. “I’ll try to say nothing and just hope for the best.”
“Once Cassie has graduated, there’s really nothing more to hold me back.”
Beth looked into her sister’s beautiful lavender eyes. Lauren looked like pure perfection. She was elegant, smart, nurturing, compassionate, talented in so many ways, yet somehow held captive by an arrogant asshole. But she wouldn’t call him that. Putting Lauren on the defensive might prevent her from freeing herself. Why her brilliant, loving, educated sister had chosen Brad eluded her. Why she stayed with him had confused her even more.
She had been young. She’d had stars and Wolf appliances in her eyes.
“Okay, tell me what you rented,” Beth said.
“It’s small and quaint, a Victorian, on a street that almost looks like the Seven Sisters in San Francisco,” she said, keeping her voice down. “Three bedrooms and a loft, a long porch and deep yard on a lovely old street in Alameda. The owner lived a long and happy life there, building a lovely garden. There are big, healthy trees. Her son is keeping the house as a rental so it’s being remodeled—new flooring, patching, texturing and painting the walls, new kitchen and bathroom cabinets, new appliances. I’m signing a one-year lease with an option to have first right of refusal if he decides to sell. He let me have some input on the materials... Or, let’s say, I told him I did videos for Merriweather and he assumed I was a great homemaker...”
“You are,” Beth confirmed.
As Lauren described the house, she became animated and Beth had hope for the first time in a long time. Only her rich sister would call a Victorian on the island of Alameda “quaint.” It was probably a million-dollar property.
They talked about the house, the fact that Lauren could get back and forth to work more easily, that she’d have a say in how the yard looked, that it would be homey and all hers. She would have room for the girls when they visited. She hoped they would but it wouldn’t surprise her to find they preferred their rooms at her current house. “The most important thing is that they know both their mother and father love them,” Lauren said. And then she shuddered.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Beth said.
“I know,” Lauren said in a shaky breath. “I plan to have a big celebration for Cassie’s graduation. Once we’ve all come down from that, I’m going to help Cassie move to Boston. Then I’ll talk to the girls. One at a time. Then I’m going to tell Brad. I would tell Brad first but once I do, I have to leave. If things don’t fall into place like I plan—if one of the girls tells him before I can, or something—I might have to impose on you. I can’t really stay there after I make my intentions clear. Because...”
“Because he will be horrible,” Beth said, finishing for her.
They had done this before. But, in the end, Lauren had always stayed. Beth knew about everything—the suspected affairs, the STD, the separate bedrooms. No matter how bad things got, Lauren always tried to make the best of it for the sake of her daughters.
“I’ll help you in any way you ask,” Beth said. “What makes you think you’ll really go through with it this time?”
“If I don’t, I might as well resign myself to living out my life with a mean, cantankerous old man who thinks he’s smarter than God.”
“Pretty soon, that will be the only option,” Beth said.
Lauren ignored her or at least pretended to. “So, we’ll celebrate Cassie’s graduation and when my rental is available I’ll tell them. Cassie will be in Boston for the next three years at least. Lacey has her apartment in Menlo Park. Once I’ve dealt with them, I’ll face Brad.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t do that alone...”
“I’ve worked this out with the lawyer,” Lauren said. “She has an investigator who is willing to stand by.” Then Lauren shuddered again.
Beth hoped her sister would finally do it. Beth was terrified her sister would finally do it. This could get ugly.
Another loud cheer erupted from the den.
Beth and Lauren talked for a while longer. Every once in a while Beth would glance through the glass patio doors to the chaos outside—wet towels on the ground, various men’s shoes, the greasy grill, plastic glasses, trash cans that were used for refuse, not all of which hit the mark. Lauren’s surroundings would never be in such disarray. Brad would have a fit.
Beth’s marriage wasn’t perfect. There is stress in the lives of a cop’s family; there is challenge in all relationships. She and Chip had money issues, kid problems—both of her sons were multiracial and hitting that puberty stage. Sometimes it seemed like a constant struggle. But they were happy.
But Lauren was married to an impossible jerk. Sad to say, but that trumped everything. How do you resolve yourself to life with a guy like that? No, he didn’t beat her but he did twist an arm here, squeeze too hard there. No, he didn’t get drunk every week. He’d had at least a couple of flings, but he was so repentant he even bought jewelry and took the whole family on trips so amazing the girls hoped he’d have another one. He treated people badly, told lies, believed he deserved slightly more consideration and a slightly bigger cut than anyone else, bullied his wife, put her down. And...he thought he was always right, no matter what. How do you explain that to your children?
When Lauren left Beth wandered into the den. Oh God, she should never have allowed them to put furniture in here. Chip was stretched out on the couch, Ravon’s legs were hanging off the end of the loveseat. Stefano was lying on the floor with his feet up on the coffee table. It looked like a frat house. Morty, their old chocolate Lab, had his head resting on Stefano’s belly. She was going to have to spray the room down with Febreze.
Something happened on the TV and all of a sudden everyone moved and cheered.
“Hey,” she said. “Why does this den smell like the inside of a tennis shoe?”
“This is not a den,” Chip said indignantly. “This is a man cave!”
“I beg your pardon,” Beth said. “It’s pretty gamey in here. Isn’t it a little early in the year for the Open? Isn’t that a June event?”
“This is an old one,” Chip said. “Ten years old. It’s a replay.”
She was completely stunned for a second. “You have got to be kidding me! My backyard looks like a war zone and you’re in here smelling up the place and watching a ten-year-old sporting event? Come on—get out there and clean up from last night before the sun starts to go down! I mean it!”
The boys dragged themselves to their feet, moaning and groaning, their lazy Sunday afternoon ruined. Chip got up, stretched and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, babe. I needed a little nap.”
“Hmph,” she said.
“I heard Lauren’s voice.”
“Yeah, she was here.”
“She having problems?”