Someone Else's Husband(35)

“Thank you,” Gretchen said.

“I wonder, though…Should I let Shawna know? Maybe she could be helpful?”

Gretchen was drawing an absolute blank, and it made her feel addled. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“Oh, she’s the corporate coach Richard was seeing.”

Richard hadn’t mentioned anything about a coach to Gretchen. “Why would he need a coach? Was he having some sort of issue?”

“No, no, it’s not— Shawna is available to everyone on the executive team, I think.” Deborah shook her head. She looked mortified. “Anyway, I guess there were some things—I don’t know the details. Goldman sends Shawna in at the first hint of…The company wants it to seem like they are on top of every little problem these days, even the invented ones. And not just Goldman. She told me she works with hundreds of companies. Shawna sees lots of senior people.”

“Is she like a therapist?” Gretchen asked, still not understanding exactly what it was that Deborah was saying, only that it was clear that she was trying to claw it back.

“Well, yes, I guess in a way.” Deborah was considering her words very carefully. “But not— I guess, yes. Richard and I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t feel like it was my place to ask.”

Gretchen looked back out to the river, searching for the cargo ship. But it was long gone now. She felt like she might cry.

“I’m sorry, Gretchen,” Deborah said. “I feel like I just complicated matters. I was trying to be helpful. There really is nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Gretchen said, rising to her feet. “Everything will be fine. Of course it will.”





Life is all about expectations. And for me, so many things have turned out so much better than I ever could have hoped.

Actually, that’s not exactly true. It’s not like I didn’t work hard for them. I wouldn’t say that I deserved all of it necessarily, but it’s also not like it was handed to me. No matter what anyone thinks.

But then people have expectations of you. No one really warns you about that. The world wants you to fall into line. To do the things you’re supposed to. To behave. Even when you end up building a life that doesn’t work the way you want—that doesn’t make you happy.

I blame my dad. I know, you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to take responsibility—personal responsibility.

But we are what they made us, aren’t we?





Before


Frankie

September 7

I’m sitting at the bar at City Grille on the Upper West Side, eyes glued to the TV. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes. Scotty is late. He warned me he might be, even though it’s just around the corner from his apartment.

“If you don’t mind coming to me,” he said on the phone. “The kids have been a mess lately. I don’t like to go that far in case Hilary needs me back home.”

I think back to those early days on the trip—how Scotty gushed constantly about Hilary. There was a lot of eye-rolling among the men—yeah, right. Still, Scotty’s affection for his wife was clearly genuine. It was endearing.

The Yankees game is on, and I’m watching to avoid eye contact with two different guys who I can feel are watching me. One is two stools down to the right. The other is to my far left. Both harmless, I’m pretty sure, though the one to my right does seem like the overconfident type. Like he might slide over soon and strike up a conversation. I’m feeling wired pretty tight. If I go to shut him down, I’m going to hit too hard. All things considered, I’d prefer to avoid a hostile back-and-forth with yet another man right now.

I’m just registering some motion to my right—the guy maybe gathering himself to make his move—when the door opens and Scotty finally hurries inside.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Everyone was in full meltdown tonight, including Hilary. Maybe especially her.” He smiles ruefully.

“Is everything okay?”

“Let’s just say having a wife who tells it like it is isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.” But then he smiles. “Love. You take the good with the bad, right?”

“Right,” I say, not that I’d know firsthand.

The bartender appears in front of us just as the guy to my right storms out the door. Scotty points to my whiskey. “Another?”

“Yes, please.” Though I’m not sure I really need another.

“And a Diet 7UP,” Scotty says, unabashed by the bartender’s disapproving scowl. He’s quiet for a beat before turning back to me. “So…this about Richard?”

How mortifying. Does Scotty think I called him here to get the inside scoop on Richard’s feelings for me? We’re not in seventh grade. “No, what do you— No.” The worst part is that now I do want to pump him for information. Has Richard said something to him about me?

“Sorry,” he says. “I just thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought maybe you and he…Anyway, Brooks and I were talking at the memorial service—”

“How is Brooks?”

“Not great. His life is a bit of a shit show at the moment. He was about to be made CEO of his family’s company a few weeks before the trip, but he ended up gambling his trust trying to leverage some position with stock and it backfired. Brooks without his money is—” He bl0ws out a quiet whistle. “His wife will also definitely leave him.” Scotty looks worried, maybe that his own wife will do the same. “I feel bad for the guy.”