Someone Else's Husband(61)
“I am not a snob!”
But it was a fact that Gretchen admired Richard’s professional success more than she cared to admit—especially because he had made it without becoming cutthroat or manipulative. Would she have loved Richard without Goldman Sachs? Loved him for his soulful eyes and dazzling smile, his kindness, the way his voice was husky in the morning, or the way he teared up when he looked at the children’s baby pictures? Or any baby pictures, really. Gretchen certainly thought so. But—if she was completely, brutally honest—she couldn’t say for certain.
Brooks lifted his wineglass as if to toast her. “Anyway, you’re a snob. And so am I. So is anyone who grew up the way we did. It’s an occupational hazard.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes life is easier when you stay with your own kind. That’s just a brutal fact. And that’s true wherever you come from. Come on—I’ve heard Richard complain. He doesn’t get the stupid social obligations, the tedious boards, the benefits, the miserable cocktail parties with certain other families. But you have to keep it all up.” Brooks paused. “Richard likes to…wander. And fair enough.”
“Wander?” Gretchen sounded offended. She was offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sorry, bad choice of words. He doesn’t like social niceties. He likes to think of himself as above that kind of thing. Melinda is like that, too. All I’m saying is that—”
“I should have married you?”
He rolled his eyes, but the jab had hurt him. Gretchen could tell. And she felt bad. He was only trying to be a good friend, and she was being defensive.
“I’m saying that I understand, that’s all. And I always will.”
* * *
*
In the end, no one spotted them until they were nearly at the courthouse door, but when it finally happened, the reporters flocked alarmingly in their direction. “Mrs. Falk, Mrs. Falk!” they shouted over and over again as they rushed up the stairs, microphones, recorders, and iPhones extended like swords, camera shutters like a cascade of tiny fireworks.
And then suddenly the most unearthly calm overtook her. Like it had when she was little, and her father would get lost in one of his drunken rages. The kind that in Richard’s house would have ended in bloodshed, but in hers only resulted in terrifying dread. Her body was tethered to the ground, but her heart floated up and away to safety. She was a machine now with one job: protect her family.
“Don’t look their way and move quickly,” Gretchen instructed the children. “But do not run. We have nothing to be ashamed of.”
They picked up the pace, but they were still on a collision course with the reporters. All except Becks, who was so fast with his long legs he was already ten steps ahead. Elizabeth, Cassandra, and Gretchen were almost jogging, but not quite.
Gretchen saw the girls as they had been once upon a time—running ahead to get to the Central Park Carousel, holding Becks’s toddler hand. She had enjoyed every second of watching them grow, the decades of loving Richard. All of that was real and true. This situation didn’t change any of it. With each pounding step, Gretchen felt more certain than ever that she was ready for this battle, whatever it entailed. No more chasing down heartbreak with Hilary, and she’d pay the money she owed, wrap up that situation. She was keeping her family together, no matter the cost.
The second they pushed through the revolving doors, a short, round security guard charged in their direction, belly swinging, keys jangling. “No, out!” he bellowed angrily, waving a hand. “No, no, no!”
“I’m sorry?” Gretchen asked as they jerked to a startled stop. “We have a—”
“No, no, not you,” the guard growled, charging past them. “Out, out!” he shouted as a couple of the reporters spilled inside. “You know the rules. Hassle the families, and you’ll get banned.”
“That’s not a rule,” a young white man shouted back. He’d been one of the ones quickest up the steps. “You can’t make something up that tramples on the First Amendment.”
“Watch me,” the security guard said, looming over him. “And watch the chief judge back me up by parking your ass in jail while we work out the so-called legalities.”
The rest of the reporters retreated through the doors, grumbling. Soon the young man had also disappeared.
“Thank you,” Gretchen said as the guard walked past, motioning for them to pass through the X-ray machines.
“Wasn’t for your sake, lady,” he said without bothering to look her way again.
Because Gretchen was a person of no consequence there. It was a new feeling, but one she was fairly sure she was going to have to get used to.
* * *
—
The courtroom was much bigger than Gretchen had anticipated. Almost like an auditorium, it was packed with the distressed when they arrived—nervous people, angry people, fearful families. Small children. At least Gretchen’s own children weren’t little. Then again, if they had been little, she could have just hidden this situation entirely. She was so good at that.
Gretchen felt numb as she followed Cassandra to the front row. Mikey had texted that morning to remind them to sit as close to the front as possible, right behind the defense table, in a show of support. He’d had an assistant hold spots for them. But the last thing Gretchen wanted now was to be so close.