The Housewife(34)

“What lawyers?” I said, head tilted.

He shook his head impatiently. “Allen & Boyd.”

“What are they for?”

“They’re handling a property matter for me. But the point is, they claim that someone from my office called them and canceled the appointment, but it wasn’t Sarah, and so I’m wondering if it was you.”

I laughed, like that was the funniest thing ever. “I’ve never heard of them, Roy. I had no idea you had an appointment with your lawyers, and why would I cancel it? It’s not like they’re divorce lawyers, is it? ”

He gave me an odd look, shook his head, and walked away.

Anyway. All that to say, I’ve been feeling rather dejected by the lack of progress I’ve been making, so I’m really hoping Dr. Kowalski will have something to tell me about Deborah. Something that will steer me in the right direction.

This morning, Roy tells me that he had a chat with Marie, and Marie will cook dinner from now on.

“Why?” I ask, even though I know why. As I explained to Marie yesterday, I am an outstanding cook. Everyone says so. Which is why it is highly unlikely that Roy will want to get rid of me.

So now, she wants to take that advantage away from me. Why? She hates me. Why? I don’t know.

“Because that’s her job,” he says.

I blink myself back to the moment. “Did she cook when Deborah was still alive?”

He closes his eyes briefly, like in a silent prayer. “Yes, Jodie. All the time.”

Actually, I can’t say I’m surprised. Debs could maybe rustle up spaghetti and tomato sauce but that was about it, and only under duress. Like if it was that or starve to death.

“But I’m a better cook,” I say.

“I know, you are. But it’s her job, not yours. You are not the housekeeper, Jodie. You need to let her do her job. Otherwise, what does she have to do? ”

“That’s actually an excellent question. Maybe it’s time for Marie to move along?”

“Jodie, enough. Marie isn’t going anywhere.”

“Will she cook tonight? Because I had plans for dinner. I was going to make duck à l’orange with small potatoes roasted in duck fat and rosemary. Do you really want to pass up on that?”

“We’re going out tonight, remember? The McIntosh fundraiser?”

“Oh, right.” I remember. Acquaintances of his are hosting a very private, very exclusive fundraiser for victims in a war-torn country, and I do not remember which one.

“So she’ll cook tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” he says.

I nod, like I accept the situation. But let’s put it this way: It’s out of the question. I’ve been patient and kind to Marie but she’s crossed a line.

This is war.





“I was very sorry to hear about the previous Mrs. Davies passing,” Dr. Kowalski says. He has a slight accent, a bald head and small, round glasses. He is writing me a script for Xanax because, as I explained to him, I am very tense and very low. I’ve been on Xanax for years, but I’m new in town, so I can’t ask my regular doctor. I don’t have a doctor yet, but he came highly recommended.

“Were you surprised?” I ask.

He looks up at me. “That she died? Yes. ”

“Interesting,” I say. “I heard she wasn’t the type of person to do such a thing. Would you agree?”

He shrugs. “The mind works in mysterious ways, Mrs. Davies. You can never predict those things. I was saddened. She was a very kind person.” He looks up, hesitates, then says, “I remember one time, there was a little boy with his father in the waiting room. The little boy was very scared and he was crying. Neither the father nor I could calm him down, but Mrs. Davies walked in and crouched in front of him and spoke to him softly and he stopped crying. He was all right after that. She had a gift.”

God. Classic Debs.

“So what was wrong with her? Everybody says there was something wrong with her at the end, but everyone is very vague about it.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not at liberty… Patient doctor confidentiality is paramount, you understand.”

“Of course. My husband says she was seeing a psychiatrist. Or maybe it was a psychologist. Do you happen to know which one? I only ask because I’ve had bouts of anxiety myself and I’d like a referral. Apparently, he’s the best. I don’t like to ask my husband because it brings back such bad memories for him.”

He frowns at me. “What for?”

I rub the side of my face. “Well, like I said, I’ve had bouts of—”

“No, I mean, I didn’t realize Mrs. Davies—the late Mrs. Davies—required the services of a mental health professional. She always seemed so…content. But again, the mind works in mysterious ways,” he adds with a sigh.

I am frozen in place, my heart doing strange things, little somersaults, skipping beats. I’m thinking of what Roy said at his birthday party. She was gripped by it. A nightmare she couldn’t wake from. I asked her to see a professional…

I sit up. “Wait a second. Are you saying you didn’t know she was depressed?”

“If she was, she never shared that with me.”

“But…you saw her only a couple of weeks before she died. Wouldn’t she have said something?”