The Housewife(4)

Eileen brings her face close to mine. I can smell the tang of champagne on her breath. “I don’t think you got one.” She pulls away and looks at the painting again. “You know, you look a little like her.”

I give a half shrug. “I guess my husband has a type.”

“Was she very depressed?” Eileen asks Roy softly.

Roy scrunches up his face. “It came over her very suddenly, but then she was gripped by it, like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. She shut herself in. And then…” He cracks a sob. “It was over.”

I glance at the others. Meredith is shaking her head. “You two were so in love and so very happy,” she says, eyebrows knotted together. “You did everything you could.”

Roy nods gravely. “Thank you, Mer. That means a lot.”

“We know you did, Roy. We know,” Barb says.

Roy turns to Eileen. “I wanted her to see a professional, a psychiatrist…but she wouldn’t. And it all happened so fast.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I wish I’d done more,” he says. “You’d think someone in my position…”

“We never saw her, in the end, did we?” Barb says to Meredith. Meredith shakes her head sadly. She turns to Roy. “You mustn’t blame yourself. You loved her so very much. And she loved you, too. So very much. ”

I force myself to breathe slowly. It’s a trick my sister taught me to calm me down when I got agitated. Breathe through your nose, Jo. Nice and slow.

But it doesn’t work. There’s a throbbing bubbling up inside my chest, like a boxer warming up with quick, short punches.

Meredith gives me an odd look, and I wonder if I’m breathing too loudly.

“You don’t mind that we talk about Deborah like that, do you, Jodie?” she asks sweetly, even though she just asked me five minutes ago.

“Not at all,” I lie.

“Because Roy and Deborah, you know… I’m sorry. I don’t want to go on and on about it, I really don’t, but they were the golden couple. Weren’t they, Barb?”

Barb nods sadly.

“And it hasn’t been very long, so…we’re still getting used to it. And still mourning her. Aren’t we, Roy.”

Roy makes a kind of strangled sound. “Yes.”

No one says anything. And I’m thinking, here I was, putting together the perfect birthday party for Roy, complete with satin garlands strung with black-and-white photos of the two of us, sweet romantic shots interspersed with pink crystal pendants, only for the whole thing to turn into some kind of Homage to Deborah Spectacular.

I put my hands on my knees. “Shall I get the body now? I mean, the cake?”

I meant to lighten the mood, but I’ve never been good with jokes, and this one lands as you’d expect: with a thud. Meredith gasps, Barb slaps her hand over her mouth, and a dark shadow passes over Roy’s face.

I smile, showing teeth, to show it was a joke.

“Something you wanted to say, Jodie?” Meredith asks, head tilted, eyebrows knotted again.

I rearrange the napkins on the tray even though they’re perfectly fanned out already. I’m trying really hard, I really am, but I’ve got that thing again, that crawling, heated, vibrating thing bubbling up my chest.

“Actually, there is something I’ve been wondering about,” I say.

“What’s that?” Roy asks.

“If she was so beautiful and talented and the life of the party and she had this amazing life and a million adoring friends and you two were so in love, why did she shoot herself in the face?”





2





My mother used to say, “The only way you’ll get yourself a man is if you sew your mouth shut.” Actually, what she used to say was, If you sew your stupid, stupid mouth shut. Anyway, it was good advice as it turned out. When I met Roy, he would tell me, “You’re so sweet and quiet. I love that about you. You’re like an oasis of calm in the chaos of life.”

It would serve me well to remember that, I think—too late, obviously.

A hush has descended on the proceedings. You could hear a brioche crumb drop.

“Jodie!” Roy barks finally, shock and dismay etched all over his handsome face. Then Meredith drops her champagne flute, sending pieces of glass scattering all over the stone floor.

I get up. “I’ll clean it up.” I just need a moment anyway, and I rush to the kitchen, take a deep breath, then return with a broom and pan .

“Jodie, leave it,” Roy snaps when I return. “Marie will do it.”

Except Marie is standing as still as everyone else, gazing at Roy with something like pity mixed with helplessness. She makes a show of looking around for a clear spot to put down her tray, as if she’d really like to help rather than watch the lady of the house on her hands and knees mopping the floor, but what can she do?

“It’s fine,” I say. I’m crouching by Meredith, who has moved by one-tenth of an inch. “I’ve got to get the cake anyway.” I’m barely out the door with my pan full of glass when I hear Meredith ask in a low voice. “Is she all right?”

I stop and listen, but I can’t make out the rest.

In the kitchen, I stand at the sink and bite my knuckle so hard, my teeth leave a perfect half-circle of white indentations. I have to calm down. I can’t mess this up.