I stood from my desk, and the pen clattered to the floor as an exclamation point. “How? My dear cookie, how could I not? First my mother loved you best, and pointed out to me all the ways you are dearer and sweeter and more beautiful and thinner and kinder. And then you come into my house so my husband can say the same in a kind of repeated nightmare? So I can hear what I already knew?”
“It’s not like that, Joy.”
“Yes, it is. I won’t delude myself so that I can stay safe and be loved in inferior ways. Mother loved you best. Bill loves you best.” I choked on the truth, feeling the burn of it in my throat. “You can have him, Renee. But I don’t understand why you want him.”
“Why are you grieving? If this is okay with you, and you can help me, I don’t understand.”
“My life is falling apart, Renee. There is no sorrow in that? Are there rules about what I can and cannot be sad about?” I removed my glasses and rubbed at my face. “Do you know what Bill told me?”
She stood silent, bit her bottom lip, waiting.
“Along with all the hurtful words you saw in his letters, and the verbal assaults on my character, he’s now lectured me and told me that if I was really a Christian, a true one at that, that my charity and grace would be happy for both of you. He told me that I was preventing you two from enjoying this wonderful new love.”
“I’m sorry, Joy. I’m sorry he said those terrible things to you, but you’ve said horrible things to him too.”
“You defend him.” I placed my glasses back. “Of course you do. You’re in love. What about his asking me to be part of a threesome with you? To live here in a bizarre situation so he can keep his money? What do you think of that?”
A prick of blood appeared on her lip where she bit too hard. “I think it’s Jack you mourn, not this life.”
“It’s more than that.” I stepped closer to her. “Look at me, Renee. I am not Helen of Troy. I am just Helen Joy Gresham. I’ve never been celebrated for my beauty. If I’m pretty, it’s a common kind, and now age creeps up on me, stealing what little I have left. What is there for a man to want or love? If there was anything at all in the beginning.”
“Stop that nonsense, Joy. You are beautiful, and smart, and in your best moments kind and giving and funny. You drink from the cup of life with words and laughter wilder than that of anyone I know. Remember when you would drag me to the zoo and the lion would come to you? The lion—he came to you! That’s how you are. Life comes for you, fast and roaring, and you take it all in. I’m not like that, Joy. I must take what little I can find and make the most of it.”
“It’s not about finding another man, Renee. It’s not about anything at all but saving my sons and myself. In the long hours alone in London I saw the truth.” I leaned forward. “Bill uses his authority to soothe his anxiety; he offloads his pain to feel better. And I took it all in because I desperately wanted to be the good wife and then, in the last years, a good Christian.” I laughed, but the sound held no mirth. “As if I understand what that even means—but I know now what it doesn’t mean: subjugating myself to abuse.”
“I don’t understand.” Her face was a blank slate.
“He passes on his pain so he won’t have to feel it or deal with it. It’s his way, Renee. Be careful.” I sank back into my chair and glanced at her trim beauty. “I’ll find a way to get this divorce, and you’ll both have the life you ask for. But I am taking my sons. I will never leave them with you again.”
“Where will you go?”
“Back to England,” I said.
“You can’t take Bill’s boys away . . .” Her voice trailed off, already knowing that this wasn’t true. I could and would take them away from him.
“Yes, I can.”
Jack:
Dear Joy,
We miss you here. If you could have seen Warnie negate Tollers at our meeting yesterday you would have roared with the laughter of approval. And you must see the garden where you advised Paxford on the flower bed—it is arriving in full fanfare. I am sorry for your troubles there. I hope you can find some peace soon. Please let us know if you plan to return—we’d like that very much. I am praying for you and I hope you are doing the same for us.
Joy:
I dream of long walks on the moors, of warm fires in the common room, and thick beers at the pub. I reminisce about the golden air and long walks, about Shotover Hill and its view of Oxfordshire. Here spring has brought the sloggy earth to life, and there is delight in that. My pears and apples, my vegetables and flowers have been born again. I’ve made jam and canned the beans. I miss everything there—including you and Warnie.