Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [104]
“Maybe that’s all I’m good at—making people leave me.”
He slammed the front door as he left the house.
I heard Jennifer start crying. I got out of the tub, took Cary’s heavy robe off the wardrobe hook, and went to the nursery. I wrapped the robe around Jennifer and me and quieted her.
Cary didn’t come home that night. I took Jennifer to bed with me. On the nightstand I saw the stack of newspaper and magazine clippings Cary had deposited there for my education. I started to read them, thinking he’d be pleased that I’d done my homework . . . then I realized the insanity of thinking Reader’s Digest articles would make any difference in this mess of a marriage. I lay there, trying not to toss and turn so I wouldn’t disturb Jennifer. I got very little sleep. I thought maybe Cary had slipped in during the night and gone to sleep in one of the extra bedrooms, so I went to check. But no, he hadn’t come home. At seven, I called Cary’s bungalow—no answer. I called Addie and told her the situation. I thought maybe I should call the police. She said I shouldn’t. She said to calm down and wait, that he was only shaking it off by himself somewhere. At ten, I called the bungalow again. Dorothy answered. She said he wasn’t there, but I wasn’t sure I believed her. I wasn’t sure of anything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Breaking Points
I had just put Jennifer down for her noon nap when the intercom buzzed. The nanny came into the nursery to tell me that Stanley Fox was outside the gate, and should she let him in? I nodded and went to open the front door.
“Stanley! Is something wrong? Has something happened to Cary?”
“No, Dyan, Cary’s fine,” Stanley said.
“Oh, thank God.” I let a shiver run through me. “He didn’t come home last night. I’ve been so worried.”
“Dyan, can I come in?”
I’d always liked Stanley and found him to be a calming presence. When other people were getting excited or wound up, Stanley was the calm in the storm. That day, though, there was something about Stanley that put me on edge. Something was amiss and I knew it, but I had no idea what. “Can we go into the study?” he asked.
“Of course.” I offered him coffee. He declined in a way that indicated he wasn’t going to stay long.
The only furniture in the study was a desk and two chairs. Stanley sat down in the chair behind the desk, intertwined his fingers, and leaned forward—almost as if I’d asked for this conference. I sat down, facing the window. Outside, the swimming pool caught the noon sun and kicked a beam of light through the window. It backlit Stanley so that the light burst in all around him while his face was in shadow.
“Dyan, from what I understand, things haven’t been going very well between you and Cary. And I’m sorry to hear that.” Stanley was a slow and smooth talker. It was part of his negotiating style—long, elongated words oozed out like molasses while his mind was spinning at a thousand rpms. It was driving me crazy. I wished he’d come right to the point. Right then, Jennifer started crying. I went to the nursery and quieted her down, then returned to the study and sat back down across from Stanley.
“Well, I talked to Cary this morning,” he said. “He thinks it might be best if you two separated.”
I went into shock. All of my instincts had told me to brace myself for a left hook. But this punch came out of nowhere. I really didn’t see it coming. It didn’t register.
“You know, Stanley, I’ve been up all night waiting for my husband to come home, and I’m a little bleary. What does that mean—‘separated’? I don’t understand.”
“Dyan, I’m sorry, but it means he wants a divorce.”
The man who said he would love me forever and never leave me didn’t love me anymore and wanted to leave me. My head