The Art of Saying Goodbye - Ellyn Bache [7]
No one said a word. Silence shrouded them like noxious fumes. Finally Andrea hoisted herself out of the tub. “It’s getting late.”
“What? Leaving so soon?” Julianne accused.
“Well, I told John—”
“John is probably asleep by now, Andrea. Sound asleep. Off to la-la land. Tired of waiting for you to come home and take care of him.”
Paisley set a hand on Julianne’s shoulder. “Girlfriend,” she muttered softly, “you sound like you’re in la-la land yourself.”
“You think so?” Julianne heard her voice degenerate into a slurry whine. “You’re right. I’m thirty-four years old and I have three children under eleven. I have a bachelor’s degree in nursing, but I can’t work because Bill makes too much money and we don’t need more income. I’m thirty-four years old, and I’m finished.”
“You’re not finished, Julianne. You’re just starting.”
“Of course you are,” said Iona. “Before you know it, they’ll all be grown and gone and you’ll still be young enough to do whatever you want. You ought to enjoy them while you can.”
“Well, I can’t stay in the same house with him that long,” Julianne said. “I can’t.”
“You mean you and Bill are—”
“I can’t stay with him,” Julianne said.
Andrea wondered where Mason had disappeared to. If he’d just come out and ask how they liked his cigars, all of this would stop. Julianne couldn’t mean what she was saying.
“You know what? I think this party is over,” Iona said.
Ginger held tight to the side of the tub. The yard had stopped feeling like a merry-go-round and begun to spin in earnest.
“Here, let me help you,” Paisley said. With a strong grip, she pulled Ginger out of the water.
Everyone but Julianne stood on the grass and toweled off. Julianne sat where they’d left her, head bent, wet yellow hair hanging over her face. She was weeping into her hand. Andrea headed over to comfort her, but Paisley put a hand on her arm. “She’ll be all right. She’s just drunk. We all are.” Paisley’s voice was like a lullaby.
Unsteadily, Ginger wrapped herself in her towel while the others told Paisley what a nice party it had been. Her thoughts wandered to Eddie. She remembered him saying goodbye when she’d left the house this evening, leaving him with the children. He always sounded much huskier and sexier than she expected. It still made her tingly even after seven years of marriage. Even when she was sober. Even though he was running a hot tub store. For a second she wished he were right here in Paisley’s yard, touching her all over her wet bathing suit. Sometimes she had these thoughts even though the pill made her sick and birth control was her greatest worry. It was crazy.
“It’s late. Let’s walk down the street together,” Andrea suggested. “Safety in numbers.” There was no danger in Brightwood Trace, but everyone agreed. Paisley would tend to Julianne, who lived right next door.
They all walked as steadily as they could. Iona felt almost sober. Andrea wondered if she could fake passing out so John would leave her alone. Ginger was plagued by dizziness, which had brought on the first wave of nausea. As soon as she got home she was going to throw up. Eddie would hold her head and say, “Honey, I know you had too much to drink, but you can sleep it off and you’ll be okay tomorrow.”
“Maybe late afternoon tomorrow,” she’d say.
He would rub her back. If her stomach felt better, maybe they’d make love.
Even so, she was as sad as the others that the party had ended so abruptly. It felt unfinished. As if they’d come close to a bond that wasn’t ever going to happen now. Maybe they hadn’t really expected it. Except for Iona, they were women who had room only for husbands and children in the too-full chambers of their hearts. Probably this was exactly as it should be. But they regretted the sisterhood they might have had, and they would always yearn for the wildness.
Chapter 3