The Wife Who Knew Too Much

The TV room was jammed with kids lounging on the rug. They’d taken the chairs out, pushed the sofas back against the wall. The lights were dimmed. Connor and three other guys stood on the carpeted riser that passed for a stage. They were in the middle of a song—a cover of “Desperado,” by the Eagles. He had a guitar slung across his chest, and he looked even taller and more perfect in the spotlight than he did in the sunshine by the pool. I plowed through the crowd to a spot right up front, sinking down cross-legged on the floor.

The band was called Big Summer, and they were pretty good. Connor sang in a soulful, quavering voice that was all the rage among indie singers then. I ate it up. These things that are pleasing you will hurt you somehow. I should have paid more attention to those words, but I was too busy worrying that he hadn’t noticed me come in because the spotlight was shining in his eyes. I’d risked everything to get here. What if he didn’t even see me? But I needn’t have worried. Toward the end, there was a pause in the music as he consulted with his bandmates. He walked back to the microphone and looked right down at me.

“This is for Tabby in the front row, with the long blond hair,” he said, and the band broke into a cover of “Wonderful Tonight.” As he sang of the girl brushing her long, blond hair, I trembled and wiped away tears. My heart felt like it would explode. When he’d finished playing, all his friends whooped and hollered, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He came right up to me—the pool girl in the front row, Cinderella at the ball.

“Told you I’d dedicate a song to you. Are you glad you came?”

“Totally.”

People saw us. I didn’t care. He took my hand. We went out on the golf course and made out under the stars. And that was just the beginning.

5

After that first night, as far as I was concerned, any moment not spent with Connor wasn’t worth living. Most nights, I’d sneak out of the house and ride my bike to the golf course. We’d lie together on a blanket in the moonlight, the sweet smell of the grass all around us, kissing, whispering, laughing, our hands slipping beneath each other’s clothes. I’d never known anyone like him. He was good-looking as a prince, but that wasn’t what got to me. It was the things he said, how he carried himself, everything he knew. At work during the day, I’d take the long way back to the kitchen, stopping by the tennis courts just to watch him play. When he was out on the lake water-skiing, I’d drop what I was doing to gawk. The talent, the grace—I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He’d been to private school, read great books, been to Paris and Hawaii. He was in college now, real college—not some certificate program to get a dull job that you’d spend your life doing, just to die. The boys I’d dated at Baldwin High had no ambition beyond this sorry town. And no interest in me, beyond that I was a pretty girl who might sleep with them. Connor paid attention to me. He listened. He confided in me. He sought my advice. He was as head-over-heels as I was. He didn’t ask for sex until I was ready (which, okay, happened within a week of when we started dating). He said I love you first. He made me feel worthy, like we were equals.

We had more in common than I ever would’ve guessed. The year before, his father had left his mother for a younger woman and now had an infant son. Connor’s parents’ divorce wasn’t yet final. His father was hiding assets and screwing them over on support payments. In the meantime, Connor, his mother, and his siblings were financially dependent on his grandmother. Nell Ford paid for their schools, the divorce lawyer, the mortgage on their house, but her generosity came with strings. His whole family did whatever she said, for fear that she’d cut them off.

People at the club knew there was something between us. How could they not? We’d spend all morning circling each other, hands brushing, heads together, giggling at our inside jokes. At noon sharp, I’d take my lunch break, grabbing a vanilla shake from the grill and heading to the boathouse, where he’d be waiting. It was cool inside after the glaring midday sun, with the sound of water lapping, and dark except for the shimmer of light around the boat launch. Connor would step out from behind the rows of stacked canoes and kayaks. He’d kiss me and lead me up the stairs to the storage loft. We’d lie back against piles of moldy life jackets, sipping the milkshake, kissing. To this day, the taste of a vanilla milkshake evokes the feel of his mouth on mine.

One day toward the end of summer, we were up in the loft when I heard the door open below.

“Tabitha? I know you’re up there,” my boss, Gil, called from the bottom of the stairs. “I need you at the counter. Now.”

We hurriedly arranged our clothes and came down blushing. Gil was my dad’s age, balding and paunchy—not a bad guy, but a stickler. There was nothing he could do to Connor except tell him to get lost. But I was a different story. Once Connor was gone, Gil put me on probation, which meant I’d be fired if I did the slightest thing wrong.

“I’m going to hold off on telling the general manager about the misuse of club facilities. But Jean’s a friend of mine—”

“Oh, no. Please, Gil. Don’t tell her.”

“Of course I’m gonna tell her. I should’ve told her a long time ago. It’s been obvious something was going on, and now it’s gotten out of hand. This is for your own good.”

In the car on the way home that evening, the air was thick as thunderclouds.

“Grandma Jean, Gil said he was going to speak to you. I can explain—”

“Honestly, Tabitha, I can’t discuss this when I’m driving. I’m too upset.”

Grandma Jean’s eyes were red. Had she been crying? I looked out the window, stomach sinking, my eyes prickling, too.

Later that night, I was up to my elbows in soapy water, washing the supper dishes, when she came up beside me. She looked crumpled and soft—wearing a printed housedress and plastic sandals, her iron-gray hair frizzing around her forehead in the humid kitchen.

“Come into the living room. I don’t want Grandpa overhearing this. His heart can’t take it.”

As I dried my hands on a dish towel and followed her, my guilt flowered into resentment. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Having a boyfriend wasn’t a crime. I didn’t need a lecture. But, as she sat down on the sofa and patted the space beside her, the disappointment in her eyes tugged at me.

“Don’t be upset, Grandma. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had health class since middle school.”

Her jaw clenched with determination.

“This isn’t about the facts of life, Tabitha. It’s about the Fords. I know that family, and they’re bad news. You can’t trust them.”

“Connor’s not like the rest of them.”

“My guess is, when push comes to shove, he is. Exactly like them.”

“You don’t know him. You think he’s some kind of entitled, spoiled brat. But you couldn’t be more wrong. He’s not taking advantage of me. He’s wonderful to me. I love him.”

Her faded blue eyes went wide behind her glasses. “Oh, gosh. This is worse than I thought.”

“It is not. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because I’m worried about you. I know Nell Ford. She won’t tolerate her family mixing with the likes of us. And she rules those kids with an iron fist.”

“I don’t care what his grandmother is like. I’ve barely said two words to her all summer.”

“Okay, now. Doesn’t that tell you something, that he won’t introduce you to his family?”

That brought me up short.

“He does introduce me. I know his sisters and all his cousins.”

“Know them as friends? Or because you fetch their food and clean up their messes?”

I looked away, flushing. She was right, of course. At six, when the pool closed, the Ford kids would pile into cousin Robbie’s Jeep or cousin Hope’s Land Rover and take off God knows where. I wasn’t invited. That hurt, because wherever they were going—into town, or to the mall, or just home for supper—was sure to be more exciting than anywhere I’d ever been or ever would go. Sometimes I’d pick up extra hours serving dinner in the dining hall. On those nights, I’d look across the lake, see the glow of their firepit and feel the call of everything I was missing. Marshmallow roasts. Beers and joints getting passed around if their grandmother wasn’t at home. Connor and Robbie strumming their guitars. The girl cousins in their cutoffs and Birkenstocks and fishermen sweaters, flipping their broom-straight hair and laughing throaty laughs at the boys’ jokes. The boy cousins deigned to talk to me now that I had something going with Connor. But the girl cousins pretended I didn’t exist.

“They’re not your friends, are they?” Grandma Jean said.

It was easier to be mad at her than at Connor. I got to my feet, full of righteous indignation.

“I’m almost eighteen, and this is my life.”

“Honey, I know it’s hard, living here with the old folks. It’s hard for me, too. I’m sure we both wish your mom was around to deal with this situation, but she’s not.”

“Grandma, I don’t know how else to put this. My love life is none of your business.”

“I’ve raised you since you were a girl. I’ve earned the right to speak my mind. As for my business, the club is literally my business. It’s my livelihood. Don’t you think it affects me—Gil catching my granddaughter, who I asked him to hire, half-naked in the boathouse?”

“He never saw me half-naked. That’s a lie.”

“Maybe he didn’t see, but he sure as heck knew. I’m not a prude, Tabitha, and I’m not trying to control you. But that’s not nice. It’s disrespectful to the job, to your boss, to me. To yourself.”

As she spoke, and her words sank in, I began to feel smaller, until I wished I could sink into the sofa and disappear. She was right. I’d been selfish. I hadn’t stopped to think how my behavior would affect her. This was my grandma, who’d taken me in, who’d raised me. She deserved better than how I’d behaved.

“You’re right,” I said. “That was wrong of me, Grandma. I see that now. I apologize. I won’t do it again, promise. Forgive me?”

The relief on her face broke my heart.

“I forgive you.”

“I love you, Grandma Jean.”

“I love you, too.”

We hugged, tears in our eyes.

“Now, that was exhausting. Time for bed.”

I pecked her soft cheek and watched her walk heavily down the hall, my heart full of love for her. That was at eight o’clock.

By ten, I was jonesing for Connor so bad that I couldn’t see straight. The need to touch him, kiss him, feel his skin against mine, overwhelmed my guilt and my better judgment. I’d promised Grandma not to mess around at the club. And I would keep that promise. But I never said I’d stop seeing him. As long as we didn’t go to the boathouse—or the golf course, which was club property—then I wouldn’t be breaking my word.

I put on a cute sundress, lip gloss, and mascara. I fluffed my hair and spritzed on perfume. I tiptoed out the door.

Outside, the night air was velvety and redolent of summer. I hurried down the block to where Connor was waiting for me in Robbie’s old Jeep, top down, open to the indigo sky. A yellow moon sat low on the horizon, surrounded by a haze of humidity. I climbed up into the passenger seat. Connor grabbed me and kissed me breathless.

“Something bad happened,” I said, pulling away. “Gil told my grandmother about finding us in the boathouse. I almost didn’t come out tonight.”

“Shit. Are you okay?”

“Yes, but she’s upset. I promised her we wouldn’t hook up at the club anymore.”

“Don’t say that. I can’t go all day without a fix of you, you know that.”

He slipped the strap of my dress from my shoulder, nuzzling my neck, his hand sliding up my thigh. My breath got faster. But I twisted away, worried the neighbors might see.

“Not here. I want to keep my promise to her.”

“Okay.”

He turned the car on.

“We can’t go to the golf course, either.”

“Why not? It’s totally deserted at night. Nobody will ever know.”

“I can’t take the risk. I’d be breaking my word.”

“So where we gonna go? I need to be alone with you, like now.”

We kissed some more. His hand slipped inside my panties. It took willpower, but I moved it away.

“I need you, too. Just not here, and not at the club. Think.”

“Okay. We could park in the woods near the Bear Creek trailhead,” he said.

“That’s so creepy at night. Anywhere outdoors—I don’t know. What about your grandmother’s house? Can we go there?”

“It’s risky. I’d have to sneak you up the back stairs, so my grandmother doesn’t find out. You don’t want her recognizing you from the club.”

That rankled. It reminded me of what Grandma had said earlier—about Connor not wanting to introduce me to his family.

“I don’t? Or you don’t?”

He gave me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“I’m ashamed of her. She’s a massive snob. If she recognized you, she’d throw a fit, just because you work at the club.”

“So what if she does throw a fit? Are you afraid she’d cut you off?”

He got defensive. “I mean, sure, but that’s not the reason. I don’t want to subject you to her temper tantrums, that’s all.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We raced across town, music blasting, the wind in our hair. He didn’t speak. His expression said he was worried, maybe even angry with me. So far gone was I with crazy love that I spent the drive admiring how his eyebrows drew together, the way his jaw clenched, his perfect bone structure.

When we got to the road that wound around the lake, Connor slowed down and shut the music off. As we approached the Ford house, my armpits felt damp and my chest felt tight. I didn’t want to meet his grandmother. She scared me senseless. I just wanted him to want to introduce us. He’d proved he was willing to. Now I wished we could go somewhere else. But I’d made enough of a fuss that I couldn’t back down.

We turned in to the driveway. The rambling, shingled house was mostly dark, except for a couple of lights on upstairs.

“Are they sleeping?” I said.

“My grandmother goes to bed by ten. Mom’s in Connecticut for a court date, and my aunt and uncle went back to the city.”

I breathed out in relief.

We picked our way down the driveway, which was parked up with cars and littered with fallen bikes and sports equipment. He took me in the back way, through the screen porch. Viewed from across the lake, Nell Ford’s house sparkled. Up close was a different story. The screen door sagged on its hinges. The porch was crammed with musty old furniture. We stepped through the door into a large kitchen, its appliances decades out of date. A tang of garbage hung in the air, just like in any old house.

Connor led me up the creaky back stairs to the third floor, where he pushed open a bedroom door. The room was narrow and dark, with two sets of bunk beds and clothing strewn across the floor. Robbie lounged on a bottom bunk, talking on his flip phone. Two other Ford kids were on the bed above, staring at a Nintendo screen, their gangly legs hanging off. Their names were Tyler and Caleb, though they were called Punk and Boo. They were brothers, maybe twelve or thirteen. They gawked as I entered.

“You guys know Tabby,” Connor said.

“Tabby, what uuup,” Robbie said, slurring as he closed his phone.

He sounded drunk, or high.

“I need the room,” Connor said.

Robbie got up, yanking on Punk’s leg where it hung off the bed.

“You heard the man. Move it, dudes,” he said.

The younger boys followed Robbie out, poking each other and grinning. Connor shut the door and took me by the hands, drawing me down onto the lower bunk on the opposite side of the room. It must be his bed. It was narrow and lumpy, with a green wool blanket that felt scratchy against my skin as he undressed me. But I loved being in the place he slept each night, and I adored the way he looked at me.

“Your body is unreal. I’m crazy for you, you know that, right?” he said.

The bed squeaked like crazy as we made love. I heard giggling coming from the other side of the door.

We didn’t get caught that night. Therefore, naturally—despite the obvious dangers of hooking up in his grandmother’s house—we did it again the next night, and the night after that, until it became a habit. Three or four nights a week, I’d sneak out. Connor would pick me up at the end of my street. We’d get to his house late, when it was dark and quiet, and sneak up the back stairs. I never ran into Nell Ford.

Never—until I did.

All the Ford kids knew about our rendezvous, and I’d been worried that someone would snitch. Connor claimed that could never happen. All the cousins were guilty of something. Knowing each other’s secrets created mutual assured destruction. But we hadn’t reckoned with the effect of Connor’s feud with his middle sister, Chloe. What had gone wrong between them, I didn’t fully understand, though I knew it had something to do with the parents’ divorce. One night, out of the blue, Chloe decided to tell.

We were lying under the scratchy blanket when Mrs. Ford pounded on the bedroom door.

“Connor, open up. Have you got a girl in there?”

“Shit, it’s my grandmother,” he said, under his breath.

We jumped up and pulled our clothes on. I started to speak, but he shook his head and put a finger to his lips, nodding toward the door.

“Coming right out, Grandmother. One second.”

Nell Ford couldn’t wait. She threw the door open and caught us half-dressed. I had my shorts and bra on but not my top. Connor was just stepping into his jeans. He stumbled and nearly toppled over.

“Wait a minute, Grandmother. Stay out.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. This is my house. So. You’re Jean Parker’s granddaughter? What does your grandmother think of your behavior?”

Connor looked stricken. “Tabby is my friend.”

She looked me up and down, her face puckering with distaste.

“Apparently, quite a close friend.”

“I’ll take her home.”

“She can get herself home. You and I need to talk, young man.”

“But—”

“Sit down. And you, please leave my house. Now.”

I looked at Connor. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He sat down on the bed and hung his head. I walked out, past the grandmother, down the stairs. Robbie was sitting on the screen porch. I borrowed his phone to call Grandma Jean to come get me.

When she pulled up fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the front steps, dry-eyed in the dark. Connor hadn’t come looking for me. But Nell Ford must’ve been watching from the window. As I walked down the driveway, the front door flew open, and she rushed past me, bearing down on my poor grandmother.

“Jean Parker, I need a word with you.”

Grandma Jean got out of the car and met her with shoulders squared. They had it out right there on the front lawn, loud enough to wake the neighbors. Grandma Jean stood up for me, and told Mrs. Ford to look after her grandchildren, who everybody knew ran wild all over town. It was hardly a fair fight. The next day, I was let go from the club. Grandma Jean got an official reprimand in her file for inappropriate conduct toward a member. Later that year, when layoffs came, the blot on her record gave them an excuse to fire her. As for Connor, he called the next day to apologize. When I wouldn’t come to the phone, he kept calling, until he gave up and wrote me a letter. When I didn’t answer that, he wrote again. I burned the letters unopened. Eventually, he stopped writing.

I didn’t see him again until he walked into the Baldwin Grill on Memorial Day weekend, thirteen years later.

6

TABITHA

Memorial Day weekend, present day

Those eyes.

I felt dizzy. I had to grab the back of the empty chair across from him to steady myself. I took a breath. Connor looked shocked. Then he looked transported. His cheeks flushed, his eyes widened, he shook his head slightly. He broke into a huge grin. That sparkling, ravishing smile that I’d never managed to forget, hard as I tried.

“Tabby. It’s you, right? How incredible to find you here,” he said, and laughed out loud.

Connor’s smile was as beautiful and carefree as I remembered—white teeth, crinkles around the eyes, a dimple in his cheek. He had the sort of smile that makes a young girl fall in love. Or a grown woman. All I know is, my stomach fluttered the way it had the very first time I saw him. Which scared me. Every time I saw his picture online, it threw me for days. What would a real-life encounter do to me?

I was speechless, and my silence confused him.

“Wait, you do remember me?” he said, looking worried.

“I’m just—shocked.”

“You scared me there for a minute. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“Never.”

The silence lengthened as we gazed at each other.

“You look amazing,” he said.

“You look even better. Marriage agrees with you, I guess.”

“You know about that?”

“The whole world knows, Connor. You’re famous.”

“She’s famous. I’m just Mr. Nina Levitt.”

I nodded at the empty seat across the table from his. “Would you prefer to wait for her to place your drink order?”

“Huh?”

Only then did his gaze take in my white shirt and black pants—the typical waitstaff uniform—and the pitcher of water in my hand.

“You work here.”

“I do,” I said, in as cool a tone as I could muster.

My cheeks felt hot as I filled his water glass. We’d never been equals. But now the gap between us was wider than ever.

“Can I start you with a cocktail? Or, would you prefer to wait for your wife?”

It was his turn to flush. “She’s not coming. This is a solo trip.”

“All right, then. What can I get you to drink?”

“Uh, Hendrick’s and tonic?”

“Certainly.”

“Hey, no, wait. Can we start over? Please, sit down for a few minutes. I’d love to catch up.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible when I’m working.”

“Quickly, then—give me the basics.”

He touched the empty spot on my left ring finger where my hand clutched the chair back.

“You’re not married, I see,” he said.

The way my body reacted to his touch—that unnerved me. I took a step back.

“I was. I’m divorced.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. It’s funny, whenever I think about you—”

He paused. My heart skipped a beat.

“You think about me?”

“I envision you with a minivan full of kids. You always wanted a big family.”

“I was an only, remember? I wanted what I never had. Your family seemed so jolly.”

“Jolly, no. We were crazy.”

“Hah, you said it, not me. Still, I was jealous. I remember you wanted kids, too.”

We’d talked about that, once, lying in the grass out on the golf course under a sky full of stars. Not how many kids we each wanted, but how many we would have together. Boys, girls, what we’d name them.

“I’m so glad you’re still here at Baldwin Lake,” he said.

“That makes one of us.”

“Otherwise, I never would have found you.”

He gazed up at me intently. The moment seemed to stretch out in time. Back to the past, off to the future, like we were picking up where we’d left off. But that wasn’t possible.

“I, um. I have tables waiting. I’ll be back with your cocktail.”

I turned and walked away, hurrying to the bar where my friend Matt was on duty.

Matt looked like a biker, with a shaved head, a bushy beard, and sleeve tattoos, but he was the kindest soul I knew. He noticed me and came over.