A Stranger on the Beach. Michele Campbell

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      “I didn’t say she worked there.”

      “Yes, you did. You just did. Stop lying.” I was about to burst into tears. I mean, people were watching.

      “Caroline. You’ve got this all wrong.”

      “Then explain it to me.”

      “I told you, she’s a business associate.”

      “And I told you that I don’t believe you.”

      “After twenty years of marriage, you need to give me the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

      “I don’t have to do a goddamn thing.”

      “You’re jumping to conclusions. But I can’t fix that right now. I have a crisis situation on my hands. I need to go in to the city.”

      “What?”

      “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      “If you leave this party to go after her, don’t bother coming back.”

      I regret saying that. I certainly regret saying it in front of people. My threat didn’t work anyway. He went after her. And I’m thinking, Screw him, I’ll get the best divorce lawyer in New York and take everything. The beach house, the apartment, the cars, the jewelry. I’ll take custody of Hannah, or—since she’s too old for custody—I’ll make her hate him. Hate his guts. He’ll never see her on holidays. He won’t be invited to her wedding. No walking her down the aisle, I’ll do that. He gets shit. He can die alone and see how he likes it.

      I thought all those things. Anybody would, if their husband brought another woman to their big party, and then left to run after her. But never once did I actually think, I’m gonna go buy a gun and shoot my husband dead. Okay, well, maybe I thought it. But I didn’t do it.

      Swear to God.

6

      Jason never came back to the beach house on the night of the party, or on the day or night after that. I must’ve called his phone twenty times. Finally, he texted me with some lame excuse about a work crisis, but since I was tracking his phone, I could see the lie in real time. His office was in Midtown, but his dot was way the hell out in Brighton Beach. Brighton goddamn Beach, also known as Little Odessa. Jason was with the Russian woman.

      That night, I turned off my phone and drank myself senseless. Obviously, that’s a wrong way to handle stress, but it’s also an old family tradition. I learned to drink at Daddy’s knee. Pat Logan, Sr.—man, that guy could put away the booze, and he was none too pleasant when he did it, either. And Theresa, my mother—straight gin, I’m not kidding. Is it any wonder that, when my life to fell to pieces, I reached for the bottle? I’m not making excuses. I saw what it did to them, and I should have known better. I had known better, when my little girl was home. We like to think our children behave for us, but it’s really the other way around. I controlled my drinking around Hannah, to set a better example than my parents set for me. But she wasn’t here now, and I swigged blood-colored wine until the empty bottle fell from my hands and I passed out.

      On Sunday afternoon, I woke up to the smell of the Russian woman’s cheap perfume. I thought I was dreaming, but then I opened my eyes and Jason was standing over me, looking as bad as I felt. Which was very, very bad. He knelt down by the bed, and I could see tears in his eyes. At that point, I would’ve accepted an apology. Hell, I was praying for one.

      “I can smell her on you,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears, too. “You can’t see her anymore, love. Please. I’m begging you.”

      “I wish it was as simple as that, Car,” he said quietly. “It’s worse.”

      I sat up. The room was spinning, and I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

      “Worse, how? Please, don’t tell me she’s pregnant.”

      “I never meant to hurt you. Things got out of hand. It’s beyond my control now.”

      “What are you talking about? Stop being so mysterious.” I dug my fingers into my temples. My head felt like it would split apart.

      “I can’t tell you any more without—” He stopped.

      “Without what?”

      “I can’t say.”

      “Jesus, what am I supposed to make of that, Jason? What am I supposed to do?”

      “Honestly? I hate to say this. But you need to find a good divorce lawyer. It’s the only plan I have right now.”

      “Does she have some kind of hold on you?”

      From the look on his face, I’d hit the nail on the head.

      “Jason, answer me, is she pregnant?”

      He pressed his lips together, ignoring my question.

      “We have to get a divorce,” he said. “I won’t contest anything. You take everything. The apartment, the beach house, all the money. I want you to.”

      Divorce. Maybe at the party I was imagining getting a lawyer and taking him for everything he had. But that was not the outcome I wanted for my marriage. Even after everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, I still loved him. We’d been together twenty years. We had Hannah. And the apartment, and the house, and a life we’d built up from nothing, together. We were happy. Strike that, we were content. Okay, maybe we were treading water, but it was possible that with counseling and effort, we could’ve been happy again. But he had to go and bring that woman home and completely blindside me.

      “Twenty years, and this is how you end it?” I was choking on my tears.

      Jason’s face was pale, and his eyes burned dark. He made a choking noise in his throat, like he couldn’t get the words out.

      “It’s the only plan I have.”

      “You don’t have to do this.”

      He grabbed my hands. “Yes, I do. But please know, I love you, and I’m truly sorry.”

      Then he leapt up and walked out of the room. I heard his car start outside, and he was gone.

      I staggered around the house, going from room to room, so dazed with shock that I could barely see what was in front of me. Maybe I cried, but I was too numb to notice. I had no clue how to get through the next hours, the next days—the rest of my life—without him. Or without the stability and continuity he represented. I walked out onto the lawn and listened to the waves crashing on the beach. And I thought, I could go down there and—And what? End it? No. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t a quitter. And screw him, that would make things too easy for him. I knew I had to get a grip on myself. I ran back inside and called Lynn’s cell.

      “Jason left me,” I blurted, the second Lynn picked up.

      Silence.

      “Lynn?”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ