Dear Emily. Fern Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ me off. How much do I get a month, Ian?”

      “Is that what this is all about? You want a check?”

      “Among other things. I’ve never taken a salary, but I’m on the books. I should get something. I want to see it in writing, Ian.”

      “How much do you want, Emily?”

      “Two thousand dollars a month.”

      “Fine. I’ll set it up. All you had to do was say that’s what you wanted. You realize the money is going to come from the clinics, don’t you?”

      “What?” Suddenly she felt stupid and wished she could hide under the table. She’d never seen such a pitying look on Ian’s face. Hold her ground now or make another stupid mistake like she’d made when she waived her rights to the family clinics. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Three down. Suddenly all her expectations evaporated and she could feel her shoulders slump. “Why don’t we just get a divorce and be done with it?”

      “Is that what you want, Emily? On what grounds?”

      God, no, it wasn’t what she wanted. “Grounds?”

      “Yes, grounds. Yes, if you file for a divorce, what grounds will you sue for? Are you going to say I’ve been good to you? That I’m trying to make life easier for you? Are you going to say I’m being generous and kind, I just gave you a magnificent house for a Christmas present? What are you going to charge me with? Oh, I get it, the separate bedroom thing. Well, when a judge hears that I’m on call twenty-four hours a day and need my sleep, what do you think he’s going to say? You never think, Emily. I’ll tell you what I think right now. I don’t think we need to get a divorce. Yet. I think we should live under the same roof. You lead your life and I’ll lead mine. In a year, if you want a divorce, I’ll agree.”

      Emily’s head reeled. She gulped at the wine. “That means we won’t have a baby.”

      “Exactly. If you think I’m going to bring a baby into this world with your attitude, you have another thought coming. You expect me to have passion for you? Forget it, Emily. You know, I have here in my pocket two airline tickets to the Cayman Islands. See,” he said, placing the tickets in the middle of the table. Another folder was added. “This is a first-class hotel, ocean view. It was another surprise. I thought we’d leave Christmas morning. I know how much you like Christmas Eve so I thought we’d celebrate then, and leave in the morning. I even hired a limo to pick us up. It was my way of making up for that other botched up trip we couldn’t make. See this,” Ian said, lifting the flap of the ticket that had her name on it, “now watch me carefully, Emily.” He ripped the ticket in two and placed it on her bread plate. “Merry Christmas, Emily.” A moment later he was gone.

      The waiter appeared at her elbow. “Will Dr. Thorn be returning or did he have an emergency? Will you want to take his lunch home or shall I cancel it?”

      “Cancel it, and yes, he had an emergency.” She would have left herself, but she knew her legs wouldn’t hold her up. She opted to stay and eat the lunch she knew would stick in her throat. She’d stay till most of the patrons were gone so she wouldn’t look like the fool she knew she was.

      Emily didn’t cry until she got home. When she’d finished, she walked up the long staircase to Ian’s room. His suitcase was gone and so were a lot of his clothes and toilet articles. Obviously he wasn’t coming back home till after his vacation. She pulled back the spread on the bed and buried her face in her husband’s pillow. She wished she could fall asleep and not wake up until she was old and gray, when things like this would no longer bother her.

      Downstairs in the kitchen, Emily took stock of the refrigerator and pantry. She needed groceries if she was to get through the next week or until Ian returned from his vacation. She made out a list, ordering the best of everything. She called the Plainfield Market and told them to deliver everything by six o’clock and to charge it to the Terrill Road Clinic.

      Emily stared for hours at the bare Christmas tree. Decorate it or not decorate it? At eight o’clock, after all the groceries were put away and she’d eaten a sandwich and showered, she dragged the tree through the living room and out to the foyer. She opened the door and gave the fir a mighty shove. It slid down the brick steps, the heavy, metal stand clunking and probably chipping the bricks. As if she cared. There were pine needles everywhere. She didn’t care about that either.

      She made a fire, turned on the television set, uncorked a bottle of wine, rummaged for a pack of Ian’s cigarettes, and settled herself for the night. She drank herself into a stupor and repeated the process every day until January 2. A new year.

      Emily woke with a hangover that was so bad she went back to sleep and didn’t get up till noon, at which time she made out a schedule for herself that did not include Ian. She still hadn’t slept in the yellow room and still had no intention of doing so. Something perverse in her made her carry her things down to the basement. It was all a finished room, carpeted and paneled with a bathroom and small summer kitchen that was outdated, but still worked. At the far side of the basement was what she referred to as her planting room. She could live quite nicely down here until she got some backbone and some guts to do something about her marriage. She knew she was being stupid, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She also knew she required some kind of professional help. She needed to get out her health insurance policy to see if it covered psychiatric care.

      On the twenty-fifth of January, Emily signed up for classes at Middlesex County College. She scheduled a series of twelve appointments with a psychiatrist named Oliver Mendenares. She rebooked her appointment with the attorney on Park Avenue, kept it, and came away angry. With herself. Because of her blind stupidity, she’d signed away all of her rights to the family clinics. Either she could get herself a job or stay dependent on Ian.

      She’d already made up her mind that she wouldn’t take the two thousand dollars a month if Ian offered it. “Once a fool, always a fool,” she muttered over and over to herself.

      Ian’s return was nothing short of anticlimactic. He went about his business as usual, spoke to her the way he’d speak to someone he’d just met. He didn’t ask how she was, where she was sleeping, what she did with her days. He wasn’t home at any one time to do more than sleep, shower, and change his clothes. The white shirts were still piling up.

      Spring heralded bright, sunny days. A new housekeeper named Edna arrived as did a bright red Mercedes-Benz convertible. A week later a Porsche was delivered. Both vehicles had giant silver bows sitting on top. Cards stuck under the windshield said, “To Emily, as promised. Love, Ian.”

      The first thing Emily did when Edna arrived was to show her how to iron Ian’s shirts. She quit four hours later. A second, third, and fourth housekeeper arrived, but each one quit when the laundry basket was pulled out.

      When the last housekeeper left after two days—the longest any of them had stayed—Ian came home with a wide smile and three jeweler’s boxes. He magnanimously cooked dinner outside on the grill and presented her with the boxes, gaily wrapped. He smiled benignly as he offered them to her.

      “These are lovely, Ian,” Emily said carefully. “Is it safe to keep them in the house?”

      “They’re insured. Do you like them? I think I got everything on the list. The ring is two full carats, the band has two carats in smaller stones. The two bracelets are worth twenty thousand, at least that’s what the appraiser said. Each set of earrings is two full carats each. You have five different strands of pearls. Are they what you like?” he asked anxiously.

      “They’re СКАЧАТЬ