Once Upon a Project (31 page)

“Franklin is the same way,” Elyse said. “I understand how you feel, Susan.”

“But what are you going to do?” Pat asked. “Will you just keep on living with Bruce?”

“No. I decided that if I can't have a hundred percent of the man I'm with, I'd rather not have him at all, even it means being out there by myself. I was hoping you might be able to give me some pointers, Pat.”

“Divorce isn't my specialty, Susan,” Pat began. “But have you considered talking to Bruce? You say there's no real acrimony between you. Maybe the two of you can work out something between you without getting the court involved.”

“Of course, when I was married to Jimmy we didn't have the proverbial pot,” Grace said, “but my divorce from Danny was amicable. We sold the condo, split the proceeds, and I bought the one I live in now.”

“You and Danny didn't have kids together,” Susan pointed out. “And you make a lot more money than I do. I'm an experienced accountant, but I lost eleven years. This job I have now only brings in pin money. I'd have a lot of trouble trying to run a household unless I could bring in a lot more cash.”

“Susan, do you really think that Bruce would allow you and the kids to live hand to mouth?” Elyse asked.

“That's just it; I don't know. Bruce has always been generous with money, but once I tell him I want a divorce his whole attitude might change. For all I know, he might want custody of Quentin and Alyssa, just to be spiteful.”

“Wisconsin is a community property state, isn't it?” Pat pondered.

“Yes, it is. That means Bruce risks half of everything he has in a divorce.”

“In that case, don't tell him you're divorcing him until the very last minute,” Grace said. “You don't want to give him time to hide assets. And don't tell him about Charles. Even if it's over between the two of you, he might use that against you.”

Elyse looked sad, and Susan knew she was thinking about the state of her own marriage. “I like to think that Susan and Bruce can end their marriage in a dignified manner,” she said quietly.

Grace plunged on, ignoring Elyse's suggestion. “And if you think he's cheating, Susan, get a PI to follow him and make a report.”

“Grace has a point, Susan,” Pat said reluctantly. “If you can prove Bruce is cheating on you, it'll be great leverage for you in a settlement. He's less likely to fight for custody of the kids or try to screw you out of your fair share. And since you're not seeing Charles anymore, even if he has you followed, nothing will turn up that he can use against you.”

“I say tell the PI to carry a camera and catch the motherfucker in the act,” Grace said, pounding the tabletop for emphasis. “Then confront him about it with copies of the photos and take him for half of everything he's got.”

“Grace, are you all right?” Susan asked. She didn't know what to make of Grace's vehemence.

“No, I'm pissed. I'm fifty years old and I can't get a damn date.”

Susan tried to think of something positive to say. “You look great, Grace. Fifty really agrees with you.”

“Gee, thanks, Susan.”

Elyse frowned. Didn't Grace realize Susan had just paid her a compliment? “I don't know why you're acting like Susan told you you've got bad breath or something. Hell, we'll all be fifty by the end of the year.”

“Yeah, but I'm fifty
now.
”

“Consider the alternative,” Susan snapped.

“Yeah, you're right.” Grace smiled. “But since you and Charles broke up because you were afraid to get a divorce, and now you've decided to get one, maybe you two can get back together again.”

Elyse and Pat both looked on, hope in their faces. But Susan shook her head. “I haven't heard from him at all since I lashed out at him. I know he's very upset with me. And don't forget, this is the second time I broke things off with him. And nothing was solved about where or how we'd live. Charles kept saying he could take care of my kids and me, but frankly, I don't see how. He's lived in that one-bedroom apartment in his mother's house for decades, and even if his place were big enough, Quentin and Alyssa aren't really city kids. I think they'd hate living in Chicago.”

“Maybe his mother will trade places with him. She doesn't need all those rooms anymore,” Pat said.

“And Hyde Park is considerably nicer than Dreiser,” Elyse remarked.

“First, Ann Valentine hates me, so she's not about to go out of her way to accommodate me. Second, Hyde Park is still the city. Hell, just a few months ago Carol Mosely Braun got attacked at her front door by a man with a knife who'd been hiding in the bushes.”

“I hope you can work it out,” Elyse said. “That man loves you, Susan. I could see it in his eyes that night at Junior's Bar.”

“I love a happy ending,” Grace said dreamily. “I still hope I'll get to have one.”

A silence fell over the table as each woman thought about what would make her happy:

Chapter 51

 

A
familiar feeling of dread came over Elyse as she turned onto the street where she lived. She hated coming home these days, since Franklin had started acting so badly. She'd heard people in unhappy marriages say that, but she never expected to be one of them.

She got out of her car without hesitation. Her unhappiness with his attitude aside, it was her responsibility to take care of Franklin. Brontë and Todd were at home with him, but she wanted to check on him as well. Maybe he'd finally gotten over this foolishness. It had been a week already, the worst week of her life.

Seeing her friends had helped her spirits tremendously. At least she knew that there were people who cared. Between the coldness of Franklin and her stepchildren and her own children's bewilderment, she needed to know she had allies. And it was best for any warm, tingly feelings to come from her girlfriends rather than from Kevin.

Elyse knew Susan had been right to warn her to stay away from Kevin. They had done nothing wrong, well, other than that kiss. Rebecca witnessed a perfectly innocent scene at lunch. Elyse felt falsely accused, but she knew, because of the impression they'd given, it would be foolish to spend additional time with him.

As Elyse walked into the living room Brontë looked up from the book she was reading. “How was lunch, Mom?”

“It was a lot of fun. How's Daddy?”

“He's okay. Todd is in there with him.”

“Did he eat?”

“Not a whole lot.”

Elyse's heart sank. The more weight Franklin lost, the more strength went with it. He'd gotten so thin.

She entered the bedroom. “Hi, there! I'm back.”

“Hi, Mom,” Todd said. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, I did. It was good to see the girls.”

Franklin merely grunted.

She laid down her purse and hung up her jacket before sitting on the bed. Franklin and Todd sat in the two matching recliners with a table between them. “Brontë tells me you didn't eat much, Franklin. Can I fix something for you? You've got to eat to keep your strength up.”

“Too bad you can't give me some of that extra fat you're carting around.”

She drew in her breath. “Franklin! What an awful thing to say.”

Even Todd looked startled.

“There'd still be plenty left over for your boyfriend.”

“Dad—” Todd began.

“Stay out of this, Todd.”

“Damn it, Franklin, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not cheating on you?” Elyse was near tears. She hadn't been in the house five minutes and he was starting in on her already.

He looked at her coldly. “I guess he likes his women fat.”

A defiant Elyse returned the stare, determined that he wouldn't see her crumble. “All right, then, don't eat. Waste away to nothing! See if I care.”

“Mom!”

She turned on her heel and left, slamming the door shut behind her. Already she regretted what she'd said, but damn it, she couldn't help it. What was she supposed to do, collapse in a crying heap and beg him not to say such cruel things? Damn Franklin for bringing out the worst in her.

She whizzed through the living room and up the stairs, too upset to respond to Brontë's urgent, repeated question about what was wrong. In the privacy of the guest bedroom she fell across the bed, sobbing.

She'd been praying for strength ever since Franklin's diagnosis. His terminal condition after such a promising start had nonetheless come as a shock, in spite of her having had months to consider the possibility. But why was he giving her such a hard time? Did he have no confidence in her love for him at all? She'd been so sure all these years that they had a strong marriage. Now he was dying, and she feared he would go to his grave and leave her nothing but cruel taunts to remember him by. Of course she had many happy memories of their twenty-six years together, but the bad ones had a way of taking center stage, especially if they were the most recent.

Someone knocked at the door, followed by the sound of the door opening. “Mom, I'm sorry,” Todd said.

Brontë, on his heels, sat on the edge of the mattress to the double bed. “Are you all right, Mom?”

Elyse struggled to control her tears. “I'm all right. And you have nothing to be sorry for, Todd. It's your father who's behaving badly.”

“I couldn't believe the things he said to you. I don't want him to die, Mom, but it's not right for him to take out his frustration on you.”

She absorbed his words. “Do you think that's what it is? That he's angry at dying and is taking it out on me?”

“Mom, there's no way Dad can believe you're cheating on him. I don't know what else it can be. Has he been this way since that incident last weekend?”

She nodded.

“I think Rebecca should have kept her mouth shut,” Brontë said.

“Are you going to stay up here tonight?” Todd asked.

She sighed. “I was thinking about it. But I don't want to be too far away from your father. He might need . . . something.” She'd almost said, “me.” That was silly. She was the last person he'd need.

“I can stay in the room with him tonight. I think you deserve a break. As it is, I feel awful about having to leave tomorrow. But maybe I can talk some sense into him before we go.”

“I wish we could take off the rest of the semester,” Brontë said wistfully.

“No more talk about missing school, young lady. Todd, I'll take this break you're offering, at least for a few hours, but don't you two go worrying about me.”

 

 

Elyse had planned on spending only a few hours in the tranquility of the guest room, but she fell asleep while watching a movie on one of the Lifetime channels, and when she awoke it was after nine o'clock. She went downstairs to check on Franklin. Todd and Brontë were watching a premiere of a made-for-cable movie in the living room. If the dark setting was any indication, it was a scary movie, the kind where Elyse would grip Franklin's upper arm and squeeze it at the most tense moments, and he would laugh and loosen her grip on him. . . .

“How is he?” she asked.

“I checked on him about fifteen minutes ago,” Brontë said. “He was asleep.”

“We made some hamburgers, if you're hungry,” Todd added. “And you feel free to go back upstairs and relax. I meant what I said about taking care of Dad until Brontë and I have to drive back tomorrow.”

“That's sweet of both of you, but taking care of your father is really my responsibility. I'll take over from here.” Elyse yawned. In spite of the good nap she'd had, she was still tired. Emotionally worn out was more like it. “I guess I'll go in now. I'll use my night-light to read.”

“Mom, I hate to think of him saying something else hateful to you,” Todd said.

“I'll be all right. You two have taken care of him since early this afternoon. Don't worry. I'm not going to crumble again.”

Elyse quietly slipped into the bedroom. A dim night-light at the base of the lamp shone. She took a quick shower, then slid underneath the covers and looked at her sleeping husband. He looked so peaceful in repose. His face had gotten thin—he'd lost nearly forty pounds. Her heart swelled . . . six months from now she might not have him to look at anymore.

Elyse's book remained on her nightstand. She didn't really want to read. All she wanted to do was look at Franklin. She wanted to move close to him and snuggle, but she didn't dare. All she could do was look at him from a safe distance that the other side of their king-sized bed provided.

Her thoughts went back to the way he'd been behaving for the past week. From the beginning of this ordeal she'd tried to be as good a wife to Franklin as she ever had been. Why was he so convinced that she was having an affair, or even about to have one? Were Frankie and Rebecca feeding his paranoia?

Reluctantly she allowed herself to consider the part her own actions might have played in contributing to his fears. She knew it had hurt him deeply when she called him an old fart, and maybe even alarmed him when she went out those times and left him home, first to have dinner with Pat and Grace, second to the reunion, and last, that night at Junior's Bar with Susan.

If only she'd realized he was really ill. If he'd constantly said he felt listless, she would have gotten him to the doctor sooner. But he had no problem going out to play cards or getting to the driving range to practice his golf swing. He'd mentioned an ailment only when he canceled plans that involved her.

She turned out the light and moved toward him, resting her palm on the curve of his hip. If he told her to move, then she would, but she couldn't bear another night of sleeping so far away from him on the same mattress.

As she was starting to fall asleep, her hand fell forward, stretching across his stomach. But she was aware enough to notice when he made a sighing sound in his sleep and covered her hand with his.

Then she fell asleep, confident that it would be all right.