The Girls on Rose Hill (8 page)

As I looked at Brendan from this distance, I tried to remember what it was that originally entranced me so. To be honest, I'd never had a shortage of boyfriends, and while Brendan with his dark auburn hair and brash confidence was certainly attractive, he wasn't the best looking guy I'd ever dated. I certainly didn't think of him as boyfriend material when he first interviewed me for a summer associate position at his white shoe law firm. To me, he was yet another middle-aged partner I had to try and impress with my middling law school grades. Not surprisingly, his firm didn't give me an offer since they usually limited their summer associate class to the brainiacs on law review. What was surprising was the phone message he left me three weeks later.

My dates in law school usually consisted of keg parties at dingy Capital Hill apartments or if a guy was really trying to impress me, a burger and pitcher at a nearby dank Irish pub. Brendan took me to only the finest restaurants, sprinkled with tickets to the Kennedy Center. As an impoverished student subsisting on meager student loans, initially the meals were as much of an attraction as the man. However, Brendan slowly won me over. When he turned on the charm, you really felt like the most beautiful, most intriguing woman in the world, and such concentrated attention was intoxicating. And the sex, well it was intoxicating as well, especially since it occurred in his elegant Georgetown townhouse rather than a cramped student share house that smelt of dirty socks and cheap aftershave. Although I had to laugh when on our first night together after Brendan disentangled himself from my naked limbs, he scampered quickly to the bathroom and returned wearing a robe, striped pajamas and slippers. I told him he looked like an old man. Little did I know then I'd spend the next twenty years washing and ironing replicas of those ridiculous pajamas.

It was only after we had been together six months that I began to suspect that I wasn't the only girl on Brendan's dance card. Oh, I'd say I was the primary girlfriend. After all, I attended his firm functions and he introduced me to his parents, but there were a few signs: the message a girl with a sultry Southern accent left on his answering machine while he was in the shower, the Friday nights when he worked "late."

I wondered now, what would've happened if I had confronted him about it. Would he have denied it? Would he have sworn to change his ways, begged me not to leave him? Well, I'd never know because I never said a word. I continued to spend three or four nights a week with him in Georgetown, attended his nephew's christening, and played the part of the happy girlfriend. And a few months later when I was pregnant, with twins no less, I played the part of the happy fiancé and then the happy wife and mother.

How long he was faithful to me? After the boys were born I was enveloped by the fog of motherhood and didn't have the energy to keep a close eye on him. Even so, in the early years Brendan made an effort. He was home most weekends, was generally attentive, and we still had an amazing sex life. But, honestly, I didn't look too closely. I accepted things at face value, and when he claimed to be working late, I made myself believe he was working late. And when he lingered too long in a corner at a neighbor's barbecue talking to someone's younger sister, I accepted his explanation that he was just being friendly.

I probably would've stayed in my bubble of denial had it not been for Kitty. Rose and Kitty came down to D.C. for Veronica's Holy Communion party. Brendan was in a corner laughing with Nancy Shanley, my Bunco friend, when Kitty took me aside.

"Now that your young lady is in school, you could surely get a job," Kitty stated rather than asked.

"I'm really busy with the kids, Gran. Besides Brendan makes plenty of money. It really wouldn't be worth it for me to work part time."

She looked over at Brendan. "Do what you want, but if it was me, I'd get something of my own. Just in case."

My canny grandmother had seen in a few moments what I had blinded myself to for a decade. I didn't know why that conversation made such an impact on me, but after that the blinders were off. I kept track of Brendan's comings and goings, scoured through his credit card bills, even followed him to a hotel in the company of a petite young blonde. It was so easy. He didn't even attempt to hide it from me. Soon after that, I got a job at the SEC. Our sex life together eventually petered out, and when the kids were in high school, I moved Brendan into the guest room.

I turned from the window and returned to my seat by the bed. My mother's breathing in the last few days had turned ragged. Sister Elizabeth told me that this was to be expected; as they got closer to the end, many developed what the nurses called the death rattle. With a shudder, I read my book. About an hour later, Brendan returned with two coffees and a newspaper.

"Before you ask, we have another two hours until Paul gets here," I growled without even looking up from my book.

"Who's asking? You want the main section or metro?" Brendan handed me the coffee.

"The style section. I can't deal with the real world just yet."

"Whatever you say, boss." He tossed me the paper and then settled into the chair closest to the window. For the next two hours, we wordlessly passed sections of the paper back and forth as Rose slept.

Later, Lisa bustled into the room with an enormous bouquet of cheap carnations. "Brendan, I didn't expect to see you here." Lisa panted slightly as she placed the flowers on the side table.

"Brendan came up for a few days. Lisa, how did you know that carnations are my mother's favorite flower?" I asked sweetly. Rose detested carnations.

"I think she mentioned it once."

"Well, they are beautiful," Brendan said in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Brendan didn't know much about my inner life, but even he knew how much I couldn't stand Lisa.

"How was the wedding?" I asked.

"Well, your uncle had too good a time, so he's back at the house trying to recover," Lisa said in full martyr mode.

Brendan stood up. "We haven't eaten, so if you don't mind, Lisa, we'll be off."

I had wanted to wait until my mother woke up again, but the thought of being trapped in a room with Brendan, Lisa and those obnoxious carnations was not appealing. "Sure. Let's go."

"Where to now?" Brendan asked when we drove out of the parking lot.

"Home."

"Sorry, El, but I'm not up for going back to that house. Why don't we go to the place on the water you took me to last time?"

"Prime?"

"Yeah, let's go there."

"It's only four. Isn't it a little early for steak?"

"Sweetheart, it's never too early for steak."

Suddenly, I was starving. I hadn't eaten much more than the occasional sandwich during the last few weeks. The restaurant wasn't open yet for dinner. Brendan slipped the hostess a twenty. She led us to an outdoor patio and brought us two strong martinis. I didn't have the energy or the interest to respond to Brendan's banalities so after a while he stopped talking, and we sat there quietly and drank our martinis while the boats sailed by.

By the second martini, the restaurant opened and the waiter bought us two T-Bones, which we ate in silence, although the silence was now companionable rather than strained. By dessert and my third martini, I was feeling a bit "merry" as my grandmother would say, and was ready to talk to Brendan. Grateful for a now appreciative audience, Brendan regaled me with his latest office coup, one of his many attempts to displace his law firm's current managing partner.

We chatted about country club gossip and our sons' complicated love lives during martini number four. I laughed at Brendan's flirty banter; he was a philandering asshole, but he could be very funny, especially after a few drinks. It was still light out when I swayed through the restaurant parking lot to my car. Brendan, who was sober, at least compared to me, drove us home.

He helped me out of the car and up the steep front steps.

"Good evening, Ellen," Barbara Conroy trilled from her front porch.

"Hi, Barbara," I slurred. Brendan poured me in the front door. I stumbled into the hallway and knocked over the brass umbrella stand. For some reason, Brendan found that very funny.

He laughed. "I can't remember when I've seen you this lit." Brendan steered me toward the stairs.

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Of course you are, sweetheart, but you've had a long day. We both have. Why don't we go take a nap." Brendan practically pushed me up the stairs and into Kitty's room.

"This isn't my room," I protested weakly, as Brendan slipped the linen shift from my shoulders. "I don't think this is a good idea." I moaned as his hands travelled down the front of my body and cupped my still firm breasts. He then gently pushed me onto Kitty's bed. The old bed creaked under our weight. His mouth expertly covered mine and despite the vow I had taken three years earlier not to be seduced by him again, I responded.

Chapter 8

Ellen

I squinted at the mid-day sun. My head pounded and I groaned as I stumbled to the window and pulled the heavy brocade drapes closed. I crawled back into bed and slept for another hour, too shattered by my four martini evening to even wonder where Brendan was.

The phone rang. I reached across the bed with my eyes closed.

"Ellen?"

"Yes," I croaked.

"Ellen, where are you? It's after two, and I need to get back to the store."

"Shit, Carol. I'm sorry. I overslept."

"Overslept?"

"Yeah, it's a long story," I said, my voice like gravel.

"I'll call Lisa."

I sat up. "No, give me a half hour."

"Ellie, I can't. That stupid teenager will likely leave, if he hasn't left already and Danny's in Queens with a supplier. Look, she's asleep. She won't even notice I'm gone."

"Okay, Carol, you go. I'll get there as soon as I can." I placed the phone in its cradle and then made my way to the bathroom. I stood in a stream of hot water but felt faint and finished the rest of my shower sprawled on the rough scarred porcelain of the ancient tub. I eventually climbed out of the tub and wrapped my aching body in a threadbare towel. I wiped the small mirror. Eyes, slightly bloodshot, cheeks raw from Brendan's stubble. Lovely.

I walked into my childhood bedroom and threw on a pair of khakis and a white t-shirt and then rubbed a generous dab of my expensive face cream onto my broken skin.

Three aspirin and two cups of coffee later, I was ready to leave for St. Francis. I searched for my car keys. They weren't on the hallway table where I usually keep them. My head throbbed as I searched the house. Reluctantly, I went back upstairs to the scene of the crime and cringed when I saw my green linen dress crumpled in the middle of the room, my sandals and bra beside it. My keys were on the bedside table, a torn piece of paper underneath them.

E,

Great night,

B.

I looked around the room—all trace of Brendan were gone. That bastard. He must've left for D.C. with no intention of coming back. I'd assumed he'd work out of the New York office for the next few days. How could I be so stupid to even be surprised?

Without time to wallow in my regrets, I returned downstairs, grabbed my bag and a pair of sunglasses and walked out of the house. I swooned slightly as I walked down the front steps and had to grab the iron railing for support. With no breeze, the air was hot, muggy and tinged with the stench of rotting seaweed. A wave of nausea hit me, but I fought it as I walked, slowly, to my car.

"Hey, Ellen."

Oh, no. Not another encounter with the beautiful Billy when I looked like I'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. I couldn't very well pretend I didn't hear him. With a smile that almost cracked my sore face, I managed to say hello.

"Ellen, you okay?"

"Yeah, I had a few too many drinks with my husband last night."

"Your husband came up? I thought there was a German carmakers convention here on Rose Hill."

I laughed, and then winced from the pain in my head.

"Ellen, you sure you're okay to drive? I can give you a ride if you like."

I'll bet you could, I thought. Oh man, one sexual experience in three years, and now I'd turned into a sex maniac, in my head anyway. I drove thoughts of a shirtless Billy from my mind and said, "That's very kind of you, but I'll need my car later."

"Okay, whatever you say. See you around, and stay off the sauce," he scolded.

"Don't worry. I think I've learned my lesson," I said as I sank into the hot leather seats of my much mocked car.

Twenty minutes later, I walked, somewhat unsteadily, down the cool tile halls of St. Francis. Molly's voice boomed from my mother's room. Great, that's all I needed.

"Here she is now, Rosie. I told you she'd be along soon."

"Hi Mom. Hi Molly," I said, with a bright fake smile. "Sorry I'm late, but I had to see Brendan off."

My mother's face fell. "He had to go back already?"

"Yes, and he was so disappointed," I lied, "but they needed him back in D.C. His insider trading case is really heating up."