Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Bea had never demonstrated devastation at this loss.
She’d been angry and self-righteous and stayed that way.
“So you and Dad are a no go,” Manon noted, and she didn’t quite hide the dejection in her voice.
“We are, Manon, I’m sorry.”
“And this thing we’re all meeting for tomorrow? And by the by, I’m staying at yours in case bitchface isn’t out of Dad’s place yet, and I’ll be there around ten.”
“This thing for tomorrow is your dad’s way of making sure Yves knows we’re his safe haven no matter what.”
“But he’s inviting us to yours, not his?”
She was as confused as me.
“Maybe he’s concerned about the situation with Myrna,” I suggested.
“Maybe.” She wasn’t buying it.
I wasn’t either, but I didn’t share that.
“Listen, honey, as much as I love talking to you, I’ve got a girls’ night tonight.”
“Is Bea going to be there?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Yes.
How I missed what everyone saw, I didn’t know.
Maybe it was just that I loved Bea, and I didn’t want to see it.
“You want anything special for tomorrow?” I asked.
“You feel like a trip to Bosa in the morning?”
“Cinnamon swirls or buttermilk?”
“Both.”
Yves would love some donuts too.
“They’ll be waiting for you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, my gorgeous girl.”
We hung up, I fixed my eye, finished with my hair, got dressed and then wandered into my bedroom.
But I didn’t do what I needed to do: wander out and into my car to go to Kara’s.
For some reason, I went to the French doors that led to the private, master suite patio, and looked out to the backyard.
My lot was even bigger than Remy’s, on a cul-de-sac and maybe a ten-minute drive, at most, north from his house, off Central to the east.
My house was also only ten years older than Remy’s, and the lush, mature landscaping and trees reflected those sixty years between when they were planted and now.
The pool was large, kidney-shaped, and Remy’d had it resurfaced so that the water was a deep, Mediterranean blue, not chlorinated aqua.
The space back there was open, with lots of grass, lavish greenery around the edges to help buffer the sound from Central, which was a busy city street only a block away. It also made the backyard seem like an oasis.
The entire time we were together, regardless of his hectic schedule as budding then successful architect, husband and dad, he tended our outside space himself, including the pool. He didn’t let anyone touch it, exempting Sabre and Yves when they got old enough to help, not exempting me and Manon.
Another thing he’d inherited from his father, who did not do a day of manual work in his life, but he did have firm ideas about gender roles.
This meant the yard and cars were Remy’s (and his sons’) domain, so was the garbage and recycling, neither mine nor Manon’s hands touched any of it.
Ever.
This segued into him feeling the house and the work to be done in it (unless it was maintenance or repair) was mine.
And I was not in agreement with this idea.
I would far rather garden or skim the pool than do laundry or grocery shop. I loathed both.
We fought about this after I went back to work, and I didn’t have time to keep house without help. And some of those fights got intense because I wanted to step over Remy’s firmly established boundaries, and I wanted him to do the same.
In the end, we made enough to hire cleaning people, the kids got old enough to do their own laundry and have specific chores, and then Remy and I both had PAs who could do other tasks, like running errands and doing the shopping.
However, being honest with myself, I never quite let go of how irritating I thought it was he couldn’t see I no longer had time to do tasks that were much more frequent, like cooking every night (and having the food in the house to do it), not to mention the never-ending laundry.
Now, I wished I’d let it go because really, it didn’t mean anything.
And Remy always took excellent care of the yard and pool in a way it wasn’t like he spent a half hour mowing the lawn and then done. He spent hours every week on both.
And when he left, I had to find someone to do it. I’d hired a pool service and they’d cleaned the pool, and I’d watched them then cried for an hour.
A solid hour.
Outside our boys, once it was resurfaced, no one’s hand had touched that pool. Even to do repairs on the equipment.
Just Remy.
It was like someone touching it defiled our marriage.
It was lunacy.
But that was how I felt.
I totally ignored the gardeners when they showed, and I’d struggled with using and even lying beside that pool (both of which I enjoyed doing) ever since.
I sighed, letting this go, deciding to take a swim in the morning and wash those thoughts away, then realized it was September and the pool was probably freezing before I turned my mind to assessing which handbag I was currently using.