“We were talking about it in the wine cellar.”
Sylvie waits a few minutes before turning to Mark, her voice dropped low so the others don’t hear. “You knew and didn’t tell me?” She is shocked and upset. Even when sworn to secrecy, she knows the unspoken part of that is that husbands don’t count. She trusts him implicitly, and there is nothing she wouldn’t tell him, presuming that this went both ways.
“Bill swore me to secrecy,” Mark says. “This was before everyone found out, after Caroline first got the call. He was trying to stop the worst from happening, and he was desperate. Sylvie, he specifically asked me to promise not to tell you. I tell you everything, but I couldn’t tell you this.”
“But I’m your wife. Even if you promise, you know spouses don’t count. And you know I would never talk about it with anyone.”
“I do, but I couldn’t go back on a promise. Once I’d said those words to him, I would have felt like I was committing a crime by repeating it. Even to you. I’m sorry.”
Sylvie nods. “It’s okay. I don’t like it, but I get it. I just feel kind of stupid, being the last to know. How is he?”
“Desperate. And Caroline’s getting ready to move. She doesn’t want to face anyone in this town ever again.”
Sylvie closes her eyes for a second as she shakes her head, unable to get the unfortunate image of Bill, naked and at full mast, out of her head. “That poor woman,” she says. “I can’t think of anything worse.”
9
Sylvie
The phone buzzes over and over, both Mark and Sylvie deaf to its persistent vibration, until both swim upward from their deep sleep, Mark registering the phone call first.
He grabs the phone and picks it up, whispering a hello as he crawls out of bed, going into the bathroom so as not to disturb Sylvie, but it’s too late.
She is now awake, heart pounding, squinting at the clock. Who in the hell is calling at 2:36 A.M. , and why is her husband taking the call in the other room?
Sylvie creeps to the bathroom door and listens, hearing her husband murmuring softly as a wave of nausea sweeps over her. She can’t hear the words, but she hears his laughter. She pushes the door open, catching him midsentence.
“Sweetie,” he says, holding out the phone. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s your mother.”
She takes the phone, sighing as Mark stands up, kisses her shoulder, and heads back to bed, Sylvie sitting down on the edge of the bath in the exact same spot.
“Mom? Is everything okay? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. There are things I need that I can’t find. Where is my Hermès blue and orange scarf? My favorite one? I haven’t seen it for ages.”
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s probably in storage up in the attic. I’ll check. But it’s two thirty … -seven in the morning. I thought it was an emergency. This will have to wait.”
“What time is it?”
“Two thirty-seven. Mom, you can’t phone people in the middle of the night.”
“You’re not people. You’re my daughter.”
“But I’ve told you not to phone me late unless it’s an emergency.”
“I need Band-Aids too. That’s an emergency. Oh, and another of those Diptyque candles I like. You know the ones.”
Sylvie closes her eyes, inwardly groaning. “Okay, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going now.”
“Wait! Tomorrow? What about today? I thought you were coming today.”
“I can’t today. I’m sorry.”
“Why? What’s more important than visiting your mother who gave up her entire life for you.”
Sylvie’s heart sinks. “Mom, I have a doctor’s appointment, remember?”
There is no doctor’s appointment, but Clothilde, who forgets so much, seems to quiet down when she is faced with her lack of memory.
“In San Diego,” she lies. “But I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“San Diego.” Clothilde murmurs, “Pity you never think to bring me into the city with you.”
Sylvie says nothing, knowing that her
Sylvie waits a few minutes before turning to Mark, her voice dropped low so the others don’t hear. “You knew and didn’t tell me?” She is shocked and upset. Even when sworn to secrecy, she knows the unspoken part of that is that husbands don’t count. She trusts him implicitly, and there is nothing she wouldn’t tell him, presuming that this went both ways.
“Bill swore me to secrecy,” Mark says. “This was before everyone found out, after Caroline first got the call. He was trying to stop the worst from happening, and he was desperate. Sylvie, he specifically asked me to promise not to tell you. I tell you everything, but I couldn’t tell you this.”
“But I’m your wife. Even if you promise, you know spouses don’t count. And you know I would never talk about it with anyone.”
“I do, but I couldn’t go back on a promise. Once I’d said those words to him, I would have felt like I was committing a crime by repeating it. Even to you. I’m sorry.”
Sylvie nods. “It’s okay. I don’t like it, but I get it. I just feel kind of stupid, being the last to know. How is he?”
“Desperate. And Caroline’s getting ready to move. She doesn’t want to face anyone in this town ever again.”
Sylvie closes her eyes for a second as she shakes her head, unable to get the unfortunate image of Bill, naked and at full mast, out of her head. “That poor woman,” she says. “I can’t think of anything worse.”
9
Sylvie
The phone buzzes over and over, both Mark and Sylvie deaf to its persistent vibration, until both swim upward from their deep sleep, Mark registering the phone call first.
He grabs the phone and picks it up, whispering a hello as he crawls out of bed, going into the bathroom so as not to disturb Sylvie, but it’s too late.
She is now awake, heart pounding, squinting at the clock. Who in the hell is calling at 2:36 A.M. , and why is her husband taking the call in the other room?
Sylvie creeps to the bathroom door and listens, hearing her husband murmuring softly as a wave of nausea sweeps over her. She can’t hear the words, but she hears his laughter. She pushes the door open, catching him midsentence.
“Sweetie,” he says, holding out the phone. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s your mother.”
She takes the phone, sighing as Mark stands up, kisses her shoulder, and heads back to bed, Sylvie sitting down on the edge of the bath in the exact same spot.
“Mom? Is everything okay? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. There are things I need that I can’t find. Where is my Hermès blue and orange scarf? My favorite one? I haven’t seen it for ages.”
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s probably in storage up in the attic. I’ll check. But it’s two thirty … -seven in the morning. I thought it was an emergency. This will have to wait.”
“What time is it?”
“Two thirty-seven. Mom, you can’t phone people in the middle of the night.”
“You’re not people. You’re my daughter.”
“But I’ve told you not to phone me late unless it’s an emergency.”
“I need Band-Aids too. That’s an emergency. Oh, and another of those Diptyque candles I like. You know the ones.”
Sylvie closes her eyes, inwardly groaning. “Okay, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going now.”
“Wait! Tomorrow? What about today? I thought you were coming today.”
“I can’t today. I’m sorry.”
“Why? What’s more important than visiting your mother who gave up her entire life for you.”
Sylvie’s heart sinks. “Mom, I have a doctor’s appointment, remember?”
There is no doctor’s appointment, but Clothilde, who forgets so much, seems to quiet down when she is faced with her lack of memory.
“In San Diego,” she lies. “But I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“San Diego.” Clothilde murmurs, “Pity you never think to bring me into the city with you.”
Sylvie says nothing, knowing that her
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