Read Online The Deep End by Joy Fielding - Free Book Online

Perhaps what Paul wanted was a woman more interested in the cultural scene, a wife who made it a point to acquire tickets to all the latest theatrical events. Yet if that were the case, he had only to say so.
    She thought of the evening they had spent at the theater in Florida. Paul seemed happy enough then, relaxed, as he always appeared when he had a tan. They had enjoyed both the production and a pleasant dinner, and at the evening’s conclusion, Paul had bought her a T-shirt as a souvenir. It was red with bold white letters across its front proclaiming I SPENT THE NIGHT WITH BURT REYNOLDS … Only when the T-shirt was turned onto its back did it continue … AT THE BURT REYNOLDS DINNER THEATER.
    She had never worn it, Joanne realized. She should have worn it. Paul had bought it for her; he must have intended that she wear it.
    She was on her third cup of coffee when Lulu shuffled sleepily into the kitchen in her babydoll pajamas and floppy slippers. “It’s raining,” she announced as if it were somehow her mother’s fault.
    “Maybe it won’t last,” Joanne replied hopefully. “What do you want for breakfast?”
    “French toast?” Lulu asked, plopping down into one of the kitchen chairs as her mother poured her a large glassof orange juice. With one hand Joanne cracked some eggs into a bowl, quickly adding milk, vanilla, and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
    “Did you sleep well?” she asked. Lulu only shrugged, flipping absently through the morning paper. “I thought maybe we could see a play this week,” Joanne offered. “Is there anything that you want to see?” Lulu shook her head indifferently. “What about that new Neil Simon play?”
    “That would be nice,” Lulu agreed, a smile creeping into her half-closed eyes. She stared into the backyard. “When are they going to be finished out there?”
    “Soon, I hope.” Joanne flipped two slices of soggy bread into the frying pan.
    “Will Daddy come to the play with us?”
    Joanne’s hand began to tremble. “I don’t think so,” she answered, struggling to keep the tremble out of her voice.
    “Can we ask him?”
    Joanne hesitated. “I thought it was something the three of us could do. You know, kind of a girls’ night out.”
    “I’d like to ask Daddy,” Lulu persisted. “Can I?”
    “Sure,” Joanne agreed, hoping this would end the conversation. “If you’d like.”
    “Why did Daddy leave?” the child asked abruptly.
    Joanne aimed another piece of bread at the frying pan but it missed and landed on the counter, splattering its sticky coating across the front of Joanne’s housecoat. Joanne picked the errant slice up again, watching as it came apart against the sharp prongs of the fork. “I’m not sure,” she said, trying to keep her voice even as she maneuvered the crumbling piece of bread into the pan and flipped over the other two. “Didn’t he tell you?”
    “He said he needed time alone.”
    “That’s about what he said to me.”
    “To think things through. What things? Why can’t he think at home?” Lulu continued accusingly.
    “I don’t know, sweetie,” Joanne told her honestly, flipping the browned toast onto a plate and bringing it to her daughter at the table. “Those are questions you’ll have to ask your dad.”
    She watched as Lulu scooped a great glob of butter onto each piece of French toast before drowning her plate in maple syrup. “Good?” Joanne asked as Lulu began stuffing the pieces into her mouth with almost manic determination, careful to avoid her mother’s eyes.
    “Is it because of me?” the child asked finally, unable any longer to keep the tears out of her voice or away from Joanne. “Because I’m not doing very well in school?”
    It took a minute for Joanne to connect this thought to Paul’s departure. “Oh no, sweetheart,” she rushed to assure her. “Daddy’s leaving has nothing to do with you.” And everything to do with me, she almost added. “Besides,” she said instead,