“That’s not true,” Elm lied. “I truly believed I’d be happy with Harlan, and there was never any question of Daddy—”
“I know, I know,” Meredith soothed, “he’s the other Mr. Perfect in your life. But let’s face it, Elm, I remember talking when you got engaged. Christ, you had so many dreams, such focused expectations. Remember all the idealism? How convinced you were that being his wife would be a fulfilling path? That together you would achieve all sorts of worthy objectives?”
“You make it sound all trite and stupid and it wasn’t. I really did believe it.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” Meredith smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to diminish your dreams. They were very worthwhile. It’s just a pity Harlan never believed in them. Let’s face it, babe,” she said, leaning back and letting her large leather chair swing, “Harlan never expected to make you an active partner in his politics. Twelve years in, you’re still his lackey. Expected to throw great parties and enhance his social status, but shut out of making any significant policy contributions.
“Not that you aren’t doing great things on your own—your painting exhibitions are phenomenal, you’re becoming known. Hell, that Frenchman—who’s supposed to be an international art specialist—Le Souche—who was in town last month even bought one. And working with abused women to restore the gardens at Oleander Creek is one heck of a worthy cause.”
“But?”
“Elm, face it. Harlan’s reneged on his part of the bargain. He’s ignored your input. I mean, has he ever solicited your advice about any aspect of his platform? I didn’t see him asking you about whether that massive waste-processing plant he green-lighted would have any impact on the environment. You’d think that since it’s just up the creek from your plantation, he’d have sought your involvement on that, at least. He’s just been using you—and you’ve let him.”
“That may be partially true,” Elm admitted grudgingly, regaining some of her poise. “Of course, perhaps if you’d seen fit to tell me all this sooner, I might have avoided some of it,” she threw out reproachfully.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Elm, who are you trying to fool? You know very well you wouldn’t have listened to a word I had to say.”
“I might have.”
“Bull crap.”
Elm swallowed, seriously shaken. All these years she’d carried the load of her inadequate, unsatisfying, empty marriage alone, convinced no one but she knew the truth. Now she felt cheated at her own game. “God, I just wish you’d told me how you really felt,” she repeated, shaking her head, bewildered.
“Elm, honey, put yourself in my shoes.” Meredith let out a gusty sigh. “How could I, in all fairness, turn around and tell you that Jennifer was bragging to anyone who’d listen that she’s bagged Harlan MacBride, when it was obvious you didn’t want to hear, or want to know, or want to see? Hell, we lunched last week and you were still singing Harlan’s praises. The one and only time,” she said through gritted teeth, “I ever came close to bursting your bubble was a few months ago, when you were recovering from that last IVF treatment and Jennifer was preening about Harlan taking her to the Cloisters for a romantic weekend.”
“I can’t believe he did that.” Tears of rage and disappointment hurtled to the surface. “How could he?” she uttered suddenly, voice cracking. “How could he have been such a bastard?” She looked away, hiding her face with her hair, as the full implication of Harlan’s deceit came rocketing home.
Meredith eyed Elm, wished she could console her but recognized she must make her friend face the whole truth. “He’s damn fortunate your father didn’t hear about it. Harlan seems to have a knack for getting lucky,” she added dryly.
A nasty, creepy sensation stirred in the pit of Elm’s stomach. “Go on. Tell me who was in line before Jennifer.” She felt sick, yet she was determined to learn every last iniquitous detail.
“Well, she’s the first who’s really gone around flaunting it, but I understand there’ve been a few. Most of them were out-of-towners. He had a girl up in Charleston for a while, a secretary at a bank, I believe. He’s been very careful. I think this is the first time he’s done anything so public. I was pretty surprised. Heck, if something like this hit the tabloids, Harlan’s chances of being reelected would be zilch.” She held Elm’s eyes for a full fifteen seconds, making sure Elm registered the full import of the words that had been in her craw for too damn long. Then she sat back and watched her friend carefully, feeling sad. Elm had been through a hell of a lot and didn’t deserve this. She glanced anxiously across the desk.
“How did you find all this out?” Elm said, letting out a sigh.
“Tom told me.”
“So, Tom knew. My God. I…Christ, this is all so crazy.” Elm rose abruptly, dragged her fingers through her hair, her mind a mess of scrambled wires being gnawed at and shredded by persistent rodents. This couldn’t be happening.
“What are you going to do?” Meredith asked slowly.
“Do?” Elm turned, glanced absently past her at the dull cream wallpaper plastered with Meredith’s credentials—Old Miss, Harvard and Yale—and asked herself the same question. What was she going to do now that she knew, now that she was fully aware of the facts and couldn’t hide behind blissful ignorance any longer? It had taken only seconds for the world as she knew it to fall apart. How long would it take for her to do what eventually would have to be done?
For a moment Elm’s pulse raced, followed by a debilitating wave of dizziness. She’d had a few of these bouts lately. In fact, she’d been to see Doc Philips about them and he’d sent her tests to Dr. Ashby, a specialist in Atlanta. But this wasn’t the same kind of dizziness, she reassured herself. This was different, caused by fear from the latest onslaught.
A new thought intruded in her already saturated mind. Surely her father, the redoubtable, venerated and oh-so-respected senator, couldn’t have known any of this? Surely her father wouldn’t have hidden the truth from her all these years? Surely Harlan’s political future didn’t mean more to him than his daughter’s life? Her stomach lurched once more and she swallowed. That was impossible. She refused to believe that her own father could have been aware of Harlan’s behavior. He would never have betrayed her, however dearly he hoped to put Harlan in the Oval Office. Or was she just trying to fool herself once again?
She collapsed rigid onto the chair, hands trembling.
“Elm, are you okay?” Meredith eyed her anxiously, wondering if she should get coffee, water or something stronger.
“I want to file for divorce.” The words came tumbling out almost as an afterthought, as though someone else were speaking.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Meredith sat up, startled. “That’s a huge step, Elm. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you’d better think it over very carefully.”
“My mind’s made up.” She sounded strangely firm and resolute.
“But, Elm, the election, the—”
“Fuck the election. I’m through. Get the papers together, Mer. And after I’m gone, you can tell him.”
“Elm, I think you should consider the—”
