she didn’t know how.
“When my relationship became…difficult, I didn’t feel warm for weeks.” Nora blanched, as if realizing what she’d said. “Not that I think you have the same problem,” she hastened to add. “Marriage is a long-term investment,” she tried again. “One that sometimes doesn’t work as we’d like. What I’m trying to say is, there are always ups and downs. I wouldn’t worry,” she said. “Don’t even think about my experience.”
Geneva withdrew her hand from Nora’s clasp. The memory of that other existence, and of one recent night, were still fresh in her mind. “A few nights ago when Earl was home, I went up to his study—it’s next to our bedroom—to ask him something and I found him at his computer. That’s not unusual, but when he noticed me standing in the doorway, he blanked out the monitor, I think so I couldn’t see what was there. He looked…guilty. I don’t know that anything was wrong, but it didn’t feel right.”
Nora looked away. “Your husband is probably embroiled in one of those male things that always seem to consume them.” She flushed. “That is, men get caught up in rectifying some global injustice or correcting the company balance sheet while we women do so in our smaller way without much fanfare.”
Geneva sniffled.
“Is that what your husband does, too?”
“Not any longer. I’ve been divorced for some time. But I’m sure he does,” she added quickly. “Or he will, with his new wife, as he must have with the others. He’s getting married again soon. I’m invited to the wedding.”
Geneva’s eyes widened. She dabbed at them with the handkerchief Nora handed her, using the delicate lawn fabric and Swiss embroidery to blot her smeared mascara. When she saw Nora wince at the stain, she set the cloth aside.
“That,” Geneva murmured, “was more information than I need.”
Nora wasn’t being very tactful, but Geneva knew she was trying, and it wasn’t easy to deal with a hysterical woman. Geneva wondered miserably if she was turning into her mother, the stage mama of all time who had been given to outrageous displays of temper and tears.
She couldn’t hold back her worst fear. “What if Earl is having an affair? Or visiting Web sites with nubile women on display?” Women younger, prettier, than Geneva now?
“Wilson’s first peccadillo nearly killed me,” Nora admitted, not helping at all, “and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “For a long while I regretted that it didn’t kill Wilson instead, even when I still loved him with all my heart.” Nora paled again. “Oh, my God. That doesn’t mean you should worry about Earl.” But something in her expression told Geneva that Nora felt exactly that about Geneva’s husband.
Geneva looked at her hands. “I was his trophy wife, you know. We’ve been married for fifteen years,” she said, her voice gathering strength now that she’d stopped crying. “When we said our vows, I was barely twenty-five. Now I’m forty, and no matter how little I eat or how long I spend on the treadmill every day, I’m still ten pounds heavier than when I met Earl—” She broke off, then began again, “I’ve done a thousand sit-ups, a million leg lifts, or I did until I quit my health club. But my face…oh, God.”
“Nonsense.” Nora adopted a perky expression. “Forty is the new thirty, even twenty-something. You’re a beautiful woman, Geneva. Stunning. Certainly you know that. I’m sure Earl does, too.” She gestured at the room, as Geneva had. “He must love you very much. This house, the car you drive, the exquisite pieces you display…” Nora trailed off, as if not wanting to tread too near the subject of Geneva’s missing vase again. Another reason she’d spent so much time crying today. “Those are material things, I know, but many men use them to express how much they care. It’s easier, you see, than admitting their feelings.”
“You think so?”
“Positive.” When her stiff-upper-lip approach seemed to work, Nora plowed on. “Maybe you and Earl could talk tonight.”
Geneva shook her head. “He called just before you rang the bell. He has a dinner meeting at seven. He won’t be home until late again.”
“Ah,” Nora said.
Geneva felt about to tear up all over again. “What if he doesn’t see me as a desirable woman anymore? Then what?” she demanded of Nora, who had no answer. Geneva didn’t notice. She swept the half dozen sketches of Nora’s designs off the marble table. “If he wants another woman, she’ll be the one who lives here! Not me.”
Nora looked horrified. “This house isn’t in your name?”
“We own it jointly,” Geneva said.
“Then at least you have a half interest, which is probably worth a great deal in Royal Palms, should the worst happen. It won’t, of course. You’re just feeling neglected, and insecure. It happens to all of us,” Nora assured her. “But there’s no sense giving in to a major depression. That’s not healthy, and good health is the first defense.” She rummaged in her handbag and came up with a card. “This is my doctor’s number. Mark Fingerhut. Call him. He can give you a lift in no time.”
Geneva examined the card. “An obstetrician?” Her mouth trembled. If only she could have given Earl children. He’d said he wanted only her, without anything else between them except her perfect body, but maybe a family would have provided a stronger bond. Given them something to hang on to other than Geneva’s beauty. It had been her lifelong curse. And it was all she had.
“He’s also a gynecologist,” Nora said. “But he can refer you to the right person if you’d like Botox injections, for example.” Nora composed her face into a serene expression. “They were the best thing I’ve ever done. I’d send you to the man I used, but he just retired.”
Geneva stared at her, then down at the card. Nora fished in her bag for another, handing it to Geneva with a flourish. “This might come in handy, too.”
Geneva read the name. “‘Heath Moran.’”
“I belong to this club where he works. He’s absolutely marvelous, and quite easy on the eyes,” she added. “Not that I think you need some fine-tuning, but if you’re really concerned about a fitness program, join the club and get a personal trainer. Heath is just the man.”
“I hadn’t thought about a trainer…”
But whatever worked, Geneva decided. She had to do something. Why would Earl remain interested in a woman who didn’t look her best, who had moped around all morning wondering how to fix their life together? Only a day or two ago she had been so excited about redoing her home. With a little pick-me-up she soon would be again.
Nora’s sketches were lovely, and she had tried to be of help about Earl, but she would have to wait while Geneva reconsidered her decision. She wasn’t in the mood to make one now.
“I don’t see what else you can do, Ma,” Savannah Pride said with a worried frown. Her mother was pacing the kitchen. “You’ll have to wait. The rest is up to Geneva Whitehouse.”
“I can’t believe how I messed things up. You should have heard me, Savannah, babbling on and on, putting my foot deeper in my mouth with every word. I said all the wrong things. Wait? I probably won’t ever hear from Geneva Whitehouse again. And I’m not a person who likes
