I took a gulp of my margarita then licked some salt from the rim. “No. Just me.”
Lindy handed me the nachos and took some herself. “Tell me what happened after you left Paris?” she said, crunching.
“I went back to live in New York.”
“That’s where you were raised? In New York City?”
I nodded. “It was lonely. I was miserable for a long time. But I had a good job—worked at … look, Lindy, I’m not as… I mean, I’m not from a wealthy family. There was no life insurance money after my parents died. I had to work. Had to struggle some.”
“Of course you did, honey. I understand. I’m from a regular family, nothing special. In fact, when I met Richard, I was so poor I couldn’t afford to pay attention.” She laughed. “It’s Richard who gave me this lifestyle. He’s from ‘old’ money. Insurance is what built his great-grandparents’ fortune. I’m just a regular girl trying to make good.”
I smiled. “Looks like we’re cut from the same cloth then. Except you and Richard seem so…” I felt tears building up. The need to tell Lindy everything was clamoring at me. I made to get up. “I should get going…”
She laid a hand on my arm. “You’re not going anywhere, Vivien, you’re three sheets to the wind, honey, you’ve drunk too—hey, what’s that on your arm?” Lindy pushed up the sleeve of my sweater. “Is that a bruise? How did you get that nasty purple bruise?”
I shrugged, suddenly tongue-tied.
She looked into my eyes. “Please don’t tell me you ‘bumped into a door.’ This is the third time I’ve seen you with bruises.”
I said nothing.
“This is not a run-into-a-door bruise. This looks like a pinch. Like someone pinched you! There are marks.”
“It’s my skin. I bruise at the slightest thing. Honestly, it’s nothing.”
“Did someone do this to you?”
“No!” I said. “I’m really clumsy, always walking into things. My thighs, too. Always banging into corners of tables. I was born with two left feet!”
Lindy looked at me with suspicion.
“It’s not… nobody touched me!” I protested, “Please don’t think Ashton would ever lay a finger—”
“But it looks like someone did lay a finger on you! Two fingers, by the looks of it!” she shouted, then looking in the direction of where her kids were, simmered her voice. “You know you can trust me and share anything with me, right?”
“Sure,” I said, wondering if I could trust Lindy.
“But, Vivien, this seems to be a recurring thing, these bruises.”
I pressed my lips together. Lindy was trying to squeeze it out of me.
“Did this happen even before y’all got married?”
I gave her a neutral look but couldn’t bring myself to say a word.
Lindy tightened her mouth into a narrow line and shook her head in what seemed like slow motion. Her eyes were wide with both shock and anger. “I’m amazed, frankly. I had Ashton pegged for the perfect Southern gentleman. Perfect manners. Kind, too. Okay, he has his past—he was a bit of a ladies’ man in his day—but, boy, did I read him wrong. Turns out he’s lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut. What the heck? He’s one of Richard’s best friends! I’m dumbstruck.” She glugged back her margarita in several furious gulps. I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me for ruining her perfect vision of Ashton and spoiling her husband’s relationship because they were best friends and now it might be awkward, or if she was angry with Ashton himself.
I sat there quietly, wondering what she’d say next. I wanted to defend Ashton, but the words felt blocked behind my mouth.
“What was it that Ashton said to you, honey, when he whispered in your ear at the dinner table the other night? It looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
“Ashton’s an amazing man. He’s everything a girl could wish for… he had nothing to do with this! Please don’t assume things!”
“Vivien, please. Please be honest with me, honey.”
I fidgeted with my fingers, my heart beating erratically with a sort of fumbled panic. “There’s this expression I’ve heard,” I said. “And I wonder if it’s typical. ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, then keep your pretty little mouth shut.’”
“He said that?”
“No! Of course not! I just thought about it a second ago. Ashton’s crazy about me, you know that!”
“Well, dang it, that’s what I thought too! The way he looks at you with stars in his eyes. But it was your face, your face when he whispered those ‘sweet nothings’ in your ear and you misted up, I just knew something was wrong.”
“You read that wrong, Lindy, he did say something sweet, I promise. Ashton’s wonderful to me. So generous, amazing in bed, kind and caring.” I swigged down the rest of my margarita. I could feel the liquor rush to my head. “I’m tipsy, I need to get home before I—”
“It’s no wonder you’re not as drunk as a fish, considering. The way you keep everything going so smoothly with all this nastiness going on behind closed doors. Spend the night here, don’t go home. We’ll watch a silly comedy and stuff our pie holes with chocolate chip ice cream and cookies. That sound good? Lord knows you could do with a few extra pounds on you.” She embraced me with a cozy hug, and I couldn’t help but burst out crying.
I wanted to run away from her that minute knowing that now she’d set eyes on this particularly pronounced bruise mark, she wouldn’t let it rest. I said, between tears, “Lindy, Ashton and I are great together, I promise. Scout’s honor. Our marriage is doing great.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Five
Ashton arrived home late morning, exhausted. He’d been on the night shift at the hospital, had had to operate on a gun accident victim. A little boy had found his dad’s revolver under the bed and had shot his older brother. The brother was still in the ICU, and Ashton didn’t know if he would make it.
I brought Ashton breakfast in bed: fresh-squeezed orange juice, brewed coffee, and pancakes with fresh strawberries slathered in maple syrup from Vermont—his favorite. I was always amazed at the way he was able to operate and work for so many hours straight and then come home and leave his harrowing work behind. But he never lost his cool.
In his spare time, Ashton read a lot of spiritual books. Stuff about Buddhism and embracing your Higher Power. I was a whole lot simpler. I’d been raised a Catholic and still half believed all that mumbo-jumbo about Heaven and Hell. Once a Catholic always a Catholic. I couldn’t shake it off. I tried to be more “spiritual” but it never quite jelled with me. Ashton never lost his temper outwardly. He was cool, calm, and collected. If he was ever angry it would be in a quiet, whispering way. He would rarely raise his voice or shout or scream or make a scene in public. Or dispute a check at a restaurant or argue with a contractor or tradesperson. He didn’t need to. Ashton exuded authority. But when he looked at you with his deep brown eyes, it made you want to do anything for him.