And that wasn’t the only time she’d gotten revenge.
Freshman year of high school Abigail heard that a former friend, Kaitlyn Austin, had been going around saying that Abigail’s parents were the town perverts and that they loved to put on disgusting plays. This was after a production of Spring Awakening that had caused a brief ripple through the more conservative elements of the Boxgrove community. Kaitlyn Austin told everyone that she’d heard that the Baskins only put on the musical so that they could cast young actors to have sex with. She said that every year there were orgies at the Boxgrove Theatre, an idea so ludicrous that Abigail was initially more amused than pissed off. But the rumors spread through their small regional high school.
It was around this time, too, that Abigail had discovered thrift store shopping, dressing one day in a poodle skirt from the 1950s, and the next in a fringed leather jacket. Kaitlyn began calling Abigail “the freak,” and it was a nickname that stuck around for at least a year. Part of her didn’t even care that much about being called a name, but it was the fact that the name had originated with Kaitlyn that stung. Abigail became consumed with the idea of getting revenge. She did, eventually, but not until senior year. Knowing that Kaitlyn and her family were away for the Columbus Day weekend, she’d walked across town just before midnight and broken into their house through a window they’d left open. She’d gone straight to Kaitlyn’s room and searched it, stealing a stack of her diaries. On the way out, she’d slashed all the tires on Kaitlyn’s Subaru. She could still remember the feel of the knife puncturing the rubber, the hiss of air as the tires slumped.
That night, she’d felt sickened with herself but a little elated. And she’d never told anyone, not even Zoe.
Abigail, remembering the type of person she’d been in adolescence, wondered if she’d changed, if somewhere along the line she’d become more passive. She wasn’t sure. She knew that she could have moved back to Boxgrove after college, but instead she’d gone to New York and gotten a job in publishing. That was more than any of her high school friends could say. But, despite the fact that she was still in the city, she did feel as though something in her had altered. Maybe it was her upcoming marriage to Bruce. Because he was so rich, because he had been the one to initiate the relationship, and because he was so single-minded in his pursuits, he made her feel like she was second fiddle to his ambitions. No, that wasn’t true, necessarily. He made her feel as though he’d invited her onto his boat, and now that boat was careening down a river, and she was just a passenger. But what was wrong with that? And one thing that she’d be gaining from the marriage was financial security, which meant free time, which meant she could finish her novel. And writing a novel would be her own thing, nothing to do with Bruce.
She was beginning to get tired and shifted onto her side. Somehow the image of a boat stayed in her mind as she slipped into sleep, gliding effortlessly along a churning river, the rush of water in her ears.
She spent the next day with her mother. They had lunch in town at the Boxgrove Inn, then drove to a boutique clothing store in the next town over to look for a dress for her mom to wear to the wedding.
It was only when they got back home, each collapsing with a cup of tea in the living room, that Abigail asked her mother about the separation.
“Ugh,” Amelia said. “I don’t hate your father. Obviously, you know that. How could I? It’s just that … it’s just that we spent so long trying to get the theater to work, and that was where all our energy went. I just don’t have anything left to give him, and he knows that, too.”
“But you still care for him?”
“I do. Of course I do. Here’s the thing, Abby. When I think about my life—the rest of my life, I mean—if I stay with your father then I know exactly what it’s going to be like. But if we split up, if we each get another chance, then something else might happen. Something exciting.”
“You mean you might meet someone new?”
“It’s not just that, although I have thought about that. It’s just that I need space to be me, to change a little, to allow something to happen. It’s your father who’ll meet someone new, probably.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Let’s just say he falls in love too easily.”
Abigail sat up. “Has dad had affairs?”
“I don’t know,” Amelia said, lowering her voice even though they were alone in the house. “I wouldn’t call them affairs, but most summers when we were putting on shows, he’d fall in love with one of the actresses who came up. He was not good at hiding it. From me or from them. You remember Audra Johnson?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t think they actually had a sexual affair, but they definitely had an emotional one. It was a hard summer.”
“I’m learning so much,” Abigail said. Then she added, “You never …?”
“Me? No. I think, for me, being married, and being in business together, I was all in, all the time. That’s why I want a break now. Those twenty years, it was so much work, and now it just feels like … I wonder if it was worth it.”
“Mom,” Abigail said. “It was totally worth it. Think about what you accomplished, all the plays you put on, all the actors you employed, all the people who were entertained, who were intellectually stimulated. You made art.” Abigail was aware, even as she was saying the words, that she was parroting what the man from the bachelorette weekend had said to her. She felt a flush of feeling for that man whose name she never even knew.
“No, I know,” Amelia said, and put her mug down on the side table. “I keep thinking the same thing. Just because something ends doesn’t mean it didn’t have value. Your father and I …”
After a pause, Abigail realized her mother wasn’t going to finish the sentence and said, “I guess marriage is hard.”
“Maybe not for everyone, honey. Maybe not for you. We really like Bruce, you know that?”
“I know you do.”
“And we can’t wait for the wedding.”
“You won’t cry, will you?”
“I’ll try not to cry too much. Can’t vouch for your father. What do you want for dinner tonight? If I were here alone, I’d probably eat cereal.” She’d moved to the edge of the sofa, her hands on her knees, suddenly practical.
“Cereal sounds great.”
Abigail waited for her mother to rise and go to the kitchen, but she stayed seated for a moment, then said, “You know, Abby, we’ll always be a family, the three of us. That will never change.”
“I know, Mom,” Abigail said.
That night Abigail woke just before dawn, struggling up from a bad dream that slipped away as soon as she tried to recollect it. Her chest hurt, and there was perspiration in her hairline. She lay still for a little while, wondering if she’d be able to fall back to sleep, but her body tingled, as if she’d had too much coffee. She watched the bedroom window fill with gray light and thought about her parents. They’d never seemed so vulnerable to her as they did this weekend. Even so, it was clear to her that Bruce’s plan to fund the Boxgrove Theatre again was a nonstarter. Or seemed to be. Her mother wasn’t interested in going down that road again, and she wasn’t sure that her dad would have the energy, either.