Mother used to watch soap operas – the Young & the Restless, Guiding Light, and One Life to Live were her favorites. I think she ducked in and out of All My Children over the years, as well, stoking her fascination with Erica Kane and the character’s many, many husbands … and many, many pairs of heels. On some level, I have to believe she wanted to be her.
When I was growing up, I would watch with her, thinking that although we had everything money could buy – you know Bitsy made sure of that! – our lives weren’t half as interesting as the characters on TV. Every day these people were fighting for power – at work, at home, in public – or having ill-advised affairs with people from altogether different stations in life … the nanny with a CEO, a driver with the lady of the house.
Some of them were even in jail, which brings me to the events of this day.
I can see Lindy lounging on the deck, his feet up as the boat bobs up and down on the water. He’s awfully quiet these days, and this morning was no different. A brief peck on the cheek as I headed into work. The chill in his demeanor had become palpable.
“Hey!” I yell, and wave as I approach. “Have I got a story for you!”
He sits up and smiles, so I guess he’s not totally dead inside.
“Seems we’re both full-up with news,” he says with a grin. “What can I pour you?”
“Wine … white,” I say, sliding my heels off my feet. “Go ahead, you open.”
Lindy laughs. “Okay.” He hands me my glass and sits down, reaching for his own drink. “I’m pulling the plug on the magazine … I just, well, I just can’t see this thing working on any level at this point. Carson’s been MIA for the past two days … I even called Elyse and left her a voicemail.”
I can hear the frustration in his voice, but none of this surprises me.
“So what needs to be done to unwind this?”
Lindy takes a deep breath. “Well, I’d like to speak to Carson first … but … well, that doesn’t seem to be happening. I guess the second thing is calling the lawyers to let them know that we want out.”
I took a generous sip of my wine. We. Suddenly it’s “we.”
“What about John?” I ask.
Lindy smirks. “A severance check will take care of that.”
I wait as he processes.
“My turn now?” I ask, reaching for the wine bottle.
Lindy nods. “Sorry,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You’re up.”
I smile in his direction, ready to start speaking, then brace myself, having rehearsed my explanation of the day’s events during my 20-minute walk home from the Courthouse to the Lady Lux.
I look up to see my dear husband scrolling through his phone, not present in this discussion, not paying a bit of attention to me.
“You know what, I’ll topline it for you,” I say, suddenly emboldened. “Silas and I got the Sheriff to confess – to Mick’s murder, to his own gambling addictions, to the personal transgressions that led him to be sitting in that cell to begin with. That was my day.”
Lindy sits up in his chair, suddenly attentive.
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
I drain my wine glass and turn toward the dock.
“Yes, it is,” I tell him, leaning on the railing for balance as I place my heels on already sore feet. I’m suddenly incensed. “You know what? If you’re looking for me this evening, you will find me at the Riverside, where people who are actually engaged in their surroundings will be spending their time.”
The sound of my heels echo off the side of the boat and crunch the stones scattered on the sidewalk as I turn toward the Riverside.
No part of me even thought about looking back.
Gunnar Olafsson