Work Text:
1982
"Any estimates on how awful this is going to be?" Elizabeth asks Richard in a low whisper.
A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, but he quickly hides it. "I'm sure it will be suitably cute," he answers.
"Cute, but awful," Elizabeth mutters with a grin, crossing one leg over the other and settling back in her seat. The seats around them are slowly filling with chattering parents. Down towards the stage, people are running about and pointing, last-minute instructions hastily being carried out.
Elizabeth's heart sinks as she sees her seven-year-old daughter, in full ballerina regalia, pushing her way through the remaining parents trying to find seats.
"Oh, no," she says. "What's she doing now?"
Richard cranes his neck and spots Kristy heading for them.
"Mr. Spier!" Kristy gasps, looking breathless and excited. "Mary Anne's sick."
Richard's face falls. "She's sick?"
"Quick," Kristy pleads, grabbing his hand and hauling at him with as much weight as she can muster. "She's barfed everywhere."
"Kristy!" Elizabeth hisses, mortified and worried at the same time. She shoves her coat across the seats she and Richard have been sitting in and hurries after them.
Kristy leads Richard around the curtain to backstage. Elizabeth hovers nearby. Mary Anne is leaning against the wall near the ladies' room, clutching her stomach and looking shaky. Her face is tear-streaked. She looks up at Richard and her lower lip wobbles as he kneels in front of her.
Elizabeth watches as the two of them talk back and forth softly. Mary Anne keeps her eyes down and starts to cry again. She shakes her head and Richard hugs her gently, talking quietly to her. Mary Anne pulls off her tiara and hands it to her father. He picks her up and gives her another hug.
He catches sight of Elizabeth. "We're going to go home," he says softly.
"Of course," Elizabeth says, feeling awkward and intrusive. "Are you all right, Mary Anne?"
Mary Anne keeps her face buried in Richard's shoulder, but nods slowly. Richard squeezes her gently.
"We'll see you later," Richard says.
"Here," Elizabeth says, holding her hand out for Mary Anne's tiara and tutu. "I'll take all that. Just take her home."
Richard gives her a relieved smile of thanks, and disappears through the rushing crowd of backstage adults to find Madame Minoff.
"Who should I give these to?" Elizabeth asks Kristy, suddenly unsure of what to do.
"I'll take them," Kristy says authoritatively. "You should go back to your seat, Mom, so you don't miss the show."
Elizabeth hands Mary Anne's things over to Kristy and finds her way back to her seat. Richard's coat is still there -- she pulls it into her lap and twists her fingers into it wistfully, feeling alone now that Richard has gone.
The seat beside her is never filled again. Now and then, when Kristy and Claudia are at the back of the stage and it's the other girls in the class who are twirling and leaping about, Elizabeth looks to her right and wishes someone –- anyone –- was sitting beside her.
Richard is her first choice, if only so she can lean over to him and whisper shared remarks regarding Kristy's exuberant pas de bourrée movements, or the way Claudia incorporates a wave to Mimi into every dance step.
When the performance finishes, Elizabeth stands and claps with the rest of the parents, and she shoots Kristy a grin as Kristy waves merrily at her.
Elizabeth sits down again and feels a small glow of retribution as Kristy skips off the stage. She smiles to herself as she recognizes the feeling. It's come up before -– when Charlie made the school basketball team, when Sam brought home the top marks in his math class, when David Michael ran his first steps across the living room floor into Charlie's arms. She'd felt it on the first morning of her new job, and during the first meal she and her children had properly sat down to after she'd finally managed to fit into her new routine.
It all sums up to one thing: Take that, Patrick. We're okay.
It makes her feel wonderful.
The girls all disappear backstage for cool-down exercises and to get changed. The parents all shuffle uncomfortably in their seats as Madame Minoff is handed a microphone.
Elizabeth glances to the empty seat beside her again and wishes she could share a groan with Richard.
"Weren't the girls wonderful?" Minoff asks the crowd, her emphasised words echoing slightly through the crackling sound system. "That was our ninth annual Beginner's Ballet class here at the YMCA, as part of our yearly Summer Program..."
Elizabeth's mind wanders as Minoff drones on and on about the various programs that have taken place around Stoneybrook over the course of the summer. She feels slightly guilty as there are mentions made of baseball and tennis –- two of the things Kristy would have much preferred before ballet.
Elizabeth had waited too late, too sensitive of the slight balance in her bank account.
She's forced to pay attention again as the crowd around her applauses again. She jumps slightly and applauds as well, focusing on the two people who have joined Minoff on the stage.
Madame Minoff is positively gushing, now. "Without these two wonderful, dedicated people, our little school and the Summer Program classes would simply not exist," she says. "Audrey Peabody, of course, is well known to Stoneybrook as the founder of the top charm school in the state. She continues to push for excellence, grace and achievement in our young girls here in Stoneybrook."
The crowd applauds again. Elizabeth does so with a slight roll of her eyes.
"And without the generous contributions from Watson Brewer, we would not have the funding to run these classes for our girls."
The crowd applauds again, and the man on the stage gives an awkward little wave, looking slightly embarrassed.
The rest of Elizabeth's warm, glowing feeling is completely quashed. She watches Watson Brewer take the microphone, smiling as he tells everyone it's his pleasure to contribute to events such as this. She thinks about the extra hours she'd put in at work so she could just pay the joining fee for Kristy's classes.
She sinks down in her seat a little and sighs, looking to the empty seat beside her again.
Elizabeth opens the front door to see Mary Anne standing alone on the front step. Elizabeth doesn't need to look next door to know Richard's keeping an eye on her from his living room window.
"Hi, Mrs. Thomas," Mary Anne says, smiling up at her.
"Hi, Mary Anne." Elizabeth smiles back and steps aside. "Kristy's up in her room."
"Okay," Mary Anne says. She shuffles slightly and looks at Elizabeth's shoulder instead of her eyes.
"My dad and I are having a barbecue dinner and we wanted to know if you and Charlie and Sam and Kristy and David Michael wanted to come."
"Oh," Elizabeth says in surprise. She smiles. "That'd be nice. Are you feeling better, then?"
"Uh-huh," Mary Anne says, giving her a small smile of relief. "I was just nervous."
"I'm glad everything's all right," Elizabeth says. "Did you want to go up and see Kristy?"
"I have to go and invite the Kishis," Mary Anne says, looking over her shoulder to the house across the street. "Can Kristy come? Please?"
"Of course she can." Elizabeth steps aside again as Mary Anne runs past her, up the stairs to Kristy's room.
Elizabeth heads for the kitchen and waves at Richard through the window that looks into the Spiers' living room. He smiles at her.
"I feel terrible," Richard admits quietly, taking another stack of dirty plates from Elizabeth.
"Don't," Elizabeth says. "I drove her back and forth to that class enough times and never picked up on how much she disliked it, either."
"She was going to force herself to do it because she thought that's what I wanted," Richard says, looking guilty. He starts to stack the dishwasher.
"It all worked out," Elizabeth reminds him gently, handing him grease-smeared glasses one by one.
They work in silence for a while, listening to the kids running around in the backyard.
"So how was it?" Richard asks eventually, closing the dishwasher and turning it on.
"Cute, but awful," Elizabeth says with a smile. "I wish you'd seen it."
"Me too," Richard admits. "Did the girls enjoy it?"
"I think so," Elizabeth says. "Kristy says there's a video of the performance. If I buy it, I'll force you to sit through the whole thing."
Richard laughs. "Thanks."
"Including the speeches at the end," Elizabeth says, rolling her eyes. "The ones with the head of the charm school, and the millionaires."
Richard glances at her as he fills the coffee pot with water. "Do I detect a hint of bitterness in your voice, Mrs. Thomas?" he asks with a wry smile.
Elizabeth sighs and leans against the counter. "I always get the feeling women like Audrey Peabody look down their noses at me," she mutters. "Kristy's hardly a charming little lady."
Richard chuckles and glances towards the back door. "Kristy's perfect just the way she is," he says.
Elizabeth's heart swells and she leans her head against Richard's shoulder for a moment, before she remembers John and Rioko are sitting on the back porch. She steps away from him again, not wanting to spark the wrong impression and spread ridiculous neighborhood gossip.
"Watson Brewer pays for new auditoriums and speaker systems and teachers," she says, unable to drop the subject completely. "I had to think twice about the joining fee before Kristy could sign up for classes at all." She sighs and looks towards the back door, listening to the girls laugh and run around in the yard.
"You know what I think?" Richard asks quietly, gathering mugs onto a tray.
"What?" Elizabeth asks worriedly.
Richard smiles at her. "I think you should take your own parenting advice and stop worrying."
Elizabeth smiles back at him and gives a slight shake of her head. She helps him gather the rest of the mugs for coffee, and the rest of her bad mood vanishes altogether when Richard bumps her shoulder affectionately as he carries everything outside.
The days turn to rain, and then ice and snow. Christmas edges closer and closer.
Elizabeth spends the spare time in her windowless office thinking about what to buy for her kids and who to invite for Christmas dinner.
She no longer feels guilty or uncomfortable about inviting Richard and Mary Anne, and Richard no longer feels uncomfortable about accepting the invitation.
Two days before her Christmas vacation days are due to start, Elizabeth's desk phone rings as she's pulling her jacket on. She sighs and kicks her door closed, reaching for the phone. Sometimes Charlie calls, and if she ignores the phone now, she'll be wondering the entire drive home if it was him calling to say something is wrong.
"Hello?"
"Hi! I've been looking for you everywhere."
Elizabeth's stomach plummets. She sinks into her desk chair. "Patrick?"
"Maxine told me where to find you," he says. "I've been trying to call you all day, but no one is home. Finally I had the sense to see if you were at Maxine's, and she gave me your office number..."
Elizabeth's heart is racing. For a moment, all she can think about is the chain of gossip Maxine is likely to begin. She switches the phone to her other hand and swallows hard.
Patrick clears his throat softly. "So..." he says.
There's a long pause. Elizabeth swallows again, trying to think of something to say. All of her emotions seem to be fighting together, unsure about which one of them should be dominant.
"How are you?" Patrick asks after a few agonising seconds of heavy breathing.
"Where are you?" Elizabeth asks. The question leaps out before she can even think about it.
"Oh." Patrick gives an odd little chuckle. "California."
Elizabeth lets a slow breath out. She's not surprised. "I thought so," she says. Then, before she can help herself, before she can remember the countless times she's sworn to herself she'll never, ever break down in front of Patrick or beg him to come home, she says, "Why, Patrick? How could you leave us like that?" Her voice trembles treacherously.
"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "Really, I am. I know it wasn't -–"
"Don't you dare apologize to me over the phone!" she snaps at him, sitting up in her chair. "If you want to apologize to me, you can do it face to face, or not at all."
Patrick gives another odd little laugh. He sounds nervous. "I am sorry," he says again.
Elizabeth brushes a tear from the corner of her eye and grits her teeth, desperate to avoid audible proof she's upset. Her emotions continue to swing wildly between heartbreak and icy rage.
Patrick decides to continue when Elizabeth remains silent.
"It terrified me, Liz," he says desperately. "Suddenly I was thirty one and I had four kids and a house in Smalltown, Connecticut. I couldn't do it anymore."
"So you left?" Elizabeth asks tearfully. "Do you have any idea the sort of damage you caused? Sam asked for you for months after you were gone. We'd be eating dinner, Patrick, and he'd ask when you were coming home, and I had to keep telling him I didn't really know what had happened. I had to tell him you left us without telling us why."
Elizabeth can feel hot tears slipping down her cheeks, but she feels strangely calm and in control of herself. Still, it's gratifying to unleash all of the hurt and frustration that has built within her over the past couple of years. She continues, her voice a low hiss as people march by her office on their way to the elevator. "Charlie took over things like helping me with David Michael's night feedings and diaper changes. He gets his siblings ready for school after I leave for work."
"Liz –-"
"Kristy refuses to talk about you at all," she says, cutting him off. "But she had nightmares after you left; scared that I'd leave and she and her brothers would be split up and sent away." She pauses for a moment. "Sometimes," she says, "I wonder if you're even alive."
"Oh, come on," he says, giving another small laugh. "You'd hear about something like that."
"Would I?" she asks icily. "Because it wouldn't really make a difference, would it?"
Patrick sounds annoyed. "Look," he says, "I called for a reason."
"Oh yes?" Elizabeth asks, wiping her eyes. "If you're planning on coming home for Christmas, don't bother. This will be our third without you and I think we're okay with it, now."
Patrick sighs, and Elizabeth can picture him perfectly, pinching the bridge of his nose or running his hand through his curly hair.
"I need a divorce," he mutters after a moment's silence. "I'm getting remarried."
Elizabeth's stomach plummets for the second time in five minutes. She feels her breath catch in her throat, and for the first time she realizes how much she had been secretly hoping for him to return home.
"We don't have to see each other or anything," Patrick says. "The papers will be delivered to you. I just wanted to... you know. Warn you."
"How considerate of you," Elizabeth says frostily. She feels sick. She wants to burst into tears.
She wasn't sure what she was hoping for, exactly. She knows that even if Patrick did come home, she wouldn't let him into the house. The divorce isn't what hurts.
"Don't you want to know how they are?" she asks desperately. "Don't you want to ask them about school, and friends?"
Patrick clears his throat. "I have to go."
"No," Elizabeth says, panicking. "Patrick, please... if you could just send them a birthday card, or call now and then to talk to them... I can't give them everything they deserve. I try, but I can't."
"We'll talk soon," Patrick says, his voice a little loud as though he can ride over the top of Elizabeth's pleading. "Bye, Liz."
"Patrick!"
He pauses, and the line stays live. Elizabeth is breathing furiously, and she can feel fire creeping up in her veins. Her voice has never sounded so hot and cold all at once before.
"I hate you," she whispers fiercely. "I hate you for doing this to us."
She can hear him breathing, and for a moment he stutters for something else to say, but she slams the phone down.
1983
The divorce papers don't arrive until mid January. They're delivered to Elizabeth's office, and she shuts herself away for the rest of the afternoon, staring down at them with a mix of humiliation, anger and relief.
When she gets home, she settles the kids with their homework and runs next door.
"I need to talk to you," she says breathlessly, looking up at Richard when he answers the door. She waves the envelope containing the divorce papers. "I need you to look at something for me."
He lets her in and she sits at his kitchen table, nervous and fidgety.
"Patrick wants a divorce," she whispers.
Richard sits beside her. "You've spoken to him?"
"He called me before Christmas..." Elizabeth pushes the papers across to Richard. "I don't understand any of this. It's confusing."
Richard looks at her doubtfully. "I think you need someone who knows Family Law, Edie."
"Please," she says desperately. "Just check to see there's nothing complicated."
Richard sighs and unfolds the papers on the table. Elizabeth watches him nervously as he scans each page carefully.
"You'll have full custody," he says.
Elizabeth breathes a rushed sigh of relief.
"But Patrick won't be obligated to send you any support." Richard's mouth presses itself into a thin line.
Elizabeth rests her head against his shoulder in a brief display of gratitude for his disapproval. "I'm doing okay," she whispers. "It's not like he's helped at all over the past two years, anyway."
"No," Richard agrees. He taps at a paragraph full of complicated jargon Elizabeth doesn't understand.
"But he wants to keep half of the property rights to your house here. If you ever wanted to sell, he'd receive half of the money. And you'd need his approval before doing anything like that, anyway."
"He couldn't sell it from underneath me, could he?" Elizabeth asks in alarm.
"No," Richard assures her. "It'd have to be a mutual decision."
Elizabeth rests her head in her hands. "Asshole," she mutters, glaring at the papers. "He won't give me any child support, but he wants to suck every penny he can out of me..."
"You can fight it," Richard says, folding the papers again. "I think you should talk to a solicitor and see exactly what sort of rights you have. I'm sure he should be liable for child payments."
Elizabeth rubs her eyes tiredly. "I can't afford meetings with a solicitor," she says, feeling embarrassed and upset.
Richard drums his fingers on the table. "John Pike might be able to help you," he says after a moment. "He's in Corporate Law too, but he manages to understand this stuff better than I can."
Elizabeth looks at Richard doubtfully. "Really?"
Richard gives her a kind smile. "Just for a second opinion," he says.
Elizabeth feels foolish and nervous showing up on the Pikes' doorstep the next Saturday. It's raining heavily, and Elizabeth can hear children crying inside. She cringes and knocks on the door, knowing she's going to be a bother. She's just not sure she has any other option.
Dee answers the door. Elizabeth has met her a few times at school functions and fundraisers.
"Elizabeth!" she says, sounding delighted. "Come in!" She glances out into the wet yard. "You haven't brought your children?"
"Not today," Elizabeth says. "I thought you'd have your hands full already, given the awful weather."
Dee laughs and rolls her eyes. "I wish the sun would come out. Come on in." She leads Elizabeth into the kitchen. One of the triplets is still sitting at the table, sleepily slumped over a bowl of cereal.
"Coffee?" Dee asks.
"No, thank you," Elizabeth says nervously, clutching the envelope containing her divorce papers. She feels nervous and foolish. She's certain this was a bad idea. "Actually," she says, her voice quivering, "I was wondering if John could help me with something."
"Oh, of course," Dee answers, gathering up abandoned bowls of cereal and juice. "He's upstairs. He'll be down any moment now. Are you sure you won't have some coffee?"
"No, thank you," Elizabeth says with a smile.
The triplet at the end of the table gives Elizabeth a wary look before he pushes his bowl back and trots off to find his brothers. The noise in the house is deafening. Elizabeth can hear a television blasting the opening theme of a Smurfs cartoon, and there are children fighting in the next room. Elizabeth catches sight of six-year-old Mallory as she flees the noise and escapes upstairs.
It's a relief when John appears. He immediately turns the television down and tells Jordan not to set the volume any higher than its current setting.
Without the din of the cartoon, Dee can hear Vanessa and the triplets bickering. She marches into the room next door to sort it out, and Elizabeth and John are left alone.
"Um," Elizabeth says awkwardly, "I hate to ask, but Richard Spier says you might be able to explain some of the terms of my divorce..." She trails off and waves the envelope. She can feel her face going red.
John grins. "I'm not a divorce lawyer, I'm afraid," he says, "but I'll take a look for you. I should make it clear I'm not supposed to offer legal advice off-the-clock, though."
"Oh," Elizabeth says, her embarrassment deepening. "I don't want to get you into trouble. I can pay, if you –-"
"Don't be silly," John says, waving away her offers of payment. "Just promise not to sue me if I give you bad advice."
"I promise," Elizabeth says, grinning at him.
He grins back and tugs the papers towards him. "Let's have a look, then."
"It's mainly the house, I think," Elizabeth says after a few minutes. John is reading through the papers, but the silence is starting to weigh on Elizabeth.
"I don't understand why he wants to keep it," she continues. "He hated living here."
"Property is complicated," John explains, looking up at her with a small smile. "It's attached to tax and finance... Property's always a big issue in divorce."
"It should be children," Elizabeth grumbles. "Part of me wishes he was fighting for them. The bigger part of me is relieved he isn't."
"That part is all very straight-forward," John assures her, sitting up straight and pushing the papers away slightly. "You'll have full custody. But you're also fully responsible for their financial upbringing, and that includes college funds and day-to-day living. Everything."
"I already knew that," Elizabeth sighs. "He never left any indication he'd be helping with that."
"You can fight it," John says. "I think you should fight it. It's worth a try."
"I don't know," Elizabeth says doubtfully. "Once Patrick's made up his mind on something, that's it. He's very stubborn."
"At the very least, I think it'd be better to have the house fully signed over to you," John says, scanning the papers again. "Let me get in touch with Patrick's lawyer, and we'll try and sort something out."
"Really?" Elizabeth asks in relief. "Could you?"
"Of course." John smiles at her and slides the papers back into their envelope. "Leave it with me."
Patrick, however, refuses to budge, and eventually Elizabeth signs the papers anyway. Both John and Richard show open disgust towards Patrick's behaviour, and Elizabeth is grateful and impatient with them at the same time.
Still, she wonders why Patrick wanted to keep his half of the house. It feels as though the connection between them is not fully broken, so long as the house remains theirs instead of hers. Elizabeth isn't sure whether to feel angry or relieved.
When Elizabeth works late, she double-checks all the locks and then pads upstairs to gaze at her children.
David Michael is asleep, warm, fed and clean, thanks to his siblings. He breathes loudly, one arm tightly hugging one of Sam's old teddy bears.
Kristy sleeps sprawled on her stomach, Louie snoring at the end of her bed. Elizabeth kisses her daughter's head and straightens her blankets, whispering curses at Louie as he wriggles excitedly, mistaking the shifting blankets for some sort of game.
Charlie usually tries to stay awake until Elizabeth is home, if only to complain about how difficult it is to get Kristy to go to bed at her usual time.
Elizabeth sinks onto the end of Sam's bed, rubbing the soles of her stockinged feet. "What did you boys do today?"
"Nothing much," Charlie answers tiredly. "I played softball with Kristy after school. She nearly broke Mr. Spier's window."
Elizabeth's heart stops. "She didn't, did she?"
"Nope. Missed, and hit the wall."
Elizabeth cringes. "Please don't play softball in the yard. You're all too good at hitting it over the fence. Go to Brenner Field, if you have to."
"I need a new glove," Sam says, propped up against his pillows. "The stitching on mine is all coming out."
"I can't afford to get you a new glove, honey," Elizabeth says guiltily. "Maybe in a few weeks."
Sam frowns down at his knees. "We can't afford anything," he says after a moment. "Randy's got a new VCR, and we don't even have an old one."
Charlie sighs and pulls his pillow over his head.
"One day," Elizabeth promises.
Sam slumps down against his pillows and pulls the sheet up to his shoulders. "It's not your fault, Mom," he says after a moment. He sounds miserable.
Elizabeth kisses the top of his head. "We're doing okay, Toucan Sam. Things could be worse."
"Yeah," Charlie says from under his pillow. "At least we can afford chocolate ice-cream."
"Exactly," Elizabeth says, patting Charlie's back on her way past.
She can hear Charlie's voice as she quietly closes their bedroom door.
"You shouldn't complain, Sam," he says. "At least we still have Mom."
1984
Elizabeth is promoted in May. She moves up a floor, to the head HR office, which has chrome and glass and new carpeting. She and her boss share a wall, which is patterned with a mosaic of clear and frosted glass panes.
She has a secretary, and she can look through the glass panel in her door to the main office, lined with desks and cubicles. The other windows in her office offer her a view of Stamford's business district.
She receives a pay rise, and the first thing she buys is a VCR. Charlie and Sam thank her a million times, and Kristy dances on the spot before she runs next door to tell Mary Anne.
"You're the best mom ever," Sam says, and Elizabeth goes to bed that night and cries with a smile on her face.
When she sits in her office and looks at the glass and the sleek lines of the new furniture, she swells with pride. She can feel it –- the shift of everything around her -– and it's like this is the moment she's been waiting for since Patrick left: The moment when it all starts to look okay again.
She's humming to herself when movement in her boss' office catches her eye. Usually, the blinds on the other side of the glass mosaic are drawn, but today, everything is open. She watches her boss greeting someone who looks vaguely familiar.
Elizabeth frowns and tilts her head slightly, trying to remember where she's seen the other man before. He's not very tall, and his hair is starting to thin on top. He has a cheerful smile, and Elizabeth watches him laugh and shake his head at something her boss has said.
She frowns again and turns back to the open folder of files on her desk.
After fifteen minutes or so, Elizabeth's secretary, Sally, comes in.
"Is that Mr. Brewer in Mr. Ryan's office?" she asks curiously, tilting her head surreptitiously towards the room next door.
Elizabeth suddenly knows the other man is Watson Brewer, and the reason he looks vaguely familiar is because he was at Kristy's summer ballet recital.
"Oh," Elizabeth says, glancing up. "I think so."
"Did you hear about him and his wife?" Sally whispers, her eyes widening now that her suspicions have been confirmed.
"No," Elizabeth says warily.
"They're getting divorced," Sally says, looking rather excited. "They've got two young children, you know, and there's no official figure, but everyone says he's worth millions."
"I don't gossip," Elizabeth says coldly.
Sally looks rather taken aback. "It's not gossip," she says, sounding affronted. "It's true."
"Well, I had people talk about me and my husband behind my back when our marriage fell apart," Elizabeth mutters, looking down at her paperwork again. "It makes a bad situation even worse, Sally. Leave him alone."
Sally reddens and goes back to her desk, but Elizabeth is sure the situation is far from remedied.
She shoots Watson Brewer another glance, and he catches her eye. He gives her a polite smile, and she looks away again, heat flooding her face.
Elizabeth is introduced to Watson later that day, by her boss.
"This is Watson Brewer," he says. "He'll be working with us on the Stamford Hospital account." He turns to Watson. "Elizabeth is head of our Human Resources department," he says. "You probably won't have much to do with one another, but it's a good idea to get introductions out of the way, just in case."
"Always a good idea," Watson agrees jovially. He shakes Elizabeth's hand. "Nice to meet you, Elizabeth."
"You too, Mr. Brewer," she says, feeling a little embarrassed.
He pulls a face. "Call me Watson."
She smiles at him.
"I only ever have to talk to Human Resources when something goes wrong," Watson jokes. "Here's hoping you won't see much of me."
Elizabeth gives a small laugh. "People only ever come in here with bad news," she agrees. "If everything goes well, we won't see much of each other at all."
Watson's eyes twinkle at her, and to her embarrassment, Elizabeth can feel herself blushing again. It's a strange sort of relief when her boss leads Watson away.
Over the next few weeks, Elizabeth runs into Watson several times. He always gives her a cheerful wave when he passes by her office. She smiles and waves back, but she usually feels flustered and unprepared for his brief appearances.
Sally hasn't tried to draw Elizabeth into another gossiping session since Elizabeth told her off, but the whispers in the office haven't ceased. Through conversations overheard at the water cooler and in the copy room, Elizabeth learns that Watson's marriage has fallen apart. However, she has trouble discerning the exact reasons why, and when she finds herself wondering, she scolds herself for falling victim to cheap rumours and gossip-mongering.
She's forced to work late one evening, and the office dims and quietens around her as she frantically tries to finish off a batch of paperwork Sally had dumped in her office that afternoon. She can hear the cleaners on the far side of the office swearing at the vacuum cleaner.
She looks up as there's a soft knock on her door. Watson gives her a small smile. "Hello."
"Hi," she says in surprise. She glances to the room next door. "Mr. Ryan's not in."
"No, I see that." Watson smiles again. "I thought I'd stop by and see him, but it appears I'm too late."
Elizabeth nods and swallows nervously. After a moment she motions to the seat opposite her, feeling embarrassed for not doing it sooner. "How are things with the hospital account going?" she asks.
"Very well," Watson says, sounding pleased. "You haven't seen me, after all, so no complaints have been rolling in. Am I right?"
Elizabeth gives a small laugh. "I suppose so."
Watson smiles and motions to the paperwork. "What's kept you so late?"
"Oh, just a few things I've been putting off," Elizabeth says. She quickly signs the last paper and drops it into her 'out' tray. "I'm finished now. I should head home."
Watson glances to the photos scattered across her desk. "Your children?"
"Yes," Elizabeth answers, tidying the rest of her things away. "Charlie has just turned fourteen, Sam is about to turn twelve, Kristy will be ten in August, and David Michael is four." She pauses for a moment and then flashes Watson a smile. "I'm not sure where time goes."
Watson chuckles. "I know what you mean. My daughter is three. My son is yet to have his first birthday, but he's still growing far too quickly."
He stands, and Elizabeth gathers the rest of her things. They walk together to the elevator, and Elizabeth feels an uncomfortable prickle as two members of the cleaning team huddle together and whisper furtively. She hears Watson's name quite clearly.
He clears his throat quietly, looking troubled, and presses the button for the elevator. Elizabeth stands uncomfortably by his side.
"It gets better," she says suddenly. She turns to him and gives him a small, embarrassed smile. "The whispering, I mean. It stops eventually."
Watson looks at her in surprise, and Elizabeth suddenly has the impression she's put her foot in her mouth. She silently curses her tendency to speak before thinking.
But he smiles, and though he's smiled before, Elizabeth suddenly feels that this one is genuine, and that there's no mask or professionalism between either of them at that moment.
"So I've heard," he says. "Thank you."
She smiles back at him sheepishly.
When the elevator arrives, Watson steps back and indicates that Elizabeth should step ahead of him. She smiles again and does so. He follows her quietly and presses the button for the ground floor.
It is just a simple, polite little action, but somehow it reminds Elizabeth of Richard, and this immediately causes her to warm further to Watson. She glances at him as the elevator sweeps downwards, and a warm flutter of butterflies rises up in her stomach.
"You're not driving me all the way out here to yell at me for something, are you?" Charlie asks nervously, glancing sideways at his mother from the passenger seat.
Elizabeth raises her eyebrow. "Why, what have you done?"
"Nothing," Charlie answers innocently.
Elizabeth grins and steers the car to the side of the road, letting it coast to a stop on the grassy shoulder. Burnt Hill Road's paved surface ended a few miles back, and she and Charlie are surrounded by open paddocks and farmland. The road is still smooth, but dust swirls from its surface in the slight breeze.
"I may have told Kristy a few lies about the hot school lunches," Charlie says, obviously figuring he's in trouble for something.
"Like what?" Elizabeth asks in amusement.
Charlie shrugs and grins, avoiding Elizabeth's eyes. "Just gross stuff."
Elizabeth sighs and clicks her fingers to attract Charlie's attention. "First gear," she says, shifting the car into first. "Second, third, fourth. You want to push the clutch in when you change gears, and ease off on the gas. I'm going to drive up the road again, and I want you to watch how I do it, okay?"
Charlie's mouth drops open and he squirms excitedly in his seat. "You're teaching me to drive?"
"Someone has to," Elizabeth answers. She gives Charlie a severe look. "You're fourteen," she says, "so you're way too young to drive legally. I'm teaching you this under the condition you never, ever do anything to cause me to distrust you when it comes to this car. Got it?"
"Promise," Charlie declares, crossing an X over his heart. "Show me the gears again, Mom?"
Elizabeth shifts the car into gear again and eases back onto the road, taking her time with the gas and the clutch so Charlie can see what she's doing. "I learned to drive when I was twelve," she says. "My father taught me, and he was an awful teacher. He yelled at me when I got things wrong, and made me feel terrible about it."
"Maybe all dads do that sort of stuff," Charlie reasons quietly.
Elizabeth reaches over and ruffles his hair gently.
The evenings are drawing out. Elizabeth finds she has time to play in the yard with her kids when she gets home from work. They spend warm nights throwing tennis balls for Louie, or having their meals at the table on the back lawn.
When it gets dark, Elizabeth sits on the front porch and enjoys her own company for a while. Louie usually sits at her feet, licking her ankles.
Sometimes Richard comes over and sits with her, his shadow stretching out ahead of the light cast back from his house.
"I like it when you come over," Elizabeth says to him one night, her voice quiet. "I don't see you much anymore."
"Well, you're too busy getting promotions and leading your company into big accounts with Stamford Hospital."
"Ha," Elizabeth scoffs quietly. "If my name's attached to that at all, it's by a very tenuous link."
But she smiles and looks down at her hands, pleased and self-conscious.
Louie trots up to them and noses around for affection.
"Oh, hello, Louie," Richard sighs, giving Louie a brief scratch behind the ears.
Louie wags his tail in appreciation and then flops down beside Elizabeth, knowing better than to push the issue by rolling up against Richard, or panting his doggy breath into his face.
Elizabeth pats Louie gently. "How was work today?" she asks Richard.
"No different to any other day."
Elizabeth gives a soft laugh. "You sound grumpy, Mr. Spier."
"I am grumpy," Richard admits, rubbing his hands over his face. "My secretary is trying to set me up on a date with one of her friends, and I'm running out of excuses."
Elizabeth looks at him for a moment. "Is that really so terrible?" she asks with a small smile.
"Don't you start," Richard says, sounding annoyed. "Everyone keeps telling me it's been nine years since Alma died, as though there's some sort of time limit on things."
"I didn't mean that, Richard," Elizabeth says, nudging him gently.
They sit quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sprinklers ticking and spraying along Bradford Court.
"You know," Elizabeth says after several minutes of silence, "the more time that passes, the more I realize Patrick and I never even came close to what you and Alma had." She focuses on scratching Louie behind his ears, trying to find the right words for what she wants to say.
Richard is watching her uneasily, as though expecting her to talk him into dating someone new.
"It's been nine years and you still love her so much," Elizabeth says, frowning slightly. "It's only been four years since Patrick left and I don't miss him at all."
"That's different," Richard says quietly. "He didn't really leave you any reason to miss him."
"But that's what I mean," Elizabeth says desperately. "I've never had that. I used to think Patrick was my soul mate, and now I can see how wrong I was. We had fun, and I loved him, and he gave me four beautiful children, but he wasn't my soul mate." She rests her head against Richard's shoulder. "Alma was your soul mate. I'm starting to think I'll never have a chance to see what that's like."
Richard fidgets for a moment. "Don't give up," he says. "I used to think there was only one person for everyone, but now it seems like a very strange, lonely belief."
Elizabeth sighs quietly and closes her eyes. "Maybe there's no such thing as soul mates," she admits.
"I wouldn't say that," Richard answers. "I think there are people you have profound connections with. I think everyone will meet three or four people in their lives; irreplaceable people whom they love."
After a moment, he kisses the top of Elizabeth's head, and then clears his throat awkwardly. She smiles.
"I like that idea," she says.
Elizabeth looks up at the gentle tap on her door, expecting to see Sally or Mr. Ryan. She's surprised, and inexplicably pleased, when Watson Brewer gives her an awkward little smile and steps into her office.
"Hello," he says. "Do you mind?" He points to her door and she smiles and shakes her head. He shuts it quietly and the noise of the office outside dies away.
"I came to see Philip, but he's not here," Watson says, nodding towards Mr. Ryan's office.
Elizabeth smiles and shrugs. Her throat feels like it's closed up. "He's ill," she says, and she clears her throat, embarrassed at the rough, uneven sound of her voice.
"Well, it doesn't really matter," Watson says with a smile. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if I may."
"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asks. Her heart starts pounding as she wonders if she's forgotten to sign some form, or neglected to notice that tensions between all of the employees are running dangerously high.
"Oh, no," Watson says, sitting opposite her. He picks nervously at his sleeve and then clenches his fingers as though consciously trying to stop the habit. "I was just wondering if you might like to have dinner with me one night."
Elizabeth blinks. "Me?" she asks. She feels blood rush to her face and she stammers to save herself, but nothing comes out. Finally, she blurts the first words that occur to her. "I can't."
"Oh." Watson's face falls.
"No!" Elizabeth says desperately. "I mean, you're lovely, Watson, but I can't really think about dating right now... I mean..." She's panicking. She avoids his face and focuses instead on the photograph of her four children gathered happily around Louie. "I have four kids," she says, anxious to explain to him. "I have to put them first."
Watson smiles. "Of course," he says.
Guilt hits Elizabeth, and then, maybe, just a tiny bit of frustration and resentment. "Maybe lunch?" she asks suddenly. She gives Watson a nervous smile. "Maybe we could have lunch."
He smiles back at her. "Perfect," he says.
"We just drifted apart," Watson says. "We're still friends, of course. Don't believe everything you hear." His eyes twinkle, and Elizabeth smiles at him.
"It's nice that you and Lisa are still friends," she says. She leans back slightly as the waitress clears their empty plates.
"It makes it easier on the children," Watson agrees. "They're both so young. Too young to understand, of course."
"It's nice they've stayed in Stoneybrook," Elizabeth says, aware she sounds slightly wistful. "My husband..." She trails off and clears her throat. "My ex-husband... He lives in California. No phone calls, or birthday cards..." She frowns down at the table. "It's very difficult, trying to explain why he did that, and why he continues to distance himself from us. I don't even know the reasons myself, but children so often want answers to things that can't be explained." She trails her finger through a few spilled grains of salt.
"It must have hurt," Watson says sympathetically.
Elizabeth nods and keeps her eyes down. "Watson," she says slowly, "I don't think I can do this." She bites her lip and glances up at him before she fixes her attention back on her mineral water. "I finally feel like things are starting to get back together again... My kids are happy... I can't do anything that might lead to new disappointment."
"I understand that," Watson says, leaning forward a little. "Of course, it's a little early to be calling me a disappointment, isn't it?"
Elizabeth looks up, flustered, and he smiles at her.
"I think it takes more than one lunch date before an assumption like that can be made," he says.
"I wasn't saying that," Elizabeth says desperately. "I didn't mean you were –"
He chuckles, and she gives him a sheepish smile.
"I just need to be careful," she says.
"I know," he agrees. He smiles at her again. "Elizabeth, the ink on my divorce papers is barely dry. Taking things slowly is a good idea for the both of us."
Elizabeth shifts in her seat. "Slowly," she agrees. "Okay."
Elizabeth lies awake and listens to the rain spilling from the broken guttering. She looks over to the empty side of the bed beside her and she realizes, as though understanding it for the first time, how lonely she's allowed herself to become.
She and Maxine have drifted apart since Elizabeth's divorce. Maxine's pleasure for rumor and gossip overwrote the trust Elizabeth thought they held between them.
Rioko Kishi is friendly, but Elizabeth can't help but feel she harbors some sort of disapproval for the way Elizabeth allows her children to behave. Janine is quiet and studious, and Elizabeth knows every effort is being made to shape Claudia into a similar little bookworm. Elizabeth's children are grass-stained and dirt-scuffed and loud.
She has Richard, of course, and she loves him dearly, but her relationship with him isn't light enough to ease her worries all of the time. What she has with Richard is deep, and troubled. There are painful histories between them that link them better than anything most other friendships are built on.
She knows he's stern, and strict, and that he worries about what other people think of him. Even after all this time, she can't seem to ease any of those things. But he's different with her, and so she allows herself to forget it and simply enjoy the side of him other people so rarely see. Still, it's there, and somehow the fact that Richard is different with her separates her from everyone else they mutually know.
She sighs and rolls over, pulling a pillow into her arms and burying her face in it. Her thoughts turn to Watson, and she finds herself smiling, though a nervous flutter of anxiety sweeps through her.
She's being desperately cautious with him. He doesn't seem to mind. He understands her desire to protect her children from further hurt and disruption. The thought of getting close to him frightens her a little, but at the same time, she finds herself secretly longing for it.
The first time Watson kisses her, Elizabeth doesn't feel the same fiery passion she felt the first time Patrick kissed her.
But she does feel a deep, hot jolt in her stomach, and a pleasant shiver runs along her spine. When Watson smiles at her, she breathes his name softly and takes his hand.
She can feel her anxiety and reluctance being swept aside.
1985
Elizabeth doesn't think she'll ever get over the cavernous proportions of Watson's house. She's still terrified to touch anything in the kitchen.
"Don't you get lonely here, all alone?" she asks him one night.
"I'm not here very often," Watson admits, pouring her a glass of wine. "I work a lot. Karen and Andrew manage to fill the house with noise, of course."
She smiles at him and leans against the counter. "This house is so big. You could wander around all weekend and never run into anyone else."
Watson smiles and pours his own glass of wine. "I'm hoping it won't be empty forever," he says.
Elizabeth looks at him, and a shiver runs up her spine, though she's not sure if it's apprehension or hope.
"How are your kids?" Watson asks, smiling at her.
Elizabeth smiles back. "Fine. But they think I'm working late. I need to be home by eight."
"Is Charlie strict when it comes to curfew?" Watson asks, putting his arm around her and leading her into the next room.
"Very funny," Elizabeth says with a grin, sinking down into the sofa. "I feel bad for lying to them. I'm scared they'll find out and think I've been hiding things from them. I don't want to give them any reasons to distrust me."
Watson's fingers run through her hair slowly. "When are you going to tell them about me?" he asks.
Elizabeth bites her lip and gives him a guilty look. "I want to tell them," she says. "I think Charlie would be okay. I'm not sure about Sam. I think he took it the hardest when Patrick left..." She trails off and frowns. "I'm not sure Kristy would cope well with it. I think she's happy with things the way they are." She gives Watson a small smile. "I think David Michael would love you."
"Really?" Watson looks pleased.
"What about your kids?" Elizabeth asks nervously. "How would they react?"
"They'd be fine," Watson says. "Lisa's introduced them to Seth already. It helps that things between Lisa and myself are still quite amicable, of course. Andrew might be a little shy at first, but Karen is very inquisitive. She'd probably drill you with questions."
Elizabeth runs her finger up and down the stem of her wine glass. "It makes me nervous when things change," she admits. "But this can't stay a secret forever, can it?"
Watson's fingers touch the back of her neck lightly. "I hope not," he says, smiling at her.
"Kristy!" Charlie hollers up the stairs. "Mom's home! With pizza!"
Elizabeth hears Kristy's bedroom door fly open. Kristy thunders down the stairs, jumping the last five and landing heavily in the front hall. Louie tears after her, skidding on the floorboards.
"Kristy Thomas, what have you been doing?" Elizabeth asks, looking down at the ripped knee of Kristy's jeans.
Kristy looks down. "Oh," she says, breathing heavily. "Claudia and I were skateboarding."
"Trying to," Sam snickers, reaching for a slice of pizza.
"Where did you get a skateboard from?" Elizabeth points to the back door, but Louie cheerfully ignores her and disappears under the table, sniffing for dropped pepperoni.
David Michael crawls after him and gently hauls him out by the collar.
"The Pike triplets pooled their allowance and bought one," Kristy says, curling a string of cheese around her finger.
David Michael helps Elizabeth push Louie out the back door.
"I'll save you my crusts," David Michael promises solemnly.
Elizabeth sits at the head of the table, feeling nervous. She's been planning this moment for weeks: The moment where she finally tells her kids about Watson.
But as she watches them reaching for pizza and arguing over who has the most pepperoni or whether or not anchovies are gross, she starts to doubt herself. She looks around the cramped kitchen and the mismatched chairs at the table. She looks at the scratch marks on the floorboards from Louie's scampering in and out. She looks at the loose carpet at the edge of the living room, and the bubbled paint on her kitchen cabinets.
"Mom?" Charlie holds out a bottle of soda. "Want a drink?"
"Yes, thank you..." Elizabeth shakes herself awake again and takes the glass Charlie hands to her. She takes a deep breath and pushes Watson to the back of her mind, making a silent, heavy decision. "How was everyone's day?" she asks.
Watson looks hurt and upset. Elizabeth looks down at her hands, feeling close to tears.
"I know it sounds stupid," she whispers. "But you have so much money. It frightens me, sometimes." She bites her lip and keeps her eyes cast downwards. "I'm always thinking about money. I was looking around my house last night and I couldn't stop thinking about your house –-"
"Elizabeth," Watson interrupts, "Do you really think I'm going to care about what your house looks like?"
"I don't know," she says desperately. "We had pizza for dinner last night, and the kids were fighting over the biggest piece and the pepperoni, and the dog was trying to scratch the back door down... And all I could think about was how every time I'm with you, we're eating fancy dinners or drinking a bottle of wine that would set me back a whole paycheck." She backs away from him, flustered, embarrassed and guilty.
"You're making excuses," Watson says gently, pacing after her and reaching for her hand. "I don't care about any of those things. I know it's scary, Elizabeth. I know it's hard to trust someone new after what you've been through. I know you're worried about being hurt again, and your children being hurt again, but I swear I'm not -–"
"Patrick promised a lot of things," Elizabeth says tearfully, "And he still left. And he was much more like me, Watson. We went to college together. Our parents raised us in the same sort of environment and we both understood each other. I trusted him, and look what he did. And you and I are so different. I just don't think it'll work, Watson..."
"We're not so different," Watson says desperately, clinging to her hand. "The only real difference is the money, Elizabeth."
"It's a big difference," Elizabeth answers. Terror is welling up inside her, and a great desire to run and escape is forcing her backwards, towards the door.
Watson follows her, never letting go of her hand. "Please don't judge me by my bank account," he whispers. "I love you."
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and she thinks about how much she, Charlie, Sam, Kristy and David Michael have been through so far. She thinks about how much it would hurt to go through it again.
"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I really am." She pulls her hand free of his and hurries back to her car, tears hot and wet on her face. Watson calls after her, but she doesn't turn back.
Though the world she has built around herself is solitary, it's also safe. The thought of letting someone in, and risking the crumbling of its walls, is suddenly too much.