What Remains True: A Novel by Janis Thomas

Author:Janis Thomas [Thomas, Janis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542048248
Amazon: 1542048249
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2017-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-SIX

RUTH

I don’t like lying to my sister, but sometimes lying is a necessity.

I wasn’t at therapy when she called. My therapy was Wednesday morning, as always. But I couldn’t tell her where I was. She wouldn’t understand. I don’t even understand.

I have a new routine. It began last month with a random occurrence. I was at the pharmacy on Euclid, which I don’t frequent, but my usual pharmacy was out of my medication and sent me to their other branch downtown. The pharmacist could have had my prescription sent over, but I didn’t want to wait, was down to my last three pills, so to expedite things, I took the option of going myself.

As I was coming out of the store, I happened to look across the street and saw a group of young mothers pushing their strollers into the adjacent park. Charlie’s new wife was among them, although calling her his new wife is rather inappropriate, since they’ve been married for over a year. She was pushing a double stroller, and there was another woman who looked like a teenager pushing a single stroller beside her.

I felt nauseated and exhilarated at the same time, and more than that, I felt like my will was not my own. I crossed the street, compelled by some perverse need to see my husband’s family up close, and surreptitiously followed the group into the park. I kept at a fair distance, not wanting to be noticed. I’ve never met Charlie’s wife in person—I’ve only seen her picture on Facebook—and I have no idea if she knows what I look like, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

They went straight to the playground, just inside the park gates, and I kept walking, pretended to be interested in something on my phone, ducking my head as I gazed at the lifeless screen. I found a park bench on the other side of the playground from where the group of mothers had stopped and encamped. I watched them, obscured by the jungle gym, these mothers who had the luxury and blessing of coming to the park on a Friday morning. They all looked very much the same: fit, wearing designer jeans and light sweaters, their hair—various shades but predominantly blonde—perfectly coiffed, their makeup perfectly applied, their countenances carefree. Charlie’s wife was older than the others, but not by much, and she looked like a magazine image of a mother, with her highlighted shoulder-length locks, button nose, and pink lipstick.

The teenager was clearly her nanny, and I held very ungracious thoughts toward both Charlie and his wife. I don’t have children (and never will), but the idea of turning over a great percentage of your child’s care to someone else seems like throwing away a gift.

I sat and watched as Charlie’s new wife released the twin girls from their confines and let them run free. The nanny pulled the infant boy out of his stroller and handed him to his mother. She set him across her lap and laid a small blanket over him as she covertly fed him from her breast.

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