Other Women by Alther Lisa

Author:Alther, Lisa [Alther, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2010-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

• 4 •

Caroline delivered the boys to Jackson’s wife at his house in Newton, the neo-Tudor monstrosity with fake half-timbering he’d bought for Caroline all those years ago. It had been a thrill matching upholstery fabrics to carpets, fretting over how many styles of furniture to mix so a room looked eclectic rather than just junky. Jackson had been as thrilled as she to be able to afford all the luxuries he’d done without as a boy growing up in a factory town.

“We love to have Jackie and Jason visit,” Deirdre said from the doorway as Caroline and the boys stood on the herringbone brick sidewalk.

Caroline studied Deirdre’s carefully coiffed auburn head and wondered if she’d stuck it in the oven yet. Deirdre would spend the week taking the boys to the Children’s Museum, the Musuem of Science, puppet shows, movies. Jackson might take them to Durgin Park and an ice hockey game. Otherwise, he’d be at the hospital. The boys, holding their suitcases, looked polite and expectant. Maybe this time their father would be transformed into Gabriel Kotter. By the end of the week they’d be beating each other to pulp in frustration that Jackson was still Jackson.

“I really appreciate your having them, Deirdre,” said Caroline, kissing each boy on top of his head. “As always.”

Driving down Route 9 toward Boston through the sparse evening traffic, she remembered Jackson’s shock when she told him she was leaving. They were cruising Boston Harbor in their sailing yacht.

“But Caroline, I simply don’t understand,” he said, pulling down the brim of his dark blue Greek fisherman’s cap. “What is it you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“But haven’t I always given you everything you want? The house, furniture, clothes, cars, everything.”

“Yes, you have, Jackson.” She sat in a captain’s chair sipping a gin and tonic. It was true. The Mercedes, the neo-Tudor house, this yacht. They’d been a kick after all those years of harvesting stunted potatoes with her father.

“Well, what’s wrong then?”

“I don’t know.” Jackson had brought home the bacon with a vengeance, but she wanted the whole hog.

“Name it and it’s yours. Do you want to build a new house? Have another baby? Go to Abaco? Anything, Caroline.”

“But there’s nothing else I want.” She was as perplexed as he. How about a deluxe Cuisinart and a complete set of Julia Child cookbooks? No, she was sick to death of all that junk. She’d have sent it to the Cambodians if it would have done any good.

“Then how can what you have not be enough? Is it sex? You seem happy with our sex life.”

“It’s not sex.” She bit her tongue. It might be sex. She still liked it fine with Jackson on the rare occasions when it occurred, but it was admittedly more thrilling with David Michael. But possibly because it was illicit and took place in settings like the supply room at Mass General, where she’d begun doing volunteer work two afternoons a week in an attempt to assuage her guilt over the invasion of Cambodia.

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