That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

first driving, then lying, sleepless, in the bed she’d once shared with Hal, playing and replaying the history of their marriage, running her mind along its seams the way she’d run her fingers over a pie crust, looking for rips, for holes, for anything that might have indicated trouble. “I should have known,” she said again.

Diana’s voice was gentle. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Who should I blame, then?”

Diana shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about blame. It’s about what happens next.” She bent down to pick up an oyster shell. “It’s about Beatrice. And all the girls who come after us.”

“I know, I know. You’re right. I’m just so sorry.”

Diana nodded. They were silent for a moment, and then Diana spoke again. “Whatever happens, I’m glad that I met you. And Beatrice. I’m glad you were my friend.”

Daisy made a noise, a kind of sobbing, hiccupy laugh. Diana took Daisy’s hand and squeezed it. And after that, it seemed like there was nothing else to say. They sat, in silence, until Pedro started barking at the sound of a car coming up the driveway. Both women got to their feet, watching, as Hal parked the car and got out.

“Daisy,” he said, and had the nerve to smile. He’d worn khakis and a crisp button-down shirt, and looked like he was ready to host a barbecue, or attend a cocktail party. “There you are!” Daisy thought that he sounded indulgent and amused; a parent whose toddler had put her favorite teddy bear in a shopping bag and run away from home, only to be spotted and scooped up at the end of the driveway.

Daisy heard the rain begin, pattering on the water. A moment later, she felt the first raindrops splashing on her cheeks and in her hair.

Hal stopped a few feet away from the benches. “Excuse us, please,” he said to Diana. “I need a moment with my wife.”

“No. Stay,” said Daisy.

“It’s fine,” Diana murmured. “You could go for a walk on the beach.” She leaned forward as she got to her feet and, in a voice meant for Daisy’s ears alone, she said, “Just be careful. The deck gets slippery. And you want to watch out for that wobbly post.” Then, head down, she hurried across the deck. Pedro gave Hal a baleful look and followed his mistress inside.

Daisy stood up, resting her hands on the railing, looking out over the water. The wind had whipped the ripples into white-capped waves. She heard thunder again, and she could feel the presence of her husband behind her.

Hal’s voice was still jolly and indulgent. “You always did love a storm.”

Daisy didn’t turn. “Do you know who she is?” Before he could answer, she told him. “You raped her,” she said.

Hal sighed. “It was a party. Everyone was drunk. And it was a long, long time ago.”

She turned, looking Hal full in the face. “Did you ever think about it? About her?”

Hal reached for her. Daisy jerked away.

“Daisy, listen to me.”

“No,” she said. “No. I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I owe you an apology.”

“I’m not the one who is owed an apology,” she said.

Hal kept talking in that low, soothing voice. “But you’re absolutely right. I should have told you.” He put his hands in his pockets and gave a shrug, and suddenly she was furious, angrier at him than she’d ever been angry at anyone in her life.

“But you didn’t,” she said. “Because when did I ever deserve your honesty? Or your respect? When did you ever see me as a partner? Or even an actual adult?” She stalked toward him, sticking her finger in his chest. “You decided where we’d live. You decided who we would see. You decided where we’d go on vacation, and what kind of car I would drive, and where Beatrice would go to school. You controlled me.”

“Daisy, I never—”

“Stop lying!” she yelled. “For once in this pathetic excuse for a marriage, be honest with me! Tell me the truth!”

“All I did was love you!” Hal roared.

Daisy stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“Everything I did, everything I kept to myself, every decision I made for us, it was all because I wanted to keep us safe.”

“Oh, please.” She could see his chest heaving underneath his blue button-down shirt. She knew that shirt. She’d bought it for him at Bloomingdale’s; she’d pulled it from the hamper (or sometimes picked it up from the bedroom floor) a hundred times. She’d taken it to the dry cleaner and back again and hung it in his closet. His little bird.

“I know how men are,” Hal was saying. “I know how the world is. And yes, I knew how I was. I wanted a home, I needed a wife, I needed a family. And you,” he said, jabbing his finger at his chest, “needed me.”

“No,” Daisy said. “Maybe you thought so. Maybe you made me think it, too. But it’s not true.”

“I took care of you! I loved you!”

“You controlled me,” Daisy said. “Being your wife meant that I couldn’t have a real business, and I barely had friends. You didn’t ever let me go anywhere, or see anyone, or do anything.”

“What would you have done?” he demanded, with a sneer supplanting his easygoing smile. His voice was low and mean. “What do you think you would have become?” He shook his head. “You think I kept you off the cover of Bon Appétit? That you were going to be Martha Stewart?”

Daisy turned so that her back was toward the water. She braced her feet and raised her chin as the wind whipped at her hair. “You’re a criminal,” she said. “You knew if you told me the truth, and if I told anyone else, you could lose your law license.”

“And then where would you be?” he taunted. “No big house in the suburbs. No private school for Beatrice. No Lexus to drive around.”

“You think I care about that?” she screamed. “You lied