Hush

When she’d agreed to give Jack a divorce so he could start his shiny new life, she’d told Hotchkiss she thought he might be involved with someone-but, other than his total detachment, she’d never had any evidence and had come to doubt her own suspicions. But now Hotchkiss’s comment brought the possibility rushing back. Was Jack planning to start a new family with a wife better suited to his hot entrepreneurial image, the kids just part of the package? Is that why he’d lodged the custody challenge? If Jack thought Lake was going to step aside and hand her kids over to him and a girlfriend, he was sorely mistaken.

By the time she was in a cab home, Lake nearly slumped over in exhaustion. Two hours ago she’d been relishing life again, no longer worried about seeming undone in front of the kids or her clients. She’d even started planning for the future. And now it seemed as if she’d been dragged back to square one.

As the cab hurtled north, she kicked herself for not seeing this coming-but how could she have? All of Jack’s attention lately had seemed focused away from his old life with her and the kids. So this had to be about money. During their marriage she’d supported him, emotionally and financially, when he started his software business and she spent endless weekends alone with the kids while he was holed up at work. She’d even contributed marketing ideas. Why would he try to deny her half of their assets?

Lake couldn’t wait to get home. Her place was a rambling old apartment on West End Avenue in the Eighties, bought years ago at a bargain from Jack’s widowed aunt. Jack could have made a case for keeping it after the split, but in a surprising act of generosity, he had insisted it would be best for her and the kids to continue living there. Only later did it dawn on her that it was because he wanted something sleeker and hipper for his new life. The Bachelor: Fortysix, Fabulous, and Finally Free.

The apartment had been a refuge for her lately and she was looking forward to a quiet night at home. But when she stepped inside late that afternoon, it was hot and oppressive. The cat, Smokey, darted out to greet her and she patted his thick, black fur distractedly. After she turned on the air conditioner and poured a glass of wine, the phone rang.

“Everything okay?” It was Molly.

Lake briefly brought her friend up to speed.

“What a shithead,” Molly proclaimed. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out? You don’t always have to keep a stiff upper lip. You know, Lake, it might do you good to blow off a little steam.”

“Thanks, but I want to do some research online about custody. I need to know how bad this could get.”

“What’s the next step in the process?”

“An evaluation by a shrink. Till then I just wait-and keep my nose clean.”

“Don’t tell me men are totally verboten?”

“Apparently a woman can’t lose custody just because she’s had a few dates-or even because she’s had sex-but my lawyer says it’s smart to lay low, act like a nun, at least when the kids are around.” She looked at the clock and noticed the time. “I better go. I have to fax the kids tonight, too.”

The summer camp Lake had chosen for the kids allowed parents to send faxes, which were then distributed to the campers after dinner. She tried to write every day, loved coming up with things for notes, but today she had nearly run out of time. For Amy she scribbled a few lines about Smokey chasing a dust ball that morning. For Will she copied a riddle from a book she’d bought just for this purpose.

Faxes sent, she stayed in her small home office and Googled “custody battles” on her laptop. The news wasn’t reassuring. Mothers rarely lost custody, but there weren’t any guarantees. Judges could be unpredictable. Lake even found stories of good mothers who’d lost out and learned years later that the judge had been bribed.

The old Jack would never do something like that, but she wondered if the new one might. He seemed alien to her now, self-absorbed and greedy. It was like dealing with an animal she’d found in the wild-one that could bite her hand off without warning.

She skipped dinner-the glass of wine was all she could stomach-and undressed for bed. As she washed her face in the bathroom sink, barely concentrating, she suddenly caught her reflection in the mirror. Her father, long dead, once said that with her deep-brown hair and gray-green eyes, there was something actually lakelike about her appearance. She would hardly call herself a knockout like Molly had, but she knew that she looked good for her age and should just relish it. But it was difficult to let go of what she used to see in the mirror-the purply birthmark over her entire left cheek. It wasn’t until the age of fifteen that she’d flown from her home in central Pennsylvania to Philadelphia for the laser treatments that had removed all but the faintest shadow of it.

After splashing cool water on her neck, she ran her hands over her breasts. Unless she counted the humorless radiology tech who’d squashed them onto the X-ray tray for Lake’s routine mammogram last month, it had been nearly a year since anyone had touched them.

Lake marked the death of her marriage on the night last fall when she reached for Jack in bed, eager to make love, and he’d shrugged her hand off his shoulder. The rebuke had stung.

She knew, however, that things had begun to unravel six months before, when Jack’s business had gone through the roof. He was working even harder, but also going out more-socializing with clients, playing golf, always extolling the virtues of living large. She had oscillated between annoyance and the need to cut him some slack. After all the stress he’d been through, maybe he deserved a little fun.

But it wasn’t until he rebuffed her in bed-that first time, and then again and again-that she’d panicked. She searched his pockets and his emails, assuming an affair, but found nothing. She bought sexy lingerie and felt like a fool when he lay motionless next to her, like a hedgerow in the bed. Finally she tried to talk to him, but he claimed he was simply tired-couldn’t she see how demanding things were for him? And then suddenly she was the problem. He accused her of lacking spontaneity and fun. “Where’s your passion?” he’d ask, as if she was guilty of some moral failure. That’s ironic, she’d thought, considering you won’t even touch me.

His departure had had the abruptness of a prison break. He took just his clothes, some papers, and the stupid Abdominizer. She felt a kind of shame she hadn’t experienced since her days with her birthmark. But another part of her had been angry as hell at his betrayal. It was hard to imagine that he was the same man who once said, “You’re my rock, Lake. You saved me.”

Lake put on her nightgown and paced the apartment. What did Jack think he could use against her? Was he going to lie and make her business seem more demanding than it was? She went into Will’s room and touched his toys, fighting off a sob. Above the dresser was a framed collage she’d made for him, designed with snapshots and scraps of souvenirs. Jack’s face appeared twice, flashing the famous grin that had once captivated her. But it seemed satanic now. She fought the urge to smash the glass and ink out his face.

Finally, sick of thinking, she retreated to her room and slipped into bed. She’d expected to toss and turn, but, exhausted, she fell asleep within minutes.

And suddenly she was awake again-jerked out of a dream. She lay there for a few seconds, wondering why, and then heard the phone ring, for the second time, she realized. The clock on the bedside table said 2:57. As she fumbled for the phone, her mind went instantly to the kids.

“Hello,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep.

“Is this the Warren residence?” a voice asked. It was a woman, she thought, but wasn’t sure. The voice sounded oddly distorted.

“Yes, who’s calling?” Lake asked anxiously. The phone display read “private caller.”

“Is this Mrs. Warren?”

“Please tell me who’s calling.”

“Are you the mother of William Warren?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

“Is this the camp?” she blurted out. “What’s wrong?”

The person said nothing but Lake could hear breathing.

“Please, what’s the matter?” she demanded.

And then there was only a dial tone.

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