Page 54 of This Is How It Started
I catch Stephen’s reflection in the mirror. The sommelier is gone, and it’s just my brother-in-law and Legally Blonde. They’re making conversation, but because I can’t hear what they’re saying, I have no idea whether it’s work related or sexy-time talk. She’s dressed professionally. Wool pants, white blouse, a blazer, and sensible loafers. Nothing that says “I’m a home-wrecking whore.” But who knows?
I dig into my lobster pot pie again because eating is better than watching the possible demise of my sister’s marriage. And this really is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Adam is almost done with his and is eyeing mine, so I pull my plate closer. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“I’m thinking of getting another one.”
Unlike the rest of our family—we veer into the curvy category—Adam can afford the extra calories. He’s not as lanky as Josh was but is thin enough to go back for seconds.
“Knock yourself out,” I tell him. “It’ll help us stall to watch Stephen.”
“I don’t need to see more, Rach. It’s a done deal in my mind. Stephen’s got himself a mistress. The question is, what do we tell Hannah?”
I don’t want it to be true. Besides it breaking my sister’s heart, I’m left to wonder whether most men cheat. My father, for instance. And although I don’t believe Josh ever cheated on me in the classic sense, he never told me about Beth, who he clearly loved. One of the things I thought was special about us was that we didn’t keep secrets from each other. Finding out I was wrong about something I considered to be the hallmark of our relationship makes me feel cheated. Perhaps it’s unfair to Josh. But I can’t change the way I feel, and Josh isn’t around to explain it.
“I think we have to tell her, Adam. If we don’t, we’re complicit.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. How ’bout you do it?”
“No way. It has to be the both of us.” Safety in numbers.
We simultaneously glance over at Stephen, who is sticking his spoon into Legally Blonde’s bowl of soup.
Adam pivots back to me and holds my gaze. “Should I call her? Or should you?”
* * * *
After watching Stephen slurp soup out of another woman’s bowl, not his wife, I’m more curious than ever about the rest of Josh’s text messages. Yes, obsessed is more like it. Up in my room, I try to convince myself of all the reasons it’s wrong to read them.It’s no different than pawing through someone’s diary,I tell myself. If Josh had wanted me to know about Beth, he would’ve told me.
But he’s dead.
I’m not sure whether that gives me free license to go through his private communications or makes it even more forbidden. It’s a conundrum to be sure.
For a long time, I sit on my bed, staring at his laptop. I can swear I hear it say, “Read me, Rachel. It’ll put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that I’m making a big deal out of nothing.Just read them and get it over with and move on, Rachel. Stop being a big baby and working yourself up over nothing,I tell myself.
Yet I continue to vacillate, recognizing the whole Pandora’s box situation. If I simply nuke the folder now, I can put this wholemishigasto rest. The worst thing that will come out of it is the knowledge that Josh once loved a girl and didn’t tell me about her, even though we shared all our secrets and stories, including my saddest one.
I can live with that...I think.
But maybe I don’t have to. What if I read the rest of the letters and realize that Josh and Beth didn’t wind up moving in together and that their relationship was nothing more than a short-lived romance? So short-lived that Josh didn’t even remember it, or the texts. He just stored them away like one does old receipts.Hey, I might need to make a return one of these days.
It’s this last bit that moves me toward his laptop. And before I can stop myself, I fire it up, click on Josh’s Gmail account, and find the Texts/Beth folder.
Ah, where did we leave off?
Josh: “Just got a call from the rental company. We checked out. Can move in next Friday.”
Beth: “I have my last Diego Rivera class Friday afternoon. Can’t miss it. Ugh. Let’s wait until Saturday.”
Josh: “Don’t want to wait even a minute to start our new life together. I’ll borrow Sergio’s truck and move a bunch of boxes over Friday. Will pick you up for dinner in our new place.”
My stomach churns, and I force myself not to throw up. It’s like the time Hannah and I took the ferry to Larkspur. The bay was so choppy that I had to stand in the middle of the boat and stare at the horizon to keep from getting sick.
My tears drip onto the monitor, but I don’t stop. June...July...August...I keep reading about my husband’s other life, the one he hid from me.
I now know that Beth Hardesty was an art history major, she worked at the gift shop at SFMOMA, her favorite flowers were red roses (how boring) and during her and Josh’s fifth month of living together, they adopted a Pomeranian mix from the pound (I hope its insane little bark drove Josh crazy). Their favorite takeout was Zuni’s roast chicken for two. They talked about buying a house but wanted to wait until Beth finished school.
It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I’m bleary eyed. I want to find out how this story ends. More than anything I want to understand why Josh never told me that he was in love with a woman named Beth, who he lived with, and from what I can ascertain, quite happily. But there are so many more texts, and I can’t stay awake any longer. I could skip to the last one, like I sometimes do with a book when I’m impatient to see how the plot plays out. The problem with that, though, is I might miss something. Something important.
