The Young Wives Club Read online

  “Hello?” she said wearily.

  “Where are you?” He sounded panicked.

  Claire sat up halfway and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “My mom’s.”

  Gavin sighed in relief. “I was so worried about you—I thought you said you’d be home at five.” His voice wasn’t accusing but filled with genuine concern.

  Claire smiled. A man who worried this much about his wife couldn’t be cheating on her. Was it possible that she had misunderstood Gavin’s actions? Could there be some explanation for what she saw?

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, of course. Just came over to say hi and ended up falling asleep on the sofa. We’ll come home right now.”

  “Drive carefully,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I . . . okay,” she said. “Me, too.” She ended the call and stood up too fast, her head going dizzy.

  “Mama!” she yelled.

  Her mom walked in from the kitchen, carrying Sadie. “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Claire grabbed her bag and her keys. “We gotta go.”

  Jillian followed her to the front door, handing off the baby. “Good luck, my love.” She kissed Claire on her cheek.

  Claire put Sadie in her car seat and drove home in the dark. When she’d driven to her mom’s house earlier, she was furious with Gavin, but now she couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Maybe her mom was right. There were two people in this marriage and it was up to her to make it work.

  16

  laura

  NO MATTER HOW hard she tried, Laura couldn’t stop smelling boiled crawfish as she drove home from work Sunday night. Granted, she loved crawfish, but after an eight-hour shift of working at the Sea Shack’s first annual Bowl and Boil, Laura never wanted to eat another in her life.

  She was proud of her idea, though. When she was a kid, she and her neighbors would fill soda bottles with water and line them up in the middle of the street like bowling pins. Then they’d take turns trying to knock them over with a soccer ball. She’d suggested hosting a similar event at the bar to bring in new business, hoping Ricky would recognize her managerial potential.

  He’d been skeptical at first. “No one’s gonna order crawfish just ’cuz you arranged two-liters filled with colored water in the middle of the restaurant,” he said. “But I’ma let you try it out.” Thanks to Claire posting the event on the church bulletin board, everyone and their mama came to the Sea Shack after church that day to “bowl” and eat crawfish.

  “Told ya it’d be a success,” Ricky said at closing time, counting the cash at the register as Laura picked up crawfish heads from the floor.

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. Then with her heart racing and palms sweating, Laura walked over to Ricky. “Can I ask you something?” She put her dirty rag on the counter.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, closing the machine.

  “I’ve been working here for a while now. . . .” Laura fiddled with a piece of receipt paper. “And you know how much I love it,” she lied.

  Ricky nodded and leaned his elbows on the counter.

  “I’ve been taking on a lot of extra hours and responsibility lately, and I think I’ve gone above and beyond the duties of a waitress. I’d really like to be promoted to manager.” She’d looked up from the receipt, trying to gauge his reaction.

  He scratched his dimpled chin. “You’re one-a my best employees. I just ain’t got an open position right now for that.” He nudged her arm. “But the second anything opens up, you my go-to girl.”

  She stifled a sigh and cracked a smile. “Thank you for considering me,” she said, standing up and taking off her apron. “I’m gonna go home now.”

  “Good job today,” he yelled to her as she opened the door. “You’re a bright one.”

  As she drove down Main Street, sadness rooted in her chest. She’d really needed that promotion—not just for the money for Brian’s surgery but also for herself. She felt like she needed to prove to herself that she could do more than just serve food and drinks. Hell, she was smart—even strangers like Vince could see it. But lately, she had been feeling like she was destined for something more, and this time it was up to her—not Brian—to make that happen. Granted, it was a tough balance. All that schoolwork she was juggling . . . like the science paper on climate change due tomorrow (even though Mr. Myers insisted under his breath that global warming wasn’t actually a thing) . . . and the French participles exam on Wednesday . . . and the limits test in math on Thursday. . . . It gave her the sweats just thinking about it.

  Brian often asked her why she worked so hard at school. “You have me. You know I’ll take care of you,” he’d say. And she didn’t really have an answer. But tonight as the stress of school and work pressed down on her, she tried to let all of that worry go and instead fantasized about the future he’d promised her.

  The setting: an extravagant NFL banquet. They’d be seated in a glimmering ballroom, eating steak with warm rolls and those little butters shaped like seashells. Brian would be next to her, unable to keep his hands off of her, because she’d look like a knockout in her silky floor-length designer gown. A really expensive one, from one of those flamboyant French guys named Christian or Jean-Paul.

  Her hair and makeup would be professionally done—no more doing it herself from a Cosmo guide—and when Brian got up onstage to accept an award, she’d dab the tears from her eyes with a linen napkin. He’d say something like, “I wouldn’t be standing here tonight if it weren’t for my beautiful wife who has been by my side through it all. Baby . . .” Even though there were a thousand other people in the room, his eyes would focus only on her. “Thank you for being you.” Everyone in the ballroom would smile at her and everything they’d gone through to get there would be worth it.

  Honk! Honk!

  Laura snapped out of her fantasy and realized she was sitting at a green light. “Sorry!” she yelled, as if the driver of the truck behind her could hear.

  When she pulled into the Landrys’ driveway, she noticed Rob and Janet’s car wasn’t there. “Sweet,” she said to herself, imagining all the things she and Brian could do to celebrate this rare occurrence.

  Laura opened the front door and yelled her husband’s name. The house was dark and silent. She walked to the back of the house and noticed the light was on in their bedroom.

  “Brian?” she called out again.

  A moan responded.

  Panicked, she ran toward the door and found Brian lying on the floor. “What the hell? Brian! Are you okay?” She dropped her bag and kneeled down next to her husband.

  Brian’s blue eyes fluttered open, looking unfocused. “I’m jus’ turd,” he slurred.

  “Turd?” Laura asked, confused.

  “Tie-errrred,” Brian enunciated, using all the energy he could muster up.

  Laura lifted him up and propped him against the white bed frame. “What happened?”

  “Jack,” he said, his lips puckering.

  “Who’s Jack?” she asked, gently pushing his hair off his forehead. She glanced around, half-expecting some guy name Jack to jump out of their closet.

  “En Coke.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Jack and Coke?” She felt as though she were in French class, trying to interpret what the hell was being said.

  Brian nodded in an exaggerated way.

  Laura looked around and realized there was an empty handle of Jack Daniel’s sitting on his desk and Coke cans scattered all over.

  “Get up and get in bed,” she said, sighing. She tried to lift his body off the floor, but he weighed twice as much as she did. Brian grunted and managed to flop onto the mattress.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, heading straight to the kitchen to brew him a cup of coffee. She returned quickly and handed him the mug carefully. “How did you get this drunk?” she asked as he took a sip.

  “Kenny,” he said, not looking at her.

  Laura tried to force away her irrita
tion, but it was just so typical that she’d spent her whole night working her butt off for nothing while Brian sat around drinking with useless Kenny. “So, Kenny force-fed you Jack and Coke? Way to own up to your own mistakes,” she spat. This was her room, too, that he’d trashed. She grabbed the empty handle and cans. “What were y’all doing in here anyway?”

  “Jus’ chillin’,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee.

  Holding three cans and a bottle, Laura started to head out the door when Brian yelled out, “Missed one!” and threw an empty aluminum can toward her. It flew just a few inches past her head and landed on the floor.

  “Oh my god!” she screamed. “That could have hit me!”

  He put his hand over his mouth, as if knowing just how much trouble he was about to be in. “Sorry . . .”

  Laura huffed and walked out of the room into the kitchen, where she tossed the cans and bottle into the trash and stomped her foot in a rage. There’s nowhere to go! she thought to herself. All she wanted to do was slam a door, but Brian was taking up the bedroom, and going into the bathroom just wouldn’t have the same effect. She noticed the back door to the porch, stomped over, and slammed the door shut behind her. It made a satisfying echo in the house.

  She sat on the glider, her anger festering inside of her. A little while later, Brian finally opened the door and joined her.

  “I’m really sorry, babe,” he said, sounding a tad more sober now. She didn’t know if it was the coffee or her rage, but at least he was forming complete sentences.

  Laura crossed her arms and looked off into the yard, where a rope swing dangled from a giant oak tree. When they were younger, Brian used to push Laura on the swing. It always made her feel like she could fly. But now, this whole house made her feel stifled. “I’m so pissed at you.”

  “You have every right to be,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder, as if uncertain it was welcome.

  She didn’t turn to acknowledge him. “You’ve got to get it together,” she said, resolutely staring into the distance.

  “I will,” he said softly.

  She snapped her head toward him and glared. “Now, Brian.” She was tired of all of this.

  “Okay, jeez,” he said. He leaned his head against the back of the chair. Laura could tell he was having trouble keeping it up. His eyes were glassy, and he looked out of it. “I’m basically sober now.”

  “Right,” she said sarcastically. Then she sighed. “You’ve got a problem, Brian. I’m worried about you.” She braced herself for him to get defensive, to say that she couldn’t understand what he was going through, to push her out like he’d been doing over the last few months.

  Instead, Brian took a deep breath, and said: “I’ll quit.”

  Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll quit drinkin’?”

  “Yeah, why not?” Brian said. His head was still resting drunkenly against the yellow floral chair cushion, but he actually sounded like he meant it.

  “Can you write that down so you’ll remember it tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m for real,” he said. “No more, I swear. Promise.” He held out his pinky. They had been doing the pinky promises since they first started dating five years ago. Usually Laura used it in ways, like, “Promise you’ll call me every night while you’re stayin’ with your granny for Christmas?” and “Promise you’ll still love me even if I don’t make cheer captain?” This was the first time Brian initiated it, and it was the first time it involved anything serious.

  She extended her right hand and grabbed his pinky with hers.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to going back out on the field,” Brian said, shifting his hand to interlock their fingers. His palm was warm and strong against hers, and for the first time all night, Laura felt calm.

  “I know,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  “Everything that we worked for, it’s gonna happen,” he assured her. “We’re going to save enough money and I’m going to get this surgery, and all of our dreams are going to come true. I promise that, too.”

  A knot of tensions felt like it was slowly unraveling in Laura’s chest. “Have you talked with Coach Perkins lately? Didn’t he tell you to keep him updated on things?” Keeping after Brian about stuff like this sometimes made her feel like his assistant.

  “He called me last week. Tried to talk me into just going with the surgery they’ll pay for, the one the doctor said probably wouldn’t help me. I said no.” He laughed. “And Coach said, that’s why he admired me. He liked my determination.”

  “He probably feels a little guilty that they can’t cover the operation, but you know he wants you back on the team.” God, I hope he can play again, she said silently to herself. She barely recognized Brian these last few months. All he did was drink and mope around; what would happen to him if he could truly never get back out on the field?

  “Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “We’ll make it happen.”

  Laura bit her lip. She believed that Brian meant what he said . . . but how long would it take them, between her waitress salary and his poker? “Wait,” she said, an idea popping into her head. “I was watching this show about doctors with your mom the other night.” Truthfully, it was a weight loss reality show on TLC, but Brian didn’t need to know that. “And one of the patients appealed to their insurance and they actually came back and paid for the whole surgery.” If that insurance company on TV had paid for someone’s gastric bypass, maybe theirs would reconsider Brian’s surgery. His whole future was on the line.

  “I don’t know, babe,” Brian said, looking skeptical. “Don’t you think that’s just . . . TV?”

  Laura shrugged. “Maybe. But if there’s a chance that it could work, shouldn’t we try? At least we’ll have given it a shot.”

  Brian nodded slowly. “Why not, I guess? I don’t know how we even go about doing that, though. It sounds complicated.”

  It was so nice to hear Brian sounding hopeful for once. “I’ll figure all that out,” Laura said, starting to feel excited. This was what they both needed—a little bit of hope. “We’ll get through this, and it’s all going to happen, just like you said. Then you’ll go back, play for LSU, get scouted by the NFL, and be a famous quarterback.”

  Brian wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “And we’ll buy a mansion,” he said, burying his head in her hair. His breath was warm against her neck, and she felt a happy tingle down her spine.

  “Can it have a Jacuzzi?” Laura asked, fantasizing about the bathrooms she and Janet drooled over during their HGTV binge-fests. The type of person who had a bathroom with two showerheads and his and hers sinks would never have to clean up a million crawfish heads to try to impress their boss.

  “It can have five Jacuzzis,” Brian said, pulling away and flashing that confident smile that made Laura fall in love with him in the first place.

  “We’ll be such a power couple,” she said, grinning back at him. Her mind flashed back to the banquet she had envisioned just a few hours before on her drive home. “You really think it’ll happen?”

  “I promise,” he said, leaning back and putting a hand over his stomach. His eyes fluttered closed.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Still turd?’ ”

  He chuckled and hung his head in shame. “I’m an ass, huh?”

  “Yeah, but for some reason I keep puttin’ up with you,” she said with a small smile.

  They fell into a comfortable silence. Janet’s wind chimes jingled in the cool evening breeze and a neighbor’s dog barked nearby. She stared up at the sky, where the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual. Laura felt like they were on the precipice of something great. They couldn’t be working this hard for nothing.

  She blinked as she saw a light streak across the sky. “Oh my god, do you see that?” she said. “Is that a shooting star?”

  “Huh?”

  “I swear I just saw a shooting star!” Laura squealed. She had never seen one
in real life before.

  Brian squinted at the sky. “You sure it wasn’t an airplane?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, refusing to let doubt creep into her mind. “I’m gonna just say it was one. It went by so fast!”

  “Cool,” Brian said, his eyes fluttering closed sleepily.

  “You can make a wish on those, right?” Laura asked. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I think that’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m gonna do it, okay?”

  She closed her eyes tight and tried to think of the biggest wish she could make. There were so many things she wanted—make that needed—at this moment. How was she supposed to choose? Then, it hit her. There was one wish that would cover everything. She quietly recited to herself, “I wish for Brian to keep all of his promises.”

  17

  gabrielle

  GABBY COULD HAVE sworn that the Fords’ cast-iron gargoyle doorknocker was leering at her. She’d been standing in front of their wooden front door for too long, shivering in the November chill. She knew she needed to knock and go inside, but something about the gargoyle stopped her. It was like it was staring her down, judging her for all her lies. Stop being silly, she told herself, trying to shake off the feeling. With a deep breath, she knocked, and moments later, Tony appeared, greeting her with a wide smile and sweet kiss on the lips.

  “You look amazing,” he said, guiding her into the foyer of the Fords’ massive Victorian home. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

  He looked like a J. Crew model in his khaki pants and a cozy burgundy sweater, his sleeves pushed up slightly. He casually held his glass of bourbon in his right hand.

  Love rushed through her. “Gosh, I missed you,” she confessed as she hugged him again. She inhaled his scent, trying to take all of it in—his signature Polo Black cologne, the hint of Tide lingering on his soft sweater—never wanting to let go. She planned on telling him everything tomorrow; this might be their last day together, and she was going to make it count.