The View From Alameda Island

Brad was a bully who thought he was better than everyone else.

But Lauren didn’t say anything to Beau. Unless people really knew Brad, they would never understand. So she changed the subject and asked Beau to tell her about rooftop gardens.

“My specialty,” he said happily.

After an hour of pleasant conversation she decided she’d better leave. He asked if he’d be seeing her the following Tuesday and she said, “Very doubtful. This isn’t a good idea.”

He chuckled softly. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” he said. “You didn’t say it but I already know. You’re in the same spot as me. Maybe not identical, but close enough. I sympathize. And if you want someone to talk to you know how to find me.”

She nodded sadly. Of course he didn’t know how to find her. And she didn’t tell him.

* * *

Beth Shaughnessy was spending her Sunday cleaning up the remnants of the party she and her husband Chip had thrown the night before. Chip had a new smoker and had treated many of their friends to a barbecue. While she had made good progress in the kitchen and great room, the patio and grill were still a disaster. Chip, whose given name was Michael, pleaded a slight hangover and promised to get out there with the boys to clean up after they watched a little of the US Open on the big screen in his den. The last time she looked in on them, Chip was flipping between basketball and golf and women’s beach volleyball.

When Beth’s sister, Lauren, had called earlier and asked if she could get away for lunch, Beth had said she had chores. Lauren said she’d go to the gym for a while then head over to Beth’s. She needed to talk.

When Lauren most needed Beth and the phone wasn’t good enough, Beth suspected marital angst. When you were married to Brad Delaney, angst was the kindest word one could apply. It took several deep breaths for Beth to remind herself to be careful what she said. The only serious and alienating fight the sisters had ever had was over Beth’s low opinion of Brad and her sister’s marriage. Well, sort of. It was more Beth’s strong opinion that Lauren should get out, no matter what it took. Yet Lauren had stayed on. And on. And on.

Beth had been only twenty when Lauren and Brad were engaged to be married. At first she thought Brad handsome and sexy, but soon her impression of him changed. She heard and saw things that just weren’t right. More than once, she’d heard Brad call Lauren an idiot. She saw him squeeze her hand so tightly it caused Lauren to wince and pull away. She wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong but she knew it wasn’t right. Even at her tender, inexperienced age Beth had said, “Lauren, what are you doing?”

“I’m marrying a handsome and successful doctor!” Lauren had said, beaming with joy. Lauren was seeing all those things they’d never had growing up—financial security, a beautiful and spacious home, cars that didn’t break down, dining out, vacations... But behind the brightness of her eyes, something else lurked. And of course they hadn’t even gotten through the wedding without tears of anguish and serious doubts. As anyone close to the couple could see, Brad, ten years older than Lauren, was temperamental, self-centered, grumpy and an egomaniac. He had a widowed mother, Adele, who was just an older version of her son. Adele was a controlling and temperamental sourpuss who had very firm ideas about what exactly was good enough for her entitled only child. Except Adele didn’t know how to be charming. While Lauren and Beth had grown up in relative poverty with their single mother, Honey Verona, Brad had grown up well-to-do.

Right before the wedding Honey said, “Lauren, don’t do it. You must see he won’t even try to make you happy.”

“But everything is planned and his mother paid for it all!” Lauren protested.

“It doesn’t matter,” Honey said. “You can walk away. Let them sue us.”

Lauren almost didn’t marry him. It was a last-minute melodramatic moment when she said, “I can’t. I’m just not sure.” Beth almost threw a party. But then she and the other bridesmaids were banished from the room while Brad’s mother took over, having a heart-to-heart with Lauren. Dame Delaney was a force to be reckoned with...

And the wedding proceeded.

Beth and Lauren were nothing alike and yet they were vital to each other. Beth was a professional photographer. She did a lot of weddings, anniversaries, parties, even funerals. She also shot bridges, fields, wildlife, flowers, children, elderly people, beaches, sunsets... Beth was an artist. But she photographed a lot of people and she had learned to recognize who they were in their eyes, their expressions, their body language, their smiles or frowns. She could read people.

She had read Brad right. He was an asshole.

Lauren was more scientific. More pragmatic. A plotter and planner.

Beth had been married to Chip for sixteen years. They weren’t able to produce children on their own so they had adopted a couple. Ravon was thirteen; they’d had him since he was four. Stefano was nine; they’d had him since he was two. Both came through the foster care system. Chip was a cop and big-time sports enthusiast, particularly golf. He taught the boys to play and the three of them were doing something that involved a ball every free second. Beth lived in a kind of rough-and-tumble house with a husband in a high-risk profession; she was always fighting that testosterone poisoning that created messes wherever it passed.

But Beth was not wired to take the kind of shit Lauren put up with. She rode the men in her family hard, insisting they pitch in and help, demanding courteous behavior. And she was just a little thing. A little thing who could haul forty pounds of camera equipment everywhere she went. Ravon was already taller than her, but that hadn’t made her meek at all. She could bring all three men in her house to their knees with one killer stare.

Lauren showed up looking sleek and rich in her workout clothes, her thick chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail. Lauren didn’t ever seem to sweat, either. She sat at Beth’s breakfast bar with a bottle of water while Beth dried the last of the serving platters. “How was your party?” Lauren asked.

“Loud,” Beth said. “Bunch of cops and their spouses and kids. All the usual suspects. They stayed too late and disturbed the neighbors. It was great, in other words.”

“We went to a cocktail party for a retiring doctor. I overheard Brad tell a couple of men he had to take the management of the finances away from me before I ran us into the poorhouse. Now he lets me keep track of my little paycheck while he manages the rest.” She sighed. “I don’t recall ever being in charge of the finances.”

“I was just about to ask when you were in charge of the money...” Beth wasn’t surprised by this mean little dig from her brother-in-law. “If he poked at me like that, he’d pull back a bloody stump,” Beth said.

“He doesn’t realize this, but he doesn’t have much longer as my jailer. I just don’t want to stress Cassie. I’ve put up with him for twenty-four years, I can put up with him a few more weeks. Get Cassie out of college.”

The sound from the den erupted in a roar—someone made a basket, goal, or hole in one and Beth’s men yelled. “I wouldn’t have been married to him long enough to get my babies out of nappies, much less college,” Beth said.

“They can’t hear us, can they?” Lauren asked.

“They couldn’t hear us if we were talking right into their dense male faces,” Beth said.

“I put a deposit on a rental property that will be available July 1. I’m going to talk to the girls and move out. I’ve scheduled my vacation for after Cassie graduates and the first week of July. I suppose it will be sweltering.”

Beth’s mouth hung open for a moment. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said this,” Beth said.

“It’s the first time I’ve rented something,” Lauren said. “I’ve been to the lawyer, planned this out carefully. Listen, I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with me and my rotten marriage, my vacillating, my lack of courage and my mean husband. I’m a load and I know it. And now I need a favor.”

“You know you’re welcome here,” Beth said.

“That’s not what I need. I’m going to pack up some boxes and suitcases. I also have to buy a few things—new linens, some new kitchenware, that sort of thing. I need a place to store it. Someplace no one will notice.”

“The guest room,” Beth said. “We’ll close the door. Can I say one small thing? Can I say, please God, please really do it this time! There’s still time for you to have a life.”

“I’m going to do it,” Lauren said.

Beth gave a heavy sigh. In spite of all the bad things, Brad and Lauren had also been generous. He’d loaned them twenty-five thousand dollars to try in-vitro fertilization; he’d loaned them another twenty-five grand to build onto their house to make room for the boys. He and Lauren stepped up when Beth and Chip needed an expensive tutor for Stefano because he had a learning disability. Of course, Beth had long suspected Brad liked giving people loans they would take a long time to repay because it gave him power over them.

“Honey would be ecstatic,” Lauren said. And immediately her eyes filled with tears.

They’d lost their mother two years ago. She’d been killed in a car accident; a truck driver had a medical episode, lost control of his huge truck and struck three vehicles, killing three people. Honey had never known what hit her—her death was instant, thank God.

“I miss her so much,” Beth said. “It’s just the two of us. I’m there for you. You’re there for me—let’s remember that. You’ve been to this lawyer how many times?” Beth asked.

“Leaving a man like Brad takes very careful planning,” Lauren said.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Of course. Not afraid he’ll physically hurt me. He never does that...”

“A pinch here, a squeeze there...” Beth said, inexplicably rewashing a perfectly clean serving tray.

“He calls it affection gone a bit rambunctious,” Lauren said.

“Because he’s a liar. An experienced gaslighter.”

Lauren sucked in her breath.

“All right, all right,” Beth said. “I’ll try to say nothing and just hope for the best.”

“Once Cassie has graduated, there’s really nothing more to hold me back.”

Beth looked into her sister’s beautiful lavender eyes. Lauren looked like pure perfection. She was elegant, smart, nurturing, compassionate, talented in so many ways, yet somehow held captive by an arrogant asshole. But she wouldn’t call him that. Putting Lauren on the defensive might prevent her from freeing herself. Why her brilliant, loving, educated sister had chosen Brad eluded her. Why she stayed with him had confused her even more.

She had been young. She’d had stars and Wolf appliances in her eyes.

“Okay, tell me what you rented,” Beth said.

“It’s small and quaint, a Victorian, on a street that almost looks like the Seven Sisters in San Francisco,” she said, keeping her voice down. “Three bedrooms and a loft, a long porch and deep yard on a lovely old street in Alameda. The owner lived a long and happy life there, building a lovely garden. There are big, healthy trees. Her son is keeping the house as a rental so it’s being remodeled—new flooring, patching, texturing and painting the walls, new kitchen and bathroom cabinets, new appliances. I’m signing a one-year lease with an option to have first right of refusal if he decides to sell. He let me have some input on the materials... Or, let’s say, I told him I did videos for Merriweather and he assumed I was a great homemaker...”

“You are,” Beth confirmed.

As Lauren described the house, she became animated and Beth had hope for the first time in a long time. Only her rich sister would call a Victorian on the island of Alameda “quaint.” It was probably a million-dollar property.

They talked about the house, the fact that Lauren could get back and forth to work more easily, that she’d have a say in how the yard looked, that it would be homey and all hers. She would have room for the girls when they visited. She hoped they would but it wouldn’t surprise her to find they preferred their rooms at her current house. “The most important thing is that they know both their mother and father love them,” Lauren said. And then she shuddered.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Beth said.

“I know,” Lauren said in a shaky breath. “I plan to have a big celebration for Cassie’s graduation. Once we’ve all come down from that, I’m going to help Cassie move to Boston. Then I’ll talk to the girls. One at a time. Then I’m going to tell Brad. I would tell Brad first but once I do, I have to leave. If things don’t fall into place like I plan—if one of the girls tells him before I can, or something—I might have to impose on you. I can’t really stay there after I make my intentions clear. Because...”

“Because he will be horrible,” Beth said, finishing for her.

They had done this before. But, in the end, Lauren had always stayed. Beth knew about everything—the suspected affairs, the STD, the separate bedrooms. No matter how bad things got, Lauren always tried to make the best of it for the sake of her daughters.

“I’ll help you in any way you ask,” Beth said. “What makes you think you’ll really go through with it this time?”

“If I don’t, I might as well resign myself to living out my life with a mean, cantankerous old man who thinks he’s smarter than God.”

“Pretty soon, that will be the only option,” Beth said.

Lauren ignored her or at least pretended to. “So, we’ll celebrate Cassie’s graduation and when my rental is available I’ll tell them. Cassie will be in Boston for the next three years at least. Lacey has her apartment in Menlo Park. Once I’ve dealt with them, I’ll face Brad.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that alone...”

“I’ve worked this out with the lawyer,” Lauren said. “She has an investigator who is willing to stand by.” Then Lauren shuddered again.

Beth hoped her sister would finally do it. Beth was terrified her sister would finally do it. This could get ugly.

Another loud cheer erupted from the den.

Beth and Lauren talked for a while longer. Every once in a while Beth would glance through the glass patio doors to the chaos outside—wet towels on the ground, various men’s shoes, the greasy grill, plastic glasses, trash cans that were used for refuse, not all of which hit the mark. Lauren’s surroundings would never be in such disarray. Brad would have a fit.

Beth’s marriage wasn’t perfect. There is stress in the lives of a cop’s family; there is challenge in all relationships. She and Chip had money issues, kid problems—both of her sons were multiracial and hitting that puberty stage. Sometimes it seemed like a constant struggle. But they were happy.

But Lauren was married to an impossible jerk. Sad to say, but that trumped everything. How do you resolve yourself to life with a guy like that? No, he didn’t beat her but he did twist an arm here, squeeze too hard there. No, he didn’t get drunk every week. He’d had at least a couple of flings, but he was so repentant he even bought jewelry and took the whole family on trips so amazing the girls hoped he’d have another one. He treated people badly, told lies, believed he deserved slightly more consideration and a slightly bigger cut than anyone else, bullied his wife, put her down. And...he thought he was always right, no matter what. How do you explain that to your children?

When Lauren left Beth wandered into the den. Oh God, she should never have allowed them to put furniture in here. Chip was stretched out on the couch, Ravon’s legs were hanging off the end of the loveseat. Stefano was lying on the floor with his feet up on the coffee table. It looked like a frat house. Morty, their old chocolate Lab, had his head resting on Stefano’s belly. She was going to have to spray the room down with Febreze.

Something happened on the TV and all of a sudden everyone moved and cheered.

“Hey,” she said. “Why does this den smell like the inside of a tennis shoe?”

“This is not a den,” Chip said indignantly. “This is a man cave!”

“I beg your pardon,” Beth said. “It’s pretty gamey in here. Isn’t it a little early in the year for the Open? Isn’t that a June event?”

“This is an old one,” Chip said. “Ten years old. It’s a replay.”

She was completely stunned for a second. “You have got to be kidding me! My backyard looks like a war zone and you’re in here smelling up the place and watching a ten-year-old sporting event? Come on—get out there and clean up from last night before the sun starts to go down! I mean it!”

The boys dragged themselves to their feet, moaning and groaning, their lazy Sunday afternoon ruined. Chip got up, stretched and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, babe. I needed a little nap.”

“Hmph,” she said.

“I heard Lauren’s voice.”

“Yeah, she was here.”

“She having problems?” he asked. “With Brad?”

“Why would you ask that?” Beth asked.

“Because you’re all prickly.”

“Do we have a perfect marriage?” she asked, looking up at him. Beth was five foot three and Chip was a towering six foot three.

He grinned. “I doubt it. But close. Because your wish is my command.”

“Yeah, right. After four hours in front of a ten-year-old golf tournament.”

“But see how much nicer I am now?” he asked. He kissed her forehead. “You can’t do anything about Lauren and Brad.”

“Promise not to say a word. She’s focused on Cassie’s graduation for right now.”

“Beth, she’s never going to do anything, you know that.”

But Beth was thinking, this time she might. And although it made her feel sad and guilty, she desperately hoped her sister would really leave Brad.

CHAPTER THREE

Beau carried a forty-pound bag of fertilizer on each shoulder as he walked along the trail of patio stones that led to the vegetable garden. There he found Tim working on building a nice large pile of weeds. “I thought I might find you here,” Beau said. “I brought you a present.” He dropped one bag on the ground and lowered the other. “What are you up to?”

“Just hoeing around,” the priest said.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know. I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” Tim said. Then he stepped over his plants and gave Beau a firm handshake that brought them shoulder to shoulder. “How’s life?”

“Manageable, but busy,” Beau said, returning the man hug. Tim and Beau had known each other since they were about ten. To say they took different paths in life would be an understatement.

“But is life any good?” Tim pushed.

“Lots of it is,” Beau said. “Work is excellent. I’m almost too busy. Things are quiet at home. I watch sports all night.”

“I guess the divorce is proceeding,” Tim said.

He shrugged. “It’s a little stalled. Pamela wanted to try counseling. I thought it was a waste of time that also cost money. But then Michael asked me why I wouldn’t give it a shot.” He looked down, shaking his head. “I don’t know why Michael gets himself into this—he’s twenty, a sophomore, has a steady relationship...”

“He’s trying to put his life together—the life he wants to have. He doesn’t want the one you and Pamela have. He wants to know how that works.” Tim sank to one knee and stabbed the bag of fertilizer, ripping it open, releasing the rank smell.

“You almost sound like you know anything at all about marriage, Father,” Beau said.

“I’m well trained,” Tim shot back.

“Michael just needs to pay attention to the women he lets into his life, make sure there aren’t any red flags. Maybe he should be in counseling. Just for his future.”

“Not a bad idea,” the priest agreed. “Have you told him the truth, Beau? That you stayed for them?”

“I might’ve suggested that,” Beau said, sticking a shovel in the fertilizer and scooping out a big load, sprinkling it down the rows. “I told the counselor I’m there in body only. I don’t want to fix it. I want to end it. Our mission in counseling should be to help Pamela let go. So she sobbed for an hour, babbling excuses and trying to explain her change of heart. And there was begging. My head hurt for two days. It’s torture.”

“Stop going,” Tim said. He sat back on his heels. “Seriously, stop going. You are the worst victim sometimes. You can’t do this for her. It was her choice, you gave her many last chances. She needs counseling but not marriage counseling.”

“Well damn,” Beau said. “What about the sanctity of marriage and all that?”

“Everything has an expiration date, my brother,” Tim replied. “Really, I’m in the wrong order. I should be with the Jesuits. I’m living in this century. I can’t tell perfectly miserable people trapped in abusive and unholy relationships to stick it out just because the church prefers it that way and we promised to turn the other cheek and all that. I wouldn’t have lasted a year with Pamela.”

Beau grinned. “If the diocese ever finds out about you, you’re history.”

“Eh,” he grunted. He stood and started spreading the fertilizer with his hoe. “How about Drew?”

“Drew’s good. Graduating in a couple of weeks. I’m having a party for him—mostly his friends and my family. Will you come?”

“Of course, as long as no one dies or gets married.”

“Pamela is trying to get involved, combining families, throw in an ex who may or may not show up. I’m expecting Drew will get a card with some money in it from his dad—anywhere from twenty to a hundred, depending on his guilt. It’s so awkward, my family and I’m sure her family know the circumstances but we have to make nice, act like we’re at least getting along, look as if we’re not getting divorced. I talked to Drew about all the subterfuge and he said, ‘No biggie. Let her do it. Then we’re done until I get married, which I promise you will be many years from now. Between now and then, I’m probably not going to make her unhappy.’ You gotta love that kid. Everything rolls off his back.”

“Or it seems to,” Tim said. “Keep an eye on that. Still waters...”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Beau said. “Just me and Drew these days. I think Drew has forgotten we have Michael’s graduation in a year...”

“Things will be better by then. What did you tell the counselor?”

“I told her we’ve been separated four times, Pamela has had other relationships during the separations and when we’re together she’s almost always unhappy and we argue too much. She pokes at me until I poke back, so sometimes I leave the house or go in the garage or detail the truck. I told her I don’t want to do that anymore. And of course she asked if we fixed our relationship so it wasn’t like that, was I in? And I said, I’m sorry, not anymore.” He dug out a shovelful of fertilizer. “I’d like to move on so my friends and family aren’t constantly forced to ask me where we are now.”

Tim stopped moving his hoe. “I’m sorry, Beau,” he said.

“Aw, not you, Tim. I don’t see enough of you for you to get on my nerves. That’s a problem, by the way. I’d like to see enough of you for you to get on my nerves.”

Tim grinned. “Basketball game Thursday night.”

“Can I bring a ringer?”

“Absolutely. I haven’t seen Drew in months.”

“I’m in pretty good shape,” Beau said. “You should pray.”

“I’ll think about it, Beauregard,” he said.

When Beau was a kid, a relatively poor kid, Tim’s well-off family moved into town. Tim’s dad was a lawyer. Beau never went to school hungry but there were lots of times he wanted more to eat than there was and he was impressed by the bounty of Tim’s table. Beau had two sisters and a brother, Tim had two brothers and a sister. Tim lived in a five-bedroom house on a big lot with a brick circular driveway. Tim’s mom played a lot of tennis at their club and had a cleaning lady. But, despite the differences, the boys became friends and stayed friends all the way through school.

Beau’s parents were amazed and impressed that he got himself through college in five years with no help from them. Tim, on the other hand, went to Notre Dame. He’d never admitted it to anyone but he’d always aspired to the priesthood. He was spiritual and wanted to help people. Notre Dame honed that aspiration into reality.