Chapter One
Beatrice Rushton-Pike got married too young. She mused over this thought as she ran a fingertip along the marble bar in the den. It was dust free, and she smiled to herself, grateful for the cleaning crew that’d come through the previous day and scrubbed the house from top to bottom. She and Preston were twenty years old when they tied the knot. And now that their daughter had reached the same age, she shuddered at the thought of how young it really was.
She and Preston had been children only three years prior to their wedding day. Who let them think it was a good idea? She vaguely recalled her mother saying something about them being too young for such a big commitment, and Dad mumbled some gentle words about how a long engagement was often a good choice. But at the time, it’d gone in one ear and out the other. They were in love. And to them, love was all that mattered.
But there was no chance she’d let Danita consider marrying while she was still at university. In reality, she knew it wasn’t up to her and there would be nothing she could do about it if Danita chose to take that step, but she liked to cling to the illusion that she still had some sway over her daughter’s decisions. Thankfully, Danita had never had a real boyfriend and the subject of marriage hadn’t come up, so it wasn’t likely she would have to address the issue for a while yet.
Their son, Harry, was a very young eighteen. He’d left for university two weeks earlier and until then still liked to have his mother pack his lunch for school, and take naps on the weekends. It was hard for her to believe he was an adult. Sometimes she still saw those adorable, brown floppy curls and imagined him the happy, uncoordinated toddler she chased around the house hoping he would’t fall and hit his head on the furniture.
The house felt so empty now he was gone. He was only one person, but the noise he generated when he was home was enough that she never felt lonely. Now, it was a different story. The house was like a cavern. Every sound she made echoed through its empty halls and bounced off the tiles. She’d never really thought of the tiled floor as cold before, but since Harry left home, she’d found herself visiting carpeting shops to look through swatches. She’d talked to Preston about giving the house a facelift, maybe getting an interior decorator in to redo the place entirely.
He’d simply shrugged and hadn’t lifted his eyes from the phone in his hands. “Maybe we should downsize. We don’t need a place this big anymore.”
His words had saddened her. She didn’t like change. And this house was where they’d raised their two children. Should they sell it and move into something smaller right away? Would the kids miss out on coming home for the holidays, instead visiting a strange, impersonal townhouse in an overly built-up part of the city?
There were no smaller houses in their neighbourhood, so it would mean leaving everyone they knew behind and starting over somewhere else. Surely he couldn’t mean it. But instead of addressing these questions to the side of his head, she ignored the niggling thoughts and decided not to raise the subject again for a while since he’d seemed perfectly content with their sprawling suburban property before she’d said anything.
It’d been twenty-five years ago that they’d stood on that wide, sandy beach on Coral Island and pledged to love each other forever. It seemed like yesterday. She sighed at the memory. So much had happened since then. Was it possible they were the same people who’d made that heady commitment, with their eyes blinded by passion? She felt as though she was an entirely different person, and Preston certainly behaved like one. Sometimes she wondered if she knew him at all. Still, they were both excited to renew their vows. The party was tonight — the perfect way to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Everyone would be there. Well, everyone other than Dad, who had made some excuse not to travel from Coral Island to attend the party. He rarely came to the mainland these days. Always had something to attend to. The house needed cleaning, the fencing was broken, the chicken coop had been battered by a storm. And her brother Bradford had made a similar excuse — he had a business to run, he couldn’t get away from it in the busy season.
If she wanted to see her father or brother, she’d have to go there. But she hadn’t done that in years. And so most of the time, she only saw her father’s face over a video call. She missed him.
It was infuriating the way he resisted the idea of travel. He knew how busy she was with the catering and the children, although now that both kids had officially finished high school and were out of the house, she had more time than she had before.
Perhaps it was time to go back to Coral Island for a visit. The thought filled her with a longing for her old home, something she hadn’t felt in an age. Could it be that she finally missed the place after all this time?
It would be her birthday next week. Perhaps she could catch the ferry to the island and spend a few days with her father to celebrate. Preston wouldn’t mind—he had that sales conference in Melbourne to attend. When she’d suggested she should come with him so they could spend her birthday together in the city, he’d told her they could postpone and enjoy a meal out together when he got back.
She’d hoped he might make more of a fuss over her forty-fifth birthday. It felt like a big milestone, especially now that both children were out of the house. But Preston had never been much for birthday gifts or thoughtful surprises. He was more of the steady, reliable type of husband. At least, that’s what she told her friends.
It was true — he’d always been there for her over the past twenty-five years. He was a good provider with his management position in the sales division of a large scientific devices supply company. He’d travelled the world in his role, spending weeks at a time away from the family while she kept the home fires burning.
She nursed their babies. She ferried them to kindergarten, then school. She supervised homework and listened to piano practice. She drove Danita and Harry to ballet and soccer. She went to all their sports carnivals and recitals at school. She’d even managed to build a moderately successful small catering business on the side.
And their hard work had paid off — Preston’s job had given them a comfortable lifestyle; she’d never had to worry about money. And now their children were grown and both were generally loving, kind and successful young adults. They could both be proud of what they’d achieved. After twenty-five years of what had often felt like a slog in which they’d barely had time to acknowledge one another, it was finally time for the two of them to kick back, put their feet up, and spend some quality time in each other’s company.
The first thing she’d do after this anniversary celebration was book a trip somewhere. She’d always wanted to go to Paris. Maybe they could spend the New Year there. It would be a romantic adventure and just the thing they needed to get back some of the intimacy and passion they’d lost over the years of living like ships in the night.
The doorbell rang and Bea bustled to answer it, wiping her hands on the apron tied neatly around her waist. She tugged the door open. She lived on the outskirts of Pennant Hills, an old Sydney community on the upper north shore with leafy green neighbourhoods and generously sized blocks. Bea and Preston owned one of the largest blocks in their subdivision, and all of the neighbours knew one another well. Popping in for a quick chat was a community pastime.
“Good afternoon, Bea.” Nellie Armstrong from next door stood on the doorstep with a casserole dish balanced on one hand and the leash tied to her straining blue heeler in the other. The dog wanted to get in through the front door to search for Bea’s pug—she knew it. And she also knew how that would end, with the dogs dashing madly through the house, the blue heeler hot on the trail of the pug whose tail would be tucked between her legs with several items of furniture smashed on the ground in their wake.
Deftly she stepped onto the porch and pulled the front door shut behind her to prevent a catastrophe.
“Hi, Nellie. What do you have there?”
“I made tuna mornay. I thought it might be nice to serve tonight at your big anniversary doo.” Nellie smiled, her teeth impossibly white. Her toned abs showed beneath the Lorna Jane crop top she sported, and her fake tan glowed a perfect shade of bronze.
Nellie always made Bea feel frumpier than usual. She pushed her curly hair back from her face and found it had stuck to her forehead with the sweat she’d worked up moving furniture and baking treats for the party all day.
“That is so kind and thoughtful.”
“Are you excited about it?”
“I suppose so. It’s a lot of work. I’ve wondered why I decided to do this to myself about fifty times today. Of course, I should’ve hired more help, but I love to cook, so I thought it would be fun. And besides, my usual staff are all invited guests, so I didn’t want to bother them.”
Nellie chuckled. “Cooking is definitely not my idea of fun, but I’m sure you’ll do a fantastic job. I can’t wait to try everything. Anyway, I must get moving if I want to take a shower before the party. I’ll see you then, okay?”
She waved goodbye, and Bea tented a hand over her eyes to watch her go. She was about to walk inside with the casserole when a car crackled down the gravel driveway and parked in front of the house.
Preston was home. And he’d parked in the driveway again. He knew they were having a party and that guests would be using the drive to circle in front of the house. She’d asked him twice already to remember to park in the garage this evening. She sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he jogged up the stairs in his business suit.
“Hi, honey,” he said.
She raised her cheek for his kiss, which he dutifully gave. “Did you have a nice day at work?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. What’s that?”
“Nellie brought it over for the party.”
A shadow flitted across his face. “Oh, that’s tonight. I completely forgot about it. Darn, I’m so tired.”
She bit back a retort. How could he forget about their party? Twenty-five years of marriage and a vow renewal. It’d been on her mind for at least six months. She’d been planning for four. And she’d spent days getting the house ready, purchasing decorations and supplies. And all day cooking. It made her heart clench to realise that he hadn’t given the celebration a passing thought.
“Oh,” was all she said.
“When does it start?”
“Two hours from now.”
“Never mind.” He pushed a smile onto his face. “I suppose I can work up some enthusiasm, although I really want to talk to you before you get into crazy preparation mode.”
She wondered if he really believed it only took two hours to prepare for a party with one hundred of their family and friends attending. And if that’s what he believed, how had he managed to get to the age of forty-five without having learned otherwise? She knew the answer to that — it was her fault. She’d taken on the bulk of the work around the home, organised parties, cooked, baked, sewed, helped neighbours and friends, chosen and put together furniture. Anything that needed doing around the house, she’d done it.
She’d undertaken that single-day course one time years ago, the one that helped her identify how she gave and received love. She had discovered that her love language was acts of service. She loved to do things for people to show them how much she cared, and she’d done everything she could to show Preston how much she loved him for twenty-five years. What she’d failed to realise all that time was that he wouldn’t notice her effort and would learn to expect her to do it all without his input.
He went inside and greeted the dog, then jogged up the stairs to their master suite, his briefcase swinging from one hand. As she watched him go, she realised all of a sudden that the casserole dish had begun to burn the palm of her hand.
* * *
Bea sat at her dressing table in a light pink bathrobe, the blush brush in her hand. She dabbed it against one cheek, then the other. She wasn’t one to wear much makeup and wondered what the expiration date on her blush might be. Better not to look, really. She’d probably be horrified by what she discovered.
She remembered fondly the first time their daughter, Danita, had tried out her blush. She’d found it on Bea’s dressing table when she was only two years old. She’d dug into the blush until she’d loosened the entire thing and then plastered it over her sweet, chubby cheeks, the dressing table, the carpet and the walls. There were blush-coloured handprints on the white paint for days before Bea could finally scrub them clean, but she’d left one of the prints there.
She bent at the waist to look at it now. She’d hung a small frame around it and had an engraving added to the frame the stated the date, the medium (blush) and the artist (Danita Pike). They’d even painted around it when they’d updated the house a decade earlier, and again last year. The blush had faded until it was barely more than a smudge now, but it still held the distinctive shape of Dani’s pudgy little hand. Bea’s throat tightened at the sight, and she lovingly touched a finger to the frame.
Dani was so big now. It was hard to believe how much time had passed. To Bea, it felt like a moment ago. When the children were small, older ladies would tell her to cherish each moment since it would pass in the blink of an eye, and she’d wonder how that was possible since every day seemed to drag on forever. But they were right — the days were long but the years were short, and now both of her children had flown from the nest and were adults, navigating the big, wide world alone.
“What are you wearing?” Preston wandered out of the closet in his boxer shorts.
He was still buff after all these years. The ravages of childbearing hadn’t been his burden to bear, and he’d managed to continue attending a boot camp class three mornings per week for the past fifteen years, even during the time when Harry had decided to try out rowing as a school sport and required someone to drive him to practice every morning at five a.m.
“I bought that eggplant dress, the one with the swooping neckline. Don’t you remember? I modelled it for you a few weeks ago.”
He grunted. “Oh, right. What should I wear?”
“You told me not to get you anything, that you’d take care of it. Please tell me you’ve thought about your outfit. I’ve got a photographer coming. I wanted the photos to be special.” Her voice grew louder. She could hear it happening and saw him shrink away. He hated it when she became what he called “emotional.” She always had to monitor herself, pull back, keep things positive and quiet in case it caused Preston stress. It was exhausting sometimes dealing with his many idiosyncrasies. But even in the midst of all of it, she loved the man. She couldn’t help it. They’d spent most of their lives together. More time together than apart.
“I forgot, sorry. But I can wear the navy suit.”
“Not with my purple dress.” She shook her head, then held still to apply her lipstick. “The black one will work.”
“It’s a bit tight.”
“I know, but what can we do about it now?”
He sighed. “You know I hate it when I don’t have something decent to wear. People will think I look ridiculous in that suit. It’s ten years old and far too small for me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Bea replied. Really? He was going to blame this on her?
“‘Sorry’ would suffice.”
“Sorry. Did you bring home that coffee machine I ordered? I had it sent to your office since I’ve been in and out of the house and didn’t want to miss the delivery.”
“Oh, I cancelled that order,” he said matter-of-factly. “We don’t need it. I don’t even drink coffee.”
“I do,” she said, her brow furrowed. “You know how much I love it.”
“Do you?” He acted as though he didn’t hear her words but was responding by rote.
“Yes, I do. I’ve wanted an espresso machine in the house forever, and you’ve never let me get one.”
“Seems wasteful,” he replied, holding different ties up to his neck as he studied his reflection in the mirror. “Just drink instant.”
Bea watched him, anger building in her chest. She pushed it down and stood to her feet. He had no problem buying himself an automatic golf doohickey that he spent hours putting balls at. Or the rowing machine he never used in the basement gym. Or countless other contraptions he’d sworn he needed and yet were currently gathering dust. She rarely asked for anything for herself.
Picking a fight with him right now over a coffee machine would be silly and pointless. They could talk about it tomorrow. They had guests arriving soon, and she needed him in a good mood so he would help entertain them rather than disappearing into the den with a glass of Scotch to brood over the latest football game.
One advantage of having spent over two decades together was that Bea had learned when to fight and when to pull back and realise something else was going on in her husband’s mind. When he was anxious, he got snippy and combative, blaming her for every little thing even when he knew it wasn’t her fault.
“Are you okay? What’s going on? You’re acting a little bit uptight, like you’re anxious. Is it the party? Or did something happen at work?”
He sat on the bed, his shoulders sagging. “We might as well talk about it now rather than later, although I’d hoped to be dressed. Still, I might burst my jacket if we have this conversation while I’m wearing the black suit.”
She ignored the jab and pulled her chair up to the bed, sat facing him, and took his hands in hers. She kissed his fingers, then squeezed his hands.
“What is it? Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Tears filled his eyes. “You know I love you.”
“Of course I do.” Her spine straightened.
“I can’t do the vow renewal.” His gaze met hers, his deep brown eyes full of sadness.
“Why not? We wrote new vows—they’re not the traditional ones. It’ll be fun.” She didn’t understand. Why was he backing out now after all their work on lighthearted, even teasing vows in which they promised to do things like always replace the toilet paper and never eat the last Tim Tam without asking the other person first? The vows were cute. Everyone there would love them. It made no sense to back out now.
“I’ve met someone else.”
The words hit her like a slap to the face. “What do you mean, someone else?”
“Another woman. We’re in love.”
“No, you can’t be… We’re in love. You and me.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Bea. I know this comes as a shock. It’s something of a shock to me as well. I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t go looking for it, but here I am.”
“This can’t be happening.” She pulled her hands free of his and stood to pace the room. “We’ve got a hundred people coming to celebrate our marriage in less than an hour.”
“I know it’s bad timing, we can still have the party. No one else has to know. But I thought it would be in bad taste to renew our vows when… Well, you know.”
She wrung her hands together. “How long has this been going on?”
His cheeks coloured. “Does that matter?”
“Yes, of course it does!” she shouted.
He cringed. “Don’t get emotional.”
“How dare you tell me not to get emotional? You’re always saying that. But if this isn’t the time to get emotional, I’d love you to please tell me when is!”
He shook his head and walked to the closet. “I can’t talk to you when you get like this.”
She followed him. “You have to talk to me, Preston. This time, you can’t walk away and hope the conflict disappears. You have to face it. Tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”
“It’s been going on for a year.”
Beatrice’s stomach roiled like she’d been sucker punched. She lurched backwards away from her husband. No, no, no!
“We love each other. She’s been there for me when I went through a hard time at work. She understands me.”
Bea’s eyes filled with tears. This couldn’t be happening. They’d planned to travel once the children left home. They were going to enjoy their golden years together. After all their hard work, this was the time to enjoy each other’s company. They’d had children together, they were a family. He couldn’t build another family without them in it. How could he walk away?
“But what about our plans? Our family?” She stifled a sob.
“I want a divorce.”
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