Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

One particular night haunts me. Bella had had a horrible day at school and a meltdown with the tutor. By the time we sat down to dinner, she was like a volcano ready to erupt. After we’d finished eating, Margarita brought out the dessert.

“None for Bella until she reads,” Jackson commanded.

“I don’t want to read. I’m too tired.” She reached for the plate with the brownies.

“Margarita.” His voice had been so sharp that we’d all turned to look at him. “I said no.”

“Mister, I will bring them back for everyone after.”

“No, Tallulah can have hers. She’s a smart girl.”

“That’s okay, Daddy. I can wait.” Tallulah had looked down at her plate.

Margarita had reluctantly put the plate on the table and made a hasty retreat.

Jackson had gotten up from his seat and handed Bella the book he had brought home. She’d thrown it on the floor, and his face had turned bright red.

“You’ve been getting help for six months now. You’re in first grade. It should be easy for you. Read the first page.” He’d bent to retrieve it from the floor.

I’d looked at the book. Charlotte’s Web . There was no way she could do it.

“Jackson, this isn’t accomplishing anything.”

Ignoring me, he’d slammed the book down on the table, making Bella jump.

My eyes were drawn to the throbbing vein in his forehead. “Either she reads this damn book, or I’m firing her worthless tutor. Let’s see what you’ve learned. Now!”

Bella picked up the book with shaking hands, opened it, and in a trembling voice, began to read. “Wwwww hhheerrr s Pap a ggggoinn g wiith thaat ax?”

“Oh, for crying out loud. You sound like a moron! Spit it out.”

“Jackson!”

He’d given me a dark look and then turned to Bella. “You look ugly when you read like that.”

Bella had burst into tears and ran from the table. I’d hesitated only a moment, then rushed after her.

After I calmed her down and tucked her in, she’d looked at me with those big blue eyes and asked, “Am I stupid, Mommy?”

I’d been pierced to the core.

“Of course not, sweetie. You’re very smart. Lots of people have trouble learning to read.”

“Tallulah doesn’t. She was born with a book in her hand. I’m the one that’s thick as a brick.”

“Who told you that?”

“Daddy.”

I wanted to kill him. “You listen to me. Do you know who Einstein is?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “The funny-looking man with the crazy hair?”

I forced a laugh. “Yes. He was one of the smartest men ever, and he didn’t learn to read until he was nine. You are very smart.”

“Daddy doesn’t think so.”

How could I make this better? “Daddy doesn’t mean those things. He just doesn’t understand the way different brains work. He thinks if he says those things, you’ll work harder.” It sounded lame even to my ears, but it was all I could offer.

She yawned and her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m tired, Mommy.”

I’d kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, angel.”

So she misbehaved sometimes — who wouldn’t with that kind of pressure? But how do you explain to people around you that you’re cutting your child some slack because her father has reduced her to rubble?

When Jackson was bored, he liked to hide my things, putting things in places where I’d never find them. My brush often turned up in the guest bathroom, my contact lens solution in the kitchen. Today I was running late for an important meeting with a potential donor at Julie’s Smile, and my keys were nowhere to be found. Our driver, Tommy, was off for a family emergency, and Sabine had taken the girls to the Bronx Zoo, as school was closed for another teacher planning day.

Jackson was aware that I had been preparing for the meeting all week, and I knew it was no coincidence that my keys had gone missing. I needed to be there in fifteen minutes. I called a cab and got to my meeting with one minute to spare. I was so frazzled that I was off my game. When the meeting was over, I picked up the phone and dialed Jackson.

“You might have cost the foundation hundreds of thousands.” I didn’t bother with any preamble.

“Excuse me?”

“My keys are missing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t blame me because you’re disorganized.” His tone was maddeningly patronizing.

“I always put them in the drawer in the hall table. Both sets were gone, and Tommy is conveniently off today. I had to call a cab.”

“I’m sure there’s someone who would find the quotidian details of your day interesting, but it doesn’t happen to be me.” He ended the call.

I slammed the phone down.

He worked late and didn’t get home until after nine. When he arrived, I was in the kitchen, icing cupcakes for Bella’s class bake sale. He opened the refrigerator and started cursing.

“What’s the matter?”

“Come here.”

I braced myself for whatever this latest tirade was going to be and came up behind him. He pointed.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

I followed the line of his finger. “What?” Everything had to be perfect; he had started using a measuring tape to ensure the glasses were exactly an eighth of an inch apart. He would have surprise inspections of drawers and cabinets to make sure everything was in its place.

He shook his head and looked at me with loathing. “Do you not see that the Naked juices are not lined up alphabetically? You’ve got the cranberry behind the strawberry.”

The absurdity of my life struck me, and I began to giggle uncontrollably. He was looking at me with increasing animosity, and all I could do was laugh. I tried to stop, felt the terror rise from my stomach. Stop laughing! I didn’t know what was wrong with me, even when I saw his eyes get dark with anger, I couldn’t stop — in fact, it made me laugh even harder. I was becoming hysterical.

He grabbed the bottle, twisted the top off, and poured it on my head.

“What are you doing?” I jumped back.

“Still think it’s funny? You stupid cow!” In a rage, he started pulling everything out and throwing things to the floor. I stood, transfixed, as I watched. When he got to the eggs, he began throwing them at me. I tried to shield my face but felt the sting on my cheeks as he whipped them at me as hard as he could. Within minutes, I was covered in fluids and food. He shut the refrigerator door and stared at me for a long moment.

“Why aren’t you laughing now, slob?”

I stood rooted to the spot, too afraid to speak. My lip trembled as I muttered an apology.

He nodded. “You should be sorry. Clean this shit up, and don’t even think of asking any of the staff for help. It’s your mess.” He walked over to the plate of cupcakes I’d been frosting and threw it on the floor. He unzipped his pants and urinated all over them. I started to cry out, but caught myself in time.

“You’ll have to tell Bella you were too lazy to make her cupcakes.” He wagged his finger at me. “Bad Mommy.”

Then he turned around and opened the drawer where I kept my keys and jangled them in his hands before throwing them at me. “And your keys were here the whole time, dummy. Next time, look harder. I’m so tired of having such a lazy, stupid wife.” He stormed from the kitchen and left me there, huddled in the corner, shaking.

It took me over an hour to clean everything up. In a numb haze, I threw away all the ruined food, mopped, wiped, and cleaned until all the surfaces shone again. I couldn’t let the staff see a mess when they arrived early tomorrow morning. I would have to stop at the bakery tomorrow and pick up cupcakes to replace the ones he’d ruined. I dreaded going upstairs, hoping he’d be asleep by the time I showered and got in bed — but I knew that it excited him to humiliate me. The lights were out when I finished drying my hair and walked over to my side of the bed. His breathing was even, and I heaved a sigh of relief that he was asleep. I pulled the covers up to my chin and was just about to drift off when I felt his hand on my thigh. I froze. Not tonight.