A Summer in Sonoma

“You don’t need a man to have a baby, Cassie,” Beth said.

“Gee, I know I didn’t get the best grades in school, but according to my biology teacher, that’s one of the things you absolutely do need,” Julie said.

“What you need is sperm,” Beth said. And with a dismissive wave of her hand, she said, “Easy.”

“Holy smokes,” Julie said.

“Good idea,” Marty said. “Marriage is way overrated.”

Julie’s gaze shot from Beth to Marty, but Cassie was focused on Beth. “Would you do something like that? Have a baby without a husband?”

“I’m not in the market for a baby,” Beth said. “I have a feeling I’ll be better at delivering them than having them. But really, half the female doctors I know are married to doctors. They’re both under pressure, working long hours, and they do fine. It kind of looks like a good nanny is more valuable than a good husband.”

“What do you mean, marriage is way overrated?” Julie asked Marty. And then she reached for Cassie’s glass of wine, but before taking a gulp, she slid it back.

With precision timing, the salads arrived, along with a basket of warm, fresh bread.

Julie wasn’t done with Marty. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you and Joe invented marriage! You’re not having trouble or anything, are you?”

Marty tore off a piece of bread and with a shrug said, “We’re fine. I guess. But I ask myself—is this it? Forever? This guy who lives like a slob and doesn’t want to do any of the things he liked to do before we were married? He used to take me out, you know. Movies, dinner, nice things. Now it’s sports or boating or camping. On his days off, he doesn’t bother to shower till he has to go back to work. I come home from work and it looks like some homeless guy broke into the house and tore the place up. And once he slipped the ring on, that was it for romance. Now foreplay at our house is, ‘You awake?’”

Julie actually sprayed a mouthful of iced tea as she burst into laughter. When she came under control, fanning her face, grinning, she said, “I can answer that question. Is this all there is? Yeah—this is it, girlfriend. And I signed up.”

“See, there’s a reason some women decide to just have the family on their own,” Beth said, lifting a forkful of lettuce to her mouth.

But Julie was more fascinated by Marty than Beth. “Marty, I’ve never heard you talk like this. I thought you were crazy about Joe.”

“Sure,” she said, chewing a mouthful of salad. “I am. Joe’s a great guy, a good father, a dependable man in his own way—and God knows the women he’s carried down the ladder out of a burning building are in love with him forever—but around home he’s a bum. He’s got sweats and gym shorts he hides so they won’t get washed until they’re so ripe they could walk to the laundry room. His whole closet stinks.” They have two closets, Julie thought jealously. “He spit shines the boat, but he can’t shave the bristle off his chin before he rolls over onto me. The yard has to be perfect, which by the way is sweaty, smelly work, and that vagrant-esque odor sticks to him—at the dinner table and when we go to bed at night. And believe me, he is limited to the yard, garage and the sporting equipment in his ability to clean things.”

“I’ve never seen Joe looking like a vagrant,” Cassie said.

“You would if you were married to him. He cleans up for company,” Marty said. “Really, what he gives F.D. is perfect. If we’re having people over, he’s all spiffed up. But when it comes to his wife, his marriage—he takes it totally for granted. He doesn’t even try.”

“Marty, you should tell him,” Julie said.

“You think I haven’t told him? I’ve begged him!” Marty insisted. “He doesn’t care. He thinks it’s funny. He tells me to relax. Don’t you get sick of Billy sometimes?” Marty asked Julie.

“Uh, yeah. But not for the same reasons…”

“Well, what reasons?”

He’s too fertile. I’m too fertile with him. He’s too romantic, like we’re still in high school, doing it in the backseat of a car, like two kids who can’t help it, can’t stop it from happening. He’s disgustingly optimistic, like the world we live in doesn’t even exist—the world of too many bills, too little pay. She’d give anything if Billy worked only for F.D. and actually had days off to help around the house, help with the kids. But she said, “Well, some of the same reasons, but…”

“But?”

She shrugged. “That stuff doesn’t get to me so much.” Because I have real problems, she thought, feeling angry and envious. A house that’s too small with a mortgage too big, cars that are too old, out of control bills…“Okay, some of that stuff gets to me. But, Marty, it looks like you and Joe have a pretty good life.”

“Because we have a boat?” she asked. “Jules, I didn’t want a boat. And I’d rather die than spend another week in that RV! I’d give anything for a vacation somewhere cool, just me and Joe. Like Hawaii or the Bahamas or something. I’d like to watch a movie that doesn’t involve fifty-seven people getting shot or out-of-control farts. I’d like to go out to dinner. Or to Las Vegas—to spend the night in a classy hotel, have a day at the spa, then lie by the pool—but Joe says, ‘Why go to Vegas to get a tan when we have a boat?’ Could it be because it’s up to me to shop, prepare food, fix everyone’s meals and then clean up everything when we bring the boat in? That’s not fun—it’s just more work!” Marty lifted some of her salad to her mouth, chewed and said, “You’re lucky. Billy still treats you as if he’d like you to marry him.”

Hmm, Julie thought. Why don’t I feel so lucky? Could it be because you can’t live on just love?

Chapter Three

Julie stopped off in the ladies’ room after lunch before leaving the restaurant. Right before she scrolled off some toilet paper, she prayed, Oh, God, let there be blood! But alas, it was what she knew it would be. She flushed and exited the stall. She met eyes in the mirror with Chelsea.

“Well,” Chelsea said, beaming. “We just keep crossing paths.”

They gave each other little cheek presses. “What are you doing here?” Julie asked.

“Lunch after a sales meeting,” she said. “Our dealership is just a few blocks away.”

“That’s right—you’re selling cars now,” Julie said.

“Well,” Chelsea said, laughing indulgently, “Hummers. And I’m a sales manager. My dealership won a couple of awards recently.”

Julie noticed that Chelsea wore a very attractive suit and her shoes were to die for. Julie no longer knew anything about brands—she’d been picking up her duds at Target when she had money to spare—but she knew they were tres expensive. Julie wore a sundress and sandals, each about three years old, the same thing she might wear for a trip to the grocery store. She felt as if she’d been thrown together out of a thrift shop. “Aren’t they kind of hard to sell these days? Hummers?”

“Nah,” Chelsea said, shaking her head dismissively. “Even in a down economy, we move a lot of them. People just love them. They think of it as a symbol of affluence—the bigger the better.”

“With gas prices so high?” Julie asked, noting all the little extras about Chelsea—manicured nails, shaped and waxed brows, highlighted curls, rich-looking makeup that appeared almost professional.

“I don’t think our sales have even dropped. What are you doing here today?”

“Lunch with the girls,” she said with a shrug. “It isn’t very often we can drag Beth out.”

“Oh. Sure. You’re looking very smart today,” Chelsea said. “Cool and comfortable and pretty.”

Julie immediately felt as if Chelsea was throwing her a bone. She said, “Thanks, that’s nice of you to say. I just grabbed this at Costco.” Then she thought, Why did I have to say that? Chelsea’s purse was worth Julie’s weekly household allowance. “Why did you leave that company you worked for before? Insurance, wasn’t it?”

“Health care,” she said, lifting a brow. “It was quite a while ago, actually. I’m just following the money, Jules. Health care is good, but there are a lot of business degrees in there humping for management. This is better.”

“Wasn’t it a hard transition? They don’t seem to have much in common…”

“On the surface, maybe. In the end, business is business. When I thought I needed a change, I started working weekends at the dealership, and when I’d made enough money to see the potential, I quit Health South and went full-time. Do you have any idea what the commission is on a Hummer? But what I’m really interested in is upper management, eventually a dealership.”

“A Hummer dealership? At twenty-nine?”

“It’s not going to happen next week,” Chelsea said with a laugh. “Listen, one of these times when you girls get together for lunch, give me a call, huh?”

“Sure,” Julie said, thinking, Never gonna happen. “Today was pretty last-minute. I don’t think it was even planned till ten this morning…”

“I’m flexible,” she said. “I have to run. The owner is waiting.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Julie said, busying herself at the sink. “Take it easy.” She washed her hands while the door closed behind Chelsea. All that kiss-kiss-call-me bullshit, she thought. They’d stopped fighting like cats in a sack the year after graduation, but little else had changed. Chelsea had been a cheerleader, too. She’d managed to stay friendly with Marty, but Chelsea had dated Billy during one of his rare and brief breakups with Julie, which had lost her any chance of being friends with Julie. Because of that, Cassie wrote her off. Beth had never cared about all that drama. And to this day Chelsea’s eyes lit up when she saw Billy. It made Julie furious.

But there was no question that Chelsea had made good. She, like Billy, had a degree in education. If it weren’t for the fact that Chelsea had gone to college full-time while Billy picked up night classes whenever he could, Julie would suspect her of following him into that major. Billy had gravitated toward industrial arts while Chelsea was elementary education. Neither of them had ever worked as teachers.

Like her or not, what Chelsea said got Julie thinking. Why wasn’t Billy doing something like that? Finding a field he could work in part-time, looking for a better opportunity, instead of cutting wood and countertops for extra money? Why wasn’t Billy following the money?