Kitty's Saga Chapter Sixteen: Indiscretion Covered By Indulgences

Kitty discovered that the enrollment process moved considerably faster when tuition could be paid in cash.

Gavin was remarkably eager to finance her graduate education.

Not because Kitty wanted it, of course.

Gavin had always been embarrassed by the bachelor's degree attached to the mother of "his son." Whenever some application or school form required him to list Kitty's education, he seemed personally offended by having to check the bachelor's box.

A master's degree would look better.

For Guy.

Gavin would do almost anything to improve Guy's standing in the world, apparently including financing Kitty's education and continuing the increasingly absurd pretense that they were still a couple.

Any benefit Kitty received was incidental.

Neither of them needed to say that aloud.

Kitty had long understood her position in the Alton family.

She was an afterthought.

Her graduate program would take approximately a year, and Kitty assumed it would probably be the last degree she ever pursued. She had once loved university life, or at least what it represented: possibility, reinvention, movement.

This time felt different.

Kitty was older.

She was a mother.

She arrived on campus in expensive clothes, sometimes stepping out of a car Gavin had paid for, carrying accessories she'd never have dreamed of owning during her undergraduate years.

People noticed.

Some of the students and even members of the staff seemed to make assumptions about her immediately. Remarks about her "privileged life" appeared often enough that Kitty initially found them funny.

If only they knew.

If only they could see the government housing.

Pam.

The locked bedroom door.

The Greyhound bus.

The student loans.

The thrift-store sofa.

The years Kitty had spent counting every dollar.

There was something almost comical about being treated as though she'd floated into adulthood on inherited money simply because Gavin had spent the last several years dressing her like someone who had.

Eventually, however, the comments stopped being amusing.

Some were openly hostile.

Kitty increasingly felt unwelcome in a place that had once represented freedom.

By the end of her first weeks, she was already counting the months until graduation.

After one particularly miserable day, Kitty made the mistake of telling Gavin.

She didn't want advice.

She didn't want a solution.

She simply wanted someone to say, That sounds awful.

Gavin couldn't manage even that.

Instead, he frowned.

"This sounds like you're making excuses to quit."

Kitty stared at him.

She hadn't mentioned quitting.

Not once.

Gavin continued.

"I worried sending you back would turn out to be a bad investment."

Investment.

The word landed harder than Kitty expected.

She went to bed early.

For all Gavin's money, for all the things he could buy and arrange and improve, he seemed incapable of offering the one thing Kitty occasionally wanted from him.

Sympathy.

No matter how trivial her problem, Gavin never seemed interested in standing beside her against it.

He was always the first person to point out how she might fail.

Lying in the darkness, Kitty briefly imagined Stafford beside her instead.

Stafford would have understood.

Kitty almost laughed at herself.

No, he wouldn't.

Stafford wouldn't have listened long enough to understand.

Stafford tolerated conversations primarily when there was something in them for Stafford.

At least Gavin cared enough about Kitty's failures to resent her for them.

Stafford probably wouldn't expend the energy.

It was a depressing measure of the men in her life.

The following day brought an unexpected ally.

Opal.

During one of her usual visits to the condominium, Opal mentioned that Gavin had told her Kitty wasn't "handling school well."

Kitty felt an immediate flare of irritation.

Apparently, after she'd gone to bed, Gavin had called his mother to discuss her inadequacies.

Then Opal surprised her.

"I think he's being unfair."

Kitty looked at her.

Opal sat down.

"After a woman passes into her thirties, everybody has an opinion about everything she does."

Kitty wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.

Opal continued.

Too old for certain clothes.

Too old for certain hairstyles.

Too old to start over.

Too old to behave foolishly.

Too old to be desirable without trying too hard to remain desirable.

Too old to complain about becoming invisible.

Kitty listened.

For perhaps the first time since they'd met, she saw Opal not as Gavin's mother but as a woman.

A lonely one.

Kitty had always regarded her as a flighty empty nester who had failed to develop a life of her own and therefore invaded her son's.

She had never considered why.

"How do you deal with it?" Kitty asked.

Opal looked down at her hands.

"I don't always."

Something in her voice changed.

The confidence disappeared.

For a moment, Kitty saw exhaustion there.

Defeat.

Perhaps even depression.

Kitty felt a small stab of shame.

All these years, she had regarded Opal as an annoyance.

It had never occurred to her that Opal might be miserable too.

Worse, Kitty wondered whether she herself had contributed to it.

She had dismissed Opal countless times as a hanger-on, an interfering mother, another member of Gavin's little alliance against her.

Perhaps all of those things had been true.

But they weren't the entire truth.

Opal took Guy to preschool, leaving Kitty alone to prepare for the day.

Kitty spent much of the morning thinking about their conversation.

When Opal returned, Kitty stopped her.

"What do you want to do?"

Opal looked confused.

"For yourself," Kitty clarified. "Not for Gavin. Not for Guy. You."

Opal sat down as though answering required enormous concentration.

Eventually, she admitted that she'd been considering moving to Florida.

A retirement community.

Somewhere warm.

Somewhere with people her own age.

She'd been looking at places for months.

"Why haven't you gone?"

"Gavin won't like it."

Kitty almost smiled.

There it was.

Different women.

Same Gavin.

"Then let's go look."

Opal blinked.

Kitty proposed a family vacation to Florida. They could tour several communities while they were there.

She expected convincing Gavin to be difficult.

Mother and son had always been thick as thieves.

Instead, when they presented the idea over dinner, Gavin agreed almost immediately.

Kitty glanced at Opal.

Perhaps Gavin had grown tired of his mother's constant presence too.

Two weeks later, after a direct flight south, the Alton entourage arrived in Florida.

Something peculiar had happened in the meantime.

Kitty and Opal had become friends.

Not merely tolerant.

Not allies of convenience.

Friends.

The nanny now occupied the awkward peripheral position Kitty herself had known so well.

At the airport, Opal leaned toward Kitty.

"Have you ever noticed that those two only talk to each other?"

Kitty followed her gaze.

Gavin and Guy were huddled together near the gate, deep in their own conversation.

The nanny stood several feet away.

Excluded.

Kitty knew the feeling.

Even Opal seemed outside the circle now.

It was strange.

Over the course of the trip, Kitty and Opal developed a running joke about the nanny's obsession with her appearance. The woman seemed incapable of passing anything reflective without checking herself in it.

At one point, she became so absorbed in adjusting her makeup in a storefront window that the rest of the family walked away without her.

Kitty eventually had to go back.

"Come on," she called. "We're leaving."

By evening, everyone was checked into a beachfront hotel.

Kitty and Opal were exhausted.

Guy went to bed.

Kitty followed soon afterward.

Gavin remained awake.

That was unusual.

He was ordinarily the first person to retire for the evening.

Kitty noticed the discrepancy and immediately dismissed it.

They were on vacation.

Schedules changed.

Besides, the nanny was there. For once, Kitty might actually get some time to herself during the day.

She found herself wishing Stafford were with her instead.

Stafford, at least, would have demonstrated some interest in being alone with her.

Gavin possessed all the sexual magnetism of a geriatric eunuch.

The next morning began shortly after sunrise.

Opal woke first.

Then Kitty.

Then Guy.

They decided to let Gavin sleep.

The nanny was several floors below them, so they didn't bother waking her either.

The three ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant and then headed for the beach.

Opal and Guy preferred staying close to the hotel. Both tired easily.

Kitty did not.

After helping them settle near a wading area, she walked toward the water.

Then she swam.

Really swam.

Farther than she usually allowed herself.

The water surrounded her, cool and enormous, and for a little while Kitty felt strangely weightless.

No Gavin.

No Stafford.

No school.

No money.

No elaborate social arrangements.

Just water.

When she finally returned to her towel, she discovered a tiny dog chewing enthusiastically on one of her sandals.

Kitty stopped.

The dog stared at her.

Beside it lay her tote bag.

The animal had defecated on it.

Kitty burst out laughing.

The dog fled with the guilty speed of a criminal caught in the act.

Opal and Guy were still nearby.

Kitty held up the ruined bag as she approached them.

"You two aren't going to believe this."

Guy laughed when she explained.

Kitty looked at him.

For all the tension surrounding his birth, all the years of quiet competition between herself and Gavin, Guy was simply Guy.

He had Gavin's features.

But that laugh belonged partly to her.

Kitty sometimes feared Gavin would shape him entirely in his own image.

Standing there, she realized something.

Guy would grow up.

One day he would become his own person.

Not Gavin's creation.

Not Kitty's either.

A person with thoughts and choices neither parent could dictate.

The realization gave her an unexpected sense of hope.

Kitty returned to the hotel carrying her foul-smelling tote.

There was no hurry.

Opal's next retirement-community tour wasn't scheduled until after lunch.

Kitty intended to take a long, hot shower and perhaps do absolutely nothing for an hour.

She entered the suite quietly.

Gavin was probably still sleeping.

Kitty crept toward the bedroom to retrieve clean clothes.

She opened the door.

Then stopped.

For several seconds, her mind refused to interpret what her eyes were seeing.

Gavin was in bed.

So was the nanny.

The nanny was naked.

Gavin was not entirely dressed himself.

Both stared at Kitty.

Kitty stared back.

"Oh."

It was the only sound she managed.

Then she closed the door.

She walked away.

Her ruined tote remained clutched in one hand, still decorated with the evidence of a stranger's dog.

Somewhere between the bedroom and the elevator, Kitty felt something sharp in her chest.

Pain.

Not much.

Just enough to surprise her.

Then came something else.

Relief.

So.

He had finally done it.

Gavin and the nanny.

How painfully predictable.

How completely cliché.

Kitty pressed the elevator button.

"Kitty!"

She didn't turn around immediately.

"Kitty, wait!"

Gavin came running down the hallway wearing nothing but an unbuttoned pajama shirt and a bath towel clutched around his waist.

Kitty stopped.

She wasn't sure why.

"I'm sorry."

Gavin looked genuinely panicked.

"Please. I'm sorry."

Kitty stared at him.

For years, she had wondered how she would feel if Gavin cheated on her.

Apparently, this was it.

Almost nothing.

"I forgive you," she murmured.

Gavin stared at her.

"Be mad at me."

"What?"

"Be mad. Yell at me. I know I'm wrong."

Kitty almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

She couldn't manufacture outrage simply because Gavin wanted it.

Besides, who was she to condemn him?

Stafford existed.

Hotels existed.

Marnie existed.

Kitty had been betraying Gavin for years.

The only difference was that Gavin had finally caught up.

"I'm not mad."

"How can you not be mad?"

"Because this was going to happen today, tomorrow, or eventually."

Gavin's face tightened.

"We've grown apart."

There.

The truth.

Simple enough when spoken aloud.

Gavin looked as though he were struggling not to become angry with himself.

"I'll do anything. I'll make it up to you. Just tell me how we go on after this."

Then he hesitated.

"I want you to know..."

Kitty waited.

"I love her."

That surprised her.

"We've been together since the beginning."

Kitty stared at him.

The beginning?

How long had that been?

She decided she didn't particularly care.

Instead, Kitty considered what she wanted.

"I need time."

Gavin nodded.

"I can't go back home and pretend I don't know this. I need some time away."

"How much?"

"I don't know."

That was the truth too.

"I'm going to leave for a while. I'll come back when this blows over."

Kitty glanced toward the bedroom.

Then back at Gavin.

"For what it's worth, I think you should stay with her."

Gavin said nothing.

"I'd be happier knowing you had someone."

And there it was.

The final sentence of their relationship.

Gavin returned to the suite and came back with a platinum credit card.

He pressed it into Kitty's hand.

Of course he did.

Even now, Gavin's instinct was to solve the moment with money.

He promised to tell Guy and Opal that Kitty had been called away because of a family emergency.

Kitty left.

She didn't say goodbye to Guy.

She couldn't.

If she saw him, she might stop.

Within hours, she was on a plane to Ohio.

When Kitty stepped off the aircraft, she was still wearing her beach cover-up.

There was sand trapped inside her bathing suit.

Her only luggage was a purse.

She smelled faintly of seawater and, despite her best efforts, old sweat.

Kitty had fled one of the most expensive vacations of her life looking like she'd been shipwrecked.

At the airport, she walked toward the rental-car counter and considered her options.

Pam was only a few hours away at the halfway house.

That was where she should go.

Kitty could rent a room nearby.

See her sister when visitation allowed.

Think.

Decompress.

Decide what came next.

That was the responsible choice.

She owed Guy that much.

The rental-car line barely moved.

Kitty became increasingly conscious of the smell of saltwater clinging to her.

She pulled out her phone to distract herself.

No calls from Gavin.

Kitty stared at the screen.

Nothing.

She wondered whether he'd gone straight back to bed with the nanny after pushing the platinum card into her hand.

Then, almost without realizing it, Kitty opened her contacts.

Stafford.

She pressed Call.

He answered quickly.

"Hello?"

He sounded confused.

Kitty seldom called him during the workweek. Most of their communication consisted of carefully timed text messages.

"Stafford."

"What's wrong?"

Kitty looked toward the rental-car counter.

Pam was a few hours away.

Guy was in Florida.

Gavin was with another woman.

Kitty had no luggage.

No plan.

No reason whatsoever to do what she was about to do.

She smiled.

"Do you want to go to Seattle with me?"

Silence.

Kitty continued before reason could interfere.

"I have two tickets. We can leave tonight."

There was movement on Stafford's end of the call.

Papers shuffling.

A chair moving.

Kitty imagined him sitting in his office, processing the insanity of the proposition.

"Okay," Stafford said.

"Sure."

Kitty stepped out of the rental-car line.

She walked toward the booking counter.

Only hours earlier, she had been standing barefoot on a Florida beach believing the most significant thing that would happen that day was a dog ruining her tote bag.

Now her relationship was over.

Her son was hundreds of miles away.

And she was about to cross the country with a married man.

It was reckless.

Selfish.

Possibly disastrous.

Kitty knew that.

For once, she didn't care.

She reached the counter with Gavin's platinum card still in her hand.

"Seattle," she said.