“Yes, he did,” but Virginia still didn't know if Paris knew about the other woman, and she wasn't going to ask her. She had been through enough heartache. “Can we come over? Nat and I are just sitting here, worrying about you.”
“I don't want to see anyone,” she said honestly, although she had finally showered on Monday, and again that morning. “I look awful.”
“We don't care how you look. How are you feeling?”
“Like my life ended last Friday night. Life as I know it anyway. I wish he had just killed me. It would have been so much simpler.”
“I'm glad he didn't. Have you told Meg yet?”
“The kids have been great. Poor Wim, he must feel like he's running a psych ward. I keep promising him I'll get up, and I mean to, but it's just too much trouble.”
“We're coming over,” Virginia said in a determined voice, frowning meaningfully at Natalie across the table, and shaking her head, trying to give her a clue as to how Paris was doing. She wasn't.
“Don't. I need some time to catch my breath before I see anyone.” She felt humiliated and broken. And even her best friends couldn't fix it. No one could. She had gotten a message on the answering machine from the lawyer Peter had retained for her on Tuesday. And when she called him back, she had thrown up after their brief conversation. It didn't bode well for the future. He told her that Peter wanted to file the papers soon, and get the show on the road quickly. And as he said it, she had been overwhelmed by a wave of panic. It was like free-falling out of a plane without a parachute. The only way she could explain the feeling was terror. “I'll call you when I feel better.”
In the end, they left a bouquet of flowers, a note, and some magazines on her doorstep. They didn't want to intrude, but they were worried about her. They had never known a marriage as seemingly solid as the Armstrongs' to come apart at the seams as quickly. It was shocking. But they all knew it happened. Like death. Sometimes after a long illness, and sometimes with no warning. But always just as final. They all agreed that it had been a rotten thing for Peter to do to her, and none of them were anxious to meet Rachel. It was going to exclude him from the group that had been his friends for years, but Jim assured his wife it didn't seem to matter to him. He had a beautiful young woman on his arm, and a new life. He suspected that Peter wouldn't look back, or think twice about what he was doing. All Peter wanted now was Rachel. And all their friends could think about was Paris.
It was a month before Paris came out of seclusion finally, in time for Wim's graduation. Virginia saw her there, and nearly cried when she did. She was thin and pale, impeccably dressed as always, in a white linen dress and coat, her hair in a French twist, with pearls at her ears and around her neck, and dark glasses to conceal dark circles and the ravages of the past month. The hardest of all for her was seeing Peter there, she hadn't seen him since the morning he had left her. He had had her served with papers three weeks before, and she just stood there and sobbed, in her nightgown, when she took them. But there was no sign of her distress when she saw him. She stood tall and proud and poised, said hello to him, and walked away to stand with a handful of people she knew, and left him to congratulate his son. Peter seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits. The only one not surprised by it was Paris. She had fully understood in the past month that she had been totally and completely defeated. And all she wanted now was for no one to see it. Her friends were solicitous, and she managed to get through a dinner for Wim at a restaurant. He had invited a dozen of his friends, and Meg had come from Los Angeles. She had agreed to have dinner with her father in the city, and he had had the grace not to come to Wim's dinner. And by the time she got home that night, Paris was exhausted. She lay on her bed feeling as though she had had open heart surgery, as Meg watched her from the doorway. Wim had gone out with his friends, and she had come home to keep an eye on her mother. She was incredibly thin these days, and seemed frailer than Meg had ever seen her. The word Natalie had used that day was
“You okay, Mom?” Meg asked softly, and came to sit down on the bed next to her, looking worried.
