Haywire Brooke Hayward (my miracle luna book free read TXT) 📖

agency business. I thought it was unfortunate, and in a way arrogant of Maggie, that without consulting Leland, without thinking of Leland’s wishes, she went and bought a house in Connecticut when his whole life was in California. To go and buy a house because you have independent means and yank your children away from the center of their existence and the center of your husband’s existence is certainly a very destructive step.

“Things began to go wrong because Leland was alone so much of the time in California, and it was quite natural for him to see other people. According to Maggie, she began to have great emotional difficulty when he began to go around with Slim. But I think that all goes back to Maggie’s image of herself as a femme fatale, I know she would never have worded it that way, but the thought that she could be rejected by a man was absolutely out of the question, because it had never happened before. I remember she told me once that she was brought up in the South with the understanding that a woman has to be enchanting, that she had to charm every man she ever came across no matter what the circumstances. The enigma of Maggie. She was like a Fitzgerald creature, the Southern belle. But there was nothing substantial about her flirtatiousness; it didn’t mean anything. It was a reflex action. Now, in Maggie’s career, and as a woman, she had always been the siren, and here, suddenly, was Maggie reaching the age of forty, wasn’t she, and her husband was more interested in another woman and she heard rumors all over about it. Of course nobody in the world would be as hurt by infidelity from a husband as Maggie. Nobody in the world. To her it was a most shattering blow. Her pride was utterly devastated. I think this was the most needless divorce, because they were crazy about each other. Even when she was divorced and had given him up, she still wanted him.…”

Years later, Sara Mankiewicz said:

“She was always madly in love with your father. The divorce came as a most terrible shock to her. You see, she told him to leave. This was her idea in the beginning. He didn’t want the marriage to break up for anything. Then she had dreams of a reconciliation. Everything was going to be happy and wonderful, she was looking forward to it, and I think that’s when he told her, ‘Look, this is just no good. Let’s not pretend.’ And that afternoon I went up there, she told me, ‘He doesn’t really want a reconciliation. He really said he doesn’t want to be married to me.’ It was absolutely chilling. She was miserable, she was unhappy, she was disappointed, and that really, I think, was the beginning of the end.…”

Years later, many people said many things. But a few hours later, when Mother had gone out to dinner and we were eating alone, Emily said that she was shocked, simply shocked, she had no idea. Usually in such a close household—certainly in every other household she’d worked in—but here there was no inkling, she had never heard Mr. and Mrs. Hayward raise their voices in any bad arguments, just the ordinary everyday ones, the normal wear and tear. Not even from the deepest recesses of the house late at night when the children were asleep, when most people yell at each other if they’re going to.

Bridget pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate, mounding them over the uneaten part of her hamburger. Using her fork as a trowel, she patted them into a castle, than squashed the castle into a crater so that melted butter slid down the sides and congealed in the fork grooves. She stuck the rest of her string beans on top like spikes.

“Stop playing with your food,” Emily reprimanded automatically. She sighed. “That just shows you what remarkable parents you have. Both wonderful people, the most thoughtful people I’ve ever worked for. They kept their problems to themselves, didn’t want to inflict them on anyone else. That’s good breeding, good manners. Neither one of them ever complained or spoke a bad word behind the other’s back.”

We had never heard Emily so upset, and were very impressed.

“Maybe they were trying to set a good example,” suggested Bill.

“Yes,” said Emily. “That’s right. Good Lord, I’ll miss Mr. Hayward. Such a gentleman. It won’t be the same, not having him to boss around just like one of you. Always sneaking cigarettes from me, bless his heart. Now I won’t have anyone to make coffee for except myself. Won’t be the same. And Mrs. Hayward, she must be heartbroken, but I’ve never seen her act sorry for herself. Not once in all the time I’ve been with you.”

“Do I have to drink all my milk tonight?” asked Bill, batting his long curly eyelashes at Emily.

“Shut up, Bill, you’re interrupting,” I interjected impatiently.

“Now, now,” said Emily. “First of all, what’s the matter with your milk, Bill? And secondly, young lady, we don’t allow ‘shut up’ around here.”

“Be quiet, then,” I muttered, wishing Emily would get back to the topic of Mother and Father.

“It’s too warm now,” Bill continued, “and I hate warm—”

“That’s because you’ve let it sit for half an hour—no wonder,” I retorted.

“Who’s interrupting who?” asked Bridget slyly.

“Who asked you to butt in?”

“And there’s disgusting yellow stuff floating around on top,” went on Bill, unperturbed.

“That’s just cream.” Emily tasted his milk. “Ummmm. Delicious.”

“I’m full,” said Bill. “Just tonight. Please?”

“No dessert, then,” sang Bridget, virtuously looking at her empty glass.

“Children.” Emily shook her head with resignation. “You must all be worn out—I can always tell when you get snippy. Why don’t you excuse yourselves nicely from the table and I’ll run you a hot bath. Now, tomorrow—this will be a hard time for Mrs. Hayward. We must all treat her extra special nice.”

“Oh, Emily,” we said, “we know that.”

At bedtime, after Emily had