Garden of Lies Read Free

way. Warm liquid, what felt like a
    river of it, gushed between her thighs.
    Sylvie staggered as if someone had struck her. She felt her heart bump up into her throat. Then
    she stared down, horrified at the spreading, darkening stain on the beige carpet. Her water had
    broken. Dear God! She felt as ashamed as when she’d wet herself as a child in school.
    Icy dread sluiced through her.
    This was it, no more pretending to be delighted, overjoyed even, reassuring herself the baby
    was Gerald’s, had to be Gerald’s. Now the truth. Fear closed about her heart like a cold fist. It
    might not be Gerald’s. And, oh God in heaven, if it wasn’t ... if it looked [5] like Nikos? Eyes
    black, with his coffee skin and springy black hair ...
    No, she had to shut that out, slam the door on it.
    Sylvie, struggling to calm herself, peered into the mirror. This time she saw not Alice, but a
    puffy, blurred face floating above a grossly misshapen body. She felt strangely detached, as if she
    were gazing at some exotic specimen of marine life in an aquarium. Or a drowned woman, her
    face a watery gray-green, filaments of red-blond hair drifting about her pale neck like seaweed.
    “Madame ... are you all right?” An anxious voice reached through the green depths to her.
    Sylvie turned to find the henna-haired salesclerk gaping at her, eyes boggling behind cat’s-eye
    glasses, the clown spots of orange rouge on her sagging cheeks now a dark blood red.
    Yes, that’s where she was. Bergdorf’s, Hats. The green or the blue? She lifted the blue hat from
    its stand on the glass countertop, fingering its veil. Cunning, the way little beads of jet had been
    sewn into the netting to make it sparkle. ...
    “Madame?” Plump fingers gripped her arm.
    Sylvie, forcing herself, managed to resist the current that kept pulling at her.
    She opened her mouth to say she was fine, please don’t make a fuss.
    Then in the pit of her stomach she felt a thump that spiraled up into a wave of dizziness. No,
    she was not all right. No, definitely not.
    Her knees began to buckle. She clutched the edge of the counter, steadying herself, and was
    confronted by a row of dummy heads, each sporting a different hat. Their smooth eyeless faces
    sent a chill through her. They seemed to be accusing her, a jury rendering a verdict: guilty.
    If only Gerald were here! He would know what to do. He could summon a maitre d’ just by
    raising his eyebrow. A flick of his finger and like magic a taxi would materialize from snarling
    traffic. A single look from Gerald at the bank could bring clerks, cashiers, loan officers scurrying.
    But no, wrong, Gerald must not know. Thank God he’d still be in Boston until tomorrow ...
    bank business ... about war bonds or something.
    [6] Sylvie covered her mouth, one hand clapped over the other as hysterical laughter bubbled to
    her lips. The one person she needed, depended on ... now, when she needed him most, she dared
    not turn to him.
    How could she have done this to him? How?
    Gerald was so good. Always. Her headaches—when she had one, even the slightest little noise
    set off an avalanche inside her skull and, God bless him, Gerald made sure that he and the help
    moved about the house silent as shadows.
    Sylvie thought of the days when not just her head, but her feet, her whole body had constantly
    ached, when a cab ride seemed the most heavenly luxury. Standing all day passing money
    through the grille of her teller’s cage, stampeded in the subway, and then home, climbing the
    cabbage-smelling stairs, six never-ending flights, every blessed night.
    Exhausted, wondering how much longer she could manage to stand on her feet, Sylvie felt as if
    she’d just now climbed those stairs. She shivered. Why was it so cold? The hottest day of the
    year, the radio had said, and yet the store felt like an icebox.
    “Should I call a doctor?” The salesclerk’s shrill voice broke in on her.
    “No, I ...”
    The ache in the small of her