I have not written in this notebook since I learned Charles and his mistress were having a child. Why? Because other than an occasional update from Lester Conroy, I chose to ignore that part of my husband’s life. Four days a month hardly makes a life and the more energy I put into obsessing over the two of them, the more power I give to a relationship that means NOTHING. Now, it means less than nothing as new details of the bastard child’s birth have finally made Lester Conroy’s report. And oh, what lovely news it is. God has indeed been gracious in his judgment of the sinners. He has given them an imperfect child, a daughter who will require care as long as she lives, a child with Down Syndrome, a constant reminder of their transgressions. Amen to that. Oh yes, Amen indeed.
I’ve no need to watch the drama play out as they struggle for a normalcy that will never be theirs. Charles had Christine, the perfect daughter, and now he has an imperfect one. My Charles and his whore will know the agony of discontent and disillusion—for ever and ever. Amen.
Christine has married that mountain man. MY daughter has chosen “those people” over her mother and none of this would have happened if that damnable Harry Blacksworth had kept his mouth shut. But no, he just couldn’t stay quiet; a bastard to the end. He told Christine about our affair. Had I not been so desperate for affection, so distraught over Charles’s constant travel and aloof manner, I never would have let Harry Blacksworth touch me. Oh but I have known the pain of that regret. It is scorched on my soul but I must keep it hidden from the possibility of introspection and self-flagellation, for what good would it do?
Life has moved on and I have moved with it. The regrettable past has no purpose. Harry Blacksworth did not agree and his words damaged the fragile yet beautiful relationship I shared with my daughter. HE destroyed that and he will pay. They will all pay.
Nathan Desantro—the mountain man she chose for a husband.
Miriam Desantro—the whore.
Harry Blacksworth and Greta—they will pay too!
I will leave my mark on all of them, from the waitress in the diner to the old man who works for Nathan Desantro. I will have their names AND their secrets. They too will learn what it feels like to have their hearts ripped apart by a past that should never have resurfaced. I will gather their secrets and when the time is right, I’ll destroy them spread them all over that god-forsaken town and then we’ll see how wonderful a place Magdalena, NY is. Oh yes, we shall indeed see.
