Introduction

“Happiness at someone else’s expense came at a price. Tia had imagined judgment from the first kiss that she and Nathan shared. All year, she’d waited to be punished for being in love, and in truth, she believed that whatever consequences came her way would be deserved.”

Five years ago, Tia fell into obsessive love with a man she could never have. Married, and the father of two boys, Nathan was unavailable in every way. When she became pregnant, he disappeared, and she gave up her baby for adoption.

Five years ago, Caroline, a dedicated pathologist, reluctantly adopted a baby to please her husband. She prayed her misgivings would disappear; instead, she’s questioning whether she’s cut out for the role of wife and mother.

Five years ago, Juliette considered her life ideal: she had a solid marriage, two beautiful young sons, and a thriving business. Then she discovered Nathan’s affair. He promised he’d never stray again, and she trusted him.

But when Juliette intercepts a letter to her husband from Tia that contains pictures of a child with a deep resemblance to her husband, her world crumbles once more. How could Nathan deny his daughter? And if he’s kept this a secret from her, what else is he hiding? Desperate for the truth, Juliette goes in search of the little girl. And before long, the three women and Nathan are on a collision course with consequences that none of them could have predicted.

Riveting and arresting, The Comfort of Lies explores the collateral damage of infidelity and the dark, private struggles many of us experience but rarely reveal.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

Tia

Happiness at someone else’s expense came at a price. Tia had imagined judgment from the first kiss that she and Nathan shared. All year she’d waited to be punished for being in love, and in truth, she believed that whatever consequences came her way would be deserved.

She felt vaguely queasy from the late Sunday lunch she and

Nathan had just shared. They'd ordered far too many courses; buttery appetizers, overdressed salad, and marbled meat roiled in her stomach.

Black Forest cake had left her mouth pasty with sugar and chocolate. Each time Nathan patted his thickening middle with chagrin, she worried that she’d become Nathan’s accomplice in more than one sin.

Since childhood, she’d hated heavy food. Instead of sharing this

lunch, she wished they could have waited until tomorrow to see each

other, when they could sit on a blanket watching reworks explode

on the Esplanade and listening to the Boston Pops. Thee Fourth of

July was a holiday without the burden of expectations; a perfect

celebration for them.

Nathan squeezed her hand as they walked toward her apartment. His obvious pride delighted her. She was twenty-four, he was thirty-seven, and this was the first time she’d been loved by a man of substance. Each time they met, she discovered new love-struck traits details she’d never admit to anyone, like the way his hands seemed more like a cowboy’s than a professor’s. Qualities that might seem ordinary to someone who’d grown up with a father, Tia added to her list of Nathan lore.

Last week, he’d seemed like Superman when he came over carrying a toolbox, planning to install a showerhead that sprayed more than a weak stream. Attached to the handle was a card where he'd written, “This is for you to keep here.”

The words made Tia feel as though he’d use it again.

No present could have pleased her more.

Mostly, she found Nathan perfect. Muscled arms. Wide back.

His sardonic New York edge, delivered with a crooked smile,

Worlds away from the street humor of the South Boston boys of her

youth, he cracked her up, while his innate competence wrapped her

in a thick blanket of security. Nathan’s too-rare presence oxygenated

her blood. When she ran her thumb up and down each of his fingers,

the universe existed in that physical connection. Her life had shrunk

to being with him.

She’d spent too many hours crying during this year of Nathan. A man with a family couldn’t spare a whole lot of attention.

When they reached the two-family house where she lived, Nathan

circled her from behind. She leaned back and caught his kiss on

the side of her neck. He ran his hands down the length of her body.

“I never tire of touching you,” he said.

“I hope that never changes.”

“People always change.” A look of discomfort crossed his face as

he disengaged from her. “You deserve so much.”

Did he think she deserved having him with her always? Tia put

the key in the door. She comforted herself with the thought that he

believed her worthy.

The moment they entered her apartment, Tia raced to the bath-

room; lately she always needed the bathroom. Afterward, she spent

a long time drying her hands and straightening an out-of-place

antique perfume bottle he’d bought her. She was constantly

rearranging things, trying to make the pink crystal fit in with her Ikea-ware

and her mother’s castoffs. Tia’s apartment became a stage set when

Nathan visited. She spent hours before he arrived imagining every book,

decoration, and poster through his eyes.

Nathan offered her a glass of wine when she joined him in the

living room. “Listen to this one,” he said. “I used an old Groucho line

today—I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member—to illustrate a point, and a student asked me who Groucho Marx was.”

Tia put out a refusing palm for the wine. “No thanks. I’m not in

the mood.”

“It made me feel about a hundred years old. Now, tell me the

absolute truth: You know who Groucho Marx was, right?” He pushed

the glass toward her. “At least taste it. It’s probably the smoothest

Merlot you’ll ever have.”

When she didn’t have wine at lunch, he hadn’t commented. “I’m

in the mood for a Pepsi,” she’d said. Maybe he thought she was acting

like a teenager and he found it cute. Sometimes it bothered her, the

things he found cute.

“You Bet Your Life,” she said. “Duck Soup. A Night at the Opera.”

“Thank you. My faith in young people is restored.”

“There aren’t that many years between us.” She hated when he

dwelled on their age difference. “God knows I’m older than your

students.”

“And sharper,” he said.

“That’s right. Don’t forget.”

The moment she shared her news, their romance would change

forever, not that it had ever had been sustainable as it was. From the

first time they slept together and he’d blurted out, “I’m crazy about

you,” she’d wanted more. First she’d wanted him in her bed all the

time, and then she wanted the ring on his finger to be from her.

When her need for him hit full throttle, she wanted the crease in his

pants to be put there by a dry cleaner she’d chosen, his shirt to smell

of detergent she’d chosen.

Tia looked straight at him. “I’m pregnant.”

He stood with his hand still extended, the wine sloshing against

the edge of the glass like a riptide.

Tia reached for the glass. “You’re going to drop it.” She put it next

to his on the coffee table.

“So that’s why you didn’t drink with dinner,” he said.

He delivered the words slowly, so slowly it terrified Tia. Despite

knowing how unlikely it was, she wanted to see a shy smile a TV

smile followed by a movie-style kiss. She put a hand over her still-flat

belly, nausea welling again. She pushed away thoughts of Nathan’s

wife. Much as she tried, Tia couldn’t stop thinking of Juliette—

where she was, where she believed her husband had gone but early

on, he’d made it clear that topic was off-limits.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“A few days. I wanted to tell you in person.”

He nodded, finished his wine, and then sat. He laced his fingers

and leaned over until his arms rested on his legs. He glanced up at

her, looking as stern as the professor he was. “You’re going to take

care of it, right?”

Tia sank into the armchair across from the couch. “Take care

of it?”

“Of course, take care of it.” He closed his eyes for one moment.

When he opened them, he sat up straighter. “What else can we do?

What else makes sense?”

“I can have it.” She wouldn’t cry. If nothing else good in this

damned world happened tonight, she’d keep from crying.

“Alone? Like your mother?” Nathan ran his hand over his chin.

“You of all people know what a hard road that is, right, sweetheart?”

“Where are you going to be? Are you planning to die? Disap-

pear?” Behind her brave front, Tia shrank to walnut size. She knew

where Nathan would be. He’d be in his beautiful house with Juliette.

The wife. The wife she’d once spied on. Thee wife who looked like sun

and sky, whose blonde shine had blinded Tia.

“I’ll pay for whatever you need to take care of . . .”

“Take care of, take care of,’” Tia mimicked. “Take care of what?”

She wanted to force him to say the word abortion.

“My sons are so young.”

Tia clutched the arm of the chair. She craved the forbidden wine.

“I can’t stretch between two families. Please. Look at what this

means,” he begged.

Dry skin peeled from her cracked thumb as she wrung her hands.

Already this pregnancy had changed her, somehow drying her out

while also making her pee twice an hour.

Nathan came and put his arms around her. “Pregnancy makes

women romanticize things. You think after seeing the baby, fatherly

love will overwhelm me and I’ll change my mind. But I can’t. I’m not

leaving my family. Wasn’t I always straight about that?”

Oh God. He was crying.

His family.

She’d thought she was having his family.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Finally she spoke. “I can’t do it, Nathan. What you’re asking I

can’t.”

Nathan drew away. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way we can

be together, Tia. Please. Take care of this. It’s the best thing for both

of us. Honestly.”

By her sixth month of pregnancy, discomfort had become Tia’s new

normal. Once upon a time so skinny that people pressed milkshakes

on her, now she lumbered. She stuck a cushion behind her as she

sat on the couch, surrounded by begging letters, photos, and essays

from couples hungry for her baby.

Tia had refused to “take care of this,” as Nathan wanted. St. Peter’s

nuns and Tia’s mother had done too good a job. She couldn’t rid her-

self of the pregnancy for fear of being haunted into the afterlife, and

she couldn’t find the courage to hold her child in this life, so here she

was, six months pregnant, choosing a mother and father for her baby.

Picking adoptive parents, she was faced with impossible choices.

She sorted through hundreds of letters from men and women desperate

for the baby growing inside her. Potential mothers and fathers

swam before her until she could barely remember who was the librarian

from Fall River and which was the couple reminiscent of her

scariest Sunday school teachers. They all promised nurturing love,

backyards the size of Minnesota, and Ivy League schools.

Afer three cups of sugary mint tea, missing coffee more with each

sip, Tia narrowed the choices to the three most likely couples. She

sifted through their pictures and letters, and then laid them out like

tarot cards. Then, with the fear of continuing to face this task hastening her decision, she picked the man and woman she deemed most likely to be good parents. She balanced their photos on her big belly and then moved them around like paper dolls, acting out everything they’d said during the phone conversation she’d had with them, both of them sounding so sure of themselves, so smart and together.

“Hello, Tia,” she imagined Paper Caroline’s voice squeaking.

“I want your baby. I’m a pathologist researching children’s cancer.

My husband has a very large family, and he’s always been drawn to

children.”

“Tell her about being a counselor at Paul Newman’s camp. What’s the

name? You know. Thee one for kids with cancer?” Paper Peter lay

a gentle hand on saintly Paper Caroline’s arm.

“The Hole in the Wall Gang.” Paper Caroline bowed her head so

as not to appear boastful.

A month later, when Caroline and Peter learned it was a girl, they

told Tia they were naming the baby Savannah. An idiotic name. Tia

called the baby inside her Honor, her mother’s middle name also

an idiotic name, but it wasn’t meant to be used out of utero, and be-

sides, idiotic or not, it certainly beat Savannah. Why not simply call

her Britney and be done with it? If she wasn’t so busy caring for her

ailing mother, she’d choose new parents for her daughter.

Tia stumbled as she fumed over the choice, bumping into a food

cart in the hall of the hospice that had become her mother’s home.

Clumsiness was Tia’s companion. Clumsiness, the constant need to

pee, and a life of seclusion. She’d gone from existing for Nathan’s

visits, to carrying a relentless reminder of him. Each time she stroked

her stomach, she felt as though she were caressing him. Hard as she

tried, she couldn’t replace sadness with hate.

Her mother was the only person with whom she spent time.

Every other friend from her past except for Robin, in California,

too far away to visit thought she’d gone to Arizona for a year to

work on a master's in gerontology, based on her work with the elderly. In reality, she moved to Jamaica Plain, an entirely different sort

of neighborhood from Southie.

Unlike her old neighborhood, where she’d see people she knew

on every street, Jamaica Plain was always in flux, a mix not just of

ethnicity and race, but of class, culture, and age. Her only acquaintance was the librarian, with whom she had a nodding hi, how are you,

relationship. JP was an easy place to remain anonymous.

She’d wanted to be where nobody knew her name. Being the

object of gossip or pity wasn’t in her plans. Her mother’s savings supported both of them Tia rarely left the house. Life became mainlining novels, watching TV, and caring for her mother, who’d moved in

with Tia until her pain overcame Tia’s nursing ability.

She crept into her mother’s room on angel feet. That’s what

her mother had called it when Tia the child tried to sneak into the

kitchen for extra cookies. “Sweet one, mothers can hear their children, even when they use their angel feet.”

Though Tia tried to pretend otherwise, her mother lay dying as

Tia’s baby grew.

“Mom?” she whispered.

The room remained silent. Tia dug her nails into her palms and

bent over the bed, watching until she saw the slight rise and fall of

her mother’s chest. Her mother was only forty-nine. Liver cancer

had overtaken her in a matter of months, although Tia suspected her

mother had hidden the truth for some time.

Her mother had been in hospice for twenty-three days. Maybe

the younger you were when you became sick, the longer you held

on, or maybe twenty-three days was average, normal whatever

you’d call the amount of time from entering a hospice until you died.

She couldn’t bring herself to find out. Perhaps if she had a sister or

brother who’d team up with her, she’d have the courage to ask such

a vulgar question, but it had always been just the two of them, Tia

and her mother.

Dying could be such a long process, which surprised Tia. You’d

think that working with the elderly would have taught her more

about death and dying, but she’d provided senior recreation, not

counseling. Word games were her specialty. In her work world, a client didn’t show up for Scrabble, and the next thing you knew, he or she was dead.

You didn’t see the person die.

Losing her mother seemed impossible, as though someone

planned to cut the string that held Tia to earth. She’d be floating

without ballast. Tia had none of the usual family: no aunts, no

uncles, no cousins her mother filled all those roles.

Tia settled into the chair next to her mother’s bed. She wondered

why, when they so stressed comfort, the hospice didn’t provide

chairs where a pregnant woman could sit pain free. She slipped a paperback from her tote: a mystery so simple that even if she retained

only a quarter of what she read, she could still track the plot. Her

mother’s copy of Jane Eyre, complete with the magical happy ending,

was in her bag, but she saved that to read aloud to her mother after

supper.

Her mother opened her eyes. “Been here long, sweetheart?” She

reached for Tia’s hand. “Tired?”

Tia ran a hand over her large belly. “Always.”

“You don’t have to come here every night, you know.”

Her mother repeated this daily. It was her version of “I’m worried

about you.”

“Tired isn’t life threatening.”

“When you’re pregnant ”

“When you’re pregnant, it’s what you are. Remember?” Tia asked.

“Was it like that for you? Did I drive you crazy even before I was born?”

Her mother struggled to sit up. Tia offered a hand for leverage and then

tucked pillows behind her mother’s back. Her mother’s skin, once such a pretty, pink-tinged white pale Irish skin that burned with one wink from the sun; that was how her mother described herself now looked mean yellow against the sheets.

“I remember everything about being pregnant,” her mother said.

“Are you going to be able to forget?”

“Mom, please don’t,” Tia said.

“I have to, honey.” Her mother retrieved her glasses from the

metal tray attached to the bed. Once the wire rims were firmly in

place, she looked healthier. Glasses, jewelry, and other accoutre-

ments seemed like totems against death. Tia constantly bought

bright trinkets to cheer her mother. Electric blue beads threaded

onto silver cord clanked around her mother’s wrist. “They match

your eyes,” Tia had said, after buying them the previous week.

“Why don’t I get you some ice water?” Tia said.

“Don’t run away. Listen to me. You need to face how sorry you’ll

be if you go through with this.”

This was the word her mother used to describe Tia’s plan to give

up her baby for adoption.

“I’d be a horrible mother,” Tia said.

“You think that now. Wait until you hold your baby.”

Each skirmish in her mother’s battle to stop the adoption made

Tia feel worse. Every reason Tia laid out sounded lamer than the last.

“I’ll be a bad mother.”

“I don’t have enough money.”

“I’m too ashamed of not knowing who the father is.”

Rather than telling her mother the truth, Tia pretended to be a

woman who’d slept with too many men and, thus, didn’t know the

identity of her baby’s father. The horror of that lie was still better

than the truth. She couldn’t bear telling her mother she’d been sleeping

with a married man and had tried to steal him.

Everything she said sounded ridiculous. Maybe she’d be a bad

mother, God knows she had no money, and immature should be her

middle name, but if that were all it took to give up a baby, the world

would be filled with orphans.

Tia caressed her belly. Sweet little baby, I’m sorry.

Tia had grown up in the wake of her father’s vanishing. In a

vacuum of knowledge, her mother assumed he’d chosen a life with

another woman living a life with more fun and liquor than Tia’s

puritanical mother would accept. In her mother’s estimation, sleeping with a married man was a sin only exceeded by abortion.

Without the truth, Tia could offer no reasoning that would make

sense. How could she admit that she was giving up a child whose

existence would remind her of a man she loved, but could never

have? How could Tia say this to her mother when Tia had no idea if

she was being the most selfish she’d ever been, or the most selfless?

“The baby will have a better life than I’ll ever be able to give her,”

Tia said. “Really, Mom. You saw their letter, the pictures. The baby

will have good parents.”

Her mother’s eyes watered. Tia’s mother never cried. Not when

Tia broke her leg so badly that the bone stuck out. Not when she

found out about the cancer. And not when Tia’s father left, at least

not in front of Tia.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother blinked, and the tears disappeared.

“Sorry? God, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Her mother folded her arms and clutched her elbows. “I must

have done something awful to have you believe your baby will do

better without you. Do you think your life at this moment is as

well as you’ll ever do? Don’t you see that your future lies in front

of you?”

Tia shrugged as though she were a child shutting down against

shame, aching at the thought that she might let her mother die thinking she’d failed in raising her.

“Mom, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I just don’t think it’s my path.” Tia covered her belly with both

hands. Every lie she told felt as though she were pushing her mother

further away, now when they needed closeness more than ever. “I

don’t think she’s meant to be mine.”

“Please don’t make your decision yet. Something’s tormenting

you, and I know it’s not what you’re telling me. That’s okay. But believe me, if you pick giving in to your pain over choosing your baby,

you’ll never recover from either.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Discuss the epigraph of the novel, and whether you agree with this statement. Over the course of the novel, are lies shown to be a comfort to the person telling them or to the person hearing them? In general, do you think that there are situations in which telling the truth provides more comfort to the person delivering it, rather than the person hearing it?

2. Of the three female protagonists, which did you most identify with, and why?

3. As you were reading, did you feel compelled to take sides between Juliette or Tia? Did you empathize more with one or the other?

4. On page 82, Caroline describes her experience of her father’s love, saying, “No one in the family resented that his deepest energies were saved for his work. They didn’t confuse his love and his energy.” Do you think the same kind of parenting style can be as effortlessly achieved by a mother? Must one parent be “stay-at-home” for this to work?

5. As a group, read aloud Juliette and Nathan’s argument on p. 129-130. Who did you identify with more in this scene? How is the way that each character handles confrontation illustrative of their personality?

6. Discuss the role of religion in the novel. How does it affect Tia and Nathan, in particular?

7. Compare and contrast Juliette’s relationship with her mother and her parents’ marriage with what we know about Tia’s mother and father. How does each woman’s model of a romantic partnership affect what they seek in men?

8. Why, in his own words, does Nathan cheat? (You might turn to p. 219 and 252-253.) Do you believe that women cheat for the same reasons as men? Consider Caroline’s relationship with Jonah. Why do you think she stops herself when she does – and did she still cross a boundary she should not have?

9. Do you think that “emotional cheating” is ultimately different from physical cheating? What about lying versus “lying by omission”?

10. How does each woman respond to stress? Look at specific examples in the text. Who did you most relate to in this way?

11. Forgiveness is an undercurrent throughout the novel. Who is seeking forgiveness from whom?

12. Consider Nathan’s assessment on p. 252 that, “Juliette never let go of the why, which seemed to bother her more than the actuality. She searched for a reason that would put his infidelity into a paradigm she could understand and thus prevent from happening ever again. As though if he revealed the truth, she’d then understand how to prevent him from straying.” Do you think that understanding why something happened is necessary to fully forgive what actually happened?

13. Turn to Caroline and Peter’s conversation on p. 262. Does the fact that Savannah is adopted affect how Caroline thinks about being a mother – does it make it seem more like a daily choice she must make, rather than a state of being?

14. Legality aside, do you believe that Tia should have had any right to claim custody of Honor/Savannah? Does Juliette have a right to know Savannah?

15. Consider where Tia, Juliette, and Caroline are at the novel’s close. Do they seem somehow better off than they were at the novel’s beginning? Does the old saying, “The truth will set you free” apply to these three women?

Enhance Your Reading Group

1. Consider reading Randy Susan Meyers’ first novel, The Murderer’s Daughters, as a group. Compare and contrast the ways that Meyers tackles the issues of guilt and forgiveness in this novel, as well as in The Comfort of Lies. In each book, how does she illustrate the ways that a single action can have repercussions across multiple years and lives?
2. For some brief moments in the novel, we hear Nathan’s point of view. Which of the other male characters’ perspectives would you have wanted to read? For example, what do you imagine Peter would say after his conversation with Caroline on p. 226-227?
3. Pretend you’re casting the movie version of The Comfort of Lies. Who would play each protagonist? Who would you cast as Nathan?

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