Книга - The View From Alameda Island
The View From Alameda Island
Robyn Carr
The new novel from New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr. Pre-order your copy now!
A poignant and powerful story about how one woman’s best intentions lead to the worst of situations, and how love helps her to heal and ultimately triumph.
From the outside looking in, Lauren Delaney has a life to envy—a successful career, a solid marriage to a prominent surgeon and two beautiful daughters who are off to good colleges. But on her twenty-fourth wedding anniversary Lauren makes a decision that will change everything.
Lauren won’t pretend things are perfect anymore. She defies the controlling husband who has privately mistreated her throughout their marriage and files for divorce. And as she starts her new life, she meets a kindred spirit—a man who is also struggling with the decision to end his unhappy marriage.
But Lauren’s husband wants his “perfect” life back and his actions are shocking. Facing an uncertain future, Lauren discovers an inner strength she didn’t know she had as she fights for the love and happiness she deserves.
Also By Robyn Carr (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
Sullivan’s Crossing
THE BEST OF US
THE FAMILY GATHERING
ANY DAY NOW
WHAT WE FIND
Thunder Point
WILDEST DREAMS
A NEW HOPE
ONE WISH
THE HOMECOMING
THE PROMISE
THE CHANCE
THE HERO
THE NEWCOMER
THE WANDERER
Virgin River
MY KIND OF CHRISTMAS
SUNRISE POINT
REDWOOD BEND
HIDDEN SUMMIT
BRING ME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
HARVEST MOON
WILD MAN CREEK
PROMISE CANYON
MOONLIGHT ROAD
ANGEL’S PEAK
FORBIDDEN FALLS
PARADISE VALLEY
TEMPTATION RIDGE
SECOND CHANCE PASS
A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS
WHISPERING ROCK
SHELTER MOUNTAIN
VIRGIN RIVER
Grace Valley
DEEP IN THE VALLEY
JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN
DOWN BY THE RIVER
Novels
THE SUMMER THAT MADE US
THE LIFE SHE WANTS
FOUR FRIENDS
A SUMMER IN SONOMA
NEVER TOO LATE
SWEPT AWAY (formerly titled RUNAWAY MISTRESS)
BLUE SKIES
THE WEDDING PARTY
THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The View from Alameda Island
Robyn Carr
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08381-2
THE VIEW FROM ALAMEDA ISLAND
© 2019 Robyn Carr
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Phyllis and Eric Preston, with affection.
Contents
Cover (#u53823e95-cf93-5d2a-90bf-0ef801272bbd)
Back Cover Text (#ue65b5733-5408-55e8-80fd-181249715f21)
Booklist (#u13c16ddc-9505-57a6-9008-8ba8cb5c2d45)
Title Page (#u457a90a1-a7ca-5835-9488-daf75eedd987)
Copyright (#u00a05c75-265f-5473-9cec-067af80e6de6)
Dedication (#ue24232dd-d2d3-5111-b896-9dfc5b57795b)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub2e23d25-feaa-5d08-a34e-4ed06744e116)
CHAPTER TWO (#u21488ec6-6013-5d84-bb38-039475f0dc1e)
CHAPTER THREE (#u099d6142-59d7-5269-b6f4-64b85399c1ea)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u47338535-a91a-58f6-bd4c-8c0a2c572e71)
CHAPTER FIVE (#udb01f7fb-db8b-5eea-9835-e751ede32603)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
Today was Lauren Delaney’s twenty-fourth wedding anniversary and there wouldn’t be a twenty-fifth. To many it appeared Lauren had a perfect life but the truth was something she kept to herself. She had just been to see her lawyer and now she needed a little time to think. She headed for one of her favorite places. She needed the solace of a beautiful garden.
Divine Redeemer Catholic Church was an old church that had survived all of the earthquakes since the big one—the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. Lauren had only been inside the building a couple of times, but never for mass. Her mother had been Catholic, but she hadn’t been active. The church had a beautiful garden where parishioners often walked and there were several benches where you could sit and pray or meditate. Lauren was on her way home to Mill Valley from her job at Merriweather Foods and she stopped there, something she did frequently. There were no brochures explaining the genesis of the garden or even the fact that the church sat on such a generous plot of land for Northern California, but she’d happened upon an old priest once and he’d told her one of the priests in the early 1900s was a fanatic about growing things. Even though he’d been dead for decades, the church kept the garden going. They even preserved a large garden behind the beautiful flowers for fruits and vegetables, which they donated to food banks or used to feed hungry people in poorer parishes.
Divine Redeemer’s parish just outside of Mill Valley, California, didn’t have many hungry people. It was an upper-class area. It was where she lived.
She was very well off. Richer than she’d ever imagined by her family’s standards, yet her husband ranted about his low pay. He was a prosperous surgeon raking in over a million a year but he didn’t have a yacht or a plane, which irked him. He spent a great deal of time managing and complaining about his finances.
She would be leaving him as soon as she could finalize the details. She had spent an hour with her attorney, Erica Slade, today. Erica had asked, “So, is this going to be it, Lauren?”
“The marriage was over many years ago,” Lauren said. “All that’s left is for me to tell him I’m leaving. I’m getting my ducks in a row.”
They would be spending the evening at a charity auction and dinner. For that she was so grateful. There would be no staring at each other over a starched white tablecloth searching for things to say, no watching Brad check his phone and text all through the meal. As he was fond of reminding her, he was an important man. He was in demand. She was nothing.
If she ever received a call or text, it was from one of her daughters or her sister. But if they knew she was out, they wouldn’t expect a response. Except maybe her eldest daughter, Lacey. She had inherited her father’s lack of boundaries and sense of entitlement—it was all about her. Her younger daughter, Cassie, had, perhaps unfortunately, inherited Lauren’s cautious and reticent nature. Lauren and Cassie didn’t like conflict, didn’t step on toes.
“When are you going to stand up for yourself, Lauren?” Brad had been known to say to her. “You’re so spineless.” Of course, he meant she should stand up to anyone but him.
Oh, wouldn’t Brad be surprised when she finally did. And he’d be angry. She knew people would inevitably ask, Why now? After twenty-four years? Because it had been twenty-four hard years. It had been hard since the beginning. Not every minute of it, of course. But overall, her marriage to Brad had never been a good situation. She spent the first several years thinking she could somehow make it better, the next several years thinking she probably didn’t have it so bad since he was only emotionally and verbally abusive, and the last ten years thinking she couldn’t wait to escape once her daughters were safely raised. Because, the truth was he was only going to get more cantankerous and abusive with age.
The first time she’d seriously considered leaving him, the girls were small. “I’ll get custody,” he said. “I’ll fight for it. I’ll prove you’re unfit. I have the money to do it, you don’t.” She’d almost done it when the girls were in junior high. He’d been unfaithful and she was sure it hadn’t been the first time he’d strayed, just the first time he’d been caught. She’d taken the girls to her sister’s cramped little house where the three of them shared a bedroom and the girls begged to go home. She returned and demanded marriage counseling. He admitted to a meaningless fling or two because his wife, he said, was not at all enthusiastic about sex anymore. And the counselor cautioned her about throwing away the father of her children, explained that the repercussions could be very long-term. She found another counselor and it happened again—the counselor sympathized with Brad. Only Lauren could see that Brad was a manipulator who could turn on the charm when it suited him.
Rather than trying yet another counselor, Brad took the family on a luxurious vacation to Europe. He pampered the girls and ultimately Lauren gave the marriage yet another chance. Then a couple of years later he gave her chlamydia and blamed her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lauren. You picked it up somewhere and gave it to me! Don’t even bother to deny it.”
She’d told him she wanted a divorce and he had said, “Fine. You’ll pay the price. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
Knowing what was at stake, she moved into the guest room instead.
Days became weeks, weeks became months. They went back to marriage counseling. In no time at all Lauren suspected their marriage counselor had an agenda and favored Brad. She helped him make excuses, covered for him, pushed Lauren to admit to her manipulative nature. Lauren suspected him of sleeping with the counselor. He told her she’d become sick with paranoia.
By the time Lacey was in college and Cassie was applying to colleges, Brad was worse than ever. Controlling, domineering, secretive, verbally abusive, argumentative. God, why didn’t he want her to just leave? Clearly, he hated her.
But he told her if she left him he wouldn’t pay college tuition. “No judge can make me. I can be stuck with some alimony but not support payments. And not tuition. When they’re over eighteen they’re on their own. So go then,” he’d said. “You’ll be responsible for cutting them off.”
The last few years had been so lonely. She had spent a lot of time worrying that by staying with a man like Brad she had taught her daughters a dreadful lesson. She’d done her best with them but she couldn’t make them un-see how their own mother had lived her life.
She’d taken a few hours from work to meet with the lawyer, laying out plans, creating her list and checking things off. The lawyer had said, “He’s had you running scared for years. We have laws in this state. He can’t cut you off and freeze you out. I’m not saying it will be easy or painless, but you will not starve and your share of the marital assets will be delivered.”
It was time. She was finally ready to go.
Lauren inhaled the smell of spring flowers. This was one of the best times of year in Northern California, the Bay Area and inland, when everything was coming to life. The vineyards were greening up and the fruit trees were blossoming. She loved flowers; her grandmother had been a ferocious gardener, turning her entire yard into a garden. Flowers soothed her. She needed a garden right now.
Lauren heard the squeaking of wheels and looked up to see a man pushing a wheelbarrow along the path. He stopped not too far from her. He had a trowel, shovel and six plants in the wheelbarrow. He gave her a nod, and went about the business of replacing a couple of plants. Then he sat back on his heels, looked at her and smiled. “Better?” he asked.
“Beautiful,” she said with a smile.
“Is this your first time in this garden?” he asked.
“No, I’ve been here a number of times,” Lauren said. “Are you the gardener?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “Well, yes, I guess I am if I garden. But I’m just helping out today. I noticed a few things needed to be done...”
“Oh, is this your church?”
“Not this one, a smaller church south of here. I’m afraid I’ve fallen away...”
“And yet you still help out the parish? You’re dedicated.”
“I admire this garden,” he said. He rotated and sat, drawing up his knees. “Why do you come here?”
“I love gardens,” she said. “Flowers in general make me happy.”
“You live in the right part of the country, then. Do you keep a garden?”
“No,” she said, laughing uncomfortably. “My husband has very specific ideas about how the landscaping should look.”
“So he does it?”
Get dirt under his nails? Hah! “Not at all. He hires the people who do it and gives them very firm orders. I don’t find our garden nearly as beautiful as this.”
“I guess you have nothing to say about it, then,” he said.
“Not if it’s going to create conflict,” Lauren said. “But it’s kind of a secret hobby of mine to find and visit gardens. Beautiful gardens. My grandmother was a master gardener—both her front and backyard were filled with flowers, fruits and vegetables. She even grew artichokes and asparagus. It was incredible. There was no real design—it was like a glorious jungle.”
“When you were young?”
“And when I was older, too. My children loved it.”
“Did your mother garden?” he asked.
“Very little—she was a hardworking woman. But after my grandparents passed away, she lived in their house and inherited the garden. I’m afraid she let it go.”
“It’s a hereditary thing, don’t you think?” he asked. “Growing up, our whole family worked in the garden. Big garden, too. Necessary garden. My mother canned and we had vegetables all winter. Now she freezes more than cans and her kids rob her blind. I think she does it as much for all of us as herself.”
“I would love that so much,” Lauren said. Then she wondered how the residents of Mill Valley would react to seeing her out in the yard in her overalls, hoeing and spreading fresh, stinky fertilizer. It made her laugh to herself.
“Funny?” he asked.
“I work for a food processor. Merriweather. And they don’t let me near the gardens, which are primarily research gardens.”
“So, what do you do?” he asked.
“I cook,” she said. “Product development. Testing and recipes. We test the products regularly and have excellent consumer outreach. We want to show people how to use our products.”
“Are you a nutritionist?” he asked.
“No, but I think I’m becoming one. I studied chemistry. But what I do is not chemistry. In fact, it’s been so long...”
He frowned. “Processed foods. A lot of additives,” he said. “Preservatives.”
“We stand by their safety and it’s a demanding, fast-paced world. People don’t have time to grow their food, store it, make it, serve it.” His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. “See what I mean?” she said, his phone evidence of the pace of modern life.
But he didn’t even look at it. He switched it off. “What, besides flowers, makes you happy?” he asked.
“I like my job. Most of the time. Really, ninety percent of the time. I work with good people. I love to cook.”
“All these domestic pursuits. You must have a very happy husband.”
She almost said nothing makes Brad happy, but instead she said, “He cooks, too—and thinks he’s better at it than I am. He’s not, by the way.”
“So if you weren’t a chemist cooking for a food company, what would you be? A caterer?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I think trying to please a client who can afford catering seems too challenging to me. I once thought I wanted to teach home economics but there is no more home ec.”
“Sure there is,” he said, frowning. “Really?”
She shook her head. “A nine or twelve-week course, and it’s not what it once was. We used to learn to sew and bake. Now there’s clothing design as an elective. Some schools offer cooking for students who’d like to be chefs. It’s not the same thing.”
“I guess if you want homemaking tips, there’s the internet,” he said.
“That’s some of what I do,” she said. “Video cooking demonstrations.”
“Is it fun?”
She nodded after thinking about it for a moment.
“Maybe I should do video gardening demos.”
“What makes you happy?” she surprised herself by asking.
“Just about anything,” he said with a laugh. “Digging in the ground. Shooting hoops with my boys when they’re around. Fishing. I love to fish. Quiet. I love quiet. I love art and design. There’s this book—it’s been a long time since I read it—it’s about the psychology of happiness. It’s the results of a study. The premise that initiated the study was what makes one person able to be happy while another person just can’t be happy no matter what. Take two men—one is a survivor of the Holocaust and goes on to live a happy, productive life while the other goes through a divorce and he can hardly get off the couch or drag himself to work for over a decade. What’s the difference between them? How can one person generate happiness for himself while the other can’t?”
“Depression?” she asked.
“Not always,” he said. “The study pointed out a lot of factors, some we have no control over and some are learned behaviors. Interesting. It’s not just a choice but I’m a happy guy.” He grinned at her.
She noticed, suddenly, how good-looking this man was. He looked like he was in his forties, a tiny amount of gray threading his dark brown hair at his temples. His eyes were dark blue. His hands were large and clean for a gardener. “Now what makes a volunteer gardener decide to read psychology?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Well, I read a lot. I like to read. I think I got that from my father. I can zone out everything except what’s happening in my head. Apparently I go deaf. Or so I’ve been told. By my wife.”
“Hyper focus,” she said. “Plus, men don’t listen to their wives.”
“That’s what I hear,” he said. “I’m married to an unhappy woman so I found this book that was supposed to explain why some schmucks like me are so easy to make happy and some people just have the hardest damn time.”
“How’d you find the book?”
“I like to hang out in bookstores...”
“So do we,” she said. “It’s one of the few things we both enjoy. Other than that, I don’t think my husband and I have much in common.”
“That’s not a requirement,” he said. “I have these friends, Jude and Germain, they are different as night and day.” He got to his feet and brushed off the seat of his pants. “They have nothing in common. But they have such a good time together. They laugh all the time. They have four kids so it’s compromise all the time and they make it look so easy.”
She frowned. “Which one’s the girl? Oh! Maybe they’re same sex...?”
“Germain is a woman and Jude’s a man,” he said, laughing. “I have another set of friends, both men, married to each other. We call them the Bickersons. They argue continuously.”
“Thus, answering the question about gender...”
“I have to go,” he said. “But... My name is Beau.”
“Lauren,” she said.
“It was fun talking to you, Lauren. So, when do you think you might need to spend time with the flowers next?”
“Tuesday?” she said, posing it as a question.
He smiled. “Tuesday is good. I hope you enjoy the rest of your week.”
“Thanks. Same to you.” She walked down the path toward her car in the parking lot. He steered his wheelbarrow down the path toward the garden shed.
Lauren made a U-turn, heading back toward him. “Beau!” she called. He turned to face her. “Um... Let me rethink that. I don’t know when I’ll be back here but it’s not a good idea, you know. We’re both married.”
“It’s just conversation, Lauren,” he said.
He’s probably a psychopath, she thought, because he looks so innocent, so decent. “Yeah, not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head. “But I enjoyed talking to you.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I understand. Have a great week.”
“You, too,” she said.
She walked purposefully to her car and she even looked around. He was in the garden shed on the other side of the gardens. She could hear him putting things away. He wasn’t looking to see what she was driving or what her license plate number was. He was a perfectly nice, friendly guy who probably picked up lonely women on a regular basis. Then murdered them and chopped them in little pieces and used them for fertilizer.
She sighed. Sometimes she felt so ridiculous. But she was going to go to the bookstore to look for that book.
* * *
Lauren was in a much better mood than usual that evening. In fact, when Brad came home in a state—something about the hospital screwing up his surgery schedule and flipping a couple of his patients without consulting him—she found herself strangely unaffected.
“Are you listening, Lauren?” Brad asked.
“Huh? Oh yes, sorry. Did you get it straightened out?”
“No! I’ll be on the phone tonight. Why do you think I’m so irritated? Do you have any idea what my time is worth?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t...”
“Isn’t it lucky for you that you have a husband who is willing to take care of details like that...”
“Oh,” she said. “Lovely.”
“It might be nice if you said something intelligent for a change.”
“It’s the odd night when you’re not taking calls,” she said. “Were you hoping for a night off?”
“Obviously! Why do you imagine I brought it up? I’ve told them a thousand times not to get involved with my schedule. They’re going to cause patients unnecessary anxiety, not to mention what they do to me! But they think I’m at their beck and call, that I serve at their pleasure, when I’m the money-making commodity. Even when I very carefully explain exactly how they should manage the schedule, can they figure it out? I’m paying a PA, a very overqualified PA to schedule for me, my clinics and my surgeries, and the hospital brings in this high school graduate who took a six-week course and gives her authority over my schedule...”
Lauren listened absently and fixed him a bourbon, watered, because they had to go to that fund-raiser tonight. She poured herself a glass of burgundy. This was her job, to listen and let him rant, to nod and occasionally say, That must make you so angry. While she did that, he paced or sat at the breakfast bar and she unwrapped some cheese and crackers and grapes for him to snack on.
But while all this was going on she was thinking about the man with the easy smile, the tiny bit of gray, the dark blue eyes. And she fantasized how nice it would be to have someone come home and not be a complete asshole.
“We might think about getting ready for the dinner,” she said. “I’d like to look at the auction items.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I bought a table. We shouldn’t be too late.”
Of course people would expect him to be late, to rush in at the last minute. “I’m ready. Do you need a shower?”
“I’ll be down in five minutes,” he said, leaving and taking his bourbon with him.
“Happy anniversary,” she said to his departing back.
“Hmph,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nice anniversary,” he grumbled. “My schedule is all fucked up.”
* * *
The charity event was for the local Andrew Emerson Foundation supporting underprivileged children. They came to be known as Andy’s kids. Tonight’s event would raise money to provide scholarships for the children of fallen heroes. Professional athletes, businesses, the Chamber of Commerce, hospitals, veterans’ groups and unions from San Francisco and Oakland supported the charity with fund-raising events such as this dinner and auction. Andy Emerson was a billionaire software developer in San Francisco; he was politically influential and admired by people like Brad. Brad never missed an event and claimed Andy as a friend. Brad was a fixture at the golf tournaments and donated generously. The children of military men and women and first responders disabled or killed in the line of duty could apply for the scholarships generated tonight. To be fair, Lauren had a great deal of respect for the foundation and all that it provided. She also happened to like Andy and Sylvie Emerson, though she was not so presumptuous as to claim them as friends. This event was a very popular, well-organized dinner that would raise tens of thousands of dollars.
Brad and Lauren attended this and many other similar events; Brad’s office and clinic staff were invited and he usually paid for a table. This was one of the few times during the year that Lauren visited with Brad’s colleagues. And while Brad might be primarily fond of Andy’s assets, Lauren thought the seventy-five-year-old Emerson and his wife of almost fifty years, Sylvie, were very nice people. It’s not as though Brad and Lauren were invited over to dinner or out for a spin on the yacht—the Emersons were very busy, involved people. However, it was not unusual for Brad to get a call from some member of the Emerson family or a family friend with questions about an upcoming medical procedure or maybe looking for a recommendation of a good doctor.
Just as she was thinking about them, Sylvie Emerson broke away from the men she was chatting with and moved over to Lauren. She gave her one of those cheek presses. “I’m so happy to see you,” Sylvie said. “I think it’s been a year.”
“I saw you at Christmastime in the city,” Lauren reminded her. “You’re looking wonderful, Sylvie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you. It took a lot of paste and paint. But you’re aglow. How are the girls?”
“Thriving. Lacey is doing her post-grad study at Stanford so we see her fairly often. Cassidy graduates in about six weeks.”
“UC Berkeley, isn’t it?” Sylvie asked. “What’s her field?”
Lauren chuckled. “Pre-law. She’s scored beautifully on the LSAT and is bound for Harvard.”
“Oh my God. Are you thrilled for her?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lauren said. “Don’t you have to be a real tiger to take on law? Cassie seems so gentle-natured to me.”
Sylvie patted her arm. “There is a special place within the legal system for someone like her. I don’t know where, but she’ll find it. And no one chose medicine?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m a little surprised about that, since I have a science major as well. Though it’s been so long ago now that—”
She was distracted by a man who had been pressing his way through the crowd with two drinks and suddenly stopped. “Lauren?” he said. Then he smiled and those dark blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll be damned.”
“Beau?” she asked. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I suppose,” he said. Then he looked at Sylvie and said, “Hi, I’m Beau Magellan. I just recently ran into Lauren at church.”
Lauren laughed at that. “Not exactly, but close enough. Beau, this is Sylvie Emerson, your hostess tonight.”
“Oh!” he said, sloshing the drinks. “Oh jeez,” he mumbled. Finally, laughing, Lauren took his drinks so he could shake Sylvie’s hand...after wiping his hands on his trousers. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Emerson. I’m personally indebted to you!”
“How so, Mr. Magellan?”
“My sons have a friend whose dad was killed on the job, Oakland police, and she received a scholarship. Now I’m a big supporter of the cause.”
“Magellan,” Sylvie said. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“I have no idea,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sure our paths wouldn’t have crossed. Magellan Design is my company. It’s not a big company...”
She snapped her fingers. “You designed a rooftop garden for my friend, Lois Brumfield in Sausalito!”
He beamed. “I did. I’m very proud of that, too—it’s incredible.”
Sylvie looked at Lauren. “The Brumfields are getting up there... Aren’t we all... And they have a single-story home in Sausalito. They didn’t have any interest in a two-story anything, their knees are giving out. So they put the garden on the roof! And they have a lift! They sit up there any evening the weather will allow. It’s gorgeous! They have gardeners tend their roof!” Sylvie laughed. “They have a patio on the ground floor as well, nice pool and all that. But that rooftop garden is like their secret space. And the house is angled just right so it’s private. From there they have an amazing view.”
“There’s a hot tub,” Beau said. “And a few potted trees in just the right places.”
“Really, if the Brumfields had more friends, you’d be famous!”
“They have you,” Beau said.
“Oh, I’ve known Lois since I was in college. She’s outlasted most of my family!” Then she looked at Lauren. “Church?”
Lauren laughed. She put Beau’s drinks on the table she stood beside. “I stopped to see the gardens at Divine Redeemer Catholic Church—they’re beautiful. And they’re right on my way home. Beau was replacing a few plants. I thought he was the groundskeeper.” She made a face at him.
“I love the grounds and I’ve known the priest there for a long time,” Beau said. “I gave them an updated design and got them a discount on plants.”
“Do you have a card, Mr. Magellan?” Sylvie asked.
“I do,” he said. He pulled one out of his inside jacket pocket. “And please, call me Beau.”
“Thank you,” she said, sliding it into her slender purse. “And of course, I’m Sylvie. Lauren, the weather is getting nice. If I give you a call, will you come to my house, have lunch in my garden? Just you and me?”
“I would love that,” she said. “Please do call! I’ll bring you a plant!”
“I’ll call. Very nice meeting you, Beau. Excuse me please. I have to try to say hello to people.”
And that fast she was gone.
Lauren looked at Beau. “What am I going to do with you? Met me at church, did you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Seeing you here is even more startling.”
“We’re big supporters,” she said. “See that bald guy over there? With Andy? My husband.”
“Hm,” he said. “He’s friends with the host? Andy Emerson?”
“He believes so,” she said. “Like I said, big supporter. Do you play golf?”
“I know how,” Beau said. “I don’t know that you could say I play, in all honesty.”
“That’s right,” she said, laughing. “You read psychology. And fish. And garden.” She glanced at the drinks. “Should you get those drinks back to your table?”
“They weren’t dehydrated last time I looked. They’re signing up for auction items.”
“It’s possible we have friends in common,” she said. “My brother-in-law is an Oakland cop. I remember a fatality a couple of years ago.”
“Roger Stanton,” Beau said. “Did you know him?”
She shook her head. “Did you know him?”
“No, but the boys know the kids. You’ll have to ask your brother-in-law...”
“Oh, Chip knew him. Even though it’s a big department, they’re all friends. It was heartbreaking. I’m so glad his daughter is a recipient.” She nodded toward the drinks. “You should probably get those drinks back to your wife...”
He shook his head. “She’s not here tonight. I brought my boys, my brother and sister-in-law and a friend.”
“But not your wife?” she asked.
“Pamela finds this sort of thing boring and the friend I brought is a guy. But I don’t find things like this boring. So tell me, what are you doing Tuesday?”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to check on the plants, maybe hoe around a little bit. H-O-E,” he specified, making her laugh. “I’m going to put some bunny deterrent around. See how things are doing. I like the plants to get a strong hold before summer. Do you think you’ll want to be uplifted by flowers?”
“You’re coming on to a married woman,” she said.
“I apologize! I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll get out of your space,” he said, picking up the drinks.
“I might check out the plants,” she said. “Now that I’m pretty sure you’re not a stalker or serial killer.”
“Oh Jesus, do I give off that vibe?” he asked, sloshing the drinks over his hands again. “I’m going to have to work on my delivery!”
“You sure don’t give off the waiter vibe,” she said, lifting a napkin from the table to assist him.
Just then, Brad was at her side. “We’re down in front, Lauren. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“I know. Brad, this is Beau Magellan, a landscape designer. A friend of Sylvie’s.”
Brad’s black eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Maybe we’ll have you take a look at ours.” He put out a hand to shake, once he heard there was an Emerson connection, but Beau’s hands were full of drinks. They were wet besides.
“Oh. Sorry,” Beau said, lifting his handfuls clumsily.
“Okay,” Brad said with a laugh. “Another time. I’ll save you a seat,” he said to Lauren.
“Sure. Be right there.” She looked back at Beau, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.
“You’re a liar, Lauren,” Beau said.
“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “It was irresistible. I hope we run into each other again, Beau. Now if there’s anything left in those glasses, get them to your table.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
Lauren knew she’d be going to the church gardens on Tuesday after work even though she thought it could be foolhardy. Becoming attracted to a man was not a part of her plan. In fact, it could be a major inconvenience. But she liked him. She liked that he read a lot and wanted to talk about what he’d read. She enjoyed how flustered he was meeting Sylvie. She adored the way he sloshed the drinks he carried. And it moved her that he was there to support a scholarship recipient who’d lost her father.
Of course he was there. She saw his back moving through the plants and shrubs. He was pulling off dead leaves and dried flowers. And putting them in his pocket!
She noticed there were some things on the bench—the one she had occupied the last time. A bag containing something and two Starbucks cups. It made her smile. He shouldn’t have known that Starbucks would make her happy.
She cleared her throat. He turned toward her with a smile, shoving a handful of dead leaves and buds in his pocket.
“Hi,” he said. “I brought you a mocha with whipped cream.”
Perfect! Of course. “That’s very thoughtful,” she said, just standing there, feeling awkward.
“And something else,” he said, lifting the bag.
“Oh, why did you do that? You shouldn’t be giving me things. You should sit and relax and enjoy the flowers. And you were tidying up.”
“I’m always grooming plants. Maybe it’s a nervous habit.” He pulled a handful of dried leaves and small sticks from his pocket, dumping them in the trash can. He handed her the bag. Inside was a book. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience.
“This is great!” she said. “I actually went looking for this book! But I didn’t ask for it, just looked in the psychology section.”
“I had to find it at the used bookstore...”
“Did it change your life?”
“No, but it was enlightening.”
She sat down on the bench, looking through the book. He handed her a coffee and stood at the other end of the bench. “I guess it didn’t make your wife any happier,” she said.
“No,” he answered with a laugh. “She has always wanted something more. Something else. Listen, full disclosure, my wife and I are separated. We’ve been living apart for six months. We’re getting divorced.”
“Ah,” Lauren said. “And you’re getting back in the game.”
He looked stricken. “No! I mean, that has nothing to do with you! I’m not looking for anything. You’re a complete surprise. I might’ve done this even if—” He shook his head, looking embarrassed. “You just seem like a very nice person, that’s all. And you complimented my flowers. This divorce—it’s long overdue. It’s not our first separation. And no, I haven’t been known to mess around on the side. I have a couple of sons. Stepsons, actually. I wanted to keep their lives stable for as long as possible. They’re seventeen and twenty. I think they understand we should be divorced and that I’ll always have a home for them. If they don’t know they can count on me by now, they never will. I’m not going anyplace.”
“And their mother?” she asked.
“She loves them, of course,” he said. “Maybe because they’re boys, they’re closer to me. Or maybe it’s because their mother is hard to please.”
“Oh God,” she said. “It is not a good thing that we have this in common.”
“You’re separated?”
“Not yet,” she said, hesitantly. “I have a difficult situation. I’m not ready to talk about it. But can you tell me about yours? Unless it’s too...” She shrugged.
He settled in, sitting on the bench with his coffee. “Okay, I’ll give you the short version. I’ve been married twelve years. We lived together first. The boys were four and seven when we met. They have two different fathers. Disinterested fathers. Pamela wasn’t married to either of them. They hardly came around and when they did, they took only their son, not his brother. That just didn’t make any sense to me. They’re adults. Don’t they realize little boys would be upset by that? Feel left out? Have self-confidence issues? So if I knew one or the other was coming to get his son I tried to have something planned for the one left behind. It didn’t take much—just a little extra time to throw the ball around or play a video game. Just attention, that’s all.”
“That’s so...nice,” she said.
“No it’s not,” he said, almost irritably. “It’s what an adult should do. It just makes sense. Doesn’t it?”
“What did their mother say? About one son being left behind?”
“She was in conflict with their fathers over lots of things, so it was one more thing. But that didn’t matter to me. Mike and Drew were little kids. They had enough trouble, you know? The school was saying Drew had learning disabilities and they tried to pin ADHD on Mike because he was restless. He was restless because he was a boy with a lot of energy who was kind of bored with school. Pamela would get mad, which didn’t seem to resolve anything so I started going to some of these meetings at the school with her and we worked out programs for them. Pretty soon I was going to the meetings alone.” He stopped and ran a hand around the back of his neck. “On our good days, she was very grateful I was willing to take them on. On our bad days she accused me of thinking I was their father and she reminded me I had no authority.”
“I’m sorry,” Lauren said.
“Drew graduates with honors in a few weeks,” he said with a smile. “So much for his learning disability. Mike’s in college with a nice GPA. He’s got a great girlfriend, plays baseball, has lots of friends. Wants to be an architect,” he added with a proud but shy smile.
“When did you know?” she asked. He gave her a perplexed look. “When did you know the marriage wouldn’t last?”
“Almost right away,” he said. “Within a couple of years. But I wasn’t giving up. The guys... They might have two different fathers but they were going to have one stepfather. We did fine. We managed. I might still be managing but Pamela wanted to leave and I didn’t put up a fight. At all.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Then she wanted to come back and I said, no.”
“I guess you’re done,” Lauren said.
“My mother says I’m a peacekeeper. She didn’t consider it a compliment.”
“Shame on her,” Lauren said. “We could use a little more compromise and cooperation in this world!”
“Spoken like a true peacekeeper,” he said. “As military ordnance, a Peacekeeper is a land-based ICBM. A nuclear missile. Maybe all those people who take us for granted should look out.”
“Indeed,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.
Then they both burst into laughter.
“How long have you been friends with Sylvie Emerson?” Beau asked.
“I’m not so sure we’re really friends,” she said. “We know each other because of our husbands. I’m sure we like each other. We run into each other at fund-raisers and social events. We’re friendly, that’s all. My husband served on the foundation board of directors for a few years and got cozy with a lot of Andy’s friends. It’s not that he’s passionate about the cause. He’s passionate about being connected and about Andy’s billions and influence, though what he hopes to do with either is beyond me. That’s why I run into Sylvie a lot—Brad hangs close. He would deny that, by the way. I’ll be surprised if she calls me for that lunch date—she’s very busy. But let me tell you something. What I know of the Emersons is they’re both sincerely good, generous people. Sylvie has mentioned that of all the work their foundation is able to do, she’s partial to the scholarship fund. She and her husband might not have identical priorities, I’m not well acquainted with Andy, but Sylvie has told me more than once—we have to feed and educate the next generation, that’s the only way we leave the world better than we found it.”
“I wonder if they even realize how great a gift that is—giving an education. I don’t know about you, but my family wasn’t exactly fixed to send me to college.”
“Nor was mine,” she said. “I grew up poor.”
“What’s poor?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have a younger sister, Beth. Three years younger. When she was a baby our father went out for the proverbial pack of cigarettes and never came home. My mom worked two jobs the whole time we were growing up. My grandparents were alive and lived nearby, thank God. They helped. They watched us so she could work and probably chipped in when rent was late or the car broke down.”
He smiled. “I have a large extended family. The six of us—my mom, dad, brother, two sisters and I lived in an old garage my parents converted into a small house. My mom still lives in that house, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last—she’s getting a little feeble. My dad was a janitor, my mom served lunch at the junior high and cleaned houses. We got jobs as soon as we were old enough. But my folks, under-educated themselves, pushed us to get decent grades even though they couldn’t help us with homework. We did our best. We might’ve been competing with the cousins a little bit.”
“Nothing like a little healthy competition,” she said. “Did you know you were poor?”
“Sure, to some extent. But we had a big family on that land. A couple of aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins. Sometimes it got crowded. But if the heat went out in winter there were plenty of people to keep warm with. Heat in summer—no relief.” He drank a little of his coffee. “We didn’t have any extras, but it wasn’t a bad way to grow up. Thing about it was we might’ve been poor but we were never poor alone.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can always ask, Lauren...”
“How do you think your life’s going to change, getting divorced? Does this begin a whole new adventure of some kind?”
“Adventure?” he asked. “God no. My life doesn’t have to change. I love my life today. I have work that makes people happy, good friends, amazing family. I have enough predictability every day so that it’s not very often that something throws me off balance. I sleep well. My blood pressure is good. I don’t know if I could have a better life. I just don’t want it to change back.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Finally she said, “Life must have been difficult... Before...”
“That’s a hard question,” he said. “Difficult? There were days I thought it was hard. Unbearable, really. But those days passed. What didn’t pass was irritation. Unbalance. Never knowing what would be coming at you today. But ask anyone—you’re not allowed to bail out because your wife has mood swings. Or because she yelled and now and then threw a glass at me. Hey, she missed, and cleaned up the shattered glass. But she wasn’t a drunk, she never came at me with a knife, didn’t sleep around...not counting those separations, when the excuse was that we were separated. According to the rule book, if you’re able to work it out...” He shrugged. “So I stopped asking myself if I could live like this because I could, but that was the problem. I started asking myself if I wanted to live my life like that. And the answer was no. Fortunately for me, Pamela needed a little time to think again, to determine what she wanted from life. She needed another separation. Our fourth in a thirteen-year relationship. It was the perfect time for me to say, me, too.” He chuckled. “Her separation was very short after hearing that. Mine was not. I decided I was happier on my own. I think I could be a happy old bachelor.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t have a boring or lonely day in my life. I think the boys might look in on me sometimes, make sure I haven’t broken a hip.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Forty-five,” he said.
She snorted. “I don’t think you have to worry about that broken hip for a while yet.”
“I’m just saying, my life right now is fine. More fine than it was wondering which Pamela was coming home to dinner. But being sick of living with a volatile, angry, unpredictable person is not moral grounds for divorce. For better or worse, right?”
Lauren identified with so much of what he said but her first thought was, it’s so much easier for men. They’re not expected to have to put up with moody, angry women but women are supposed to put up with difficult men. She really wanted to let loose and complain about what it was like to live with a controlling, angry man. A man who could keep an argument going for days. A man who cut the line of people waiting to purchase movie tickets, loudly accused maître d’s of losing the reservation he never made, shortchanged maintenance workers on their bills because he assumed they wouldn’t dare come after him because they were undocumented or spoke poor English. Once while they were vacationing in Turks and Caicos he found some lounge chairs by the pool that were desirable, but they had towels on them—someone had already claimed them. There were a couple of pool toys as well, indicating they belonged to children. He threw the towels and toys on the ground beside the chairs, claimed the chairs for himself and his family and when a young man with two small children appeared five minutes later, he briskly told him, “You can’t save chairs with towels. You have to be using them.”
Brad was a bully who thought he was better than everyone else.
But Lauren didn’t say anything to Beau. Unless people really knew Brad, they would never understand. So she changed the subject and asked Beau to tell her about rooftop gardens.
“My specialty,” he said happily.
After an hour of pleasant conversation she decided she’d better leave. He asked if he’d be seeing her the following Tuesday and she said, “Very doubtful. This isn’t a good idea.”
He chuckled softly. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” he said. “You didn’t say it but I already know. You’re in the same spot as me. Maybe not identical, but close enough. I sympathize. And if you want someone to talk to you know how to find me.”
She nodded sadly. Of course he didn’t know how to find her. And she didn’t tell him.
* * *
Beth Shaughnessy was spending her Sunday cleaning up the remnants of the party she and her husband Chip had thrown the night before. Chip had a new smoker and had treated many of their friends to a barbecue. While she had made good progress in the kitchen and great room, the patio and grill were still a disaster. Chip, whose given name was Michael, pleaded a slight hangover and promised to get out there with the boys to clean up after they watched a little of the US Open on the big screen in his den. The last time she looked in on them, Chip was flipping between basketball and golf and women’s beach volleyball.
When Beth’s sister, Lauren, had called earlier and asked if she could get away for lunch, Beth had said she had chores. Lauren said she’d go to the gym for a while then head over to Beth’s. She needed to talk.
When Lauren most needed Beth and the phone wasn’t good enough, Beth suspected marital angst. When you were married to Brad Delaney, angst was the kindest word one could apply. It took several deep breaths for Beth to remind herself to be careful what she said. The only serious and alienating fight the sisters had ever had was over Beth’s low opinion of Brad and her sister’s marriage. Well, sort of. It was more Beth’s strong opinion that Lauren should get out, no matter what it took. Yet Lauren had stayed on. And on. And on.
Beth had been only twenty when Lauren and Brad were engaged to be married. At first she thought Brad handsome and sexy, but soon her impression of him changed. She heard and saw things that just weren’t right. More than once, she’d heard Brad call Lauren an idiot. She saw him squeeze her hand so tightly it caused Lauren to wince and pull away. She wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong but she knew it wasn’t right. Even at her tender, inexperienced age Beth had said, “Lauren, what are you doing?”
“I’m marrying a handsome and successful doctor!” Lauren had said, beaming with joy. Lauren was seeing all those things they’d never had growing up—financial security, a beautiful and spacious home, cars that didn’t break down, dining out, vacations... But behind the brightness of her eyes, something else lurked. And of course they hadn’t even gotten through the wedding without tears of anguish and serious doubts. As anyone close to the couple could see, Brad, ten years older than Lauren, was temperamental, self-centered, grumpy and an egomaniac. He had a widowed mother, Adele, who was just an older version of her son. Adele was a controlling and temperamental sourpuss who had very firm ideas about what exactly was good enough for her entitled only child. Except Adele didn’t know how to be charming. While Lauren and Beth had grown up in relative poverty with their single mother, Honey Verona, Brad had grown up well-to-do.
Right before the wedding Honey said, “Lauren, don’t do it. You must see he won’t even try to make you happy.”
“But everything is planned and his mother paid for it all!” Lauren protested.
“It doesn’t matter,” Honey said. “You can walk away. Let them sue us.”
Lauren almost didn’t marry him. It was a last-minute melodramatic moment when she said, “I can’t. I’m just not sure.” Beth almost threw a party. But then she and the other bridesmaids were banished from the room while Brad’s mother took over, having a heart-to-heart with Lauren. Dame Delaney was a force to be reckoned with...
And the wedding proceeded.
Beth and Lauren were nothing alike and yet they were vital to each other. Beth was a professional photographer. She did a lot of weddings, anniversaries, parties, even funerals. She also shot bridges, fields, wildlife, flowers, children, elderly people, beaches, sunsets... Beth was an artist. But she photographed a lot of people and she had learned to recognize who they were in their eyes, their expressions, their body language, their smiles or frowns. She could read people.
She had read Brad right. He was an asshole.
Lauren was more scientific. More pragmatic. A plotter and planner.
Beth had been married to Chip for sixteen years. They weren’t able to produce children on their own so they had adopted a couple. Ravon was thirteen; they’d had him since he was four. Stefano was nine; they’d had him since he was two. Both came through the foster care system. Chip was a cop and big-time sports enthusiast, particularly golf. He taught the boys to play and the three of them were doing something that involved a ball every free second. Beth lived in a kind of rough-and-tumble house with a husband in a high-risk profession; she was always fighting that testosterone poisoning that created messes wherever it passed.
But Beth was not wired to take the kind of shit Lauren put up with. She rode the men in her family hard, insisting they pitch in and help, demanding courteous behavior. And she was just a little thing. A little thing who could haul forty pounds of camera equipment everywhere she went. Ravon was already taller than her, but that hadn’t made her meek at all. She could bring all three men in her house to their knees with one killer stare.
Lauren showed up looking sleek and rich in her workout clothes, her thick chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail. Lauren didn’t ever seem to sweat, either. She sat at Beth’s breakfast bar with a bottle of water while Beth dried the last of the serving platters. “How was your party?” Lauren asked.
“Loud,” Beth said. “Bunch of cops and their spouses and kids. All the usual suspects. They stayed too late and disturbed the neighbors. It was great, in other words.”
“We went to a cocktail party for a retiring doctor. I overheard Brad tell a couple of men he had to take the management of the finances away from me before I ran us into the poorhouse. Now he lets me keep track of my little paycheck while he manages the rest.” She sighed. “I don’t recall ever being in charge of the finances.”
“I was just about to ask when you were in charge of the money...” Beth wasn’t surprised by this mean little dig from her brother-in-law. “If he poked at me like that, he’d pull back a bloody stump,” Beth said.
“He doesn’t realize this, but he doesn’t have much longer as my jailer. I just don’t want to stress Cassie. I’ve put up with him for twenty-four years, I can put up with him a few more weeks. Get Cassie out of college.”
The sound from the den erupted in a roar—someone made a basket, goal, or hole in one and Beth’s men yelled. “I wouldn’t have been married to him long enough to get my babies out of nappies, much less college,” Beth said.
“They can’t hear us, can they?” Lauren asked.
“They couldn’t hear us if we were talking right into their dense male faces,” Beth said.
“I put a deposit on a rental property that will be available July 1. I’m going to talk to the girls and move out. I’ve scheduled my vacation for after Cassie graduates and the first week of July. I suppose it will be sweltering.”
Beth’s mouth hung open for a moment. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said this,” Beth said.
“It’s the first time I’ve rented something,” Lauren said. “I’ve been to the lawyer, planned this out carefully. Listen, I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with me and my rotten marriage, my vacillating, my lack of courage and my mean husband. I’m a load and I know it. And now I need a favor.”
“You know you’re welcome here,” Beth said.
“That’s not what I need. I’m going to pack up some boxes and suitcases. I also have to buy a few things—new linens, some new kitchenware, that sort of thing. I need a place to store it. Someplace no one will notice.”
“The guest room,” Beth said. “We’ll close the door. Can I say one small thing? Can I say, please God, please really do it this time! There’s still time for you to have a life.”
“I’m going to do it,” Lauren said.
Beth gave a heavy sigh. In spite of all the bad things, Brad and Lauren had also been generous. He’d loaned them twenty-five thousand dollars to try in-vitro fertilization; he’d loaned them another twenty-five grand to build onto their house to make room for the boys. He and Lauren stepped up when Beth and Chip needed an expensive tutor for Stefano because he had a learning disability. Of course, Beth had long suspected Brad liked giving people loans they would take a long time to repay because it gave him power over them.
“Honey would be ecstatic,” Lauren said. And immediately her eyes filled with tears.
They’d lost their mother two years ago. She’d been killed in a car accident; a truck driver had a medical episode, lost control of his huge truck and struck three vehicles, killing three people. Honey had never known what hit her—her death was instant, thank God.
“I miss her so much,” Beth said. “It’s just the two of us. I’m there for you. You’re there for me—let’s remember that. You’ve been to this lawyer how many times?” Beth asked.
“Leaving a man like Brad takes very careful planning,” Lauren said.
“Are you afraid of him?”
“Of course. Not afraid he’ll physically hurt me. He never does that...”
“A pinch here, a squeeze there...” Beth said, inexplicably rewashing a perfectly clean serving tray.
“He calls it affection gone a bit rambunctious,” Lauren said.
“Because he’s a liar. An experienced gaslighter.”
Lauren sucked in her breath.
“All right, all right,” Beth said. “I’ll try to say nothing and just hope for the best.”
“Once Cassie has graduated, there’s really nothing more to hold me back.”
Beth looked into her sister’s beautiful lavender eyes. Lauren looked like pure perfection. She was elegant, smart, nurturing, compassionate, talented in so many ways, yet somehow held captive by an arrogant asshole. But she wouldn’t call him that. Putting Lauren on the defensive might prevent her from freeing herself. Why her brilliant, loving, educated sister had chosen Brad eluded her. Why she stayed with him had confused her even more.
She had been young. She’d had stars and Wolf appliances in her eyes.
“Okay, tell me what you rented,” Beth said.
“It’s small and quaint, a Victorian, on a street that almost looks like the Seven Sisters in San Francisco,” she said, keeping her voice down. “Three bedrooms and a loft, a long porch and deep yard on a lovely old street in Alameda. The owner lived a long and happy life there, building a lovely garden. There are big, healthy trees. Her son is keeping the house as a rental so it’s being remodeled—new flooring, patching, texturing and painting the walls, new kitchen and bathroom cabinets, new appliances. I’m signing a one-year lease with an option to have first right of refusal if he decides to sell. He let me have some input on the materials... Or, let’s say, I told him I did videos for Merriweather and he assumed I was a great homemaker...”
“You are,” Beth confirmed.
As Lauren described the house, she became animated and Beth had hope for the first time in a long time. Only her rich sister would call a Victorian on the island of Alameda “quaint.” It was probably a million-dollar property.
They talked about the house, the fact that Lauren could get back and forth to work more easily, that she’d have a say in how the yard looked, that it would be homey and all hers. She would have room for the girls when they visited. She hoped they would but it wouldn’t surprise her to find they preferred their rooms at her current house. “The most important thing is that they know both their mother and father love them,” Lauren said. And then she shuddered.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Beth said.
“I know,” Lauren said in a shaky breath. “I plan to have a big celebration for Cassie’s graduation. Once we’ve all come down from that, I’m going to help Cassie move to Boston. Then I’ll talk to the girls. One at a time. Then I’m going to tell Brad. I would tell Brad first but once I do, I have to leave. If things don’t fall into place like I plan—if one of the girls tells him before I can, or something—I might have to impose on you. I can’t really stay there after I make my intentions clear. Because...”
“Because he will be horrible,” Beth said, finishing for her.
They had done this before. But, in the end, Lauren had always stayed. Beth knew about everything—the suspected affairs, the STD, the separate bedrooms. No matter how bad things got, Lauren always tried to make the best of it for the sake of her daughters.
“I’ll help you in any way you ask,” Beth said. “What makes you think you’ll really go through with it this time?”
“If I don’t, I might as well resign myself to living out my life with a mean, cantankerous old man who thinks he’s smarter than God.”
“Pretty soon, that will be the only option,” Beth said.
Lauren ignored her or at least pretended to. “So, we’ll celebrate Cassie’s graduation and when my rental is available I’ll tell them. Cassie will be in Boston for the next three years at least. Lacey has her apartment in Menlo Park. Once I’ve dealt with them, I’ll face Brad.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t do that alone...”
“I’ve worked this out with the lawyer,” Lauren said. “She has an investigator who is willing to stand by.” Then Lauren shuddered again.
Beth hoped her sister would finally do it. Beth was terrified her sister would finally do it. This could get ugly.
Another loud cheer erupted from the den.
Beth and Lauren talked for a while longer. Every once in a while Beth would glance through the glass patio doors to the chaos outside—wet towels on the ground, various men’s shoes, the greasy grill, plastic glasses, trash cans that were used for refuse, not all of which hit the mark. Lauren’s surroundings would never be in such disarray. Brad would have a fit.
Beth’s marriage wasn’t perfect. There is stress in the lives of a cop’s family; there is challenge in all relationships. She and Chip had money issues, kid problems—both of her sons were multiracial and hitting that puberty stage. Sometimes it seemed like a constant struggle. But they were happy.
But Lauren was married to an impossible jerk. Sad to say, but that trumped everything. How do you resolve yourself to life with a guy like that? No, he didn’t beat her but he did twist an arm here, squeeze too hard there. No, he didn’t get drunk every week. He’d had at least a couple of flings, but he was so repentant he even bought jewelry and took the whole family on trips so amazing the girls hoped he’d have another one. He treated people badly, told lies, believed he deserved slightly more consideration and a slightly bigger cut than anyone else, bullied his wife, put her down. And...he thought he was always right, no matter what. How do you explain that to your children?
When Lauren left Beth wandered into the den. Oh God, she should never have allowed them to put furniture in here. Chip was stretched out on the couch, Ravon’s legs were hanging off the end of the loveseat. Stefano was lying on the floor with his feet up on the coffee table. It looked like a frat house. Morty, their old chocolate Lab, had his head resting on Stefano’s belly. She was going to have to spray the room down with Febreze.
Something happened on the TV and all of a sudden everyone moved and cheered.
“Hey,” she said. “Why does this den smell like the inside of a tennis shoe?”
“This is not a den,” Chip said indignantly. “This is a man cave!”
“I beg your pardon,” Beth said. “It’s pretty gamey in here. Isn’t it a little early in the year for the Open? Isn’t that a June event?”
“This is an old one,” Chip said. “Ten years old. It’s a replay.”
She was completely stunned for a second. “You have got to be kidding me! My backyard looks like a war zone and you’re in here smelling up the place and watching a ten-year-old sporting event? Come on—get out there and clean up from last night before the sun starts to go down! I mean it!”
The boys dragged themselves to their feet, moaning and groaning, their lazy Sunday afternoon ruined. Chip got up, stretched and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, babe. I needed a little nap.”
“Hmph,” she said.
“I heard Lauren’s voice.”
“Yeah, she was here.”
“She having problems?” he asked. “With Brad?”
“Why would you ask that?” Beth asked.
“Because you’re all prickly.”
“Do we have a perfect marriage?” she asked, looking up at him. Beth was five foot three and Chip was a towering six foot three.
He grinned. “I doubt it. But close. Because your wish is my command.”
“Yeah, right. After four hours in front of a ten-year-old golf tournament.”
“But see how much nicer I am now?” he asked. He kissed her forehead. “You can’t do anything about Lauren and Brad.”
“Promise not to say a word. She’s focused on Cassie’s graduation for right now.”
“Beth, she’s never going to do anything, you know that.”
But Beth was thinking, this time she might. And although it made her feel sad and guilty, she desperately hoped her sister would really leave Brad.
CHAPTER THREE (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
Beau carried a forty-pound bag of fertilizer on each shoulder as he walked along the trail of patio stones that led to the vegetable garden. There he found Tim working on building a nice large pile of weeds. “I thought I might find you here,” Beau said. “I brought you a present.” He dropped one bag on the ground and lowered the other. “What are you up to?”
“Just hoeing around,” the priest said.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I know. I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” Tim said. Then he stepped over his plants and gave Beau a firm handshake that brought them shoulder to shoulder. “How’s life?”
“Manageable, but busy,” Beau said, returning the man hug. Tim and Beau had known each other since they were about ten. To say they took different paths in life would be an understatement.
“But is life any good?” Tim pushed.
“Lots of it is,” Beau said. “Work is excellent. I’m almost too busy. Things are quiet at home. I watch sports all night.”
“I guess the divorce is proceeding,” Tim said.
He shrugged. “It’s a little stalled. Pamela wanted to try counseling. I thought it was a waste of time that also cost money. But then Michael asked me why I wouldn’t give it a shot.” He looked down, shaking his head. “I don’t know why Michael gets himself into this—he’s twenty, a sophomore, has a steady relationship...”
“He’s trying to put his life together—the life he wants to have. He doesn’t want the one you and Pamela have. He wants to know how that works.” Tim sank to one knee and stabbed the bag of fertilizer, ripping it open, releasing the rank smell.
“You almost sound like you know anything at all about marriage, Father,” Beau said.
“I’m well trained,” Tim shot back.
“Michael just needs to pay attention to the women he lets into his life, make sure there aren’t any red flags. Maybe he should be in counseling. Just for his future.”
“Not a bad idea,” the priest agreed. “Have you told him the truth, Beau? That you stayed for them?”
“I might’ve suggested that,” Beau said, sticking a shovel in the fertilizer and scooping out a big load, sprinkling it down the rows. “I told the counselor I’m there in body only. I don’t want to fix it. I want to end it. Our mission in counseling should be to help Pamela let go. So she sobbed for an hour, babbling excuses and trying to explain her change of heart. And there was begging. My head hurt for two days. It’s torture.”
“Stop going,” Tim said. He sat back on his heels. “Seriously, stop going. You are the worst victim sometimes. You can’t do this for her. It was her choice, you gave her many last chances. She needs counseling but not marriage counseling.”
“Well damn,” Beau said. “What about the sanctity of marriage and all that?”
“Everything has an expiration date, my brother,” Tim replied. “Really, I’m in the wrong order. I should be with the Jesuits. I’m living in this century. I can’t tell perfectly miserable people trapped in abusive and unholy relationships to stick it out just because the church prefers it that way and we promised to turn the other cheek and all that. I wouldn’t have lasted a year with Pamela.”
Beau grinned. “If the diocese ever finds out about you, you’re history.”
“Eh,” he grunted. He stood and started spreading the fertilizer with his hoe. “How about Drew?”
“Drew’s good. Graduating in a couple of weeks. I’m having a party for him—mostly his friends and my family. Will you come?”
“Of course, as long as no one dies or gets married.”
“Pamela is trying to get involved, combining families, throw in an ex who may or may not show up. I’m expecting Drew will get a card with some money in it from his dad—anywhere from twenty to a hundred, depending on his guilt. It’s so awkward, my family and I’m sure her family know the circumstances but we have to make nice, act like we’re at least getting along, look as if we’re not getting divorced. I talked to Drew about all the subterfuge and he said, ‘No biggie. Let her do it. Then we’re done until I get married, which I promise you will be many years from now. Between now and then, I’m probably not going to make her unhappy.’ You gotta love that kid. Everything rolls off his back.”
“Or it seems to,” Tim said. “Keep an eye on that. Still waters...”
“We spend a lot of time together,” Beau said. “Just me and Drew these days. I think Drew has forgotten we have Michael’s graduation in a year...”
“Things will be better by then. What did you tell the counselor?”
“I told her we’ve been separated four times, Pamela has had other relationships during the separations and when we’re together she’s almost always unhappy and we argue too much. She pokes at me until I poke back, so sometimes I leave the house or go in the garage or detail the truck. I told her I don’t want to do that anymore. And of course she asked if we fixed our relationship so it wasn’t like that, was I in? And I said, I’m sorry, not anymore.” He dug out a shovelful of fertilizer. “I’d like to move on so my friends and family aren’t constantly forced to ask me where we are now.”
Tim stopped moving his hoe. “I’m sorry, Beau,” he said.
“Aw, not you, Tim. I don’t see enough of you for you to get on my nerves. That’s a problem, by the way. I’d like to see enough of you for you to get on my nerves.”
Tim grinned. “Basketball game Thursday night.”
“Can I bring a ringer?”
“Absolutely. I haven’t seen Drew in months.”
“I’m in pretty good shape,” Beau said. “You should pray.”
“I’ll think about it, Beauregard,” he said.
When Beau was a kid, a relatively poor kid, Tim’s well-off family moved into town. Tim’s dad was a lawyer. Beau never went to school hungry but there were lots of times he wanted more to eat than there was and he was impressed by the bounty of Tim’s table. Beau had two sisters and a brother, Tim had two brothers and a sister. Tim lived in a five-bedroom house on a big lot with a brick circular driveway. Tim’s mom played a lot of tennis at their club and had a cleaning lady. But, despite the differences, the boys became friends and stayed friends all the way through school.
Beau’s parents were amazed and impressed that he got himself through college in five years with no help from them. Tim, on the other hand, went to Notre Dame. He’d never admitted it to anyone but he’d always aspired to the priesthood. He was spiritual and wanted to help people. Notre Dame honed that aspiration into reality.
Tim’s parents were appalled. Tim, being so damn smart, would have made a good lawyer in his father’s firm, but that didn’t interest him. He studied theology and counseling. And his mother lamented that he wouldn’t be a father. “But yes, I will,” he answered with a smile.
As it was, Beau became a landscape architect, marrying his love of design with his love of growing things. And Tim, after being away for many years, had finally come home to a parish in California not so far from where he grew up. And he was reunited with his closest friends.
When Tim came back it was to find his best friend struggling with a failing marriage. And while Beau was so happy to have Tim close by, he found the good father at odds with his assignment in his new parish. Tim wanted to help the needy, the hungry, the disenfranchised of the world and here in Mill Valley he was tending the wounds of people with plenty of money and access to everything they might ever need by way of health care, private education and luxuries. True, the well-to-do were not without problems, but Beau knew Tim longed for grittier work. He felt he wasn’t as useful as he could be.
They talked for a while about the vegetable garden and fruit trees, laughed a little bit about how Tim’s boss, the bishop, just wanted him to get people back into church. “He wants the confessional bubbling 24/7 and while there are plenty of Catholics in the parish, they’re more like you,” Tim said. “Not too worried about having a priest guide them and intercede with Christ for them. And most gave up on church doctrine a long time ago.”
“Your ego must be bruised,” Beau said with a laugh.
“I’m bored,” Tim admitted. “There isn’t enough challenge.”
“It’s a rich parish. Surely you can find something to do with the money!”
“This isn’t my dream job, Beau. In fact, sometimes I question my calling. Or better to say, sometimes I ask myself if I’ve done all I can do in this—”
Someone was walking through the garden and the men turned to see a lovely woman standing not far from them.
“I’ll be damned,” Beau said. “Lauren!” And he smiled, thrilled to see her.
* * *
Lauren left work a little early. It was a beautiful spring day and she wanted to stop at Divine Redeemer and see how far along the gardens had come. It wasn’t Tuesday, she told herself. There was no harm in it. But inside she knew she wanted to see him. Just to hear him talk about the gardens. Or his boys. She wondered how his life was going. Maybe he would talk a little about his divorce. If she felt comfortable and even a little secure, she’d ask him how they broke it to the kids. Cassie’s graduation was a mere week away. After that event and the celebration, when things had calmed, Lauren was going to stir it all up by telling her daughters her plans.
She was terrified.
The garden was looking so beautiful. In this part of the world, the humid spring brought everything to life in such a rainbow of colors. She sighed deeply. It made her feel calmer just looking at it.
Then she heard the laughter of men. She rounded the corner and there stood Beau and another man. Dear God, they were both hunks. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean. Beau had thick brown hair and the other man, straw-colored. Both had strong, tan arms; both held gardening tools—a hoe and a shovel. She just filled her eyes with them. Must be Beau’s assistant or one of the church maintenance men.
“Lauren!” Beau said, and there was no mistaking the delight in his voice. Her heart soared and she smiled back.
“I never expected to run into you here,” she said. “I wanted to check out the garden. I haven’t been back here in weeks.”
“Lauren, this is my friend, Father Tim. Tim, this is Lauren. We met here one afternoon. I was replacing a few plants and she was enjoying the garden. Then we ran into each other again at a fund-raiser.”
“Nice to meet you,” the priest said. Oh, he was much too handsome to be a priest. She immediately decided a bunch of women probably sought his counsel. Regularly.
“Nice to meet you, too. It’s all looking beautiful. You must have dozens if not hundreds of people spending time here.”
He shrugged. “When there are daytime functions at the church. Sundays, lots of people wander through. A few people come just to see the gardens. Surprisingly few, considering how beautiful it is.” He gazed around thoughtfully, leaning on his hoe. “We need a fountain. Maybe I’ll suggest it to the board. That’ll give them something to discuss for a year and a half.” He chuckled.
“I guess you like to get personally involved,” she said.
“On a day like today, when I have no appointments, it’s a good excuse. You must live around here.”
“Mill Valley. I work in Oakland so this is on my way home. I discovered this garden a long time ago. My grandmother was a master gardener. She’s gone now and so is the garden, I’m afraid.”
“How have you been?” Beau asked.
“Well. And you?”
“Great. I have a kid about to graduate high school. My youngest.”
She loved the way he talked about his stepsons as if they were his very own. “And I have one graduating college in two weeks. My baby.”
“You must have been seven,” Father Tim said with a laugh.
“Very nearly,” she said. “I was quite young when I married and had children. And here they are—grown. My nest has been empty for a while now but with Cassie’s graduation coming up I don’t see them coming home except for visits.” She took a breath. “It’s bittersweet.”
“I’m finding it only bitter,” Beau said with a laugh. “Drew has no interest in leaving me anytime soon. He’s going to UC Berkeley and it’s close. Close enough to commute.”
“He’ll change his mind in short order,” Tim said. “Once he sees all the good times on the campus, he’ll get interested in leaving home.”
Beau thought about this for a moment. “I’m not sure I take comfort in that idea. Trading one set of problems for another.”
“You wanted to be alone, remember.” Tim laughed.
“Show me what you’ve got going on here,” Lauren asked of the men.
They gave her a nice little tour, introducing her to the lettuces, cabbages, root vegetables, tomatoes and potatoes. Melon and squash vines were growing, flowers appearing where there would be fruit. Cucumber, beans and zucchini vines were snaking all over. Beau had a pumpkin patch started and Tim showed her the ancient apple trees that surrounded the church.
“Impressive,” she said. “The bounty. You guys do good work.”
“I’m only part-time,” Tim said.
“So am I. I didn’t plant the vegetables,” Beau said. “I tried to give them a design that would maximize their space.”
“You have quite a kale farm going there,” she said.
“You know what I heard about kale? That if you chop it and add coconut milk it’s much easier to scrape into the trash.”
She laughed but then she said, “I have some good recipes for kale. Kale and quinoa.”
“Mm. Sounds delicious,” Beau said, making a face.
The three of them talked about vegetables and flowers for about fifteen minutes while Tim and Beau spread fertilizer. Lauren, wearing a skirt and low pumps, couldn’t get into the dirt, though she wished she could join them. She did bend over and pull a weed here and there.
She looked at her watch. “I’d better head home. I was going to stop at the store and I always get sidetracked...”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Beau said.
“It was nice meeting you, Father,” she said.
“I hope to see you again, Lauren.”
Beau kicked the dirt off his shoes before starting down the walk. At first he had his hands in his pockets but within only a few steps, his right hand rested at the small of her back. It felt so protective somehow, as though keeping a light hand on her to be ready if she stumbled or tripped or was suddenly in the path of a speeding train. Brad always gripped her elbow. A bit too tightly. Not escorting her but steering her.
“I’m glad I happened to be here when you stopped by, though I know it was probably the last thing you expected,” he said.
“It was, but I’m glad, too. I know it’s meaningless but just knowing you’re going through something similar... Really, I planned to wait for a time when I felt secure and comfortable to ask you...”
He stopped walking and looked into her eyes. His were dark, smoky blue and heavily lashed. She smiled. She had extra lashes applied so she wouldn’t need too much mascara but this guy who liked to dig in the dirt had all the lashes in the world.
“I hope I don’t make you feel insecure or uncomfortable. What are you going through that’s similar? You can ask me anything. I’m pretty much an open book.”
She took a deep breath. “How did you tell your boys you were getting a divorce?”
He put a comforting hand on her upper arm. “Our situations are probably different. Pamela told them she was moving out. She needed a breather, she said. She might be filing for divorce, she said, but she hoped a little separation would help. Then I had to tell them I wasn’t willing to try again. But I also told them I wasn’t going anywhere, that they were my boys and I loved them.”
“And that was enough?”
“I thought so at the time. We’ll see.”
“I have to tell my daughters,” Lauren said. “They love their father. They tiptoe around him, but I know they care about him.”
“Good that they care,” he said. “That’s a good thing. I’m sure he’s a great father.”
“No... I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “But that’s all too complicated. I just want to know how to tell them.”
“Lauren, they probably already know. They live with you. Once you know how you feel and what you want, you have to be clear and honest. Don’t expect them to be supportive. Aw hell, what do I know? I’m no expert. Our attempts at marriage counseling have been pretty dismal.”
“Ours, too!” she said. “Brad walks in the door with a mission to win over the counselor! Within ten minutes she’s thinking...it’s almost always a woman...she’s thinking the poor man has a nagging, half-crazy gold digger trying to bleed him dry of all his hard-earned money!”
All Beau could say was, “Gold digger?”
“Brad’s older than I am,” she explained. “He was a surgeon when we married. He’s very successful. His family was rich. As I mentioned, mine was not.”
“But you’re a chemist. A working chemist,” he said. “You’re obviously not laying on the daybed watching your soaps and having your nails done.”
She hid her hands. He smiled and pulled them out. They were lovely, manicured nails, soft hands, but not because she was self-indulgent. She took care of herself. “I do my own most of the time. I get an occasional manicure but I just can’t sit still for it.”
“It’s not a crime to be able to afford something like this. Pamela gets completely redone every six weeks. Maybe we have more in common than I thought,” he said. “Is your husband a little overpowering?”
She nodded.
He chuckled. “If you knew Pamela...”
“Overpowering?”
“She makes the rules,” he said. “Every couple of years she gets restless. Has he left you?”
“Never,” she said. “Not physically. He’s a very difficult, high-strung man. He knows everything. He has a bit of a temper.”
Beau’s face darkened with a low crimson brewing under his tan. “He hits you?”
She shook her head, shame preventing her from talking about what he did. What he did was so subtle. He hurt her in small ways that no one would ever notice. He had to have control. He was in total control all the time and if anyone got in his way or argued with him, he would fight back until he exhausted his opponent and they gave up or gave in. He belittled her. He loved reminding her she came from nothing. “I really should go,” she said a little nervously. She wasn’t afraid of being caught talking to a gardener in broad daylight at a church. She was nervous about exposing herself too much. If people knew how much she’d put up with, how could they respect her? She no longer respected herself.
“Wait,” he said. “Lauren, who do you have to talk to?”
“I have family. My sister. I have friends. They’re not all close but there are a couple I can confide in,” she said. “There’s Ruby. She was my supervisor at work but she’s fifteen years older than I am and she’s retired now and yet we’ve been close for a long time. It’s just that...” Ruby’s husband had been ill.
“I know marriage counseling hasn’t worked out. Mine hasn’t, either. Maybe she’s like your husband, put the two of us in a room and Pamela has to win. She’ll do anything to win. But maybe you should think about your own counselor. Just for you. Someone to help you get through the rough patches.”
She had done that once, on the sly, a secret counselor. Maybe she should revisit that idea. “Do you have your own counselor?” she asked.
“I don’t,” he said. “It’s been suggested and I might go that way yet. Right now, things are manageable. Not fun but manageable.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“Listen...” He paused and glanced away. “I’d like to see you again. Is that possible?”
“Probably not. A complication right now...”
“I’m not suggesting anything illicit, but if you want someone to talk to... I know I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to.”
“I can’t depend on a man right now, not even for talking.”
“I wouldn’t want that, either,” he said. He pulled out a card. “That’s my cell number. If you want a cup of coffee. Or if you’re sitting on a park bench worrying about things...”
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s doubtful I’ll call.”
“I understand,” he said. “It’s an offer.”
“But you’re a busy guy and I’m a virtual stranger.”
“Doesn’t really feel that way,” he said. “Here we are, two people going through divorces with grown kids to deal with and... You know. It just happened that way. Neither one of us ran an ad or signed up for online dating.”
“I appreciate the offer,” she said, smiling.
“We’ll run into each other again,” he said. “Meanwhile, hang in there.”
* * *
Father Tim was leaning on his hoe, waiting for Beau in a stance that looked like the old farmer stance, except that Tim was anything but an old farmer. Plus he was grinning mischievously, ready to give Beau the business. “Your friend Lauren is very attractive.”
“Stop looking. You’re supposed to be a priest,” Beau said, lifting his shovel.
“A priest, not a corpse,” he said with a laugh. “Did you notice her eyes are violet?”
“Must be contacts,” Beau said. “No one actually comes with eyes that color.”
“If they’re born from a god and a high priestess.”
“Spread the manure on the ground, Father.”
He had noticed everything about her. He loved the sound of her voice, her easy laughter, her rich and soft brown hair that fell to her shoulders. It was the color of mahogany. He loved her sass when he ran into her at the fund-raiser and noticed that when the subject turned to her husband, her marriage, it sucked the confidence right out of her. She had that lean and strong look, like a thoroughbred. She was tall and she had kind of big feet, but tall women had to have a sturdy base or they’d blow over in the wind. And that thought made him smile secretly.
“You’re seeing her?”
“No. She’s going through a divorce. Or will be soon. No, I haven’t been seeing her. It’s like she said, we met accidentally a couple of times, that’s all.”
“How do you know about the divorce?”
Beau leaned on his shovel. “I told her I was separated. The next time we met she said she’d be in the same spot before long. So here we are, strangers with grown kids, getting divorced...”
“What are her issues?” Tim asked.
“I have no idea, Tim. We’re not close friends.”
“But you want to be,” Tim said, then wisely shut his mouth and turned back to spreading fertilizer.
It was true. He wanted to be. “That was the last thing I was looking for,” Beau said. “Pamela kind of cures you of women. She doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d make you want to jump off a very tall building, does she? But she’s—”
“Pamela needs help, Beau. She’ll never get it, but she’s so temperamental and narcissistic, she’s not going to function well in a relationship. Medication and counseling could help her but she’s probably not open to that idea.”
“I don’t know if it’s even been suggested,” Beau said. “The mood swings almost killed me. And trying to make herself happy with things—outrageously expensive shoes or purses. And a better man. She always says she’d left the relationship before the man but I don’t think so... Then when the grass isn’t really greener, she comes home.”
Of course Beau had told Tim all this before. Tim had been back four years now, came home to find his closest friend mired in a mess of a marriage with a selfish and manipulative woman.
“But I’ll be forever grateful to Pamela for giving me a chance with those boys,” Beau said. “They’re good boys. When it’s the three of us, when we go camping or fishing or hiking, we have a good time. One who thinks too much and one who lets everything go.”
“Don’t get yourself in a complicated situation with a beautiful woman who’s trying to leave her husband,” Tim said.
“Don’t sin?” Beau asked.
“That’s probably asking a bit much,” Tim said with a laugh. “It’s just that there’s an intensity about Lauren...”
“Well, what would you expect? She’s obviously pretty worried about what’s coming. She asked me how I told the boys. She has to tell her daughters.”
“I know you want to help her,” Tim said. “I’d just like you to remember, Pamela needed support when you met her. She’d just come out of a bad relationship and found you to help her pick up the pieces.”
“Hey, I don’t know this woman, okay? But she doesn’t seem like a Pamela! Manure on the plants, Father.”
“All right. Don’t get testy.”
“I’m not,” Beau said, digging a shovelful of fertilizer out of the split bag.
But he was. He was annoyed because Tim could be absolutely right. When he met beautiful, sexy Pamela, he didn’t see a selfish, impatient, hard-to-please woman with a short attention span. Oh no—he saw a vulnerable and sweet young woman saddled with two hard-to-manage little boys, a woman so grateful to have a good, steady man in her life, a man interested in the parent-teacher conferences. It was a couple of years before he met the other Pamela. Oh, he’d seen hints of her here and there, but they were so fleeting he convinced himself that everyone has their bad days.
Lauren, at first glance, seemed like a good woman with a strong moral compass. She couldn’t meet him even just to have someone to talk to if it could become a distraction, a complication. She wanted to be sure her daughters were informed in the best way of what was coming. She didn’t trash the husband she was leaving, yet it was clear in her eyes and what little she said, she was in a bad situation. When he asked if he hit her, she rubbed her upper arms and said, “No.” She was beautiful. Sweet and sensitive.
And in two years they could be at each other’s throats. She could be railing at him about how dull he was, how uninteresting, how inattentive. He didn’t dance. He had quiet friends. He didn’t want to party. She could be explaining how her life had become unfulfilling, how her needs were not being met...
...how her sex life needed to be recharged.
“There were red flags with Pamela,” Tim said. “You told me all about them, how obvious they were, how you convinced yourself you were overreacting because most of the time things were good. And besides, no one’s perfect. You admit you have failings. In fact, you’re a little too eager to admit your—”
Beau stopped shoveling and stared at his friend. “Stop reading my mind.”
“Sorry,” Tim said. “I wasn’t sure I was.”
“You do it all the time and it pisses me off.”
“I said I was sorry. So, we can count on you for basketball Thursday night?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Father?” a female voice said from the walk. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. I was just wondering...”
“Angela! How wonderful to see you! What brings you to my neighborhood?”
“A fool’s errand, I think. It’s still so early in the spring, but my shelves are bare of the fresh stuff and my clientele could use some greens. It was just a gamble, that you might have some lettuce that came in early.”
“Beau, meet my friend Angela,” Tim said. “She operates a food bank in Oakland. It’s where a lot of our fresh stuff from the garden ends up.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Beau said. He couldn’t help but notice how Tim’s eyes lit up. He also noticed how beautiful the Latina woman was, black hair in a single braid down her back. Beau guessed she was about thirty. Her eyes danced as she was focused more on Tim than Beau. She wore tight jeans with rips in the knees, hoodie tied around her waist. She was lovely. And Tim’s entire mood changed.
“We don’t have anything yet but I’m friendly with the produce manager at the big Safeway. One of my parishioners. Let’s go see if he’s clearing out produce. I bet we’ll get something, no matter what his stock looks like. Let’s go in your car, then you can drop me back here.”
“I knew you’d help if you could,” she said, smiling so beautifully.
“Let’s go then,” he said. He took her elbow to guide her, walked her away from the garden. He leaned down to talk with her and they laughed together.
Tim never looked back at Beau.
“Interesting,” Beau said. Then he proceeded to spread fertilizer.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
The Delaney family home was in a posh, gated neighborhood in Mill Valley. Guests had to be cleared by the guard at the gate to enter. It was much more house than Lauren wanted or needed, especially with the girls being gone, but Brad found it and contracted the purchase without her involvement six years ago. It was an eight-thousand-square-foot showplace. She had been stunned but helpless. What was she to say? We don’t need all this since I’m not planning to be married to you that much longer? She had two choices—she could sign the purchase agreement and at least be a co-owner of the massive property. Or she could refuse and he’d just buy it himself.
“Be sure to put your things away,” he instructed before their guests arrived. “I don’t want people thinking we have separate bedrooms.”
“Even though we do,” she muttered.
“You sometimes sleep in the guest room down the hall because of your hot flashes,” he said, creating her lie for her.
“No one is going to be wandering around the bedrooms,” she said. “And I don’t have hot flashes.”
He touched her cheek. He laughed. “Any second now, Lauren. You’re not as young as you used to be.”
Feeling a little ancient and emotional with her baby a college graduate on her way to law school, she lashed out. “What do you suppose they’d all think if they knew the truth?”
“Just what I think,” he said easily. “You’re a half lunatic who imagines ridiculous things all the time.”
She gritted her teeth and remained silent, picturing that quaint Victorian in Alameda, how quiet and sweet it was. The girls had gone out to pick up a few last-minute items for the party and would be walking in the house any second. Guests would start to arrive in an hour. The caterers were busy; their van was parked in the garage so they had a clear path from the van to the party site, the kitchen, butler’s pantry, dining room and patio. They were expecting about 100 people. Obviously she couldn’t get into an argument with him now. Actually she couldn’t get into an argument with him ever. Disagreeing with Brad was disastrous.
The last straw should have been when he had given her chlamydia. He denied it, insisted it wasn’t him and his argument was so unflinching and convincing even she began to wonder where she might’ve gotten it. She hadn’t had a lover, not ever. She began to worry about a contaminated tampon or used underwear someone had returned to a store with their germs on them. She knew better, yet her doubts, as ridiculous as they were for a woman who had studied chemistry, persisted. Finally, her gynecologist calmly and firmly said, “You could only get it from a person you had sex with. You can’t even get it from a blood transfusion. Period.”
Of course it had been Brad. He’d been unfaithful before, hadn’t he? Of course it was him. That’s when she stopped having sex with her husband. Three years later she’d been emptying his pockets for the dry cleaner and there it was—a condom. Of course. Because he didn’t want to get chlamydia again.
She’d left the condom on the pillow in his room. He told her she was an idiot—he’d picked up the condom in the nurse’s supply station, they sometimes used them for external catheters and he thought he might need it for a patient but didn’t and hadn’t put it back. Why would he leave a condom in his pants pocket if he was screwing around? But she knew it was a lie and she stayed in the guest room. She told the girls she liked to stay up late reading and their father needed his sleep to be alert for early morning surgeries. They neither noticed nor cared—they were both in college and only home for visits. In fact, the girls liked it. On their visits overnight, the girls often gathered in her room, sitting on her bed, gossiping and laughing with her and at those times she was doubly glad she wasn’t in his room.
She thought maybe they could get through this, weather his anger, but it could be rough and all she wanted was for her daughters to have a positive college experience.
Yes, they were spoiled and she had been complicit. She hoped it wouldn’t lead to their ruin. Above all, she wanted them to be good people.
So what would he come up with to threaten her this time? What threat to keep her? Why the hell did he even want her?
She shook her head and forced her thoughts back to the daughter for whom this over-the-top celebration was planned. Cassidy had made good. She was going to Harvard Law. Tears came to her eyes. Not sentimental tears because of her pride, but sad tears because Cassie’s gramma, her mother, Honey, would not be here. And she missed her so. The last time they were together, they had dinner—just Honey, Lauren and Beth. Lauren and Beth talked about their marriages. Beth’s was usually crazy and dysfunctional in adorable ways and Lauren’s was growing more awful every year. As they embraced to say good-night Honey had touched Lauren’s cheek and said, “You don’t have to give him your entire life, sweetheart. You don’t have to sacrifice your entire life for your daughters, either, for that matter. Maybe you’ve gone as far as you should. And it’s all right.” Three days later Honey was dead and aside from missing her every day, she prayed Honey had not lost all respect for her as she grappled with a bad marriage and indulged two daughters who had already been indulged enough.
But now, Cassie would study law. Lauren was happy for her, even though Boston was so far away. Lauren would go with her to Boston to look around for a place to live. Cassie was going to get ahead of her class, hopefully get a job, get to know the campus and the area, settle in, try not to die of loneliness. She was leaving behind a boyfriend of over a year, her family and many friends.
Eighty-five-year-old Adele, Brad’s mother, arrived in her town car, leased for the day complete with driver. She looked...rich. Rich and pinched and miserable. Beth, Chip and the boys arrived and it was all Beth could do to keep them from falling on the hors d’oeuvres like locusts. Ruby arrived and Lauren fell into her arms. “How are you holding up, girl?” Ruby asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “How’s Ted?”
“The same,” Ruby said. “I’m not going to stay long, I’m sure you and Cassie understand.”
“Absolutely. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”
“Thank you, but we’re getting by just fine.”
Ruby’s husband had had a stroke and he was coming along fairly well, home from rehab now. But there was no getting around the facts—he’d taken a life-threatening blow and at seventy-five, progress came slowly and Ruby felt the need to stay close.
She could not visit her troubles or plans on Ruby.
This was Ruby’s third marriage. The first took up nine years and brought her two sons. The second was very brief and painful, Like a woman who had learned nothing on her first terrible match, she had said. A few years later she married Ted, with whom she shared a warm and compatible relationship. It was Ruby who had said to her, Do what you can to try to make your marriage work. If you don’t try, you’ll have regrets. But listen to me—don’t wait too long or you’ll find yourself a trapped old woman with no options and a beastly old man who has perfected abuse. Someday one of you will be sick, dependent on the other. That’s hard enough when there’s love.
She hoped she hadn’t waited too long.
“I’ll stop by and see Ted soon,” Lauren said.
“He’d like that,” she said. “Everything looks so beautiful, as usual. You really know how to throw a party.”
“There sure have been enough of them, haven’t there?”
“A good many,” Ruby said.
The Delaneys were known for their wonderful parties—with delicious food and good company—if you liked a lot of medical people and a few others. There was always an extraordinary atmosphere. There were plastic water lilies holding votive candle holders floating around in the pool, classical music, a complete uniformed wait staff circulating with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. The great room doors were open to the patio and the party flowed through the house. A plentiful buffet was set up in the dining room complete with a waiter slicing prime rib. The caterer had set up a series of round tables and chairs on the massive patio.
Over the years Brad and Lauren had hosted brunches, dinners, cocktail parties, summer pool parties, retirement parties, even a couple of wedding receptions.
For a moment she felt a touch of melancholy. She’d done a good job under difficult circumstances. Only once had she invited the people she worked with to a party exclusively for them and Brad had charmed them. Afterward, when they’d all left, he complained for at least a day. He didn’t like a one of them.
Their entertaining was mostly Brad’s suggestion. “I think we should have a Christmas party this year—we’ll invite the office staff, a few friends, family. Let’s say sixty people. Can you get it done?”
She never said no. She’d hire a piano player for the grand piano that occupied the foyer, sit down with the caterer, have Brad’s secretary work up some nice invitations, put together a guest list for him to review. He’d look it over and invariably add names or say, “Adults only, all right,” upon seeing her nephews on the list.
“But it’s Christmas!”
“They can come to Christmas but children don’t come to fancy cocktail parties and pour punch on the carpet!”
Just then she saw Sylvie Emerson walking toward her, Andy trailing behind her. Brad always invited the Emersons.
“Sylvie! How thoughtful of you to come!”
“How could I miss a chance to congratulate our future lawyer,” she said, pulling a card from her large purse. “And to say this—I realize you’ve been very busy with all this going on, but when things settle a bit, I’ll be waiting for the phone call about lunch.”
“Absolutely,” Lauren said. “I’m going to help Cassie get settled back east, then I would love to get together.”
“Perfect. Take me to the graduate,” Sylvie said. “We’re not staying long. We have somewhere to be a bit later.”
“Of course. And I’d like you to meet my sister and brother-in-law. He’s an Oakland police officer and the daughter of his late friend was a recipient of one of your scholarships.”
“Oh yes, please! It’s funny that Brad never mentioned that connection,” she said.
And Lauren wondered if Brad even knew.
The second Brad noticed Sylvie and Andy, he rushed to them and usurped Lauren’s place as escort. She let them go, confident that Sylvie would insist on meeting Beth and Chip and congratulating Cassie. She knew she’d have a chance to thank Sylvie again before she left.
Lauren had become a master entertainer. And she’d be more than happy to give it up. She looked forward to things that Brad would mock. Maybe a book club that met one evening a month, sometimes at her less auspicious home. Or hosting a baby shower for a young co-worker, somewhere a little less intimidating than the Delaney manse. She just wanted to be calm and comfortable; she wanted a grandbaby to take care of sometimes. Would her daughters invite her into the delivery room?
That was years away, she thought. But then when the party was ending, when all the toasts had been made to Cassie, when the brandy and cigars had been indulged by Brad and a few of his cronies, Cassie asked to speak to her alone. She was holding her boyfriend Jeremy’s hand. Oh no! Lauren thought. What’s this?
“Mom, I have some wonderful news,” Cassidy said. “Jeremy has decided to come to Boston.”
“Huh?” she said oh so eloquently.
Cassie laughed. “He’s decided to transfer to Boston University for his master’s program.”
“What? But haven’t you started already? At Berkeley?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I won’t get in until after the first of the year but that’s good. I’ll work and get a leg up on my research. We’ll settle in before we’re both deep in our programs.”
“Settle...in...?” she echoed.
Cassie laughed. “We’re going to live together. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.” She grabbed Jeremy’s hand. “I honestly didn’t know how I was going to stand the distance—each of us on a different coast.”
“Are you...? No, you’re not getting married.”
“Not yet, no,” Cassie said. “The subject has come up and we’re talking about marriage. But we agree that law school and his master’s is the first thing to consider. But at least we’ll be together.”
Lauren suddenly choked on a sob and covered her mouth. She loved Jeremy. He was a sensitive, wonderful young man. He was researching autism and he was by far the most decent and committed boy either of her girls had brought home. Cassie had been seeing him for over a year and Lauren knew they were serious.
“Mom...” Cassie said.
But Jeremy pulled her into a hug. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “We’re not rushing. As it turns out, Boston will be better for my research in some areas. And you’d think I was stupid if I let Cassie get away.”
“I would,” she said. “But, oh God, it’s another one of those big transitions.”
Cassie laughed at her. “But you’re happy for us, right?”
“Does this mean you don’t need me to help you get settled?”
“Oh Mama, I really want to do this with you! You’re so good at this sort of thing.”
She wiped her cheeks. “True,” she said. “I am the best.” This was silly. She knew they were intimate. They were hardly children. She’d married at twenty-three. She laughed a little nervously.
Cassie asked Jeremy to go get them a couple of glasses of wine. When he was out of earshot, Cassie said, “Will you tell Daddy?”
Lauren frowned. “Shouldn’t you?” she asked.
Cassie shook her head. “I shouldn’t. He never likes my choices. Lacey could announce she’s moving in with Charles Manson and Daddy would applaud her good taste, but I never please him. And he doesn’t like Jeremy.”
“Oh, I’m sure he likes Jeremy. They just don’t have that much in common,” Lauren said. And then she asked herself why she lied for him? Brad didn’t like Jeremy because Jeremy was a sensitive intellectual who would never be rich. Jeremy was gentle and kind. Brad was not drawn to people like that.
“Will you please?” Cassie asked.
Lauren smiled at her youngest. She admired the choices Cassie was making. She admired that she’d chosen a good man who made her happy, a man who wanted her to be happy. “Is Jeremy coming with us to Boston to look at housing options?”
“No. He said that’s entirely up to me. And he insists he’ll get a job and pay half the rent.”
That made her smile again. “Will he be coming right away?”
“A few weeks after me,” she said. “He has stuff to wrap up and an apartment to clean out.”
“Then maybe I’ll wait a little while to tell your dad your plans.”
“I know it’s not going to be smooth with him,” she said. “That’s why I asked you...”
“And what makes you think I have any influence?” Lauren said. “He argues with me constantly!”
“But somehow you always get through it!”
“No, somehow I always survive it,” she said. “I figured out how to live with him.”
Damn, it was true! She managed her husband. He didn’t love her, she didn’t love him and they’d done this dance for years! She had no idea what Brad’s stake was in the relationship—was it all to have a good housekeeper and hostess? Because they weren’t lovers. They weren’t confidants. They weren’t friends.
“You know, Cassidy, no matter what your father’s opinion is, who you live with or marry is up to you,” Lauren said.
“But he can make things pretty difficult when his opinion doesn’t match mine,” Cassie said.
“I know,” Lauren said, giving Cassie’s light brown hair a fond stroke. “I’m not looking forward to you moving so far away but I am looking forward to our time together.”
“Me, too,” Cassie said.
And I hope you choose more wisely than I did, she wanted to add.
But was every day a tragedy? Of course not. They’d had some good times together without being lovers, friends or confidants. They went to Italy last year and met some lovely couples they still kept in touch with. They went to St. Tropez every winter, sometimes taking the girls, and ran into the same people there, socializing like normal couples. Daily life was tolerable because they really didn’t see too much of each other unless the girls were around. Brad was very social and when he made plans, she went along and was very agreeable.
Then once or twice a week it went south and crushed her spirit. He’d remind her she came from nothing. He’d tell her she was delusional or that she fabricated stories to make herself look like a victim of his cruelty. He’d shout at her, demean her.
Pinch her.
Those pinches were possibly the most demeaning thing he did. Weighing everything about their relationship, she wanted to leave him just because of that. He’d zap out a hand and find a tender piece of flesh, her forearm or the back of her upper arm, grab with his long, strong fingers and twist. Sometimes she’d bruise.
The worst part was feeling she had to build a case. She suspected men could leave because they’d lost that loving feeling, but women? Women had to be abused, assaulted, held prisoner or otherwise severely victimized before it was all right for them to walk.
Lauren turned her thoughts back to Cassie. “Be patient, all right? If I sense a good time, I’ll tell him, but there’s no hurry. I can promise you he won’t be in Boston for moving day.”
* * *
Beau met Pamela in the waiting room of the marriage counselor’s office. She stood and gave him an affectionate little hug. He pulled away before she could embrace him, hold on to him.
“Well, I guess I got the message,” she said.
He just smiled at her. She was beautiful and looked sophisticated in her work suit. Only Pamela could make a work suit look so sexy. It didn’t exactly cross the line but it rushed right up to it—conservative jacket, low-cut silky blouse, straight skirt, slit up the thigh, heels that were at least three inches. The color was right for her and right for spring—pale coral. It set off her blond hair and blue eyes. The blond was not authentic and she wore colored contacts. That had never mattered to Beau. Women wanted to be pretty. He understood that. He didn’t even mind that she liked being sexy and pretty for men. Depending on your self-confidence, that could make a husband feel a little puffed up and proud.
Sometimes Pam took it over the edge.
She barely resembled the young jeans-clad single mother, struggling with two rambunctious little boys, living in a one-bedroom apartment and keeping an old car running on meager support from their fathers and food stamps. Sometimes he missed that girl. She was holding it together somehow.
“We’ve talked about this, Pam,” he said. “I will be happy to explain my feelings to the therapist. He seems like a nice enough guy.”
She sniffed in a breath through her nose and stiffened. “I’m hoping he can help put us back together. Aren’t you?”
Beau didn’t answer. He gave a small, melancholy smile and stuck his hands in his pockets. Then he looked at his watch. “You have to be somewhere?” she asked tartly.
“I have appointments this afternoon, but I have some time now,” Beau said.
“Why are you so distant?” she asked. “We had such a successful weekend, Drew’s party, the whole family together for once... I really felt we were making great progress!”
“It was a nice weekend, wasn’t it? Drew really appreciated it. He’s also glad it’s over so he can get on with his life. He’s ready for the next chapter.”
“I can feel you pulling away...”
Only Pamela. How many times did she have to call a time-out before it was truly over? She moved into a sublet flat in the city, took a ten-day vacation to Maui, did a little traveling for work, plastered pictures of her fun times all over her Facebook page, but now she was done and wanted a smooth return to her base. There seemed to be one man’s face in many of the photos, including what looked like a partial profile of him in Maui. He must have left.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. And then thankfully the door opened.
“Come on in folks,” George said. “I hope everyone had a good week.”
“A very good week,” Beau said.
“Before we get started, anything I should know?” George asked.
“Yes,” Beau said. “I’m afraid I’m not going to continue with this counseling,” he said.
“He has someone,” Pamela said.
“I don’t,” Beau said. “I wouldn’t mind, though. I thought it would be decent of me to give this a chance, but I just can’t work up the enthusiasm. This is the fourth separation and you’re our seventh counselor. Just by the numbers, we’re probably done. No criticism of you, George. I’m sure you’re one of the best.”
Pam put her hands over her face and began to cry.
“Pam, you should stay,” Beau said. “Really. I think you want to end this phase in your life, this marriage, and find some new direction. But I’m not it. If we got back together now it would be nice for a few months and then tense, then difficult for a long time until you decided it was too difficult, then we’d have another time-out. It’s your pattern and I’m done.”
She broke into loud wails.
“Aw, Jesus,” Beau said.
“What brought this on right now, if you don’t mind me asking,” George said.
“I don’t mind at all,” Beau said. “I have a good friend who is also a counselor. I was talking with him about going to counseling for a marriage I don’t want anymore and he suggested I be more honest about my feelings. Look, no offense intended, but Pamela doesn’t want to be married. At least not to me. It’s usually more about another man...”
“It is not!” she spat.
“Yeah, it usually is,” Beau said. “And I don’t even care. Just let us end it.”
“Then you’ll have to move out of my house!” she said emphatically.
“Folks, these are not the kind of things negotiated in therapy, but if you want to dissolve the marriage, I can help with the emotional part,” George said.
“Then help Pam with the emotional part,” Beau said, standing up. “I’d say Pam has some doubt about us staying married—we’ve done this too many times. I’m going to call it.”
“The counselor he talked to is a priest!” she shouted.
Beau just shrugged. “He didn’t quote me scriptures,” Beau said. “He’s just a friend. But he does a lot of counseling. Look, I should stop wasting your time and Pam’s. I’m not going to have a fifth separation. The boys are adults now. They still need parents. They’ll always need parents—”
“You’re not their father!” she said.
“I’m not their biological father,” he said. “I’ve supported them for a dozen years and we’re very close. I’ll be their parent as long as they’ll let me.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving up on us so soon!”
“Beau,” George said. “Why don’t you sit down and let’s just talk about this issue.”
He thought about it for a second. He even began to take a seat; he’d always been so accommodating. Being cooperative and helpful had worked for him. He firmly believed it had made him successful. Then he remembered that Peacekeepers were also bombs and he stood again. “Sorry, George, this is the end of the line for me. Thanks for trying to help. Look, see if you can convince Pamela to get a little personal counseling. She’s angry and unhappy.”
“How dare you say that about me!”
“I’ll tell the boys I just didn’t have one more try in me.”
He turned and left the small office. He was surprised by how terrible he felt. He had expected to feel free and nothing could be further from what he felt. He felt disappointment and heartache and sheer dread. And there was guilt because he had plotted out this day carefully and while Pamela shouldn’t have been surprised, clearly she was broadsided. She had expected him to go on like this forever.
He had two appointments. First the lawyer and then the locksmith. Sonja Lawrence, the attorney, was a woman in her sixties who had been doing this for a long time. They had met for the first time two months ago and after a brief interview, she gave him a list of things to do and to decide. She pulled the list right out of her top drawer—so clinical. It was like the list the dentist gave you after he’d pulled a tooth. He tried to explain to Ms. Lawrence about the separations, the other men who Pamela referred to as a little casual dating during a separation, the counseling, the toxic environment—
“Really, Mr. Magellan, it’s irrelevant. This is a no-fault state. No one has to be right or wrong. The lawyers have to work on negotiating the division of property.”
“She’s going to take half my business, isn’t she?”
“I imagine she will try,” Ms. Lawrence said.
He gave a huff of forlorn laughter.
“I know it’s not funny,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t that. It’s just that... I like you, I really do. I don’t want anyone else. I didn’t set out to find the meanest lawyer in the Bay Area. But you remind me of my grandmother... When I was younger, of course. But will you be able to get me a fair deal out of this?”
She smiled patiently. “Don’t let looks deceive you, Mr. Magellan. Most of the time they never even see me coming.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub42d1528-51dd-5667-aeff-672bf015c23d)
Lauren and Cassie flew to Boston, rented a car and proceeded to a real estate office that specialized in rental properties convenient to the Harvard area. Even though they came from California where the cost of living was high, the sticker shock almost buried their otherwise high spirits. They spent every night in their hotel room looking at the listings and discussing what Cassie needed. Cassie had brought her tape measure and recorded room sizes in a small notebook. Most of her belongings had been container-shipped, ready to be delivered when they found adequate space.
By coming early in the summer they had so many more options in the search to find a flat or apartment. Graduates had just left, new students hadn’t started to arrive and the availability was high even with waiting lists on some flats. But the prices were ridiculous.
“I don’t know how we can justify the cost of this,” Cassie said, doing some figuring.
“Harvard,” Lauren said in one word. “There’s going to be some debt here but you’ll pay it off faster than you think and I’ll help you all I can. You’ll just have to be one helluva great lawyer.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she said. “Making as much money as I can isn’t exactly my goal. I’d like to make as much right as I can.”
That made Lauren smile because Cassie had such a good heart. It was peculiar—Cassie looked more like Brad with her light hair, short stature and blue eyes. Lacey’s temperament was more like her father but she resembled Lauren right down to those unique eyes.
Lauren got a little teary. “I’m so proud of you. You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you.”
At the end of their third straight day of looking, they were shown a small, one-bedroom flat on the third floor. A walk-up, of course. It was tiny and old; the building was quite ancient but had been remodeled a few times. The floors were wood and scarred, the bathroom tiny. “You would definitely have to take a number,” Lauren said of the bathroom. But unlike many of the student flats, at least they wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with another tenant. The kitchen was just one notch above a galley kitchen but the stove and refrigerator weren’t more than ten years old. Lauren remembered the appliances from her college days when they were either avocado green or a fleshy pink. These were white. There was room for a small table and two chairs. And the bedroom would barely hold enough furniture to accommodate a couple.
But the living room was spacious for the size of this flat. It was bright and airy, the ceiling high, with a large window that faced the park across the street and the city in the distance, rising above the trees. There was plenty of room for a sofa, a couple of chairs, a coffee table, bookcase and maybe a small desk if they arranged things cleverly.
“Oh Mama, I love it,” Cassie said, standing in front of the living room window.
“I hope you’re sure of Jeremy,” Lauren said. “If you get on each other’s nerves, there’s no escape in this little space.”
“It’s on the bus line,” Cassie said. “The street is lined with shops and eateries. I imagine we’ll be spending a lot of time at school, the library, study groups, maybe work, if we’re lucky. But really, isn’t it darling?”
Lauren tried to remember how love made the worst dump look like a honeymoon cottage. Then she recalled she’d never had that experience. “Well, IKEA here we come,” she said cheerily. “And the Home Store, etc.”
They got right on it. Lauren was determined to try to see her daughter set up before leaving her. She had planned on two weekends and her five-day workweek of vacation but in the end she called the company and took two extra days. Eleven days to find a flat, furnish it, have everything delivered and set up, and that didn’t even allow the days it took the landlord to complete a credit check. She was pretty astonished at how much thought Cassie had given this whole transition, right down to plastic storage tubs for her sweaters and boots that could slide under the bed. She bought a couple extra for Jeremy, though she said he didn’t have so much in the way of wardrobe. A few plates, four tumblers, four wineglasses, four bowls, flatware and three pots. Lauren got some extra items, place mats, serving dishes, candles, kitchen linens. “No dishwasher,” Lauren observed.
“I’m a college graduate,” Cassie said. “I’m going to be able to figure out washing dishes.”
They bought serviceable furniture. Not cheap but certainly not what Cassie was used to. The furniture store also sold area rugs and they bought an impractical fluffy one for the living room. “It’ll help this winter,” Lauren said. They put together a desk and bookcase, added two wooden folding chairs for the compact table with two chairs for the kitchen. The table had a leaf and they could host a meal for four if they wanted to.
Lauren spent the last two nights of her leave with Cassie in her new/old flat. They shared a bottle of wine, a pan of chicken stir-fry with rice and ice cream for dessert. Lauren looked around. “It’s not much, but it’s cute.”
“Aren’t these supposed to be the struggling years that we look back on with sentimental bliss and humor?” Cassie asked.
“It wasn’t like this for me,” Lauren said. “Your father was a surgeon. He came from a rich family, or so they’ve always told me. We never lived in an apartment. He bought a house. It was a perfectly nice house but he never talked to me about it. He just bought it. That should have been a red flag...”
“You’ve always made the excuse that he’s not an easy man,” Cassie said. “I was terrified all through college when people said girls marry their fathers. I love him, I can’t help it, but I definitely didn’t want someone as high-maintenance as him to share a life with.”
Lauren took a breath. “I want to give you some advice and then I want to tell you something. I haven’t told your dad that you plan to live with Jeremy. I think you should have any roommate of your choosing. You don’t need permission.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? He hates Jeremy!”
“Hate? I hope not. Jeremy isn’t tough and ambitious enough for your father. Jeremy is gentle and kind and brilliant. There’s absolutely no reason a man with those attributes can’t be hugely successful.”
“Oh, you only know the Jeremy he lets you see,” Cassie said. “Yes, he’s very kind, very fair, but he has integrity and can really dig in when he sees injustice. He’s not timid and Daddy doesn’t scare him at all. There’s more power in that integrity than in a blustering, arrogant fool who thinks he’s king. Oh! I didn’t mean Daddy. Or maybe I did, but not intentionally.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Everyone knows. Apparently he’s a gifted surgeon, though some nurses have said he has the personality of Attila the Hun. The ones that aren’t in love with him, at least. Listen, this is very hard for me but I can’t leave you here without telling you. I’m planning to ask him for a divorce. No, that’s not accurate. I’m going to go home and tell him I’m filing for divorce. Then I’m leaving right away. I’ve already rented a small house for myself.”
Cassie’s mouth hung open; stunned silence hung heavy in the air. And then she began leaking tears.
“Oh honey, listen, I’ve given this a lot of thought and it’s not an easy choice...”
“After all this time?” Cassie said, grabbing her mother’s hands. “I wondered if you ever would!”
“What do you mean?”
“Mama, do you think I’m completely dense? As if I don’t know about him? I’ve known since Disneyland!”
“Disney...? What?”
“Don’t you remember? Or did it just blend in with all the other times? Remember your argument over where to have lunch? Remember what he did?”
Lauren frowned, trying to remember.
“He wanted sushi. You said we girls wouldn’t eat sushi. I was seven. I wanted a hamburger or hot dog. You said you were going to take us to McDonald’s. He told you we could eat rice, but we didn’t want rice. He argued and argued and we started to act up because we were hungry and he started to pick on you and said that we were spoiled brats and it was your fault. Pretty soon you just turned to walk away and he—”
“Oh God,” Lauren said, covering her eyes with her hand. He had tripped her. She went down hard, fell flat on her face, bloodied her nose. And he rushed to her side saying honey, honey, you all right? And a man nearby also rushed to her and said, What were you doing, man?You tripped her! And Brad said, Don’t be ridiculous, this is my wife! And the man insisted, he’d seen Brad stick out a foot, hook it around her ankle...
“He tripped me,” Lauren said.
“That sort of thing happened a lot,” Cassie said.
“No, that was very rare,” Lauren said.
Cassie bit her lip and held silent for a long moment. “Even once isn’t right,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “You have to do this, Mama. Please.”
* * *
“Thanks for coming over, Mike,” Beau said. Drew, of course, already lived at the house. “I have new keys for both you guys. I’ve changed the locks. It’s official, we’re getting divorced. I’m going to do everything I can to keep this from turning into world war three.”
“You’re what?” Michael said. “I thought you were in counseling!”
“Yes, we went a few times. It wasn’t working, I’m sorry.”
“Did you try?” he demanded. “Really try?”
There was so much Beau wanted to explain. He wished he could make them understand how demoralizing it is to have your wife, your partner, completely unable to commit, unable to take responsibility. The sense of failure at never being enough for her. She was happy once... “I’ve tried several times. I was the one to say it—I think it’s time we let it end. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“So that’s it? And you changed the locks? What’s she supposed to do?”
“She’s hardly homeless—she has a pretty swank flat in the city. Her half of the closet is empty. Here’s what’s supposed to happen. Our lawyers are supposed to talk about how we divide our property. In California it’s called No Fault. That means—”
“I know what it means!” Michael said. “And you locked her out of the house. It’s her house, too!”
“Hey, Mike, back off,” Drew said. “This isn’t Beau’s fault, you know that!”
“She’s not locked out,” Beau said. “She’s welcome any time, as long as someone’s here. She can have anything she wants, but it has to be documented for the lawyers so that at the end of the day, it’s fair. When a couple goes through as many separations as we have, it doesn’t exactly look like the marriage is working. Come on, it’s obvious to you guys it’s not going to work. It was probably obvious two separations ago. I did my best.”
“You don’t seem all torn up about it,” Mike said.
“Hey, what’s up your butt?” Drew asked. “It’s not like Beau hasn’t jumped through all her hoops!”
“She’s our mother!” Mike said. “She’s brokenhearted!”
“Aw shit, she called you,” Beau said.
“Last night,” Mike said. “Crying!”
“Listen to me, don’t let anyone put this on you!” Beau said. “It was her decision to leave, her decision to move out. This is a marriage, not a revolving door!” He took a breath. “She’s only brokenhearted because she didn’t get her way. She calls it off, she wants to turn it back on, then off again, then—”
“You know she’s never happy,” Drew said to Michael. “Come on. It’s not like you didn’t expect this.”
“Neither did your mom,” Beau said. “I guess she thought we’d do this for life, back and forth. But I don’t want to spend my life like that. I’m sorry if it hurts, I’m sorry if you’re angry, but I’m done. I think a divorce will give your mom a chance to start fresh without looking back all the time. I think it’s time we all found some peace. That’s all I’m looking for. Peace.”
“So you locked her out of her own house,” Michael said, angry.
“She’s not locked out, she just can’t live here now. I bought the house. I lived in it before I met you guys and your mom. And she left. I didn’t ask her to leave. I asked her to stay and try to work it out. But she needed space and some freedom. Now she has it. And we’ll resolve this fairly. Whatever settlement the lawyers can come up with that works for everyone involved, that’s what we’ll do. I’m not punishing anyone. I just want to get on with my life. For that matter, I want you guys to be able to get on with yours.” He looked at them imploringly. “Haven’t you been through this enough?”
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- Жанр: Семейная психология, Современная зарубежная литература
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 350 стр. 1 иллюстрация
- ISBN: 9781474083812
- Дата выхода книги: 30 ноября 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
The new novel from New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr. Pre-order your copy now!
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