Sunrise on Half Moon Bay

by Robyn Carr

  “Jake is all of those things,” Adele said. “Why do I have doubts?”

  “Hell if I know, cupcake. But that isn’t my question to answer. That’s on you. For right now, why don’t you try to figure out what it’s going to take to accept your sister’s help fixing up that house that hasn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in at least ten years. Seems like a good place to start. Because I think your issue is being indecisive. You would drive me out of my mind with that.”

  “I don’t mean to be indecisive,” she said. “I just want to be sure.”

  “Like I said, that would drive me crazy. I’m much too busy to wait around on someone like you, being sure.”

  “Don’t you ever make a mistake?”

  “Sure I do, but I’d rather redo a mistake than spend days on end waffling. Lord, I do hate waffling.”

  “I think I’ve made that a habit...”

  “We have a time management workshop. I suggest you fit it in your schedule because you have a special case. You are quick and efficient in this office, but I think when it comes to things to do for yourself, you just can’t make up your mind. And that’s going to rob you of the happiness you’ve earned.”

  * * *

  Adele took what Ross said to her to heart. The older woman was right. When Adele needed to do her job, serve the clients in the office who needed her help, she never hesitated. When it came to deciding what she wanted for herself, she felt confused and sluggish.

  Inexplicably, she found herself parked in front of the house that had once belonged to her professor. Maybe it still did belong to him, but he was now divorced. She was just giving herself a memory check—that had been a terrible day. He’d sent her off with instructions to have an abortion, promised he was getting a divorce and then she’d seen him with his wife.

  And now, as if history was repeating itself, she saw Hadley coming out of the house. He was wearing biking shorts and a fitted shirt, carrying his helmet. He walked around the side of the house and came back steering two bikes with his hands. In just a moment, a beautiful blonde woman came out of the house wearing biking attire, as well. She waved to the kids and a teenage babysitter, then claimed one of the bikes, put on her helmet and off they went.

  Adele wasn’t positive, but that woman looked like his wife, the same one she had seen about eight years ago. He wasn’t divorced at all. Didn’t he know she would find out eventually? Had she given in to his advances, it would have been very soon. But why was he pursuing her so ardently? Why was he so contrite and apologetic about their affair and its damages? What was going through his head? Was he simply a predator, going after as many young college women as he could fit in his schedule? It made no sense!

  For a moment she wanted to follow them, maybe pull up alongside and ask, “Do you know what your husband does for sport?” Would Mrs. Hutchinson appreciate the tip or was she happy with her denial?

  And why do I care? Adele asked herself.

  Because she wanted the real thing. She wanted it to sparkle, and when the sparkle ceased to glitter, she wanted it to be secure. She wanted to trust a man who was worthy of trust. At one time she had thought the classy, sophisticated professor had whatever that was, but it had been a sham. Maybe she was too young and inexperienced; maybe he was just that good. He was, in the end, the naked emperor.

  She watched them ride away and thought she was very lucky that hadn’t gone according to her plans. It could have been a long and painful relationship.

  Her only regret was losing her baby.

  * * *

  “I’d like to meet you for a drink,” Logan said over the phone to Justine. “Maybe that little pub called Sheep Herder’s in Half Moon Bay. I wouldn’t bother you, but I have to tell you something.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” she asked, half kidding. The other half had been thinking no one was this lucky, to be humiliated by a wayward husband only to find a delightful man to fill in the empty spots in her life.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. But he didn’t laugh. “When are you off work?”

  “No one has late appointments today so we’ll close up shop at five.” She would take some work home, of course. She always did. She didn’t always get to it, but she was diligent in her effort.

  “I’ll plan to be there by five thirty. Take your time.”

  Because she smelled an ill wind, she didn’t waste any time. She phoned her girls to tell them she’d be home to cook dinner but first she was meeting Logan for a glass of wine. She promised not to be late and hoped she’d be able to keep the promise. Something in his voice seemed ominous.

  He was already at the pub when she got there, sitting at a small table in the corner. The place boasted a good crowd at five thirty and would probably be packed by seven. This little pub and a number of quaint little eateries and shops were in the newer section of town, closer to the ocean. When she approached him, he stood and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me how I am. What’s up? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Sit. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  The waiter was at their table before she could even answer. When he left, she just looked at Logan with her eyes full of questions.

  “I’d like you to understand, I wasn’t actively searching for more information on your ex or his new partner. It’s pretty routine for us to go through police calls and reports to see if any clients or their problems appear there. A few days ago there was a call for paramedics at your ex’s house. The police were called. Your... Scott was hurt, and though he insisted he’d had a little too much to drink and took a header down the stairs, he also had some scratches on his neck and so medical contacted the police before transporting him. He now has a line of stitches across his forehead. And it was a suspicious setting.”

  She was stunned. This drama of Scott and his woman was growing by the day. “Suspicious?” Justine repeated.

  “There was evidence of a fight. Things were messed up in their house. The sofa was slashed and the stuffing was popping out.”

  “The sofa? Why on earth...?”

  “My opinion? Someone had a temper tantrum. And I don’t think it was Scott. He was transported and admitted. I read the police report—the officer suggested to Scott that he not allow his girlfriend to visit. They couldn’t press any charges because they didn’t see any battery, and neither of them would admit to it.”

  “You said he had stitches...”

  “Split his head open and had to have a CT scan to make sure he’s okay. They kept him overnight for observation. He had a mild concussion. He’s been released. He’ll be fine—this time. But I think his problems are ongoing.”

  “Oh God, this is terrible. I wished so many horrible things on him, but I didn’t really mean it. I just wanted him to be sorry. I wouldn’t go back in time a day, that’s impossible. But I don’t want him to be beat up!”

  “Well, I’m going to have a talk with him,” Logan said. “I don’t think you should. That might send the wrong message. But I’ll base a visit on what we saw in the parking lot that night. I’ll round up a list of support groups. This is more common than you think. Some statistics put it at one in three domestics involve the man as the victim. I already knew a few things about battered husbands—”

  “They’re not married, are they?”

  “Not to my knowledge, but they are a couple. I know a few things. Men as victims suffer a lot of shame—they’re very embarrassed. The women who abuse them sometimes beat them up while they sleep, destroy their property, get insanely jealous, carry out vindictive plots. Maybe throw a hissy fit and tear up their sofa.”

  “The sofa! Listen, I don’t know anything. I haven’t really looked into these cases when the man is the victim, and I don’t really know much about Scott and this Cat person. But I know
this—when we met in San Jose to divide our property, it was very clear she wanted my couch. He asked for it specifically, and he had never liked it that much. I’m sure she’s been in my house, though not since the divorce. Maybe she was acting out, showing him what she thought of the couch she ended up with. I don’t know. Maybe I should—”

  “No, you shouldn’t. Didn’t you already tell me you reached out to him, worried, after that parking lot scene? Your regular presence and interference could exacerbate the problem. But there is one thing you do have to do. And you have to do it very well. You must talk to your daughters and sister. You’re going to have to tell them that despite Scott’s denial and evasion, he is being battered by his girlfriend. They have to know it’s a volatile situation. They shouldn’t go to Scott’s until this is satisfactorily resolved. They probably shouldn’t let him in your house unless there’s someone around who can make sure you’re all safe. In an ideal world, I’d want you to have a restraining order, but that’s not a simple process. You have to be threatened for a judge to sign off on that, and you haven’t been personally threatened. Just tell the girls the truth and all of you give him space.”

  “And meanwhile you’re going to stick your nose in?”

  “Yes, as someone who knows a little about this and has a few resources. I’m going to give him the names of a few counselors and some support groups for men. I don’t know if it’ll help him, but I’m going to try. Then I’m going to leave it the hell alone. If you get involved, it could make matters worse. In the simplest of terms, the girlfriend is very threatened by you.”

  “Why?” she asked indignantly. “I lost him! He chose her over me.”

  “Listen, I have no idea what her mental and emotional impression of you is, but she obviously wanted what you had. She wanted the couch, for God’s sake. Scott managed your home and I bet she saw it. I bet she looked in your closet and kitchen. I bet she saw you before you first saw her. It’s human nature. It’s typical of her type. Scott, though married, looked like a sure thing—money, savings, investments, capable, resourceful and available.”

  “He was married! He wasn’t available!”

  “He was if the woman could manipulate him into thinking he could do a lot better. These affairs? They’re usually little more than motivation and opportunity. She supplied the motivation and the opportunity was built in—you were working. She probably made him feel like a god.”

  I do have a degree, you know. How many times had he said that? Had he been feeling less than her because she had a law degree? But he was the one who pushed her, who said he didn’t want to work and she’d be capable of supporting them well! It was his idea.

  “God, no good turn ever goes unpunished. I didn’t want to be a lawyer. That wasn’t my dream. I was teaching. I liked my job. Scott’s dream was having plenty of money without having to work for it. I did everything he said I should do! Everything was about us.”

  “Come on, it’s not like you were victimized with a good education and excellent job. But let me tell you about men. Most men, anyway. They don’t play second fiddle well, and they’re very susceptible to high praise and power. If he didn’t feel important enough, that wasn’t your fault. He could’ve applied himself to being useful, to elevating his status. But he was offered a shortcut to feeling important. And he took it.

  “Justine, you have to talk to your daughters, and all of you have to stay away for now. At least until Scott gets some help.”

  “He’s never going to get help,” she said.

  * * *

  Logan, being an expert in surveillance, watched the house he knew to be Scott’s as well as the kayak shack. He had identified the make and model of the vehicle Cat drove, and when it was not in evidence, he parked and went to the door. It was a nice, new, modern neighborhood south of the bay, and many of the houses there had a nice view of the ocean.

  Scott’s car was parked in the drive, and Logan knocked on the door. There was no response so he knocked again. Scott could be sleeping. After all, it had been less than a week since his head injury.

  Finally the door opened and Logan said, “Hey, Scott.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk to you for just a minute.” He touched his forehead, indicating Scott’s stitches. “How’s that doing? Healing?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, if it’s not an inconvenient time, you could invite me in. So we can talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Your many injuries, for starters.”

  “I don’t have anything to discuss with you,” he said. “Did Justine send you?”

  Logan shook his head. Of course he remembered that Justine identified him as former law enforcement. “No, I’m here on my own. Justine doesn’t even know I’m here.” At least, not at the moment, though she did know he planned to talk to Scott. “Listen, I’ve seen things like this before, and you’re not the only person shit like this happens to.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “But I do. And you spent the night in the hospital, the same night someone took a sharp implement to your couch. Knife? Scissors? Something else? Because women who beat up their partners tend to do things like damage the man’s property or hit them in their sleep or, God forbid, take that knife to them when they’re defenseless. I’ve only met your girls once, but they seem like nice girls—this is not the way you want to be remembered by them.”

  Scott took a step toward him. “What do the girls know about this?”

  “I don’t know,” Logan said. “I honestly don’t know. But my advice to them would be to stay away from you as long as you’re mixed up with this woman. She has a history, you know. It’s a matter of public record.”

  “She was the victim of abuse,” Scott said.

  “Actually, she and her last husband were accusing each other of battery. My guess is, this isn’t a sudden affliction. This has been going on a while. Most victims are reluctant to break away, at least at first, but I want to tell you a few things. Thanksgiving is getting close. Then Christmas comes barreling at you. These situations heat up during the holidays. I’d suggest you break it off with her because she’s poison—she’s going to push you down the stairs again.”

  “She didn’t,” he said, but he said it more calmly, a little emotionally.

  “Whatever, Scott. I brought you a couple of things.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Here’s a list of a few counselors not near you. They happen to be men. They have experience in this sort of thing. And here’s a list of locations, dates and times of support groups for men. This happens more often than you think. You’re not alone. Google it, if you haven’t already.” Logan tried looking past Scott. “She’s not here?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  “Buddy, she’s got red flags all over the place. Do yourself a favor...”

  “This really isn’t your business. You can let it go now. And if you talk to Justine, just tell her no one is hitting me. No one is battering me.”

  “Take this information, Scott,” he said, holding out the paper and the business card. “At least take it and think about it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Scott backed into his house and closed the door.

  Logan stood for a moment as if anticipating the door might open and the conversation could continue. He was the wrong person to confront Scott, he could see that. But there was no right person. Justine couldn’t do it—Scott would have too much pride at stake to come clean with her.

  Scott had made a mistake, and now he was just going to have to either solve it himself or live with it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thanksgiving was at the end of the week, and Adele and Justine had decided on a quiet day with the girls. They were going to cook; it had been a long time since they’d done that together,
possibly ten years back when their mother was not only alive but able-bodied and spry.

  “Are you going to invite Logan?” Adele asked.

  “No,” she said. “I think that would be premature. He’s going to be with his family, I’ll be with mine. I did ask him if he wanted to go for a bike ride on Friday, however. What about Jake?”

  “I asked him if he wants to stop by,” Adele said. “He’ll be with his mother, and his brother is going to have his kids for the day. With two ex-wives they juggle the holidays. Jake said he’ll stick close by, help his mother with the cooking and clean up and distract her from the chaos that usually comes with Marty. After all that, he said he’d love to stop by for a slice of pie.”

  There was nothing at all off about the day—it was perfectly calm and relaxing, the food was wonderful, soft music played in the background. They turned on the space heater in the living room and after dinner played some gin rummy. Justine excused herself to talk to Logan on the phone for a little while. But Jake didn’t show up until nine. And he was exhausted.

  “Marty and his kids would wear down a stronger man,” he said. “And didn’t he just bring a girl. Angie something. She’s a looker, but it was pretty obvious he wanted someone to chase after his kids.”

  “And she didn’t see through that?” Justine asked.

  “She’s young,” Jake said. “So young. I think she might be twenty-two.”

  “Sheesh,” she said. “At least she’s old enough to vote. What’s the matter with young women these days? Doesn’t the fact that he’s had two wives and multiple girlfriends make her wonder if he’s reliable?”

  “Apparently not,” Jake said with a laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “So, tomorrow Justine and the girls are going for a long bike ride with Logan, her new boyfriend. We could do something.”