by Robyn Carr
“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
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...”