To her surprise, he crab-stepped toward his own office. “We’re going to have to discuss this further. If not today, then soon ... very soon.”
“We will.” But not yet. She just needed a little more time. She glanced past him into his office, thinking of saying something about the pigsty he worked in. That was something they sorely needed to discuss. She kept thinking he would straighten it up, but he never did. His office was cavernous, at least twice the size of hers. The stacks of files and papers sprouted upward like ancient stalagmites. Dena shook her head and made her exit. Soon none of that would matter anymore. “Goodnight, y’all.”
As she pulled the door shut, he called after her, “I’m not sure I want a partner who does domestic relations. Think about it.”
She laughed. If only he knew how much she had thought about it.
CHAPTER THREE
ALAN SELLERS
Alan Sellers lay on his bed, exhausted. A sense of calm enveloped him as it always did when he awakened after he had lost his temper, an all’s-well-in-the-world feeling, until he focused on his surroundings, the trashed bedroom. He clenched his teeth. They ached, as they always did, the result of his constant anger.
Ginny had left him. He had been home for lunch a while before he realized it. She hadn’t made the bed before she left the apartment. He had required her to always make the bed. The breakfast dishes weren’t washed either, the bacon grease smell already stinking up the kitchen.
At first, he thought she had simply gone to work in a hurry, that she was either pretty pissed off or else was playing games. Maybe she thought she would come home at the end of the day and something would have changed.
He had driven over to the longshoremen’s hall to see about work. Told her he would run some errands. Told her to call him later. Told her he would be home at lunchtime. After coming home and seeing the stinky breakfast dishes and the bed, he thought she was rebelling because of his discipline of her the night before. A little bit later, when he’d been taking a piss, he saw her make-up kit was gone from the bathroom shelf along with her toothbrush and hairbrush. His face grew hot. He zipped up his pants and ran to the closet. Most of her clothes were gone. Bitch. His eyes darted around the bedroom. Her dresser drawers stood gaping like big hollow mouths. Pretty much everything that was hers was gone from the top of the dresser.
He found no note. Most of the others had at least left a note. Not all of them, not what’s-her-name ... Patsy. But that had been years earlier, and the details blurred in his memory. They all could have been more understanding if they’d tried. Trouble was, they didn’t bother trying. All women were the same. They all left in the end.
He’d had hopes for Ginny Richardson. She was younger than the other girls. He’d thought if he got one before her ideas were solidly formed, before she had strong beliefs as to what she was supposed to do, he could train her to be the kind of girl he wanted. He had tried that before with limited success, taught one girl what made him angry, what set him off, what she was supposed to do, and how not to push his buttons and make him mad. He’d thought if Ginny understood, if she did what she was told, things would work out.
Women had different ideas from when he was growing up. They wanted more independence. More say-so in how things went. He wasn’t sure, but that’s what he thought. He had been rolling that around in his mind like a tiny rubber ball, going over it and over it.
He could be loving. He had shown all of them he could make them feel like queen of the world. It was not just the sex, though he knew he could make them feel stuff they’d never felt with anyone else, but also when they’d go out with him. When they walked somewhere, he always made sure to be on the street side and let them take his arm. When they went to dinner, he’d open the doors, pull out their chairs, order for them, be attentive, and always pay. At clubs, he would order their drinks and never leave them alone. He’d only go to the men’s room when they’d go to the ladies’, and then he’d hurry so they wouldn’t be alone when they came out. He’d dance with them whenever they got that I-want-to-dance look on their faces, not waiting for a hint.
Once they moved in with him, he paid the bills and gave them an allowance. He would take them shopping and give advice on what they should wear, including shoes and jewelry. He was generous, giving back what he could from their salaries to be sure they didn’t feel like they didn’t get enough spending money.
But, in spite of everything, there was one thing he had learned: women always leave.
His father had warned him. One of his oldest memories was a statement by his father. Never trust a woman. Women never stick around. Sellers had grown up an only child. A motherless child. Your mother left you. Your mother didn’t love you. Your mother abandoned you. She had to be punished. After she got her punishment, your mother died.
Sellers dragged himself off the bed and went back into the kitchen where he plucked a longneck out of the fridge. After twisting off the cap, he went to the window overlooking the street. Hospital shift workers were walking to their cars. The long pull he took from the bottle felt good going down his gullet.
When he was little, Sellers had believed everything his father told him. At the daycare, though, he saw other kid’s mothers come pick them up. He thought those kids must not have fathers. Maybe the kids whose mothers picked them up lived someplace without the fathers. When he had asked his father about that, his father told him not to contradict and belted him across the room. After that, Sellers had kept such thoughts to himself.
In middle school, Sellers once got up the courage to have a girlfriend. It hadn’t lasted long. She had broken up with him when he told her she couldn’t talk to other boys. He had only meant for her to be his alone. She hadn’t understood why he wanted things that way.
He didn’t try girls for a while after that. He watched them. He studied them. He saw how other boys acted with them. He tried to figure out the things girls liked, and the things girls didn’t like. He didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, so he just watched and listened to other guys.
He heard girls talk to each other when they didn’t know he listened. He’d be at his locker or in the cafeteria at the next table or at a school dance. He thought he had it all figured out, only he never told his father.
The other thing he’d been afraid to tell his father, when his father had been alive, was that he’d looked for his mother. A long time ago, he went down to Houston City Hall and asked them how you found out about a dead person. They gave him an address in Austin where he could write for a death certificate. He had written, but no one with his mother’s name had a death certificate, at least not in Texas.
He’d always wondered whether his father had lied to him. His father had always taken the belt to him when he was little if he asked about his mother. He couldn’t ask him how she died. Inside, deep inside himself, Sellers wondered whether his father had hit his mother. Maybe he had even killed his mother. Or maybe his father wasn’t really his father. Maybe he had stolen Alan when he was little and just made up the story of his mother. But he knew his mother’s name. At least, he supposed the name he’d heard when he was little had been his mother’s.
After he grew up and got his own place, he contacted the Bureau of Vital Statistics in all the states surrounding Texas. None of them had anyone who died who had the same name as his mother.
Now, just a few days ago, he got a copy of his birth certificate. He wanted to be sure his mother’s name was right, to be sure his father hadn’t changed anything on the copy he had of his birth certificate. The name had been correct except there was a middle name that wasn’t on his copy. It had to be the name his mother was born with, her maiden name.
This new idea was one reason he was sorry Ginny had run out on him because she acted like she was happy he was looking for his mother. Anyhow, he’d gone online and requested a death certificate for his mother in her birth name. And, instead of waiting this time, he had also contacted those other st
ates. He felt like he was getting close to what had really happened to her.
And now, Ginny’s leaving was a setback. He’d had high hopes for them. He’d thought he could put what he’d done to his father out of his mind, like what happened to his last girlfriend—what’s her name—and start new with Ginny, and maybe when he found out what happened to his mother, he could settle down and start his own family.
He played the what-if game with himself. What if his mother was not really dead? What if he could find his mother? What if she was nice, and everything was his father’s fault? What if she wanted to be with him? What if she loved him?
Or, what if she was dead? What if everything his father had said was true? What if she had been a horrible person and abandoned him and hated him and his father? How would he feel?
What if he found her alive, and she was sickening, a crack whore or somebody like that?
And, what if he had a sister or brother somewhere? If he did and he found them, would they tell him about his mother? Would they like him?
Ginny had helped him search, and now she had left him. Well, he’d get over it. He’d always gotten over it. One more woman leaving him wasn’t going to kill him, which couldn’t necessarily be said for them.
CHAPTER FOUR
DENA
When Dena pushed open the fire door and stepped outside, a gust of hot, humid air enveloped her. The sizzling sidewalk penetrated the soles of her shoes as she walked two blocks down Postoffice Street to the parking garage. Summers in Galveston were best spent at the beach or in a pool, but she wasn’t in a position to go to either.
She drove down Seawall Boulevard, glancing occasionally at the breaker line where the sun sparkled on the water. The scene was typical for Galveston Island. Darkness wouldn’t descend for another couple of hours. Desperate surfers tried to catch the last good waves of the day. Children built sandcastles and splashed in the water. Adults waded out and played in the breakers.
From Twenty-first Street to the West End, rollerskaters, skateboarders, and bicyclists dominated the seawall. West of Sixty-first Street, runners and walkers took over. The thirty-plus mile island almost burst with people. As nice as it was to see visitors enjoying themselves, her favorite times of the year were late fall and early spring. While there were still tourists trying to catch a few rays of sunshine, there were occasional spots of isolation where an islander could enjoy herself and remember the reasons for living on the Gulf coast.
She turned off the boulevard and pulled into the subdivision where she lived with her family. Two of the neighbors mowed their lawns. Another’s automatic sprinkler system had come on and some laughing little children, fully clothed, ran in circles through it, soaked to the skin.
She parked in the garage, but before she could get out of her car, Paul, her six-year-old son, started jumping up and down outside the driver’s side window. He wore denim shorts, tennis shoes, and a Houston Rockets tee shirt with a large orange stain down the center. “Mommy. Mommy.” When she got out, he flung himself at her.
Dena swept Paul into her arms. She gave him a big hug and kissed him in the wrinkles of his neck. Her nose told her it was Kool-Aid on his shirt. She’d have to get it off him in a hurry and into a pail to soak. “How’s my great big Paul?” She nuzzled his ear, kissing and biting it as he giggled.
“I had a really, really good day, Mommy. Juliet says you’re home early. Why are you home early?”
Dena set him down on the floor. She retrieved her purse and roller bag and walked with him into the house. “Mommy was tired of working today. Is it okay with you if Mommy comes home before dark sometimes?”
“I like you to come home early, Mommy.” Paul grinned at her. “Can we go out to eat?”
She tousled his hair and stroked the soft line of his little cheek. Except for his eyes, which were the same hazel as hers, Paul was the spitting image of his father. “Let me deliberate on that for a few moments.” She smiled at her son, a swell of pride and joy in her chest. She knew it was silly, but often when she looked at her kids she realized what a miracle children were and felt pleased she’d been gifted with them.
“What’s that mean?” Paul’s large eyes gazed at her.
“It means I’ll have to ask Daddy.”
“Daddy not home yet,” the little boy said.
“Daddy is not home yet,” she corrected him.
“Noooo.” He shook his head.
“Where’s your sister?”
“In the bathtub. Want me to tell her and Juliet you’re home? Want me to get ’em?”
“Let me change my clothes and then I’ll find them,” she said, leading him by the hand. “What did you do today?”
“Juliet helped me read stories after camp.” He pulled away and ran down the hall.
She felt a pang. She should have been there reading the story, not the au pair, but she and Zack had always agreed she would work outside the home. The almighty dollar. Zack loved it more than he did her, and she knew it.
To be fair, after her father had died, Zack had given her a choice. She could stay home with the kids if she would put her inheritance in both their names and deposit a lot of it to their joint account so they could increase their level of living. Some choice. If something ever happened to their relationship, there’d be a presumption that the money was community property. She’d be left with only half of it—if the court gave her that much. Thanks, but no thanks. She’d finally agreed to name him trustee in the event something happened to her. The children would be the beneficiaries.
Now, over four years later, she was glad she hadn’t given her inheritance to their community estate. She didn’t know what it was—whether he was having an affair or just wanted to move on—but something was up with Zack. She didn’t really care because she was ready to move on, herself. She only hoped he hadn’t figured that out yet. Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where she was making plans to get out of it, just like the law practice with Lucas. She had a plan, but she wasn’t ready to go forward just yet. Soon, but not just yet.
Before going to find Melissa and the au pair, Dena stopped in the bedroom and slipped off her shoes. The soft, cool carpet under her bare feet felt heavenly after the hot pavement. The bed looked so inviting. If she could lie down for just a few minutes ... But Super Mom, as Zack sometimes called her and not always in a pleasant tone of voice, didn’t get to rest when she arrived home. Super Mom had to be there to take over where the au pair left off. Over the years she’d tried to talk Zack into helping, but the responsibility always fell back on her. And while she had been attending law school, it had been no different. And, of course, she had still been expected to contribute the same amount of money to the household budget as she had before she quit teaching. Lucky for her, three years of that contribution hadn’t made any real dent in what her father had left her.
“Hello, Mrs. Armstrong.”
She turned at hearing the accented voice. The au pair held five-year-old Melissa wrapped in a fluffy, white bath towel. “Hello, Juliet.” Dena took Melissa from her. “Hi, Sweetie.” Dena breathed in the aroma of baby shampoo. Melissa’s auburn locks, the same color as Dena’s, had been toweled into tightly wound curls.
“Hi, Mommy. I took a bath.” Melissa hugged her mother around the neck.
“You’re home early,” Juliet said.
“Yes, for a change. I had a bit of an argument with my cousin. You know how he can be sometimes. Has Zack called?” Zack didn’t like her sharing their personal life with Juliet, but Dena didn’t care. Juliet was more like a younger sister than an employee.
“No one has called today,” Juliet said. “Do you want me to prepare dinner tonight?”
“I don’t think so, Juliet. I think we’ll take the children out to eat since Zack has only one more night in town. Thanks for offering though.” She didn’t add that she’d be relieved for him to be gone for a few days. Juliet already knew that. “By the way, how are s
ummer classes going?”
“Fine, Mrs. Armstrong. It is harder for me to sit in the classroom in the summer, though. I would prefer to be at the beach since it stays light so late.” She shrugged one shoulder. “You would like me to dress Melissa before I leave?”
“Please,” Dena said. She snuggled Melissa for a moment. “Mommy will be in to get you in just a minute.” She sent her back to Juliet.
“Okay, Mommy,” Melissa said. “See you in just a minute.”
Juliet seemed wistful, but the girl had always been one to share her problems when she was ready so Dena would wait until that time came, if it did. She closed her bedroom door so she could change clothes.
Shedding her jacket and skirt, she hung them up on wooden hangers. They could go for pizza or hamburgers if Zack wasn’t in one of his moods and insisting on a big dinner. He was more moody than not, lately. She hated it because it made it harder for her to be pleasant around him. Often she just wanted to yell at him to get out, that she was tired of putting up with him and whatever his issues were. Any intimacy between them had disappeared a long time ago. What had happened to the affectionate and funny and comforting man she’d married?
After slipping on a pair of jeans, a yellow cotton sweater, and a pair of sandals, she heard whispers and giggles coming through the door. She jerked it open.
“Boo.” Paul jumped at her, laughing, the roses in his cheeks blooming. Melissa, her red-brown curls bouncing around her face, clapped her hands and shrieked.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you out there,” Dena said. “You startled me, Paul.”
“Did I really, Mommy?” Paul giggled. “Really, really?”
“Oh yes.” She bent down and touched the end of her son’s nose. “You scared me. You were so quiet I didn’t know you were there.” She wrapped an arm around each child, hugging them.
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