An Irreconcilable Difference

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  I felt my heart twist. “Oh, honey, you do matter. More than you’ll ever know. Your father and I never wanted to hurt you, Greg. You or Jana. Please believe me.”

  “Believe you? Two months ago when I was home at Christmas, everything was fine. Or was that an act? A lie?”

  I couldn’t say a word. He was right. Darren and I had put on an academy award-winning performance for the kids at Christmas. We did it for them, to spare them pain.

  “It’s all been lies, hasn’t it?” he said when I didn’t answer. “For years. It’s all one big lie, you and dad. The prefect couple. All lovey dovey and nuts about their kids.” He passed a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

  Panic made my voice harsh. “We are nuts about our kids and we do care about each other.”

  “Oh, yeah? You care so much about each other that you’re getting a divorce?”

  “We’re getting a divorce because we do care—”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence with more lies.”

  “I’m not lying. I care very much about your father—”

  “That’s it,” he said. “I’m not going to listen to this. I’m out of here.”

  He stormed out of the room with me inches behind him. “Please don’t go, Greg. We need to talk. I want to tell you—”

  He turned on me so fast I almost ran into him. “What? More lies? I don’t think so. You know,” he said, rubbing his forehead again, “I was really upset after I talked to Jana, but I thought we could talk about it. I thought you might have enough respect for me as a person to talk to me, but you’re just going to jerk me around—”

  “I’m not—”

  “Oh, no? So it was irreconcilable differences, right? No other man?”

  “Of course not.”

  He looked like a volcano about to explode. Then he did. He swung his arm out, knocking over the hall table. As it toppled, my purse flew across the room, as did the mail. The box under it opened as it fell, spilling long-stemmed red roses onto the hardwood floor.

  I looked in confusion from the roses to Greg, who was watching me. “I don’t—”

  “They’re from your boyfriend,” he said in disgust. “They came while you were at the beauty shop getting all dolled up.” He reached out toward my hair, but then let his arm drop. “He says thanks for everything, including breakfast.”

  He turned and picked up his suitcase and garment bag, which I hadn’t noticed sitting by the door. A moment later, he was gone.

  I sank to the floor, looking at the broken table, the white cardboard box, the blood red roses that surrounded me. I vaguely heard the squeal of tires as Greg peeled out of the driveway, the roar of his engine as he accelerated away. Then all was silent.

  After a while, I registered a little square of white among the green leaves, and I reached over and picked up. With shaking fingers, I pulled out the card. It was from Weinstock’s Flowers, I noted absently, and had little blooms in pastel colors printed in the top right hand corner. Scrawled in a bold hand across the bottom were the words that damned me. “Lou, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed being with you. And for breakfast this morning. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Always, Gideon.”

  The tears came then, tears of grief for the pain I’d seen etched on my son’s beautiful features, pain that I’d been forced to inflict on him, tears of anger at Gideon Klee for stupidly sending me flowers, tears of self-pity because I’d been so wrongly accused of infidelity. Then they became tears for my father because his mind and his life were slipping away from him. I think by the time I’d cried myself out, I’d even wept for Scruffy, my dog that died when I was eleven.

  I felt like I was eleven again and in desperate need of my mommy. As I got to my feet to go in search of a box of tissues, I felt more like ninety.

  I had tissues in the kitchen. Actually, I had tissues in every room of the house. It was one of my little quirks, but right now I wanted to be in my kitchen, my big, bright kitchen.

  I mopped my eyes and blew my nose, all the while trying to think what to do. My son had walked out, baggage in hand. It terrified me to think of him driving around aimlessly in his current emotional state. He would cry. I knew that. Greg always made a show of being big and tough and invincible, but he was painfully sensitive underneath that thin veneer. I had no idea where he would go. He didn’t know where Darren was living. Even Jana didn’t know that. Surely Greg wouldn’t move in with Diane after their one hot night? To a hotel? Then I had a sudden thought.

  I snatched up the phone and dialed Mother’s number. That was logical. He’s go to his grandmother’s house. He’d always been close to her. That had to be where he was headed, and I had to warn her before he got there.

  On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. I slammed the phone down and began to pace the kitchen. Fine. She was out somewhere. My mother, the social butterfly, was out with her cronies doing Tai Chi or dancing or—or doing whatever in the hell they did with themselves. God, what kind of a mother was she anyway? I didn’t want Peter Pan for a mother. I wanted a warm, loving mother who was there when I needed her. Damned if I’d leave a message on her stupid answering machine. I didn’t want to talk to a machine. I wanted—

  A sound in the hallway stopped me in my tracks. Greg. It had to be Greg coming back. I raced out of the kitchen and nearly collided with my mother. A moment later, I was flinging myself into her arms. “Oh, mom.” I gave over to sobs.

  She held me there in the hallway while I wept until there were no tears left, held onto me and rocked me gently from side to side. I don’t think I have ever been so glad to have a pair of arms around me, soothing me, anchoring me.

  When I was calmer, I tried to tell her what happened. “Greg thinks I’m a slut. He thinks I’m cheating on Darren. He was so furious—” I pulled back. “Wait a minute. You should be at home. What if he goes there?”

  “I left a note on the door, Lou. He knows where the spare key is. He can let himself in. Don’t worry about Greg. He’s a big boy.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him a few minutes ago.”

  “A big, angry boy.”

  He was that. “How did you know?” I asked, wiping my eyes with my fingers.

  “Jana called me after Greg called her.”

  She led me into the kitchen, kicking roses and mail out of our way as we went, and sat me down at the kitchen table. “I’m going to make you some coffee and something to eat. Roger said you barely touched your lunch.”

  Roger. Was that today? “I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be. Now, where do you keep the coffee in this place?”

  “In the freezer.”

  She opened the side-by-side and pulled out a bag of coffee, looking at it with distaste. “Decaf? Why do you bother?”

  “I—I like the taste,” I said half-heartedly. “And I have trouble sleeping…”

  “I know you do, honey. I was only razzing you. I’ll make it double strong.” She turned back to the sink. “You wouldn’t have so much trouble sleeping if you’d go out and get yourself laid.”

  I was still too upset to be shocked. “According to Greg, that’s what I was doing last night.”

  “That’s what he told Jana when he called her the second time. Something about some roses from your lover,” she said with a glance toward the foyer. “What was all that about?”

  Without a word, I got up and went into the hall. I picked up Klee’s card out of the mangled flowers and carried it back into the kitchen, handing it to Mother.

  She read it, and then looked me up and down. “Doesn’t seem to have done you much good.”

  “I didn’t sleep with the man,” I said, dropping back into the chair. “I hardly know him. I notarized some papers for him.”

  “What about the breakfast part?”

  I dropped my head into my hands. “I met him for breakfast because I wasn’t going into the office today and he didn’t want to wait until Monday.”

  “Why didn’t he g
o to a bank or something?”

  “That’s what I asked him.”

  “And?”

  I decided to tell her all of it. When I was finished, she stood leaning against the counter, regarding me. “So he was hot after you, and that was before Roger got his hands on you.”

  “I don’t know that he’s hot after me,” I said, but was that true? After living through it and hearing myself recount it, I didn’t know, any more than I knew what to do about it.

  “Is he good looking?” she asked, her voice casual as she rummaged around for bread and cheese in the refrigerator.

  I considered it as I watched her spread mayonnaise on four slices. “Pretty good looking, but—“

  “Rich as God, you said.”

  “Sam said, and you can forget it, mom. I am not looking for a man.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up. “Sounds like you don’t have to.”

  While we ate our grilled cheese sandwiches—she was right, I was hungry—and drank our muddy coffee, I told her about my appointment with Roger. It was the comic relief we needed, or at least I needed. Even as we were laughing, I kept one ear cocked for the ringing of the phone. I was sure that at any moment the police would call to say Greg had been in an accident or Jana would call to ask who I was sleeping with. I finished by telling her I’d gone to see dad.

  “So you finally got to meet Jules.”

  “Jules?”

  “Jules Proctor.” She had a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “I told you you’d like him.”

  I drew back as the name registered. “I met him yesterday, but I certainly do not like him. I’ve never met a ruder individual in my life. He has a chip on his shoulder the size of Oregon.”

  She looked surprised. “Are we talking about the same man? Jules, the doctor?”

  “Jules the unpleasant doctor who let me know he thought I was the worst daughter in the world.”

  “What did you do to make him think that?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I met him yesterday and he demanded that I make an appointment to talk with him. Then, before I’d been home an hour, he called and said since I wasn’t going to make the effort to set up the appointment, he would. Then he implied I might not keep it.”

  I got up and began to pace the room. “Then today when I showed up, he lectured me for twenty minutes about Alzheimer’s and told me we shouldn’t dump my father there and forget him.”

  Mother nodded. “He takes his patients very seriously.”

  “I take my father and his illness very seriously, no matter what you and—“

  “Whoa, Lou,” she said, holding up her hand. “I never said you didn’t. And you say he has a chip on his shoulder?”

  “Well, he implied—”

  The doorbell rang. Mother and I looked at each other. We both headed in that direction at the same time. I was certain it was the police. She probably thought so, too.

  Darren took one look at me when I flung open the door. “Goddamn, Lou, what did you do to yourself? You look gorgeous.”

  The relief I felt threatened to buckle my knees. No accident. No bloody son on the pavement somewhere, but a very welcome almost-ex-husband.

  I stepped back to let Darren in, then I let him put his hands on my shoulders and turn me in a pirouette while he checked me from all sides.

  He looked at Eleanor. “This has to be your doing. She never would have fixed herself up on her own.”

  I brushed off his hands. “Thank you very much. It was her doing, and I don’t appreciate being talked about as if I weren’t in the room. What are you doing here?” I asked Darren ungraciously, although I was glad to see him.

  I had experienced a lot of feelings for Darren in the forty plus years we’d known each other, everything ranging from love to hate to pure lust to revulsion. He was a devilishly handsome man. Greg might have gotten some genes from me, but he’d gotten his astounding good looks from his father. Darren's reddish-brown hair had only recently begun to show a sprinkling of gray, and it was the only sign of age he wore.

  Darren had a body honed to steel from years of tromping around construction sites and a face weathered by three decades of the same, with crags and planes enough to rival the Rockies. During our years together, I had grown used to women staring at him as we passed. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt open at the throat. His best look. No jacket, even in the depths of winter. Tough guy.

  “Jana called me,” he answered, pulling me out of my musing.

  “Jana? How did she get your number?”

  He looked at me strangely. “She called my cell phone, Lou. That number hasn’t changed. Besides, my new phone is listed. All she had to do was call information.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that.

  “She said Greg had called her in a rage because I had moved out and you were having this hot and heavy affair with some man named Gordon.”

  “Gideon,” I corrected, and saw his eyes widen. “His name is Gideon and I’m not having an affair with him. I just met him yesterday. Apparently he’s gone into partnership with Sam and Jeff. Some kind of silent partner.”

  “Gideon Klee?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Do you know him?”

  He shook his head. “I know of him. He’s a real high roller with piles of money, but a bit of a steamroller from what I’ve heard.”

  “Tell me,” I muttered.

  He seemed to take in the mess in the front hallway for the first time. “What’s all this?”

  “This,” I said, kicking aside the few remaining uncrushed roses, “is from the steamroller.” I led the way into the kitchen.

  “They look like they were under a steamroller,” Darren said, following me. “Is that what started Greg off?”

  “Those and the card. Here.” I picked up the card from the table and handed it to him.

  He read it, and then looked at me. “Greg went ballistic because Klee bought you breakfast?”

  I had to smile. That was Darren. While Greg assumed his mother had become a scarlet woman, Darren automatically took the words in the best possible light. I patted his arm. “Thanks. I needed that. Sit down. I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  “Not that decaf stuff.”

  “It’s not decaf the way mom makes it.”

  My mother had followed us into the kitchen and was tidying up. She didn’t talk much around Darren anymore. It wasn’t that she didn’t still love him. You couldn’t turn off that many years of love overnight, as I well knew. She was—disappointed in the way things had worked out. Not enough, though, to let it create tension when we were all together.

  I poured two fresh cups of coffee and sat down with Darren. He took a sip and winced. “Jesus, Eleanor. This stuff could strip paint.”

  “Don’t drink it if you don’t like it,” she snapped, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  So could he. He grinned at me, that heart-stopping grin that had caused me to say “I will.” More than once, if I remembered correctly. Then the grin left his face. “So tell me what’s happening. Greg assumed you made Klee’s breakfast, huh?”

  “After a night of wild lust, at least,” I said, nodding. “All I did was notarize some papers for the man. I don’t know why he sent roses.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t send diamonds. He can afford them.”

  “Apparently. The papers he wanted notarized were for the disposition of one of the boats he has docked at Hilton Head. He made a point of telling me that.”

  Darren raised his eyebrows. “He’s trying to impress you.”

  “Well, he failed. I don’t like him. He’s pushy. I can’t believe Jeff and Sam let him buy into the partnership. I don’t look forward to having Gideon Klee as a boss.”

  “You can quit and come to work for me any day you choose, Lou,” Darren said seriously, and not for the first time. He reached over and covered my hand with his own.

  I turned my palm up and linked my fingers through his. “You know how awkw
ard that would be for both of us.”

  “Then I’ll increase your alimony and you won’t have to work.”

  “Right, and not have enough to live on yourself so I can feel guilty every day.”

  “You two are strange,” Mom said, coming to the table to join us. “I’ll bet you drive your lawyer nuts. We might get back to the subject at hand, though, which is Greg.”

  There was a collective sigh around the table as we each considered the problem we shared.

  “You might try a new approach,” my mother said into the heavy silence that enveloped us. “You might try telling him the truth.”

  I couldn’t meet Darren’s eyes. I knew what I’d see there, and I knew what he’d see on my face. “I’m not willing to put him through the emotional wringer that will cause,” I said. “I won’t put either of our kids through that. Not now, on top of everything.”

  “They’re going to find out eventually,” she said.

  Chapter Eight

  I turned to face her. “I know they are, Mom. We know they are, and Darren and I are prepared for that.” I dragged my eyes from hers to Darren’s. “As prepared as we can be, but let them deal with one life-altering bit of news at a time.”

  “It’s your divorce, honey,” she said, getting to her feet. “Yours and Darren’s. You need to handle it the way you think best, and you know I’ll support you both. But your children aren’t stupid, and they aren’t going to willingly accept some gobbly-gook about irreconcilable differences. Now I need to get home. You’ll be fine now,” she said to me, then turned to Darren. “You need to go see your father-in-law, Darren. He was asking about you.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, saluting her. “Tomorrow morning. Sorry I’ve been so out of pocket lately.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she said, bending down to kiss his forehead. Then she straightened and shook her head before leaving the room. A moment later, I heard the front door close behind her.

  “She’s really something,” Darren said.

  “One of a kind,” I agreed.