“Please tell me it had nothing to do with the photo that ran in the paper.”
I didn’t answer.
“Shit. I was worried that was the case. I thought your name in print would be some free publicity since . . .”
“It’s all right, Liam. Don’t worry about it. Chloe was . . .”
“A piece of work.” He chuckled. “Still, I feel bad. I know it’s not like you can afford to...” He stopped short of calling me broke. “Look, I might just have a solution.”
“Solutions are good. I’m listening.”
“The family getaway in Avalon. You’ve always loved that place.”
The very place where I broke his heart. “Are you kidding? Your house is a gem. I mean, there can’t be that many rambling nineteenth-century frame structures still on the beach, right?”
“Whatever ones there were have been torn down to build bigger, sturdier showplaces. That’s what my brothers and sisters want to do, but I want to preserve its decor of shabby chic. I told them I’d foot the bill for a spit-and-polish if they’d give me a chance.”
I held my breath. To do two jobs for him, not just one, smacked of extreme charity. Or more than that. Yet, the potential income would be hard to resist. I was in no position to turn down job offers, not with Griff and Bree executing the final stages of their escape.
“And before you conclude I’m doing this out of guilt over the Princeton Pen article or some other reason”—he cleared his throat—“rest assured that my primary motivation is purely logistical. You’ve been a great help on my house in Princeton, Kat. You understand me and you listen and you’re easy to work with. I know you’d be the same with this project.”
“I’m speechless.”
“Obviously not,” he joked, “because you just spoke.”
“My only hesitation is Griff.”
“Ah, yes. You still haven’t told him about the Macalester House, have you?”
“I was getting around to it. Haven’t quite found the right moment to bring it up.”
“Though it has been almost five months.”
I winced. “It’s complicated. It’ll be bad enough when he finds out it was your one phone call to Hunter and not his months of emails that got him that interview.”
“So he did get the interview?”
“He’s in Alaska as we speak. Somewhere over Canada, I presume.”
There was a pause on Liam’s end. “Look, I’m afraid you might take this the wrong way, but . . . I’m headed to Avalon this afternoon to open the house for the summer. How about you join me tonight, before the rest of the family descends tomorrow? We can talk and generally brainstorm.”
My chest went hot. It was bad enough that I hadn’t told Griff about working for Liam or about my run-in with the cops and showering at Liam’s house. For me to spend a night with him down at the Shore would be inexcusable. It would deal a serious blow to our marriage.
“That’s very nice, Liam, but . . .”
“But what? It’s perfectly on the up-and-up, Kat. It’ll give you a chance to look the place over without being under the microscope of my family.”
“So it would definitely be just the two of us.”
There was a beat before he said, “Is that a problem?”
Another flush of heat.
“Look, Kat, there are five bedrooms, as you may recall. All have locks on the doors and I promise not to use my secret master key, though you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. Flirtation, as my mother used to say, made the world a nicer place, and Liam was proof of that.
“Ah, at last I made her laugh. So, what say you?”
Before I gave in to my lesser half, I said, “Think I’ll have to pass on it tonight, but thank you. It sounds divine.”
“I assumed as much. Hey, if you change your mind, call me. You know my cell.”
I told him thanks again and hung up, feeling totally conflicted. Liam was looking after me, I knew that. Despite his claims to the contrary, he was throwing me work to keep me afloat. That was just his style because he, like I, worried about being financially secure.
I had to admit there was something very alluring about a man who went out of his way to protect me with such respect and dignity. Even if that man was not my husband.
Sighing, I turned my attention to the bills and caught sight of that dancing postcard. What the hell, I thought, clicking on it. After the sacrifice I’d just made by not taking Liam up on his offer, reading a few emails didn’t seem like the biggest sin in the world.
I scrolled past a new email from the department secretary to find an old one from Bree to Griff. Oddly enough, it began with her thoughts on the calculating economist, Ayn Rand.
You mustn’t feel that way, Griff. I know you’re no fan of Ayn Rand, but as a devoted disciple and confirmed Objectivist, let me reiterate the value of “rational selfishness.” Why should you have to put your life on hold for your wife when you’re meant for greater things?
Kat can look no farther than her own backyard of Jersey. Her world is the superficial one of shopping malls and consumption, while you were meant for loftier goals and purer surroundings—mountains, woods, books, reflection, and deep intellectual thought.
Now, thanks to me ☺ you have the opportunity to chuck this job and this trap of suburban life and follow your bliss, as they say. My advice is to tell her everything when we get back from Alaska.
After that . . . let the chips fall where they may.
B.
The pain under my sternum was so sharp, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of me. This Bree, this awful, selfish Ayn Rand lover, was urging him to leave me. For her. For the woods, mountains, and deep intellectual thought.
Oh, please.
Crazed with heartbreak, furious with resentment, I scrolled through his inbox searching for more. But Griff must have kept faith with his promise last fall to be more careful, because there were no other messages from her.
And only one from him to Bree in his outbox.
Your advice is well taken. Let’s discuss in Alaska.
Griff.
Curse him.
Without thought, without reproach from my inner voice, my hand reached for the phone and dialed the number I’d come to memorize.
“What time do you want me there?” was all I said.
“I’ll be there around six.” Liam’s voice was low and gruff. “You don’t know how happy I am that you changed your mind.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Novak estate was a rambling white house of many stories on an unkempt oceanfront lot. Its overgrown grass and crazy split-rail fence lent a wildness to it that made the neighboring pristine homes with their tidy, white sidewalks and pebbled yards seem foolishly prim. It remained a beautiful destination with splendid white beaches that never suffered a from the overcrowding just a few miles to the north. Since Liam and I had dated, though, the real estate values here had inflated to ridiculous proportions. Elaine told me the other day that a simple two-bedroom bungalow, two blocks from the beach, went for two million dollars.
I couldn’t begin to calculate the worth of Liam’s 4,200-square-foot estate.
The churning ocean was steely gray since the sun had almost set when I arrived around seven thirty on the unseasonably chilly May evening. A spring breeze was tinged with salt, and a fine mist cut through the black turtleneck that had been enough to keep me warm back in Rocky River but here was as worthless as Kleenex. But that didn’t stop me from lingering outside to inhale the invigorating air and listen to the steady thunder of waves crashing in the descending darkness.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Liam came down the wide front steps.
He took my bag and kissed me lightly on the cheek, adding absently, “I’m always on my secretary Lilly about her cavalier use of awesome. It’ll be a shock to that generation when something awesome really happens and they’ve run out of words to describe it.”
I said,
“You’re beginning to sound like an old man.”
“Old men aren’t so bad. We have our talents. And experience.” He put an arm around me and rubbed my shoulders. “You’re freezing. I’ve got just the ticket to warm you up.”
“A fire?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a fiery cabernet, but I’ve heard this fire thing works well, too.”
Possibly afraid I’d turn and flee, he hooked my bag over his shoulder and led me by the hand up the stairs, my mind racing. What am I doing here? What possible positive outcome can result from this? Fire was right. I was playing with it and I had a very good chance of getting burned.
Liam had been spot-on about the shabby chic since every item, though ratty, was of high quality. The beautiful hammered-tin ceilings showed signs of slight rust corrosion in the corners from exposure to salty air, and the Southern yellow pine floors were scuffed and darkened with age and sand. Faded antique throw rugs, small enough to shake outside, set off a thick farmer’s table and a Franklin rocker mended at the joints. An old cast-iron woodstove provided some heat, but not enough to combat the drafts blowing through the chinks.
“See what I mean?” He flicked on a light in the kitchen, and an overhead brass candelabra flickered precariously. “Definitely due for a renovation.”
“It’s fantastic and you know it.” I kicked my bag to the door, ready for a quick getaway. “Every other place in Avalon is white tile, yellow walls, and vinyl siding. It’s like a Florida retirement community.”
He opened a drawer for a corkscrew. “Remember this?” It was an old scoop with SPRINGER’S on the side, the name of the ice-cream parlor we used to hit almost every night in Stone Harbor for mint chip.
“Where did you get that?”
“Keith stole it when he was fifteen.” Keith was Liam’s younger brother, the token reprobate of the family.
“That’s not all he stole.” He riffled through the drawer for more. “Ashtrays, towels, can openers, corkscrews, glasses. Entire furniture sets. And you know what gets me? My mother just took the stuff and never questioned why the new kitchen stool said ‘Windrift,’ or how come all our glasses bore the names of local bars and restaurants.”
The late Mrs. Novak would get along with Wade. “Did she raid Dumpsters, too?”
There was a pop! as he removed the cork. “Of course. She had eight kids. You don’t think she was dumb enough to buy new, do you?” He poured out two glasses and handed me one. “A toast.”
“To Springer’s and your mother.”
“To Springer’s and my mother and . . . to what we were and what we’ll always be to each other. How’s that?”
“The rude half of me wants to say corny, but the polite half says it was touching.”
“Always did prefer the rude half of you. To rudeness!”
“Hear, hear.”
We clinked glasses and Liam leaned against the wall, taking in my outfit—jeans, ribbed black turtleneck, modest silver hoop earrings. “You’re more gorgeous than ever, Kat.”
I zeroed in on my wine, unsure of how to respond. He was making an advance, had thrown the ball into my court, and how I returned it could very well determine what happened with us that night.
“Music to the ears of any middle-aged woman,” I quipped.
“You’re not middle aged. That kind of attitude is dangerous, you know. You have to think young, vibrant!”
He inclined his head toward the living room. “Come on. Let’s make a fire and then head to the beach. I’ll loan you one of my coats.”
I sat on the old red couch with its ugly crocheted throw as Liam messed with the woodstove. Underneath his navy cashmere sweater and white cotton T-shirt, I could make out a still strong back. The Novaks had always been an athletic bunch—football in the fall, skiing in the winter, sailing in the summer—and it was paying off with the reward of a fine physique later in life.
What had happened with his marriage? He was so handsome and easy to be with, so big on family. How could a man this noble, this loving, be alone?
“Have you ever read any Ayn Rand?” I asked.
He threw in a handful of kindling. “Geesh. What makes you ask a scary question like that?”
“I was just wondering.” I took a sip of wine. “I read something about her today and I’ve been thinking about her ‘superiority of the individual’ crap and it occurred to me that maybe men, when they get to a certain age, have to test if they can be out on their own. You know, one last adventure in the wilderness before they surrender to hearth and home.”
He got the fire going and closed the door halfway. “Are these the kinds of intellectual conversations you have with Griff?” He joined me on the couch, close. “Analyzing Ayn Rand.”
“Unfortunately, no. That’s the problem.”
He arched his eyebrows. “So, my hunch was right. All is not paradise between my former love and her current one.”
“Do you honestly think I’d be here if it was?”
“I suppose not.” He put his wine down on an old steamer chest that served as a coffee table. “I kind of had an inkling when you didn’t call Griff after your arrest. If I’d been your husband, I would have dropped what I’d been doing and come to your rescue in a heartbeat, even if I was in D.C.—or, hell, China.”
I know.
Leaning his elbow on the back of the couch, preparing for a tear- jerker, he said, “What, exactly, is this dire problem?”
“Ayn Rand, like I said. I think he’s spent so many years teaching Milton Friedman and Alan Greenspan and their Objectivist tripe that he might be starting to believe it.” I paused, debating how much to confide. “After this book is researched and Laura’s out of high school, he’s leaving me.”
Liam didn’t move a muscle. “He told you that?”
“No. I’ve found emails.”
“Shit.” The room warmed and he pushed up his sleeves before going to the fire and adding another log. “Sorry to hear that, Kat. All I can say is, marriage is tough. Having been through a nasty divorce, I’m here to tell you, avoid it if you can.”
“At least you and Paige never fought over money, I bet.”
“That was one issue we were spared, yes.”
“Did you know money is the leading cause of divorce in America? Not infidelity, like most people think. It’s okay if your spouse screws around on you, just watch out if they run up the credit cards.”
“Trust me, there are worse things than money that can ruin a marriage.” He gave the fire a couple of stiff pokes. “There’s coldness and cruelty and manipulation.”
“I assume we’re talking about Paige.”
He hung up the poker and thrust his hands in his pockets, his face red from the stove. “She was my wife and I feel guilty trashing her behind her back, but it was a nightmare, Kat. Her hair-trigger temper. Her need to control. It was as though every move I made was a mistake and she was there to record it and hold it to my face.” Turning to the fire, he added, “I hated coming home.”
Her need to control, I thought. Well, there’s a switch. Seemed Liam had finally met his match.
“All I ever wanted when I signed up for marriage,” he continued, “was love, companionship, family, and some regular sex. She didn’t have to be the perfect hostess or a champion equestrian. She just had to be . . . nice.”
We nodded, understanding. This was a vulnerable moment, a thin spot, in our lives. By either chance or the vagaries of middle age or divine intervention, we had reunited at our weakest states and I had better step carefully.
Reading my mind, Liam said, “I have to watch out that I don’t take advantage of you tonight.”
“As if you could.”
He grinned. “That’s what I’ve missed the most. You weren’t just lovely and sexy. You were my best friend. You could take it as easily as you could dish it out.”
Ditto, I thought. Already, despite our stated reservations, we were getting way too complimentary with each other, especially sinc
e we seemed to be treading on that rosy path to nostalgia.
“You know what, Liam? I think we could do with a walk on the beach.”
Fresh air and a bracing breeze sounded good on paper, or maybe in a personal ad, but was nasty business in practice. Liam pulled a sweater over my head and zippered me into a windbreaker. But the wind whipped to my bones as my feet sank in the cold sand and he steered me to the breaker for shelter.
“Too bad we don’t have fireworks,” he yelled over the ocean’s roar. “I always loved setting off Roman candles at night over the ocean.”
“In this wind, they’d dive-bomb us,” I yelled back.
Once hunkered down amidst the craggy rocks, however, the wind, even the rain, seemed to disappear. I brushed back my hair, already thick with salt and sand, and said, “Okay. You brought me down to the Shore for a reason and I’m guessing it doesn’t have a thing to do with redoing your family beach house.”
“You’re right. And maybe I ought to lay it on the line.”
“You’d better, and fast. It’s freezing.”
He took my hand and covered it with both his hands. “Here’s the situation. When you started working for me, I resolved to put the past behind us.”
“Me too.”
“But, that’s been getting more and more difficult to do. I keep thinking about you, Kat. We get along so well together. It’s so easy and natural. I can’t stop asking what went wrong.”
I leaned into him, partly for warmth, mostly because I wanted to feel him close to me. “This is really dicey territory we’re entering.”
“I know. And you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.”
“I do. I must, especially if we’re going to be working together in the future.” I stopped to think. What I was about to say had to be said carefully and with consideration not only to Liam, but to Griff and our marriage. “The truth is, Liam, that when I was twenty-three, I knew what went wrong, and now, two decades later . . . ”
The Penny Pinchers Club Page 22