Bitter Retribution

by Rachel Sharpe

  “I’m trying to think of a pleasant way to break the news.” I walked across the living room toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I scanned the nearly-bare shelves. Making a mental note to go shopping once the snow stopped falling, I grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip.

  She yawned. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let them know.”

  “Really? Wow, thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

  “You’re not necessarily off the hook. I’ll tell them, but Mom’s still going to call you and try to talk you out of it. Be prepared for that.”

  “I will. I just appreciate you taking the edge off by, you know, breaking the news.”

  “No worries,” she yawned again. “Sorry. I’m taking a nap as soon as I get off the phone. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Yeah, you should,” I agreed, taking another sip of bottled water. “So, how are you feeling? Did you guys find out what you’re having?”

  Clearing her throat, she laughed, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a train most of the time. I don’t know . . . I keep getting headaches and this kid won’t sit still. I guess that makes me tired, too. Whenever I’m sleeping, he or she is doing back flips.”

  “So you still don’t know what you’re having or are you refusing to tell people?”

  “Charlie and I want to be surprised,” she answered sternly. “We don’t know. That’s half the fun. You know, planning names and guessing what we’re having.”

  “If you say so,” I laughed. “Personally, I would want to know so that I could have everything planned out. You of all people should appreciate that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Come on, Leesh, you’ve had your entire life planned out since, like, the third grade! I guess it surprises me that you don’t want to be prepared.”

  “I’m not as rigid as I used to be. People can change . . . and since I got married, it hasn’t been about me anymore. It’s been about us. Everything is a compromise and I can’t have everything my way. Now that we have a baby on the way, my needs are even further down the list but I’m happy about it. Really happy.”

  I smiled. “Sounds like marriage suits you.”

  “You would know that if you called more. Anyway, speaking of marriage, how are you and Rick? That’s pretty rotten that he had to go to London before the holidays. Will he be back for Christmas?”

  The lump returned to my throat and brought with it tears to my eyes. I glanced across my living room at a framed photo of the two of us on the end table. His cousin Arthur took the picture in Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard. Rick had his arms wrapped around me and we were laughing. “It sucks, but what can you do? That’s work.”

  “Will he be back before Christmas? Oh, and you are coming home for Christmas, right? There’s no way you’re getting out of two holidays.”

  I wiped the tears away and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “I feel like you are avoiding my question. What about Rick?”

  “Well, to be honest, I don’t know.”

  “Are you okay?” I could hear concern growing in her voice.

  Not wanting to get into a lengthy discussion which would eventually fall upon my parents’ ears, I truthfully answered, “I miss him. It was a complete surprise that he had to go to London, but I’ll be all right.”

  “Okay.” She paused. “Listen, Jordan, I’m really glad we talked, but I need to go. I wish we were discussing your trip here, but things happen. I can’t wait to see you at Christmas. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I choked.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I glanced back at the photograph. Rick grinned at me and his piercing blue eyes sparkled.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “I’m all right.”

  4

  With only a few days left before the trip, Jon and I focused on finishing the vet’s case by submitting our findings to her at her lawyer’s office Monday morning. A beautiful woman with vivid, red hair and emerald-green eyes, I was dumbfounded that her husband felt the need to cheat on such a breathtaking, kind, and intelligent woman. She paced that eighth-story office, studying each photograph carefully without betraying her emotions as if she were a skilled Las Vegas poker player keeping her cards close. She barely noticed our two-page report. The photographs told her everything she needed to know.

  As she leaned over her lawyer’s espresso-colored desk to sign our check, her red hair gracefully fell in front of her face and for a moment, while hidden behind a wall of hair, I thought I caught a glimpse of sorrow in her eyes. As quick as it appeared, the look was gone, replaced by stoic resolve as she handed me the check and extended her hand. I accepted it tentatively. We shook.

  “I truly appreciate all your assistance in this matter,” she began, a fake half-smile attempting to cover the underlying despair. She paused for a moment. “It’s hard enough going through a, well, situation like this, without the added stress of involving others. It’s nice to know there are good people out there willing to help and use discretion.”

  Although I felt physically ill as we walked out of the high-rise, knowing my work would result in a bitter and lengthy divorce proceeding, I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that I was helping a wronged wife, not her philandering spouse. Jon, for his part, was thrilled by the large bonus the vet gave us for our efforts.

  “What’re you gonna do with your half?” he chirped as we hurried along the busy sidewalk downtown. A car horn blared and I glanced over in time to see a red Ford Taurus cut off a white Buick Enclave.

  I shrugged, shoving my hands deeper in my coat pockets. “I don’t know . . . put it in savings, I guess.”

  “Savings? Whatever! I’m gonna buy myself some new sunglasses for the ski trip. Maybe I’ll get a wool cap, too. I wonder if there are any deals at Neiman Marcus. I can’t believe the trip’s tomorrow!”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, the icy air stinging my cheeks and burning my eyes.

  “What’s your deal?” Jon stopped, glaring at me. He furrowed his brow. I kept walking at a fast pace, weaving in and out of the crowd. He groaned but eventually jogged to catch up with me, wheezing as we crossed a busy intersection with a myriad of pedestrians. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

  As soon as we reached the sidewalk, he grabbed my right arm, forcing me to stop. Several bundled shoppers cried out in frustration as they slammed into us, but in a perpetual hurry, they refused to stick around to articulate their anger. “I hate that I’m making a living by helping marriages fall apart,” I snapped, yanking my arm out of his grasp. “I started this business because I wanted to help people. I doubt Magnum ever handled tawdry divorces.”

  He picked up the pace to keep up with me as we passed another office building. “First of all, quit comparing yourself to Magnum, P.I.! It’s a stupid, old show, not reality. Second, you’re helping the victims. That makes you one of the good guys.” He waited for me to reply, but I didn’t. My stomach felt more knotted than a salty pretzel at a Red Sox game and rationalizing our actions wasn’t going to help this time. “Look, what happened to that lady up there sucks, but it’s not your fault. She already knew before she hired us anyway.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I shivered as we stopped at another crosswalk. Jon took off his black leather jacket and placed it around my shoulders. Easily over six-two, his jacket was large enough to fit over my blue parka. When I thanked him, he cleared his throat and nodded once. As we walked the next three blocks in silence, I found myself thinking about Rick again.

  “Something else is bothering you.” I glanced over at Jon. He took my silence as an admission. We were both aware of the true reason for my moodiness, but he was less likely to mention it than I was. “So, um, is your mom still giving you grief about Turkey Day?”

  Until he mentioned
her, I had not thought about my mother and our guilt-riddled argument since it happened last Friday. Alicia kept her word and broke the news to my parents. According to her, my father offered little response to the news; my mother, however, treated my decision as personal rejection.

  “But darling, why?” she whined when she called me Friday morning. “Thanksgiving is a family holiday! How can you even think of going skiing? Your sister is pregnant! She’s due in three months! Three! You should be here offering her support. Considering you’re rarely ever home, I thought you would want to spend time with her before the baby arrives.”

  “Alicia has plenty of support, Mom. Heather has to work for the holidays. I don’t want her to be all alone.”

  “You’re choosing some friend over your family? Your family and your pregnant sister!”

  I counted to ten and took a deep breath. “Mom, you’re acting like I just met Heather. She’s my best friend. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. Besides, Leesh says she’s fine with it.”

  “Of course she said that! You didn’t give her any choice.” She paused, sighing deeply. “I’m very disappointed, Jordan. I thought we raised you better than this.”

  My mother comes from a very social family in New Orleans. She learned early on the importance of appearances. I had a sinking suspicion her concern was not so much for my lack of family spirit, but instead for how my absence would look to her friends and, more importantly, my father’s business associates, who regularly attended our “family” gatherings. This revelation upset me and I felt my pulse racing as I fought to hold my tongue. “Mom, this is a done deal. Please drop it.”

  “Or what? You’ll refuse to come home for Christmas, too? You always were stubborn, Jordan, but you’ve gotten worse since you moved to Boston and especially since you started dating that boy. He was your client, Jordan. Your client! For God’s sake, it’s just so . . . trite. I don’t see why you spurned Greg Bell. Now there is a sweet, Southern gentleman.”

  My mother’s attack on Rick while simultaneously praising my sleazy, ex-boyfriend from high school was the last straw. When Rick and I broke up, I felt like my heart was torn in half. When I saw pictures of him with another woman, the remainder of it had been pummeled by a jagged meat cleaver. Despite this, I loved him and had no intention of allowing my narrow-minded mother to bash his good name. Before I knew it, I had cursed under my breath.

  “What did you say, young lady?”

  “Ugh! I get it. You’re mad at me. You want everything to look a certain way, everyone to act a certain way. But this is my life! I’ve earned the right to make my own decisions. I’ve earned the right to screw it up! You’re my mother. You’re supposed to offer advice and encouragement.” My face flushed and I took a deep breath. “And support. Feels like all I’ve gotten lately is guilt. Mom, I love you, but I’m going to Colorado. If you’re still talking to me by then, I’m planning to come home for Christmas.”

  She ended the call with a vapid excuse about expecting the cleaning lady. I worried all night that my father would call me, but he never did. Three days later, I still had not heard from anyone in my family. Now, I found myself thinking about the situation again. Guilt welled up within me. As usual, even from thousands of miles away, my mother managed to make me feel guilty for standing up for myself.

  “Maybe I should call her,” I lamented as we walked inside a department store in hopes of thawing out. I recounted our conversation to Jon as he searched for the perfect sunglasses.

  “No way.” He tried on a black pair with blue lenses. “She’s playing you. If you call, any respect she might’ve had for you will be gone. You made an adult decision. She’s gotta deal. What do you think about these?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Blue lenses? Why can’t I just call to say hi?”

  He frowned as he returned the glasses to the shelf and picked up another pair. “Have you ever just called to say hi? No? Then don’t start. These?”

  “They dwarf your face. Could I call Alicia at least?”

  Furrowing his brow further, he picked up two more pairs and studied them intently. “You’ve always said your sister’s a narc. Might as well call your mom. Look, these are Gucci. Hmm?”

  I stared down at my phone’s screen. I knew that Jon was right—my mother was playing a mind game in a last-ditch effort to make me come home. In years past, I would have called Heather to vent, and more recently, I’ve turned to Rick and he made even my worst familial conundrum seem trivial. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize the ringing I heard was my cell phone.

  “I’m going to look at fleeces,” Jon announced, carrying a small box labeled Gucci towards the men’s clothing section. “Your phone is ringing.”

  I saw an unknown number flashing. “This is Jordan James.”

  “Jordan?” a familiar female voice inquired.

  “Yes?” I replied, unable to place the voice.

  “It’s me, Michelle.”

  I felt a grin creep across my lips. I’d met Michelle Cross back in June when Rick asked me to help find his missing cousin, Arthur. Michelle was the wife of Judge Edward Cross, Arthur’s older brother. A tall, thin beauty with raven hair and striking gray eyes, she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was also one of the kindest I’d ever met and welcomed me into Rick’s family like a long-lost sister. I spent many great days sailing along the Sound with Rick’s family last summer and much of that time was spent with Michelle.

  “Hey! How are you?” Hearing her voice brought me back to happier times and for a moment, I forgot Rick and I broke up. The memory returned the instant she spoke.

  “Hi,” she replied softly. “I’m fine. I, well, I’ve been meaning to call you . . . I haven’t seen you since the party.”

  For the past two weeks, I tried blocking out the memory of that party, but when she mentioned it, everything came back full force. That was the night Rick and I broke up. It started out as a nice evening. We attended his cousin James’ senatorial victory ball together, but I got there before Rick because he had to work late. When he finally arrived, I could tell that there was something he wanted to discuss. That was when Rick explained to me his accounting firm wanted to send him to London for a year to manage the opening of a new branch.

  “All right, let’s say it’s just a year then. How would this be a good move for us?” I paused after he told me that he wanted me to come with him. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I love you, but you’re my boyfriend, not my husband. This would be a good career move for you. It could destroy mine.”

  I saw the color leave his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets and sat down on a bench along the terrace wall. He sat there in silence, staring at the ground. I felt immense guilt at my curt remarks and slowly walked over to the bench and sat beside him. As we sat there, an older couple walked outside. They glanced at us briefly before hurrying over to the other side of the terrace to enjoy their champagne and the clear night air. I knew that I should say something, but I didn’t know what to say. I felt as if there was an invisible wall keeping us apart and it was an overwhelming feeling.

  Rick was the one to break the silence with a statement that sent me reeling. “Jordan, I’m sorry to put you in this situation. I know it’s a lot to ask of anyone, especially since it’s such short notice. But I meant what I said. You started your firm from nothing and look where you are now! I know you could do the same anywhere if you put your mind to it. And I also meant that I think this would be a good move for us because I see us as a couple always. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” He stood up and when he took his hands from his pocket, I noticed a small black box in his left one. “The meeting isn’t the only reason I was late,” he stammered. His hands shook as he opened the box to reveal an elegant, princess-cut diamond ring. He slowly knelt down beside me. “Jor
dan, I love you. I have always loved you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

  I stared at the ring. It sparkled as the moonbeams danced across the large diamond. I was so startled that I couldn’t think. “I need to sit down,” I managed to mutter, refusing to take my eyes off the rock.

  “You are sitting down,” Rick reminded me quietly.

  “Right.”

  “I know this is a lot to ask,” he repeated, “but I also know you love me and this feels right. We belong together. Jordan, would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I glanced up at him, then back at the ring. “Well . . . “

  Rick searched my eyes anxiously. “Yes?”

  I felt my heart pounding and blood rushing through my body, warming me in spite of the icy air surrounding us that cold New England evening. My boyfriend held in his hands a promise for a future together – an uncertain future in an unfamiliar place. I have always prided myself on my independence and ability to go with the flow. For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t. Instead, I panicked.

  “I can’t.”

  His tan complexion whitened and he swallowed hard. I saw his hands shaking slightly as he closed the box and placed it in his pants’ pocket. He stood up slowly then sat down beside me on the bench. Staring at the ground, he said quietly, “May I ask why?”