She deposited the drinks then planted her hands on her hips. “So, what’s up with you and Romeo? Where’d you two go the other day?”
Alice’s face burned.
“What’s this about?” Beth raised her eyebrows.
Alice shifted. “Oh, Melba’s just teasing me.”
“Listen to Miss Bashful over here.” Melba cocked her head, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “Girl’s got herself a sugar daddy if I ever saw one, the way he flashes that cash around. Gives her a $20 tip for a plate of pancakes. I swear that boy has your schedule memorized.” Melba laughed, loudly, drawing attention to their table.
Beth straightened, the skin around her mouth and eyes stretching taut. “What’s she talking about Alice?”
Alice thought about the day at the burger joint, the drive home, and how Austin had kissed her. And how badly she had wanted him to, if only to feel loved, wanted, beautiful.
She cleared her throat. “He’s just trying to be nice. You know how some guys are, always looking for that damsel in distress.”
Beth let the subject drop but Alice could tell by her stiff demeanor that she was upset. And that infuriated Alice. Who was Beth to judge? Alice hadn’t done anything wrong. Besides, Trent walked out on her a long time ago.
The two ladies made a few attempts at casual conversation, but it was strained. Alice was relieved when Melba returned with the check.
Beth grabbed it. “This one’s on me.” She glanced out the window. “And it appears Ed is done.”
Alice followed her line of vision. Ed stood propped against the front of her van, ankles crossed, arms folded. That meant one of two things: either he fixed the van or deemed it beyond repair. Hopefully, for her bank account’s sake, it was the former.
Beth fished in her purse for her wallet, pulled out a $10 bill, then set it on the table. “Shall we?”
Alice stood and crossed her fingers. “Wish me luck.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Beth picked up Ed’s milkshake and followed Alice out of the diner and to Alice’s vehicle.
“So?” Beth handed Ed his drink, and he took a long slurp.
Alice picked at a nail. Ed’s creased brow concerned her. “Do I need to call a mechanic?”
He smiled. “Nope.” He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. “It was a piece of cake. As easy as plugging in the spark plug wires. Which concerns me.”
Alice frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Spark plug wires don’t just pop off. Someone had to unplug them.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Someone messed with your vehicle.”
“That doesn’t make sense. The hood release is inside the van.”
“Maybe they used a Slim Jim.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone do that?”
He shaded his eyes to scan the lot, studied a group of teenagers filing out of the adjacent convenience store. “You get a lot of hoodlums around here?”
“No more than anywhere else. Mostly middle-aged blue-collars.” She ran her fingers through her hair, her mind flipping through the many faces she’d seen at the diner, pumping gas, in the parking lot. Some of them looked rough, with long beards and tattoos, but none of them paid her much mind. Except for old man Carl, but he drooled over anyone in a skirt. And no one loitered in the parking lot, at least not that she’d seen.
Alice gasped and brought her hand to her mouth.
“What is it?” Beth asked. “Do you remember something?”
“Trent! I saw Trent the day my van wouldn’t start, pulling into the parking lot.”
Beth shook her head. “No way. How did he find out where you work?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re wrong, Alice.” Ed glanced around the lot again. “Trent may be a lot of things, but he isn’t malicious. Never has been.”
“Maybe you’re right.” But she wasn’t convinced. Five years ago, she probably would have agreed with Ed, but now? Now she didn’t know who Trent was anymore. He certainly wasn’t the man she had married.
Austin? The thought jolted her, and she shivered.
CHAPTER 43
Trent hunched over the bar and stared into his Scotch glass. The ice cubes had melted to thin sheets, watering down the brown liquid. He picked up the glass, swished it, then set it down. Ethan’s words, spoken at the Grace-filled Recovery meeting, swam in his mind.
“Christ came to set you free. Are you going to allow alcohol to imprison you?”
Trent massaged his forehead. What was he doing here? He’d come so far, and yet . . . what’d it matter? He’d lost Alice, his kids, his home. This was as rock bottom as it got.
Bringing the glass to his lips, he inhaled the sweet, caramel aroma. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.
Walk away. Just put the glass down and walk away.
He sat there, staring at his glass gripped in his sweaty hand, the other fisted in his lap.
Fifty bucks filled his pocket. Enough to drink himself into oblivion.
“The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy.”
“Hey, there.” A familiar voice made him jump. He tensed as Ethan settled onto an adjacent bar stool
Trent swallowed, his throat tight and scratchy. “How’d you find me?”
“I followed you.”
The bartender approached. “What can I get you?”
Ethan glanced at Trent’s Scotch, then at two college girls sipping martinis to his left. “I’ll take an iced tea.” He waited until the bartender walked away before turning back to Trent. “I knew where you were headed. When you came home that night, after finding Alice, I knew you’d lost hope. When men like you and me lose hope, the only place we know to go is the bottle.”
Trent traced his finger along the rim of his glass.
“You’re at a major fork here, heading one way or the other. And no one can take that step for you.”
Trent watched the bartender fill a mug with beer, white foam frothing. The yeasty scent filled the air, mingling with the tang of fresh cut limes.
“Think long and hard before you take that drink, Trent.”
“Think about what? How my wife’s running around with another man? How my boys won’t give me the time of day? Tell me, Ethan, where’s the hope in that? You and all your cute little slogans, telling me to never give up hope, to have faith, to keep on keeping on. What has hope done for you lately? Besides collect dust on all those picture frames on your bookshelf?”
Ethan flinched and Trent knew he had hurt him, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding a way to make his pain go away.
Ethan pushed his tea aside. “You’re right. There aren’t any guarantees. Even after you do everything you know to do to try to fix things, Alice still might not come back. And if she’s the only reason you’ve got for staying sober, then you may as well take that drink.” Ethan paused and lowered his voice. “But if you’re tired of sleeping in your car, if you want something more out of life than a bag of food and a $20 gas card, then dig deep, find that tiny spark of life, and grab onto it with everything you’ve got.”
Trent closed his eyes, breathed deep. He pushed the drink away. “Let’s get outa here.”
At work, Alice grabbed her purse from behind the hostess stand and faced Melba. “Guess I better go. I’ve got my meeting with that lawyer this afternoon.”
Melba raised her eyebrows. “Oh. That’s today?”
Alice nodded.
“You all right?”
“About to lose my lunch, but other than that, sure. I’m great.”
Melba laughed and bumped her with her hip. “Girl! Don’t be doing that! These are my good shoes.”
Alice shook her head, chuckled, and headed toward the door. Nearly running into Austin. She jerked back, eyes wide.
“Hey.” He offered that characteristic smile she once found charming but that now made her cringe.
“Hi.” She dipped he
r head and stalked toward her car.
Austin matched her stride, chuckling. “Slow down, will you?”
She cast him a sideways glance, not sure whether to comply. If only to set him straight—let him know that she had zero romantic interest in him. She decided on the latter, and stopping abruptly, turned to face him. “Did you mess with my van?”
“What?” He half spoke half laughed the word, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. His smile faded. “You mean did I have my guy come look at it?” He shook his head. “Not yet, but . . .” His brow wrinkled. “Is it here?”
She crossed her arms, her hands fisted. There was no way to know whether or not he told the truth, whether he or Trent, or someone else, for that matter—not that anyone else would have cause to do such a thing—had been the culprit. Regardless, she needed to set some firm boundaries with this guy. “I’m not interested, OK.”
“You have another mechanic in mind?”
“Not in the car, Austin. In you. In anything romantic.”
He stared at her for a long moment. The hard glint in his eyes pricked her skin. “I know, it’s a tough time for you. I get that. I’ll wait.” He stepped closer, his gaze intensifying.
She backed up and clutched her purse in front of her. “No. I said I’m not interested. At all. Ever. Please, you need to leave me alone.”
She turned and stepped toward her van but he grabbed her wrist. He leaned toward her, his breath hot on her face. “And I said I’ll wait.”
She yanked her arm, trying to break free, but he held fast, unblinking. Then, with that crooked, creepy smile, he released her.
She spun around and hurried to her van, her heart pounding, and jumped in. She immediately locked the doors and glanced back to find him still watching her. Shivering, she turned her key, praying the engine would start. The moment it revved to life, she threw the van in reverse and the van lurched back. Shifting to drive, she accelerated and screeched out of the lot.
That man knew where she lived. How could she have been so stupid?
Alice sat on the edge of a black leather captain’s chair, stiff-backed, as Mr. Cojan sifted through her financial records. Her pulse still raced, her hands clammy. She told herself again and again she was blowing things way out of proportion. Lots of guys were stubborn, and cocky, thinking they could win a lady over given enough time.
For someone who’d spent most of her adult life trying to avoid drama, Alice sure had stepped in a mess of it.
“Thank you for bringing these in.” Mr. Cojan, a tall man with beady eyes and brown slicked back hair, set Alice’s financials down.
She nodded. It hadn’t been easy, and she probably hadn’t found everything, but hopefully Mr. Cojan could get a subpoena for the rest. Not that she wanted to know. The $178,000 she knew about now was more than she could handle.
“According to Washington law, marriage dissolution can be granted if one or both parties can establish, to the satisfaction of the court, that the marriage is irrevocably broken.”
“I don’t want to dissolve the marriage. I just want . . .” What? To get her finances in order. To free herself from the cancer Trent had become. But divorce?
Mr. Cojan leaned back and crossed his arms. “Perhaps I misunderstood. What is your desired outcome?”
She looked at her hands. Desired outcome? It was too late for that. “I want to clean up my credit.”
He picked up the papers again. “Are these credit cards still in use?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in communication with Mr.”—he glanced at the paper—“Goddard?”
“Not really. Is there some way I can separate myself from Trent’s finances, without divorcing him?”
“You can file for a legal separation, which would provide for the distribution of all assets and debts. Issues related to child custody and support would also be arranged.”
She swallowed.
Mr. Cojan leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk. “And although this initial consultation is free, I will need a check for $1,500 if you wish to retain my counsel.”
Alice blinked and brought her hand to her neck. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“It’s likely the courts will make Mr. Goddard reimburse you.”
“He can’t afford that.”
“We’d ask the courts to garnish his wages.”
Was Trent even employed?
“You said the courts would divide our debt. Is it always divided equally or will they take into account his gambling?”
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. At this point, you and Mr. Goddard are equally liable for all debt accrued during your marriage. Unless you can get Mr. Goddard to agree to different terms. Mediation really is your best option. Much more cost-effective.”
“What do you mean by cost-effective?”
“That can vary, depending on the mediator fees and whether or not you hire an attorney to help with the process.”
“If we mediate, do I need an attorney?”
“It is highly recommended. Legal counsel will ensure that your legal rights are protected and all necessary documents are filled out appropriately. Most mediators charge between $100 and $300 an hour. Our fees are $200 an hour.”
Alice blinked. Two hundred dollars an hour? Along with the mediator’s fees, she could afford about an hour’s worth of mediation. “How long does something like that take?”
“That depends on how long it takes you and your husband to agree.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. Every day she stayed married to Trent, her debt increased, and yet she didn’t have the money to do anything about it. She opened her eyes, feeling sick. “Is this something I can do myself?”
He laced his fingers together. “It’s not recommended.”
“I understand, but can I?”
He didn’t respond right away. “The Office of Civil and Legal Aid might be able to help you if you qualify. And you can check out the Civil Help for Women Web site.” He grabbed a pen, wrote something on a slip of paper then slid it across the desk.
Alice stared at the two URLs scrawled in large letters. “Thank you.” She folded it in half and tucked it into her purse.
“You’re welcome.” He handed Alice’s financial records back to her, checked his watch, and stood. “Anything else?”
“No, there is nothing else.” Standing, she grabbed her purse and clutched it and the papers to her chest.
Mr. Cojan strode to the door and held it open. He handed her a business card.
“Thank you.”
“If you decide to retain counsel, give us a call.”
Alice nodded and turned away before he could see the tears brimming in her eyes. They blurred her vision as she hurried out of the office, down the hall, and past the receptionist. Luckily the lobby was empty and the elevator door opened quickly, but the minute it closed, her resolve shattered in deep-chested sobs.
She stepped out into a dark parking garage. Sucking in one shuddered breath after another, she hurried to her van, threw open the door, and fell against the seat.
A car to her right beeped and a man in a gray suit approached a blue Honda, keys in hand. He glanced at Alice. She looked away and rummaged in her purse for a pack of tissue.
Wiping her face and nose, she flipped open the visor and studied her reflection in the mirror. Mascara streaked her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy. She searched her purse again, this time for face powder. A cream card tucked in the back pocket caught her attention. Her name was written across the front in large, flowing letters. She recognized the handwriting immediately. Beth. She tore open the envelope and pulled out the card.
A picture of two little girls swinging side by side stared back at her. Laughter filled their eyes and four tight braids were secured in matching purple ribbons. Three words were printed along the bottom in a child’s handwriting: More like sisters.
She opened i
t and read the verses printed inside: Ecclesiastes 4:9–10, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble” (NLT).
Below it Beth had written: “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Alice tucked the card back in the envelope and wiped her eyes. Sweet Beth, what would I do without you? Putting the van in reverse, she left the parking garage and headed east on Central Way. She arrived at Beth’s 20 minutes later and was immediately ushered inside.
“Alice!” Beth wrapped her arms around Alice.
The kind gesture unleashed a fresh surge of tears.
Pulling away, Beth led Alice to the couch where she crumbled, face in her hands.
Beth dipped her head and rubbed Alice’s back. “Oh, Heavenly Father, we ask for Your comfort and strength.”
Alice closed her eyes as Beth’s words flowed over her like a gentle wind, penetrating deep into her heart, echoing in her soul.
CHAPTER 44
Trent stood near the warehouse door, a throng of people in front of him. They huddled in packs of twos and threes, smiling, engaged in animated conversation. A few kept to themselves, tucked in back-row seats, shoulders hunched, eyes on the ground.
“You ready?” Ethan placed his hand on Trent’s shoulder.
His stomach dropped. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Ethan nudged him forward. “Ah, it’s not that bad.” He scanned the crowd, nodded to a lady in a bright orange tank and ripped jean shorts, then turned back to Trent. “We’ve all been there. Well, all of us working toward sobriety, anyway. This is an important step in recovery, my man.”
Trent shoved his hands in his pockets and let Ethan lead him to the front of the room. Without a word, he removed the microphone from the stand, handed it to Trent and left. Trent stood in front of the podium, dots of perspiration exploding across his forehead. A man with a long gray beard shot him an encouraging smile. Trent averted his gaze and focused on Ethan seated in the front row. Ethan nodded.
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