Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Though he had told her nothing new, she felt a little reassured hearing it again. She felt like she was about to step off a cliff; she had to at least be sure no one on her side was against her doing so.

  Now that it was almost official, Madeline had to think pragmatically. She only had a few hours to prepare herself for the undoing of her marriage and the pilgrimage to Guam. She was grateful now that she only had a few bags of possessions to worry about. But she could hardly board an international flight with a couple carry-ons and assorted shopping bags. She grabbed the notepad and began another list:

  Call Laird’s office

  Buy suitcase

  Call Mike

  Arrange for a late check out

  She became aware of acute hunger pains, but she was too keyed up to eat anything just yet. She had to dress and make herself presentable, then organize her things before she could think of venturing out of the room.

  While piling the odd assortment of belongings she had in her possession on the bed for assessment, she called Mike. The grogginess in his voice made her check the time. Only 9 a.m. and she felt like she’d been awake for days.

  “Did I wake you up?” she asked as she took the extravagant, unworn shoes out of their boxes and stuffed them in their protective bags.

  “Uh…no…I’m awake, I think.”

  “I hate to spring this on you, but can you put me up for the night?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure,” Mike said, sounding more alert and chipper at the prospect of seeing her so soon. “Hey, I was going to call you. I got a decent offer on your car. The guy’s very interested.”

  “Great. You can tell me all about it when I get down there. Oh, do you think you could take me to LAX tomorrow morning? I’ve got an early flight. I probably need to be there by 6:30.”

  “Now you’re pushing the friendship limits,” Mike said. She could tell he was delighted to be put out. “Where you headed?”

  “Guam. I’ll explain everything when I get down there.”

  Madeline sat in Mike’s Mercedes, staring at the cashier’s check for half a million dollars. She knew she was lucky to have gotten anything at all, considering the devious monster she had married. But the victory felt empty, and not because the settlement was far less than she should’ve gotten. She had been ejected from her beautiful life with a fat check as a consolation prize. She had failed to stay married to the only man she truly loved. But her biggest failure came from misjudging his character.

  She dabbed at her weepy eyes, dismayed to find herself crying again. Over the last six days, she had vacillated between sobbing wretchedness and an insatiable desire for vengeance. She’d hoped the check would’ve put a finality to all that, but now she realized money had only given her comfort when she had no worries and no scars in need of healing. She had no idea where she’d find a cure for what ailed her now—a violated psyche and a broken heart.

  As she left her bank, Burt’s phone rang.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Fine. I signed the divorce agreement and walked out with a cashier’s check and a roundtrip ticket to the middle of nowhere.”

  “When do you leave for Guam?”

  “Early tomorrow morning.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d be leaving so soon,” Burt said. Madeline felt the first pangs of separation anxiety; her private investigator had become her protector and key ally. The 18-hour time difference was going to make it hard for them to stay in touch.

  “It was part of the deal. Apparently, Steven can’t get rid of me fast enough.”

  “I wouldn’t take it personally. Sociopaths never let anything or anyone stand in the way of what they want.” Madeline let out a sad sigh.

  “For years I thought all he wanted was me.” She was sounding pathetic, even to her own ears. “You’ll have to forgive me for being so maudlin. It’s not like me. I’m usually all sunshine and laughter,” she said, her flippancy falling short of convincing.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve weathered this like a champ. Most people would be out of their minds with terror and grief by this point. You’re a lot sturdier than you look.” Madeline had to laugh at that.

  “Thanks. You really cheered me up.”

  “All in a day’s work,” Burt said. “Speaking of which, I better get back on the case. I’ll send you text messages to keep you updated on my progress while you’re away. You might want to turn off the sound when you go to bed so I don’t wake you up.”

  “That’s a good point. Well…”

  “Call me anytime—I mean it.”

  “Thanks, Burt. Hopefully you won’t hear from me at all.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “Jeeze, you’d think you were planning on staying there a year,” Mike chided her as he lugged her baggage over the threshold.

  “This is all the stuff I had at the hotel. I had to take it with me—everything else is in storage.”

  “You can leave some of it here,” Mike suggested, as they passed into his living room.

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got a carry-on with nothing in it that I certainly don’t need to lug all the way to Guam. Wow, what a gorgeous place,” she said, stopping to take it all in. “You weren’t kidding—this is like a time capsule. I bet you have to beat the women off with a stick having a pad like this.”

  Mike beamed at her praise. He was quite proud of his refined digs. They hinted at a more dignified side to his persona than his physical appearance suggested.

  “Are all the units this nice?”

  “They’re all sweet, but this is the manager’s unit. It’s 1,500 square feet of ’40s Hollywood glamor.”

  “You’re a lucky bastard,” Madeline said as she took in the view of the courtyard fountain.

  “Yeah, I know. Credit goes to my dad—he was smart enough to know value when he saw it. There are fifteen other units here—who knows when I might have an opening…” Madeline caught his meaning and smirked at the insinuation. “Rents are a little steep, but you can afford them now.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t see myself living in L.A.”

  “This is a great spot. Sometimes I forget I’m in the middle of tinsel town.” Madeline was clearly unmoved by his sales pitch. “Your room is over this way.” Mike stood aside and let her check out the guest suite. Now he knew she was impressed.

  “If the manager’s unit ever becomes available, let me know,” she said.

  “Ha, ha. There’s plenty of room for two here…” Madeline ignored him and fell backwards on the bed.

  “Ugh,” she moaned, kicking off her shoes. “I can’t believe how long this day has been!”

  “It’s not over yet. I’m going to take you out for the best high-end Mexican food you’ve ever had,” Mike said, as he flopped onto a chair in the corner of the room.

  “Do they deliver?”

  “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Madeline nodded weakly. Mike got up and slid onto the bed beside her. “I’ll take you there when you get back. I’ll run out and get us some Chinese or something in a bit.” Madeline closed her eyes. It felt so good to lie down, it hurt.

  “Do you have any eggs?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You want me to make one of my famous omelets? That sound good?” Madeline smiled at the thought of Mike’s spinach, cream cheese and green onion omelet. She’d forgotten how good simple food could be.

  “What really sounds good is a stiff drink,” she said. Her eyes popped open at her faux pas. “Sorry,” she said, rolling on her side to face him.

  “It’s okay. I don’t start frothing at the mouth when someone talks about booze. Why, I can even walk down the liquor aisle of the grocery store without breaking into a sweat.”

  “I forgot for
a second,” she said.

  “I do too, occasionally. Don’t worry—I haven’t slipped up in four years.”

  “Is it hard being sober?” Mike laughed.

  “No harder than constantly apologizing to people. It’s my new normal. I have no problem hanging with it. And you shouldn’t feel like having an open container around is going to expose me to toxic fumes and drive me right back into the bottle. It’s not going to happen.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. What’s so funny?”

  “You’ll never believe what I do on Tuesday nights.”

  “What?” Madeline asked, propping herself up on her elbow.

  “I tend bar at a little hole in the wall around the corner.”

  “No way!”

  “It’s true.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “You mean, does it violate the principles of sobriety, or how do I keep from drinking straight out of the bottle? Really, it’s like therapy for me. Every week I get reminded of how pathetic I used to be when I drank.” Madeline grinned and scooted closer to him. He slipped his arm under her neck and they lay there in companionable silence.

  “You were the only person I could count on to help me,” she said. Mike kissed the side of her head.

  “I’m glad I was here for you. Makes being sober worth it.” After a couple minutes passed, he asked, “Do you think we would’ve stayed together if I hadn’t been such a raging asshole?” Madeline rolled over to face him.

  “That’s like asking me if I’d have married Steven knowing what a psychopath he is.” Realizing how harsh this sounded, she qualified her statement. “In other words, pointless.” Mike looked at her thoughtfully for a minute.

  “Given what you know about both of us now, do you ever see yourself giving me a second try?” Madeline sat up and scooted away.

  “I’m barely out of my first marital wipeout and you’re asking me a question like that? I’m not even divorced yet.”

  “Yeah, but you will be soon,” Mike argued.

  “Look, maybe it was a mistake to impose on you like this…” she said, swinging her legs off the bed.

  “Hold on a sec…don’t be like that,” Mike said, reaching out to grab her arm, but she was too quick for him. “Come on, now—you’re starting to hurt my feelings.”

  “Oh, please. You expect me to believe after all this time you’re ready to mix things up again?” Madeline barked, though she could hardly keep from laughing at the sight of Mike Delaney, lady killer, humbly submitting his heart to her. “And don’t expect me to believe you’re not already involved with someone, or several someones. I’m sure you had to do quite the tap dance to clear the decks for my arrival.” Mike’s sly smile betrayed him.

  “Not true. I live a monk-like existence. I’m a changed man. Spend some time with me—you’ll see.”

  “Ha! I bet if I opened your closet I’d find all sorts of evidence to the contrary.”

  “Oh…did I tell you I perform in a transvestite bar every Wednesday?” Madeline laughed.

  “Just as I figured. What did you tell them all, that you had a maiden aunt coming for a visit?”

  “You know, this isn’t a very nice way to treat your host,” Mike said, almost managing to pull off a hurt look. “Is it really so farfetched for me to still have feelings for you?” After all the spoofing, this appeal caught Madeline off-guard.

  “Okay, okay,” Mike relented. “I shouldn’t be hounding you in your vulnerable state. But I just have to know one thing…” Madeline braced herself. “Did you stop to fill up the Mercedes?” Madeline laughed, in spite of herself.

  “See, I made you smile…” he teased her. “It’s a good thing I didn’t ask if you feel like getting lucky.”

  “I’ve got to pee,” Madeline said, completely ignoring her host’s remarks. “Oh, this is so darling!” she said of the adjoining bathroom. “Did you do all this yourself—the decorating and everything?”

  “Of course. What do you think I am—a tasteless slob?” he asked, rocking himself off the bed to stand vigil beside the bathroom door. “You never answered my question.”

  “About getting lucky?” Mike heard the toilet flush and the sink water run.

  “No, about the gas.”

  “Oh, no—I didn’t even think of it,” she said as she came out of the bathroom. “Sorry.”

  “New plan—I’m going to call in a pizza order, fill the car up with gas, and stop to get you a bottle of anything your heart desires. How does that sound? How about a nice Chianti to go with the sausage and meatball pizza, just like the old days…?”

  “You’re my hero,” Madeline said, folding into his arms for a hug. The proximity had more of an effect on them than either was expecting. Madeline kissed him on the cheek, breaking the spell.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Just make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks, Mike. You’re too good to me.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he said, treating her to one of his wicked smiles before disappearing out the door.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “I’m sorry, this line is for first class travelers only,” the woman at the check-in counter said, handing her ticket back. “You’ll need to get in line behind those folks,” she said, already motioning for the next person. Being a little slow on the uptake, Madeline started to protest. But as she checked her ticket, she discovered Steven’s latest slap in the face. She flipped to the second page of the ticket and found more bad news: the second leg of the trip would also be spent in the back cabin. She should’ve known.

  She lowered her sunglasses and dragged her bags to the end of the general check-in line. Her head throbbed dully, thanks to having drunk three-quarters of a bottle of Chianti. She shuddered at the thought of drinking with such abandon. It felt good going down, but now she felt like one of the sorry patrons Mike ministered to on Tuesday nights.

  She felt even worse as she remembered blubbering like an idiot as Mike undressed her and got her into bed. What a pathetic mess she was. She hardly recognized herself anymore. But that was the rub: Madeline Ridley had ceased to exist. In a mere three months it would be legal and final. She had to consciously define who she would become next. As it stood now, she was an almost unmarried, unemployed forty-year-old, homeless and without prospects. How did I get here? she asked herself again. As usual, there was no answer.

  As she inched her way toward the front of the line, her wine-soaked brain started sending her alerts, which registered like unwanted emails in her mental inbox. Chief among her worries was the fact that she still hadn’t called her father. She couldn’t figure out how to break the news to him about her sudden divorce without giving him any of the sordid details. She toyed with taking the cowardly way out by emailing him her new phone number, but she was afraid that would prompt a call from him.

  Yet, if she waited any longer, he might call the house—or worse, Steven—and find out the truth the hard way. She’d have to work up the courage soon before she got to Guam or the time difference would make it impossible to reach him. She glanced at her watch: the plane would board in forty-five minutes.

  As she maneuvered her bags another two feet, she regretted not taking Mike’s advice. If she didn’t have a bag to check, she could’ve headed through security and gone straight to the gate. Instead, she was stuck with a second bag with almost nothing useful in it. She nearly laughed out loud as she thought of what all she had chosen to drag to Guam—a weird collection of high-end footwear, sweat pants, t-shirts and cashmere sweaters. Not exactly the right apparel for the tropics.

  As she cast her mind back, she recalled that she was also carrying a fair amount of her good jewelry—not a smart move—plus a few impractical articles of clothing still wrapped in tissue paper that she had purchased at Saks during her final shopping spree. She should’ve returned
it all and pocketed the cash. At least then she wouldn’t be burdened by the cumbersome load.

  Once her bag was checked, she moved with the flow of bodies and filtered through security. By the time she reached the gate, her flight was already boarding. She took her seat in the rear of the plane, right across from the restrooms and a new mother with a squalling infant. She stuffed foam plugs in her ears and fell into a troubled and disorienting sleep. She awoke when the flight attendant told her to bring her seatback forward.

  The double latte from the nearest concession in the Honolulu airport soon brought her back to semi-alertness. The second pushed her into hyper-drive. She had two and a half hours before her flight left for Guam. She used the back of her ticket to make a list:

  Call Dad

  Search hotels in Guam

  Call Burt

  Look into first class seats for return flights

  Buy swimsuit, tunic, shorts, sandals

  Kill Steven

  She hazarded a glance at her surroundings and scratched the last item off her list. It felt surprisingly good to write those words, but the way her luck was running, they might come back to haunt her.

  To keep the caffeine from eating a hole in her stomach, she bought a turkey sandwich and relocated to an empty gate. She rehearsed several dialogs with her father as she ate, but every opener led to the same conclusion. No matter which tack she took, her father was going to hit the roof. She put her sandwich aside and picked up her phone. She had to get this over before she drove herself crazy.