by Tracy Weber
“My lawyer says that’s not a good idea. Between paying spousal support and giving her a good chunk of my assets, I’d end up out way more than fifty grand. I can’t exactly admit to the judge that we only combined assets to fool the feds.”
Shannon scowled but remained silent.
“Even if I sold the business …” He shook his head. “Sinking all of my savings into the remodel seems foolish now, but I had no idea Gabby would do something like this. The only way I can get the money is if Kate or I take out a mortgage.”
“Which neither of us can qualify for,” I added.
“Forget court then,” Shannon said. “Let me handle Gabriella. I’ll squash her like a cockroach.” She smashed her palm against the table with a decided thwok.
Michael gave her a scalding look.
“Fine. No more insect metaphors. So basically, you’re stuck paying off Gabriella, but all of your money’s tied up in the house, and you can’t get a loan.”
I had a feeling I knew where Shannon was going. From the tension in Michael’s jaw muscles, he knew it too.
“The market in Seattle is really hot right now. Why don’t you sell the house?”
Michael crossed his arms stubbornly. “Absolutely not. That’s Kate’s childhood home. I’d rather split my time between prison and bankruptcy court.”
This was the crux of Michael’s dilemma, and the source of much of my inner conflict. Selling the house should have been a non-issue. A house was only an object. An object that held a lifetime of precious memories, but an object nonetheless.
Michael, on the other hand, was a person. My soul mate. My love. Losing Michael might break me. So why was I choosing the house over him, especially when I had another alternative? Another alternative Michael knew nothing about.
Rene.
Rene had offered to lend me the money on the drive that morning, claiming that she didn’t want Michael’s drama to ruin her vacation. I adored her for the generous subterfuge, but I’d turned her down without hesitation. I had no idea how Michael’s and my story was destined to end, but we needed to write it together. Without taking handouts from our loved ones.
Michael’s expression invited no argument. “The house is off limits. We’ll figure out another way.”
A few minutes later, Shannon, Michael, and I silently headed toward the parking lot, prior jovial mood completely forgotten. We were halfway to the door when a female voice yelled over the crowd:
“Shannon, wait!”
five
“Susan, oh no!” Shannon exclaimed. “What happened?”
A tiny Asian woman seated near the dance floor waved Shannon toward her. She wore a light cotton dress, a brunette ponytail, and an ankle-to-upper-thigh knee brace. A pair of metal crutches leaned against the wall beside her.
Shannon turned to Michael. “Sorry, Baby Brother, but I need to talk to her. She’s supposed to teach at the fun run on Saturday. I’ll meet you at the car in a few minutes.” She scurried halfway across the room before Michael could reply.
He shrugged. “We may as well take Bella for a walk. I have a feeling she’ll be a while.”
The sky was dusky when Michael and I exited the community center, but the parking lot still seemed bright, lit by an almost full moon and the voices of happy neighbors. Michael pointed to the gold heart adorning my throat. “You’re wearing the locket.”
I reached up and fingered it. “I like it.” I grinned at him ruefully. “Don’t read too much into it, though. I replaced your picture with Rene’s.” I hadn’t, of course. I wore Michael’s gift because I wanted him near me, even if the closeness was merely symbolic.
He gazed into my eyes. “Kate, I’m so sorry about—”
I held up my hand, stopping him. “I know. And we’ll talk it all out someday, I promise.”
“When?”
“When I’m ready. For tonight, can we just hang out and pretend that everything’s normal?”
He nodded, but his expression remained clouded.
A silence-filled block later, I unlocked my car and liberated Bella from her backseat prison. She leaped to the ground and did a quick happy dance around Michael’s feet before pulling me down the street, seeking out spaghetti with meat sauce, no doubt. Michael and I made small talk as we headed back toward the parking lot, carefully avoiding all discussion of divorce attorneys, money, and soon-to-be-ex wives.
The distant sound of upbeat bluegrass serenaded us, but I still felt uneasy, and not solely about the conversation Michael and I were avoiding. As a yoga teacher, I had become attuned to subtle changes in energy, and the energy around me felt predatory. As if someone was watching us—watching me.
I surreptitiously glanced behind me. Nothing. But I still felt …
Someone.
Maybe it was Dad, giving me the evil eye from heaven. Maybe it was Patanjali, reminding me that I should treat everyone—Michael included—with unattached compassion. Maybe it was my conscience, telling me that refusing to talk with Michael about our future was cruel.
Then again, maybe it was simply my overactive imagination.
I lightened the atmosphere with a lame attempt at humor. “You know, it’s probably good that we didn’t see Gabriella tonight.”
“Why’s that?” Michael asked.
“You know me. I’d have sicced Bella on her or shattered her kneecap.” I grinned. “Nobody steals my man.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Not even if she had him first.”
For the first time since my birthday dinner, Michael’s smile didn’t seem forced. “Gabby never had me, Kate. Not the way you do. I wish—”
Michael stopped speaking and peered forward intently. His relieved smile evaporated. I could have sworn that I saw the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the way Bella’s did when she spotted the UPS truck.
“Michael, what is it?”
Bella sensed his tension. A low, deep growl rumbled from her throat.
I touched his arm. “Michael?”
He gestured with his chin toward the parking lot, voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “Gabriella. Two o’clock.”
I followed his eyes to two women. The first was a thirty-something blonde with a short, asymmetrical haircut highlighted with pastel pink. The combination of harsh LED streetlights and thickly applied makeup made her skin seem plastic, like a knock-off Barbie doll covered in spray paint.
The Hispanic woman standing next to her had to be Gabriella. She was drop-dead gorgeous.
As in so gorgeous, I wanted to drop dead.
Like most women I knew, I’d struggled with body image issues since my first preteen bra fitting. I’d been more chunky than obese, but to my teenage psyche, that didn’t matter. When I’d looked in the mirror, I’d seen the Pillsbury Dough Girl. Practicing yoga had helped. Dropping twenty-five pounds had helped more. Still, one look at the raven-haired Latina and I felt myself being transported back to every humiliating high school dance I’d attended with Rene. Dances during which I’d huddled next to the wall, hoping someone would talk to me. Dances during which the only boys who approached me asked me for Rene’s phone number. Dances during which I fervently prayed for lightning to strike me dead.
I hadn’t been unattractive, simply average. Rene was anything but. She was the sun; I was Pluto. It wasn’t her fault, and she certainly didn’t eclipse me on purpose. She couldn’t help that I disappeared in her shadow.
Just like I would have in Gabriella’s.
According to Michael, Gabriella was almost thirty, but she looked at least five years younger. The dark, lush hair of shampoo commercials flowed between her shoulder blades. Her caramel skin was flawless; her body at most a size four. She wore a red, form-fitting T-shirt, faded capri-length jeans, and strappy high-heeled sandals. I couldn’t bear to make eye contact, so I stared at her feet. A chain of red starfish encircled her ankl
e.
Symbols of the love goddess, Venus.
Fabulous.
Long-buried feelings of inadequacy flooded every cell of my body. I absently rubbed at the red pasta sauce staining my right breast, locked my eyes on the competition, and made up my mind.
I hated her.
So I looked for her faults. I found only one. Disingenuousness.
Gabriella was hiding something. Pretending to be something she wasn’t. Her hands fluttered animatedly through the air, but her bright smile seemed forced, her energy guarded. Her espresso brown eyes flitted in every direction, as if she was looking for someone. Someone she hoped she wouldn’t see.
I frowned at Michael. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”
“She modeled in Mexico.”
“A model,” I repeated, deadpan. “Naturally.”
Michael grunted. “It’s nothing to be envious about. She was always hungry, often broke. Lunatics stalked her and made her life hell. Her manager got her addicted to cocaine. When I met her, she was working as a waitress, and she was a lot happier.”
“Should we go talk to her?” I asked.
“Maybe. Give me a minute.”
In my Kate-centered universe, I assumed that Michael hesitated either because he didn’t want me to meet Gabriella, or because he didn’t want Gabriella to meet me. It never occurred to me that there might be a third option. It never occurred to me that Michael might be gathering courage.
He took a deep breath. “Stay here.” He strode toward the two women without looking back.
Like hell.
I pulled Bella’s leash tight and marched behind him. Gabriella glanced at me curiously. When her gaze flicked to Michael, she jolted, then froze, hands suspended mid-gesture. She didn’t speak, so I tried to read her facial expression: wide eyes, tense jaw, open mouth.
Was she surprised?
She had to be, of course, but I read something else. She certainly didn’t seem happy. If pressed, I’d have said her expression looked an awful lot like fear.
Of Michael?
Gabriella said something to the blonde, then pointed at Michael.
The blonde turned toward Michael, flashed him a huge, bright smile, and wiggled her fingers. Michael looked through her as if she were invisible. Her smile fell.
I know how you feel, sweetheart. The invisible handmaiden to the beautiful princess.
Michael’s voice, when he spoke, didn’t sound friendly. “Hi Gabby,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. But then again, you already knew that.” He then spoke to the blonde, but his eyes never left Gabriella. “Crystal, would you give Gabby and me a minute?”
The blonde (who was obviously named Crystal) narrowed her eyes. “Gabby?”
Gabriella nodded a curt yes.
“Okay, but I’ll be right inside. Yell if you need me.” She retreated to the building, glancing over her shoulder at Michael and Gabriella every few steps.
I stood there watching, my muscles frozen. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for. The moment I hoped would knock Michael’s and my relationship back on kilter. I stood completely still, but the world swirled around me like a surreal merry-go-round, as if I were an audience to my life versus a participant.
No one else seemed to notice the impending drama. Families wandered in and out of the center, focused on their own conversations. Children played on swings and ran through fragrant green grass. A teenaged couple made out on the hood of an ancient blue Chevy Malibu.
Bella’s growl knocked me out of my stupor. Her upper lip wrinkled, exposing sharp canine teeth; the guard hairs between her shoulders prickled at high alert. I followed her glare to an olive-skinned man skulking near the children’s play area. He wore a camouflage baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. His energy felt hungry. A jackal waiting to scavenge.
Normally, when Bella growled at a stranger, I said the phrase, “This is our friend,” which was my signal for her to stand down.
Not this time.
Bella didn’t trust the man, and I was inclined to agree with her.
I kept the stranger in the periphery of my awareness but moved next to Michael so I could listen to his conversation with Gabriella. Gabriella ignored me, much as Michael had ignored Crystal. She spoke in heavily accented English. “Why are you here?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
“You haven’t returned my phone calls,” Michael said. “We need to talk.”
Rapid-fire Spanish tumbled from Gabriella’s lips, faster than any nonfluent speaker—such as yours truly—could hope to understand. Her tone, however, was universal. The woman was pissed.
Michael didn’t sound happy himself. “What do you mean, we have nothing to talk about?”
More Spanish.
“That wasn’t our agreement, and you know it,” Michael spat. “Even if it were, I don’t have that kind of money.”
Gabriella’s voice grew louder. Even her hands seemed to yell. The plain gold wedding band on her left ring finger swiped through the air with each emphatic gesture.
People around us stopped talking to stare at the spectacle. Michael lowered his voice and switched to Spanish. I cursed Dad for convincing me to take German in high school. Unless one of them ordered a Margarita or asked where the bathroom was, I wouldn’t understand a word.
Several crescendoing accusations later, Michael crossed his arms and stepped his feet wide. “Forget it. That is never going to happen.”
I recognized his expression. Pure. Stubborn. Male. I placed my hand on his arm, hoping the gesture would calm him.
Gabriella frowned at me. “Quien es?”
“Gabriella, this is my—” Michael hesitated. “My friend, Kate.”
Friend? Now I was his friend?
Gabriella pointed at me, shook her head, and sputtered an unintelligible reply. Then she leveled a hard stare at me. “You must leave.” She stomped a high-heeled sandal for emphasis. “Now.”
I had news for Ms. Venus, Goddess of Love. I wasn’t going anywhere. Neither, apparently, was Bella. She growled at the rude, stomping stranger.
“Bella, down,” Michael commanded.
Astonishingly, Bella obeyed. She flopped to the ground, but she kept her back legs tucked under, ready to spring to my defense if needed.
Michael stared into Gabriella’s eyes for several long seconds. Then his facial expression softened. He stepped toward her and reached for her hand. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Gabby, what’s going on with you?”
Gabriella glanced behind her. Her eyes grew wet. “Dejame. Por favor.” Her voice didn’t sound angry anymore. It sounded frightened. She turned to me, face pleading. “Leave. Please.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” Michael countered.
Gabriella shook off her tears. Her face hardened to concrete. She took three quick steps toward Michael and slammed her palms roughly into his chest. “I said go!”
The shove must have caught Michael off guard, because he stumbled. I saw a flash of light, then he hit the pavement with a sharp clank, a muffled thud, and a volley of swear words.
That’s when Mount Rainier erupted.
Or at least that’s what it felt like.
Bella sprang from the ground and hurled herself at her human’s attacker. She barked. She snarled. She snapped at the air on either side of Gabriella’s head. Gabriella screamed and stumbled away, yelling what I assumed were obscenities in Spanish. I yanked on Bella’s leash. Michael scrambled to his feet and grabbed for her collar.
“Bella, knock it off!” I yelled. “This is our friend!”
Shannon charged down the community center’s front stairs and screamed, “Leave my baby brother alone, you ungrateful tapeworm!”
Crystal ran behind her, yelling, “Rabid dog! A rabid dog is attacking Gabby! Somebody shoot i
t!”
The cowboy-booted toddler zoomed behind them both. He spied Bella, pasted on a huge grin, and ran toward her, waving his arms and chirping with glee. “Doggie!”
Everything next happened in an impossible fast-forward slow motion. Shannon threw herself at Gabby, clubbing her over the head with her purse. Michael dropped Bella’s collar and grabbed for his sister. Crystal dove after them both.
Bella stopped lunging and whipped toward the child. The ecstatic toddler bee-lined it toward Bella, across the busy parking lot. The blue Chevy Malibu (driven by the male teenager that had been making out earlier) sped toward him, seemingly unaware that a child was careening toward his front bumper.
“Stop!” I yelled.
In a freeze-framed moment of gut-wrenching clarity, the teenager’s face twisted in horror. He slammed on the brakes and the car flew into a skid. I dropped Bella’s leash and dove for the child, praying that Bella wouldn’t go after Gabriella again. Tires screeched on pavement. Burning rubber stung my nostrils. My knee scraped painfully against the sidewalk, but I grasped hold of the child and yanked him toward me.
Gotcha!
I’m not sure who cried louder—the toddler, in noisy frustration, or me, in grateful abandon. Bella loped next to me, nuzzled the child, and covered his face in sloppy, wet, German shepherd kisses. Jimmy’s mother—who appeared seemingly out of nowhere—pulled him into her arms. “I told you, you have to wait for Mommy!”
Meanwhile, back in the parking lot, Michael held Shannon’s arms behind her back while Crystal brushed dirt off of Gabriella’s jeans.
“What in the hell is going on here!”
The voice came from a uniformed police officer. He wore a navy blue—almost black—uniform with short sleeves, a large silver star, and a name tag that read B. Boyle. He was a good two inches shorter than Michael, but his rigid posture made him seem taller. His dark beard quivered with authoritarian indignation.
I averted my eyes to avoid looking at his facial hair and they landed on his hands, which hovered frighteningly near the gun on his belt. Michael released Shannon’s arms. Crystal scooped Shannon’s purse off the ground, handed it to her, and disappeared to the sidelines.