“Because I didn’t know.”
“So how’d you find out?”
He paused, then muttered, “It just became obvious.”
“Lipstick on his collar? Love notes in my purse? Romantic messages on our answering machine? Or was it your lawyer, Dennis? Not Art Heuber. Phoebe Lowe. Did she put a bug in your ear about Brody and me?”
“She’s handled cases like ours before,” he said, but a mite defensively. “She’s seen everything.”
So. I had hit the nail on the head. The satisfaction of it goaded me on—that, and the fact that I was in my very own place. “In, what, seven years of practice? She’s quite a veteran. But you didn’t answer my question. Was she the one who thought up the idea of Brody and me as a couple? How did you meet her, anyway? And when? Last summer? Last spring? Or has it been going on for a while? A year? Maybe two? And what is it between you, anyway? A professional relationship, or something more?”
“That’s none of your business. We’re separated. I can do what I want.”
“She’s attractive, Dennis. You make a dynamite couple. Is that what this is all about, you having a mid-life itch that Phoebe Lowe wants to scratch?”
“You’re a shrew,” he said and hung up the phone. When the phone rang again five minutes later, I figured it was Dennis with a second wind and nearly didn’t answer it. Then I thought of the other people it might be—most importantly, one of the kids—ad I couldn’t let it ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
Brody. I let out a breath, habit telling me I could relax, then drew it in again, because relaxation wasn’t all I felt. Somewhere way deep inside was an illicit little hum. I wondered if he felt it, too. A single hey didn’t tell me a lot. “Where are you?”
“Home. The Vineyard’s taken care of. Where are you?” He sounded easy, casual. Either he wasn’t feeling that hum or had decided to ignore it.
I followed his lead and took a deep breath. “I’m at the old Reaper Head lighthouse.”
There was silence, then a warm chuckle. “Care to elaborate on that?”
I did care to elaborate, went on for a good ten minutes describing my surroundings—walked through them as I spoke—because I think I’d been wanting to tell him all day, maybe even more than I’d wanted to tell the kids. His reaction was adult. His approval came from a different source.
I knew he would love the sound of the place, and he did. I knew he would understand why I’d bought it, would see the challenge in it, the artistic possibilities. I knew he would appreciate my need to thumb my nose at conventionality. Maybe he would even understand my need to be by the sea.
By the time I was done with my description, I was in the lantern room, standing in the dark, looking out. The view at night was spectacular, a little frightening, a little awe-inspiring, a little lonely. I was glad he was on the phone.
Then again, maybe I was lonely because he was on the phone.
I hoped not.
But when I pictured him, I felt that same little hum.
Brody? Brody and me?
It was an intriguing thought. A little odd after all these years. A little funny. A little embarrassing. Still, intriguing.
“Okay,” I summed up my thoughts on buying the lighthouse, “so it could be I’ll be free to move back to the house by sometime next week, but maybe, just maybe I won’t want to. That house was where I lived with Dennis. It’s part of a life that he ended. Let him live there and pay for the upkeep. It’s tainted.”
“Is that anger I still hear?”
Oh, it was. Surprising, since I wasn’t a chronic brooder or complainer. A new side of me was emerging. I wasn’t sure I liked it, though it was probably healthy enough, given the circumstances. “It’s like the anger of years has been packed away and is just now pouring out. Makes me wonder if I loved him at all.”
“You did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed with him all those years.”
But I wasn’t sure. I could reminisce all I wanted about one happy time after another that Dennis and I had shared, but the fact was that they had been fewer and farther between in recent years. That first year we met, when our a capella group had spent spring break singing for our keep at luxury resorts in Bermuda, Dennis and I had done a duet, backed up by the rest of the group. It was “For All We Know,” a song of hope and promise, and we had been the perfect couple to do it, attractive, attracted to each other.
It had been a long time since we had sung together, just the two of us.
I had been raised to believe that marriage was the root of stability, success, happiness. So had I loved Dennis? Or had I loved the institution of marriage and simply accepted him as the price I had to pay to maintain it? I did things like that, made the most of situations that weren’t ideal. Buying the Reaper Head lighthouse was a perfect example, a new house as the price for sanity, a lighthouse as the price of a smile.
“I think something’s wrong with me, Brody. My life is a nightmare. I’ve been evicted and slandered, my mother is dying and I’m afraid to call her because she won’t like what I say unless I lie through my teeth. My sister would jump at the chance to tell me how awful I am, my son won’t talk to me, my husband is just waiting for me to trip up—and in spite of it all I had fun this afternoon. I went up and down the aisles of our warehouse, pointing at what I wanted, Bill and Tommy loaded the truck up there and unloaded it here. Granted, I’m talking basics—bedroom stuff, kitchen stuff, a sofa, a couple of chairs—and even that was probably dumb, what with the floor guys sanding tomorrow and the painters coming after that, but I did it anyway.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Brody said. “You needed a break from the mess in your life. You needed to make that place yours. Is it livable?”
“Very. Warm, dry. Marginally empty still, but yes, mine. The view is—how to describe it? I’m up at the top, in a circular space maybe twenty-five feet in diameter, with glass all around. I’m looking in your direction. I think. Wave. No. Come see me?”
It was the most natural thing to say. But the words were no sooner out then I felt another twinge of that illicit little hum. With utter clarity—a memory, but so real—I felt his chest beneath my hand and his arousal beneath my thigh. I felt his warmth and smelled his smell, and liked both, wanted both.
Definitely wrong.
No, not wrong. Forbidden.
“Claire. About last night.”
“Don’t mention it. Nothing happened.”
“Something did.”
Oooh, yes, I thought, and the memories sharpened. “I think maybe we should forget that it did, though. Things like that can ruin good friendships. Not to mention the whole custody situation.”
Brody was silent for too long.
“Brody?”
“I don’t want to forget it happened.”
I wrapped an arm around my middle and held on tight.
“And it doesn’t have to ruin our friendship,” he said. “Not if it’s what we both want.”
The question was there, begging my denial. But how could I deny the humming inside? It was picking up strength, tingling in my belly in ways Dennis had never quite caused.
“What about Ellen McKenzie?”
“What about her?”
“What’s between you two?”
“We’re friends. Never lovers.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“She’s in love with a woman in Paris.”
For a minute I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Then I swore softly. “The timing of this stinks.”
“Yup. But it’s there.”
“Why now?”
Brody was silent again. Finally he said, “Because you need it now.”
“I don’t need sex.”
“You need holding. Holding is foreplay when the chemistry’s right.”
I felt a shimmery ache. “Don’t say things like that.”
“It’s true. And if it hadn’t happened last night, it would have happened ton
ight, or tomorrow night. It’s there, Claire. Has been for a while.”
“It has not.”
“Oh, yes, it has.”
“I have never felt what I felt last night.”
He sputtered out a laugh. “Well, you’re right, there. But you’ve never slept with me before.”
“I didn’t sleep with you last night,” I insisted and had an awful thought. “What if this line is bugged?”
“It’s not bugged.”
“People hear things on cellular lines. Listen in, sometimes. Be careful. Anything you say may be held against me.”
“It already has been,” he charged, all humor gone. “You’re being punished for doing it anyway, so what’s left to lose?”
“My kids!”
“You won’t lose your kids. Not once your side of the story comes out. Not once the kids have been interviewed.”
Reality returned with a shattering crash, like surf on the rocks below me, and the day’s euphoria faded. I looked around my glass room, at the large bed with its wicker frame, the two huge sink-in-able wicker chairs, a wicker dressing table, two wicker dressers, all in a caramel shade to match the cedar holding the thick windows in place. My suitcases were on the floor, which would be carpeted in plum come morning to match the deep green and plum of the billowy down quilt I had bought for the bed. Everything here was mine. Everything was pretty and new and charming.
Still I wondered whether Kikit was in bed and what babies were sleeping with her and if she was singing them to sleep in her child-sweet soprano—my little Annie, singing her favorite, “Tomorrow,” pretending that I was listening and beaming with pride. I wondered whether Johnny was lying in his bed looking at the night-glow stars we had put on his ceiling and wanting either to tear them off or ride one to find me and ask for a hug. I felt an awesome emptiness.
Needing to share my worry, I told Brody, “The judge shot us down on the Motion for Reconsideration, so Carmen’s filing a Motion to Recuse, but that may not work, either. For each extra step we have to take, the process takes longer. I want something to happen, but nothing is. I called to make an appointment with the psychologist doing the study, and he hasn’t called back.”
“He will,” Brody said.
“When? The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”
“He’s probably still seeing clients. He’ll call later, or tomorrow.”
“What if he hates me?”
“How could he?”
“Selwey did.”
“Selwey’s a jerk.”
“How do we know Jenovitz won’t be?”
Brody didn’t have an answer for that one, and didn’t try making one up, which was another of the things I loved about him. It made what he did say that much more credible.
“Oh, Brody,” I whispered and nearly invited him over again. I wanted him to repeat everything he had said about things working out with the kids, and I wanted him to hug me while he did it. I could control that little hum. I didn’t have to act on it. Brody was my best friend, and I needed his support. It wasn’t fair that I should be deprived of this, too.
Quietly, with a gentle understanding that made me want to cry, he said, “I’ll come over in the morning, in daylight. Okay?”
Since Dean Jenovitz was fresh in my mind, I was sure he was the one calling when the phone rang again, but it was Rona. I braced myself at the sound of her voice.
“Why haven’t you called, Claire? Mom keeps asking, asking, asking. She only wants you, and I’m the one who has to make the excuses. Would it be so terrible to pick up the phone?”
“I talked with her this morning.”
“That isn’t what she says. She’s been imagining all sorts of awful things have happened. She isn’t good, Claire. I don’t know how much longer it’ll be.”
Looking out at the night ocean, I felt an enveloping darkness. “What do the doctors say?”
Rona snorted. “I spend half the day running around trying to find them. I think they’re avoiding me, and you want to know why? Because they don’t have any answers. When I finally pin them down, they frown, tap their pens on the chart, and look deep in thought, like they’re considering new treatments. Only there aren’t any. Mom knows that. She’s gotten so morbid that being with her is impossible. She told me what she wants in her obituary. Get this. She wants to be remembered as a homemaker.”
I had to smile. “I can understand that.”
“She was never a homemaker. She was a book-keeper. She rarely cleaned and never cooked. If anyone was the homemaker when we were kids, it was you.”
“But she wanted to be one. Isn’t that what counts?”
“See? You see eye to eye with her. That’s why you should be here, not me.”
“I want to be,” I countered. “Believe me, I’d rather be there than here.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You have no idea what it’s like here, day in day out. When I sit with her, she accuses me of keeping a death watch, and when I’m not there, she accuses me of desertion. Never accuses you of it, mind you, even though you’re more a deserter than me. Why haven’t you called?”
“I did call. But things aren’t easy here either.”
“Why not?”
I slid down against the glass, back to the ocean, face to all the new things that meant absolutely nothing in the face of death. I wasn’t sure which weighed me down more, guilt or grief. I wanted to tell Rona everything. But I couldn’t.
“I’ve been preoccupied,” I said, realizing only after the fact that that would invite more questions.
Perhaps from someone less self-centered. All Rona said was, “I need you here. I need you here. When can you come?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t know how much more I can take. I wasn’t cut out to do this, Claire. You know that.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“I’m not. I don’t comfort her. I try, but nothing works. She doesn’t want me, she wants you. I really need you here.”
“I know, Rona, I know, but I have my hands full. I have to tell you—”
“Uh-oh. There’s my call waiting. Listen, I’m expecting an important call. I’ll talk with you tomorrow. See what you can do about flights for the weekend. I’ll even pick you up at the airport. And call Mom? Please?”
“Hi, Mom,” I sang. “How are you?”
“Dying,” came her feeble response.
It shook me. If she was giving up, I would be furious. She had no right to give up, not after all this time. “We’re all dying, right from the day we’re born. How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Why haven’t you called? The pain is bad, and your sister is useless.”
“Have you asked the doctors about the pain?”
“What can they say? They’ve given up.”
“Doctors don’t give up.”
“There’s nothing in it for them. I’m poor. No chance of money from me when I go.”
“You’re in the majority. It’s the rare patient who makes a big bequest.”
“You could promise them something. Maybe that would help. Will you promise them something, Claire?”
“Of course. That’s a nice idea, actually.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t sound right.”
Connie had known about most other ups and downs in my life. I wanted her to know about this one. I wanted her to tell me that going along with the court ruling even though it was wrong was the right thing to do. I wanted her to tell me I was the best mother in the world.
But she would be sick with disappointment. And she was already so sick. I couldn’t risk letting her take this kind of heartache to her grave, or, worse, having it send her there.
“There’s a problem with work,” I finally said. “Nothing that time and attention won’t solve.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon, Mom. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
&
nbsp; “The doctors listen to you. I feel better when you’re here.”
“I’ll try. But it may be a few weeks.”
“I miss you.”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll call again soon. You rest until then. I want you strong for Thanksgiving. Okay?”
I almost didn’t answer the phone when it rang next. It was nine-thirty. I was exhausted, felt as though I had lived three lifetimes in a day, and I still had to unpack my last bag and hang up my clothes if I had any hope of wearing them without major repair work. But if it was Johnny, I wanted to talk. Or Kikit. Or Dean Jenovitz.
It was the last. I was immediately alert.
“I understand we have to meet, Mrs. Raphael.” I heard the shuffle of pages at his end. “Is next Monday at two doable?”
“It is, but I was hoping for something sooner.” I sounded a little desperate, but that was fine. I figured he was used to squeezing desperate people in.
There was more shuffling, and the slow, deliberating tick of his tongue. “I have a possible Friday at ten, though I don’t know as that’s much of an improvement.”
“If I took the Friday slot, my husband could take the Monday slot. Have you heard from him yet?”
“No.”
“Have you heard from his lawyer?”
“No. Since the Monday slot is a definite, I’ll put you down for that one. I’ll make separate arrangements with your husband when he calls.”
“When do you want to talk with the children?”
“After I’ve spent sufficient time with their parents.”
“How much is ‘sufficient time’?”
“That depends.”
“Ah.”
“Custody studies take time, Mrs. Raphael.”
“I understand,” I said and bit my tongue, but only for the space of a breath. “It’s just that being separated from my children is an unnatural state, for them as much as for me.”
“They’re with their father. They’ll be fine.”
How did he know that? How did he know that Dennis wasn’t an abusive parent? How did he know what emotional harm my children were suffering with their parents splitting up out of the blue? How did he know they would be fine at all? I didn’t care if he had ten degrees. That didn’t make him an expert on my kids!
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