“You’re right, Laura,” Julie said softly. “Gil and Bobby and Cam are all someone else’s exes ... but so are we. Just because our last relationship didn’t make it doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a second chance.”
“What about all the doubts you’ve been having about moving in with Bobby?” Laura demanded.
“I’m simply taking my time about making my decision,” Julie declared loftily.
Laura just stared at Julie. I thought you agreed with me. I thought I wasn’t the only one who was afraid to take another gamble ... one in which the odds were anything but favorable.
Laura could see she was putting a damper on everyone else’s fun. So she sat quietly as Claire and Julie continued with their gleeful plans, marveling over what she was witnessing.
Julie, Claire ... even Cam. They’re all falling into the same trap, Laura thought morosely. There seems to be something in human nature that makes us willing, even eager, to take the risk, to go for the long shot. Some stubbornness that believes sooner or later, if we try hard enough, we’ll finally get it right.
Chapter Twenty-two
Laura pulled up in front of the curb, killed the engine, and jerked up the parking brake. But instead of hurrying out to retrieve her son, she sat at the wheel, staring out the window. Through the relentless drizzle that cast the evening in gloom, she studied the house that used to be her home.
It was Roger’s house now. Roger’s ... and Melanie’s. She studied the changes they’d made in the past four months. The front door used to be painted white; now it was bright yellow. The front steps had two potted plants on them. Running along the front windowsill were ten or twelve pieces of handmade pottery, their glazes the subtle tones of the earth, their silhouettes sleek and perfect.
Staring out through the mist, Laura was amazed at the fact she felt nothing. Not anger, not envy, not even resentment. Instead, she observed the changes with a cold objectivity.
It’s only a house, thought Laura, surprised by her detachment.
The true meaning of that phrase, one she’d repeated to herself over and over, was suddenly glaringly clear. The wood and bricks and shingles and glass were no more than building materials, brought together to create a collection of rooms. Once, those rooms had been the setting for her life.
Now, she reflected, that had come to an end.
As she climbed out of the car an icy wind stabbed at her, a reminder that February held the world firmly in its merciless grip. Laura barely acknowledged it. She was preoccupied with more pressing concerns.
Walking up to the front door, she wondered again what the proper etiquette was for picking up one’s son after his weekend stint with Dad. Staying in the car and honking was the coward’s way out. While that wasn’t entirely without appeal, she had too much pride to be so overt about avoiding Roger. It was even worse to imagine herself face-to-face with the brand-new lady of the house.
And so Laura was relieved that Roger, not Melanie, answered the door. Her good feelings, however minimal, were short-lived. The tension in his face instantly put her on edge.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded.
“It’s nothing, really. Only that—”
“I’m never coming back here again!” Evan shrieked. He came hurtling toward her, his jacket unzipped, his backpack falling off his shoulder. Behind him he dragged his canvas overnight bag, stuffed with balled-up clothes that threatened to tumble out of the gaping opening. “Let’s get out of here, Mom. I wanna go home!”
He was already halfway to the car. Laura stared at Roger, searching his face for an explanation. Instead, he simply looked irritated.
“I don’t understand what his problem is,” he grumbled. “He just can’t seem to adjust.”
In the car, the rhythmic whooshing of the windshield wipers punctuated Evan’s silence. Sneaking a peek in the rearview mirror, Laura saw he was staring out the window, brooding.
“Want to talk about it?” she finally asked.
“I hate it there. I’m never going back.”
“Honey,” she said gently, “he’s your dad. You have to go back. We’ve told you all along that just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean—”
“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t mean you stopped loving me.” He spat out his words. “Well, Dad has.”
“Stopped loving you?” Laura turned to look at him. “Why would you ever think that?”
“For one thing, he gave my room to Lindsay.”
Laura stepped on the brake. “Dad gave your bedroom to Melanie’s daughter?”
“When I showed up on Friday, Melanie had already painted it.”
“He gave your room away?”
“They told me they’d decided it was best for everybody.” Evan’s voice wavered. “It’s pink.”
“Oh, Evan, I’m so sorry. You must feel terrible!”
“Dad’s always saying that. ‘It’s best for everybody,’ “ Evan mimicked, his voice mocking. “It’s like there are two sets of rules in that house, one set for me and one for Greg and Lindsay. Dad’s always siding with them!”
“Honey, I’m sure it’s difficult, trying to merge two families under one roof—”
“Yeah, right. Like it’s gonna help that I’m not allowed to play with Greg or Lindsay’s toys, even though they’re allowed to play with mine. I’m not allowed to play with their cat, either.”
“You’re not? Why?”
“Because Melanie wants it that way,” Evan reported in that same bitter voice. “I don’t count in that house! And it’s my house. At least, it used to be.”
“Oh, Evan. How awful!”
“Like this weekend? Greg played with my Sega the whole time. He wouldn’t give me a single turn. He was being really mean.”
Laura was trying her best to remain calm. “What did Dad say?”
“He said I have to learn to share. So I got really mad and said I didn’t think it was fair. And he said ... he said ...”
“Yes, honey?”
“Dad said I’m the reason the five of us can’t be a real family!”
Instant rage nearly choked Laura.
“I don’t have to go back there, do I?” Evan pleaded. “Please, Mom. Don’t make me!”
“I’ll talk to your father.”
“I don’t understand why you and Dad had to get divorced in the first place. Why can’t you two get back together again? Why did this ever have to happen?” Evan choked out a loud sob. “Why can’t everything just go back to the way it was before?”
* * * *
Evan’s words were still playing in Laura’s head half an hour later when she picked up the phone to call Roger. Her son’s fury gnawed away at her, as raw as if it were her own. As she dialed, her hands were shaking.
“Roger,” she began, struggling to stay calm, “exactly what is going on over there?”
At the other end of the line, Roger sighed tiredly. “Nothing, really. We’re simply trying to come up with a way for all five of us to live together.”
“Then why is Evan so angry?”
“He’s just having a hard time adjusting.”
“And Melanie’s kids? How are they adjusting?” Snorting, he replied, “A lot better than our son.”
“I wonder how much Lindsay’s new bedroom helped,” Laura shot back.
Roger paused. “I guess Evan told you about that.”
“You could say that. It’s more like he shrieked it.”
“It’s a decision Melanie and I came to together,” Roger said matter-of-factly. “We concluded it was the arrangement that made the most sense.”
“Not to Evan.”
“Look, I don’t want him to think he’s getting special treatment. We’re trying to create a new family here. I’m making a point of treating all three kids exactly the same.”
“And you’re doing an excellent job of it,” Laura replied tartly. “I particularly like the part about how Evan’s not allowed to play with Greg and Lindsay’s toys, but they’re allowed to play with
his.”
“He has an important lesson to learn.”
“What’s that?”
“Evan needs to start respecting other people’s property. He broke one of Greg’s toys. That’s why he’s not allowed to touch their things.”
“And the cat? Since when is he off-limits?”
“A few weeks ago I caught Evan trying to stick a Cheerio in Bozo’s ear. For heaven’s sake, these new rules really are for the best. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Laura knew that tone of voice well. Roger’s defenses were so firmly in place that not even the Pentagon’s most powerful missiles would have been capable of penetrating them.
“So this is all supposed to be for Evan’s good.”
“That’s right. And the good of the entire family.”
“If you ask me, it sounds like they’re a teensy bit unbalanced.”
“That’s your opinion,” Roger shot back. “I have good reasons for every one of the new rules we’ve made.”
“I’ll bet.” Laura’s tone was bitter. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion good old Melanie’s behind all this?”
“I’m not going to pretend that Melanie and I don’t agree.”
“Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Laura demanded, all her frustration suddenly pouring out. “Have you no concept of the fact that you and the Wicked Stepmother are turning our son into Cinderella?”
“There’s no reason why I should have to listen—”
“Roger,” Laura interrupted sharply, “is it true that you told Evan he’s the reason the five of you can’t be a real family?”
“You don’t know what’s been going on here,” Roger barked. “Evan’s been belligerent, uncooperative, unwilling to share his toys—”
“He’s a child!” Laura cried. “Besides, he’s smart enough to see that you and Melanie have two separate sets of rules in that house.”
“That’s his perception.”
“His perception matters, Roger! If those are his feelings about what’s going on over there, his reaction is perfectly valid. He thinks you’re pushing him away, and that feeling didn’t just fall from the sky. You’re treating him like an outsider. Naturally he’s afraid he’s losing you to Melanie and her kids. You’ve got to acknowledge that, Roger. You have to listen to him. Most of all, you’ve got to start treating him like a member of your family.”
“I don’t have to put with your laundry list of all the things I’ve ‘got to’ do, Laura. It’s too late for that.”
“That may be true,” Laura replied. “But let me give you a piece of advice. Keep on like this and it won’t be long before it’s ‘too late’ for you to have any kind of relationship at all with your son.”
* * * *
I can’t protect him from this, Laura told herself, lying in bed that night, unable to sleep. Sooner or later Evan was bound to find out who his father really is. That would have been true even if Roger and I had stayed married.
Her arguments were perfectly logical. Yet even as she repeated them to herself, clinging to them as if they were a life raft in a tumultuous sea, Laura knew her mind didn’t have the power to banish the angry feeling rooted in the pit of her stomach.
This was what the divorce was doing to her son. Her actions had brought this about. If she hadn’t chosen to leave her marriage, if she’d somehow found a way of hanging on, Evan would never have had to deal with the miserable situation that Roger and his new ladylove were inflicting on him.
But of course, that would have been impossible. Even lying wide-awake, struggling to keep her mind from racing, she knew she’d done the only thing she could do. She had to get out of a situation that was smothering her. For her, it had turned out to be the best thing. Even Roger had survived. He’d probably even managed to convince himself he’d moved on to something better.
It was Evan who was paying. Her son—who’d never asked for his mother and father to get divorced, who’d never even asked them to get married in the first place— was bearing the brunt of his parents’ mistakes. Why did doing what was best for her have to cost Evan so dearly?
When the telephone rang, Laura was almost pleased to have a distraction. Still, she was instantly on guard. It was two o’clock in the morning, an hour when people rarely called to report good news.
“Hello, Laura? I’m sorry to be calling so late.” In the darkness, Julie’s voice sounded faint and faraway.
“Believe it or not, I was still awake.” Laura sat up in bed, pulling the covers around her. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But—”
“What’s wrong?”
From the other end of the line came a loud sniffle. “Oh, Laura. Claire was right.”
A dozen different possibilities played through Laura’s mind. What was Claire right about? That chicken was a better choice than roast beef? That a parade of rainbow-garbed bridesmaids really was the way to go?
And then, in one terrible flash, Laura understood.
“Oh, no.” The words came out like a groan. “Bobby?”
“I’m in a phone booth downstairs,” Julie said in a thin, little-girl voice. “Can I come up?”
Laura had thrown on a bathrobe and put a kettle of water on the stove by the time Julie appeared on her doorstep. Clearly, Julie had been crying; while tears no longer lined her face, the trails of mascara they’d left behind gave her a ghoulish appearance. Her distraught look made an odd contrast to her party clothes. She wore a slinky black dress that wasn’t at all her usual style, along with heels so high they could have been borrowed from Claire’s closet. And the makeup. Laura couldn’t remember having ever seen Julie in makeup before, aside from the time she’d filled in at Evan’s birthday party after the hired clown came down with chicken pox.
Laura sat down opposite Julie at the kitchen table. “What happened?” she asked gently.
“It was that stupid box, of all things.” Julie shook her head slowly. As she spoke she kept her eyes fixed on the mug Laura had put in front of her. An herbal tea bag was already balanced against the side. “Remember? The one Claire told us about?”
Laura nodded. ‘Two doves carved into wood, right? A wedding gift from one of Claire’s friends?”
“That’s the one.” Julie took a deep breath. “Bobby and I had just come home from a party. He’d dragged me off to meet a bunch of his clients. I tried so hard to fit in!”
That explained the makeup and heels.
“The evening went really well. Bobby and I were all snuggly in the car ride home. Then the subject of me moving in with him came up again. You know I’ve been going back and forth with it for a long time. But by the time we got back to his apartment, I was ready to say yes.
“He went into the kitchen to pour us both a glass of wine. I was on the verge of giving him my decision. Then, while I was sitting on the couch, waiting for him, I happened to pick up that box of Claire’s.”
She hesitated, her eyes welling up with tears. “That was when I saw the hair.”
“The hair? What hair?”
“A very long, very blond hair. Definitely not one of mine.”
“Julie, I understand that you’re upset, but there could be a hundred different explanations.”
“There’s only one.” Julie drew in her breath sharply, her eyes still fixed on the mug. “And Bobby had no qualms about giving it to me. He said it was all my fault, that I was responsible for driving him into the arms of another woman.
“He blamed his infidelity on the fact that 1 was taking so long to decide whether or not I was ready to move in with him. He told me he was hurt. That he felt rejected—so much so that when this woman came on to him, his bruised ego couldn’t possibly turn her away.”
Julie glanced at Laura for the first time since she’d begun her discourse. Her pain was clearly reflected on her face.
“He’d been sleeping with one of his clients.” Her hoarse voice was nearly a whisper. “It happened exactly the way Claire
said it would. The same way it happened to her.”
She shook her head. “She was right all along, Laura. He hasn’t changed. He is still the same person he was when he was married to Claire. And I fell for it.”
“Oh, Julie.” Laura went over and threw her arms around her. “You had no way of knowing. You wanted to believe it could work. You were crazy about the guy. All you did was follow your heart.”
“It was worse than that, Laura. I was dumb enough to believe it could be different. That I could make it different by being better than Claire. I thought if I were nicer, sweeter, prettier, less demanding, more interested in sex, more attuned to what he wanted . . .”
Julie buried her face in her hands. “I was such a fool!” she sobbed. “How could I ever have been naive enough to believe that fairy tale endings really exist?”
“Maybe it’s because you wanted one so badly.” Stroking Julie’s back soothingly, Laura added, “No one could blame you. It’s a mistake we all make.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Laura leaned her head back and closed her eyes, telling herself that the setting was perfect. She lay naked in Cam’s arms, the two of them on a rug in front of the fireplace, their skin glowing in the flames’ flickering light. The house was silent except for the crackling of the fire, the ticking of the clock on the mantel, and next to her ear, the beating of Cam’s heart.
Before making love, they’d made a substantial dent in a bottle of champagne—their way of celebrating having an entire weekend to themselves, with no children, deadlines, work obligations, luncheon dates, doctors’ appointments, or phone messages to return. In fact, in the past twenty-four hours, the most demanding thing they’d done was decide between pizza and Chinese takeout.
It was a scene out of a fantasy. Yet Laura’s attempts at losing herself in the moment were futile. The events of the weeks before—Evan’s anger at his father, Julie’s crushing discovery about Bobby—had left her reeling. Everything suddenly seemed much too complicated: her relationship with her son, her romance with Cam, her inability to put her divorce behind her once and for all. She was juggling too many balls, each one getting in the way of the others, the whole thing threatening to come tumbling down.
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