“What’s Luke have to say about you bailing out on him?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “He’s been calling and texting me all day, but I’ve been ignoring him. To tell you the truth, I really don’t care what that piece of garbage has to say.”
Wyatt spread his hands out across his desktop. “What is it you want from me, Callie?”
“Who says I want anything? Can’t I just drop by to visit with my son?”
“You’ve had Bo for the first half of the week. He was with you until a few hours ago. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little suspicious about your motives.”
Callie gazed around the office. “God, this place is depressing. When was the last time you painted this room? Or had the floors mopped?”
“I don’t have a lot of extra time or money for things like paint jobs these days,” he said, struggling to remain civil. “What with legal fees, child support, and the three hundred dollars a week I have to pay for divorce camp.”
“Three hundred dollars! Are you serious? That’s crazy. That’s money your family needs.”
“Seriously crazy,” Wyatt agreed, his face darkening. “But that’s what Judge Stackpole mandated. After your lawyer showed him that video of me smashing Luke’s car window. Which the two of you deliberately provoked me into doing.”
Callie picked up an old plastic Jungle Jerry’s snow globe from the corner of his desk and studied it, deliberately averting her eyes from his.
“That was all Luke’s doing,” she said, her voice low. “I never thought you’d go crazy and break your hand. I never intended things to go as far as they did.”
“You filmed me with your cell phone,” Wyatt said. “And then you called the cops. It’s a little too convenient to blame everything on Luke, don’t you think? You’re thirty-six, Callie. Don’t you think you bear some responsibility for what happened in our marriage?”
“Some of it,” she said, shaking the snow globe, watching the glittering synthetic flakes settle over a tiny plastic replica of the Jungle Jerry’s neon sign.
She looked up. “What if I told you I wished none of this had ever happened?”
“But it did happen,” he reminded her. “You decided you were in love with somebody else and that you wanted to be with him more than you wanted to be married to me. You chose Luke over me. And our family. That’s something I can’t just forget.”
She turned the snow globe over and picked at the yellowing price sticker with her fingernail. “Sixty-nine cents! How old is this thing?”
“It’s ancient,” he said. “As old as I feel right now.”
Callie looked up. “Bo tells me you have a ‘friend.’ Is it serious?”
“Maybe. She’s a nice woman. Look, Callie. I don’t feel comfortable discussing her with you. I’m trying very hard to have a normal life now, to see to it that our son feels loved and safe.”
“Is this your way of telling me you’re moving on? That you’re completely over me?”
Wyatt ran his hands over his head. “Over you? No. I’m trying, but I can’t say I’m there yet.”
She looked up at him through lowered lashes. “I hope you never get over me. I’m not over you. At all.”
56
Grace was the first to arrive at Paula’s office. She found the therapist sitting at the desk in the reception area, staring down at something on the computer screen and frowning. There were dark circles under her eyes that even a careful application of concealer couldn’t hide.
Paula looked up and immediately clicked to close out the screen. “Hi, Grace,” she said. “How’s your week going?”
“My week sucks,” Grace said flatly. “Thanks for asking.”
Paula sighed. “Is there something you’d like to discuss with the group? Is this about your divorce?”
“It’s about my life, and right now everything in my life has been screwed up by my divorce, so yeah, I think you could safely say that.” Grace felt the tote bag slung over her shoulder move ever so slightly. She started to walk into the inner office.
“Grace?”
She turned to face the therapist.
“Things will get better. I know you think they won’t. I know it’s hard. But you have to trust me. I’ve been there,” Paula said. “The pain, the rage, the bitterness—if you can find a way to let go of all that, a huge weight will be lifted from your soul.”
Grace bit her lip. She wanted to confront Paula with everything she knew or thought she knew about her arrangement with Stackpole. But she’d promised Mitzi to stay quiet until they could absolutely prove their suspicions.
“You’ve been there?” She couldn’t resist. “Through a divorce? Where you lost everything?”
“That’s right.” Paula’s eyes met hers. “I moved here to Florida … afterwards. I started over with nothing. Well, next to nothing. It hasn’t been easy.”
The outer door opened, and Camryn and Suzanne came in. Their conversation came to an abrupt end.
“We’ll talk later,” Paula said.
* * *
“Friends?” Paula gestured around the circle. “We’ve got so much ground to cover before your completion ceremony next week. But first, I’d like to hear about how your life is going—recovery-wise.”
She was met with five blank expressions. “Anybody?”
Nothing.
“All right. I suppose we’ll just do this the-old fashioned way. I’ll call on you, and you’ll share. Camryn?”
“Recovery-wise? Dexter’s lawyer called my lawyer this week. He wants his mother’s dining room table. Claims it has happy family memories, and it’s the only piece of furniture he wants.”
“Did you give it to him?” Ashleigh asked.
“Umm-humm,” Camryn said, looking pleased with herself. “I hope he can find a good furniture refinisher, though.”
Paula looked at her over the top of her wire-framed glasses. “Did you damage the table?”
“Not me,” Camryn said, feigning innocence. “But the movers I hired, they were sooooo clumsy. They must have just thrown it into their truck, because when Dexter got it, the top was all scratched up and gouged. I guess it looked pretty bad.”
“How bad?” Grace couldn’t resist.
Camryn held up her iPhone and scrolled through her photo roll and tapped the screen. She held up the phone for the others to see.
“What’s that say?” Suzanne asked. “It looks like writing, on the tabletop, but it’s kind of dark.”
She handed the phone to Wyatt, who looked, squinted, and laughed. “It’s writing. Looks like it says … ‘Eat shit and die’? Is that right?” He looked to Camryn for confirmation.
“I was shocked,” Camryn said, barely able to concern her merriment.
“Never mind,” Paula said, annoyed. “You know, Camryn, if you keep regressing, acting out in these childish and vindictive ways, I’m not going to be able to sign off on your successful completion of these sessions. Truly, you’re only hurting yourself.”
Camryn muttered something under her breath.
“Ashleigh?” Paula turned to the next person.
“Recovery-wise, I am fantastic,” Ashleigh said. “Really. Forgive and forget. I even went out to lunch today with one of the girls in Boyce’s office, and I never asked one question about Suchita. I’ve quit driving by her house, too.”
Paula frowned. “I’m glad to hear that, but I wasn’t aware you were engaging in such unhealthy, obsessive activities. Remember, Ashleigh, the other woman wasn’t the problem in your marriage. She was only a symptom.”
“Whatever,” Ashleigh said. “I am in a very good place right now. An awesome place.”
“Happy to hear it,” Paula said. “I wish everybody could move in that direction. Suzanne? Are things going better for you?”
“Maybe a little better,” Suzanne admitted. “It’s still too painful to talk to Eric, but I finally e-mailed him and told him that Darby has been accepted for early admission to Elon.”
Paula beamed at her sta
r patient. “Suzanne! That’s a real breakthrough.” She looked around the circle. “Friends? Let’s give Suzanne our approval.”
The others clapped politely.
“Darby’s his daughter, too,” Suzanne said. “I know she’s conflicted—she feels loyalty to me, but she misses seeing him.”
“Hmm. Maybe Darby would like to attend one of the ‘Daughters of Divorce’ seminars I’m going to be giving,” Paula suggested. “And I’ve been thinking that might be helpful for your daughter, too, Camryn.”
“No offense, Paula, but right now I can’t afford to pay for any more of your sessions,” Suzanne said. “Maybe I’ll get her some books from the library.”
Camryn coughed loudly and looked away.
“Grace? When you came in tonight, you seemed very down about things,” Paula said. “Anything specific going on?”
“Very specific,” Grace said, biting the words out. She recounted the events of the past few days in vivid detail. “Arthur’s going to sell the house. And I’m back where I started.”
“That’s such a shame,” Suzanne said. “I’ve been following your blog. It was such an adorable house. Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?”
“A very good idea. J’Aimee. My former assistant and my ex’s new girlfriend,” Grace said. “This is totally her handiwork. And, of course, now the house is out of my reach, because I can’t afford to buy a house, because, so far, Judge Stackpole’s idea of a property settlement is to give Ben the gold mine and me the shaft. Ben is entitled to everything, and I get nothing. Because he hates women.”
“Fucker.” Camryn said it quite distinctly.
Paula’s face turned pink. “I’m sure that’s not the case…”
“Not the case?” Ashleigh hooted. “Paula, get a grip! Those pills you’ve been taking have seriously pickled your punkin’.”
The therapist’s face paled. “That’s very unfair.”
“But it’s true,” Ashleigh insisted. “Nobody else wants to speak out, because they’re all soooo afraid Stackpole will screw them even worse than he already has. Not me. I don’t care what you or Stackpole say or do. Because after Monday, this is all a moot point anyway. I am so out of here.”
She hopped out of her chair. “I’ll see y’all later. At the Sandbox. Right?”
* * *
“Man, Ashleigh, you knocked Paula for a loop tonight,” Camryn said later, with something akin to admiration. “After you left, she was back to her old self. Just going through the motions until eight o’clock rolled around. She didn’t even have us read from our journals.”
Ashleigh dipped a finger in her margarita and licked it. “I’m not going back for any completion ceremony, y’all.” She looked around the table. “This has been kind of fun, in a weird way, but it’s not an experience I want to repeat. But hey, if any of y’all ever want a little nip or a tuck, give me a call. I’ll make sure Boyce gives you our professional discount.”
“What about me?” Wyatt asked.
“What? You think men don’t have plastic surgery?” Ashleigh chortled. “Eyelid lifts, chin implants, tummy tucks, breast reductions—honey, you’d be amazed how many men walk into our office. Not to mention all the prescriptions for Rogaine we write.” She gazed meaningfully at Wyatt’s gleaming dome.
He ran his hand over his head, immediately feeling defensive. “I’m not bald. I’ve got plenty of hair. I shave my head because I work outdoors all day. It’s cooler. And there’s less chance of ticks hiding in my hair.”
“Ticks. Eeew.” Ashleigh shuddered.
At the other end of the table, Grace waited until the others were engaged in a lively conversation about the cause for Paula’s demeanor. She leaned over and spoke in a low voice.
“Camryn? Remember the morning you and your cameraman came to my house? The day after I left Ben?”
“How could I forget?” Camryn said. “Best story of the year.”
“I’ve been wondering. How’d you get past the guard gates?” Grace asked. “None of those other news crews were able to get through security. How’d you do it?”
“Mmm. Trade secret,” Camryn said, sipping her drink. “Why do you care?”
“Because I want to go back to the house. And get the rest of my things. But Ben got the security guards to deactivate my key card.”
“Gotcha,” Camryn said. “Let me call my friend in the morning. See if she can help us out.”
“We?”
“You’re gonna need a wingman, right?”
* * *
Wyatt watched Grace, her head bent close to Camryn’s, as they whispered and plotted. He felt an irrational stab of jealousy. All night, he’d tried to catch Grace alone, if only for a moment. He needed to reassure himself that what was between them was real and that they had a future together. But there was always somebody around. He took a sip of his beer, then pushed it aside. He yawned widely, hoping the exaggerated movement would catch her eye.
Finally, she glanced his way, smiling ruefully. He got up and made his way toward the men’s bathroom. Grace followed, pausing at the door to the ladies’ room. She opened the door, and in the next instant, he’d pushed his way inside, slamming the door and locking it in one fluid movement.
“What are you…”
He silenced her with a kiss. “This,” he said, his voice muffled.
“And this.” His hands slid under the back of her sleeveless cotton top, nimbly unsnapping her bra.
“Also this.” He worked his knee between her thighs, her skirt riding up and baring her thighs, pinning her up against the sink vanity. Grace’s body arched into his, and he lifted her effortlessly atop the vanity. She leaned back and ran her hand over his cheek. He caught her hand in his and kissed it, then yanked her top over her head in one fluid movement.
She laughed uneasily and crossed her arms over her bare chest. “We can’t do this! Everybody’s out there. My mother is out there. Somebody’s going to notice…”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I have wanted to do this all night,” he whispered, cupping one of her breasts and kissing it. She let out a soft, low-pitched moan, then grabbed the waistband of his jeans and traced the zipper’s path slowly with her thumb until she heard the sharp intake of his breath against her nipple.
“God, Grace,” he breathed. She worked the zipper downward, stroking his erection. His hands fumbled with her skirt. “How does this damned thing come off?”
There was a sharp rap at the door. Grace froze.
“It’s occupied,” she croaked, hopping down from the vanity and hastily pulling on her top.
Wyatt grabbed for her, but she was too fast for him. He chuckled, despite himself, but she frantically shushed him.
Grace flushed the toilet twice, then groaned loudly and followed that with a remarkably authentic sound effect mimicking violent nausea.
“Come on, already,” a girl’s annoyed voice came. “I’m about to pee my pants.”
“Employee bathroom near kitchen door,” Grace called. “Sorry.” She gagged violently, for good measure.
“Goddamned amateur,” came the girl’s parting shot.
When she was sure the girl was gone, Grace collapsed against Wyatt in a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to the mirror to fix her disheveled clothing and hair. “But we’ve got to get out of here before we get busted.”
She turned and gave him an appraising look, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I had no idea that the scent of hand sanitizer could be such a turn-on.” She opened the door and peeked out. “Okay, coast is clear.” She shoved him out. “Go on. Go! I’ll wait a minute and then come back to the table.”
“Later?” Wyatt asked, kissing her neck. “We need to talk.” But somehow, later never arrived that night.
57
“Dad?” Bo walked into the kitchen, where Wyatt was shaping hamburger patties. Sweetie followed close on the child’s heels, sniffing the air expectantly.
“I know it’
s late and you’re hungry, but dinner’s almost ready,” Wyatt assured, seasoning the burgers with salt and pepper, stopping to toss a bit of meat to the dog.
“I’m okay.” Bo plopped down at his place at the kitchen table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure thing.” Wyatt put the griddle pan on the burner and turned on the heat. “You want cheese or no on your burger?”
“Cheese,” Bo said. “The yellow kind, not the white.”
“Got it. What did you want to ask me?”
Bo kicked the table leg. “Do you still hate Mom?”
“Hate her?” Wyatt asked cautiously. “I don’t hate your mom, Bo. Is that what you think?”
“Sometimes,” the boy said. He helped himself to a handful of potato chips from the bowl on the table and tossed one to Sweetie, who caught it midair. “Mom thinks you hate her. She’s pretty sad. Because now she’s not gonna marry you know who. And Aunt Kendra is a big bee-yotch.” He shoved all the chips in his mouth and chewed furiously.
“You probably shouldn’t call your aunt that word, pal,” Wyatt said. “It’s kind of a bad, grown-up word. So … you talked to your mom today?”
“Do we have any onion dip?” Bo asked hopefully.
“Sorry, no. But we’ve got salad. Did your mom call you today?”
“Yeah,” Bo said. “She says we’re not gonna live with you know who anymore. Do you think we can get our old house back instead? I kind of miss my room there.”
Wyatt sighed. “That’s complicated, pal. I wish we could get the old house back, but right now we can’t. So I guess you’re stuck sharing a room with me. Is that so bad? I mean, I don’t snore too loud, do I?”
“Not as loud as Granddad,” Bo said, giggling. A moment later, he was serious again. “What about Mom? Where’s she going to live?”
Wyatt got up and turned the burner on again. He waited until the eye glowed red, then added the hamburger patties to the grill pan.
Obviously, Callie had unburdened herself to their son at some point during the day. What the hell was she thinking, worrying a six-year-old with this stuff? Did she seriously think she could use Bo to guilt-trip him into taking her back?
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