Sunrise on Half Moon Bay Page 8

  “You know what makes this hardest?” she asked her boss. “One of the things I’ve been most proud of was my marriage. I thought it was strong. Solid. I thought it had stood the test of time.” Her voice caught. “I thought my husband loved me.”

  “Did you ever suspect him of being unfaithful before?”

  “Not really,” she answered.

  Wayne touched her hand. “I have a feeling that when this is behind you, you’ll be glad it went the way it did. Painful, yes. But worth it? Probably.”

  * * *

  She took Wayne’s advice. Maybe not to the letter, but she considered her priorities and struggled to push the need to kill Scott way down to the bottom of her list. She went over their books, soaking up the details. She walked on the beach. She saw the kayak shack and got a glimpse of the woman. Cat. She didn’t get too close because she assumed Cat would be able to identify her, and right now her anonymity was important. Later, maybe, she’d let herself be seen.

  She thought about her priorities, and Amber and Olivia remained at the top of the list. She barely slept, thinking of how to best provide for them. A picture of Wayne Holloway playing piano in a jazz band kept intruding, the image enough to make her smile if not giggle. He was a senior citizen now and should be thinking about his own retirement if being the CEO of a company constantly under siege didn’t kill him first.

  Scott noticed she was not going to work, that she was dressed in her yoga pants day after day. He asked her what she was doing. “Thinking,” she said. “Trying to figure out what’s to become of us.” She assumed he wasn’t asking a lot of questions because he wasn’t quite ready to move out. And she was struggling with how to proceed.

  Then it hit her. Putting her kids first wasn’t only about money. Sure, they were comfortable in their house and needed funds for college, but they also needed two parents. Scott might be off his rocker right now, but he’d always been an involved father. The big question was—what about the woman? Would she interfere in Scott’s ability to pay attention to the girls? Or even worse, would she try to win the girls over? Capture their affection?

  How was she to know the true character of the woman who broke up their marriage?

  She called Logan Danner again.

  “As for her character, that’s questionable,” Logan said. “After all, this isn’t the first time she’s been the cause of a divorce. She twice met her next husband while he was married, and another time they lived together after he dumped his wife of many years. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, she might just be a sweet but stupid woman who keeps trying to better her lot in life by picking an upgraded man over the last man. As you know, she’s twice divorced and twice filed for bankruptcy. This is not a rocket scientist. And she has domestic abuse issues in the current marriage.”

  “She must have some serious skills,” Justine said. “I always thought of Scott as a very smart man.”

  “I think you can disabuse yourself of that notion,” Logan said.

  “You think he’s not smart?” she asked, actually surprised.

  “My opinion of him at the moment is not flattering,” Logan said. “I think he must be an idiot.”

  “Will you please see if you can find anything...interesting?” she asked.

  “Like?”

  “Like—if she has a lot of debt, how did she pay for the new car?”

  “Cars are easy. If you make the payments, you get the car. If you don’t make the payments, they take it back.”

  “Just check, please,” Justine said. “And see if you can figure out her income.”

  Justine spoke to Scott. “Let’s spend tomorrow morning working on our settlement.”

  “Maybe we should just stay as we are,” Scott said. “We’re both here for the girls, we’re not in each other’s way, we can make this work. In many ways, it’s not much different than it was.”

  “There are a lot of concessions I’m willing to make, Scott, but I’m not willing to earn the money while you spend it on your mistress.”

  “I’m not spending it on—”

  “I know what hotels you paid for. Nice ones. Expensive ones. I can’t trust you and I can’t live with you. But there is a deal we can work out. If you’re willing to talk it over.”

  “You can’t know anything!” he said. “How could you know anything? There’s no evidence of that!”

  “Scott,” she said tiredly. “They know you at the Oceanside Lodge. Come on, don’t stack up any more lies. Not now when I’m willing to deal with you. Let’s do this nicely and fairly for the girls.”

  In the end he relented.

  * * *

  She went for a long early-morning walk after the girls had gone to school. Forty-five minutes later she was sitting at the dining room table with a folder full of papers and her calculator. Before starting the conversation, she asked Scott if he had any ideas on how he would divide their property.

  He barely paused. He pulled the yellow pad from the bottom of her stack of papers and began to list things, plus their approximate value, beginning with their retirement accounts, their savings and investments. He added in the equity in their house, all the toys in the garage, their vacation house in the mountains, their cars, their art. Her mouth fell open. Art? They had a few decorator paintings, not expensive and chosen strictly to enhance the decor in their home. She had purchased three from an arts and crafts fair in the park.

  He went on, listing the approximate value of their china, crystal, silver, bric-a-brac and even linens and clothing. And then, if she wasn’t already in shock, he added in the cost of law school.

  “I had scholarships!” she said.

  “And I supported you while you went to law school!” he shot back.

  Then he crossed off all those household items on his lengthy list and said, “I don’t have any real desire to go through the dishes and sheets. I just want to be able to live. I don’t want to be selfish, I just want enough money to pay the rent and eat.”

  The girls’ college funds, which were not going to send either one to Harvard but could cover the costs of California universities, had not entered the discussion, for which Justine was weirdly grateful. She had been afraid when it was all laid out on the table, he would pick at those remains like a bird of prey picked at the bones of a carcass.

  “I think I was very generous here,” he said magnanimously. “When you get down to it, what I am asking for is far less than half. The only thing to talk about is support, bearing in mind I always supported you, if not by working then by managing the home and family.”

  She wanted to shout at him, say something horrible to him, because he was leaving her for another woman! He effectively tossed her out and was done with her. Now the cheating bastard wanted to be seen as generous!

  She tried to regain her focus. It took great effort not to lash out.

  “I might have a better idea. A generous cash out.” She turned the tablet toward her, wrote a huge number on it and turned it back toward him. “Also, I’ll give you half of whatever I earn in the next five years. You’re good with money, Scott. It would allow you to buy a house and, if you’re interested, you could even go back to school and get another degree or an advanced degree. We can share the house with the girls. I’ll want to have unlimited access and allow you the same, but we’ll spend the nights on different nights. I’d like to see them almost every day. By the time they’re in college, we’ll both have figured out where we’re going to settle. We can sell the house then, and I know I’ll have space for them wherever I live. And I suppose you will, too.”

  He was clearly shocked. “You’d leave the house?”

  “When I find something, but I’d want to be here for them often to help them make the adjustment. I’m sure that can be worked out, don’t you think?”

  “I...ah... Yeah. You mean you’d leave this house?”

  “A
s I said, I’d want to stay in very close touch with Amber and Olivia, see them almost every day, help with homework, shopping, chaperone, et cetera. And it’s bound to take at least a few weeks or months to get them used to the idea that we’re going to live apart. That’s certain to be as difficult for them as for me.”

  “Of course,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. He grinned. He looked downright excited.

  “I have only one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “She cannot be in this house. My house containing my things. Never. Not once.”

  “Now why would you make that a condition?” he asked. “She is not the reason our marriage is ending. The blame is mine!”

  “Of course the blame is yours and make no mistake, I’m willing to work with you even though I hate you. You’ve torn up my family! You destroyed our marriage. My daughters have been crying for weeks! Everything will be affected. Likely where they can go to college will be affected! But I ask one thing—she must never be in my house. She must not cook here, sleep here, celebrate here, watch the Super Bowl here or die here. In a couple of years, when we sell the house and you take your things and I take mine, do whatever you want. Until then, that’s my condition. I’ll get language in the decree that if you violate that condition, the house is mine, free and clear. If you want to fight it out, I’ll get a lawyer. I can guarantee you it’ll run up a bill of a hundred grand and take a year of your life you’ll never get back.”

  “A hundred grand! How do you know that?”

  She softened her voice and kept steady. “I’m a lawyer. We talk.”

  He rubbed a hand over his head, through his thinning hair. “Wow,” he said. “How am I supposed to explain that?”

  The way he said that, she knew.

  “Oh my God,” she said quietly. “She’s already been here.”

  “No,” he said, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Her DNA is in my house!”

  “No,” he said. “When we were remodeling, she was curious about the kitchen counters and stuff, so I showed her. That’s all.”

  “God, I could kill you! Well, that’s it—I can’t believe anything you say.” She shook her head. “When did you become such a liar?”

  “You’re overreacting. We were just friends until very—”

  “Just shut up, Scott. Tell her I blame her as much as you. Tell her I’m not only a mean black-hearted bitch, I’m smarter than both of you put together. Tell her she took what was mine and I’m not giving her one more thing. And tell her to be afraid. Very, very afraid.”

  “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I thought we could work it out fairly, but—”

  “We’re going to the bank together, Scott. We’re dividing the cash. I called Sal, the wealth management adviser. He put our funds in lockdown. You are free to consult an attorney, but that’s on your dime. I’m not hiring an attorney and am willing to write this up, get your approval and file it, which will save us a ton of money. From now on, we keep track of every nickel. Decide what you want to do. You can make this neat and easy or difficult and expensive.”

  Chapter Five

  Adele could feel the change in her sister, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. Justine, who had never called often, seemed to have put herself on a schedule, calling Adele at least two mornings a week. She reported only the most rudimentary information. “Scott and I have reached a settlement we can live with. The girls are adjusting with difficulty, but I have promised them that neither of us will abandon them, though we won’t be exactly the kind of family we were. I’m writing up and filing the divorce myself with the help of a friend who is a divorce attorney.”

  There was a distant and controlled sound to Justine’s voice that Adele had recognized from other times of trauma and uncertainty. When their mother was failing, when Olivia was having medical tests at age twelve for a possible heart condition, and now, as she was navigating a divorce. There was a deep, throaty sound to her voice, as if she was measuring each word.

  “Do you have to get divorced?” Adele asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Justine said. “How can I ever trust him again? He betrayed me. Now I am filled with doubt, unsure if this is the first time. I have to protect what I have left.”

  “But is your heart broken?” Adele asked.

  After a moment she said, “In a million pieces. But I’m so angry at what Scott has done that I’m not sure it’s for the love of him that I’m in pain. I think, God help me, it’s the betrayal that hurts so much.”

  Adele had not seen Justine in weeks, not since that morning she’d driven to San Jose to tell her what she’d caught Scott doing in the pizza parlor. She felt almost as though she was going through a divorce herself, though it was not because she was terribly close to Scott and Justine. It had more to do with the fact that if she had ever believed in anyone’s marriage, it had been theirs.

  She went to her weight loss meetings, even adding an extra one every week. She was losing weight steadily, not rapidly. A couple of pounds a week. She amped up her walking, delighted in the fact that her thighs hurt. That held promise in her mind. Someone at one of her meetings said yoga was great for shaping and also would relieve stress, so Adele found a class where she was stretched and twisted like a pretzel to the point of farting. But she forced herself to go back anyway, still waiting for that feeling of spiritual renewal she’d heard so much about. Namaste.

  In five weeks she had lost fifteen pounds and she noticed a difference; her jeans were loose. It was almost a religious experience. She couldn’t remember the last time her clothes were loose. Summer was approaching, and she had fantasies of wearing a bathing suit for the first time in eight years.

  Her other fantasy was getting a job. Any job. She had so much anxiety about not being qualified for anything, she had become discouraged after the first few applications. In one of her weight loss support groups it was suggested that she check into one of those reentry programs.

  “My neighbor was widowed after eighteen years of being a stay-at-home mom. It used to be called the displaced homemakers program for women who had been out of the workforce for a while and suddenly had no job or income or partner. But now I think it’s called reentry and isn’t just for women.”

  “I don’t think I really qualify, unless they include displaced caretakers who were working on a master’s degree.”

  “But do you have a job?” the woman countered. “Look ’em up and see if they can help.”

  Jake, who stopped by at least a couple of times a week, lately bringing things like salad or stir-fry, liked the idea. He pushed it as something to do, something to check off her list. When he was leaving, he remarked on how fantastic she was looking. It made her feel really proud that she’d finally started moving forward.

  She looked up reentry programs and found several, all very much alike. They offered counseling, workshops on everything from résumé writing and interview coaching to escaping domestic violence. The websites always encouraged a visit to see which of their many programs would work best. But she called, only to have an energetic young woman tell her the same thing.

  She was seeing Jake more often than before. She supposed it was for a combination of reasons. One, after her mother passed, he gave her some time to grieve before dropping in on her frequently. Two, he’d been with her when they sighted Scott and Cat, making out like rock stars right in the restaurant, so they kind of shared the drama of that situation. Three, he was interested in her plans to remodel her old house, and he was a wealth of knowledge about that since he’d done it before. And four, she was not oblivious to the fact that Jake might harbor romantic feelings for her.

  Adele dug around in her closet for something professional looking that actually fit her new body. Fortunately, black skirts and nice sweaters never went out of style. She went to the reentry program offices very early,
feeling shy and trembly. There was something shameful about having accomplished so little in eight years even though what she had done had been unselfish and giving and had required fierce dedication. She knew she wasn’t supposed to suffer shame. She also knew many caregivers who had put their lives on hold to care for a family member felt the same way. As though they should have been able to do everything.

  No one was there, but the door was unlocked. She entered an office that was lined with chairs, a typical waiting room. A computer monitor sat on the only desk. There were a couple of doors, one of which opened abruptly. A woman who did not look entirely happy stood there. Her hair was salt and pepper, the coarse black threaded with steely gray, but her skin was young and creamy and Addie couldn’t guess her age.

  “Are you here for the part-time receptionist work?” she asked.

  “Well, sure,” Adele said. It can’t just be that easy, she thought.

  “Are you going to be able to handle that computer?” the woman asked.

  Nonplussed, Addie went to the desk and turned on the computer. Up came the screen. It asked for the password.

  “Everything you need should be in that notebook right there. I put it on the desk this morning, but at close of business make sure it gets put back in the bottom drawer. I changed the password and wrote it on the first page. In the bottom drawer are the intake forms and clipboards. It’s not a real busy day, just a couple of small workshops. We’ll have a few counselors coming in—their names should be on page five of the notebook. Go ahead and have a seat. There’s coffee in the break room. Feel free to help yourself. I’m sorry. Forgive my manners. You are?”

  “Adele Descaro. And you’re...?”

  “No one told you? Fran Costello.” She finally smiled. “Also an Italian name. Maybe we’re cousins. Just so you know, a lot of people wander in. Some will call ahead for appointments, and there’s an appointment calendar on the computer. Acquaint yourself with the computer files and if you have any trouble, let me know and I can help. Hopefully it’s all very self-explanatory.” Then she smiled unexpectedly. “I’m really relieved you’re here.”