Between Sisters

Chapter Twenty-two

C HAPTER TWENTY-TWO

M EGHANN PARKED THE CAR AND GOT OUT. A QUICK glance up at the house told her that no one was home. The lights were all out. She rammed her panty hose into her handbag and ran barefoot across the lawn, then slipped quietly into the darkened house.

Thirty minutes later, she was showered, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and packed. On her way out, she paused long enough to write Claire a quick note, which she left on the kitchen counter. Claire and Bobby

Welcome home.

Love, Meg.

She drew a funny picture of a pair of martini glasses alongside her name, then paused, took one last look at the house that was so much a home. It was unexpectedly difficult to leave. Her condo was so cold and empty by comparison.

Finally, she went to her car and drove slowly through the campground.

The place was quiet this early on a Sunday morning. There were no children in the pool, no campers walking around. A lonely pair of fishermen—father and son by the looks of them—stood at the riverbank, casting their lines toward the water.

At the property line she turned right onto a rutted gravel road. Here, the trees grew closer together, their towering limbs blocking out all but the hardiest rays of morning sunlight. Finally, she came to the clearing, a horseshoe-shaped yard full of oversize rhododendrons and humongous ferns. A gray mobile home squatted on cement blocks in the middle of the yard, its front end accentuated by a pretty cedar deck. Pots of red geraniums and purple petunias were everywhere.

Meghann parked the car and got out. As always, she felt a tightening in her stomach when she thought about meeting Sam. It took a concerted effort to look at him and not remember their past.

Go. Just leave.

You’re just like your Mama.

She gripped her purse strap and walked up the gravel walkway and onto the porch, which smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine on this June morning.

She knocked, too softly at first. When no one answered, she tried again. Harder this time.

The door swung open, hinges creaking, and there he was, filling the doorway, dressed in shabby overalls and a pale blue T-shirt that read: River’s Edge . His brown hair was Albert Einstein wild.

“Meg,” he said, clearly forcing a smile. He stepped back. “Come on in.”

She sidled past him and found herself in a surprisingly cozy living room. “Good morning, Sam. I’m here to pick up Alison.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Are you sure you want to take her this week? I’d be happy to keep her.”

“I’m sure you would,” she answered, stung. It was too much like the other time.

“I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course not.”

“I know how busy you are, though.”

She looked at him. “You still think I’m a bad influence, is that it?”

He took a step toward her, stopped. “I should never have thought that. Claire’s told me how good you were to her. I didn’t know about kids back then, and I sure as hell didn’t know about teenage girls who—”

“Please. Don’t finish that sentence. Do you have a list for me? Allergies. Medications. Anything I should know?”

“She goes to bed at eight. She likes it if you read her a story. The Little Mermaid is her favorite.”

“Great.” Meg looked down the hallway. “Is she ready?”

“Yeah. She’s just telling the cat good-bye.”

Meg waited. Somewhere in the trailer a clock ticked past a minute, then another.

“She has a birthday party to go to on Saturday. If you get her here by noon, she’ll make it,” Sam said finally. “That way she’ll already be here when Claire and Bobby get home on Sunday.”

Meghann knew the arrangements. “She’ll be on time. Do I need to take her shopping for a gift?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Nothing too expensive.”

“I think I can handle shopping, thank you.”

Another silence fell, marked by the clock’s passing minutes.

Meghann was trolling for something innocuous to say when Alison came racing down the hallway, carrying a black cat whose body stretched almost to the ground. “Lightning wants to come with me, Grandpa. He meowed me. Can I take him with me, Aunt Meg, can I?”

Meg had no idea whether cats were allowed in her building.

Before she could answer, Sam knelt down in front of his granddaughter and gently eased the cat from her arms. “Lightning needs to stay here, honey. You know he likes to play with his friends and hunt for mice in the woods. He’s a country cat. He wouldn’t like the city.”

Alison’s eyes looked huge in the heart-shaped pallor of her face. “But I’m not a city girl, either,” she said, puffing out her lower lip.

“No,” Sam said. “You’re an adventurer, though. Just like Mulan and Princess Jasmine. Do you think they’d be nervous about a trip to the big city?”

Ali shook her head.

Sam pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. When he finally let her go, he got slowly to his feet and looked at Meghann. “Take good care of my granddaughter.”

It was not unlike what she’d said to Sam all those years ago, just before she left for good. Take care of my sister. The only difference was, she’d been crying. “I will.”

Alison grabbed her Little Mermaid backpack and her small suitcase. “I’m ready, Aunt Meg.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Meg took the suitcase and headed for the door. They were in the car and moving forward down the gravel driveway when Alison suddenly screamed, “Stop!”

Meg slammed on the brakes. “What’s wrong?”

Alison climbed out of her seat, opened the door, and ran back into the trailer. A moment later she was back, clutching a ratty pink blanket to her chest. Her eyes glistened with tears.

“I can’t go ‘venturing without my wubbie.”

Claire would always remember her first sight of Kauai.

As the jet banked left and dipped down, she saw the turquoise-blue water that ringed the white sand beaches. Reefs glittered black beneath the surface.

“Oh, Bobby,” she said, turning to look at him. She wanted to tell him what this moment meant to the girl who’d grown up in trailers, dreaming of palm trees. But the words she came up with were too small, too trite.

An hour later, they were settled in their rental car—a Mustang convertible—and driving north.

Amazingly, with every mile driven, the island grew greener, lusher. By the time they reached the famous Hanalei Bridge, where huge green patchwork taro fields lay tucked against the rising black mountains, it was another world completely. On one side of the two-lane road, the local farmers stood in water, tending their taro crops. There wasn’t a house or a road to be seen for miles. On the right side, the winding Hanalei River, hemmed on either side by thick, flowering green vegetation, calmly carried kayakers downstream. In the distance, the dark mountains stood in stark contrast to the blue sky; a few diaphanous clouds hinted at rain for tomorrow, but now, it was perfect weather.

“Here! Turn here,” she said a block after a church.

The houses along the beach road sat on huge waterfront lots. Claire had braced herself for Bel Air–type mansions. She needn’t have bothered. Most of the houses were old-fashioned, unpretentious. At the park, they turned again, and there it was: the house her dad had rented. Only a block from the beach and tucked as it was in a cul-de-sac, it ought to feel ordinary.

It was anything but. Painted a bright tropical blue with glossy white trim, the house looked like a jeweled box hidden in a tropical landscape. A thick green hedge ran down three borders of the property, effectively blocking the neighbors from view.

Inside, the house had white walls, pine plank floors, and bright Hawaiian furniture. Upstairs, the bedroom, done in more bright colors, led to a private balcony that overlooked the mountains. As she stood there, staring out at the waterfall-ribboned mountain, Claire could hear the distant surf.

Bobby came up behind her, slipped his arms around her. “Maybe someday I’ll make it big, and we’ll live here.”

She leaned back against him. It was the same dream she’d had for years, but now its hold had loosened. “I don’t care about making it big or someday, Bobby. We have this right now, and really, it’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

He turned her around so that she was facing him. There was an uncharacteristic sadness in his eyes. “I won’t leave you, Claire. How can you not know that?”

Claire wanted to smile, shake the words off. “I do know that.”

“No. You don’t yet. I love you, Claire. I guess all I can do is keep saying it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How about to the beach?”

They walked hand in hand down the road toward the beach. At the pavilion, one of the many public access points, a large group of Hawaiians were celebrating a family reunion. Dark-haired, copper-skinned children in brightly colored swimsuits played running games on the grass while the adults set out a buffet inside. Someone somewhere was playing a ukelele.

Hanalei Bay fanned out from her on either side, a mile of white-sand beach shaped in a giant horseshoe. To the north stood the mountains, turned pink now by the sinking sun.

Small, white-tipped waves rolled forward, carrying laughing children toward the sand. Farther back, some teenage boys lay on oversize surfboards. Their instructor, a good-looking guy in a straw hat, gave them each a shove when a wave seemed promising.

They spent the rest of the day on the warm sands of Hanalei Bay and watched the sunset and talked. When the beach fell silent and lay in darkness, with stars glittering on the black water, they finally went back to their house. Together, they made dinner and ate it on a picnic table on the back lanai, with lanterns and mosquito-repellant candles lighting their way. By the time dinner was finished and the dishes were done, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other anymore.

Bobby swept Claire into his arms and carried her upstairs. She laughed and clung to him, letting go only when he dropped her onto the bed. She immediately came up to her knees and looked at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, reaching out to slip a finger beneath her bathing-suit bra strap. She felt the heat of that touch against her cold, goosefleshed skin and found it hard to breathe.

He bent down and stripped out of his suit, then straightened again. The sight of his naked body, hard and ready, made her shiver and reach out.

He moved to the bed. She could feel the eager trembling in his hands as he removed her swimsuit and touched her breasts. At last he kissed her—her mouth, her eyelids, her chin, her nipples.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her. She felt his hand slip between her legs, finding her wetness. With a groan, she opened herself to him. When he finally climbed on top of her, she dug her fingers into his hard backside and arched up to meet him. They came at the same time, each crying out the other’s name.

Afterward, Claire curled up against her husband’s damp, hot body and fell asleep to the quiet evenness of his breathing and the steady drone of the ceiling fan.

Meg took Alison on a whirlwind tour of downtown Seattle. They went to the aquarium and watched the feeding of the otters and seals. Meg even dared to roll up her designer sleeves and plunge her bare hands into the exploration tank, where, alongside a busload of out-of-town children, she and Alison touched sea anemones and mussels and starfish.

After that, they got hot dogs at a frankfurter stand and walked down the wharf. At Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe they saw shrunken heads and Egyptian mummies and cheap souvenirs. (Meg didn’t point out the eight-foot-long petrified whale penis that hung suspended from the ceiling; she could just imagine what Ali would tell her friends.) They had dinner at the Red Robin Hamburger Emporium and finished off the day with a Disney movie at the Pacific Place Theater.

By the time they made it back to the condo, Meg was exhausted.

Unfortunately, Alison had energy to spare. She ran from room to room, picking up stuff, looking at it, yelling Wow! over things like a Sonicare toothbrush.

Meg was on the couch, sprawled out with her feet on the coffee table, when Alison skidded into the room, carrying the Lalique bowl from the front entry.

“Did you see this, Aunt Meg? These girls have no clothes on.” She giggled.

“They’re angels.”

“They’re naked . Billy says his dad has magazines with naked girls in ‘em. Gross.”

Meg got up and very gently took the bowl from Alison. “Gross is in the eye of the beholder.” She returned it to its spot on the entry table. When she walked back into the living room, Alison was frowning.

“What’s a bee holder? Is that like a hive?”

Meg was too tired to come up with a smart answer. “Kind of.” She collapsed onto the couch again. How had she done this when she was a teenager?

“Didja know that baby eagles eat their daddy’s barf?”

“No kidding. Even my cooking is better than that.”

Alison giggled. “My mommy’s a good cook.” The minute she said it, her lower lip wobbled. Tears glistened in her green eyes, and just then, standing there on the verge of crying, Alison looked so much like Claire that Meghann couldn’t breathe. She was thrown back in time to all the nights she’d comforted her little sister, held her tightly, and promised that Soon, soon things will get better … and Mama will come home.

“Come here, Ali,” she said, her throat tight.

Alison hesitated for a moment, just that, but the pause reminded Meghann of how little she and her niece knew each other.

Alison sat down on the sofa, about a foot away.

“Do you want to call your mommy? She’s going to call at six o’clock, but—”

“Yeah!” Alison yelled, bouncing up and down on the cushion.

Meghann went in search of the phone. She found it on the nightstand by her bed. After a quick consultation in her day planner, she dialed the Kauai house’s direct number, then handed the phone to her niece.

“Mommy?” Alison said after a few seconds. Then, “Hi, Mommy. It’s me, Ali Kat.”

Smiling, Meg walked into the kitchen and began unpacking the bags of groceries and goodies she’d picked up today. Stuff she hadn’t bought in years—Frosted Flakes, Pop-Tarts, Oreo cookies—and stuff she’d never seen before, like juice that came in silver bags and mix-your-own yogurt. The most important purchase was an activity book for children. She intended to make this a week Alison wouldn’t forget.

“She wants to talk to you, Aunt Meg,” Alison said, bouncing into the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Meg took the phone, said, “Hello?”

“Hey, big sis, how’s it going? Has she stopped talking yet?”

Meg laughed. “Not even when she’s eating.”

“That’s my Ali.”

Alison tugged on Meg’s pant leg. “Mommy said the sand is like sugar. Sugar. Can I have some cookies?”

Meg handed her an Oreo. “Only one before bed,” she said to her niece. To Claire, she said, “I need a margarita.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know. It makes me think… .”

“What?” Claire asked softly.

“About us. You. Sometimes I look at Ali and all I can see is us.”

“Then, she’ll love you, Meg.”

Meg closed her eyes. It felt so good to talk to Claire this way, as true sisters who had something more than a sordid childhood in common. “She misses you.”

“Bedtime might be hard. You’ll need to read her a story.” Claire laughed. “I warn you, she has quite an attention span.”

“I’ll try Moby-Dick. You’d have to be on speed to stay awake for that.”

Alison grabbed her pant leg again. “I think I’m gonna be—” And she puked all over Meg’s shoes.

“I need to go, Claire. Have a great trip. We’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone and set it on the counter.

Alison looked up at her, giggling. “Oops.”

“Maybe the double banana split was a bad idea.” She eased out of her shoes and scooped Alison into her arms and carried her to the bathroom.

Alison looked so tiny in the big marble tub.

“This is like a swimming pool,” she said, sucking up a mouthful of water and spitting it on the tile wall.

“Let’s not drink our own bathwater, shall we? It’s one of the things that separates us from the lesser primates. Like men.”

“Grandpa lets me.”

“My point exactly. Now come here, let me wash your hair.” She reached for the brand-new baby shampoo. The scent made her smile. “I used to wash your mom’s hair with this shampoo.”

“You’re getting it in my eyes.”

“That’s what she used to say.” Meghann was still smiling when she rinsed Alison’s hair and helped her out of the tub. She dried off the little girl, dressed her in pink flannel pajamas, and carried her into the guest room.

“It’s a big bed,” Alison said, frowning.

“That’s because it’s for princesses only.”

“Am I a princess?”

“You are.” Meghann curtsied. “Milady,” she said in a solemn voice. “What command have you for me?”

Alison giggled and climbed under the covers. “Read me a story. I want … Professor Wormbog in Search of the Zipperump-a-Zoo. ”

Meg dug through the toys and books in the suitcase, found the right one, and started to read.

“You gotta be on the bed,” Alison said.

“Oh.” Meghann climbed onto the bed and settled in comfortably. Alison immediately snuggled in beside her, resting her cheek on the precious wubbie.

Meg started to read again.

An hour and six books later, Alison was finally asleep. Meg kissed her niece’s sweet pink cheek and left the room, careful to leave the door open.

Afraid to turn on the television or the stereo—she didn’t want to wake Alison—she tried to read a magazine. Within minutes she was falling asleep, so she padded into her bedroom, changed into her Seahawks nightshirt, brushed her teeth, and got into bed.

Closing her eyes, she thought of all the things she had to do tomorrow. There was no way she’d fall asleep tonight.

Woodland Park Zoo.

The BFG at the Children’s Theater.

GameWorks.

F.A.O. Schwarz.

Fun Forest at Seattle Center.

Her mind skipped from Fun Forest to National Forest to Hayden to Joe.

Joe.

He’d kissed her good-bye so gently on that last morning they were together. It had made her feel inexplicably vulnerable.

She wanted to see him. And not just for sex.

For what, then?

She’d chosen him in the first place for his unavailability. What had been his first words to her, or practically the first?

I won’t take you home with me.

Or something like that. Right off the bat he’d declared his unavailability.

And so she’d gone for him. But where could they go beyond the bedroom? He was a small-town mechanic who still cried over his divorce.

There was no future for them.

Still … when she closed her eyes he was there, waiting to kiss her in the darkness of her own mind.

“Aunt Meg?”

She sat upright, flicked on the light. “What is it?”

Alison stood there, clutching her wubbie. Her face was moist with tears; her eyes were red. She looked impossibly small in the open doorway. “I can’t sleep.”

She looked so much like Claire… .

“Come on up here, honey. Come sleep with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Alison bolted across the room and clambered up into the bed, then snuggled close against Meg, who held her tightly. “Your mommy used to sleep with me when she was scared, did you know that?”

Alison popped a thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes. Almost immediately, she was asleep.

Meghann loved the smell of her, the little girl/baby shampoo sweetness. She cuddled in close to her niece and closed her eyes, expecting to start thinking about tomorrow again.

Amazingly, she fell asleep.

The telephone woke Claire up. She sat up fast. “What time is it?” She looked around for the bedside clock, found it. Five forty-five A . M . Oh , God. “Bobby, the phone—”

She scrambled over him and picked it up. “Hello? Meghann? Is Ali okay?”

“Hey, darlin’, how are you?”

Claire released a heavy breath and climbed out of bed. “I’m fine, Mama. It’s five-forty-five on Kauai.”

“Is that right? I thought y’all were the same time zone as California.”

“We’re halfway to Asia, Mama.”

“You always did exaggerate, Claire. I do have a reason for callin’, you know.”

Claire grabbed her robe out of the closet and slipped it on, then went out onto the balcony. Outside, the sky was just turning pink. In the backyard, a rooster strutted across the lawn; hens clucked along behind. The morning smelled of sweet tropical flowers and salt air. “What is it?”

“I know you don’t think I’m much of a mother.”

“That’s not true.” She yawned, wondering if there was any chance of falling asleep again. She looked through the windows at Bobby, who was sitting up now, frowning at her.

“It is so. You and Miss Perfect are constantly remindin’ me that I did a poor job raisin’ you. I consider it ungrateful to say the least, but motherhood has its burdens, as you know, and misunderstanding is mine.”

“It’s a little early for drama, Mama. Maybe you could—”

“The point is, I do some things poorly and some things well. I’m like ordinary people in that way.”

Claire sighed. “Yes, Mama.”

“I just want you to remember that. And tell your bigmouthed sister. No matter what y’all remember, or think you do, the truth is that I love you. I always have.”

“I know, Mama.” She smiled at Bobby, mouthed: Mama , then: coffee .

“Now put your husband on the phone.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do have a man in your bed right now?”

Claire laughed. “I do.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Why?”

Mama sighed dramatically. “It’s another of my burdens to be saddled with suspicious daughters. It’s about a weddin’ gift, if you must know. I heard y’all didn’t like the car.”

“There’s no room for Alison.”

“Does she have to go everywhere with y’all?”

“Mama—”

“Put Bobby on. This present is for him, since you were so ungrateful.”

“Okay, Mama. Whatever. Just a second.” She went back inside. “She wants to talk to you.”

Bobby sat up. This can’t be good , he mouthed as he took the phone from Claire. “How’s the sexiest mother-in-law in the world?” After a moment, his smile faded. “What?” Then: “You’re kidding me. How did you do it?”

Claire moved toward him, placed her hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “That’s incredible, Ellie. Really. I don’t know how to thank you. When?” He frowned. “You know we’re here—oh. Yeah. I understand. At the ticket counter. Yes. Okay. Of course we’ll call right away. And thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means. Yes. Good-bye.”

“What did she do?” Claire asked when he hung up the phone.

Bobby’s smile was so big it creased his whole face into pleats. “She got me an audition with Kent Ames at Down Home Records. I can’t believe it. I’ve been playing shit-ass honky-tonk joints for ten years waiting for a break like this.”

Claire threw herself at him, holding him tightly in her arms. She told herself it was foolish to have been afraid, worried, but still her hands were shaking. Too many bad years with Mama, she supposed. She always expected the worst. “You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

He twirled her around until they were both laughing. “This is it, Claire.”

She was still laughing when he eased her back to her feet.

“But … ,” he said, not smiling now.

That worry came back. “What?”

“The audition is Thursday. After that, Kent is leaving for a month.”

“This Thursday?”

“In Nashville.”

Claire looked up at her husband, who wore his heart in his eyes right now. She knew that if she said no, said, Our honeymoon won’t be over by then , he’d kiss her and say, Okay, maybe call your Mama back and see if the audition can be rescheduled in a month. Knowing all that made her answer easy.

“I’ve always wanted to see Opryland.”

Bobby pulled her into his arms, gazed down at her. “I’d given up,” he admitted quietly.

“Let that be a lesson,” she answered happily. “Now, hand me that phone. I better let Dad and Meghann know that we’ll probably add a day or two on to the trip.”

The days with Alison settled into a comfortable routine. By the third afternoon, Meghann had let go of her obsessive need to show her niece every child-friendly venue in the city. Instead, they did simple things. They rented movies and made cookies and played Candy Land until Meg cried out for mercy.

Each night Meg slept with Ali tucked in her arms, and each morning she awoke with an unexpected sense of anticipation. She smiled easier, laughed more often. She’d forgotten how good it felt to care for someone else.

When Claire called to extend the length of her honeymoon, Meg knew she’d shocked her sister by offering—gladly—to keep Alison for a few extra days. Unfortunately, the oh-so-important birthday party ruined that option.

When Saturday finally came, Meghann was surprised by the depth of her emotions. All the way to Hayden she had to work to keep smiling, while Ali chattered nonstop and bounced in her seat. At Sam’s house, Ali flew into her grandfather’s arms and started telling him about the week. Meg kissed her niece good-bye and hurried out of the trailer. That night, she hardly slept at all. She couldn’t seem to stave off the loneliness.

On Monday, she went back to work.

The hours stacked on top of one another, growing heavier than usual. By 3:00, she was so tired she could hardly function.

She hoped that Harriet wouldn’t notice.

A useless hope, of course.

“You look bad,” Harriet said when Meghann slumped into the familiar chair.

“Thank you.”

“How did the wedding go?”

“It was nice,” Meg said, looking down at her hands. “Even Mama couldn’t ruin it. I planned the wedding, you know.”

“You?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I followed your advice and kept my mouth shut. Claire and I … connected again. I even baby-sat my niece during the honeymoon. But now …”

“Now, what?”

Meg shrugged. “The real world is back.” She looked up. “My condo is quiet. I never noticed that before.”

“Your niece was loud?”

“She never stopped talking. Except when she was asleep.” Meg felt a tightening in her chest. She would miss sleeping with Ali, miss having a little girl to care for.

“It reminded you of Claire.”

“Lately, everything reminds me of those days.”

“Why?”

“We were best friends,” Meg said softly.

“And now?”

Meghann sighed. “She’s married. She has her family. It’s just like before. I probably won’t hear from her until my birthday.”

“The phone works both ways.”

“Yeah.” Meghann looked down at her watch. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It hurt too much. “I gotta go, Harriet. Bye.”

Meghann stared at her client, hoping the smile she managed to form wasn’t as plastic as it felt.

Robin O’Houlihan paced in front of the window. Stick-thin and wearing more makeup than Terence Stamp in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert , she was the clichéd Hollywood wife. Too thin, too greedy, too everything. Meg wondered why none of these women noticed that at a certain age thin became gaunt. The more weight they lost, the less attractive their faces became, and Robin’s hair had been dyed and redyed blond so often and so long it looked like a straw wig. “It’s not enough. Period. End of story.”

“Robin,” she said, striving for a calm and even voice. “He’s offering twenty-thousand dollars a month, the house on Lake Washington, and the condo in La Jolla. Frankly, for a nine-year marriage that produced no children, I think—”

“I wanted children.” She practically hurled the words at Meg. “He was the one who didn’t. He should have to pay for that, too. He took away the best reproductive years of my life.”

“Robin. You’re forty-nine years old.”

“Are you saying I’m too old to have a child?”

Well, no. But you’ve been married six times and frankly, you have the mental and emotional stability of a two-year-old. Believe me, your never-conceived children thank you. “Of course not, Robin. I’m simply suggesting that the children approach won’t help us. Washington is a no-fault state, you remember. The whys of a divorce don’t matter.”

“I want the dogs.”

“We’ve discussed this. The dogs were his before you got married. It seems reasonable—”

“ I was the one who reminded Lupe to feed and water them. Without me, those Lhasa Apsos would be hairy toast. Dead by the side of the pool. I want them. And you should quit fighting with me. You’re my lawyer, not his. I can hardly live on twenty grand a month.” She laughed bitterly. “He still has the jet, the place in Aspen, the Malibu beach house, and all our friends.” Her voice cracked and, for just a moment, Meghann saw a flash of the woman Robin O’Houlihan had once been. A now-frightened, once-ordinary girl from Snohomish who’d believed a woman could marry her way to the top.

Meghann wanted to be gentle, say something soothing. In the old days, it would have been easy. But those days were gone now, stamped into muddy nothingness by the stiletto heels of a hundred angry wives who didn’t want to work and couldn’t possibly live on twenty grand a month.

She closed her eyes briefly, wanting to clear her mutinous mind. But instead of a quiet darkness, she flashed on an image of Mr. O’Houlihan, sitting quietly in the conference room, his hands clasped on the table. He’d answered all her questions with a sincerity that surprised her.

No prenuptial, no. I believed we’d last forever.

I loved her.

My first wife died. I met Robin nearly ten years later.

Oh. Yes. I wanted more children. Robin didn’t.

It had been one of those uncomfortable moments that occasionally blindsided an attorney. That sickening realization that you were leading the wrong team.

Simply put, she’d believed him. And that was no good.

“Hel- lo . I’m talking here.” Robin pulled a cigarette from her quilted Chanel bag. Remembering suddenly that she couldn’t smoke in here, she jammed it back in her purse. “So, how do I get the house in Aspen? And the dogs.”

Meghann rolled the pen between her thumb and forefinger, thinking. Every now and then the pen thumped on the manila folder open in front of her. It sounded vaguely like a war drumbeat. “I’ll call Graham and hash this through. Apparently your husband is willing to be very generous, but trust me on this, Robin. People get pissed off over a lot less than a beloved dog. If you’re going to go to the mat for Fluffy and Scruffy, be prepared to give up a lot. Your husband could yank the houses from the table in an instant. You better decide how important those dogs are.”

“I just want to hurt him.”

Meghann thought of the man she’d deposed more than a month ago. His look had been sad—worn, even. “I think you already have, if that’s any consolation.”

Robin tapped a long scarlet fingernail against her teeth as she stared out toward Bainbridge Island. “I shouldn’t have slept with the pool guy.”

Or the meat delivery boy or the dentist who bleached your teeth. “This is a no-fault state, remember.”

“I’m not talking about the divorce. I’m talking about the marriage.”

“Oh.” There it was again, that flash of a real person hiding behind the decoupage of expensive makeup. “It’s easy to see your life in retrospect. It’s too bad we don’t live life backward. I think it was Kierkegaard who said that.”

“Really.” Robin was clearly disinterested. “I’ll think about the dogs and let you know.”

“Act fast. Graham said this offer lasts for thirty-six hours. After that, he said it was ring time. Round one.”

Robin nodded. “You seem awfully timid for someone they call the Bitch of Belltown.”

“Not timid. Practical. But if you’d prefer other representation—”

“No.” Robin slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. As she opened it, she said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Without looking back, she left. The door clicked shut.

Meg let out a heavy sigh. She felt pummeled, smaller somehow.

She set the file aside, and as she did, she thought of Mr. O’Houlihan’s sad face again.

No prenuptial, no. I believed we’d last forever.

This was going to rip his heart out. It wouldn’t be enough to break his heart. Oh, no. Meghann and Robin were going to take it one step further and show him the true character of the woman he’d married. He’d find it damn near impossible to trust his heart the next time.

With a sigh, she checked her schedule. Robin had been her last appointment. Thank God. Meghann didn’t think she could handle another sad story of failed loved right now. She packed up her papers, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and left the office.

Outside, it was a balmy early-summer night. The hustle and bustle of rush hour traffic clogged the streets. In the market, tourists were still crowded around the fish stand. White-aproned vendors threw thirty-pound king salmons through the air to one another: at every toss, tourists snapped photographs.

Meghann barely noticed the familiar show. She was past the fish market and down to the vegetables when she realized what route she’d chosen.

The Athenian was the next doorway.

She paused outside, smelling the pungent familiar odors of cigarette smoke and frying grease, listening to the buzz of conversations that were always the same, ultimately circling back to Are you here alone?

Alone.

It was certainly the most accurate adjective to describe her life. Even more so now that Ali was gone. It was amazing how big a hole her tiny niece had left behind.

She didn’t want to go into the Athenian, pick up some man she didn’t know, and bring him back to her bed. She wanted—

Joe .

A wave of melancholy came with his name, a deepening of the loneliness.

She pushed away from the doorway and headed home.

In the lobby of her building, she waved to the doorman, who started to say something to her. She ignored him and went into the elevator. On the penthouse floor, the elevator bell clanged, and she got out.

Her apartment door was open.

She frowned, wondering if she’d left it that way this morning.

No.

She was just about to slink back into the elevator when a hand appeared in her doorway; it held a full bottle of tequila.

Elizabeth Shore stepped out into the hallway. “I heard your transatlantic cry for help, and I brought the preferred tranquilizer for the slutty, over-the-hill set.”

To Meghann’s complete horror, she burst into tears.