Chapter 35
I n the coming days, Delilah noticed an uptick in the number of calls Mitch made to the boys. He was perfunctory when Delilah answered the phone— Hello, can I speak to my sons, please —and Delilah sensed trouble.
Mitch had shown so little interest in the boys over the past year that this couldn’t be about him trying to be a more attentive father. He had to be pumping Jesse and Gavin for information on Quinn.
She could have told them not to discuss Quinn with their father or, even worse, she could have told them to lie and say they hadn’t seen Quinn. But Delilah didn’t want to go down that road. It was simply bad mothering to encourage her kids to lie, and anyway, what was the point? She needed to be free—not to have the illusion of freedom because she’d managed to keep Mitch in the dark.
She and Quinn were a couple now, and the boys could say whatever they wanted about that to their father. Delilah would deal with the fallout.
She knew that fallout would come. She just didn’t expect it to take the form it did.
Delilah had plans to meet with a Realtor on a Wednesday morning in early January.
Quinn and the boys were planning to come with her as she began to look at houses for her new life in Cambria.
She was excited, and the whole thing had an air of festivity about it that rivaled what they’d all felt at Christmas. For the first time, Delilah would be choosing what she really wanted—what reflected her own personality, her own needs, her own vision about the life she was building for herself.
She was practically giddy with anticipation, bustling around the rental house getting ready for her day, when the doorbell rang.
Delilah thought it was Quinn—that’s why she had a smile on her face as she opened the door. That was why she’d felt happy and relaxed.
But it wasn’t Quinn.
Instead, Delilah’s ex-husband stood on the front porch, looking tired and pinched and a little angry.
She gasped when she saw him, though she couldn’t have said whether that was from fear or surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
If she’d had more time to come up with something to say, she might have been less confrontational, less hostile. But the words just popped out before she could form a strategy.
“Delilah, can we talk?”
Oh, God. This had to be about his plan to get custody. He was here to threaten her, or maybe to announce that he was filing the papers. Adrenaline shot through her. That, and stark terror.
“If you came to see the boys, you should have called first. How did you even know where to find us?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. He might have found her in any number of ways. Her mother, for one. Delilah had no doubt her mother would hand over any information he wanted if she thought it meant she and Mitch might somehow repair their marriage.
“I didn’t come to see them. I mean, I do want to. Of course. But mostly, I came to talk to you.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “So talk.”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
He wore jeans and a polo shirt—nothing fancy about that—but she knew from experience that no single item he wore cost less than two hundred dollars, probably including his socks.
He looked older than when she’d last seen him. He had the same medium blond hair, the same trim build, the same intense blue eyes. The same expensive haircut. But something about him—maybe his expression, maybe the way he held himself—suggested the kind of stress that wore on a person day after day. He looked five years older than when she’d last seen him.
“Delilah, come on.”
Her intention to hold him off at the door was foiled when Jesse and Gavin, who’d been playing in Jesse’s room, heard their father’s voice. They poked their heads out tentatively at first, as though they dared not believe they’d heard what they thought they’d heard.
When they saw him, they exploded out of the room and down the hallway, running toward their father.
“Dad! Dad!” Jesse hurtled past Delilah and into his father’s arms. Gavin, in his race to get there, tripped over his feet and fell to the floor. He got up and darted toward Mitch before Delilah could even react to his fall.
Gavin threw one arm around Mitch’s legs, the thumb of his free hand plugged into his mouth.
“Hey, fellas.” Mitch knelt down to the boys’ level and wrapped one arm around each of his sons.
Jesse peppered him with questions. “Are you back? Do you live here now? Did you miss us on Christmas Day? Do you want to see what I got?”
Gavin simply clung to him without saying anything.
“Whoa there, Jesse. That’s a lot of questions.” But Mitch had a wistful smile on his face that Delilah rarely saw. His eyes reddened, and he cleared his throat before he spoke. If she didn’t know better, she would think he really did miss the boys. Could that be true, or was it an act he was performing for her sake?
“Listen, guys. I have to talk to your mom in private for a bit. Then how about if I take you out for ice cream? Is that all right, Delilah?”
“It’s nine a.m., Mitch.”
“Well, breakfast, then. Pancakes. What do you say, boys?”
The kids erupted in excited agreement, so Delilah hardly had a choice in the matter.
“Fine,” she said. It might be better if the boys didn’t come on the house shopping expedition, anyway. They’d likely find it excruciatingly boring.
“Great. That’s great.” Mitch released his sons and stood up.
“Guys, can you go back into Jesse’s room for a bit?” Delilah asked gently. “I need to talk to your dad, then he’ll take you to the Redwood Cafe.”
They went back down the hall, sneaking peeks back at Mitch as though he might vanish before they returned. Which, she thought, was a real possibility if their talk didn’t go well.
“All right,” she said when they were gone. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Can I come in now? The boys are going to wonder why you wouldn’t let me past the front door.”
He had a point. She stood back wordlessly to let him enter.
Quinn was looking forward to house shopping with Delilah. It wasn’t his ideal scenario—that would have been if she and the boys had decided to move in with him.
But Delilah wasn’t ready for it, and that was fine. As long as they were heading in that general direction, he could wait as long as it took.
He reminded himself not to take over as he had with the Christmas preparations. It was fine to do the man-in-control thing when cutting down a tree or planning a route at the zoo. It was entirely another to try it when a woman was choosing a home for herself. This was her decision, not his. He needed to be supportive, but he also needed to hang back and remember that this was about her and the boys, not his own opinions or desires.
Quinn went through his morning routine—coffee, shower, breakfast—planning what he might do when they were through with the Realtor. Maybe he’d take the Ballards to lunch. After that, they could see a movie if Delilah didn’t have plans. There was a new Pixar movie out that the boys would love.
Feeling the joy and enthusiasm of a man whose life was going exactly to plan, he drove to Delilah’s rental house anticipating kissing her.
He really liked kissing her.
When he saw an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway, he thought it had to be the Realtor. Was he late? He checked the clock in his car and saw that he wasn’t. Maybe the Realtor was early.
He was actually whistling as he went up the front walk. He let himself in instead of knocking because Delilah had told him to do that. She’d told him he was on just-come-in status now.
He stopped short when he saw Delilah in the living room with a man whose face was familiar. He knew where he’d seen that face before: in the framed photos on Jesse and Gavin’s bedside tables.
Oh, shit.
“What’s going on?” he said. But that wasn’t what he wanted to ask. He wanted to ask, What the hell are you doing here? And when the fuck are you leaving?
“Oh. Quinn.” Delilah tried on a smile, but it was wobbly and unconvincing. “This is Mitch. Mitch, this is Quinn Monroe.”
Quinn forced himself to walk over and extend his hand, but the asshole ex didn’t take it.
“If you don’t mind, I’m trying to have a private conversation with my wife.”
“I’m not your wife,” Delilah said. “Not anymore.”
Mitch didn’t acknowledge what Delilah had said. Instead, he stared Quinn down the way he probably did with opponents at his law firm.
Quinn tried to assess the situation, but it was hard, given the undercurrents of tension and loathing flying through the room.
“Delilah? Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Of course.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“She just said she’s fine. So, you can move along, sport.” Mitch made a shooing motion with his hands.
Delilah got up, came to Quinn, and put a hand on his arm as she gently ushered him toward the door.
“He just showed up,” she said, her voice low for privacy. “He said he wants to talk. If he’s going to tell me he’s suing for custody … Quinn, I need to talk him down, and I can’t do that if you’re here making him mad.”
“I didn’t do anything to make him mad. If he’s mad, maybe it’s because he’s an asshole.”
“Quinn, please.”
The look in her eyes said she was begging him. Begging him to go.
“All right. I’ll be right outside, in the car. If you need me, call me.” He held up his cell phone to illustrate.
“I will.”
“Delilah? You’re safe, right?”
“Yes. Yes. It’s okay. You can go.” And she practically pushed him out the door.
Quinn’s sudden appearance had thrown things off, but Delilah composed herself and went into the living room to talk to her ex.
“Okay.” She patted her thighs once, primly, with her hands. “You were about to tell me why you’re here.”
“That’s the guy you’re seeing? That guy?”
“That was Quinn, yes.”
Mitch looked stricken, and Delilah tried to replicate his thought processes. The way Quinn looked—like some chiseled bust of a Roman god—probably was a threat to Mitch’s manhood.
Mitch started to say something, stopped, then started again.
“That guy?”
“Can we move on, please? You came here to say something, and I have an appointment, so I don’t have a lot of time. Please tell me what you wanted to talk about.”
She knew this man’s face as well as her own. As well as the sweet faces of her boys. So she knew he’d made a snap decision, a sudden change of course. She knew that whatever he was about to say wasn’t what he’d planned to say.
“Delilah, I came here to ask you to take me back. Please. We can work things out, I know we can.”
Whatever she’d planned to hear, it wasn’t that. She stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown a third eye.
“Mitch, stop it.”
“Stop what? Why? We’re a family, you and me and the boys. We belong together.” He’d softened his voice, and now he reached for her hand and held it in both of his. “Look, I know I put you through a lot. I know that. And I apologize for Celine, and … you know. For everything. But marriages go through rough spots. It happens.”
“It happens? It happens?” Delilah yanked her hand away from him and stood up so she was looming over him. “Cheating on your wife doesn’t just happen. Leaving me penniless until the settlement didn’t just happen. You did those things. You did them intentionally and with no regard for your sons and how it made them feel. We were a family, yes, but you gave that up. You did that. You can’t just come here and undo it now because … because Quinn made you feel insecure.”
Now I’ve done it, Delilah thought. Now he’s going to go on the defensive, and he’s going to lash out. And I’m screwed.
Instead, he was silent, looking miserable. He raked his hands through his hair and looked at the carpet between his feet.
Feeling a sudden rush of sympathy, Delilah sat down again and spoke to him softly. “That isn’t what you came to say, Mitch. What’s really going on?”
He rubbed at his face with his hands, then shrugged, looking tired and defeated. “Hell. I don’t know. I just … Jesse and Gavin. The way they talk about that guy on the phone … it’s like he hung the goddamned moon. I’m losing them, Dee. The thing about custody … I panicked. I just don’t want to lose them.”
From the sound of his voice, the way he held his body, she knew that after all of the posturing, all of the strategizing, she was finally hearing the truth.
She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “They love you.”
“They love him. That guy. Quinn.”
“They needed a man in their lives and he was here. You weren’t.”
“That’s why we should try again. That’s why—”
“Mitch. Stop it.” It was the same tone she might have used with one of her boys—the one that said the matter was decided and was not open for review.
“I fucked up. With them.” He nodded toward the back of the house, where the boys were.
“Yes. You did.”
“I missed Christmas with them. You know? I just … I missed it. And for what? So I could go to a cocktail party with Celine’s friends?” He shook his head, his face a mask of disgust.
“We can’t get back together, Mitch. It’s over. You made sure of that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be a father to your sons.”
“But, the custody agreement—”
“I’m not talking about the custody agreement. I’m talking about you and me and the boys. I never wanted to keep them from you. I want them to be happy, and seeing you more often will make them happy. But I can’t make you do it if you’re too busy running around Paris doing God knows what.”
He nodded and looked at the floor again, his eyes red and wet. “Do you think it’s too late?”
“You saw how they ran to you when you came to the door. You saw how happy they were to see you. How can it be too late?”