by Robyn Carr
Oh, but the neighborhood women loved him. He showed up at all the school events, was usually the only man to volunteer in the classroom, went on school field trips, had coffee with the stay-at-home mothers. They used to fuss over him, comparing him to their working husbands who never pitched in. Justine had wanted to say, “He has a cleaning lady, you know,” but she said nothing. And Scott had many limitations—he refused to do laundry and he wasn’t very helpful with homework. “You’re the teacher,” he always said.
So, what did he actually do? He took care of the kids and he was very good at it. He tidied up the house after they were safely dropped off at school. He paid the bills and managed their retirement funds. Those funds she now needed to get up to speed on.
Five years ago Scott had received a text at 5:00 a.m. and she’d wrangled the phone away from him to read, Coffee later? on the screen. It was from one of the elementary school teachers, a former teacher of Olivia’s. They’d had a big fight over that. She told him he should not be texting with or meeting a woman for coffee. It was inappropriate! So he said, “Fine, I’ll tell her. Consider it stopped here and now.” Justine asked a few times if that nonsense had stopped, and he offered her his phone. She didn’t take him up on the offer. She wanted to believe him.
Now, suddenly, she wondered if there had been inappropriate liaisons all along. She tried to envision Scott kissing a woman in a public place, and it made her sick to her stomach. She had to go home and face him. She’d talked to him twice today and he said he wasn’t planning to go anywhere in the evening, so she’d have to wear a poker face. She could plead a headache. She was in the mood for a very large martini but she’d be careful; a too large martini could loosen her tongue and cause her to scream, “You’ve been cheating on me, you lowlife son of a bitch!”
There was no one to talk to about this. It was important that while Logan Danner did his investigating, she not tip off Scott. She knew a couple of women from work who had gone through messy divorces, but she hadn’t paid close attention because she’d believed that was never going to happen to her.
She thought about Addie. She wished she could talk to her but felt she couldn’t show any vulnerability or weakness to her younger sister. Yet the circumstances they both suddenly faced called to her. They had both become isolated—Addie because she chose to take care of their parents and Justine because she worked, worked, worked and let Scott decide how they’d spend their time. Even among their couple friends, she didn’t have a lot of time to spend with the women.
Addie and Justine had become loners. For Justine it was almost twenty-five years ago, after passing the bar and settling into her job. But for Addie, just eight, when she came home from school with a baby bump and never went back.
Justine was overwhelmed by the feeling that she had failed everyone. She’d failed her daughters, who would be devastated by this family crisis; she’d failed Adele, to whom she should have shown more support. And she’d failed herself. Here she was, fifty-two and had never felt quite so alone. She had done nothing wrong and yet couldn’t escape the feeling that everything was all her fault.
* * *
Scott was snoring loudly as Justine came to bed. It was something she had become used to over the years, but now it just hit her as the biggest insult under the circumstances. Circumstances that were very bad.
She had boldly paid Logan Danner’s retainer with her credit card, confident the detective would have some news for her before Scott would notice. And indeed he did. It hadn’t taken long for him to contact her to let her know that Scott had been a regular at the kayak shack on the beach for quite a long time. Any PI worth his salt knew that strangers would tell strangers anything. He reported to Justine that he had said to someone, “That guy, I think I know him. Dave Besteil?”
“Naw, that’s not his name,” said the young man putting up kayaks. “That’s Scott Somersby and he’s around here all the time. He’s tight with the owner, Cat.”
Logan texted a few pictures of passionate kisses and afternoon trips to the No-Tell-Motel. One picture was time stamped for Thursday when Scott had claimed he’d been playing ball. Instead, he was having dinner at an ocean-side lodge, after which the couple went to a room. Scott left alone while the lady stayed on, presumably for the night. He was quite late getting home—he said he’d gone out for a beer with the guys after the game. According to Logan, he had not been on that team for a couple of years. It had not yet been determined if he was still part of the bowling leagues.
The woman Scott was seeing had quite an interesting history. Divorced twice, she had a couple of bankruptcies, was currently struggling with debt, but her late-model car was paid off. Oh, and she was married to her third husband. There had also been some police calls for domestic disturbances. “It’s possible the woman is in an abusive relationship,” Logan said.
“Would that explain her fishing around for a new boyfriend?” Justine asked.
“Well, I suppose it could. But typically abused women are afraid of the abuser and don’t take those kinds of chances. There haven’t been any assault charges filed, but people lie and cover up domestic violence all the time. You need to keep in mind that Scott might have gotten himself into an explosive dynamic.”
Justine did not know exactly how long her husband had been involved with Cat. She could only assume it had been quite a while. Years, perhaps. It was possible she was just one of many.
Justine felt like a complete fool.
Logan Danner had given her as much information as she needed to move forward and said he would remain available if there was anything more she needed from him. But she could take it from here. She would need a court order to do a forensic accounting, find out if he had other bank accounts and credit cards. This was her wheelhouse. It’s what she did for a living.
* * *
It played out at their next counseling appointment. Scott opened the session as he usually did by giving Justine her report card, as if this marital crisis had only to do with her behavior.
“Justine has been great about remembering to say thank you. I think we’re making great progress,” he said, as if counseling a first grader learning to say please and thank you.
As if she should remember to thank him for warming up frozen burritos for dinner while he didn’t find it necessary to thank her for working so hard for the generous paycheck that paid for that food.
When it was her turn to speak, Justine was very calm. “Scott has been having an affair with a woman named Cat Brooks. I’m not sure how long exactly but at least a couple of years. We have some urgent decisions to make. We have two daughters at very vulnerable ages, and I won’t have them lied to.”
The counselor, a thin, bald man wearing wire-rimmed glasses, looked shocked and off balance. But it was brief. He was about to speak but Scott reacted first.
“You’re out of your mind! I’m only friends with the owner of the kayak shop because I love to kayak! And you know that!”
“I have lots of proof,” Justine stated.
“And how would you come by proof when I haven’t done anything?”
He’d know soon enough, when the credit card bill came. “Let’s not waste precious time on you denying everything, Scott. There are pictures, receipts, witnesses, tons of stuff. We have to talk about how to face the future. We have kids. We have assets. I’m a lawyer and I know only too well, once lawyers get involved, we’ll be sucked dry. You clearly don’t want to be married to me anymore. And I can’t be married to a man who cheats. So how do we resolve this?”
Scott stared at her for a long time, not speaking. His lips were as thin as a wire; his temples pulsed. His eyes narrowed. He sat there frozen, looking at her with silent hatred. At that moment more than any of the other moments before, she realized she didn’t know him at all. At. All.
“This is all your fault,” he finally said.
* * *
&n
bsp; Justine couldn’t cry. She wanted to release the valve, open the dam, scream out the pain of betrayal and rage. She’d been used! Every nickel in their portfolio and retirement accounts had been earned by her. The house they lived in—she qualified for and paid the mortgage.
She wasn’t sure when it happened, but the ability to break down and cry had been trained out of her years ago. It was a feature of practicing law. While she might not be putting away hardened criminals, she was responsible for keeping the legal affairs of a corporation in order, protecting the jobs of hundreds of employees. Still, her job wasn’t always dry and unemotional. There were times she felt the weight and pressure of the future of her company at stake, awaiting an answer from the Securities Exchange for example, and getting the wrong answer and knowing there would be grave disappointment, possible monetary losses, perhaps bankruptcy or in an extreme case, a hostile takeover. She held the legal aspect of the company in her hands, and of course she couldn’t cry about it, no matter how scared or disappointed she felt.
Scott had never been sympathetic to the pressure she felt.
But when was the last time she cried over her husband or marriage? It was probably before the girls were born. In their attempts to have a family, there had been a couple of miscarriages—those brought her to her knees. And she was sure she cried tears of joy when Amber and Olivia were born...
Oh God, her daughters! They would be so devastated by this news. They adored their father, and while she was certain she had their love as well, they were closer to Scott. After all, he was the one available to seek out for permission, to go to for favors, to call if they needed a ride or wanted to borrow the car.
It was Scott who played with them. He took them to watch games—football and hockey were their favorite sporting events. Scott taught them to play tennis and golf. They often went biking or hiking together, most of the time leaving Justine behind if it was her day to stay with her mother or if she had work to do.
The girls needed their father. But there was no way she was leaving her home! They would be heartbroken to think of their father not being there. Especially Olivia. Her girls looked very much alike with their long, thick brown hair and dark eyes, but were as different as night and day. Amber was smart and strong and fiercely independent. Now that she thought about it, Justine realized it was rare for Amber to cry, as well. But Olivia was another story. She was sensitive and emotional and would probably fall apart at the thought of her daddy not being at her beck and call.
She would have to share her daughters with their father; she would have to take over as the primary parent. She would have to do all of the chores Scott routinely accomplished. Everything she’d become used to would change.
* * *
Right after Scott told her everything was her fault, he delivered a litany of complaints about her character. She worked all the time and didn’t take adequate care of the family. He was never sure he could count on her—in her business something was always coming up to delay her or take up time at home. They didn’t agree on anything. She was stubborn and pushy. She flaunted her success. She was cold.
“Wait a minute—I am not! And when did you expect me to earn that paycheck if I wasn’t committed to the work I do?” she had asked. “If our genders were reversed and if you were a woman, a housewife for lack of a better word, you’d seem mighty ungrateful right now. And I think it’s pretty well established, you’re the one who is cold and unavailable! You’ve been with another woman. And looking back, I doubt she’s the first!”
“Let’s slow this down and talk about where this is going,” the counselor said.
The man explained that if they wanted to try to save the marriage, he could offer counseling. But if they were going to separate and perhaps divorce, he couldn’t counsel them individually. At least not both of them.
After talking and answering the counselor’s questions for half an hour, it was Justine who said, “We should separate pending divorce. I’m not completely closed to the idea of saving the marriage but I admit, it doesn’t look promising. I don’t know that I can ever trust Scott again.”
“Fine, then you leave,” Scott said.
“I’d like to suggest we have a candid talk about what we can do and how to go about it. We should both have a look at our assets and discuss options for living apart. I can take tomorrow off so we can talk while the girls are at school. We also have to talk about what we’re going to tell them.” She swallowed, and her voice was not as strong when she continued. “They’ll be very upset.”
“To say the least,” Scott said.
Chapter Four
Adele was starving. Maybe not exactly starving since she wasn’t particularly hungry. There was plenty of food in her new program, most of which could provide a steady diet for bunnies. There were some things missing, however. Chips and ice cream, which she didn’t think she ate much of until two whole days passed without a bite of either. Then she realized she must have downed them regularly.
Jake’s mother, Beverly, called to ask if she might stop by for a little visit and another reality hit her—Beverly’s cakes. At least one a month, sometimes more, she’d bring one over and Adele would eat the entire thing.
“I would so love to see you, but you must not bring a cake,” Adele said. “I’m on a strict diet!”
“But you can have one piece,” Beverly said. “No diet wouldn’t let you have one small piece.”
“I’ll make us tea or coffee. But, please, no cake!”
It was hard but she stuck to it, and at the end of her first week she was pleased to discover that four pounds had disappeared. The Monday morning group warned her not to expect that kind of progress every week, but a good, steady and small loss would add up and before she knew it, she’d reach her goal.
That day, after the meeting, she walked all the way to the beach. It must have been ten miles. When she got there, she sighed in appreciation—she’d forgotten how much she loved the beach. The fog there was just lifting, the sun pale in the sky. It brought so much comfort. It soothed her. She had walked along the beach so little while her mother was sick. She had only ever left her mother for an hour or so, usually just enough time to run an errand, maybe park at the beach for fifteen minutes and soak up the view, but never for long.
Later, after going home, she drove back to the beach so she could check how far she’d actually walked and found it was a mile and a half. Almost.
The realization that her mile and a half felt like ten gave her another wake-up call. Taking care of her mom had been hard work but not the right kind of exercise, and she’d bolstered herself with lots of extra calories. She decided to make an hour of walking every morning a part of her day.
She called Justine more often than she ever had before because she had no idea what was going on in her sister’s life. The image of Scott kissing Cat stuck like a boulder in her brain and she thought about it all the time, fearful that her sister’s marriage might be in ruins, equally fearful that her sister would look the other way.
The first time Adele called, just three days after she informed Justine of the kiss, her sister merely said she couldn’t talk about it yet because she was still in the fact-gathering stage. Only Justine would call it a fact-gathering mission when it had to do with a cheating husband. A few more days passed, and Justine said she couldn’t talk about it yet because she and Scott were working out possible options. A few days after that, Justine couldn’t talk to Adele about it yet because they hadn’t discussed their situation with their daughters.
“What is your situation?” Adele blurted.
“It’s still a little murky,” Justine said. “It has been established that Scott has had some serious doubts about the state of our marriage, but he is unclear if it can be saved or is doomed to fall prey to the statistics. We have to decide before we tell the girls.”
“Are you sure the girls don’t know?” Ade
le asked.
“They’re teenagers and very self-centered. All Amber can think about is school getting out for the summer and that she’ll be a senior next year.”
Adele’s nieces had been winter and spring babies, making them slightly older than the average student in their class. They had both finished their SATs, and Amber was making college applications.
“What about your visits to colleges with Amber?” Adele asked.
“Obviously we’ll have a conversation about the changes in our family before we finalize plans, but some things won’t change. My daughters will go to college, however that has to be managed...”
“Justine! Doesn’t anything just throw you? Just knock you out?”
She was silent for a moment before replying, “Wouldn’t we be in trouble if I collapsed right now?”
“What about Scott? Is he upset? Worried? Emotional?”
“He’s very angry with me. For finding him out. It seems the kayak shack bimbo has been grooming him for a takeover.”
“Holy shit!” Adele said with a gasp.
“Say nothing, do nothing, please stay calm. If I don’t handle this well, it’s going to be a full-blown crisis.”
And so Adele, somewhat shaken by the idea of her older sister getting a divorce, just walked every morning, ate a lot of celery and countless chicken breasts, dropped four more pounds, then two pounds, then three pounds. She stripped the varnish off the baseboards and watched a number of videos on reupholstering, wallpapering, refinishing floors, and even remodeling a kitchen. She also called several of the local businesses, including resorts, and asked what positions they were hiring for. After she explained her circumstances, that she was halfway to her master’s degree but had stopped to take care of her ailing parents for eight years, it was usually explained that she would start at an entry-level position for minimum wage until she grew in experience and could be considered for a promotion. She kept phoning and studying the online job sources, hopeful.
