by Marci Bolden
They mumbled responses, confirming what she already knew—they wouldn’t even miss her.
Chapter Five
Paul opened his door before Dianna climbed out of her car. He’d been standing in the window, brandy in hand, waiting for her. Actually, he’d been standing there most of the day, trying to ignore the fact that his day wasn’t filled with the sounds and scents of the holiday.
“I hope you’re hungry.” She held up two covered dishes. “I brought plenty to eat.”
“I’m starving.”
He gestured for her to enter, taking the dishes from her as she passed. She toed off her shoes and looked around his contemporary living room, with its orange-red accent wall and abstract sculptures stuck in white box shelves. He followed her gaze around the room and realized he probably should have cleaned up a bit before she arrived.
She slowly turned her eyes back to him.
He laughed quietly. “Not what you expected?”
“Not exactly.”
“The mess or the colors?”
She lifted her brows. “Both.”
“I haven’t been much in the mood for cleaning. As far as the ugly-ass walls, I told you she’s everywhere here. ‘Contemporary is where it’s at.’ Pfft! I don’t think she knew what the hell she was talking about. If I hadn’t owned this place when we got married, we’d have been living in some horrible warehouse loft downtown. She did the best she could to make this place into what she wanted, but she hated the house as much as I hated her fucking decorating.”
Dianna creased her brow, and he ran his hand through his hair and then gestured to the right toward the kitchen. He sat at the island while she started unloading his dinner. She didn’t ask. She simply started opening cabinets and looking for what she needed, and he let her.
“Remember when you said you were good at decorating?” he asked.
She found the plates and set one on the counter. “Yeah.”
“Can you help me?”
She stared at him for a long time, probably gauging just how much he’d had to drink. Rather than confess the excessive amount of alcohol in his system, he took another gulp and set his near-empty glass aside.
“I can hire someone, I guess.”
“No. I can help. I will help. But ask me when you’ve had a little time to sober up. Is it okay if I make coffee? I’d really like some.”
He nodded and sat back as she figured out the coffee pot. He could have helped, but he didn’t seem to have the energy. He’d tossed and turned the night before, rolling his life over and over in his mind. Thinking about every moment he could recall with Michelle, from the day they met right up to the moment she informed him she was leaving.
“Paul?”
He lifted his face and blinked several times, reconnecting with the present.
“Are you okay?” Dianna asked softly.
“Sorry. My mind wandered.”
“Do you need to lie down?”
He shook his head slightly. “I’m okay.”
She set a mug in front of him. “Drink this.”
“Actually—”
She grabbed the glass of alcohol he’d been consuming before he could. “Drink the coffee.”
He looked into the mug. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m not going to be very good company.”
“Well, your not-so-good company is still better than what I had at home. The boys have been hiding out in the den playing video games since the tree went up. Let me reheat you some dinner, and we’ll talk, okay?”
“I don’t really want to talk.”
She started scooping food onto his plate. When the plate was in the microwave, she set silverware and a cloth napkin in front of him. By the time she pulled out a second mug and filled it for herself, the microwave dinged. She slid the plate of warmed food onto the counter and then took the seat next to him at the island. “You look like hell.”
He responded by stuffing his mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Are these homemade?”
“Yes.”
“They’re delicious.”
“Thanks. Have you been drinking all day?”
“Yes. But I’m not drunk.”
He took an oversize bite of stuffing and chewed it slowly while she took a drink from her mug.
He swallowed as he pushed his turkey around on his plate. “How are you sleeping, Di?”
“Not so great.”
“Me either.”
“Have you tried sleeping pills?”
“They don’t work.”
She ran her hand up and down his back. “Today is hard.”
“Every day is hard. Today is just worse.” He took a drink of his coffee.
“I wish I had some way to make it better.”
“You’re hurting, too.”
“I’m having an okay day today.”
He took several more bites before pushing the plate away. “That was great. Thanks.”
“Do you want pie?”
“Pumpkin?”
“Of course.” As she served him dessert, she poured him a second cup of coffee.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said as she put the drink in front of him. “I’ll be okay.”
Dianna set a slice of pie next to his mug. “I’d like to stay. If you don’t mind.”
He stuffed his mouth rather than answer. She sat next to him, curled her hands around her mug, and looked around the lime-green kitchen as she’d done the orange-red living room.
“I hate all the bright colors,” he said. “She loved them, said they made her feel alive. They just give me a headache.”
“We can tone it down.”
“And the furniture. I feel like I’m living in a goddamned magazine.”
“We’ll fix it, Paul.”
He slid his mug away and put his elbows on the counter. Digging his hands into his hair, he held his head and took a few breaths. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t need to hear this.”
“Hey,” she whispered. She cupped his cheek with her palm as she turned his face so she could look into his eyes. “We agreed we were going to help each other through this, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“You helped me when I was a complete mess. You held me while I broke down, and then you helped me figure out what I needed to do to provide Christmas for my kids. You helped me. Now, let me help you.”
She took his hand and pulled him from the stool. He wrapped his arms around her, and her arms went around his waist as he hugged her tightly. He didn’t know how long he held her, his face buried in her long, dark hair, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. He only eased his hold when she pulled away.
“Where’s your room?”
“That way.” He nodded to the hallway.
She guided him through the dimly lit house and into his bedroom. “Lie down.”
He stretched out, resting his head on a pillow and sighing with a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. Dianna sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers over his hair. The move surprised him, not because she touched him but because it was so nurturing—maternal. It was soothing in a way he hadn’t been soothed in longer than he could remember.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
He reached for her other hand and held it tightly as he let his eyelids drift shut. “Talk to me,” he whispered.
“About what?”
“Anything. Anything that isn’t about her.”
She hesitated, as if she couldn’t think of a topic that wasn’t about their cheating spouses, but then her soft voice surrounded him. He smiled slightly when she started going on about the weather. That was a safe topic. Michelle couldn’t weave her way into a discussion of the forecast. He listened to Dianna’s soothing tone as he drifted off to sleep, and when he dreamed, rather than seeing his wife leaving him, he dreamed of leaves changing colors and walks under big, brightly colored umbrellas.
Normally Dianna would spend Black Friday hounding sales at the mall. This year she sat at the kitchen ta
ble with bills sprawled in front her while her calculator proved what she already knew. She didn’t have enough money to cover what she owed.
She’d been so excited when Paul had pawned their wedding rings for cash and helped her buy Sam and Jason presents. What she should have done was taken the money straight to the bank. Her sons didn’t need the gaming system and laptop. They needed electricity.
Stupid. Just one more stupid thing she’d done.
She picked up her bank statement and looked at the balance in her savings account.
What savings account?
She’d all but emptied it over the last six months: skimming it to get by, paying for an attorney, and helping Jason with living expenses at school.
Maybe it was time to take Kara’s husband up on his offer for a job answering phones at his marketing firm. She hadn’t yet because of her damned pride. But her determination was losing out to the desperation of watching the gap between what she’d earned and what she owed grow on a weekly basis.
The doorbell rang, surrounding her in that sad sound that was so fitting to her life lately. Gathering the sheets of paper in front of her, she tucked them in a folder, slammed it shut, and pushed herself up.
All Dianna could see of the man standing on her porch was that he was holding a gigantic bouquet of white lilies. She checked the driveway and smiled when she saw Paul’s car. Her spirits instantly lifted, debts forgotten, as she looked at the flowers again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had received fresh-cut flowers, Mother’s Day most likely, and she doubted they had been as beautiful as the bouquet he was holding.
She opened the door. “Well, hello to you, too.”
He lowered the flowers and grinned as if he were as unsure as a teen on his first date. “Hi. I hope it’s okay that I just dropped by.”
“It’s fine. What is all this?”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
She stepped back to let him in the house. “These are beautiful,” she said when he handed her the bouquet, “but there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I was an ass.”
“I thought you were quite charming, actually.”
“How so?”
“The slurred grumbles, the shoveling of food, slurping of coffee.” In an attempt to hide her grin, she dipped her head and sniffed a flower.
His lip curved. “Sarcasm in the face of my apology. Cute.”
Dianna chuckled softly. “I’m teasing. You had a bad day. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”
She gestured for him to follow her. “I’m glad you did.”
“Because you’re an emotional masochist?”
“Because it got my mind off my day. Did you sleep?”
“I did. It was early this morning when I woke. I had coffee and watched the sun come up. And then I noticed that my house was significantly cleaner.”
“Less cluttered, maybe. I didn’t actually clean anything. I just picked up a bit before I left.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Only two more holidays to get through, and then we can breathe easy until Valentine’s Day. Won’t that be fun?” She opened a cabinet above the sink and stretched, trying to reach the top shelf where she had several vases, but it was no use. Before she even asked, Paul stepped beside her and grabbed the largest one. She filled the vase with water, removed the paper from around the flower stems, and dropped them into the intricately etched glass. As she was arranging the lilies, he held a small envelope out to her.
Dianna brushed her hand on her jeans and then opened the envelope. Inside, she found a gift card to a salon.
Paul was smiling excitedly, more so than she’d ever seen from him. “You said you wanted a makeover. At the café the day of my hearing. I owe you more than flowers for yesterday.”
She turned her attention back to the card. “Paul, this is too much.”
“No, it’s not. You helped me. Probably more than you realize.”
It was too much. She hadn’t done anything that he hadn’t done for her, but neither of them needed the stress of bickering over a gift card. “Thank you.”
“You can use that to do whatever it is that women do when they say they need a makeover.”
“Usually we shave our heads and get piercings in strange places.”
“Oh. Well, then never mind. ” He snatched the card from her hand.
“No take-backs.” She grasped the card just as quickly as he had and laughed. “I was just about to make myself a turkey sandwich. Care to join me?”
“That sounds good.”
“Grab us some plates and glasses.” She pointed to a cabinet as she walked to the fridge.
“So Thanksgiving was a total bust. I can’t wait for Christmas to roll around.”
“Shall we make plans now? You can get up and start drinking by nine, and I’ll be over by one to sober you up? It can be our new tradition.”
“God, I hope not.” He scoffed. “One holiday like that was pathetic enough, don’t you think?”
She set some leftovers on the counter as she looked at him. “It wasn’t pathetic.”
“It was. I hate this so much.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. I can’t stand to be around anybody because I know they feel sorry for me. ‘Poor Paul. If he had only listened when we told him what a slut he’d married.’”
Dianna stopped moving and looked at him. “Did they say that?”
“Not in so many words, but I got the gist.”
She started pulling slices of turkey from a container. “Well, everyone was shocked by Mitch’s betrayal. No one saw it coming.” She put the meat in the microwave and pushed start. “As for my friends, Kara is really the only one I see anymore. I guess that’s for the best anyway. At least with everyone avoiding me, I don’t have to see the pity on their faces.”
“Oh, yes. The pity is the worst.”
“Wait until word spreads that they’re getting married. It’s going to get so much worse. I haven’t told anyone but you. Not even Kara. I don’t know why. I just can’t bring myself to say it.”
“You will when you’re ready.”
She shook her head. “It’s so humiliating. Mitch is getting married. My husband is getting married. To someone else.” No matter how many times she said it, it just didn’t seem real.
“You okay?”
“No.” She frowned. “But I will be. I just need to get through the next few weeks.”
Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She hesitated only for a moment before she leaned closer until she could drop her head onto his shoulder. His hold tightened, and she put her arm around his waist, soaking up the brief reprieve from her misery.
“I’m so tired of feeling like this,” she said quietly.
Paul ran his hand over her hair and turned his face, as if he were going to kiss the top of her head, but hesitated when sneakers squeaked to a stop on the linoleum. Dianna pulled from Paul’s embrace just as Sam threw his hands up.
“It isn’t bad enough my married father is engaged to a ho. Now my married mother is hanging all over some strange man in the kitchen? So much for the innocence of my childhood.”
“Sam,” she called when he turned on his heels to leave the room.
“Can’t talk now, Ma. I gotta call my therapist.”
She looked at Paul after Sam disappeared. “He’s kidding. It’s his way.”
“Cute.”
“It can be. Sometimes.” She walked to the microwave, which had beeped sometime before. They constructed their sandwiches as she filled him in on some of her son’s references to his tarnished youth.
Paul laughed as they carried their plates and drinks to the living room. “Where does he get that sense of humor?”
She sat on one end of the sofa while he situated himself on the other.
“Believe it or not, I can be quite funny when I’m not having my heart and soul obliterated by my
husband. I’ve been lucky so far, but he still has a few more months to get himself suspended from high school and blow all his scholarships.”
“Naw, I bet he’s a good kid.”
“He is. Both my kids are very good.”
“Mine, too. They have their mother to thank for that.”
She glanced at him and saw raw guilt on his face. He was certainly very good at beating himself up. She wondered if he’d always been that way or if this was a by-product of his divorces.
“I like the tree,” he said, changing the subject.
The artificial spruce stood over seven feet tall and sparkled with white lights buried beneath years’ worth of memories in the shape of handmade ornaments.
Dianna followed his gaze. “I love all the decorations from when they were kids. Unfortunately, it reminds me how old I am. Oh, speaking of decorating…” She grabbed a stack of magazines off the coffee table. “I got these the last time I was going to redecorate. It’s been a couple years, but it should give you some ideas.”
His laugh sounded awkward. “Oh, right.”
“Do you still want help?”
“I don’t know. I think I might just sell. Get something that doesn’t have all those ghosts shuffling around.”
“Well, you still should paint over all those gaudy colors, so you might as well pick something that you like. Most real estate agents say to go with something neutral and light.”
The misery that played across his face as he dropped his sandwich onto his plate tugged at her heart. She picked at the crust on her bread as she thought about how her bedroom seemed to taunt her at night and her living room ridiculed her as she sat alone watching television. As much as she wanted to stay in her house, she wanted to leave. With Mitch moving on and getting remarried, it seemed pathetic that she was so stagnant. The time had come to let go. So why the hell was she still holding on to everything he’d left behind?
“You okay?” Paul asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
She gnawed at her lip for a moment. “Do you remember when you offered to call your brother and ask him to help me get a car?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I know nothing about cars. I don’t even know what I should ask when looking at one. That was Mitch’s job. It sounds stupid now, but that’s just how it was. He handled things like buying cars and fixing the house, and I”—she shrugged—“I made things pretty. So if you’ll go with me to see your brother, I’ll make your house marketable.”
