“It’s not the children, then. They’re just an excuse. It’s me.”
“And what if it is?”
Gabriel straightened. He could feel the tension in his jaw. “You mean it, don’t you?”
He could almost see his actions reflected in her. She, too, stiffened—cold, controlled, and distant. It was his usual response to stress, but at that point, he could not unbend enough to reach her in the way he needed to, in the way he knew she needed and wanted to be reached. At that point, he could hardly breathe through the crushing weight on his chest.
Valeria set down the cup of tea and stood up. She gathered her handbag and clutched it against her chest like a shield. She turned and walked away from him. He thought she would leave without a word to him, but she paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder. A sad smile flicked over her face. “Goodbye, Gabriel.”
Chapter 4
Valeria’s meeting with Gabriel solidified her intent in her mind. She and Gabriel had drifted so far apart that she could not find any middle ground with him. Even their children did not seem enough. She braced herself and called another college classmate, Geraldine Moffat.
“Hey, sweetie,” Geraldine’s syrupy voice oozed at her. “So good to hear from you. How are you doing?”
Valeria stumbled through the prerequisite chitchat as quickly as she could and got to the reason for her call. “I wanted to ask you about your last divorce.”
“What about it, dah’ling?”
“You said that you were pleased with your lawyer.”
“Yes, he was wonderful. Managed to get me more than the pre-nup would have allowed for. I call him the piranha.”
“Does he answer to any other name?”
“Brandon Smith. Why, dah’ling? Why do you need a divorce lawyer?”
“A friend of mine is asking.” The lie did not even tremble on her lips.
“Just refer her to Gabe. He’s exceptionally good. I would have gone to him, except that his hourly rates, I think, are even higher than Brandon’s.”
“Brandon kept your extremely high-profile divorce quiet. That’s what my friend wants too.”
“Ah, privacy. Of course.” Geraldine offered up a phone number. “Just have your friend mention I made the referral. He’ll take good care of her.”
“Thank you, Geraldine.”
Valeria disconnected the call. For several moments, she stared at the phone number. Was she ready for it? Surely a conversation—a single conversation—could not hurt. She called the number to make an appointment to see Brandon Smith.
She was surprised when the receptionist offered to get her in the same day. There had been a cancellation, and Mr. Smith had an open slot in his schedule in the afternoon. Would she like it?
Would she? Valeria hesitated on the cusp of the decision. “Yes.” The words rushed out of her mouth. Something in the vicinity of her heart ached as if someone had stabbed her through the chest. “I’d like to see him today.”
Brandon Smith’s office was located in a high rise on the edge of Greenwich Village. Its clientele reflected its surroundings—yuppies, celebrities, and the nouveau rich—compared to the clients of Brickstein and Felder, who acted as if they had come over on the Mayflower, had had their money for generations, and were apparently mere heartbeats away from being ennobled by the queen of England.
The likelihood of running into someone who knew Gabriel was slim here at the law firm where Brandon worked.
“Mrs. Cruz, if you’ll come with me.” The receptionist, no less pretty and no less efficient than the one employed by Brickstein and Felder, showed Valeria to an office that offered a view of Washington Square and the young people milling around, enjoying the last bit of afternoon sun.
“Mrs. Cruz.” Brandon Smith stepped out from behind his desk. He shook her hand, his grasp firm and strong. He was a good-looking man a few years younger than Gabriel. “Mrs. Moffat called me and told me to expect one of her friends. What can I do for you?”
“I…” She inhaled deeply. “She told me you’re a good person to talk to if I want a divorce.”
Brandon nodded. “I’d be happy to help. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a chair and took the seat across from her. “May I offer you a drink?”
“No, I’m all right.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I take notes?”
“No, of course not.”
“How long have you been married, Mrs. Cruz?”
“Twelve years now. We married the day after my husband graduated from law school.”
“Your husband’s a lawyer? What does he specialize in?”
“Family law. Divorces.”
Brandon chuckled, the sound without humor. “It looks like I’ll have my work cut out for me. Where does he work?”
“At Brickstein and Felder. He’s on the verge of making partner.”
“It’s a good firm.” Brandon paused. “Wait, would your husband be Gabriel Cruz, by any chance?”
She nodded.
“Ah,” Brandon said. He said nothing else, but that sound offered a wealth of meaning, none of which Valeria could decipher.
“Do you know him?”
“Not personally, which is just as well, or I would have had to turn your case over to another associate.”
“I don’t want it to be complicated,” Valeria said.
“Divorces are, by their very nature, messy.”
“I want something quiet, and I’m told you’re good at quiet. I’m not trying to hurt Gabriel or damage his career—especially not now.” Not when his grand plan is on track.
Brandon frowned slightly. “Do you want a divorce or just a separation?”
Valeria drew a sharp breath. “I’m not certain.”
Brandon nodded, scribbling notes. Oddly, his silence encouraged her to go on.
“Do I have to decide now?” she asked.
“No, of course not. If you want, I can prepare both sets of papers, and you can select the one that you feel more appropriate. It’s not unusual for your frame of mind to shift as time progresses. Often, what you’re looking out of the divorce changes too. Do you have any children?”
“Two. An eight-year-old and a five-year-old.”
“And you’ll want primary custody of them?”
“Yes, of course, but I want Gabriel to be able to see them at any time.” Diego and Marlena still needed their father.
Brandon nodded. “And assets? An even split, or do you want to try to take as much as you can?”
It was unthinkable that she would take as much as she could. “I’m not trying to hurt him.”
Brandon’s head snapped up. His dark eyes searched her face. “All right,” he said quietly.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Brandon said. “You sound like a woman who wants a second chance for herself while minimizing the hurt to the remaining people in the marriage—including your husband and your children. Divorce shouldn’t be about revenge, although unfortunately, too many people wield it that way. Tell me what you think you want.”
He took notes as she described the life she wanted for herself, life after Gabriel. It was hard to wrap her mind around it; Gabriel had been a part of her life for more than twenty years. When she finished speaking, Brandon’s office lapsed into silence.
He stared at notes he had taken and inhaled deeply. “You realize you’re asking for hardly anything at all when any responsible lawyer could make an excellent case of taking half, if not more, of his assets, plus full custody of the children and substantial child support.”
She stared down at her diamond rings. “I know.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears.
Brandon set aside his legal notepad and leaned forward. He searched her face and expelled his breath in a soft sigh. “How badly do you really want a divorce or even a separation?”
Brandon’s simple question plagued her for the rest of the day.
How badly do you really want a
divorce or even a separation?
Valeria didn’t know. She just wanted to be loved by Gabriel as much as she loved him. Failing which, she wanted something different, and she did not think the something different included the grand plan that Gabriel was pursuing for both their lives.
She twisted her ring around on her finger. The diamonds glittered as they caught the light. They were so clear compared the blur of unarticulated needs and hazy desires that shrouded her life in confusion.
“Are you all right?” Brett’s clear tenor recalled her to the present, reminding her that she had stopped by the foundation office and asked to see him.
She looked up and managed a wan smile. “I suppose so.”
“We can meet another time,” Brett said.
Valeria shook her head. “I just wanted to give you an update on Peter’s wish.”
“Of course.” Brett sat on the edge of his desk as he had the last time, close enough that she could smell his aftershave.
“I spoke to Peter. He doesn’t want to be just any judge; he wants to be an environmental judge.”
Brett grinned. “What a great kid.”
Yes, Valeria thought. Gabriel, on the other hand, had not noticed or cared enough to comment on it. Peter was just another item on his long and inexhaustible to-do list. “Anyway, I spoke to my husband, and he says he knows a few judges who might be able to help out. He says he’ll reach out to them.”
“Fantastic,” Brett said. He clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “It doesn’t explain why you look so lost.”
Lost. Lost was a good word to describe what she was feeling. “I…my husband and I are going through a bit of a rocky phase in our marriage.”
Brett’s hand closed over hers. His hand was warm, his touch consoling.
Valeria inhaled and continued. “I don’t want it to affect Peter’s wish though. I don’t think it will. Gabriel’s professional enough to separate what’s personal between us and something—like Peter’s wish—that has nothing to do with us.”
“Of course,” Brett said. “He’ll come through for you.”
“When he chooses.” Valeria’s half-smile turned bitter.
“Val?” Brett said.
It was Gabriel’s name for her, but it flowed from Brett’s lips more gently and tenderly than she had heard from Gabriel recently.
“The children have a school fair to celebrate the end of the school year. I know he probably just sees it as a small thing—kids craft tables, lemonade stands, that kind of thing—but it means a lot to the children.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Of course I did. He was going to attend, but now he has to go out of town for the weekend, and he wants me to go with him.”
“Is it important?”
“He thinks it is, but of course his work is always important to him.” She shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry; this has nothing to do with Peter’s wish.”
“I’m just here to listen.” Brett smiled at her. “Anytime at all, if you want someone to talk to, about a wish or anything else, just call me. You have my number, right?”
“I do.”
“I hope to see you at the Make A Wish Foundation sponsors dinner. It’s just two weeks away. The chaos has already begun here. Lots of frayed nerves leading up to the big night.”
“I can imagine.”
“Will you be attending? Do you have tickets?”
“Yes, I actually bought tickets for myself and for Gabriel. We’ll be there.” I think.
“Great.” Brett glanced at his watch. “Say, it’s almost lunchtime. Can I convince you to stay? There’s a little café downstairs that has an excellent selection of soups, salads, and sandwiches.”
She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t, especially when she found Brett more than just slightly attractive. He listened with his full attention focused upon her, a far cry from Gabriel’s perfunctory nods and questions. Brett’s kindness was genuine, unlike Gabriel’s practiced and honed client skills.
“No,” was on her lips, but at that moment, Brett smiled and held out his hand to her.
It’s just lunch, she told herself. Her grip tightened against his hand, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Brett had been right about the café. It was little more than a hole-in-the-wall, but the lunch line extended around the corner. The café served a grand total of two different kinds of soups, three salads, and four sandwiches, but the menu apparently changed every day, drawing repeat customers.
The four-bean soup had a spicy kick, just the way Valeria liked it, and the seasoned portabella mushroom, draped with delicate sprouts, and served on a sesame seed-encrusted bun, had as rich a flavor as steak.
“Great choice,” she complimented Brett.
“It’s a huge favorite of the foundation staff,” he said. Indeed, he seemed to nod or call out greetings to every other person who came into the café. “We’ll need to come back here when they have their pastrami. It’s to die for.” He smacked his lips. “The oddly named strawberry fields salad is also excellent.” He tilted his head. “So, how did you get involved with the foundation?”
“Junior year in college. Somehow, Gabriel caught wind of a dinner just like the upcoming sponsors event. Even though we could hardly afford it, he bought tickets as a surprise for my birthday. I’d always wanted to work with children. Once, I even thought of applying to nursing graduate school and then joining a pediatric ward.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“We had to make choices. It was hard getting through college. Gabriel and I worked two jobs each, shared an apartment with a roommate, who eventually turned out to be a convicted felon, and for the most part, eked out a living on macaroni and cheese. Gabriel got into law school, and I into nursing graduate school, but we didn’t get enough scholarships or loans to make it work. So, we agreed that he would go to school while I worked.”
“Were you married then?”
She shook her head. “Engaged. Gabriel proposed to me in our junior year. In fact, he proposed to me the night of the foundation dinner while we were still in the foyer of the hotel.”
Brett chuckled. “That’s romantic.”
“Not quite a private candle-lit dinner, but it was the best meal we’d had in a while. Gabriel even made a donation that night in my name. A small one—I think it was only fifty dollars—but back then, it was a week’s worth of pasta dinners for us.”
“So you’ve been a sponsor for years now.”
She nodded. “Gabriel has donated money every year since then. I expect it’s grown quite a bit larger than fifty dollars. I chose, however, to give my time. It gets me closer to the children.”
“So, did you ever go back to nursing school?”
She shook her head. “By the time Gabriel graduated with his law degree and got a job, it didn’t seem to make as much sense anymore. I spent a lot of time in his last year of law school planning our marriage on the cheap. That’s when I realized I really enjoyed talking to vendors, negotiating with them, getting them to sponsor freebies that they might not have otherwise done. Gabriel offered to pay for nursing school, of course, but he’d already received an amazing job offer, and it’s not as if we needed my income anymore, so when I told him I wanted to volunteer instead, he told me to go for it. So, here I am.”
“Here you are,” Brett repeated, admiration in his voice. “You’ve taken a remarkable path to get to where you are today as one of the top financial sponsors and wish volunteers with the foundation.”
“Oh, the money comes from Gabriel.”
“It’s donated in your name though.” He hesitated briefly. “You do know that there’s an opening on the board of directors for the foundation?”
“I’d heard about it.”
“Would you consider putting your name in?”
Her jaw dropped. “To join the board of directors? I…I’d never have considered it.”
“You’d be perfect for the position. A long histor
y of dedication to the foundation and its mission. You put your time and money where your mouth is, and of course, you’re highly placed in society—one of the who’s who you should know.”
“It’s Gabriel.” He was, after all, the go-to lawyer for high net-worth divorces, and Manhattan had many of those kinds of people.
“And by extension, you. The point is you know a lot of people, both directly and indirectly, through Gabriel. We could use someone like you on the board of directors. Please think about it, at least.”
“I will.” She smiled suddenly. “I’m flattered, really.”
“Not at all. The foundation is lucky to have you.”
Valeria blushed and lowered her gaze briefly to her empty plate. “And how about you? What brought you to the foundation?”
“A stroke of good luck actually. My parents swore charity and social work would never pay, and to be honest, they were right about 90 percent of the time. After I graduated with my Masters in Social Work, I drifted from nonprofit to nonprofit, trying to find the one that did the highest social good. Unfortunately, most of the time, they also paid the least amount of money.”
“It’s tough balancing the social good and other stakeholders.”
“Of course, but after a while, ramen gets to be tiresome.”
“You could alternate with pasta.” Valeria laughed. “It’s how Gabriel and I got through college.”
“College sure, but it’s not that great when you’re twenty-eight, supposedly in your prime dating years, and the women won’t give you a second look when they find out that you don’t earn enough to take them to a halfway decent chain restaurant.”
Valeria’s eyebrows drew together. “Really?”
Brett shrugged. “It’s New York City,” he said without any apparent rancor. “The women are looking for investment bankers, management consultants, lawyers.” He acknowledged Valeria’s choice of husband with a wave of his hand. “Social worker is far down the list. Anyway, I figured I needed to find a balance, so here I am at the foundation, getting paid decent money to do some good. The medical benefits are a nice perk.” He grinned.
Desired: A Love Letters Novel Page 5
