Below it was a caption about how Liam had purchased Macalester House for preservation and how he planned to restore the place to its original decor with the help of a relatively unknown local interior designer. Me.
My peripheral vision turned black, and at the center of my focus was my name, KATARINA POPALASKI, which meant the information must have been given to the reporter by Liam, who refused to call me by my married name.
Chloe would fire me for this, of that I had no doubt. But at that moment in Chloe’s office, amidst the sound of her tap, tap, tapping her pen, I was struck by a far more pressing fear.
Griff.
He would read this and learn I’d been working for my ex boyfriend and hadn’t told him. Intentionally.
There was only one thing to do, and that was hightail it to his office as fast as humanly possible to explain—before he read the paper.
“Excuse me, Chloe,” I said, pushing back my chair and jumping up to go. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, it’s a little too late for apologies.” She refolded the paper. “You should have thought of that before you went behind my back to undercut my deal with Liam. There’s absolutely no way I can retain an employee who did such a thing. If I could do worse than fire you, I would.”
“No,” I said, “I have to go. Now.”
“I think not,” she said. “There are letters to be mailed and samples to be picked up. I can’t be expected to fetch marble on my own. You owe me that much, at least.”
But I was already halfway out her door. “Sorry, Chloe. But when a girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go.”
And I went, grabbing my purse and nothing else as I got in my car and drove to Emerly College, praying it wasn’t too late. How long had that paper been out on the stands? I wondered, revving the engine at each red light. And why did I care when he’d be leaving me, anyway? When I’d spent months saving in preparation.
Because I loved him, I thought, getting out of my car and running to the stone building that held political science/history/sociology/ economics, bypassing the elevator to take the stairs two at a time. He was my husband, father of my daughter.
He had to understand. I would make him.
I yanked open the doors to the economics department and heard her tinkling laughter flow out of his office into the reception area. Bree. She was with him in his office, alone.
Janice, the department receptionist, looked up and did a double take.
“Kat? What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
I rarely visited Griff’s office out of respect for his need to keep his worlds separate—not easy in academics, where students fired off emails at two A.M. and called at all hours begging for extensions.
“He’s in?”
She picked up the phone. “Maybe I should buzz him.”
“No, please. A surprise is more fun.”
Janice opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to advise me against busting in on Griff and Bree in cahoots, but I was a tigress on a mission, following my rival’s young, feminine voice as though it were a scent leading me to my prey.
Sure enough, I found them side-by-side on his couch, his arm around her shoulders, laughing. I must have stood there for two whole minutes before they even bothered to look up and see me at the door.
“Kat!” Griff leaped off the couch.
Bree pushed down her short skirt.
“Hey, guys.” I would have loved nothing more than to give them a casual wave, but I was shaking too hard to pull it off. “What’s up?”
“What brings you here?” He came over and graced me with a kiss. His trademark smell of books and library dust was replaced by the sickening sweet scent of Bree’s perfume.
She gave me a sheepish finger wave. I wanted to slap her.
“You have perfect timing. We were just celebrating.” He took my hand and guided me toward the couch sitting me next to her. “Guess what our big news is.”
This could not be the moment when he would announce he was leaving me. He wouldn’t be so cruel right in front of Bree. But whatever it was, she was already several steps ahead of me because she was gazing up at him with devout adoration while I, his wife, was in the dark.
“After months of negotiation and emails on my part and on Bree’s”—he inclined his head toward her—“I am pleased to report that it’s official.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Next week, Bree and I are hopping a flight to Alaska . . .”
Oh, god. Oh, god. Please, no . . .
“. . . to spend a week interviewing . . . Hunter Christiansen.”
Stars danced before my eyes, and there was a sound like a dentist’s drill in my ears. Fainting was a distinct possibility.
Griff slapped his thighs. “I can tell you’re shocked.”
“I . . .” I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to focus my thoughts. “So you’re not leaving me?”
“I am for a week. Unless you’d like to be holed up in a log cabin outside Ketchikan with the former chairman of the Fed talking monetary policy nonstop with a couple of wonks like us.”
“I’ll take a rain check.” It was beginning to dawn on me that he wasn’t leaving. At least, not for good. There was still a chance.
Except, that also meant he would be spending a whole week with Bree up in the woods of Alaska, far, far away from me. My relief that he wasn’t leaving for good gradually dulled as I fathomed this excursion presented another chance for Bree to lasso my husband to herself. Griff hadn’t even considered asking me, either. It was as though I didn’t exist in their little universe.
Liam. He was responsible for this, for calling Hunter and making it happen and finessing it so well that Griff remained under the false impression that he and Bree had scored a coup. If he only knew that in doing so, he had further jeopardized my marriage.
Unless that had been part of his plan, too. No. Not Liam. He wouldn’t have made the call to Hunter just to get Griff out of the picture for a week. What was wrong with me? Between being fired and the shock of finding Griff laughing it up with Bree, I had become temporarily delusional.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Griff was saying. “It means this is a whole new book I’m writing now, Kat, a commercial one, not academic. It means for the first time in twenty years, I finally have the chance of breaking free.”
I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t say “we.” And that was no delusion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The day Griff and Bree left, I put Laura on the train to Penn Station for a weekend at New York University aimed at wooing prospective students. This reminded me of when she was nine and I sent her to pirate fantasy camp. Just as much fun, just as much of a snowball’s chance in hell of becoming a reality. Not when NYU, the third most expensive college in the country, had the audacity to charge more than $50,000 a year. At that price, I’d have rather she spent fifty cents on a fake eye patch than mire herself in the kind of debt swamping her parents.
Hours before, I’d schlepped Griff and a very morose Bree to Newark for their long flight to Anchorage and then to Ketchikan, where the reclusive Hunter Christiansen lived sequestered in a huge lodge surrounded by trees and bitter memories.
Inconsolable Bree insisted on sitting in the backseat and peering out the window longingly, as if the spewing smokestacks off the New Jersey Turnpike were the waving gold wheat fields of home and the gray skyline was not cloudy all day.
Every once in a while I’d glance in my rearview and catch her dabbing at the thick black mascara streaks or blowing her red, raw nose. It was killing me that since she was within earshot I couldn’t ask Griff what was wrong. Then again, Griff was off in his own Hunter Christiansen dreamland, rehearsing his questions, mulling over his stats and theories.
Planning his escape.
“This is so exciting, guys!” I slapped the steering wheel, determined to show Griff what he was sacrificing, a woman of self-confidence and optimism in contrast to his moping Bree.
“You think you’ll see a moose? Any grizzly bears?”
He dropped his hand and grinned. “We’re not going on safari, Kat.”
“I should think not. You’d be headed in entirely the wrong direction if you’re looking for a safari. Africa’s over there.”
Only Griff laughed. “It’d be nice if we saw some wildlife, but I’m not counting on it. My biggest concern is that we’re going to get there and Christiansen’s going to choke and tell us to go home. He has a history of being fickle.”
“I’m sure you have a note card for that. In 1992, Hunter Christiansen addressed Congress and announced that he was fickle. The Dow plunged two hundred points. Right, Bree?”
Bree grunted. “Right.”
Griff reached behind him and stroked her knee—her knee!—in consolation. “Don’t worry, Bree. I bet your cell will ring as soon as we touch down in Anchorage and it’ll be Dewitt calling to apologize.”
“I don’t think so.” She sniffed loudly. “It’s over.”
This would have to happen, I thought. Conveniently, right before jetting off to a secluded retreat with the man she secretly loves, Bree and her fiancé had had a fight and called off the engagement. I could see right through her. She was so transparent!
And what was with the waterworks? She was getting what she wanted—my husband.
“Bree’s gonna need some TLC, I’m afraid,” Griff murmured after she got out at Newark Airport, tugging a blue pull-along listlessly.
“She’s not the only one,” I said, making sure to leave him with a long, sexy kiss.
He put his arms around me, defying the airport cop who clearly had no truck with long, teary good-byes. “I’ll miss you, you know.”
“Will you?” I cocked my head doubtfully. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“And you? What will you be doing with yourself while I’m gone?”
“Working. What else?”
He gave me a questioning look. “Are you sure you’re not up to something? You’ve been acting sort of strange lately.”
What could he mean by that, I wondered, since, as far as I was aware, I’d been acting perfectly normal. “Don’t worry about me. This is the interview that’s going to change your career, remember?”
The cop in his fluorescent yellow vest tapped his watch. “Five minutes, folks. This is a drop-off zone. Parking’s over in the garage if you want to make a scene out of it.”
Griff gave me a quick peck. “See you in a week.”
“Knock him dead.” I thought about that. “Though not literally.” Hunter had to be at least in his eighties.
I watched as Griff in his leather bomber jacket disappeared through the automatic glass doors and got back into my car, ignoring the cop’s glare. That was it. I was alone for a week, maybe longer. Maybe for the rest of my life.
Usually, I didn’t mind being alone because in the past I’d use it as an opportunity to shop without fear of Griff’s third degree when I arrived loaded down with bags. This time, though, it was different. No shopping, no money. I didn’t even want to shop, which was, frankly, not normal.
The very idea of logging into my checking account and seeing it had been depleted by a whimsical purchase of, say, a $600 pair of flats from Italy was enough to keep me up nights. That was my new addiction, in fact, checking my online bank account five or six times a day to make sure all was well.
The thing was, Griff and I had been spending so much time together, just hanging out, that I was used to him. Now what was I going to do? I didn’t have him. Or Laura. Or even a job.
But I did have the Penny Pinchers, two of whom—Libby and Velma—were in my driveway when I got home, sitting in Libby’s truck because Jasper was loose. Even though loose, by her definition, meant Jasper was half comatose and curled up in a ball.
“We thought it might be tough for you,” Velma said as I helped her out of the truck. “What with being alone.” She produced one of her foil-covered cinnamon coffee cakes, along with her legendary fruit salad with the marshmallows.
“Yeah, after your”—Libby searched for the right word—“breakdown at the last meeting, we got our marching orders from Opal to not let you have a minute’s peace.”
That was probably true, I thought, unlocking the door, tickled by Opal’s motherly ways.
“Sherise got the job.” Libby took the coffee cake from Velma and plunked it on the counter. “You won’t believe how much money she’s gonna make, too.”
Velma said, “She won’t need to pinch those pennies anymore. Speaking of which, how did Griff react to you getting fired?”
“I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to ruin his trip. Guess you could call it my lovely parting gift.” I got out a knife and plates for the cake while Velma helped herself to my coffeemaker, filling it with her own decaf.
“You know,” Libby said, pulling herself onto the counter, “Wade was serious about the micro loans. It’s a really simple process, and he’ll walk you through it so you can at least get enough money to buy some material and advertising or whatever it is interior designers need.”
Slicing the cake into tiny wedges, I tried not to think about my life after Griff, even if it did involve starting my own business. All that planning, all that saving, and yet, having him gone for a week had brought it crashing home. This was what it was going to be like when he left me for Bree. Lonely. Cold.
Sensing my reluctance, Velma artfully turned the conversation back to Wade and Libby. “How does he like his job, anyway?”
“He loves it,” Libby said. “I just wish the money were better, though. I’m struggling to make ends meet more now than before he moved in.”
Okay, I thought, that’s it. Putting down the knife, I said, “You do know, don’t you, that Wade is worth about fifty million dollars?”
Velma screeched. “What?”
“Oh, sure.” Libby swung her legs. “But that’s family money. That’s not his.”
“Who cares?” Velma rounded on her. “Mi familia es su familia, as the saying goes. That is, if it’s true he’s that rich.”
“It’s true. His father owns a bunch of hotels.”
To drive it home, I added, “Wade grew up on Fifth Avenue.”
“The one in New York? Or the one in Princeton?”
Velma could be such a hick. “New York. As in overlooking Central Park. And he had a private plane and went to Princeton.”
“I don’t care,” Libby said, lifting her chin. “Sure, it’d be nice not to be so strapped for cash all the time, to be a little less anxious when the bills come in. But we have everything we need in my cozy apartment. We have each other.”
Velma made a face. “Which would you rather have? Fifty million smackeroos or a man?”
“Not any man.” Libby bowed her head. “Wade. He’s all I need.”
Libby’s gushing love reminded me of when I was young and felt the same way about a piss-poor grad student. If it meant not being with Griff, I, too, would have spurned millions—heck, I did by turning down Liam. I remember the warm feeling of anticipation at the end of the day, driving home from work, knowing we’d be together in our own tiny apartment, just the two of us. I’d felt so lucky in those days, so blessed to have Griff as my own. What was money compared to that kind of bliss?
“Well.” Velma threw up her hands. “Not my business.”
“Not mine, either,” I had to agree. But still!
After Libby and Velma left, I called in Jasper and headed for our basement, which served as refuge and reminder of the home improvement loan we were still paying off. Whenever I flipped on the lights and saw that expensive shag carpeting, the entertainment center, the idle Barcaloungers, and huuuge television, I cringed. It was like the “fat picture” dieters tape on the fridge to remind them to stay out. Never again, I thought, sitting at Griff’s desk. Never again.
Turning on the computer, I ignored the bouncing postage stamp indicating Griff had new email and logged into our checking account. $4,63
4. Enough to cover the mortgage, the home loan, the electric bill, and make a few more payments on Discover andVisa. (I often paid them two or three times a month in tiny amounts just to drive them nuts.)
The postcard kept bouncing.
No! I was not going there again. Too painful.
Ripping open the mortgage, I grabbed a checkbook and carefully wrote out the amount, adding $50 more to the principal. Then I recorded it in Quicken.
What to do aboutWade and Libby?, I wondered, turning my thoughts to gossip while I paid the bills, a trick I’d learned to lessen the pain of draining my checking account.
Should I call him? Take him out for coffee and explain how Libby, who’d been born and raised with nothing, would surely appreciate a taste of luxury? Or should I do as Velma suggested and stay out of it because it was none of my business?
Bounce. Bounce. The postage stamp would not give it up. I’d made a firm resolution after the incident last summer to never, ever check Griff’s email again. I was so proud of myself. And yet . . .
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
... We had been getting along so much better lately.
Bounce.
So maybe, just maybe, one of these emails might be positive, I thought. What if he’d written [email protected] to say plans had changed and he did love me after all and had absolutely no intention of leaving me and that was the real reason Bree was crying in the car? Sure, that was a fantasy. But if it were true, wouldn’t I feel better about him being in the woods of Alaska with her?
Of course, I would. The future of our marriage hinged on whether or not I read those emails. Not just our future, but Laura’s, too.
I was seconds away from clicking on the postage stamp when the phone on Griff’s desk rang and I snatched it up, hoping it was him.
“Griff?”
There was an awkward pause. “Actually, it’s me. Liam.”
Liam. I hadn’t spoken to him since the article ran in the Princeton Pen.
“I tried reaching you at work, but some new girl answered the phone,” he said. “Is it true you’re not working there anymore?”
How to break it to him in a way that didn’t make him feel guilty? Certainly, it hadn’t been his intention to get me fired. “Afraid so.”
The Penny Pinchers Club Page 21
