Joy got out and walked up the path as two thirtysomething women came out with travel bags, which Joy took. She loaded them into the back, then the women got into the bus and sat in the front row.
“Victoria and Maggie, this is Rebecca,” Joy said as she put on her seat belt.
They said hi in unison and Rebecca quickly learned they were members of the Wiscasset Divorced Ladies Club, which was an official club started by the town recreation center. Members came and went depending on their mood and current romance situation. Right now, Maggie and Victoria and Ellie, who they were picking up next, were it.
Victoria, the louder of the two, was thirty-four and divorced two years, the mother of a five- and a seven-year-old, who were with their “cheating louse of a father” this weekend. She was tall and stocky and plain, yet had the most gorgeous hair Rebecca had ever seen, even prettier than Joy’s. It was long and tousled, a true red, and highlighted naturally. She was dressed for a singles weekend in black slinky pants of undeterminable material and a slinky V-neck teal-colored blouse with cap sleeves and ruffles down the front. She wore black high-heeled sandals and had sparkly pink toes.
Maggie was thirty-seven, a Realtor, and divorced for only six months. She had the voice of a heavy smoker, but she didn’t smell like cigarettes; in fact, she smelled lovely, like cookies. Rebecca discovered why when Maggie opened up a box from her tote bag.
“Fresh-baked chocolate and almond,” Maggie said, holding up the box. “We always bring goodies for our trips.” She took a bite of one. “Yum. Rachael Ray recipe. Delish,” she added.
Rebecca smiled and took one. It was delish.
Maggie was prone to tears; her ex-husband was getting married this weekend, which prompted the Divorced Ladies Club to take her on the Portland tour. Tiny and dainty, Maggie was also on the plain side, but dolled up. Her swingy brown bob was highlighted, her sparkling hazel eyes smokily made up. She too wore Friday night clothes: white pants and a feminine, also ruffly blouse, in a swirl of colors. Pale pink strappy sandals with three-inch heels. She didn’t have children, but considered her bichon to be her kid. Her mother was babysitting for the weekend.
Five minutes later they picked up Ellie. She was in her late twenties and petite like Maggie, with very dark pin-straight hair to her shoulders and true green eyes. She wore frayed jeans, a tight long-sleeved T-shirt, and red Crocs. She offered Rebecca a smile and a hello, then climbed in next to Maggie.
“This is what you’re wearing?” Victoria asked her, but then a man came down a set of wooden steps from an upper landing, tucking his shirt into his pants. He gave a fast wave at Ellie, hopped in his car, and then drove off.
“Ellie!” Victoria chided. “Don’t tell me you slept with that dickhead—again!”
Ellie’s smile was sheepish as she pulled out a compact and freshened her red lipstick. With her dark straight hair and green eyes, the red lips were dramatic and suited her strong features. “I can’t help it. He calls and says how much he misses me, and then a half hour later we’re in bed. We would still be in bed if I hadn’t heard the bus pull up. I didn’t have time to get dressed in anything else. But I brought some girlie stuff—that red wrap dress that—”
“You left him for a reason, Ellie,” Victoria said, throwing her long red hair behind her back. “He’s a cheat!”
Ellie reached into Maggie’s box of cookies. “I just need to meet someone, someone nice, to make me stronger,” she said. “If I could just meet someone who gets to me the way Tim does.”
“Maybe this trip,” Joy said.
“Did you handpick someone for me?” Ellie asked.
“Well, no,” Joy said. “But you never know. We’re picking up the men next.”
“Someone tall, dark, and handsome? But nice? And with an edge? You know, like that hot Irish actor?”
Maggie laughed. “That doesn’t describe your soon-to-be-ex-husband at all. Or the two men you were involved with before him.”
“I’m trying to avoid the blond lobsterman type,” Ellie said. “My older and wiser sister told me that when I’m attracted to a man, I should instantly run.”
“That sounds difficult,” Rebecca said, turning to face the women.
“So are you divorced as well, Rebecca?” Maggie asked, sinking her pinky-red mouth into another cookie.
“No, I’ve never been married. I live with someone, though.”
“My advice—don’t get married,” Ellie said. “Then when your boyfriend cheats on you, you can rationalize it as okay, ’cause you’re not married yet.” Her face crumpled and she started to cry. “God, you must think I’m a moron,” she said to Rebecca as Maggie handed her a tissue. “Here I am, on a singles tour, when I’m still married. But I’m not really cheating because Tim and I are separated. I think he’s even living with one of his girlfriends.” She burst into tears. Rebecca rummaged in her big bag for her packet of tissues and handed it to Ellie. She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks,” she said. “I thought once you made the decision to separate that the hard part was over. You know? I mean, I thought the leaving was the hard part. But it’s not. It’s like the hard part is just starting.”
Victoria and Maggie each took one of Ellie’s hands. “It’s all hard,” Maggie said. “But staying with someone who can’t stop cheating with other women is even harder. Trust me, I know. My ex is marrying his skank tomorrow night. I give their marriage a month before he’s sleeping with one of the secretaries in his office.”
Ellie took a deep breath and nodded. “I know, I know. I just still love him. Why do I still love him?” She shook her head. “No, I am not doing this again. I’m here on this trip to meet someone. Not to get all emotionally involved or anything. Just someone to make me forget Tim. To make me realize there are other guys out there. I just need a little help moving on.”
“How about no more sleeping with him, either,” Maggie said with a wink as she fussed with her bangs and smoothed her shiny bob. “Joy, can’t you help us out here? Separation is your territory.”
Joy stiffened. “I wish I had something brilliant to say, but I don’t. I don’t want to be separated from Harry any more than Ellie wants to be separated from Tim. But if I understood how to make a marriage work or how to get back together, Harry wouldn’t be living in the unfinished basement. If it weren’t for Rex, Harry would have moved out.”
“At least Harry isn’t a cheater,” Ellie said. “He loves you, Joy. You’ll get back together. You always do.”
Joy raised an eyebrow. “Always? We separated once and got back together once. He moved downstairs again—that’s a bad sign. Not a pattern.”
“You need to start coming to our meetings,” Maggie said. “You need to talk, Joy.”
“I’m not divorced,” Joy pointed out.
“I’m not, either,” Ellie said. “And I’m a member.”
Victoria braided and then unbraided her long red hair. “Joy’s not a joiner.”
“But we’re working on her,” Maggie added. “You don’t need to be divorced to join our little club. You just need a story.” She turned to Rebecca. “So tell us yours. You live with someone but you’re on a singles tour?”
“I’m not along for the singles part of the tour,” Rebecca said. “I’m—”
“With me,” Joy finished for her with a look at Rebecca. A look that said, Shut the hell up about my private business.
“Oh! Well, any friend of Joy’s is a friend of ours,” Victoria said.
“So, are you going to marry this live-in boyfriend?” Ellie asked. “I read in some magazine that half of couples who live together never marry. Not that you two won’t! Or shouldn’t. Forget my cynicism.” She scrunched up her face. “There I go, sticking my foot in it again. Just because my marriage is a joke doesn’t mean everyone’s will be.”
“I have no idea what’s going to happen with me and Michael.” She wondered if Joy were interested in her, in her answers, at all. Joy kept her eyes on the road and rarely chimed i
n. “We’re having some problems.”
Maggie squeezed her hand. “We know from problems.” She sounded exactly like Rebecca’s grandmother Mildred, her mother’s mother, a native New Yorker, who died when Rebecca was eleven.
Everyone was gone. Everyone. She squeezed her eyes shut against a sharp stab in her chest. Don’t cry in front of Joy. Don’t cry in front of Joy.
“You okay there?” Maggie asked.
Rebecca took a breath, opened her eyes, turned back around, and nodded. “Are you a New Yorker?”
“Yes!” Maggie said. “We moved from Long Island eight years ago for my hus—my ex-husband’s job. Then Mark suddenly turns into Mr. Nature, going on hikes. He went from a couch potato whose only interest in life was beer and the Yankees to a hiking vegan. Turns out some bimbo at his work was, too.”
“Sorry,” Rebecca said.
“On to better men,” Ellie said. “Tall, dark, and handsome ones.”
“So what line of work are you in, Rebecca?” Victoria asked.
“I’m a paralegal,” Rebecca said. “At a divorce mediation firm. Fitting, huh?”
Victoria snorted. “I tried mediation. I jumped across the table and tried to strangle the breath out of my lying, cheating prick bastard ex-husband. Mediation is a crock.”
“It can work,” Rebecca said. “But it’s definitely not for everyone.”
Victoria snorted. “Yeah, I’m living proof. We didn’t end up having a trial, though. He backed down just to get rid of me.”
“I’ve heard of mediation, but I have no idea how it works,” Maggie said.
“Well, instead of spending a fortune on lawyers and fighting back and forth and getting nowhere,” Rebecca explained, “a divorcing couple will sit down with a mediator, someone who represents both their best interests. Which is to make decisions about child custody and visitation and splitting up assets in a way that is fair to both of them.”
“So a divorcing couple who hate each other’s guts will actually sit down and divide things up, just like that?” Ellie asked.
“Sometimes just like that, sometimes not,” Rebecca said. “Sometimes one will sign anything just to be free of the spouse. Sometimes one will agree to nothing just to hang on to the marriage.”
“Doesn’t sound like a fun job,” Ellie said.
It wasn’t. “Well, fun might not be the right word. But it can be rewarding to help a divorcing couple reach agreement when agreeing is the farthest thing from their minds.” That was true. And that was how Rebecca had felt about it in the beginning. “Making the path to divorce a little easier, especially when there are children involved.” She sounded like Michael. And Marcie.
“That is important,” Joy said, her voice tired and sad.
“How’s the little guy doing with the separation, Joy?” Victoria asked.
“He’s fine,” Joy muttered. “Look, I don’t want to talk about me, okay?”
“Hey, Rebecca, did you know Joy is planning a Rocky Relationships tour? For couples who could use a weekend away, but with other couples having problems, so you have someone to talk to, turn to. You should go and be the mediator!”
“I’m just a paralegal,” Rebecca said automatically. “Not a mediator.”
“Well, I’m sure you know your stuff,” Maggie said, fluffing her shiny brown bangs. “Sounds like you do.”
“Rebecca lives in New York,” Joy said tightly. “She’s going back after the weekend.”
“Too bad,” Ellie said. “We could use your expertise.”
“We?” Maggie repeated. “Don’t tell me you talked Tim into going, Ellie. He keeps making promises to you and then two days later he’s screwing the Handy Mart checkout girl in the bathroom on her break.”
Ellie shrugged and seemed close to tears again. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe you really will meet someone on this trip,” Victoria said, braiding her red hair and then freeing it again. “Someone good. Someone who will show you that a relationship is about respect.”
Ellie nodded. “Maybe.” She turned to Rebecca. “It sure would be great to have a professional along on the Rocky Relationships trip, though. Tim won’t go for counseling. He says what he’s doing is natural, that men can’t be monogamous.”
“What a crock!” Victoria said. “I know plenty of men who are monogamous. Not any of our husbands—Harry excluded, Joy—but plenty of others. My friend Jackie’s husband. My dad. My friend Richard—he’d never cheat. And my brother is still madly in love with his wife, who I can’t stand, and they’ve been married for nine years already.”
Rebecca was so curious about Joy, about why her marriage broke up. She waited for Joy to say something, but Joy kept her eyes on the road, her mouth shut.
“My brother, too,” Maggie added, biting into another cookie. “And my dad. And my friend Sara’s husband. Plus I know several men at my work who go straight home to their wives and children and come in happy and peppy every morning. Not all men are cheaters.”
Michael included, Rebecca thought. He was true-blue in that regard. But then again, they weren’t married. Maybe something happened when couples got married. The rings got too tight or something. The restriction to one partner. Rebecca had heard every reason in the book for why couples divorced. Why they cheated. This one refused to have sex. Or kinky sex. That one gained forty pounds. This one was a workaholic, that one became an alcoholic. People argued and argued and argued.
She wondered what it was that made her father cheat on her mother. Why Pia Jayhawk had been able to sway him from his wife, his vows.
“Rebecca, is cheating the main reason why couples divorce?” Ellie asked.
“Actually, no,” Rebecca said. “It’s high up there, but the main reason seems to be the ole irreconcilable differences. But really, I’m no expert about marriage or divorce or relationships. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know if I still have a boyfriend.”
“God, join the club,” Ellie said. “Literally! You could join our group!”
“She’s leaving after the weekend,” Joy said again, her eyes on the road.
It was such a definitive statement that it led to some peace and quiet and contemplation for exactly one minute. Maggie then launched into a story about her sister, Frances, who lived in Massachusetts and was staying with her “loser fiancé” because she was fifty pounds overweight and didn’t think anyone else would want her. That led to a discussion of weight and whether it was okay to not be attracted to someone if they gained fifty pounds, which was what happened to Victoria before she joined Weight Watchers. Apparently, losing forty-seven pounds did not bring her husband begging his way back.
The minibus was quiet for another few minutes until Joy pulled to a stop in front of a condo complex in Brunswick. “We’ve just arrived at gentleman number one’s house,” Joy said. “Prepare to meet the very attractive Clinton Witowski.”
There was a flurry of compacts opening. Hair being smoothed and fluffed. Teeth being checked for cookie crumbs. And then a man appeared at the bus. He slid open the door with a “Hello, ladies” and a charming smile and sat in the row behind the women. Dead in the center.
Clinton Witowski appeared to be in his early forties. His thick dark hair was receding, but it was sexy man hair. And somehow the crow’s-feet and grooves around his mouth added to his appeal. There was something Marlboro Man about him, though there was nothing cowboy in his appearance.
The women changed instantly when he boarded. They all sat up straighter. Victoria perked up considerably. “So we’re members of the Wiscasset Divorced Ladies Club,” she told him. “Have you ever been married?”
“Twice,” he said, leaning forward. “But neither divorce was my fault. I took my vows very seriously. My first wife couldn’t handle it when I was deployed, so that was that. So I made sure my second wife was also in the military, someone who’d understand, and she ended up falling for her commander.” He went on for a bit too long about how he was a former milit
ary captain who now worked in a civilian capacity as an engineer for the Brunswick Naval Air Station.
The women swooned with their sorrys. Rebecca listened to the women’s chatter—every now and then they’d let Clinton get a word in—and looked out the window. She supposed she and Joy couldn’t very well talk in the bus; they’d have to wait until they arrived in Portland, where they could have some privacy.
A half hour later, Joy stopped to pick up Bachelor Number Two. Victoria, Maggie, and Ellie stared out the window. They were practically foaming at the mouth, until they got a glimpse of him. Also tall and very thin, he wasn’t so much unattractive as he was awkward. He walked up to the bus and smiled so shyly that the trio’s maternal instincts rose up.
“May I introduce Jed Harker,” Joy said. “Jed, in the first row are Ellie Rasmussen, Maggie Herald, and Victoria Dale. Clinton Witowski is the gentleman behind them. And here in the passenger seat is Rebecca. Strand,” she added after a moment.
The women said hello and shook Jed’s hand. Jed was so shy he could barely look up. He sat next to Clinton, who slapped him on the back and almost knocked him off the seat.
The women were all over Jed, asking him questions, and he slowly opened up. He was single, never married, thirty years old. He’d only had a few relationships and had even been engaged for a few weeks. The fiancée had met someone else.
“Isn’t that always the way?” Victoria said. “They meet someone else. What I don’t understand is, why aren’t they happy with what they have? Why is someone else’s vagina so much more interesting than mine?”
Rebecca almost choked on the cookie she was nibbling. Joy glanced at her and smiled, then seemed to remember she didn’t want to be friendly and refocused on the road.
Jed’s eyes had bugged somewhat. Ellie patted his hand. “Get used to it.”
“You know what?” Victoria said. “Last year I put a profile on Match.com, met someone, went on a few dates, and he told me it wasn’t working out, that I wasn’t what he was looking for. Well, I was everything on his ‘Ideal Woman’ list and in his stupid paragraph with its ‘u’ for ‘you’ and ‘2’ for ‘two’ and juvenile ‘b4.’ I finally figured out that what’s on a piece of paper and what’s flesh and blood are very different things.”
The Secret of Joy Page 7
