There was actually a third reason. I was proud to be Brody’s lover. Brody was infinitely more virile than Dennis—something I might have seen earlier, had I not been so concerned with being a good wife. And I had been, damn it. I had been a good wife to Dennis right up until the day he booted me out.
So when he asked if Brody was still in bed, I said, “Yes. We didn’t fall asleep until late.”
He seemed almost sad, then curious. “No more denials?”
Valentino came from nowhere to curl around my leg. Scooping him up, I said, “I never denied what was true. Brody and I weren’t romantically involved until you and I separated. You planted the bug in our ear. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Aren’t you worried it’ll hurt your chances for custody?”
“No. We weren’t sexually involved until this weekend. You and Phoebe were doing it last July. I have records from your stay in that motel in Vermont.” When he blinked, I rubbed it in. “Didn’t it occur to you that I’d find out?” But, of course, it hadn’t. I had been an optimistic wife, a dumb wife, in hindsight, but no more. “I’ll raise it in court, Dennis. I’ll raise that, plus anything else, if there is anything else, about Adrienne.”
“What else could there be?”
“You tell me. She threatened to implicate you in illegal trading. At least, that’s what you said at the time, or was that just a stab at painting you as the victim?”
He didn’t respond, other than to say, “You won’t find proof of anything.”
“Do I need it? All you had against me was innuendo, and the courts went for it. You really shouldn’t have emptied that file. That’s what made me suspicious.”
Dennis looked sober. “Innuendo can’t hurt me. That business with Adrienne was a long time ago. Even if there was something more, the statute of limitations has expired. The law can’t touch me.”
“Maybe not. But Pittney wouldn’t be pleased to hear about it.”
That shook him. “You’d go to Pittney?”
“If I have to, I will. I want my kids back.”
“Christ, you’ve gotten tough.”
“You’ve made me tough. You were the one who took me to court, and took away my kids and my home. You were the one who brought up the abortion business.”
“I told you. I didn’t pass those records to Jenovitz. And I didn’t tell my lawyers to get them.”
“Did you tell them you didn’t want the abortion? That’s what you told Jenovitz. That was a lie, Dennis. Another lie.” I was thinking clearly, feeling stronger than I had in days. “For the past month you’ve been playing dirty. Well, I can play dirty, too. I don’t want to, but if I have no choice, I will. I’ll also take you to court on the divorce settlement. You’ve pissed away all the money you ever made. You’re not pissing away mine. So, back off,” I warned and was about to slam the door in his face, when I frowned. “We agreed that I would come for the kids at noon. Why are you here now?”
“They spent the night with my parents,” he said, still sober. “I’m on my way to pick them up. I wanted to talk with you first. But it’s a bad time.”
If I’d had to describe him just then, I’d have said he looked deflated. I had never seen him that way before. More quietly, I said, “It’s never a bad time when it comes to the kids. What’s wrong?”
“We have to tell them about Jenovitz. I thought we should coordinate our stories.”
“Did you ask Jenovitz what to say?” Of course he hadn’t. Just like he would drive for miles on the wrong road without stopping for directions, lest someone think he didn’t know his way.
“I wanted to ask you first.”
I stared at him in a moment’s amazement, wondering what was behind his solicitousness and when it would jump out to hit me on the head. But he looked perfectly serious, even humble. Still I waited, thought, puzzled. When I couldn’t see the slightest hint of either arrogance or deceit, I let out a long breath and stood back. “Come in. I’ll make coffee and we’ll talk.”
So Dennis intruded on my first morning after with Brody. But it was necessary, a precedent-setting of sorts. Dennis and I had to learn to deal civilly with each other where the children were concerned. Dennis also had to learn to see me with Brody.
That didn’t mean I lost my resolve. As soon as he left, I called Carmen at home. She reported that Art Heuber had filed his opposition to our petition on Wednesday, that the judge was studying it and would be in touch on Monday. Morgan had learned that Phoebe was the one to obtain my medical records, but, as for the rest, he was still searching.
I told Carmen to keep him at it. I was sorry that my marriage had come to this, but it had. My sole concern now was for the right to raise my kids.
I may not have had the courage to tell Connie about the demise of my marriage. I would live with the guilt of that for years. But I wasn’t living with the regret of letting resources go untapped. In that sense, she had given me sound advice.
fifteen
Carmen called first thing that Monday before Thanksgiving with good news and bad news.
The good news was that a justice of the appeals court had agreed to a hearing on our petition.
The bad news was that the holiday would hold things up. The hearing wouldn’t be held until the Monday after.
Discouraged, I spent the morning in my workroom. Having removed every last broken weaver from both the rocker and its table, I set to cleaning and sanding the areas needing repair. It was busy work, neither here nor there in terms of construction or destruction, and, in that sense, the least exciting part of the job, but important. Working first and last with a damp cloth, and in between with a metal file, sandpaper, and a hand vacuum, I had to smooth down all the rough spots to make way for new lengths of reed.
The goal was to make a seamless repair. Skimping at this stage, tempting as it was, would have jeopardized that. So I threw myself into the work.
That afternoon, I had my third meeting with Dean Jenovitz. He was back to the pipe this time, though he only lit it once. He held it cold in his mouth for the first thirty minutes of the session, busied himself through the next fifteen by filling it with tobacco and tamping it down, scrutinizing the bowl, tasting the stem, studying the bowl again, retamping the tobacco, and so on, before he finally caved in and set it burning. At the time I wondered if he was more interested in the pipe than in me.
I continued to wonder that, well after the meeting ended. No matter how many times I replayed the discussion, either alone or in retellings to Carmen and Brody, I couldn’t find a point to it. Jenovitz expressed his condolences on the death of my mother and asked how I was doing, though he wasn’t interested in pursuing my response with more than a nod. He asked how my visits with the children were going, but didn’t pick up on it when I mentioned Brody being at those visits. Nor did he show any reaction when I said that I was going to Johnny’s basketball practice that afternoon and Kikit’s concert Tuesday morning. He asked how work was going, and whether I had any travel plans in mind, and, if I wasn’t making the rounds of the Christmas boutiques this year, who was? When I said I was hoping Brody would, he let that go, too.
There was ample opportunity for discussion on the subject of my parenting ability. He might have asked how my mother’s death would free me up for the children, or what I had done, if anything, with Dennis to help prepare the children for her funeral, or, if nothing else, whether I worried that Kikit would be allergic to Valentino.
I had the impression that he was bored.
Worse, I had the impression that he had already made his decision and was simply marking time.
“He doesn’t react to things he should,” I told Carmen on the phone when the meeting was done. “When I told him about Dennis and Phoebe being at a motel in Vermont last July, he grunted, then nodded, then asked me why I was fixated on their relationship. He didn’t get it. Not even when I spelled it out. What’s going on?”
“I’m wondering,” Carmen said, “if he has a sweet deal with Selwey.
”
“Sweet deal?”
“I brought up his name to my gal group last week. Word is he’s tired, that managed health care has left him behind, and he’s thinking of retiring, but that money is an issue. By way of compromise, he’s starting to ease back on his private practice and let court cases like yours support him. He’s paid by the hour. More than half of his billable hours are court-related. It’s easy money.”
“Easy money?” It was my money, my problems. Easy? “Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. There isn’t any therapy involved. He just listens and makes a written recommendation. Some cases are cut-and-dried. If one of the parents is abusive or unstable, the children are placed with the other parent. For the other cases, he usually recommends shared custody. That could either be the right choice, or simply expedient.”
“He hasn’t mentioned shared custody to me.” I wondered why not, and found no comfort in the answer.
“How would you feel about it?”
“Annoyed. I don’t want to share my children.” The thought of it brought back all the anger. “Dennis had no right doing what he did. I don’t want a man like that being a major influence on my kids.”
“He is their father.”
“So?”
“He’s doing an okay job of it, isn’t he?”
No, I wanted to say. He’s doing a lousy job. He’s messing them up.
But the truth was that he wasn’t. The children were clean, well-fed, well-supervised. Between what I had seen and what they had told me, Dennis was trying. I hated to admit it, but there it was.
“But I like knowing what my kids are doing,” I burst out, then paused, sighed, admitted a self-incriminating, “I do. All the time. So maybe that’s wrong. Maybe it’s another reason I was never willing to consider divorce. I didn’t want to have to share them.”
“You may have to let go a little.”
“Brody said that, too.”
Carmen cleared her throat. “Speaking of Brody.”
I could hear it coming and said a fast, “Brody is my lifeline. If he weren’t here, I’d have gone under weeks ago.”
“Flaunting Brody in front of Dennis wasn’t the best idea.”
“But it sure felt good,” I said. “Besides we have him cold on Phoebe. Now, we need to know more about Adrienne. What’s with Morgan?”
“He’s getting inklings of things.”
“Illegal things?” I asked. I wasn’t sure whether to feel jubilant or dismayed.
“He won’t elaborate until he has proof, and that’s hard to come by with something that happened so long ago. Finding witnesses is tough. Some have died, like Adrienne. Others have moved, forwarding order expired. Dennis was right about the statute of limitations, though. He isn’t at risk.”
“Maybe not legally,” I said, “but Heuber will be wanting a counter-offer on the settlement soon, and we need a lever. I meant what I told Dennis. I’ll call people at Pittney. If I have to, I’ll slip gossip to Hillary Howard. Gossip can turn off future clients. It’s not that I want to ruin Dennis, I just want custody of the kids.” That raised what was still, always, more than ever my fear. “Carmen?”
“Yesss?” came her deep voice.
“What do you think? Will I get them? Or is Jenovitz Selwey’s puppet?”
“I’m looking into that possibility. One of my associates is tabulating the number of cases Selwey assigned Jenovitz in the last year, and whether the recommendation was in keeping with or different from the initial decree.”
“Can we come right out and ask Jenovitz if he’s reached a finding?”
“We can. I doubt he’ll tell us.”
“Won’t that tell us something?”
“That he’s ruling against us? No. It’s the power thing, Claire. He’ll keep his secret like he’s the president of Price Waterhouse protecting the Oscar winners. He’s not giving away a thing until he gets his moment on stage.”
Dennis had initially put in to have the children on Thanksgiving Day. When there was early snow in the southern New Hampshire mountains, he suggested I take them on Thursday so that he could take them for a weekend of skiing.
I could have been difficult and insisted we stick to the original plan. After the fuss Dennis made each time I was early picking up the kids or late getting them back, he deserved to be stymied.
But Rona was flying in on Wednesday, and I liked the idea of celebrating the holiday on the holiday.
And Dennis sweetened the pot by offering to let Johnny and Kikit sleep over at the lighthouse Thursday night. I had been repeatedly asking for sleepovers, to no avail. Whether the kids’ pleas had finally gotten to him, or he wanted to spend Thanksgiving night with someone else, or his heart was truly softening, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Besides, I wanted points for flexibility.
How quickly I had joined the game. It was a side of me I despised—a cynical side that I hadn’t possessed before all this had begun—but cynicism was armor and we were at war. If I wanted to win, I had to wear it.
The words we used were something else. I hated them—have the children, take the children—like they were things to be shifted here or there, albeit the most precious possessions to emerge from our marriage. These words weren’t part of the war. They were part of the new vocabulary I was learning, the vocabulary of the divorced parent. Oh, I fought it. I tried to dress up the concept by using more humanizing substitutes—I was spending Saturday with the kids, or I was going to be with the kids on Saturday, or I was seeing the kids on Saturday—but these were sometimes so self-conscious that they drew more attention to the mess. In time, I succumbed to have and take as the lesser of the evils.
Thanksgiving was an eye-opener. It was my first major holiday separated from Dennis, my first major holiday without Connie. Technically, little was different. I was still the one cooking the turkey, still the one laying the table out with the fine linen and polished silver that I had retrieved from the house, still the one seeing to little details like fresh flowers, tapered candlesticks, gourmet chocolates.
What was different was Brody, who was either freed by Dennis’s absence, so used to doing for himself, or so much in love with me that he did more than his share of the work.
What else was different was the lighthouse, which dressed up so beautifully, with its view of the ocean, that we might have been at an idyllic Plymouth Rock.
What else was different was Rona. She was more agreeable than I had ever found her.
And then there were the children. I hadn’t been sure what they would be feeling about spending the day without Dennis, and hadn’t been able to discuss it with them beforehand, given the last-minute change in plans. I was worried that the holiday would be like salt on the wound of their parents’ divorce, and, yes, I’m sure there were moments that stung. But they were pleased to be spending the night here—can we sleep in your bed, Mommy, and turn out all the lights and pretend we’re in the middle of the ocean for the whole night, and watch the sun come up, can we, pleeease? asked Kikit—and they loved being with Joy, and with Rona, and with Brody.
Yes, even Johnny. It took him a while to warm up, perhaps to forget that Dennis wasn’t there, but once it happened he was more his normal self than he had been since the split. He responded in detail when I asked about his basketball team, even said he couldn’t wait for me to watch his games, which was the closest he had come to restating his love. For all the times I had worried that I wasn’t doing enough, I felt justified now. Children adapted, give or take. The key was in understanding the give or take, so that trauma was neither created when it didn’t exist nor ignored when it did.
I think I did an okay job. When they left with Dennis on Friday morning, they were happy. I wasn’t sure how happy he was after an hour in the car with Kikit retelling every detail of their night—not the least of which would have been a blow-by-blow of Brody’s tale of the ill-fated whaler, Godsend, and the first mate’s wife,
whose will alone was reputed to have brought its surviving crew safely home—but at least I felt I had done my part.
My own moments of thought—of regret, if you will—in the aftermath of that Thanksgiving had to do with Mom. I missed her. It wasn’t that she had a history of coming east for the holiday loaded down with cakes and cookies and the makings from old family recipes. It wasn’t even that she did much after she arrived. Coming to visit me was her vacation, she said. Knowing how hard she had worked to support Rona and me, I was pleased to indulge her.
I missed the pleasure she took in my house and my kids. I missed the look on her face when I called everyone in to dinner. Even more than the children, who took prosperity for granted, Connie delighted in seeing the table filled to overflowing with goodies. I chose to think she would have loved this year’s table even in spite of Dennis’s absence.
Rona disagreed. “There’s good reason why you didn’t tell her you were getting divorced. She would have been so hung up on the concept that she wouldn’t have seen the reality. I can see the reality, and it isn’t so bad.”
It was Friday morning. The children had left, Brody had taken Joy to Boston, and Rona and I were braving the winds, bundled up on the rocks not far from the base of my light. We had our feet tucked beneath us, and were watching the swirl of the water a mere ten feet away. The air was so heavy with fog that it might have been a sauna, had the temperature been fifty degrees higher. Even cold, there was something of a balm to it.
“The reality,” Rona went on, “is that there isn’t the tension there used to be when Dennis was here. When he was here, you needed to make things perfect.”
A Woman's Place Page 29
