"You seem uncomfortable with this topic."
"Not at all—if it's relevant."
"It is most relevant." He laid the folder carefully on the corner table, pausing to shift aside a sculpture of a small frog clinging to a polished brass rock. "At Karen's age, her sexuality is beginning to assert itself. The presence of a man in the house—a man not her father, and with whom the mother is having an intimate relationship—often confuses the female child—"
"Karen is a normal, well-adjusted girl. She is not confused."
"If I may finish?"
Gail stared back at him. "Of course."
"Girls are sexually attracted to their fathers, but they know intuitively that it's wrong. It's the old incest taboo. When a man who is not the father moves into the home—or is sleeping with Mother—the child is still attracted. The girl will experience the same guilt, the same desire, but now she is confused because there is no natural barrier to that desire."
Gail's mouth opened. A small laugh came out. "You're implying that Karen is sexually attracted to my fiancé?"
Fischman scratched his cheek, then grasped some of his beard and tugged on it. His small lips were rosy and moist. "No. You asked me if the topic is relevant, and I am attempting to explain in a way that is easy to understand. The mother's sexual relationship with a man not the father can raise fears in the child's mind. Mommy threw away Daddy for someone else, will she throw me away too? Or, conversely, Mommy is my rival, but I feel guilty about hating her. Prepubescent girls are especially vulnerable. They are acquiring their sexual identity, taking clues from their parents, particularly the custodial parent. Many women entering second marriages, who have children, fail to consider these issues!"
Gail dug her fingernails into her palms. "I was under the impression that you were asked by the court to find out if Karen preferred to live with her father or with me. And that was all."
"It isn't a simple matter," he replied "A child doesn't often express her feelings well. And sometimes ... what she thinks she wants isn't in her best interest."
Gail said, "Well, since you—and not Karen—are going to decide what she wants, then why bother to talk to her?"
"You seem upset."
"I seem upset? No, Dr. Fischman, I am upset. I am very upset." She grabbed her purse. "And that's about all we have to say to each other."
"Ms. Connor, I assure you, I was not making a personal attack on you or your choices." She stood over his chair. He smiled up at her. "This defensiveness is quite telling, you know."
Gail wanted to push his chair backward with him in it. "My daughter is not coming anywhere near you, I don't care what the judge ordered. Put that in your report."
She swung her purse over her shoulder and walked out. When she opened the door to the waiting room, and then swung it back, the doorknob accidentally slipped out of her grasp. The reverberation shook the frosted glass at the receptionist's window.
Dave and Karen sat on the sofa. Dave stood up. "Gail?"
"Find some other psychologist. I'm taking her out of here. Come on, sweetie." Gail held out her hand.
Karen's mouth hung open. She got up from the sofa.
"Karen, sit down." Dave grabbed Gail's arm. "What's the matter with you?"
"No. What's the matter with you? This is insane." Gail took his hand off her arm. "Come here, baby, we have to go."
"Karen, let me talk to your mom outside—"
She yelled at him, "Leave her alone! Go file another of your fucking motions. Call your lawyer."
Dave backed away. Fischman had opened the door and stood framed in the opening. "I'm sorry about this," Dave said.
Gail grabbed Karen's hand and pulled her out of Fischman's waiting room.
In the corridor someone was just getting into the elevator, and Gail ran toward it, dragging Karen along. She stuck her foot across the tracks. The door bucked, then came back open, and they went inside just as Gail heard Dave calling her name.
In the elevator she put on her sunglasses. The people already inside were trying not to stare.
Karen leaned against her and whispered, "Mom?"
"It's okay." Gail put her arm around Karen. "We'll go home, all right?"
Gail didn't let go of her hand as they hurried across the street and into the tree-shaded lot where she had parked the rental car. They had almost reached it when she saw a man in khaki pants and a denim shirt running from the building. Dave.
He looked up and down the street, then spotted them. "Gail! Wait!"
"Get in, Karen." Gail unlocked the passenger side.
Dave sprinted toward them. "What happened in there with Fischman? What's going on?" He followed Gail around the car and straight-armed the driver's-side door to keep her from opening it. "Talk to me, dammit."
She stared at him through the dark glasses, then went back around to speak to Karen. "Sweetie? Your daddy wants to talk to me for a minute. Can you wait here? It's shady, so you won't get hot. I'll be right over there, under that tree."
She walked a few yards away, gravel crunching under her shoes, then turned so that Karen couldn't see her face. Her voice was low. "David, I have let this go too far. I didn't want Karen to be hurt. I didn't want to warp her feelings about you. But this is too much, taking her to that man. Fischman implied that she hates me and desires you, and that if Anthony moves in, she'll want him too. Fischman hasn't even spoken to her, and he assumes this. What is he going to say to her? What is she going to think when he gets through with her?"
Dave only stared. He bunked, then looked up at the building they had just left.
Gail fumbled in her shoulder bag for a tissue. "That perverted little bastard. It's his decision. Not yours or mine, not Karen's. What are we doing? All right, fine. Just tell me what you want. You want her two afternoons a week? Three? Is that why you had your lawyer threaten to take me back to court because my car got trashed? As if I had something to do with it!"
"Gail, you're not making sense. Calm down, will you?"
"I don't want her going through this anymore," Gail said. "If she wants to live with you, I don't care. I do care, but if that's what she wants—I'd rather have her with you than miserable. To be torn apart."
Dave's hand was around her elbow. He was looking past Gail, his eyes fixed on her car and the girl sitting inside it. He said, "Karen didn't want to be here, but she came because I said to, and because she's a good kid. I don't want her to be miserable. I want—I want to be a good father. That's all. Just to be ... in her life."
"Dave, I never tried to keep her away from you."
Fury rose in his face, shown in the tight set of his square jaw. "Yes, you did. You were so pissed off about me leaving and not calling her enough. Okay, I didn't. I know that. I couldn't sometimes. And then . . . things didn't go like I wanted. The cruise business slacked off. You said before I left that it would be a disaster. Remember that? 'Dave, you're dreaming. It's going to be a disaster.' So maybe ... I was ashamed."
His eyes had reddened. "I wanted it to be good when I called her. But I thought about her, Gail. I did. Every day. She was in my heart all the time. I had to come back. I wanted to start over, to do it right. To be the kind of man—the kind of father—I should have been all along. You know what you said to me? 'So you're back. Well, you've lost your daughter.' "
Gail shook her head. "I don't remember."
"You said it."
"Did I? If I said that, I'm sorry. Yes, I was angry. I used to make up stories about where you were, and why you didn't call, so she wouldn't be disappointed."
"Oh, God, honey, I've been trying to make up for that. Trying like hell. All the mistakes. All the things I did wrong, going way back. Mistakes with you. We were so young when we married. I was twenty-three. I thought—Jesus. I thought I'd never lived. I was so wrong."
He put his hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't pull away, he left it there. He squeezed gently. "You're a great mother. We'll work this out, Gail."
Tears we
re running from under Gail's glasses. She wiped them away with trembling fingers.
Dave pulled her awkwardly against his chest. "I've missed you. When I left Miami, it was you I left. Because I was so screwed up and hurt."
She was so tense her body was aching. Her sunglasses pressed against his collarbone and tilted off her nose.
He held her clumsily at first, then more closely. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Sorry for throwing away what we had. You and me and Karen." His voice was tight and ragged. A sob tore out of his throat. "I threw it all away, Gail. How stupid ... thinking I'd be happier. But I never stopped . . . loving you. Not one day."
When he kissed her, she let him do it, too shocked at first to move, then because it would have been cruel to shove him away, when his tears were on her lips. She let it continue because it was a chaste kiss, tentative and gentle, reminding her of the first time they had kissed, when she had been eighteen years old. It was familiar and comforting. His taste was familiar, and the way he held her, and she thought of the time when this had been natural between them, before their troubles had pushed them apart.
ELEVEN
Irene made some peach-flavored iced tea, and she and Gail and Karen took the insulated glasses and pitcher outside to the gazebo. The old structure needed paint, and ferns grew from rotting floorboards, but lattice and vines created cooling shade, and a breeze from the bay softened the mid-afternoon heat. The two women sat side by side on the swing while Karen climbed onto the railing that circled the gazebo and steadied herself on a roof support. "Don't fall, sweetie."
Gail had not gone back to her office. She had come home with Karen, changed into shorts and her swimsuit top, and called her mother. Bring over that new alamanda bush, she had said. The plant would replace the one that the roofing truck had mashed flat. Irene brought her wedding plans too, pleased about having a few unexpected hours to discuss them. But they talked about Dave. While Irene made the iced tea, Gail told her about the scene at Dr. Fischman's office—and what happened afterward. Irene had started to offer an opinion, but Gail told her she didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"Before we bought this place," Gail said, "I told Anthony we'd put a poinciana tree right over there, about halfway between the house and the seawall. They're in bloom now. The streets look so pretty, all those canopies of red flowers. When's a good time to plant them?"
"Fall is best. You'll have such a lovely home." The wind ruffled Irene's bright hair.
Gail pressed the half-empty glass of tea to her cheek. The temperature was only around ninety, but the humidity was vicious. She thought that if she tightened her fist around a handful of air, drops of water would fall to the ground. Swimming pools were as warm as bathtubs, and by dusk the mosquitoes would take over.
"My air conditioner is starting to wheeze," Gail said. "If it goes out entirely, we might camp at your house."
"Oh, this is not so bad," Irene said. "People get spoiled. My family didn't have air conditioning until I was Karen's age. We lived with fans, and on really steamy nights we'd sleep on the screened porch." She swung her feet. Her white sandals showed off her toenails, painted bright orange to match her shorts. Her oversized white T-shirt was knotted at the hip, and little green parrots swung from her earlobes.
Karen was circling the gazebo on the railing, skittering from one roof support to the next. Gail told her to get down. "You're going to slip and break your neck."
"Mom, I won't fall."
"Get down!"
Irene laughed. "Don't squelch the child's natural impulses, Gail. She's going to lead an expedition to Mt. Everest someday, won't you, precious?"
Karen flew off the railing and rolled to the grass, then sped up the slight incline to the old metal swing set, where she hung by her knees from a crossbar, looking at the world upside-down.
"What a little monkey," Irene said.
"A few days ago she was wearing lipstick." Gail closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath.
"Are you all right, honey?"
"Tired. I feel so dragged out."
The wooden porch swing in the gazebo went back and forth, rattling the loose end of the chain on each pass. Irene said, "What are you going to tell Anthony?"
"What would you tell him?"
"Hmm." Irene's delicate auburn brows came together. "Well . . . not everything. Tell a man everything and you'll only start an argument. They hear what they want, and their feelings are hurt far too easily."
Gail curled her hand around the chain and leaned her head on it. "I don't even want to think about it right now."
"Well, then." Irene reached for the loose-leaf notebook she had laid next to the pitcher of tea on the small wooden table. The notebook was organized with multicolored index tabs. Irene turned to one marked FLOWERS. "I had a meeting with the florist yesterday, and he gave me some pictures of table arrangements with birds of paradise. Look how bright and pretty. You don't want the same old washed-out white orchids as everybody else, do you?"
"God no."
Irene looked at her for a moment, then said, "Well, do you like it or not?"
"They're wonderful. Gorgeous."
"All right. I'll tell him yes, then. Let's see. We have the photographer for the portraits, but for the video ... Here's a list of videographers. Gail, we really should look at some examples of their work."
"I don't have time to look at videos. You decide, okay?" Gail pushed against the floor, and the swing creaked. The repetitive motion made her eyes drift shut.
"We ought to have valet parking at the reception, don't you think? Some of the guests will stay at the hotel, but that could be expensive, so I recommend reserving a block of rooms at the Holiday Inn as well. The Biltmore can do a lovely rehearsal dinner, which would be convenient because the church is right across the street." Irene's voice became mixed with the rustling leaves and the chirp of birds. "Gail, are you listening?"
"I'm sorry, Mother. What?"
Irene laid the book on the seat. "You know, I always find that when I'm feeling low, the best remedy is yard work. Why don't we go plant the alamanda?"
"In a while." Gail looked toward Karen, who was dragging a twig through the grass for her kitten to chase. "I wish Karen hadn't seen him kiss me."
"What did she say about it?"
"Nothing. I don't know what she thinks. Karen and I used to talk about anything. Now she hides her feelings. I don't know if she approves of me or what."
"She loves you! But girls have a secret life when they get to be Karen's age. You, for instance—a sphinx! You drove me batty." Irene laughed. "Payback time."
The phone in Gail's shorts pocket rang. She groaned, then stood up to reach it.
"Don't you ever turn that thing off?"
"I told Miriam to call with anything important." Gail's new portable had caller-ID, and she had recognized her office number. She sat on the railing, one foot on the floor. "Hi, what's up?"
Miriam told her that the bad-knee case had signed the release, and now the client wanted Gail to tell her when she could expect her money.
"I'm not going to call her now. It can wait till tomorrow morning." Gail leaned against one of the roof supports. "Anything else?"
Wendell Sweet's lawyer had called. He hadn't said what he wanted, only that it was urgent that Gail get in touch with him. Gail borrowed her mother's pen to scribble his number on a blank page in the notebook. "Thanks, Miriam. See you in the morning." She got a dial tone, then punched in numbers. "Drat, drat, drat."
"What is it?" Irene asked.
"A divorce I'm doing. I think I told you. The Sweet case. Bet you a dollar he wants an extension." She was correct. When Marvin Acker finally came on the line, he told her that Wendell wanted another week to turn over the documents that Gail had requested.
"No. Absolutely not. Marvin, your client is under a judicial order to produce the documents by Friday— that is tomorrow, not next week."
Marvin Acker said that Wendell was doing the best he could, that many doc
uments had to come from Venezuela, and as a courtesy—
"Courtesy? Ask Wendell how courteous he was, beating up his wife the last time he was at the house. He should have been arrested. You tell him to get whatever documents he has to my office tomorrow, and the rest Monday morning by nine, I don't care if he has to fly down to Venezuela and pick them up, or I will be in front of the judge on Monday at ten o'clock asking that Wendell Sweet go directly to jail for contempt of court."
Acker said there was no reason for her to take that attitude.
"Don't blame me. Your client is creating the problems. Tell him what I said. Monday morning or his head is on the block." Gail disconnected and with an oath jammed the telephone back into her pocket.
Irene was staring at her. "Well."
"Well what?"
"I don't see this side of you very often. Thank goodness."
"Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde? Mild-mannered mommy by night, fire-breathing bitch by day." Gail walked over to pick up her tea from the table. "You can't be nice to people like Wendell Sweet. Eight years of clawing and shoving at Hartwell Black taught me that if you don't go for blood, they'll walk all over you."
Irene made a little grimace. "I couldn't do it."
"Oh, yes, you could, if you had a client to protect. Wendell uses his fists if he can't have his way, and he'd be happy to see Jamie and their three kids living in a trailer and shopping at secondhand stores. He's got over a million dollars hidden somewhere, and I'm going to find it. If I give him more time, he'll use it to wear Jamie down, to force her into a lousy settlement. Bastard. He's lying to save his own skin. You'd do the same thing I just did."
Irene said quietly, "I hope this doesn't carry over here at home."
"What do you mean?"
"Well . . . being so hard and uncompromising. Men are funny about that. You might ask yourself if this is one reason Dave left. Seems to me that Anthony would be even less willing to take it, given his culture and so forth."
"Anthony and I are not adversaries."
"Well, that's new in the history of the world."
"Mother!"
"All right." Irene lifted her hands. "A word to the wise, darling. You know I love you."
Suspicion of Betrayal Page 15
