by Dianne Dixon
“Well then, my dear, we’ll get directly to the matter at hand.” Mr. Dupuis’s smile was bland.
Morgan felt like she’d just swallowed a swarm of bees.
At her last job, at the museum in Rhode Island, a bland smile and the words “the matter at hand” had been followed by the news that she was being fired. The biggest reason her boss Veronica wanted to get rid of her was personal, the incident with the copier salesman. But there were other issues, too. Morgan had spent a lot of time distracted. She’d been so busy feeling insecure and keeping tabs on Ali’s life that her job performance could have been best described as middle of the road.
Morgan was braced for disaster as she waited to hear Mr. Dupuis’s version of “the matter at hand.”
When he announced, “We’re here to discuss your promotion,” she was shocked.
“I know this is arriving a bit soon,” Mr. Dupuis said. “However, your creativity and dedication are remarkable. You’re someone we want to retain. At all costs.”
Retain? Where does he think I’m going? Morgan wondered.
Mr. Dupuis smoothed his flawlessly smooth tie, smiled warmly, and told her, “The museum world is a small one. It’s come to my attention that another quite prestigious institution here in Southern California is considering stealing you away from us. I’m hoping to prevent that…with this.” He slid a thick, white envelope across his desktop. “Here is the information on your new job description and the proposed increase in salary.”
Morgan didn’t know what to say.
“No need to rush. Review the proposal. Take your time making a decision.” Mr. Dupuis came around the desk and walked Morgan to the door. “What’s important is that you know how extraordinary you are, how much we value your passion and focus.”
Passion and focus—the phrase seemed unbelievable.
Mr. Dupuis had described her as someone with passion and focus. She was being offered a promotion. People in prestigious places wanted her to come work for them because they thought she was extraordinary. How had this happened?
The answer came to Morgan in an echo—the sound of Sam’s voice saying, “…the process of becoming. Just think of the power of it…being able to continually reach toward the light. The possibilities are infinite.”
Morgan realized that she had become a new person. She was working hard, paying attention, spending more time loving than demanding to be loved. She was smarter, more courageous, more alive. And she was incredibly excited by that.
• • •
Morgan’s excitement about her conversation with Mr. Dupuis and about the new person she’d become were still with her at the end of the day. As she crossed the museum parking lot. With the envelope containing her new job offer in one hand, and her purse in the other.
Just as she was getting into her car, her phone rang. It was Logan. She could hear traffic noise in the background. He had the top down on his Porsche. The call was being put through the car’s sound system. “I’m on the road, driving down from the corporate office in Santa Barbara,” he said. “I’ll be at the boat in an hour. Want to see me?”
Morgan didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes. I definitely want to see you.” She smiled. “There’s something I can’t wait to tell you.”
“What?”
“Not on the phone. It’s too important. I need to be looking at you.”
What she wanted to say to Logan had Morgan shooting out of the museum parking lot and flying toward the marina.
• • •
Morgan’s visit to Logan’s boat didn’t take long.
When she got there, Logan was sprawled on the black silk sheets, naked. An open champagne bottle on the shelf beside the bed. His clothes scattered across the floor—a faint trace of lipstick on his shirt collar, and his underwear lying in front of the drawers built into the cabin wall.
An image flashed through Morgan’s mind, something she’d forgotten about—the zebra-striped panties tucked into one of those drawers.
“Hey, get your clothes off.” Logan scratched his belly absentmindedly. “We gotta do this fast. I’m expected home for dinner and you know what a ballbuster Jessica can be.”
He took a pull from the champagne bottle. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have let Jess know I was driving from Santa Barbara. It works better when she thinks I’ve taken a plane…then there’s always, ‘Hey, there was a mix-up with the flight.’” His grin was smug. “Very easy to open up an evening that way.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Morgan said. “How many times can you keep using the same excuse?”
“I don’t know. But so far, so good.” He tossed a pillow toward the end of the bed and put his feet up. “Now take your damn clothes off.”
Morgan nailed him with a cool, confident smile. “Remember me saying there was something I needed to tell you face-to-face? Well, here it is. I’m finished chasing things that aren’t worthy of me. There’s no way I would ever again come anywhere near a pig like you. Ever.”
Logan lunged at her, grabbing her arm, knocking her purse out of her hand. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Morgan jerked free of him, grabbed her purse—and looked around the cabin. At his wedding ring. And the rumpled sheets. And his clothes on the floor. And the lipstick on his shirt collar. Then she looked at him.
“This is…” She couldn’t think how to express what she was feeling.
“It’s what?” Logan’s tone was warning her to be careful.
The word that came to Morgan’s mind was one her grandmother MaryJoy always used when disgust flashed in her violet eyes. “This is seedy,” Morgan said.
“You might want to think that over and take it back while you can.” Logan’s delivery was vicious. “I don’t give second chances.”
Morgan shrugged.
And when she walked away, she was walking tall. Thinking about Mr. Dupuis calling her capable and extraordinary. Remembering the weight of that fat, white envelope he’d handed her, and the delicious promises it contained. And deciding that sweet, caring Ben Tennoff was somebody she definitely wanted to spend more time with.
• • •
The drive to South Pasadena went swiftly, took about forty-five minutes. It wasn’t until she was in the supermarket down the street from her duplex that Morgan felt the jolt. She was in the checkout line, buying dinner for herself and more dog food for Ralph—and she discovered that the white envelope containing her new museum contract wasn’t in her purse.
The minute her groceries were bagged and she got them to her car, she called Logan. He answered on the second ring. “When I was on your boat, I think something fell out of my purse,” Morgan told him. “I need you to look around the floor and—”
“Are you fucking nuts?” He sounded angry enough to kill her. “This thing’s on speaker, and I just pulled into my garage.” Morgan could hear him switching from the hands-free system. Now he had the phone so close to his mouth Morgan could almost feel the heat of his breath. “Back off. This is my goddamned home. Where my fucking wife is!”
Morgan was annoyed, sick of him. “You mean Jessica the ballbuster?”
“What do you want? I told you, you don’t get a second chance.”
“That’s not why I’m calling. There’s something of mine that’s important… It’s on your boat, and I need you to do me a favor.”
Logan’s laugh was fast and harsh. “Do you a favor? What alternate universe are you from? Wake up, buttercup.”
Then there was nothing but dead air. The call had ended.
Morgan took the phone away from her ear and dropped it into the car’s cup holder. That’s when she saw the white envelope—on the floor mat in front of the passenger seat. It must have fallen out of her purse without her noticing.
For some reason, when Morgan reached for the envelope, the zebra-striped panties tucked
away on Logan’s boat flashed through her mind—and she thought about Logan saying Wake up, buttercup.
The memory of the panties was disgusting. But what Morgan didn’t understand was why buttercup was sending a cold shiver through her.
Ali
Ali was in the family room, cozy, wearing persimmon-colored pajamas and a pair of Matt’s white tennis socks. She was on the phone with Jessica, thinking how tired Jessica seemed, how raw her throat sounded.
“After we have fights like this, I just hate him,” Jessica said. “Logan can be such a bastard. He waltzes in here two hours late, with lipstick on his shirt, and when I get upset, he tells me I’m paranoid. I’m a ballbuster.”
“Where did he say the lipstick came from?” Ali asked.
“He was up at the corporate office in Santa Barbara. He’s always at one of those fucking outposts. Last week he was at the La Jolla office. The week before, it was the one in fucking Sacramento.”
“Jess. What did he say about the lipstick on his shirt?”
“He said he must’ve hugged one of his coworkers when he was leaving.” Jessica’s sigh was weary. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.”
“And being two hours late…what did he say about that?”
“The old standby. Traffic.” Jessica gave a sarcastic grunt. “It’s shit like this…it makes me so ready to fucking divorce him.”
“Are you serious? You’re thinking about leaving?”
“Yeah, I think about it. Then I think about the boys. They adore their dad. And I think about the fact that I don’t have money anymore, and Logan is what’s keeping this show on the road right now.” Jessica paused. There was the sound of ice being dropped into a glass and the splashing noise of a drink being poured, probably tequila.
“Shit, Ali. I still haven’t told him about Daddy and the Ponzi scheme and all the money being gone. Shit. Shit. Shit. If Logan’s cheating on me now, what will it be like when he knows he’s not married to a big, fat trust fund anymore?” There was another pause and the sound of another shot being poured. “Oh, fuck it. The truth is, I don’t even know for sure that he is cheating. Maybe I’m making a big deal over nothing. Maybe he’s just a guy who doesn’t like a lot of rules, y’know?”
“Jess, you need to talk to him.”
“I know. You’re right. But if I rock the boat…what about the kids? Before you know it, my boys’ll be in school and have friends. They won’t have the right ones…school or friends…without good clothes and an address that means something.”
“Jess. You need to talk to Logan. Right away. You have to know what’s going on.”
Jessica’s tone was flippant, irritated. “I need to talk to him, but I won’t be able to. The fucker’s leaving on a ski trip in the morning.”
“Can’t you ask him to postpone?”
“Not a chance. Remember the Perfect Ten trip to Deer Valley? The one I wanted you to come with me on, and you never did? Well, this year, it’s the husbands jumping in the private jet and heading for the slopes. There’s no way Logan’s going to give that up to stay home and haggle about our stupid marriage.” Jessica laughed her tough-girl laugh. “I know I wouldn’t.”
“That is so you.” Ali chuckled.
“Y’know what? Let me sleep on this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Jess. Take care. Talk to you tomorrow.”
As the call ended, Ali glanced at the clock—almost midnight. By this time tomorrow, Matt will be home. I’ll have shown him the suitcase, my attacker’s clothes…and I’ll already have asked Matt why he put them there.
Ali shuddered.
What could Matt’s answer possibly be?
• • •
Sofie was asleep when Ali went upstairs to check on her, the room lit by the soft glow of a night-light.
Ali’s mother was dozing in a rocking chair with a piece of half-finished knitting in her lap.
“Mom, I thought you went to bed hours ago,” Ali whispered. “What are you doing in here in the dark?”
“It’ll be a while before I see Sofie again. I wanted to spend a little more time with her.”
“You’ll see her in the morning, won’t you?”
“I don’t think so. The airport shuttle bus is coming at five.”
Sofie stirred under her blankets. A stuffed elephant slipped off her bed. Ali picked it up, then said, “Mom, you know you don’t have to do this.”
“Honey, our deal was that I’d come and help you with Sofie while Matt was in Australia. Now he’s on his way home.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you need to go running back to Rhode Island right this minute. You can stay as long as you want.”
“Ali, it’s February. I have a house and friends I haven’t seen since last fall. And besides, I miss your father.”
Ali did a startled double take. There was something in how her mother had said “I miss your father” that seemed to suggest he was being missed in a very intimate way.
Even in the dim glow of the night-light, Ali could see her mother was flustered.
“Your father and I get together once a week.” Her mother carefully folded her knitting. “I make him dinner. Those chicken pot pies he likes.” Her expression was bashful. “It’s a nice time. For both of us.”
Ali stared at her mother, speechless. What she’d just heard was insane. “A nice time? After what Dad did to you? After he ran off and left you and me and Morgan for Petra, that prune-faced moron?”
“It’s not that simple. Your father knew he’d made a mistake the minute he married Petra, and he told me so. He begged me to let him come home. But I said no.” Her mother shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t let him come back because I wanted to hurt him. Wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me.” There was the sound of loss in her mother’s voice as she told Ali, “Your father is the only man I ever loved. That has never changed.”
“So you just let him get away with what he did? Let him come over once a week for a pot pie and a hug?” Ali couldn’t believe what her mother was saying.
Her mother’s sigh had tenderness, and regret. “Your father made a mistake, and he owned up to it. It isn’t his fault that I wouldn’t let him make it right, couldn’t forgive him.”
“There are some things that can never be forgiven.” Ali was picturing that night in the apartment when she’d been torn apart. And she was remembering being a little girl in Sunday school, listening to the story of the prodigal son.
“You have the strangest look on your face, honey. What are you thinking about?”
“The prodigal son,” Ali said. “His brother was completely innocent, a good guy who did everything right, while the prodigal son was a horrible sinner. A runaway. A selfish, whoring jerk. Then when he decides for whatever reason to roll back into town, his father gives him a feast and a do-over. Just forgives him. How is that right? Why didn’t he deserve to be punished?”
Her mother thought for a moment. “Maybe he’d already been punished. Who knows what he went through, what terrible dues he had to pay, before he smartened up and came home? Maybe he had his punishment long before he had his feast.”
“And what punishment did Dad get that entitles him to his pot pies?” Ali’s question was sarcastic and cold.
“Your father’s punishment is ongoing. He’s married to Petra.”
Her mother gave Ali a knowing look. “I don’t think all this frustration is just about your father. There’s something wrong between you and Matt, isn’t there? What has he done that you can’t quite forgive him for?”
Ali’s knees were suddenly weak. She sat on the floor beside her mother’s chair, her face in her hands. “Mom, it’s something awful.”
Her mother put her hand on Ali’s bowed head. “Talk to me, honey.”
Ali was struggling to deal with the mind-bending imp
lications of finding her attacker’s clothes hidden in the attic, and Matt being the only person who could have put them there. “Mom, the man who…who raped me…he…” Ali couldn’t finish the sentence.
“What are you trying to say, honey?”
“He got into the apartment through a door that had a broken lock. A lock Matt never fixed.” Ali knew she’d swerved away from the truth—talking about the lock instead of the clothes in the attic. There was something so ghastly about their existence she couldn’t bear to tell her mother about them. All she could manage to admit was “I feel like Matt had something to do with my rape.”
Her mother’s voice was full of compassion. “I can see how you feel that Matt let you down…but, honey, all it would’ve taken to fix that door was a call to a locksmith. You could’ve picked up the phone and fixed it yourself.” She waited a moment. Then added, “People who do pure evil, they probably shouldn’t get a second chance. But when somebody who loves us makes a mistake, the way we all do…even if it’s a big mistake…don’t you think we should forgive them, like we’d want them to forgive us?”
Ali didn’t answer. She didn’t know how.
Morgan
Morgan had been dreaming a dream where there was nothing but darkness, and the only sound was an eerie whisper: “Buttercup.”
Like a bolt out of the blue, she was wide awake. Sitting up in bed, in her duplex, in South Pasadena. “Oh God, I think I know what buttercup means.”
Ralph jumped onto the bed, burrowing close, doing his best to comfort Morgan. She was trembling—horrified by what she’d just figured out.
If I’m right about buttercup, it’s hideous. And the proof is in Ali’s house. Oh my God. I have back-to-back meetings that will keep me trapped at the museum all day. The earliest I could get away would be six, six thirty.
It would be at least twelve hours before Morgan could be sure about buttercup.
Realizing the awfulness that could happen in that time was scaring the life out of her.
