In big bold letters at the top it read, Notice of Acceleration and Intent to Foreclose.
A huge ball of anxiety made her want to vomit, but she pushed into the kitchen and hurried to the telephone. She’d made every single mortgage payment and made them on time. How could her house go into foreclosure?
She dialed the number of the law firm from whom the letter had come, but she wasn’t surprised to find the place was already closed for the day.
“Shit.” She slapped the phone back onto the receiver and dropped into the nearest chair. Though her mind was racing and it was hard to concentrate, she reviewed the documents page by page.
“Motion to Lift Stay? A bankruptcy? I’m not in bankruptcy.”
But there it was as clear as day on the top of the document:
In Re: Raymond Bradley Slack and Margaret Renee Slack, Debtors
Except that the address listed for her was a PO Box she wasn’t familiar with. She swallowed, and on shaking legs, managed to stand and grab the phone again, dialing Ray’s number. As it had done all the times she’d tried to call a few months ago, it rang and rang and then went to his answering machine. Next she tried Rhonda’s number.
“Hey, whatcha doing?” her friend asked. Meg could hear the sounds of water bubbling, and she imaged she was cooking supper.
“Have you talked to Ray lately?”
“A few weeks ago. He never wants to chat anymore. Mom and Dad have been worried about him and I told him he had to come home for a visit this month. No excuses. The little pest had better do what I say.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You all right? Is something wrong?”
Meg shook her head and hoped that Rhonda couldn’t hear the sound of blood pounding through her ears. Quickly she said her goodbyes and hung up the phone.
On the last page of the bankruptcy document, she found the name of the law firm that supposedly represented her as one of the debtors. Directory assistance provided the number and after hitting multiple different extensions, she finally left a message for someone she hoped was the right connection.
The bankruptcy firm was located a few towns over, in the county seat. It would take at least forty-five minutes to get there, and there was no telling how long it would take to get into the office to see someone who could answer her questions. After popping open a beer, she called Tim’s house to leave a message.
“Hey, I’ve got some business I need to take care of tomorrow, so just take the day off. Maybe you can work double duty with me the next day. I’ll let you know, though.”
After waiting about forty minutes, Meg was finally ushered into a conference room. It took at least another ten for the door to finally open and an older gentleman in a suit entered.
“Good morning, I’m Richard Delaney. I understand you’re Margaret Slack.”
She nodded, shook his hand and then sat back down. It was hard to know where to start, but Mr. Delaney seemed willing to pick up the conversation anyway.
“I apologize for the delay. I’m honestly a little confused and wanted to go over your file with my legal assistant.”
“I’m a little confused, too. The fact that I’ve never met you and yet you have a file for me is very confusing.”
“You’re married, Miss Slack?”
“I’m divorced. I’m divorced from one Raymond Bradley Slack. Now how is it that you’ve filed a bankruptcy for us when we’ve been divorced for almost nine months now?”
“On February fourth of last year, your husband came to our office about a bankruptcy. He was behind on the mortgage on your home.” He glanced at his papers. “A house on Trinity Avenue. Financed with Community Assurance Bank.”
“Yes, that’s my house. I received it in the divorce, and I’ve never once missed a payment …” She trailed off. It was true that she hadn’t missed a payment, but she hadn’t taken over that responsibility until after she’d signed the divorce papers. Long after he’d come to visit Mr. Delaney. “When did you file this bankruptcy?”
“March first. The bank was looking to foreclose at that time, but a bankruptcy automatically stops that. The plan payments … er, that is the payments that would be made into the bankruptcy to catch up the past-due mortgage stopped about four months ago. I’ve sent numerous letters warning that the bank would move the court to lift the stay and proceed with foreclosure.”
He handed her the copies of letters, all of them addressed to Ray at his address in New York and to her at the mysterious post office box.
“This isn’t my address. Why wouldn’t you contact me at the home address? And how can you file a bankruptcy with my name without speaking with me even once? We were already divorced by this March.”
“Not this March, Mrs. Slack. Last year. You all have been in bankruptcy for about a year and a half now.” He once again glanced at his file, then emerged with a few yellow pages with notes scribbled on them. He read aloud. “‘Mr. Slack says problems with mail at residence. Use PO Box for wife. New York apartment address for him.’”
Her mind was spinning. She recalled the telephone conference she’d overheard that night after they’d gone over their arrangements for the divorce. She’s gonna pick up the mortgage next month so then all I’ll have is the other payments..
“This doesn’t explain how my name is on this case. Didn’t you once want to meet me?”
His face went pale, and his lip twitched a few times before he spoke again. “I always meet my clients, if not before, then on the date of their creditors’ meeting. On March thirtieth, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Slack came to my office, and we went downstairs to meet with the bankruptcy trustee. The trustee requires copies of identification at that time.”
She took the paper he passed across the table to her. It was a copy of two drivers’ licenses. Once was Ray’s. The other had the name Margaret Renee Slack, but the photograph was not her own.
“Oh my God…”
“That isn’t the worst of it, Mrs. Slack. When your husband first spoke to our office, he indicated you were in the middle of a divorce. After speaking with him and his divorce attorney, we all agreed to postpone the finalization of the divorce pending the end of this bankruptcy. I just made a call to his divorce attorney. You and Mr. Slack are still married.”
“There,” Martika huffed, dropping a box onto the kitchen counter. “Last one! I can’t believe we did all this in just one day. We’re like super women or something.”
“Hey!” Tim objected, raising his head up over the back of the entertainment center where he was installing Meg’s television, VCR and stereo.
“Sorry, kid,” the other woman said, winking at him as she started ripping tape away from the box. “Couldn’t have done it without you. So, these are the dishes, I think. Always get your kitchen and bedroom set up first. Your bed is done, thanks to our trusty side-kick there. Eating and sleeping are always most important.”
Meg smiled, but the action didn’t quite feel right. She glanced around her new apartment and tried to tell herself that it would feel like home soon. But that was a lie, and her heart knew it. Her home was gone now, and there was nothing she could do about it.
No crying over spilled milk, Mrs. Slack used to say. But then thoughts of the Slacks were enough to make her want to cry, too.
Tim finished with the stereo and turned on some music. It was hip-hop something or other, but anything to break up the silence was good enough to suit her. Tim, Martika and Mrs. Jenkins had been a God-send. After a hasty yard sale to pare down some of her possessions for her new smaller place, they’d helped her pack up and move. Today they were all tired, and it was getting harder for them to force small talk.
There was a little rap on the door, and Tim hurried to answer it. “Probably grandma. She said she’d bring pizza after she got off work.”
But when he opened the door, he stood there, dumbfounded a moment, then glanced back at Meg with a worried frown. “Mrs. S?”
She peeked around the corner from the kitchen and saw
Rhonda there, a potted plant in her hand.
“Can I come in?”
Meg nodded, painting on a smile and opened her arms to receive the gift. “Of course, you can come in. We can use the help. And . . .” She waggled an eyebrow. “We’re expecting pizza.”
“Hey, Rhonda.” Martika nodded, then stuck her head back into the cabinet she was organizing.
The discomfort was like a thick cloud of smoke hanging in the room. Meg had the urge to jump into a hole. Instead, she headed down the hallway and motioned for Rhonda to follow. “I think I’d like this by the back patio.”
She situated the plant on one of her nightstands, first pulling a pillow cover from one of her boxes and placing it under so that the pot wouldn’t scratch the surface. “There! Perfect. It’s a spider plant, you know. When these extensions start getting longer I’ll get a hanger and suspend it from the ceiling there.”
Staring at the plant allowed her to avoid meeting Rhonda’s gaze. Their weekly girls’ night had ended shortly after Meg had found out about Ray’s duplicity. Dumbfounded by his actions, she’d called Rhonda and asked for her help in tracking down her brother.
And her friend had gone above and beyond in that area. When Ray didn’t answer her calls, Rhonda and Ben hopped a flight and went straight to his doorstep, only to discover he’d been kicked out by his girlfriend. They finally located him in an apartment that Rhonda termed a slum. And that’s when he’d coughed up his guts.
His gambling problem had begun years before he moved to New York, and because of the mounting debts, he’d stopped paying the mortgage. Unable to face Meg with the truth, he’d filed the bankruptcy to try to mop up the mess.
But he hadn’t counted on needing Meg to be present, and so he’d created a fraudulent identification for one of his girlfriends. By then, the divorce wheels were turning, and he couldn’t finalize that either. He couldn’t shake the gambling bug, and so the hole kept getting deeper and deeper until he also couldn’t keep up with the bankruptcy.
“You have a cool view out of the patio,” Rhonda said, sweeping past her and glancing through the sliding glass doors.
“Yeah, it’s nice. I think I’ll put a few hanging boxes there on the railing with flowers. I haven’t decided what kind yet.” She still had one Strawberry Epistle plant, and she intended to make it center on the deck but wanted to pick the perfect contrasts to go with it.
“Oh, that will be really nice.”
Silence filled up the room, and Meg had the sensation of choking. She didn’t have to worry over that for long though because after a moment or so Rhonda huffed loudly and plopped down onto the unmade bed.
“I hate this. I really hate this. I want things to get back to normal, back to the way they used to be. That stupid SOB who’s my brother ruined everything, and yet he’s gone and here we are dealing with it. What a crock of…”
“Shut up, Rhonda.” Meg’s voice was soft, but the emotion behind it was vehement. She clenched her fists at her side and bit her mouth to try to keep from saying any more, but the words wouldn’t be stopped. “This didn’t happen to you. This isn’t your life. Ray cheated on me. Ray left me. Ray lied to me. He let the house that I helped pay for with my own inheritance get foreclosed on. I’m the only one in this room allowed to hate this. Not every thing that happens in the world is about you, Rhonda.”
She could hear her friend sniffling, and she knew that she was crying, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment. Later, she’d feel bad about it, but for now she was fuming. Still facing the window, she dropped her head back and tried not to cry, too.
None of this was over for Meg yet. There’d been no way for her to catch up the enormous arrearage on the mortgage on her home. Although the bankruptcy attorney had offered to file motions to reopen the bankruptcy, she eventually decided it would just be throwing good money after bad and let the bank have the house back. What savings she’d had were now gone, used to hire her own attorney to get the divorce done.
Next week she would well and truly be divorced, with a signed, sealed piece of paper in hand to prove it this time.
“I know it’s not your fault about Ray, but I’m not going to let you make this about all three of us. And I can’t help that being in the same room with you makes me remember what he did.”
After a time, the room got quiet, and she knew her friend was gone.
A little knock sounded on the door, and she turned to see Martika standing there. “Anything I can do?”
Meg inhaled slowly, then hissed the air back out through her teeth. Opening her fingers, she shook her hands out to get rid of some of the tension. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did probably. But I couldn’t help it.”
“Well I probably shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I couldn’t help it.”
Snorting a laugh, Meg shook her head.
“The things you said were honest and needed to be said. We all know Rhonda can be narcissistic. It doesn’t mean we don’t love her, but it is what it is. And this is about you. A divorce is one thing. But what really happened is different.”
“I still feel awful though.”
“Meg, she’ll survive. I promise. And I know you must feel bad about it.” Martika entered the room and put her arm around her. “You’re the one of us who always made things better, always sucked it up when any of us did anything to bother or hurt you. You’ve gotta worry about you now.”
The doorbell rang from the other room, and they both looked up when Tim cried out, “Pizza!” at the top of his lungs.
“And the good news is, dinner has arrived!”
They laughed together as the headed into the living room. As Meg grabbed a paper plate, she eyed the three boxes, with five different kinds of pizza. Twitching her mouth to the side in resignation, she loaded up with four slices, then proceeded to eat each and every one.
From his spot in the drawing room, Jeremy watched Kay prance down the stairs, the skirts of her bronze gown fluttering out around her. She made a dramatic production of spinning, then bowing with a giggle.
“So brother dearest, what do you think?”
Jeremy inclined his head to her. “Lovely as always.”
The color of the gown was close enough to orange that it immediately reminded him of Meg’s bridesmaid gown. The contrast between them was as night and day, but for all of his sister’s sophistication, he missed the warmth of Meg’s smile and the joy of her laughter.
Her letters had become sporadic over the last few weeks until they pretty much stopped entirely. Each note was shorter as she became more and more distant. He scratched at his chin in distraction, wondering what might be going on. They’d promised each other no more than friendship and it was entirely possible she’d started dating again after the divorce. He certainly couldn’t begrudge her that.
“Thinking about your pen pal again?” Kay asked, plopping down on the settee and arranging her dress around her.
He eyed his sister, doing all he could to maintain a stoic expression. He saw her raise one of her blonde brows and turned her head so that she could side-eye him.
“You can’t hide that sparkle in your eyes. It’s so unusual for you that I’d notice it a mile away.”
He stepped away from the window where he’d been enjoying his drink, walking to the open door of the drawing room and glancing up in the direction of his mother’s bedroom. There was no sign that she’d be down any time soon.
“So tell me about her. What’s she like?”
With a deep sigh, he resigned himself to his sister’s questions, glancing back at her before taking a seat beside her. “She’s different. Common.”
Kay snorted, slapping her brother with the back of her hand. “Aren’t you the romantic?”
“I mean that with the utmost admiration.”
“So what you mean is that she isn’t a wealthy aristocrat like you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a snob.”
“Jeremy …”
; He crossed one leg over his knee, tapping his thumb against his ankle as he avoided his sister’s gaze. “Well, perhaps I am somewhat of a snob.”
“Let me give you some advice, Jeremy. Admiration or not. Never, ever tell a woman she’s common. It will not go well.”
“Duly noted.” He considered Meg and imagined she would laugh at him rather than take offense. Instead of fighting the urge, he grinned big before speaking again. “But you see, I am a snob, yet she still approached me. Sat right down beside me at the wedding and chatted as if we were friends. She smiled, she laughed. She has a warmth about her that’s at once vulnerable and strong.”
“Oh, dear.”
His sister’s words were spoken in a tone of dramatic despair.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How long did you say you spent with this girl? A few days? Man, you’ve got it bad.”
“I have nothing bad.” He heard his mother and looked up to see her making her way down the stairs. Standing, he straightened his jacket and smiled at her. “Are you ready, Mother? You look lovely as always.”
After he said the words, he realized he’d just a few moments earlier given his sister the exact same compliment. She giggled at his side, then stepped in front of him, blocking his view. While she straightened his tie and vest, she leaned in close to whisper. “You damned well do have it bad, Jeremy Rawley. And I couldn’t be happier. You falling for a commoner will take the pressure off me. Mother will just love this.”
They all returned home late in the evening, and Jeremy sighed in relief when he reached the safety of his room. Thank goodness there were only a few more weeks left of his sister’s season, then they could return home to America. That thought made him think immediately of Meg. He’d hoped to call on her after they were all settled back at the estate, but with her recent detachment, he thought that might not be the best plan.
All for Family (The Rawley Family Romances Book 3) Page 10
