Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel

by Clarke Scott, M A

  “I think we should stop there for today. It’s a good start, though you’re both falling into your old habits. I think you know that. You’ve both shared a lot of information and feelings and we all need time to digest and consider. Sharon, you’ve been very quiet. Do you have any questions or comments before we wrap up for this morning?”

  Sharon was ill-disguising her critical thoughts of the disloyal and irresponsible Eli. “No, thank you. I think I’ve heard enough for today.” She scratched a few brief notes in her notebook and closed it with a slap.

  “Simon? Any questions?” Kate didn't look up from her notes while she spoke, though she peeked at him through her dropped lashes.

  “Hmm. Many. But, I, too, have had enough for one day,” he said, his mouth curving up mysteriously to one side, as though his secret thoughts were quite amusing, and might involve her. He abruptly turned away, “How about a post mortem over sushi, Eli?” The two of them said their good-byes and left immediately, followed shortly afterwards by D'arcy and Sharon, who stood and talked softly in the corridor for a few moments.

  Kate quietly made notes while she waited for everyone to leave. It was a good start. The first step was always to deal with emotions, and both Eli and D'arcy had been fairly expressive and open, and, she felt honest. There was a lot of hurting and mistrust, and if they could get that out in the open, the material issues might just go away. She’d talk about the agreement next time.

  She felt she’d begun to uncover D'arcy and Eli’s needs, concerns, hopes and fears. It occurred to her to question her own while she was about it. Things were going more or less as she expected with D'arcy and Eli, and altogether outside of her expectations regarding Simon. She was doing all right, wasn’t she? Instead of feeling calmer in his presence, however, she was becoming increasingly agitated, distracted and confused. She felt a strange intimacy with him, with his body. It was as though fifteen years hadn’t passed, and they were still connected somehow.

  ~*~

  “Ah, there you are.” A stiff British accent that she didn’t recognize.

  “Excuse me? Who’s calling please?” said Kate upon answering her phone the following day.

  “Helen Duchamp. I left several messages.”

  All this morning? Aah. “I’m sorry, I just got in. We haven’t met. You’re … D’arcy’s mother then?”

  “Yes, dear.” The condescension was dripping off of her voice like icicles. “Of course.”

  Oh, of course. “And what can I do for you, Mrs. Duchamp?”

  “What can you do for me?” The woman’s voice was as brittle and cold as ice crystals. “The least I would have expected is a courtesy call to discuss my objectives for these sessions that I’m paying for before they get too far along.”

  Aha. It was like that, was it? Kate slowed her breathing. “I take it D'arcy doesn’t know you’re calling.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Mrs. Duchamp’s laugh was shrill. “This is strictly confidential. Just between you and I.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Duchamp. Let me clarify for you how mediation works.” She paused, gritting her teeth. “Firstly, my clients are both D'arcy and Eli, and I will invoice them for my fees. How they are financing the payments is none of my concern. Secondly, my objective for the sessions, as it should be, is to mediate discussions between my clients, and, if possible, facilitate a reconciliation.”

  “Yes, yes. But you and I know how these things really work.”

  “Do we?” Kate knew she couldn’t be rude to this woman. Mustn’t hang up on her, but she was sorely tempted.

  “This marriage is a farce and it’s high time it ended. This man can only hurt my daughter more. He’ll ruin her life if it goes on much longer. She needs someone more suited to her own station in life, who can support her.”

  “Mrs. Duchamp, please … ”

  “My daughter is a dreamer, Miss O’Day. She seems incapable of seeing what she’s gotten into. He’s gotten what he wanted from our family, and it’s time for him to move along. I’m relying upon you to use these sessions to shine a hard light on that man. She must see him for the user that he is. Surely you understand, I have only my daughter’s best interests at heart.”

  If she called Eli that man one more time Kate was going to scream. “Mrs. Duchamp,” Kate tried again to interrupt the tirade. “I too have your daughter’s best interests in mind… ”

  “Then you do see things my way,” Mrs. Duchamp interrupted with syrupy condescension.

  “No. No I don’t. I appreciate your sharing your concerns with me. But my job… my professional and ethical obligation is to be objective and non-judgmental. That’s how mediation works. It’s up to them to decide what will make them happy. Furthermore, client confidentiality prohibits me from discussing the case with you, Mrs. Duchamp.”

  “I know what’s best for my little girl, Miss O’Day. I only consented to these irregular sessions because he was obstructing divorce proceedings, and she was getting so upset. They were making it difficult for the lawyers and costing me a fortune. This is intended to speed things up.”

  Kate had had enough. “Mrs. Duchamp. Surely you’ve noticed that your daughter is a grown woman. I trust that she can decide for herself what is best for her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She hung up, wondering if that little chat would have any fallout.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The day broke clear, warm and sunny, offering a sudden reprieve from two weeks of dull and mostly rainy weather. It worked like a tonic. Everyone Kate passed beamed beatifically in gratitude, and she was not immune to its effects. The city shone radiantly in its brittle light, the shadows all-the-sharper for their equinoctal angles. Blue and green glass curtain walls reflected rays of sunlight; creamy stone and soft grey concrete towers gleamed, scrubbed immaculate by the rain.

  She approached the nine-thirty session full of optimism. Over the intervening week, her impressions became clearer each time she reviewed her notes. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could help Eli and D'arcy reconcile. All the pieces were there. As long as Eli hadn’t broken trust by sleeping with that woman, or any other, everything would be fine. And her instinct told her that he hadn’t. No, she thought she understood him pretty well, though her goal was to get to know him even better.

  Eli wasn’t uncaring at all, simply uninitiated. All he really sought was respect, and he couldn’t yet tell the difference between the fawning attention of the fashionable, and the real McCoy. That’s why she’d gone in search of his paintings on the weekend. She knew a thing or two about art.

  The paintings she’d located at the Redmond-Lightstone Gallery had been a revelation. Far more refined than the artist appeared. The ‘dark side of the human soul’ was a phrase that came to mind. One canvas spoke to her so powerfully that it drew tears, right there in the gallery.

  It was simple to see why he had a fan club. It would be easy to fall in love with a man who could paint like that. Combined with his saturnine, sexy good looks and joie-de-vivre, he was dangerous indeed. Or maybe he was the innocent, the one at risk. His adolescent personality was at odds with the sophistication of his paintings. He could be easily misunderstood, and possibly manipulated. A complex man.

  When she arrived, she opened the blinds, and sat with her back to them, so her clients could enjoy the spectacular view, and benefit from all those uplifting rays of sunlight. This would be the last meeting in this space, she determined. She was glad when Eli was the first to arrive, and he was followed moments later by Sharon. She was back in pseudo-military form, with a belted taupe pant-suit that Kate thought made her look even more petite and drab. She sat with her hands folded on her notebook like the teacher’s pet in the front row of class, lips pressed primly together.

  Eli’s greeting was warm and he exuded energy like the sun itself. His smile was disarming, Kate thought, as she admired his smooth handsome face. He carried a motorcycle helmet, which he tossed on the table with a pair of dark sunglasses. His pe
rsonal sense of cool urban style no doubt encouraged his fan club. His agent might even have exploited this deliberately.

  Kate decided she would risk annoying Sharon and bond anyway. “I dropped into the Redmond-Lightstone Gallery this weekend, Eli,” she said. His eyes popped open. “I have to tell you that I was simply astounded by your work.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply, beaming at her compliment. “Which was your favourite?” he deadpanned, a mysterious twinkle in his dark eyes.

  Had to be a trick question. “Mmm. I’d have to say … ‘Magdalene of the East Side’. The light … and her expression. She exudes a kind of acceptance or something—a fecund receptivity.” She nodded thoughtfully, and gave him a knowing look.

  He glowed under her praise.

  “I’m sure I didn’t understand half the allegorical bits.” She shrugged. “It really got to me, though.”

  His smile broadened to a grin. She’d passed the test, apparently.

  “What is it like, then?” enquired Sharon, unwilling to be left out.

  Kate shared a look with Eli, then said, as lightly as possible, so as not to alienate, “You’d really have to see it yourself, Sharon. It’s impossible to do Eli’s work justice with a simple description. The canvasses are huge and complex. They are masterpieces, truly. It’s no wonder he’s being collected.”

  “You exaggerate, Kate,” Eli said, “but I’m flattered.”

  Simon entered the room just then. “Greetings to you all this glorious morn,” he said upon entering, encompassing them all with a broad smile. Kate caught her breath. In deference to the warmer weather, he wore a simple blue oxford cloth shirt with a preppy striped tie that had been loosened already. The look was fabulously sexy on his tall frame. Sunlight flooding in the window caught his golden hair, and the blue of his eyes glowed as brightly as his shirt. It was hard not to stare.

  Then he caught her eye and she faltered, returning quickly to her notes while her every pore strained to take in more of him.

  “We are blessed indeed by this Indian Summer.”

  Everyone murmured words of agreement. How did he manage to speak that way and yet not come across like a dork? Kate wondered, mesmerized. He was hypnotic.

  “We were just discussing Eli’s paintings, Simon,” Sharon said ingratiatingly. “Have you seen them?” Kate caught Eli’s eye and they exchanged a small smile. Sharon was plainly looking for an ally in her ignorance, but was disappointed.

  “Yes. Yes, actually,” replied Simon. “I’m quite a fan already.”

  Sharon looked peeved. Kate, however, was impressed at his confident assessment, and noted Eli’s open pleasure at the restrained compliment.

  ~*~

  D’arcy’s entrance interrupted anything further Simon might have said. D'arcy removed sunglasses to reveal dark circles punctuating red-rimmed eyes in a puffy face. Her dark hair hung limp as linguini, as did the loose dull grey turtleneck sweater she wore. She embodied the antithesis of the bright day. Kate wondered again if she was unwell. She noted an echo of her concern reflected in Eli’s face.

  “Good morning,” said D'arcy simply, and sat down next to Eli, squinting at the bright sunlight out the window, and twirling her sunglasses in her trim fingers as though tempted to don them again.

  “Shall I draw the blinds, D'arcy?” asked Kate.

  The room erupted with murmurs of protest. D'arcy answered, “No, no. It’s fine. Enjoy the sun while it lasts.”

  “Okay, then.” Kate began, and with very little preamble, walked them quickly through a recap of the last week’s discussion, summarized and highlighted to reveal underlying truths, conveniently erasing most of the more obnoxious and confrontational attacks.

  The expressions on their faces said it all. It was amazing how people crumpled or unfurled like marionette’s puppets depending upon whether they were misunderstood or validated. Confident in her initial assessment that D'arcy and Eli really did want to reconcile, she decided to pull another of her signature exercises out and give it a try. This one always had interesting results, and would add color to her presentation as well.

  “Today, we’re going to take a slightly unconventional tack. Instead of rehashing the things that have gone awry this year, we’re going to focus on memories and dreams. First I want you each to talk about the past, how you met and got to know each other … and then the future, what you each would like, in an ideal world, to see your lives look like in, say, five or ten years.” Kate paused and looked at Eli and D'arcy in turn.

  She stole a glance at Sharon, who was remarkably quiet, her head bent. She focused all her attention on paring her pencil, and shaking the shavings into a small plastic box brought, evidently, for that purpose. Kate’s quirky methods were like a bitter pill to her, judging by the pinched and sour expression on her round face.

  Eli reminisced about meeting D'arcy and the dreams they once shared. Kate glanced in Simon’s direction, noted him gazing thoughtfully at her, and as quickly away, before she could catch his eye. Listening to D'arcy and Eli recount the early days of their romance, her mind involuntarily probed back to when she’d met Simon. Although they were young and socially awkward at nineteen, there was that same instant connection at the dorm beer night. Something that drew them together, making the rest of the crowd fade away. Something that felt inevitable. For her, it wasn’t only his leonine beauty, gangly as he was, but something compelling in his blue eyes. A deep intelligence and seriousness, like he could really see her. With effort, she forced her attention back to her clients.

  “ … sometimes you just connect with someone, and it’s mystical. Time stands still, like you’ve known each other forever … ” Eli stole a glance at D'arcy and paused a moment, then glanced away again. “We couldn’t imagine not being together.” Eli stopped and glanced around, dazed.

  Yes! Kate had felt the same way once. She thought Simon had, too. But it hadn’t worked out that way at all. She pulled her lips between her teeth and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, keeping her eyes averted from Simon’s, lest he catch a glimpse of the pain and regret that still haunted her.

  “Thank you, Eli,” said Kate. She looked at D'arcy. “Would you like to have a turn?”

  D’arcee’s eyes were wide and glassy, and her throat tightened and released, but she gained control of herself, and spoke of their meeting in a quiet, meek, faraway voice, as though she’d been transported back in time, too. After a while, she paused and clearly wasn’t going to speak again.

  Kate watched as Eli and D’arcy’s gaze met, recognition sparking.

  Time for a break. Kate suggested everyone go outside for some sunshine, and meet back in half an hour. Sharon excused herself to make phone calls in her office. Eli and D'arcy drifted out together, and Kate noticed Eli gently tug her hand and smile shyly in invitation as they moved toward the reception area.

  Simon and Kate were left alone. He stood up and stretched, turning to the window. She sat quietly making notes in her book, head bent, but he didn’t leave.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  With a mumbled, “Excuse me,” Kate escaped to the ladies room with barely a glance in Simon’s direction. She had to put some space between them and get control of her thoughts. She locked herself in a toilet stall and sat down, trying to calm herself, head in hands. The morning had gone incredibly well, but as time passed, she was unable to rid herself of flashes of memory—things she hadn’t thought of for many, many years—about the night she met Simon.

  She could remember her response when he first banged on the door of her dorm room at three in the morning after they’d spent the night dancing and talking over warm beer, and said another awkward goodnight on the sidewalk. Horror. “Kat-eee. C’n I come in? I wanna talk s’more.” His tousled hair. His glassy, inebriated eyes and pouting, sexy lips. She refused to be harassed by some drunk, no matter how cute he was. But he was a gentleman, and he’d won her over. By that time, the other girls had figured out there was something going on, and she c
ould hear a chorus of hushed giggles from down the hall. To them it undoubtedly seemed very romantic, though perhaps a trifle sleazy, too. But they were only nineteen. What did they know?

  She’d been in a funk for weeks after her Ben’s Dear John letter arrived. There was nothing negotiable about Ben’s letter. She was only his high school sweetheart and now it was over. He had moved on. To her dismay, he obviously didn’t feel the way she had. She had thought this was it. Ben, apparently, had not. At that point in her life, she’d been too frail emotionally to deal with the loss. He’d been her familiar anchor in a disintegrating world after the attack.

  In any case, Alexa and the other girls had barely managed to urge her out into the social milieu again, and now there was this gorgeous new guy literally throwing himself at her door, begging to be admitted to her heart. Talk about a rebound romance. She wasn’t certain what to make of that. Initially she’d let him in because he was so pitifully cute, and seemed harmless. He knocked, he begged and pleaded, he whimpered, and she gave in.

  “Pleash. Kate.” His voice was slurred. Why did boys have to drink themselves into a stupor? “I jush wanna talk w’you.” When she first met Simon, that’s exactly what they did. In public, in daylight, he was shy to the point of being awkward. But she knew there was more to him because of the way the other guys admired him and flocked around him. He radiated intelligence and charm, and there was that something special in his eyes. He tried to stiffen his spine with a few drinks, and invariably showed up at odd hours of the night in quite a state. And made her laugh.

  She knew she shouldn’t have liked it, but she also knew it was only that he was so shy. He was deep, gentle and funny without his inhibitions. He’d flop down on her bunk, and she’d make him a cup of tea to sober him up. They would stare at each other for a while and then they would talk and talk, probing, questioning each other’s ideas and dreams, until finally, exhausted, he’d pass out on her bed, his damp golden locks spread across her pillow, his lax, smooth face as innocent as a baby’s. If her roommate hadn’t been out of town on weekends, she’d have spent those hours in a chair. Well, undoubtedly she wouldn’t have let him in at all. But she’d lie down on Sheryl’s bunk, and doze until he stirred and fumbled out early in the morning, embarrassed and apologetic, and no doubt nursing a wicked hangover. She thought he was adorable.