Ladies' Night

by Andrews, Mary Kay

  “He was mentoring her,” Paula said, her chin quivering as she said it.

  “Is that what he told you?” Grace asked. “What a crock! She’s a county employee. He’s a judge! You don’t discuss your career in an expensive restaurant at ten o’clock at night. You talk about it over a cup of coffee in the break room. Or at lunch at the meat and three downtown by the courthouse. Even you couldn’t believe a load of bullshit like that.”

  Paula sprang from her chair. “I have patients coming. You have to go, Grace.”

  Grace stayed seated. “It’s all starting to come apart now, Paula. My lawyer and I have talked to your other patients—and their lawyers. We’re going to file a complaint with the state Judicial Qualifications Committee. We can prove Stackpole’s bias against women. Wyatt’s your only male divorce-recovery patient—right? We know Stackpole had some kind of an unethical arrangement with you. And now we know about the affair with his bailiff.”

  Paula opened the door to the outer office. “You need to leave. Right now. I won’t listen to any more of this.”

  Finally, Grace got up. “I’ll leave,” she said, standing just inside the doorway. “But I won’t shut up. This isn’t going to go away.” She studied the therapist’s face, looking for some opening, some sense that Paula might switch sides.

  “I think you really do care about your patients, Paula. I don’t know how you got mixed up with a sleazeball like Stackpole, but you have to know he’s been using you. He’s betrayed his oath of office, and he’s betrayed you. Maybe you should take some of your own advice. Take an honest look at what’s happened in your life since you hooked up with Stackpole. Come up with an action plan.”

  The bell on the outer office door tinkled and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. “Hello, Rachel!” Paula called out. “I’ll be right with you.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You have to go!”

  Grace touched the therapist’s wrist. “Think about it, Paula. We need your help. We are going to file a complaint against him. There will be an investigation. Questions are going to be asked.”

  The door opened and another woman stepped inside. Paula looked frantically from Grace to the two women standing in her waiting room.

  “Almost done here,” Paula called cheerily.

  “I’m going to have my lawyer call you,” Grace said quietly. “Her name is Mitzi Stillwell. She’s a nice person. Will you at least talk to her?”

  “Go!” Paula said fiercely.

  64

  The members of the Lady Slipper Garden Circle asked endless questions about Jungle Jerry’s unusual bromeliad and orchid collection, and Wyatt patiently answered each and every one. By noon he’d marshaled the eleven women through the park and returned them to the gift shop, where they ate their box lunches and listened to the patented garden-club talk his grandfather had written forty years earlier.

  Finally, shortly after two, Joyce ushered the last garden clubber out the door and into the parking lot.

  Wyatt collapsed onto his desk chair and drained the bottle of cold water Joyce brought him. “How was I?” he asked, as she sat in the chair opposite his.

  “You were terrific,” Joyce said. “You always are. Every single one of them wanted to adopt you and take you home and feed you. A couple of the younger ones? I think they had better plans.”

  Wyatt laughed and blushed.

  “When is she leaving?” Joyce asked.

  “Who?”

  “Callie. You know I don’t normally poke my nose into your business, but I have to be honest with you, Wyatt. If she’s here for good, I’m leaving.”

  Wyatt’s jaw tightened. “She leaves today. In fact, I told her this morning she had to be gone by lunchtime.”

  “She’s still here. She took Bo over to Scout’s house and she was gone for a couple hours, but now she’s back again, and your dad is furious. He won’t stay in your place while she’s there, so he’s been out cleaning the bird cages for hours now, and I don’t think it’s good for him to be out in the heat this time of day.”

  “Thanks, Joyce. I’ll deal with it. Would you please lock up here, then go fetch Nelson and tell him the coast is about to be clear?”

  Joyce smiled. “I’ll be happy to.”

  * * *

  He found Callie in the trailer’s kitchen. She was barefoot, humming happily, and stirring something on top of the stove.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” She didn’t look up. “I’m fixing my spaghetti sauce for dinner tonight. It’s Bo’s favorite.”

  “Leave it,” Wyatt said.

  Now, she turned from the stove, still holding the spoon she’d been using on the sauce. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Wyatt. You know I don’t have any place to stay. Why are you being such a complete dick about this?”

  He pried the wooden spoon from her hand and dropped it in the sink. “We’re getting divorced, Callie. That’s what you wanted, and that’s what you’re getting. Despite your best efforts, I’ve managed to rebuild my life. Without you. I’ve tried to be nice, but nice doesn’t work with you. So now, I need you to get your stuff and put it in your vehicle and leave.”

  “And go where?” she said, already pouting.

  “I don’t care where you go from here,” he said, amazed at the fact that he really didn’t. “Go back to your sister’s, to a motel, whatever. But you’re not staying here.”

  Wyatt reached into his pocket and peeled off four hundred-dollar bills. “This is all the cash I’ve got. And it’s all you’re getting until next month, so don’t think you can come back here again for more.”

  She just stared at him. “You’re really serious.”

  He took her hand, pressed the bills into her palm, and closed her fingers over them. “Serious as a heart attack.”

  “If Bo comes home from Scout’s and I’m not here, he’ll be heartbroken. I promised him spaghetti and garlic bread tonight…”

  “Bo’s used to you breaking your promises,” Wyatt pointed out. “He’ll get over it. You can call him after you find a place to stay.”

  Callie held up the crumpled bills. “And what am I supposed to do when this is gone? Sleep on a park bench? Eat at a shelter?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “You might think about a job. But again, not my problem.”

  It took her two trips to pack her stuff into the Jeep. She banged the screen door as hard as she could both times. Finally, he heard the car’s engine sputter and stall, and roar to life again. He heard the spin of her tires on the crushed-shell driveway as she sped down the road and out of his life. For now.

  * * *

  Monday was delivery day at the Sandbox. Grace found Rochelle standing in the dining room, clipboard in hand, as the Budweiser driver unloaded cases of beer and trundled them into the kitchen.

  “I was wondering where you’d been,” she said as Grace came around the bar to fix herself a cold drink.

  “I’ve been everywhere … and nowhere,” Grace replied. “I spent the weekend at Mitzi’s condo.” She gave her mother an apologetic smile. “Guess I should have called, huh?”

  “Would have been nice,” Rochelle said. “But you’re an adult. I get that you need your privacy.” She looked up from her invoices. “If you want to talk about what’s going on with you, I’m happy to just listen.”

  “I’ll give you the condensed version. Saturday, I went over to the house and found proof that J’Aimee really did vandalize and set fire to Arthur’s house. Then I blackmailed Ben into agreeing to a financial settlement. I broke up with Wyatt. Did you see the news last night? Stackpole’s wife caught him with another other woman at a restaurant in Sarasota, and it made the news last night. And then this morning, I dropped in on Paula and tried to convince her she should help us get Stackpole thrown off the bench. It’s been a busy time, Mom.”

  “That’s quite a list of accomplishments. Did I hear you say you broke up with Wyatt?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” Grace said.

  Rochelle sighed and patted her daughter’s hand. “Oh, Gracie. Why?”

  “His wife wants him back,” Grace said. “Bo wants his parents back together.” She shrugged. “It was probably inevitable.”

  “Doesn’t Wyatt get a say in any of this?”

  “He says he and Callie are never getting back together and that he wants to make a life with me, but…”

  “But you’re ready to give him up anyway?” Rochelle shook her head. “God, Grace. I could have sworn you were born with a backbone.”

  “This is not about standing up for myself! It’s about reality, Mom. Callie will do whatever it takes to get her claws into Wyatt. She spent the night over there Friday, after she’d broken up with her boyfriend, and Wyatt wasn’t even going to tell me. In fact, she told me—after I showed up at his place to pick up Sweetie. She met me at the door dressed in his bathrobe. And she made sure I noticed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.”

  “Do you actually think Wyatt slept with her? Or that he even wanted to?”

  Grace took her time answering, slowly peeling the paper wrapper from a drinking straw. “No,” she said finally. “But the point is…”

  Rochelle waved her off. “The point is you don’t trust the man. You don’t trust his feelings for you. You don’t trust his ability to see through his ex. And you don’t trust yourself to work through any of this stuff in order to be with him,” Rochelle said. “And that’s a damned shame.”

  “I can’t have this conversation with you,” Grace said, twisting the straw wrapper into a tight spiral. “I appreciate that you like Wyatt, and you want us to be together, but I have to do what’s right for me.”

  “And if I didn’t love you so much, I would agree with you and let you alone,” Rochelle said. “But I love you too much to watch while you let happiness slip right through your fingers. You walked away from Ben when you found out he was a cheater. And I supported you on that. One hundred percent. But honey, Wyatt’s not Ben. Wyatt is good and loyal and true, and when I see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him when you think nobody is watching, I know he’s the one. I think you know it, too.”

  Grace pushed her drink away. “I don’t know anything. That’s the problem. Yeah, I think I love him. And I thought he loved me. But look what happened with Ben. I had no clue Ben was sleeping with J’Aimee, and they were literally doing it right under my nose. So how can I be sure Wyatt is the one? We only met two months ago.”

  “Just trust your feelings for him,” Rochelle said gently. “And remember, nothing in this life is ever going to be one hundred percent for certain. But you can’t just hide out, never risk getting hurt again. What kind of life would that be?”

  “A safe one,” Grace said.

  “No.” Rochelle shook her head vehemently. “Not safe. Boring. Sad. A total waste.”

  * * *

  Grace sat on the bench on Coquina Beach and hugged Sweetie to her chest. The tide was out and a lone gray heron was stalking something in the calm shallow water. It was the same bench she’d sat on with Wyatt only a few days earlier. Sweetie wriggled in her arms, lifted her chin, and licked Grace’s chin. She glanced down at the cell phone on the picnic table, for the tenth time in the past hour. Wyatt had called twice that morning and texted her half an hour ago.

  His message was short and to the point. She’s gone. I’m not taking her back. You’re what I want.

  He seemed so sure. Why couldn’t she be like that?

  Because, Grace thought. Because you’re the girl who painted her first apartment six different shades of white the first week you were living there. Because you dated Ben for two years and lived with him for another two before finally deciding to marry him.

  She’d waited and waffled after meeting Ben, and still she’d made a mistake. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe mistakes were inevitable. But maybe this time, she really had found the one. There was only one way to find out for sure.

  Grace snatched up the phone and tapped the icon beside Wyatt’s name. She wouldn’t give herself any more time to think, wouldn’t have second thoughts. This time around, she would just go with her heart.

  “Grace?” Wyatt answered on the first ring.

  “Don’t talk,” Grace said hurriedly. “Just tell me where you want to meet.”

  “Anywhere you want,” Wyatt said. “Can it wait ’til I close up the park at five? Bo is at Scout’s house. Dad can stay with him after I bring him back here. Are we all still meeting at the Sandbox tonight?”

  “Yes, and yes,” Grace said. “I’ll be at Mitzi’s condo.”

  65

  Grace paced back and forth in the small living room, stopping every five minutes to look out the window at the parking lot, to adjust the drapes, fluff a pillow, or check her makeup in the mirror. She hadn’t been this nervous about meeting a man since her first real car date at the age of fifteen. Her palms were actually sweaty.

  She’d taken pains with her makeup and had actually changed outfits three times—not that she had that many changes of clothes to begin with—before settling on a pair of blue seersucker capris and a sleeveless white blouse. God help her—she’d even painted her toenails a vivid crimson shade called Sassy Lassie.

  Sweetie lay on a throw pillow on the sofa, looking perplexed by Grace’s nervous energy.

  Grace was midway through her third circuit of the condo when her phone rang. She leapt to grab it, but paused when she saw the caller ID.

  Ashleigh Hartounian. Probably, Grace thought, she was calling to ask about that night’s get-together at the bar.

  “Hi, Ashleigh,” she said.

  “Graaaace.” Ashleigh was sobbing.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Nooooo,” Ashleigh wailed. “I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay.”

  “What is it?” Grace asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s … it’s … Boyce.”

  Now Grace remembered: today was the day Ashleigh’s ex-husband had invited her out to lunch. This was the day Ashleigh expected to win him back and return to her fairy-tale existence as the doctor’s wife. Obviously, things hadn’t gone as Ashleigh had anticipated.

  “Do you want to talk?” Grace asked, hoping she didn’t. She was standing in front of the window, craning her neck to see out to the parking lot, watching for Wyatt’s car. It was after five.

  “No! I’m so upset, I feel like my head is gonna explode.”

  “Well…” Grace started.

  “That bitch Suchita!” Ashleigh said. “I should have expected she’d pull a stunt like this. That’s all it is, a stunt, to try to trap Boyce.”

  “Suchita?” Grace was drawing a blank. A truck pulled into the complex’s parking lot, but it wasn’t Wyatt’s.

  “You know, Suchita. That little slut drug rep he’s been sleeping with. She’s the one who got me in trouble with Stackpole in the first place.”

  “Ohhh,” Grace said. “The woman whose house you painted. Now I remember. What’s she done to trap Boyce?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Grace had a sinking feeling she knew just what Suchita had done.

  “She got herself knocked up! Or so she says. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but Boyce is such a dummy he never saw it coming. Do you believe this shit?”

  “Does this mean he didn’t take you to lunch to get back with you?” Dumb question, Grace thought.

  “He says they’re getting married!” Ashleigh screeched. “As soon as our divorce is final. He only took me to lunch because he said he wanted to tell me himself, before one of the girls in the office spilled the beans. Do you believe that?”

  Ashleigh was crying again, her wails so loud that Grace had to hold the phone a couple inches from her ear.

  “That bitch!” Ashleigh said. “She’s five months pregnant. That explains why she looked so fat when I saw her leaving his office last week. And it’s a boy! Boyce is ecstatic. It was all he could talk about, the bastard. I wanted to
slug him—I was so upset.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Grace said.

  “She’s the one who’s going to be sorry,” Ashleigh said. “I’m not gonna let that bitch ruin my life.”

  “Ashleigh!” Grace said. “Get a grip. If she’s pregnant and Boyce intends to marry her, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “That’s what you think. There’s plenty I can do. And I will.”

  “Leave it alone, Ashleigh,” Grace warned. “Do not do anything you’ll regret. I know you’re upset right now, but it’s probably for the best.”

  “You don’t know a damned thing, Grace,” Ashleigh said, her voice suddenly harsh. “Just because you walked away from your marriage doesn’t mean I’m ready to walk away from mine. I should have known better than to expect you to understand what I’m going through. I have no intention of letting that little home wrecker steal my husband.”

  Grace felt a chill go down her spine.

  “Ashleigh, where are you right now?” she asked quietly. “I don’t think you should be alone. Let’s talk this through. I’ve been there, too, remember.”

  “Thanks anyway, but I’m not really in the mood for a chat right now,” Ashleigh said.

  “You’re coming to the Sandbox tonight, right?”

  “What’s the point?” Ashleigh asked. “I told you last week I wasn’t coming back to group sessions.”

  “Didn’t you see the news the other night?” Grace asked. “Stackpole’s wife caught him with another woman and raised a ruckus in a restaurant in Sarasota.”

  “Was the other woman Paula?” Ashleigh asked.

  “No, that’s what makes it all so deliciously sleazy. He was with a twenty-three-year-old woman who is one of the bailiffs in his courtroom. Highly unethical, of course.”

  “Does Paula know?” Ashleigh asked.

  “Yup,” Grace said. “I had a long talk with her this morning. I think she’s this close to helping us file a formal complaint against Stackpole with the Judicial Qualifications Committee.”

  “And why would she do that?” Ashleigh asked.