by Brenda Novak
“A bigamy charge is not much to stand on, unless…could your husband also be engaged in some kind of fraud?”
“Fraud?” Celeste repeated.
“Like marrying multiple spouses to steal their money?” Reenie asked.
“That would definitely be one form of fraud, yes.”
“I don’t think so. If he got any money from Liz, he certainly didn’t share it with me.”
“So…has he broken any other laws that might put him more at risk?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Is he a good father?”
“Yes.”
“Then, unless we find out something new, most likely it won’t be worth the state’s time to prosecute him. Do you want to hire a private investigator to see if there might be something you don’t already know about?”
“No. I can’t imagine there’s more.”
“Well…” He pursed his lips as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “I guess we can forget about prosecution, then.”
No one cared that bigamy was a crime? What Keith had done was fine because he’d never stolen anyone’s money?
“Great,” Reenie said. “Any more good news?”
“Maybe.” Rosenbaum gave her a sly smile. “A man with a guilty bigamy secret wouldn’t necessarily know what I’ve just told you.”
“I see.”
“You weren’t hoping to send him to prison, were you?” he asked.
Reenie rubbed her eyes, which were burning from lack of sleep. She’d spent much of the past several nights sitting at the kitchen table making budgets and projections and plans for her life without Keith and, more than anything else, stewing over her decision to end her marriage. “No, that wouldn’t help anyone. I only want custody of the girls.”
“Do you plan to allow Mr. O’Connell visitation?”
“Of course!” Celeste cut in. “He can see the girls any time he wants.”
“Mo-ther,” Reenie said.
“I’m sorry, honey. I want to be supportive. I really do. It’s just…I’m not sure you’ll be any happier with a divorce.”
Mr. Rosenbaum arched a thick eyebrow at Celeste. It was easy to tell he thought she was crazy for supporting a bigamist son-in-law. But he seemed to think twice about stating that opinion. “Would you like to ruminate on it for a few weeks and then give me a call?” he asked Reenie.
Reenie imagined taking Keith back. Of course she wanted what they’d had before. But that was gone.
“No, I want to file immediately, while he’s still repentant,” she said. “I’ll have a much greater chance of his not contesting anything.”
Celeste muttered something Reenie couldn’t make out and began wringing her hands, but Reenie kept her spine straight and her focus on Mr. Rosenbaum.
“You’re certain?” he said.
“Positive.”
“Very good.” He stood to shake hands. “I’ll draw up the papers and get back to you.”
* * *
EVERY FEW SECONDS, Keith’s eyes darted toward the window. Since Reenie would no longer accept his phone calls or let him come to the house, except to visit the girls while she retreated to her bedroom, he hoped to bump into her somewhere else. Dundee was small enough to make a chance meeting more than a remote possibility. Especially because her sister-in-law owned the photography studio three doors down, and her parents lived only blocks away.
She’d walk by at some point, he told himself, and when she did, maybe she’d see him working at the hardware store and know he was serious about making the changes he’d promised her. Once she realized he was keeping his word, that he was really leaving Liz without looking back, maybe she’d soften and let him come by for dinner once in a while. In a few weeks, she might even let him move in. Eventually, once they were together again and everything was back to normal, he felt certain he could convince her to let him spend a little time with Mica and Christopher. They were innocent in all of this, after all—
“You ever cut those keys for Dot Fisher, Keith?”
Keith stepped aside as Ollie Weston, the owner of the store, slipped behind the cash register and opened the drawer so he could check the levels of their change. Ollie had to be nearing seventy. A taciturn man with a wiry build, a ruddy face and large callused hands, he was beginning to show his age. But he could still explain how to build or fix just about anything. Keith liked him. He’d worked for Ollie before. When he was only sixteen, he’d spent the summer sweeping and straightening the hardware store—which made it pretty fitting to be working here again, since he was starting over.
“Not yet,” Keith said. “Peter Granger was ready to check out, so I helped him first.”
“What’d Peter want?”
“More lumber for the shed he’s building in his backyard.”
“He’s not done with that yet?”
“Guess not.”
“Humph. Well, see what you can do about those keys. Dot’s coming by to pick them up as soon as she’s done at the beauty parlor.”
“You mean the salon?” Keith asked, trying not to smile at Ollie’s dated speech.
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”
Keith chuckled while ambling to the far corner to use the key machine. In a way, he was glad to be relieved of the pressure, the traveling and the stress of his former job. He knew he wouldn’t be satisfied selling tools and insulation forever. But right now, his obsession with getting Reenie and his girls back put anything that required much concentration well beyond his reach. He’d resolve things with Reenie first, then do what he could for Liz and his other kids. Finally, he’d worry about his career.
A flash of movement outside caused him to glance up again. A woman passed by, but he couldn’t see her face.
He stopped the noisy key cutter and leaned around a display of car fresheners to get a better look. But as it turned out he didn’t need to make the extra effort. A second later, the bell jingled over the door and the woman walked in.
It wasn’t Reenie; it was his mother.
“Afternoon, Georgia,” Ollie said.
“Afternoon, Ollie,” she responded. “Keith here?”
Ollie motioned with his head. “Over there.”
Keith started making keys again, pretending he hadn’t seen her so she’d have to come to the back to get his attention. The whole town knew he was no longer living with Reenie. There was no way to keep something like that quiet, not when he’d moved in with his parents and was now working for Ollie. But he didn’t want Ollie or anyone else to hear what his mother had to say. She was so upset that there was no telling what she might spout off.
“Keith?”
When she touched his arm, he turned off the power switch. The grating of metal on metal instantly fell to a silence broken only by his voice. “Hey, Mom.”
“I think Reenie’s filing for divorce,” she stated bluntly, dabbing at her eyes, which were already red and swollen.
Keith’s words seemed to jam at the back of his throat. “Wh-what makes you think that?” he finally managed to say.
“I just ran into Betsy Mann at the grocery store. She said Celeste wasn’t able to make it to bridge club today.”
“So?” he said, but his mother’s tears made his heart pound against his chest.
“She couldn’t make it because she was going to Boise with Reenie.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“I didn’t think so, either, until I tried calling her an hour ago. She was home but wouldn’t come to the phone. Garth said she was too tired, that she was lying down.”
He was beginning to break into a cold sweat. “Maybe she is tired.”
“Too tired to talk to me? I’ve never met with that response in the twenty years I’ve known her.”
He glanced helplessly around the hardware store. He’d done everything the past two weeks to try to win Reenie back.
“Poor little Isabella,” his mother said, sniffling. “And Angela, and Jennifer. How could you let
that job come between you and your family?”
She looked as though she wanted to smack him. He knew she probably would, if she ever learned the rest of the story.
“I tried to warn you that you were away too much,” she went on. “But you wouldn’t listen. You took Reenie for granted, and now you’ve lost her.”
As she started to cry again, Keith thought briefly of Liz. If he couldn’t save his first marriage, maybe he should try to save his second. Liz was a good woman. He missed her. But as much as he cared about her and Mica and Chris, as much as he loved them and had enjoyed spending part of each month in L.A., he couldn’t imagine leaving Dundee. Just as he knew he couldn’t give up on Reenie. She was absolutely vital to his happiness.
He’d known it all along. He just hadn’t been able to break out of the mess he’d created. Not when he loved Liz and Mica and Christopher, too. “I screwed up,” he admitted.
He must have sounded terribly crestfallen because his mother reacted with some pity. “Oh, honey,” she said, putting her hand over his. “Pray it’s not too late. You asked me to stay out of it, but—” another sniff “—maybe it’s time I got involved.”
He could easily guess how much Reenie would appreciate that. But she’d always been close to his family. Maybe a little pressure from the O’Connells would tip the scales in his favor. It wasn’t as if he had to worry that she’d reveal the truth. For the sake of the girls, she’d guard his secret with her life. “Okay,” he said. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her.”
His mother nodded. “I will. And I’ll remind her of the children and what’s best for them. She adores those girls. Surely, she’ll listen to reason.”
“She has to,” he said. He couldn’t imagine anything else.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MICA ADJUSTED the seat belt she shared with Christopher and leaned forward so she could see around Isaac. “This is it?” she said, her voice pregnant with disappointment. “This is where we’ll be living?”
Isaac brought the U-Haul to a shuddering stop at the first traffic signal in Dundee—there were only four lights in total—and opened his mouth to respond. But Christopher spoke before Isaac could offer some of the positives he was scrambling to formulate.
“I wanna go home,” he said, and started to cry.
Isaac turned down the radio and looked at Liz.
“He’s tired,” she explained. Her voice held sympathy, but she didn’t attempt to comfort her son. She was too busy studying the buildings on both sides of the street, as if someone or something might rush out and attack them.
“We’re all tired,” Isaac said. They’d been on the road for a day and a half. For most of the trip, Liz had driven the car Isaac was now towing behind them. Having the children squished in the middle, wearing the same seat belt, compromised their safety, but not as badly as leaving Liz behind the wheel. For the past hour, she’d been swerving all over the road. She hadn’t been sleeping well enough to weather such a long drive. More often than not, Isaac heard her rambling around as late as three or four o’clock in the morning—and it was starting to show in the dark circles forming under eyes.
“So where’s the house?” Liz asked.
Rolling onto his right hip, Isaac pulled the directions out of his pocket. He’d found the house by calling city hall. A secretary there had referred him to a man named Fred Winston, Dundee’s only real estate agent. Because they’d handled everything over the phone, Isaac hadn’t yet seen the place.
“Just off the main drag, on Mount Marcy Street,” he said.
“Mount Marcy Street?” Mica echoed. “Sounds stupid.”
Mica was generally a happy child, but she’d grown sullen as the miles passed. Chris had been even more morose. Although he was normally very active, he’d sat absolutely still for most of the trip, staring at the dash, unresponsive even when Isaac or Liz spoke to him.
The light turned green and Isaac gave the U-Haul some gas, trying hard not to notice the curious stares they were beginning to attract from strangers on the street. In a town this small, a moving van rolling down Main Street was definitely conspicuous. Folks were probably wondering whether or not they had new neighbors.
“The real estate agent said it’s nice,” Isaac told Mica encouragingly.
“Don’t bother trying to make me feel better,” she replied. “It won’t work.”
“Your father’s here,” Liz said, clearly hopeful that this information might appease her children.
“So?” Mica replied. “I don’t want to see him.”
Chris obviously felt differently. Rubbing the tears from his eyes, he sat up. “Where is he?”
“We’ll find him,” Liz promised. “You’ll get to see him soon.”
Isaac wasn’t looking forward to that moment. But there was one he was dreading even more—facing Reenie again. Without question she wouldn’t be happy to know that Isaac, his sister and her children had just become members of her tight-knit community.
He thought about Liz’s tennis coach and tried to dredge up some of the positives of moving to Idaho. But they were long gone. Isaac was back to his original thought. Coming here was crazy.
Liz picked up the directions and began giving instructions. “You need to turn on Third Street. This is Second Street, so that must be it right there.” She pointed at the next light.
Two women arranging dried cornstalks at the entrance to Jerry’s Diner moved to get a good look at them as they drove by. Isaac recognized one as Judy, the waitress, and quickly averted his face. He wanted to settle in, at least, before the furor started.
“Take a left here,” Liz said.
When oncoming traffic cleared, Isaac turned into a neighborhood of older homes sitting on half-acre lots. They passed a street named Mount Glory before turning right on Mount Marcy. According to the address, the house he’d rented was halfway down the block between a rambler of white brick and a rambler of red brick. It wasn’t nearly as nice as its two neighbors, but it had potential. Right across the street sat one of the most beautiful homes he’d seen in Dundee.
“This isn’t bad,” Liz said, but her smile was brittle.
“There isn’t a large rental market here,” Isaac explained. “It looks a lot better, once you take our other options into account.”
“What were our other options?” she asked as he pulled to the curb.
He’d mentioned the choices to her before, when he was making the arrangements. But she’d been too preoccupied with packing and renting the California house to listen. “You decide,” she’d said.
“There were three mobile homes available in the trailer park south of town. But I’ve seen that park and it’s not a place you’d want to visit, let alone live. Then there was a duplex right behind the school. But Fred—”
“Fred?” she echoed.
“The real-estate agent.” Satisfied that he’d positioned the truck the way he wanted it, Isaac cut the engine. “He told me we probably wouldn’t like the duplex. The neighbors call the police almost every other week because of domestic disputes. And the man of the house tinkers with cars. There are junkers sitting all over the front lawn.”
“Wonderful.”
“See? This is looking better all the time.” He opened his door and Liz followed suit.
“Who owns this house?” she asked.
“An older couple who are doing missionary work in the Philippines.”
“How long will they be gone?”
“I don’t know. A couple of years, I think.”
She waited for him to come around. “But you said it wasn’t furnished.”
“It’s not.”
“What did they do with their furniture?”
“Fred told me they gave some of it to their children and put the rest in storage. Anyway, he promised me that the house was clean and in a good neighborhood, so I signed the lease.”
“Sounds like it was our only choice.”
“Pretty much.”
Mica, who’d
climbed out behind them along with Christopher, wrinkled her nose. “It’s ugly!”
“We’re not buying it,” Liz told her. “We’re only renting.”
Mica shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe he did this to us.”
No one needed to ask who “he” was.
“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Liz told her and started up the driveway. “Come on. Let’s go see the inside.”
They skirted the rain-soaked yard and scaled the four steps to the front door, then trooped from room to room, counting bedrooms and planning where the furniture would go. Fortunately, the owners had left an old Ping-Pong table in the basement, which interested Mica. “Want to play, Chris?” she asked, as Isaac and Liz started back upstairs.
“There’s lots of room here,” Liz said.
Her words rang with false cheer, but Isaac knew it was better to play along. “Fred was right. It is clean, if a little dated.”
“I’m sure it’s better than the duplex or the trailer park.”
“No doubt.” Isaac was about to head outside. Unless they wanted to sleep on the floor, he needed to get the truck unloaded and the beds put together. They’d called Fred from Boise to tell him that they were getting close, since he’d offered to help with the heavy stuff. He hadn’t arrived yet, but Isaac saw no reason not to get started on his own. Except that Liz caught his arm before he could move away from her.
“Coming here…it—it’ll be okay, won’t it, Isaac?” she asked.
Isaac stared down at her hand. She still had Band-Aids around her nails and a bare spot where her wedding ring used to be. “You knew the move wasn’t going to be easy,” he said, trying to warm her cold fingers.
She nodded.
“Do you regret it already?” he asked. “Do you want to go back?”
She bit her lip and surveyed the brown shag carpet, the sparkly cottage-cheese-style ceiling, the dark paneling.
“You don’t like the house?”
“It’s not that. It’s…Mica wants one thing, and Chris wants another. I don’t know what to do. I feel…torn in two, completely disoriented. Maybe I’m only making things worse by coming here. If I didn’t feel such a driving need to be where Keith is, to find my equilibrium by starting where we left off and somehow catching up to where we are now.”
