“Ladies’ room,” Emma said in response to someone asking her where they were going. “Just like old times. A pack of two.”
When they reached the hall, Emma told Maggie, “I wasn’t kidding. I really would like to hit the ladies’ room before we go outside.”
“Go ahead. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
The inn’s lobby was small and dark, with wood paneling that was original to the building, as was the large fireplace that covered most of the inner wall. Maggie drifted toward the large picture window overlooking the harbor and peered into the night. Lights from a boat moored at the dock cast a yellow glow upon the water. Her gaze followed a large schooner that eased past on its way to Buzzards Bay.
“Tom Harrison.” The voice behind her startled her.
“What?” She didn’t have to turn to know it was Brett. Had he followed her?
“Tom Harrison’s boat. You know, the Harrisons that own—”
“The house no one lives in and the carousel that they drag out every five years or so and set up in the park so all the little local kids could have a ride.” She still didn’t bother to turn around. “I know the story.”
“Listen, Maggie. I’m really sorry. About everything. Mostly, I’m sorry that . . .”
She could feel him behind her, close enough to touch if she leaned back just a little. Which she’d die before she’d do.
“Please don’t. Just . . . don’t. We’re a lifetime away from apologies, Brett.” She still faced the window.
“I was hoping that . . .”
“There were things I’d hoped for, too,” she snapped, “so I guess we’ll both have to live with our disappointment.”
“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “Something’s happened. Something you need to know about.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and they came face-to-face. In the low light, his expression was solemn, his blue eyes dark and haunted. He looked shaken. Which was ridiculous. She’d only seen him look shaken once, and that was over something a whole lot more serious than whatever was on his mind now.
“Ready, Mags?” Emma came out of the bathroom, the door closing softly behind her.
“I am.” Maggie looked up at Brett and dismissed him with a blithe, “Nice seeing you again, Brett.”
She had to step around him to join up with Emma, who was already near the front door, but as she did so, from the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow in the doorway that opened onto the hall. Kayla Crawford stood still as a stone, her eyes flitting from her husband to Maggie and back again. Brett hadn’t noticed. He was watching Maggie walk away.
That doesn’t look good. Maggie wondered just how much Kayla had heard.
“Nice night for a walk along the harbor,” Emma was saying as they walked toward the water. “They put in a walkway—cement—a few years back because so many people liked to walk along here at night.”
“Um-hmm,” Maggie replied.
“And a lot of people like to take their boats out at night,” Emma continued.
Maggie nodded absently.
“At least, they used to. Not so much these days, since we lost so many to the sea monsters out in Buzzards Bay. Used to think they were just fairy tales, but nope. They’re real. Huge, ugly, mean suckers. My dad has video he took from the bow of his boat a few weeks ago. Just barely made it back to the dock.”
Another silent nod.
“And they’re getting so bold, you know.” Emma took Maggie’s arm as they strolled along. “Snatched a couple of kids right off Emerson’s dock on Wednesday. Sad, you know?”
“Sure.”
“Maggie.” Emma laughed. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“You’re off somewhere. Your mind definitely isn’t here. What’s up? You need to talk about something?”
“Oh, no. I think I’m just a little tired.” Maggie averted her eyes.
“You’re the worst liar on two feet. So he rattled you. It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“Maybe a little,” Maggie admitted. “I guess it’s been so long since I’ve been that close to him—well, it was odd, that’s all.” She paused, then added, “It was that damned dance thing. Who thought that would be a good idea? And Brett’s wife . . .” She rolled her eyes. “God only knows what she’s heard about me. What she thought watching us dancing. Grrrr.”
“Down, girl.” Emma laughed and squeezed Maggie’s arm before dropping her hand. “I’m sure Kayla knows all about you. She’s living in Brett’s hometown with people who knew you both back then and who witnessed everything but the breakup, which around here accounted for high drama.” Emma lowered her voice. “The golden couple who were destined for one another, and then tragically, they weren’t. Who—or what—came between them?”
“Stop.” Maggie laughed in spite of herself.
“Please. You have no idea how many times Liddy and I have been asked about what caused the breakup. No one believes us when we say we don’t know.” Emma sounded wistful, as if wishing she had been taken into Maggie’s confidence.
“Well, at least you’re not lying.”
“I can’t say I haven’t wondered, all these years. What could have been so big you couldn’t have confided in either of us?” There it was. Clearly, Emma had been hurt by Maggie’s refusal to discuss her breakup and sudden move to Philadelphia without so much as an “Oh, by the way . . .”
“I’m sorry, Em. I really am. It was something I just couldn’t bring myself to talk about.” She tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “Besides, it doesn’t matter now. We’re worlds apart, he and I, and we always will be.” Maggie’s throat tightened even as she protested.
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.” Maggie drained her glass of wine and held it up to the light at the end of the dock. “Let’s go in and have one more drink. I think I’ve had a long enough walk down memory lane.”
That walk had been painful, full of emotions that had been tucked away in the dark corners of her mind and her heart for a lifetime, and Maggie’d had enough. She felt an overwhelming desire to shake off the past, to run home and bury herself in the present, her daughters and her granddaughter, her volunteer work and her teaching. Tomorrow was Sunday, and she and Liddy would have brunch with Emma, then hang out together for the rest of the day. Maybe drive to the Cape for dinner. By Monday afternoon she’d be home, and the weekend, along with its ghosts, would be behind her. It would take her a while, but she would shake Brett out of her head and get on with her life, just as she’d done thirty-four years ago.
Chapter Four
GRACE
The sound of her ex-husband’s laughter through her half-open door made Grace want to scream. Or cry. Crying might be better, since if he happened to push open her door and see her weeping softly at her desk, the full weight of what he’d done to her might finally shame him into forgetting about that little slut paralegal and remembering why he’d fallen in love with Grace in the first place.
Right. Fat chance.
Grace coughed, then rustled papers, hoping he’d hear, but he and his girlfriend just kept on walking. She wished she’d gotten her father to fire that girl before he died. She sighed. That wouldn’t have happened. Two years ago, Zach was still the faithful husband, still the doting son-in-law. Still hoping, no doubt, that Art was going to leave the firm to Grace, and therefore, by marriage, to Zach. But no one knew that shortly before he’d died, her father had changed his will, leaving the firm to her mother, of all people. Grace had been shocked and hurt, but in retrospect, she supposed it had worked out okay. Grace was still on the fast track to own the firm, and Zach . . . was not. She knew her dad had been about to elevate her husband’s position before he fell ill, but the exhausting treatments had pushed aside all thoughts of everything but survival.
She hadn’t known then about Zach’s betrayal with Amber, a paralegal she herself had hired.
Why the two of them stubbornly stayed at Flynn La
w was anyone’s guess. Rumor had it that now that her father was gone, Zach and Amber were counting on Grace’s humiliation at the situation to drive her out, which only proved to her that neither of them was half as smart as they thought they were. Art Flynn had built this firm from the ground up into a highly regarded legal team. He had the goodwill and respect of the legal community in Philadelphia. Why would his daughter leave the firm she was sure her mother would eventually hand over to her? She’d already been humiliated beyond anything she could have possibly imagined. Everyone in the office had known about his infidelity before she had, had witnessed all the many ways she’d tried to win him back. Her face burned with shame every time she thought about the lengths she’d gone to, how she’d embarrassed herself.
When her father had been offered an experimental treatment for his cancer, he’d said, “Well, when you’ve got nothing to lose—you’ve got nothing to lose.” That was sort of the way Grace felt. She’d already lost her father, her husband, and probably the respect of many if not most of her colleagues for the way she’d tried to hang on to Zach. The firm was meant to be hers. She was now the face of Flynn Law, and dammit, she intended to keep it that way.
She’d thought about asking her mother to fire them both, but she knew that without cause they could sue her and the firm. They were both outstanding at their jobs. In Grace’s mind, it was a matter of who was going to blink first. It wasn’t going to be her.
The fact that she was sick to her stomach every morning when she stepped off the elevator wasn’t as important to her as being the last one standing.
She’d tried everything she could think of to win him back, but nothing had worked. He had made it very clear they were over by filing for divorce two months after Art died.
“I’m sorry to have to deliver the second blow, Gracie, but I held off while your dad was sick.” Zach had looked up from packing a suitcase when she’d walked into the bedroom one evening to let him know dinner was ready, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize she’d be eating alone. There had been several bags sitting by the door already packed and ready to go. “I didn’t want to upset anyone any more than they were. But I don’t love you, and I haven’t for a long time.”
She’d been stunned. Had he really just said he didn’t love her? That couldn’t be right. When had that happened? Why?
She’d broken down and begged him to try to work things out. They could go to counseling, she’d said through her tears, but then he’d hit her with, “Stop demeaning yourself. I’m in love with someone else. I’ve moved on, and I suggest you do, too.”
He’d picked up his bags and walked down the stairs and out the front door without saying goodbye. Or maybe he had. All she’d been able to hear inside her head was, I don’t love you . . . I’m in love with someone else.
They’d been together since law school, married for almost ten years.
This isn’t real, she’d told herself. He’ll be back.
At first, after he’d moved out, she’d tried to pretend that everything was normal, not mentioning their impending divorce to anyone. She’d waited weeks to tell her mother and sister that she and Zach had separated, but added they were trying to work things out, which was true only in her own mind. Still, at work she’d directed cases to Zach that she believed would require her input, but he’d declined her offers to assist. Then one morning, weeks after he’d left, Grace had been in the break room, where someone had left a box of doughnuts on the table. She’d peered into the box, then picked up a chocolate frosted and said to no one in particular, “I think I’ll take this in to Zach. Chocolate frosted are his favorites.”
An awkward silence had fallen over the room. Then Amber had smirked, taken the doughnut from Grace’s hand, and walked out, still smirking. One by one, wordlessly, the others had left the room, leaving Grace with chocolate on her thumb and the feeling she’d missed something important.
About a half hour later, her assistant, Terri, had come into Grace’s office, closed the door behind her, taken a deep breath, and said, “Grace, there’s something you need to know. It’s about Zach.” Another deep breath. “And Amber.”
“What about Zach?” she’d asked. “And Amber?”
Terri had stood at the front of Grace’s desk with a pleading look. “Grace. It’s not Zach. And Amber. It’s Zach and Amber. They’re together. Like, living together.”
The punch to Grace’s gut had been so fierce and so sudden she couldn’t speak. Finally, “Zach and Amber? They’re together? Like, together together? Are you sure?”
“Do you really think I’d come in here with idle gossip?”
“How do you know . . . ?”
“Grace, everyone in the office knows. They’ve made no effort to hide it. Haven’t you noticed she’s always in his office?”
“She works on some of his cases . . . ,” Grace had replied weakly.
“She’s working on his case, all right.”
Grace had looked down at the report she’d been reading. All she’d seen was a black blur.
“Thanks. I appreciate the heads-up.” Grace had tilted her head in the direction of the door.
Terri had gotten the hint, but before she’d opened the door, she’d added, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but someone had to. I can’t stand watching you humiliate yourself every day.”
Grace had nodded slowly, her eyes downcast. She’d wanted to thank Terri for clueing her in, but her voice had seemed to have gone AWOL. The door had closed softly, but Grace hadn’t been able to move. She’d thought back on moments over the past few months when she should have picked up on what everyone else apparently knew. Motionless at her desk until shadows began to ease across the room hours later, finally she’d stood. Outside her office, she’d been able to hear the sounds of the workday shutting down: the ping of the elevator, the good nights and the see you tomorrows of her coworkers. When the voices had gone silent, she’d gathered her briefcase, stuffing in work she’d wanted to take home even as she knew she wouldn’t look at it, grabbed her purse, and slung it over her shoulder. Turned off the lights, closed up her office. Passed Zach’s half-open door, through which a giggle escaped. Grace had paused in the hall, listened for a moment, then gone back to her office, into her private bathroom, and thrown up.
By the time she’d pulled herself together, most of the office suites were dark. She’d gotten into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby with more force than was necessary. Once home, she’d allowed herself to cry until she was hoarse. After she’d dried her face, she’d poured a glass of wine and considered her options.
Her first thought had been to fire them both. But she had no grounds to take to HR, and she’d known that to fire two extremely competent employees without cause was tantamount to putting out the welcome mat for a lawsuit she couldn’t defend.
“Ms. Flynn.” The judge would look her straight in the eye—and with her luck, the judge would be Judge Borden, the only judge in the Philadelphia Court of Common Pleas who hadn’t liked her father. “Can you tell this court why you fired Amber Costanza?”
“Yes, Your Honor. She stole my husband.”
“And why you fired your ex-husband?”
“He allowed himself to be stolen.”
The judge would have stared her down. “Your paralegal boinking your husband is not legal grounds for termination of the employment of either party. I find for the plaintiffs in the amount of eight trillion dollars.” At which time he’d bang his gavel and uniformed officers of the court would drag her away in chains. She’d be dressed in orange—so not her color—and her hair would be a mess. Her picture would be on the front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Main Line Times and all over the internet the following morning and would be front and center in every Wawa from Center City to the Jersey Shore and the Delaware beaches.
She was pretty sure firing their asses was probably not a defensible option.
She’d looked for subtle ways to make Amber’s job un
bearable and thought she’d found the solution by reassigning Amber to work for Paul Groh, the oldest, grumpiest attorney in the firm, but somehow she’d charmed him right out of his get-off-my-lawn sign, for which everyone in the office blessed Amber.
Since Grace wasn’t about to leave the firm her father had founded, and Zach had laughed at her suggestion that he quit and take Amber with him, she had to find another means of venting her anger, frustration, and humiliation.
Hence the birth of her blog, TheLast2No.
It had started as something she’d done only for herself. She’d found it cathartic to write out her feelings and say the things she really wanted to say when her desire to save face demanded civility. Then one day it had occurred to her that there had to be dozens—hundreds—probably thousands of other women who’d been dumped by their significant others in favor of another woman who’d like a safe place to vent their anger, a place where they could just let it rip where no one would tell them to calm down or get over it. So, Grace had set up a blog under the name of Annie Boleyn (no way was Grace Flynn going public with her humiliation!) and invited others to share their tales of betrayal at the hands of their ex.
The blog had just about blown up the first week.
She’d grossly underestimated how many men had stepped out on their wives/fiancées/girlfriends, and every one of them seemed to want to tell their story on her blog. She tried to make it a place where women could complain anonymously, could vent without being told to grow up or move on. A place to express their rage and humiliation and frustration and know they weren’t alone, that it had happened just as unfairly to other women, and that some of those women were there for them, to commiserate and remind them it wasn’t their fault, that their life didn’t have to end with a breakup.
From merely commiserating and offering a virtual hug and an uplifting word, the blog had expanded after several women mentioned how they missed going out with their friends on the weekend, but it seemed that once their divorces were final, the invitations eventually stopped coming. So every Friday night Grace hosted a virtual happy hour, and she’d select one of that week’s commenters as her Woman of the Week. Everyone at happy hour would toast this one woman and wish her the fulfillment of her every desire after cursing out her rotten ex (and his little honey, too). It cost Grace nothing but seemed to make a lot of women happy. There were days when she had trouble getting her real work done.
An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Page 7
