Conflicts of the Heart (8 page)

“If I had been your lawyer
that would have never happened. Did you know about the shoebox?”

“I’d totally forgotten. Our lives were in such turmoil. A box of receipts was the last thing on my mind.”

“We shouldn't have any trouble this time. Can you free yourself up for a week, if necessary?”

“When?”

“Early September.”

..
She started calculating dates. PNA's contract expired in August. Negotiations should be in the bag. “That'll work out well. I'll get this stuff off to you in the morning. Thanks, John.”

After setting the phone down, she sank back and closed her eyes. Joel will come unglued when she presents the judge with copies of
checks and invoices he received for computers he sold and hadn’t reported as income. He’d have no way of explaining his way out of that.

Fortunately, she kept copies of everything in a shoebox, in case of an audit. Joel cocooned himself in his creative world and never thought of making copies of anything. At the time, she thought keeping the records in one place helped him, and never considered that, one day, she could use the information against him. Fortunately, for her, the movers took the shoebox when they moved.

Her goal now: keep Patrick on track so negotiations didn’t bog down. She had all the incentive she needed to keep her end of negotiations moving.

During dinner, she watched Michael enjoying his pancakes. How tragic his father couldn’t see this beautiful side of him. When Joel pulled away from Michael, he shut down, as if he blamed himself for their breakup. She couldn’t have done a thing to bring them together. Joel had made that quite clear.

After her divorce, she had taken Michael to several counselors, who weren’t very encouraging about his improvement under the circumstances. Yet each case was different they told her. She continued to work and prayed for a miracle.

After dinner, Michael watched TV, and she sat curled up on the couch thinking of Patrick and negotiations. Never had she been in a situation like this. She wondered what he honestly thought of her, or if he even thought of her.

He held her hand when they strolled along the edge of the lake. He checked her out in an admiring way a few times. She knew they shared the same warm sensation when they were together on the ground, locked in that stupid gunnysack. She giggled. So silly.

The tougher the negotiations, the more he tested her across the table, the easier she found it to keep her feelings in check.

She glanced down at Michael, asleep on the floor in front of the TV. Something trembled inside her. She felt scared, alone and helpless. Had she been reaching out for help from a man?

Michael stirred, drew his legs up to his chest, and rolled his right hand under his chin. His contentment sent a rush of love through her.
She slipped down to the floor, lifted his head onto her lap, and stroked his forehead. His skin felt warm and clammy. “My baby,” she spoke in a suffocated whisper. “I love you more than life itself. I wish we could change places. I’ll help you, Michael. You wait and see. Somehow, some day, I’ll find a way.” She rocked him slowly, feeling their need for each other flow between them.

* * *

Teal turned on her headlights as she pulled her Corvette off the 280 North onto Page Mill Road. A brilliant red sun fell behind the skyline of San Jose and Palo Alto. She pulled over and removed her cell phone from her purse.

The directions to Joel's house lay crumpled on the passenger seat. While punching in his number, she had second thoughts about doing this. Joel and Dana had been married. She and Dana had made a pact back in school. They'd never hit on each other's current or ex-boyfriends, but she wasn't in school anymore, and Joel wasn't an ex-boyfriend. The pact didn’t cover
husbands. She wanted to make sure Joel knew what Dana might use against him. He had a right to know. Just because he couldn’t handle a handicapped kid, didn’t make him an unscrupulous person. Teal related to him in that matter.

“Hi, is this Joel?” she said in a breathy tone when his familiar, husky voice answered.

“Who is this?” Joel Claiborne muttered into the phone.

“Oh, my God.
You don’t recognize my voice?”

“No. Let’s quit the guessing game.”

“It’s Teal.”

Oh my God, what next?
“Hi, Teal. Where are you?” He hoped from somewhere near Ashton.

“About thirty minutes away. Want to see a blast from the past, with a new twist?”

“What are you talking about?”

“First off, I look entirely different. Then, if you're interested, I have some very important info for you regarding our mutual friend, Dana.”

What the hell was she up to? She had an agenda. Always did. No doubt about it. “You know how to get here?”

“Sort of.”

After giving her directions, he hung up and ran a thick hand across the stubble on his chin. What do you know? A voice from the past. A voice he’d just as soon not hear. He went to the bathroom to shave off a three-day growth of beard. He examined his scruffy face. Why in the world would he clean up for that little tart? Joel remembered, all too well, how difficult it’d been to pound a wedge between Dana and Teal's friendship back when he and Dana had first married. He didn’t want that kind of woman, a loser, to be friends with his wife. Not a mousy, overweight trollop who made a fool of herself every time she opened her mouth.

Since Dana left, Joel hadn’t found another woman. He knew he was misunderstood by people, women especially. He didn’t lack in social graces; he enjoyed being a loner.
Always had been. Always would be. Dana, for unknown reasons to him, had been the one woman who saw through his introverted personality, respected his genius, and possessed the ability to bring him out of his shell. Sort of.

His parents considered his meeting and marrying Dana Moran his real accomplishment. They believed she brought out the best in their son's shy, retiring ways. Any social life they did have
came from Dana's strong, engaging personality.

Out of the blue, Joel moved his wife to the Silicon Valley where he flourished as one of the notable Research and Development men in the then mushrooming computer industry.

After he built their home and stashed enough money in the bank, he struck out on his own and worked from inside his new multimillion home nestled on a hillside in the prestigious Palo Alto hills. Dana worked, too, helping to offset expenses, allowing Joel the freedom to pursue his dreams--create magnificent, useful toys for other techies. Sometimes his business flourished and they lived high, a Mercedes for him and a BMW for her, taking cruises when time allowed.

When larger companies swallowed up his creations and undersold him, he'd dream up something new and the merry-go-round started again. Dana and Joel's financial life went up and down. From rich to poor, sometimes overnight. It meant nothing for them to exist for months on credit cards, then following a windfall, pay off everything, and start over.

Five years into their marriage, Dana conceived Michael. Joel's dream came true. A son. Someone who’d be just like himself. Michael had Joel's chiseled features. Dana blossomed even more as a mother. Somehow, she managed her demanding career, helped Joel with his projects on weekends, and still had time for their son.

When Michael turned three, the first sign of trouble surfaced. He wasn't learning to talk like other kids his age. Joel worried, became sullen and withdrawn. His boy might not be on the football team after all, work with him in his business, or take over when Joel stepped down. This had to be his payback for his refusing to take over the family business.

By the time Michael turned four, Joel had given up. They learned Michael could be autistic and showed little chance of ever being anything more than what he was now. They’d have a son living at home forever if he weren’t institutionalized. The thought of it paralyzed him, literally changed his personality. He knew it and tried to deal with his life, but their marriage became strained.

Dana refused to have another baby for fear of creating a second disabled child. She refused to give up Michael, vowing to care for him as long as he needed her. He hadn’t even considered she would accept his ultimatum. She just up and took Michael without a backward glance. He thought she’d see his point and understand
Michael would be better off institutionalized than spend the rest of his life living at home with them. Their marriage would resume. But no, she trapped him, told him to ‘get a life’ and left. He was too proud to change his mind. He held fast, believing if he made her life difficult enough she’d come home. He let her go. He never really wanted her to leave.

Well, shit. Why think about all that crap at a time like this? In a few minutes, he’d be face to face with a woman who came here to spy on him for Dana. He laughed aloud. His darling, intelligent ex should have known better than to think he’d fall for some conniving little trick like this.

* * *

With only two miles to go, Teal started singing, “Seems like old times,” slightly off key. Thank the Lord she chose her sexiest black dress for this meeting. When Joel caught a glimpse of her long, slim legs, her pushed-up cleavage and her new look, he’d bust a gut. Maybe he'd even be sorry he chose the “Golden Girl” over her.

Driving up the winding road, she marveled at the splendid houses lining this sumptuous neighborhood. This had been her dream, living in this grand style. Through the dusky light of the evening, she could see the manicured golf course, the centerpiece of this palatial neighborhood.

THE CLAIBORNES in wrought iron loomed above her. She pulled up in front of the most sensational house she’d ever seen, nestled in a forest of oaks and pines. This modern-day wooden palace had to be worth a fortune. If Joel could afford this house, why
was Dana living in poverty? Something didn’t smell right.

Joel stood waiting on the vine-covered veranda. As she approached him, she noticed he changed considerably. He’d gained weight and his eyes were on the puffy side, as if maybe he drank a bit more than he should have. In spite of the changes, he was still a shark, in a more mature way. A touch of gray lightened his temples and sparkling black eyes revealed his interest in her new appearance. She could see the strong resemblance between him and Michael.

“Who are you?” Joel asked in a lascivious tone. “I'd never have recognized you on the street.”

Her confidence soared. She sashayed up those deep redwood steps to meet Joel's open arms just like in an old movie when two long-lost friends reunited, hugged and squeezed each other and gushed over how great they looked.

“Come on in.” He took her by the elbow, guiding her into the grand room.

“Beautiful.”

“You certainly are.”

“I mean the house.” She could see Dana everywhere, in the artwork on every wall, the Early American furnishings she always loved. The beamed cathedral ceiling soared high above Teal. Why hadn’t she taken this stuff with her instead of living in that hovel with all that ratty furniture? Her balloon burst as she glanced around and her guilt returned, washing over her like a tsunami. More than anything, she wanted to turn and run, but Joel, obviously sensing her discomfort, grabbed her arm and drew her to him.

“Let's go out and eat. Better we talk on neutral ground.” He yanked his tweed jacket from the back of a chair, threw it over his shoulder, and took her by the hand. “I know a great little Mexican place not far from here. We'll have a few margaritas, and you can fill me in on what you've been up to.”

Joel asked to drive her car. M
en always wanted to sit behind the wheel of her classic Corvette. On the way to the restaurant, she sat in silence, thinking what a different person he was from the man she remembered. She couldn't picture this Joel and Dana together. When they were young, they seemed a perfect match. A real-life Ken and Barbie, but now… Dana should be with someone like Patrick Mitchell, youthful, outgoing, a snappy dresser.

Joel turned on the radio and let his hand fall on her knee. She must let go of all guilt. She came here for a reason and she had to wait for the right time.

“You're too tense.” Joel smiled and tapped her thigh. She flinched.

“Do I make you that nervous?”

“Yeah, you do.” She giggled. “Seems strange, you and me driving along in my car, going out to dinner without Dana.”

On Page Mill Road, Joel downshifted, burning rubber. He showed off like a schoolboy.

“Those are new tires, honey. Handle with care.”

“Here we are.” Joel nosed into a handicapped space in front of the adobe-style Mexican restaurant.

“This is a handicapped spot.”

He stared at her in an odd way. “So? I have a handicapped son.” He laughed, slapped her knee, and got out. “Don't get serious on me.”

Inside the small, quaint, crowded restaurant, she relaxed once she had a drink. Colorful handcrafted serapes graced the walls, ancient Aztec pottery sat in window ledges, and waiters wore native garb. The smell of hot lard and Mexican spices wafted throughout the cozy room.