Ladies' Night (29 page)

He was still dressed in the neatly pressed navy slacks and dress shirt he’d worn to court earlier in the day, and the bill of the baseball cap was still tilted low over his eyes, but he’d removed the sunglasses.

“How’d he find us?” Grace muttered, but as he got closer to the table and she saw his face, she gasped aloud.

“Hey, ladies,” Wyatt said. He pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down. He nodded curtly at Grace. Before he could say anything else, Rochelle arrived with a pitcher of beer and two glasses. She poured one and handed it to him, then sat down and poured a glass for herself. Rochelle reached out and gently touched Wyatt’s cheek. “Your face! Did you fall into a fire-ant hill?”

“Not exactly. I did something even stupider. I purposely cut down a Brazilian pepper tree.”

“That’s bad?” Camryn asked.

“It is if you’re allergic to the sap, which I apparently am,” Wyatt said. He tried to smile, but his stiff, swollen lips were nearly immobile. “I know it looks pretty gnarly, but this is actually an improvement. My aunt dragged me to a doctor, and he gave me a cortisone shot and some steroid cream, so I’m starting to feel semihuman again, even if my face does look like a piece of raw meat.”

Ashleigh leaned her body across Suzanne’s to get a closer examination, and to give her pseudo-professional opinion. “Hmm. It looks like the eruptions haven’t scabbed over. That’s a good thing. I’d hate for you to have scars all over that pretty face of yours.”

Wyatt ducked his head, obviously embarrassed by all the attention.

“What can I get you to eat?” Rochelle asked. “Hamburger? Wings? Loaded potato skins?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he said. “I had a late lunch after my date with Stackpole.”

“Stackpole?” Grace stared, wondering what he’d been up to, halfway dreading the answer.

“Yeahhh,” he said slowly. “It’s kind of a long story.” And then his face cracked painfully, but he smiled anyway.

“Well, since Paula called off our session, we’ve got all night,” Camryn said. “So don’t keep us in suspense.”

He filled them in on Callie’s efforts to get him into hot water with the judge, and how his lawyer had instead managed to turn the tables on her.

“Wyatt, that’s huge!” Suzanne said, beaming. “I’m so happy for you.” She looked at the other faces around the table. “We’re all happy for you.”

Grace saw Wyatt watching for her reaction. “It’s great, really,” she said. “For once, the good guy comes out ahead with that clown Stackpole.”

“Thanks, Grace,” he said. “Maybe he’ll change his mind about you and Ben, too.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Grace said. “I’m a woman, remember? I’m the gender he loves to hate.”

“Did you, uh, tell everybody about last week?”

Grace blushed at the memory.

“What?” Ashleigh demanded. “Did something happen after we left here?”

“You might say that,” Wyatt said. Had Grace imagined it, or had he actually winked at her? She’d hoped to avoid any mention of their late-night chase the previous week.

“We don’t actually know for sure that the car was Stackpole’s,” she put in, when he was done.

“Although…” Wyatt was trying his best not to look smug, but it was a hard-fought battle. “Today, while I was at the courthouse, my aunt and I took a drive through the county parking deck. Did you guys know judges get assigned parking spaces?”

“They probably don’t even have to pay for ’em, either,” Camryn said. And then she perked up. “Stackpole drives a Lexus?”

“A black one,” Wyatt said, “with a little Florida gator decal in the lower left corner of his rear window.”

Grace grinned despite herself. “So, it was Stackpole!”

“Maybe,” Camryn cautioned. “Half the judges in this state probably have a UF Gator sticker on their car. And of those, there’s probably a whole bunch of them who drive a black Lexus.”

“But there’s only one judge in Manatee County who drives a black Lexus with a UF sticker
and
who resides at 4462 Alcazar Trace, Longboat Key. And that is the Honorable Judge Cedric N. Stackpole Jr.” Wyatt said.

“You’re sure?” Grace asked.

“Yup. Betsy did an online search. It’s him.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rochelle said. “What do you think that means?”

“I knew it!” Ashleigh said. “You can always tell with those straitlaced types. They’re the biggest horn-dogs on the block. And, of course, they’re
always
married.”

“It might not mean anything,” Grace cautioned, although she hoped against hope it did. “Maybe they were just having a professional meeting, and he told her he didn’t like the way she was conducting our group session.”

Camryn was drumming her long acrylic fingertips on the tabletop. “Okay, y’all, I’ll tell you what I think it means. I think it means a hard-nosed piece of investigative journalism will unveil a web of intrigue and paybacks between a respected local circuit court judge and a disgraced therapist. And I think, maybe, just maybe, it might mean a daytime Emmy for a certain hard-hitting member of the News Four You I-Team.”

She held up her iPhone. “I’ve been doing a little dirt digging on my own.”

30

“Paula Talbott-Sinclair,” Camryn said, pausing for dramatic effect, “used to live in Oregon. But three years ago, the state revoked her professional license. She moved to Florida sometime after that and set up an office here, but she’s not licensed by the state of Florida to be a clinical therapist. So how does she get away with charging three hundred dollars an hour for a group session? And more importantly, when the phone book is full of marriage counselors, why does Stackpole insist people like us attend counseling sessions with her?”

“Do we know why they revoked her license in Oregon?” Suzanne asked. “And does the state of Florida require her to be licensed in order to be a therapist here?”

“This is Florida, honey,” Camryn told her. “Just like we attract every kind of poisonous reptile, bug, or plant, every whacked-out criminal, huckster, or con artist, we also get every loony-toon variety of self-appointed therapist on the planet. Even though Florida seems to have pretty strict licensing requirements for therapists, there’s always a loophole. So you could still call yourself something else, hell, you could call yourself a divorce whisperer, and as long as you have a business license from the county, you’re good to go. Paula does have that. I checked. As for why Oregon took away her professional accreditation, I’m working on it, but it’s slowgoing. All these state licensing boards have layers and layers of confidentiality rules. I’ve got an intern at the station working on trying to dig up the particulars, but so far we’re getting sandbagged.”

“I wonder if her losing her license had anything to do with drugs?” The others at the table turned to look at Grace.

“She’s obviously impaired, at least some of the time. And we did find those sleeping pills and tranquilizers in her purse,” Grace reasoned. “Camryn, can your intern check to see if she’s had any drug arrests, or something like that?”

“I can ask,” Camryn said. “But this kid’s no rocket scientist.”

“I don’t care what she’s done or how she lost her license,” Suzanne spoke up. “Paula is obviously troubled, but I honestly believe she cares about us. I don’t know about you guys, but she’s helped me. A lot. I feel sorry for her. Can’t we help her, instead of making her part of an exposé?”

Ashleigh laughed. “You think she’s helped you? I mean, no offense, Suzanne, but you’ve never said one thing in group about what happened in your marriage. All we know is that your husband’s name is Eric and he cheated on you with another teacher at your school.”

“Ashleigh!” Grace chided.

“I don’t care,” Ashleigh tossed her honey-colored tresses. “We’ve all opened up our innermost secrets, and she just sits there, every week, with her lips zipped.”

“Something you might try once in a while,” Camryn said.

“No, Ashleigh’s right,” Suzanne said. “I haven’t been open. And that’s not fair to you or me. That’s one reason I was so disappointed our session with Paula was canceled tonight. That question she asked us Wednesday night—the one about a moment with our spouse when we were happy?” She gave a sheepish smile and pulled her journal out of her pocketbook. “I wrote ten pages! Which is hard for me to believe right now, but I did.”

“Well? Are you gonna read it?” Ashleigh asked, daring the others to shut her up.

Suzanne glanced at the table directly behind them, where two grizzled fishermen sporting three-day beards and sweat-stained T-shirts lolled backward in their chairs, obviously interested in their conversations. “It’s sort of private,” she whispered.

“Let me handle this,” Rochelle said. She stood, hands on hips and faced the table. “Miller, Bud, you guys need to pay up and move on.” She jerked her head in the direction of the door. The men scowled but pulled some rumpled bills from their pockets, threw them on the table, and ambled toward the bar.

“Nuh-uh,” Rochelle called, following in their wake. “You two are done for the night. Unless you plan to actually buy a drink or some food.”

“Oh no, Grace, make her stop,” Suzanne blurted. “I don’t want your mom to chase off paying customers for me, especially your regulars.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “They’re her regular deadbeats. That’s not even their real names. She just calls them that because that’s what they order. A Bud and a Miller. But only one. They eat a boatload of popcorn and generally annoy all our paying customers. Plus, they stink to high heavens. And they’re crappy tippers. Believe me, they’ll be back tomorrow. They’re shameless barflies.”

Rochelle shooed the men out the front door, then returned to the table. “What were you saying, Suzanne?”

Suzanne took another deep breath. “If you guys really want to hear it, I think I’m ready. Don’t worry,” she added hastily. “I won’t read all ten pages. I’ll give you the abridged version.”

She took a gulp of wine and laughed nervously. “Liquid courage, right?”

*   *   *

“It was a Saturday night, and our daughter Darby was playing in an out-of-town soccer tournament. I guess I am the ultimate soccer mom. Usually Darby and I share a room during the tournaments, because Eric rarely goes, and I love giggling and gossiping with her. We are so much closer than most moms and daughters. But this time, Darby specifically asked me not to go because she wanted to room with her two best friends, so I stayed home.

“At first, Eric and I didn’t know what to do with ourselves on a Saturday night alone! We talked about going out to a nice restaurant, but it was raining out, so instead we stayed home. Eric did something he hadn’t done since the years when we first moved in together. He fixed me my favorite dish and cleaned up the kitchen, too. After dinner, we opened a good bottle of wine, and we sat on the sofa together and dialed up a movie on Netflix, a silly little chick flick. But it made us laugh, and parts of it were so romantic. I was stretched out on one end of the sofa, with my shoes off, and Eric was giving me a foot massage. And it was just … so sweet, and tender. I just, I don’t know, got really turned on.”

Suzanne stopped reading. “I can’t … I can’t believe I am reading this out loud. My heart is pounding so hard right now, it feels like it might jump out of my chest.”

“You’re doing great,” Rochelle said, patting Suzanne’s hand.

“Thanks,” Suzanne said, her voice sounding wobbly. “I think I’ll be okay if I just don’t look at your faces while I read. Dumb, huh?”

She stared down at the notebook. “Uh, I’m going to skip over this part.” She blushed furiously, flipping the notebook pages. “And this. Nobody wants to hear this.”

Ashleigh’s hand shot up. “I do.”

“Damn, Suzanne,” Camryn drawled. “Ashleigh’s right for once. Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. You had relations with your husband? Why is that such a big deal? We’re all grown folk here. You said you were going to read, so read already and quit making us beg for the good stuff.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Suzanne said, fanning her face with her hands. She turned back to her starting point and began to read again.

“Eric couldn’t believe I was actually initiating sex with him. And I couldn’t either. But I did. I undressed him, right there on the sofa, and he undressed me, and we…”

She bit her lip.

“We did it! We had sex in the family room, on the same sofa where Darby does her homework every night. Eric made me leave the lights on and everything. I don’t know what came over me that night, but it was all different. I did all the things he’s been begging me to do for years. Tried different positions. I talked dirty to him. He loved it.”

Suzanne whispered, without looking up at the others. “I loved it.”

“We were different people that night. We were who we used to be, before life reshaped us. Mutated us. I can’t remember ever achieving that sense of intimacy before, even when we were dating. I thought maybe that night would change our marriage. I thought the next morning, I would get up and make us a late breakfast in bed, and we would make love again and everything would be different. But it wasn’t. Still, that was the happiest I’ve ever been with Eric. It made me remember how we used to be.”

*   *   *

Suzanne closed the notebook and folded her hands on the cover.

“Wow,” Grace breathed. “Just, wow. The next morning, after your night of grand passion. What happened?”

“Nothing. I woke up, and Eric had gone for his ten-mile run,” Suzanne said, her shoulders slumped. “When he got back, he disappeared into his office for the rest of the afternoon. Then, Darby got home from the tournament, and, well, things went right back to the way they’d been.”

“Did you ever talk about that night?” Wyatt asked. “Did you tell Eric how much you enjoyed it? Or try doing the same thing again?”

“No,” Suzanne said, her voice small. “The time just never seemed right. And not long afterward, I … discovered he was cheating on me. So there wasn’t any point to any of this, was there?”

“You had fabulous sex! There’s always a point to that,” Ashleigh said.

After the laughter died down, Grace brought up something that had been on her mind since the first night she’d met Suzanne.