Ladies' Night (55 page)

“Hi, little girl,” Grace said, scooping the dog up into her arms. “Where are the guys? Huh? Are you the only one home?”

“Not quite.”

Grace looked up, startled.

Callie Keeler stood in the doorway from the kitchen, eating from an oversized bowl of cereal. She was barefoot, dressed only in a short, faded bathrobe, loosely belted around her waist.

“If you’re looking for my husband, you just missed him,” Callie said. “He and Bo are out in the park, looking for Nelson.”

“Oh.”

Grace’s chest constricted. She hugged Sweetie close and blinked. She felt her face growing hot.

Callie laughed at her obvious discomfort and took another bite of cereal. A bit of milk trickled down her chin, and she dabbed at it with her sleeve, revealing, in the process, that she was naked under the robe.

“Awkward moment, huh? I’m guessing you must be the girlfriend Bo’s been telling me about. It’s Grace, right?”

“Yes,” Grace managed to say.

Callie held out the bowl. “You want some cereal? It’s Cocoa Puffs. I swear, you’re never too old for Cocoa Puffs.”

“No thanks,” Grace said. She turned and left.

“Don’t go on my account,” Callie called, chuckling to herself. “I’ll tell Wyatt you dropped by.”

*   *   *

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” Grace banged her head on the steering wheel with each exclamation. Sweetie whined and crawled onto her lap, licking her chin as a consolation prize.

She started the car and headed down the sandy driveway toward the street. She blinked back tears as she navigated through the thick foliage that lined both sides of the narrow one-way drive.

It was after ten o’clock in the morning, and there stood Callie Keeler, dressed only in Wyatt’s robe, calmly eating cereal. Obviously, she’d spent the night there. “You just missed my husband,” she’d said. Not “ex-husband,” not “Wyatt,” but “husband,” letting Grace know she’d reclaimed him.

“You can have him,” Grace muttered.

No wonder he’d begged off seeing her last night. He’d had a much better offer from his wayward wife. And why should that come as a surprise? Wyatt had made it clear right from the start that his first commitment was to his son’s happiness. And like any six-year-old, Bo wanted his parents back together.

How could she have believed he wanted to start a new life with her? How could she let herself get sucked into a relationship on the rebound? Double rebound, if you wanted to be technical, since both she and Wyatt were coming out of ruined marriages. And with a guy she’d met in a divorce-recovery group!

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she chanted, slapping the dashboard for emphasis.

Sweetie looked up at her with huge, uncomprehending brown eyes.

“Never trust a man, Sweetie,” Grace told the dog. “They all lie. Every damn one of them is a liar.”

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it and looked at the caller ID. It was Wyatt.

“This is the liar calling right now,” Grace told Sweetie. “Can you believe it?”

She tossed the phone onto the seat, and the little dog sniffed it. The phone rang again. She knew without looking it would be him. And he’d probably keep calling. Why postpone the inevitable? She snatched up the phone and tapped the
CONNECT
button.

“What?”

“Grace, I just got back to the trailer. Callie told me you came by.”

“How nice of her.” Grace sneered. “She’s a great hostess, Wyatt. She even offered me some of her Cocoa Puffs. I’m sure you two will be very happy. Again.”

“Look, it’s not like you think,” Wyatt said. “I don’t care what she told you; we are not back together. We are not getting back together.”

“So, last night—was that just a one-night stand? And you think that doesn’t count?”

“She slept on the sofa! She broke up with Luke last week, and she called me, hoping I’d let her stay here, but I told her there was no way. So she went to her sister’s house, but Luke showed up over there, and they were drinking, so Kendra kicked her out in the middle of the night. You know what it was like last night—it was raining. And then Bo woke up and saw her, so what was I gonna do, kick her out into the rain, with my son standing there, begging me to let her stay?”

“Let me ask you a question,” Grace said, her voice oddly cold. “You say this all started last week? Did it ever occur to you to mention to me that your wife was trying to move back in with you? Especially after you told me you couldn’t see me last night, because of Bo?”

“That was a mistake on my part, and I know that now,” he said, his words tumbling together. “But I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get the wrong idea,” Wyatt said. “Which you did. I never had any intention of taking Callie back. It’s over between us. And I’ve told her that. Repeatedly.”

“And yet there she was this morning, all cozied up at your place. Was that your robe she was wearing? Or has she already started to unpack?”

“Dammit, Grace,” Wyatt said hoarsely. “She slept on the sofa. And she’s gone now. I told her she can’t come back. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask Dad. That’s where I was when you came by, out looking for him. He saw Callie asleep on the sofa this morning, and he was so pissed, he just took off, because he can’t stand to be under the same roof with her. Or ask Bo. He’s in the other room, sulking, because he didn’t want his mother to go. But she has. Okay? It is over between Callie and me.”

Grace bit her lip. She pulled out of the driveway and into traffic. “You just think it’s over,” she told him. “But she’s not going to let you go, and Bo’s not going to let her go. I can’t do this, Wyatt. I can’t hang around, wondering what will happen with Callie’s next crisis. You need to figure all this stuff out by yourself. You’re not ready for a new relationship. Not with me, anyway.”

“Grace?” His voice was pleading. “I care about you Grace. Don’t hang up, please. Just meet me someplace, okay, and let’s talk about this. What about Gus’s? That doughnut place? Can you just at least talk to me face-to-face?”

“I don’t think so,” she said sadly. “Not even for doughnuts.”

61

Grace unlocked the door to Mitzi’s condo and gently set Sweetie down on the floor. She sank down onto the white sofa and stared out the sliding glass doors at the jade-green surf below. The giddy euphoria she’d experienced earlier in the day, after finally forcing Ben to agree to a financial settlement, was forgotten. Now she felt the gray mist of depression settling over her, like a suffocating woolen blanket.

The bright, buttery-hued sunlight pouring into the apartment was a cruel intrusion. She covered her eyes with one of the colorful throw pillows she’d bought only days earlier and flounced facedown on the sofa.

She heard the muffled sound of her cell phone ringing and ignored it. She let two more calls go directly to voice mail. Time passed. Grace was vaguely aware of the warmth of Sweetie, who’d curled up on the sofa alongside her. She heard the waves rolling ashore outside, and the distant sound of seagulls, and the occasional slamming of a car door.

But the sound of a key turning in the condo’s door jolted her back to consciousness. She rolled over and saw the front door swing open, but she did not bother to sit up.

“There you are,” Mitzi Stillwell exclaimed. “I’ve been looking all over town for you. Why didn’t you answer my calls? Or your mother’s?”

“I just … didn’t want to deal with anything,” Grace said dully. “Why? What’s going on?”

Mitzi walked over and sat on the edge of the club chair. “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“I’m okay,” Grace said. “Relatively speaking.”

Her lawyer gave her an appraising look. “You had a fight with Wyatt, didn’t you?”

“It’s over,” Grace said.

Mitzi groaned. “Oh no. Don’t tell me. He’s gone back to his wife?”

“Not yet, but he probably will,” Grace said. “She broke up with her boyfriend, and she spent the night at his place last night. Which he didn’t feel the need to tell me. So it’s only a matter of time.”

“Did he tell you he wants her back?”

“No,” Grace admitted. “He says she slept on the sofa, and the only reason he let her stay was because it was raining so hard last night, and Bo begged him to. He swears they’re through, but I don’t believe it.”

Mitzi patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Grace. I see this all the time in my line of work. Couples go through the worst kind of traumas, file for divorce, then, at some point, they begin to think maybe they ought to give it another try. You especially see it in families with young children.”

“No kid wants to see his parents split up,” Grace said, thinking about her own reaction to Rochelle’s recent disturbing revelation about her marriage to Grace’s father.

Mitzi sighed. “Well, that’s not exactly true. There are kids who’ve seen too much—too much violence, hostility, aggression in their parents’ marriage. Those kids crave normality; they crave peace. And the smart ones know that’s only possible if a toxic marriage does break up.”

“I’m just thankful Ben and I didn’t have kids,” Grace said.

“Speaking of Ben,” Mitzi said, raising an eyebrow. “Dickie Murphree called me out of the blue a little while ago, to say they’re ready to talk settlement.”

“Good,” Grace said.

“Good? That’s all you can say? Come on, Grace, snap out of it! This is huge. For months now, they’ve totally stonewalled us. And now, suddenly, they finally want to settle. Any idea what caused this new development?”

“I went over to the house this morning, to get some of my things. And in the process, I found pretty solid proof that J’Aimee really did vandalize Mandevilla Manor.”

“How the hell did you get past security?” Mitzi asked. “Please don’t tell me you burglarized the place.”

“Camryn—my friend from divorce-recovery group? She’s friends with the woman who lives directly behind our house, Marissa. She’s married to LaDarion Banks, the baseball player. Marissa called the gate and told them she was expecting Camryn as her guest. And I didn’t have to break into the house. I still have my key. Easy-peasy.”

“And at some point during your unauthorized visit, Ben just agreed to a fair and equitable settlement with you?”

“Ben doesn’t want J’Aimee charged with the vandalism—and arson—at Mandevilla Manor. I told him I’d let Arthur know what I’d discovered but that I’d suggest Arthur allow Ben to pay for all the damages and make restitution, without getting the cops involved. Naturally, Ben was grateful,” Grace said.

“Naturally,” Mitzi said wryly. “I’ve got news on another front, too. I had a long chat yesterday with Carlton Towne concerning the experience of his client, Harriett, with Judge Stackpole.”

“And?” Grace was determined not to get her hopes built up. She’d had enough of an emotional roller-coaster ride for one day. For one year, even.

“Carlton is very old-school. He’s been practicing law in this county for more than forty years, and he doesn’t like to rock the boat.”

“So, that’s that,” Grace said. “It was worth a try, though.”

“Would you stop being so negative! Carlton may be adverse to rocking the boat, but on the other hand, he is also a stickler on the matter of rules and ethics. And he was enraged when I told him how Stackpole has been ordering divorcing parties into therapy—and then steering those same parties to a woman with whom he’s romantically involved. He agrees with me that we should file a formal complaint with the JQC.”

“Remind me what the JQC actually is?” Grace said.

“Judicial Qualifications Committee. It’s the state agency that governs and disciplines judges,” Mitzi said. “So that’s our next step. First, we document every single instance we know of where Stackpole made attending therapy mandatory for divorcing parties. Then, we assemble an exhaustingly thorough and compelling complaint and take it to the JQC. And if all goes well, they take Stackpole to the woodshed. Metaphorically speaking.”

Grace scratched Sweetie’s ears absentmindedly. “And you really think this JQC will believe us? And they’ll do what?”

“They can do anything from a reprimand to a fine to a suspension from office to removing him from office,” Mitzi said. “He could also be ‘involuntarily retired due to illness,’ although I doubt it would come to that.”

“And what do you need from me?” Grace asked.

“We need Paula Talbott-Sinclair on our side. We need her to tell the JQC about her involvement with Judge Stackpole.”

“Is that all?” Grace shook her head. “Mitzi, how am I supposed to make that happen? What makes you think I can get Paula to turn on her sugar daddy?”

Mitzi gave her an appraising look. “You’re a woman of many talents, Grace, not the least of which is charm. So you do your thing, and I’ll do mine. Deal?”

Grace stared out the window for a while. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said finally.

“Good,” Mitzi said briskly. She reached out and patted Sweetie’s head. “What’ll you do about the dog? I mean, will you still split custody with Wyatt at night?”

“Gaaaawd,” Grace said, flopping backward onto the sofa again. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I won’t take her back to Wyatt’s. And I can’t take her to my mom’s place.”

“Well,” Mitzi said, looking around the condo. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if the two of you stayed here for a couple weeks. It’s really coming along, Grace. I love the bright colors, and the lamps and things. I never would have thought of doing any of this.”

“I couldn’t just squat here,” Grace said uneasily. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not? You’ve still got more work to do here, and I’m too busy to use it for the next month or so anyway. The complex is pet-friendly.” Mitzi picked up her oversized pocketbook and went to the door.

“I think you should stay,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “You’ve been through a rough patch. Spend some time here alone, you and Sweetie. If all goes well, Ben will cough up an equitable settlement; we’ll get Stackpole out of our hair, if not off the bench; and then you can figure out the next chapter in the Grace Davenport story.”

Grace gave her lawyer a rueful smile. “Next chapter? Right now, I can’t even figure out the next five minutes.”

62

Grace lolled on the sofa, flipping through channels with the remote control. She paused when she got to
The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
Rochelle watched the show religiously, but Grace had never really seen it. But tonight, she thought, as she dipped a plastic fork into the paper carton of take-out kung pao chicken, and only tonight, she would watch trashy TV reruns and wallow in self-pity.