New Uses For Old Boyfriends (4 page)

A
fter spending the night in her childhood bedroom (her mother had replaced the girlish white furniture and bulletin boards with an elegant four-poster bed, custom pink and white linens, and a series of black-and-white lithographs), Lila felt more disoriented than ever. Clad in pink pajama pants and a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo from her high school cheerleading squad, she padded down the stairs to grind and brew strong black coffee for her mother, a task her father used to perform without fail.

Everything was the same, yet undeniably different—this house, her mother, the entire town of Black Dog Bay. Everywhere she looked, she saw framed photos of the girl she used to be, so self-assured in her tutus and tiaras, blessedly unaware that her lifelong winning streak would come to an end and her future would turn out nothing like what she envisioned.

While she sat in the huge white kitchen listening to the steady drip of coffee, Lila closed her eyes and
felt
the presence of her father. The foundation he'd laid and the load-bearing beams he'd installed were still here beneath all the imported limestone and woven wall coverings. He'd been the bedrock of the family, always
steady and determined to stay the course. Though the house had been his grandest labor of love, he'd also demonstrated his devotion in smaller, more mundane ways. Bringing coffee to Daphne every morning before he left for work. The time he'd indulged eight-year-old Lila's request to decorate a rental house's bathroom in pink and purple polka dots.

That house had become famous with vacationers over the years. Families who made annual pilgrimages to the shore would ask the rental agent for the house with the pink and purple bathroom. Her father had bragged about this, declaring his daughter a brilliant businesswoman.

She'd been in crisis mode for the past few months, so consumed by the divorce and the loss of her job that she hadn't really had time to grieve her dad. But here in the kitchen, where she'd shared so many meals with him, her heart finally caught up with her head.

She sat motionless in the cold, pale dawn, trying to absorb the enormity of her loss, until she smelled the coffee starting to burn. Then she pulled herself together, tamped down her sorrow and despair, and got busy with pouring and planning and preparing for everything still to come.

*   *   *

“I can't go,” Daphne declared when Lila knocked on the door and announced she had sweet-talked her way into the first available appointment with the financial trustee. “I have nothing to wear.”

Lila put the coffee mug on the nightstand, sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed up at the whitewashed oak ceiling beams of the guest room. The view from this side of the house wasn't nearly as impressive as the oceanfront vista of the master suite, but Daphne said she couldn't bear sleeping alone in the bedroom she'd shared with her husband for decades.

“Now, Mom,” she said pleasantly, the very voice of reason,
“I'm sure that if we go through your closet together, we can find something perfect for a day of financial planning. Maybe a power blazer? A few pinstripes? What do you say?”

Daphne pressed her hand against the varnished walnut headboard and closed her eyes against the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. “I have nothing, Lila. Nothing.”

Lila picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. “Let's just look.”

Big, breathy sigh.
“Nothing.”

Lila nodded, her molars grinding as she maintained her chipper facade. “Tell you what. You stay here. I'll go peek in your bedroom closet and find a few options.”

“Don't treat me like a child and don't you dare paw through my closet.” Daphne went from indolent to incensed in the blink of an eye. She pushed off the headboard, hopped out of bed, and hurried down the hall toward the master bedroom. “I'm perfectly capable of putting together an outfit.”

Lila trailed behind her, trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong.

“And I don't need fashion tips from someone wearing baggy flannel pants, thank you very much.”

“I was trying to help.” Lila remained doggedly cheerful as she crossed over to the closet. “Sometimes it's fun to pick out stuff together. Remember that time we—”

“Don't!”
Daphne cried before Lila could grasp the doorknob.

Lila froze, stricken by the panic in her mother's voice. “Don't what?”

“Don't open that door.”

Lila pulled her hand back, her eyes huge. “Why not?”

Daphne's whole face tightened. “Because I told you not to, and I'm your mother.”

“But—”

“Don't argue with me.” Daphne pointed to the door. “Step away from the closet.”

Lila kept her hands up as she slowly moved aside.

“Must I remind you that I am a grieving widow?” Daphne fluffed her sleek brunette bob, which looked camera-ready right out of bed. Must be an ex-model thing. “You have to mollycoddle me and let me have my way.”

But her mother didn't sound grief-stricken at the moment. She sounded bossy and sharp and a little bit fearful.

Lila raised one eyebrow.

Daphne took her daughter's elbow and hustled her back toward the mirrored vanity table. “Be a good girl and change the subject, won't you?”

Lila narrowed her eyes but complied. “Fine. What do you want to talk about? And don't say Ben.”

“Fine. Let's talk about your other friends.”

It took Lila a few moments to admit the truth: She didn't have a lot of girlfriends. Not anymore. Over the past ten years, she'd given up her single social life to be part of the perfect power couple. She and Carl had couple friends, and when Carl left her, many of the wives patted her hand sympathetically but said they didn't want to choose sides. She'd told them that of course she understood. She didn't want anyone to feel awkward or uncomfortable. Even in the court-ordered mediation sessions, she'd smiled and spoken softly and comported herself like a lady . . . and then gone home and sobbed in the shower. “I haven't really stayed in touch with anybody from high school.”

“But you were the most popular girl in your class.” Daphne seemed a bit anxious at the thought that this might no longer be the case. “Stacie and Christa and Valerie still live nearby. You should call them and have lunch.”

“I haven't seen Val since her wedding, and Stacie gave up on
me a few years ago. I didn't even get a Christmas card from her last December. It would be weird, calling them out of the blue after all this time.”

“They'd be delighted to hear from you,” Daphne said. “Remember how much fun the four of you used to have together?”

Lila glanced down at her cheerleading shirt and softened. “I'll think about it.”

“Good.” Daphne cleared her throat. “Because you're having cocktails with them at the country club at four.”

“What?”

“I made some calls last night.” Daphne picked up a tiny bottle of oil and started ministering to her cuticles. “Valerie still lives right here in town, Stacie moved to Rehoboth Beach, and Christa works up by Dover, but she said she'd be happy to take the afternoon off and come catch up.”

Lila sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What?”

“Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I spent two hours on the phone with their mothers arranging all this.” Daphne looked offended. “A simple ‘thank you' might be in order.”

“I am a grown woman. I do not need you to arrange
playdates
for me.”

“Of course you don't. I'm just trying to help.” Daphne's mood was improving by the moment. “Getting out and about will do wonders for your confidence. Although you really should try to get your highlights touched up before you go.” She glided over to Lila and peered down with concern. “What's the matter, pumpkin?”

Lila literally bit her tongue and forced herself to count to twenty before she replied. “I cannot believe you did that.”

Daphne's enthusiasm ebbed away. “I didn't mean to . . . I just wanted to surprise you. I thought you'd be thrilled.”

Lila started back at zero, counted to twenty again, and then kept right on counting.

“I only wanted to make you happy.” Her mother was wilting before her very eyes. “They're your friends. I thought you might want to have some fun and chat with someone who isn't your mother.”

Thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . .
“I'll go,” Lila ground out. “Thank you for thinking of me. I'll go. But no deal on the highlights. I'm in a bit of a cash crunch; I don't have the budget to constantly go to the salon anymore.”

Daphne scoffed. “There's always enough money for highlights.”

“There's actually not.” Lila glanced out the side window toward the driveway. “My net worth consists of a heap of wrinkly clothes and a car that's trying to kill me.”

“Look at the time.” Daphne glanced at the clock and got to her feet. “No more putting it off—we've got to get ready. Run along and get changed.”

Lila lingered in the doorway.

Daphne took the coffee mug back. “Yes? May I help you with something?”

“What's in your closet?”

“None of your business.”

“Come on. Just tell me!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Daphne dabbed eye cream onto her face. “You don't get to know every single thing about me, that's why. Believe it or not, there's more to me than just being your mother.”

*   *   *

As soon as she glimpsed the receptionist's face, Lila braced herself for bad news.

The interior of the estate attorney's office was tasteful and
subdued with lots of dark wood, tufted leather furniture, potted plants, and a woman with pearl earrings and a chignon stationed at a desk. She glanced up when Lila opened the door, and Lila recognized the emotions flickering across the woman's face. Pity. Condolence. The urge to soften the blow.

Lila had seen the same look in Carl's eyes in the weeks before he announced that their marriage was over. It took all of her self-control not to turn around and walk back out of the office.

But her mother sat down on a long, low leather sofa against the wall, so Lila forced herself to approach the receptionist.

“Hi. We're here to see Mr. Walther.” She nodded over at her mother, who was listlessly flipping through a magazine. “Daphne Alders.”

“Of course.” The woman focused on her computer keyboard and avoided direct eye contact. “He'll be with you in a moment.”

The sky had been dark and gloomy all morning, and the first few droplets of rain splashed onto the windows. Her mother flipped through an old issue of
Architectural Digest
. “What do you think of this wallpaper? For the upstairs hallway?”

Lila glanced at the nubby, oyster-colored swatch. “Didn't you just redecorate the upstairs?”

“The bedrooms, not the hallway,” Daphne replied. “And that was eighteen months ago. The wallpaper, sweet pea. What do you think?”

“I think I'd rather spend my imaginary money on highlights.”

“Don't be a spoilsport.” Daphne's smile didn't reach her eyes. “Maybe after this, we can go to that home decor shop in Rehoboth Beach and look at upholstery fabric and rugs. Go crazy and buy some drawer pulls.”

“Let's worry about the property tax bill first, okay?”

“Let's not worry at all.” Daphne turned to the next page. “Money matters always work themselves out in the end.”

Lila half coughed, half laughed. “Um.”

“Remember what your father always used to say: ‘If you can solve the problem with money, it's not a real problem.'”

“Mr. Walther is ready for you.” The receptionist stood up and motioned for Lila and Daphne to follow her through a doorway. “Go right in.”

*   *   *

“We have a real problem here and it's time to address it,” the estate attorney said as he shuffled a stack of papers. “This isn't going to be an easy conversation. Mrs. Alders—”

“Oh, Richard, stop with the ‘Mrs. Alders.'” Daphne smoothed the crisp folds of her skirt. “I'd say we're well beyond that by now, wouldn't you?”

“Daphne.” Mr. Walther's smile was sad and sympathetic. “Your estate is . . . well, it's in the red.”

Lila froze, her posture perfect. “Excuse me?”

She stared at her mother. Her mother stared at the lawyer. The office was so quiet that she could hear the faint whoosh of air circulating through the ceiling vents.

Richard cleared his throat and consulted the paperwork. “May I speak frankly?”

Daphne settled back in her chair and sighed.

“Please do,” Lila said.

“When your father died, he left behind substantial debts. Most of the business loans can be discharged, but the personal loans have to be repaid and your mother and I have had several conversations about downsizing her lifestyle and reconfiguring her budget.”