New Uses For Old Boyfriends (5 page)

“Wait, how much debt are we talking about here?” Lila turned to her mother. “I thought everything was going great. Dad's business made it through the recession—he never said a word about loans. And I know you've never said a word about downsizing.”

“Because I'm fine.” Daphne's voice was high and thin. “I'm the parent and you're the child. I don't need a guilt trip from you right now.”

Lila threw up her hands. “I'm not giving you a guilt trip. I'm just trying to figure out—”

“Let's look at the portfolio.” Richard pushed a folder across the desktop. “Let's focus on the numbers.”

Lila set her jaw and inched forward in her seat.

“Bill's construction business never recovered after the recession, and he took on a lot of secured debt trying to salvage the company.”

“He did?” Lila glanced at the contracts and spreadsheets in the portfolio.

“He did.”

“And you knew about this?” she asked her mother.

Daphne shrugged one shoulder. “Your father didn't like to talk about money.”

Lila gripped the chair's carved wooden armrests and addressed the attorney. “So there were business problems.”

“Add that to the outstanding credit card debt, the maintenance and taxes on the primary residence, the line of credit leveraged on the house, and the liquidated investments, and it's . . .” The lawyer cleared his throat. “It's not very promising, from a financial standpoint.”

Lila looked back at her mother. Her mother gazed out the window. “You did know about this.”

She nodded.

“And it's been going on for a year now.”

“You had just lost your father, and then you lost your job, and then that nasty legal battle with Carl . . .” A single tear slid down Daphne's cheek. “I didn't want to worry you.”

“Since when did you take out a home equity loan?” Lila asked.
“And credit card debt! Weren't you the one who gave me a big lecture about the dangers of high interest payments when I left for college?”

“Stop yelling at me! I already feel terrible!” Daphne broke into sobs.

Richard raised his index finger, calling for calm. “Your mother and I have had several discussions about her current cash flow and the need for economy.”

“I see.” Lila folded her arms. “And how is that going?”

Daphne kept crying.

Lila took a deep breath. “So where are we right now?”

“There are no remaining assets to speak of,” the attorney said. “And very little investment income.”

Lila glanced over at her mother. “But what about all the rental houses?” Lila examined one of the financial documents, but couldn't make sense of what she was looking at. “The retirement accounts?”

“Your father liquidated everything trying to salvage his business,” Mr. Walther said. “I did advise him at the time that he'd be better off declaring professional bankruptcy and safeguarding his personal property, but I believe it was a point of honor. He very much valued his reputation in the community.”

“Of course he did,” Daphne snapped. “He was the best builder in Black Dog Bay.”

“Bill and I had several meetings about the state of his financial affairs before he died.” Richard handed a tissue to Daphne. “He kept hoping things would turn around once the real estate market recovered.”

“But they didn't.” Lila flinched as she heard her jaw joint click. “So now what?” She released her death grip on the chair, reeling at the implications of this. She was shocked, of course, and angry that her father had hidden this from his family, but she also tried to imagine the crushing sense of responsibility he must have
felt, charged with taking care of his daughter and wife. His success had become a matter of routine and expectation. He had always been the bedrock, the hero, the provider. “We have a property tax bill to pay. Among a lot of other things, apparently.”

“You're in a financial state of emergency,” the attorney declared.

“Okay.” Lila kept studying the legal documents as if the answers to all of life's problems were buried in the tiny rows of text. “What's the first thing we have to do to turn this around?”

“To be blunt, turning things around isn't an option. Daphne, you're going to have to sell the house—”

“Never.” Daphne jumped back into the conversation. “Absolutely not. I'm not selling the house.”

“He's saying we don't have a choice,” Lila pointed out.

“I spent thirty years pouring my heart and soul into that house. I just updated the living room this fall. Selling it is out of the question, and I won't hear another word on the subject.”

Lila made eye contact with the attorney. “No way to save the house?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I assume you're not in a position to assist your mother financially at this time?”

Lila felt her cheeks flush. “That would be a correct assumption.”

“Well, there's no need to call a real estate agent today.” He shot a sidelong glance at Daphne, who was blithely ignoring them. “I do think, though, that action should be taken sooner rather than later. Because, given the monthly expenses and the debts your mother is already responsible for—”

“We're screwed.” Lila shot to her feet. “Got it.”

“This is obviously an emotional time.” The lawyer adjusted the knot in his tie. “Why don't the two of you take a day to collect your thoughts, come to a decision about the house, and—”

“The decision is made,” Daphne said. “I'm not selling the house.”

Richard gave Lila a look and handed her a stack of folders.

Lila accepted the paperwork and gathered up her coat and handbag. “Mom? We're going.”

Daphne waited for the attorney to stand up, walk around the desk, and help her put on her sable-trimmed black coat. Then mother and daughter walked back through the waiting room and out of the office.

Finally, once they'd pushed through the building's glass doors to the wind and cold rain, Lila trusted herself to speak. “I need a few minutes alone.”

Daphne dabbed at her eyes with the wadded tissue. “I think that's a good idea. Take some time to process everything before you meet the girls at the country club.”

Lila pivoted on her heel and rounded on her mother. “Are you insane? I'm not going to the country club to have cocktails right now.”

Daphne held her ground. “You have to. Canceling would be rude; everyone will be so disappointed. What will people think?”

“Sorry; I got my priorities screwed up for a second there.” Lila let out a dry little laugh. “Who cares what's really going on? All that matters is what people will
think
.”

Daphne drew herself up to her full, formidable height. “Lila Jane Alders—”

“I know, I know.” And Lila did know, before her mother could say the words, what she should focus on. The fact that her friends, whom she hadn't seen in over ten years, had taken time off work to drive to Black Dog Bay to see her. They deserved to be greeted by the warm and bubbly girl they remembered, not a bitter and penniless divorcée. Lila would meet everyone's expectations of her; she always did.

After all, she had learned from the best.

She turned back to the FUV and offered her hand to her mother. “Watch your step. I'll drop you off at home.”

“Thank you.” Despite her imposing stature, Daphne looked smaller than Lila had ever seen her. “And I'm sorry. For everything.”

Lila kept her gaze on the asphalt. “I know.”

“I don't know how I ended up here.”

“Me, neither.”

Daphne settled into the passenger seat with her handbag in her lap. “But don't let this ruin your day. Go to the club. Have fun.” She leaned forward and rubbed her index finger against Lila's cheek. “There. Your blush wasn't quite blended.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and you've got the tiniest little blemish on your chin.” Daphne rummaged through her purse. “Not to worry—I've got the most amazing concealer. By the time I'm done with you, you'll look flawless.”

L
ila sauntered into the Gull's Point Country Club at four o'clock sharp, selected a seat at the bar, and waited for her friends to show up.

Ten minutes later, she was still waiting.

When the bartender asked what she'd like to drink, Lila had a stroke of brilliance. “Yes, I'll have four”—she had to look away to finish the sentence—“sex on the beaches, please.”

“Oh, you're here!” A familiar voice rang out behind Lila. “Sorry I'm late; traffic was a nightmare.”

“You guys better not have started without me!” another voice cried. “My son was a beast when he woke up from his nap, and the sitter had to pull him off me like a barnacle from a battleship.”

“I'm here, I'm here!” chimed a third voice. “It's not like I could ever be on time in high school, so why should real life be any different?”

Lila turned around and threw herself into a giggly, weepy, four-way hug. The first few minutes of the reunion was a blur of squealing and exclaiming over how fantastic everybody looked. Christa's long, wavy hair had been cropped into a sassy shag;
Stacie's trademark red lipstick had been replaced by a more subdued shade of rose; Val had let two of the four holes in her earlobe close up. They all looked a bit more buttoned-up and a lot more tired than they had twelve years ago. But they were still friends. They could pick up right where they left off.

The bartender approached, bearing a tray with four peachy pink cocktails. “Here you go, ma'am.”

“What is that?” Christa stared at the frosty glasses.

“I'm surprised you don't recognize our signature drink from high school.” Lila wagged her finger at them. “Shame on you.”

Val burst out laughing. “Sex on the beach? Oh my God!”

“How could I have forgotten?” Stacie groaned at the memories. “We thought we were sooo sophisticated.”

Christa picked up one of the drinks and sniffed it suspiciously. “What's in these things, anyway?”

“Vodka and juice and, like, peach schnapps.”

“I thought it'd be fun.” Lila raised her glass. “For old times' sake.”

“I actually can't drink.” Val made a face. “Still breast-feeding.”

Christa nibbled her lower lip. “I have to drive all the way back to Dover, and I'm such a lightweight.”

“I have to leave early so I can finish up a presentation for work.” Stacie shook her head ruefully. “Kids and jobs have ruined our social lives.”

“Let's have iced tea and talk fast.” Val signaled the bartender, then gave Lila a quick kiss on the cheek. “So, how long are you going to be in town, lady?”

“I'm not sure.” Lila folded a paper napkin into little triangles. “I'll be here through the summer, helping my mom.”

“And then?” Stacie prompted. “Doesn't your viewing public need you back?”

“We'll see. My agent's been lining up a few auditions.” Lila's
agent had been lining up auditions for months now, for increasingly smaller and more obscure jobs. Lila had shown up early, schmoozed with the casting directors, networked like mad, but the feedback had been increasingly negative:

She's too generic.

She's too short.

She's too old.

“Do you have your own fan club?” Christa grinned. “I always knew if any of us ended up famous, it would be you.”

“Lila Alders, living the dream.”

Lila laughed weakly. “Not really.”

“Oh, please.” Stacie looked wistful as she sipped her iced tea. “You did just what you always said you would—moved to the big city and broke into show business.”

“Our lives are so boring by comparison.” Val dipped her napkin in her water glass and patted a blobby stain on her cardigan. “You're wearing silk and I'm wearing spit-up stains.”

Stacie smiled sympathetically. “Chase still has reflux?”

“We don't know what it is.” Val frowned. “Now the pediatrician is saying it might be an allergy or maybe dairy intolerance.”

“I'll keep my fingers crossed it's not an allergy,” Christa said. “Those are so hard to deal with once the kids start school. Although my niece has a serious tree nut allergy, and they've done a great job managing it at her preschool.”

Lila sat back, sipped her iced tea, and tried to contribute to the conversation, which bounced from teething to elementary school districts to corporate benefit packages to upcoming wedding anniversaries.

“Eight years!” Val gushed. “Can you believe it's been that long?”

“What are you and Troy going to do to celebrate?” Lila asked.

“Well, at first we wanted to go to the Caribbean. But that's so
expensive, and it's hard to be away from the kids so long, so then we thought maybe Florida. And then Troy's boss left and he's up for promotion, so we'll be lucky to squeeze in a weekend in North Carolina.”

“Make the time,” Stacie advised. “I know it's hard when your babies are little, but if you don't . . .” She trailed off as everyone's gazes slid toward Lila. “Oh. Sorry, Lila, I didn't mean . . .”

“Of course not!” Lila waved this away with manic energy. “It's fine.”

“You're just lucky you didn't have kids with your ex,” Stacie opined. “That makes divorce so much harder.”

“And it makes you a much better dating prospect,” Christa said. “A lot of guys don't want to date a woman with kids. But you're so pretty and fun, you'll be remarried in a hot minute.”

“Here's to that!” Val trilled. They all clinked glasses.

“Speaking of which . . .” Stacie motioned everybody in. “What's going on with you and Ben Collier?”

Lila glanced away from the trio of inquisitive faces. “Um . . .”

“Don't play coy. Word's all over town that he's back and you're back and the epic love story of our time is going to have a second chapter.”

Christa gasped. “I didn't hear this part! Damn work getting in the way of my gossip. Why is Ben in town?”

“Oh, I think we all know why.” Everyone nudged one another and giggled and looked at Lila.

“Remember how you guys used to go to the bonfires on the beach after every football game?”

“Remember when Ben sent all those roses to you in homeroom on Valentine's Day?”

“Remember how devastated you were when you guys decided to break up?”

“Even your breakup was better than everybody else's,” Christa marveled. “The perfect breakup for the perfect couple.”

“And now, the perfect reunion.”

“You guys.” Lila felt herself blushing. “He's just here to oversee some retail construction.”

“Oversee, nothing. He's inheriting a real estate empire,” Val informed everybody. “His dad's company does residential and commercial development, and they've done very well.” She shot Lila a meaningful look. “
Very
well. You should snap that man up while the snapping's good.”

“Have you talked to him yet?” Stacie demanded.

Lila nodded. “Just for a few minutes.”

“And . . . ?”

“And he said he was going to call me.”

More squealing and hand clasping.

“But he hasn't actually called,” she hastened to add.

“Oh, he'll call.”

“Absolutely.”

“How many kids do you think you'll have? He's going to be such a great dad.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “You guys are worse than my mom.”

“You know who else I heard is back?” Christa said. “Malcolm Toth.”

Lila tried to place the name. “Who?”

“Malcolm Toth,” Christa repeated. “He was in our class.”

“Oh, that quiet guy?” Stacie nodded. “Yeah, I think he joined the army or something after graduation.”

Lila shook her head. “Don't remember him.”

“Yeah, you do. Didn't you go out with him once sophomore year? Before you and Ben got together?”

Lila shook her head. “No.”

“Well, his sister lives here, too. Her baby goes to the Montessori center my cousin just opened down by the elementary school.”

Which sparked a spirited debate on the merits of Montessori
versus Reggio Emilia. After another thirty minutes, everyone started making noises about work deadlines and sitters and Lila picked up the check, just as she always had in high school. No one else even reached for it.

“We should do this again,” Christa said.

“Definitely.” Val tapped away at her cell phone.

Stacie started hugging everyone again. “We should do this every month.”

But after five minutes of poring over their schedules, they couldn't manage to find a free evening for the next cocktail hour. So the old friends disbanded, making vague promises to text one another and keep in touch.

“No one wants to stay here and have a real drink with me?” Lila cajoled as everyone gathered up their briefcases and diaper bags.

Everyone shook their heads and headed back to their busy lives, leaving Lila alone with the bill and four watery sex on the beaches.

“I haven't had one of these since high school.” She smiled at the bartender and took a sip, then almost gagged at the sweetness. “And now I remember why.” She surveyed the sedate, elderly clientele seated in the dining room. “Listen, is there someplace to get a margarita around here where I won't run into anybody who knows me and/or my mother?”

“There's a new wine bar on Main Street.” The bartender wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Very touristy, very pink. Ben Collier wouldn't be caught dead there.”

Lila blinked. “You know about me and . . . ?”

The bartender nodded. “Everyone knows. You're the talk of the town.”

“The Whinery, you say? Full of booze, devoid of ex-boyfriends?” Lila handed over her credit card and prayed that the transaction would go through. “Then that's my next stop.”