Read Single in Suburbia Online

Authors: Wendy Wax

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Fiction

Single in Suburbia (7 page)

BOOK: Single in Suburbia
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“Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I put the best forensic accountant we have on it because something felt off.”

She studied Amanda as if trying to determine whether she needed to call the paramedics. “And I’m afraid it gets worse.”

As if anything could be worse than Rob’s lack of money at this particular point in time; money she’d been counting on to smooth the transition for the kids.

“He’s apparently been dipping into client trust accounts to cover his personal losses.”

Amanda stared at Anne Justiss hoping against hope that she’d misunderstood her. “But he’s an attorney. That’s illegal!”

“It most certainly is. And it happens far more often than most people realize.” Anne Justiss looked down at the file in front of her then back up at Amanda, her gaze unwavering. “We do have some leverage. Depending on how we handle this information, your husband could be disbarred or end up in jail. But, of course, with either of those scenarios his earning potential is cut off for good. That’s not in your, or the children’s, best interests.”

Stunned, Amanda tried to take it in. She’d promised the children they’d keep the house. But that was when she’d assumed the house was just one of many assets available to divide. And as angry as she was with Rob, did she really want to send Meghan and Wyatt’s father to prison? Tying him in the basement and torturing him, yes, letting him languish in a real prison with hardened criminals, no.

“I can’t lose the house,” Amanda said. “I promised the kids it would be ours.”

“I’m going to get you the house, Amanda,” Anne Justiss said. “That I promise. The payments are low and you’ve got a good bit of equity in it. If you sell it and scale back, you should be able to buy some time to get on your feet.”

Amanda shook her head slowly. “But, I told the kids they wouldn’t have to move.”

“Unfortunately, they’re going to have to get used to a lot of things they shouldn’t have to. Your husband has a lot to answer for.”

But Amanda was the one who’d have to face Meghan and Wyatt; she was the one who would be held accountable. Somehow she’d have to find a way to keep her promise to them. Anything less was completely unacceptable.

Anne Justiss’s smile was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I’d hoped to do so much better for you. We need to give some serious thought about how to proceed. Your husband’s firm isn’t going to want this made public, so he may not end up disbarred. Still whatever happens, he’s not going to be of any financial help for a long time to come, if ever.”

She closed the file on her desk and stood to shake hands. “I have a meeting scheduled for Monday morning with his attorney. We’ll see who’s still standing after this little bomb gets dropped.”

  

Once again, Amanda drove home from Anne Justiss’s office in a fog. One minute she was stumbling toward the law office’s parking garage. The next she was pulling into her own.

When the kids got home, she put on her mother smile and heartiest good humor and ferried them to where they had to go, grateful that they were both sleeping over at friends. She might have been a drama major but at the moment acting normal was a real stretch.

When she got home again, she picked up the telephone and punched in Rob’s number. She needed to know how this had happened, needed to have some sense of perspective on how their lives had gotten so flushed down the toilet.

“Rob Sheridan’s office.” His secretary answered on the third ring.

It was a challenge to keep her voice steady. “Is he there, Cindy?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sheridan,” the secretary said. “He’s out of town for the day taking a deposition. He’s due back early this evening.”

Hanging up, Amanda punched in her parents’ cell phone number but hung up before the call went through. For months she’d failed to offer so much as a hint that there was a problem. How could she call now and admit to total defeat?

She stared at the phone searching her brain for the right person to call, but the hard cold truth was there was no one. She knew lots of women through her volunteer commitments and the kids’ activities but she’d been so wrapped up in her family and her responsibilities that she hadn’t pushed very far beyond the surface with anyone; had never gone the extra mile necessary to establish and maintain that kind of closeness. She had had pleasant social relationships with many women, but there wasn’t a single one she felt she could share all of this with now.

She was still clutching the phone when it rang.

“Hello?”

“Amanda? Is that you?” Candace’s voice was firm and smooth with none of the wobbliness Amanda felt in hers.

“Yes. How are you, Candace?”

“Fine. I just called to check in and say hi. Dan and I were at the Children’s Hospital fund-raiser last night, and I saw some of your favorite people there.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Amanda? Are you OK?”

That simple question from an almost stranger opened the floodgates. “I’m fine.” Amanda choked on the word. A sob escaped despite her attempts to hold it back. “Everything’s…good.” Except, of course, for her life in general and her future in particular.

“I’m coming over.”

“That’s not necessary.” She suspected her protest would have sounded more convincing if it hadn’t come between sobs.

“Don’t argue. We can be there in fifteen minutes. Brooke Mackenzie is already on the way here. We ran into each other at the fund-raiser and Hap’s out of town. Do you mind if I bring her?”

At the moment Amanda didn’t care if Candace brought the man in the moon. It was human contact and she would take it right now any way she could get it. “OK.” She sniffed. “Thanks.”

“And if you’re not dressed get some clothes on. You sound like you need a drink—maybe lots of drinks. We’ll take you out. The last place you need to be right now is sitting at home.”

  

Brooke and Candace led Amanda out of the car and into Chili’s. As they were shown to their table, Brooke couldn’t help noticing that they were the only women over the age of twenty who were there without children or men. The suburbs were not designed for single women of any age. It took a strong woman to operate alone within its borders.

As far as Brooke could see, Candace managed by holding herself apart from it all; she might be dating the coach of a Little League team, but she wasn’t concerned about communing with the moms. Nor was she scrambling for position like a lot of the women were. How grand it must be to feel so sure of oneself, so not in need of others’ approval.

Amanda was different. She was a baseball mom/suburban hausfrau down to her toes and she didn’t appear to have any desire to be anything else. Her husband’s desertion had obliterated the world as she knew it.

Brooke thought about how different their lives had been from hers and how shocked they would be if she told them exactly where she’d come from and how hard she’d worked to create the woman she presented to the world.

Except, of course, that she’d never even told her husband and suspected she never would.

As soon as they were seated, Candace called the waiter over. He appeared to be about twelve. “What are we drinking?”

“Nothing for me,” Brooke said. “I’ll be the designated driver.” She saw Amanda’s face fall. “But Amanda deserves to take the edge off, and I doubt she wants to do it alone.”

Candace turned to Amanda. “I’m thinking margaritas. Are you with me?”

Amanda simply nodded.

“A pitcher of margaritas,” Candace told the server. “Anybody interested in food?”

Nobody was.

The waiter scurried off and the three of them looked at each other expectantly. They knew each other, but didn’t, and as far as Brooke could tell, they didn’t have anything in common. Still she wanted to help Amanda if possible and she could tell that Candace did too. It was a place to start.

“OK, Amanda,” Candace said. “I think you need to tell us what happened today. We are taking an absolute vow of silence, a pledge of confidentiality.” She looked to Brooke who nodded in agreement.

“This”—she motioned to the table at which they sat—“will be your confessional in the Temporary Church of Chili’s. And you can think of me as your…sister confessor…one of the few Jewish women to ever hold this position.”

Even Amanda smiled at that.

The waiter arrived and set the frosty glasses in front of them then poured Amanda and Candace a drink. “Thank you, Sister Candace, for the offer of spiritual guidance,” Amanda said. “And for these margaritas which we are about to consume.”

Amanda and Candace drank their margaritas down and slammed the empty glasses onto the table. Candace poured a second round.

“I can’t go into the details right now,” Amanda said licking the froth from the corner of her mouth, “but the bottom line is Rob doesn’t
have
a bottom line.”

“Has he managed to hide it all?” Candace asked, her eyes narrowing. “One of my husbands tried to take two of his companies offshore, but Anne Justiss headed him off.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call the money…hidden,” Amanda said, sipping on her margarita. “But I’m going to be lucky to get the house. And even if I get the house, I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to afford to hold on to it.”

Amanda turned her glass up and emptied the rest of it in one long gulp. Candace followed suit.

That was, Brooke noticed, two down in about as many minutes.

“Well that sucks.” Candace picked up the pitcher and held it out toward Brooke. “Are you sure you don’t want a taste? I really don’t think half a glass is going to impair your driving.”

“No thanks. I don’t drink,” Brooke said.

“At all?” Candace’s surprise was evident. Amanda’s attention was pretty much fixed on her empty glass.

“No,” Brooke repeated. And if their mothers had climbed into a bottle each night after getting home from cleaning houses, they wouldn’t either.

The waiter came back to suggest chips and salsa. “Food might be a good idea,” Brooke pointed out. “It can’t hurt to soak up a little of that alcohol.” Neither Candace or Amanda were interested, but Brooke ordered for them anyway.

While they waited, Amanda finished her third margarita. Her eyes were starting to look glassy and her words came out more slowly than usual. “Candace is right. Everything sucks big time.”

The near profanity sounded strange coming from Amanda’s lips. She took another drink and once again, tipped her glass up and drained it.

At this rate, Brooke thought, the two of them were going to be under the table before the chips even arrived. She wondered how she’d get them back into her car.

“I feel so helpless. All these horrible things keep happening and I never get to strike back.” Amanda hiccupped then giggled in surprise. “Rob just keeps dishing it out and I just keep taking it.” She shot a look of longing at the now empty pitcher. “That doesn’t seem at all equitable.” She turned to Brooke, her gaze unfocused. “Do you think it’s equita…babble? Equita…bubble?” She shook her head as if trying to figure out what was wrong with her lips. “Fair?”

“No, it’s not,” Brooke conceded. “And if
you’re
not safe from this kind of thing, I don’t know who is. I mean you must be pretty close to forty and all, but it’s not like you’ve totally let yourself go or anything.”

“Gee, thanks.” Amanda tried to roll her unfocused eyes.

“What I mean is,” Brooke amended, “at what point is a woman safe? Now that I’m a wife, how do I keep someone like me from coming along?”

“If you can figure that one out, I’ll bankroll your run for president.” Candace ran a finger over the remaining salt on the rim of her glass and licked it off. She sounded just as forceful as she had earlier but her words seemed to be coming out more slowly too. “I personally think that striking back is very important,” she said. “It cleanses the soul and helps you blow off some of the anger. It can help you move forward.” Candace took another sip of her drink. “In fact, now that I think of it, I’m a big proponent of revenge as a self-help tool.” She sat up and set down her glass. “I’ve always been attracted to monetary punishment, but I think any form of revenge would probably help.”

Brooke thought food would help even more. Lots of food to soak up the alcohol they’d consumed.

“Well, I’d like some revenge right now,” Amanda said. “And I don’t even care in what form I get it.” She waved to their waiter. When he arrived, finally bearing the chips and dip, she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t think we need those chips after all. We just need the check. I have to go punish somebody. And my two new friends are going to help me.”

  

They piled into Brooke’s car. Well, actually Candace and Brooke piled, Amanda sort of oozed in. She wanted to come up with something scathingly brilliant that Rob would never forget, but she had neither the resources nor, at the moment, the mental abilities required. She knew she should be worried about her lack of mental acuity, but the alcoholic fog that now enveloped her was too comforting to object to. It was warm and fuzzy inside there, like being in a big protective bubble. Amanda didn’t want to come out any time soon.

“OK, so what do we have in mind for Rob? Should we slash his tires? E-mail naked photos of him to his clients?” Candace asked.

Amanda didn’t really care what she did to him as long as she did something. For at least one moment in the midst of all this mess, she wanted to be the one acting rather than the one being acted upon. No matter how small the gesture, she simply had to make one.

Brooke put on the brakes at a stoplight and a small drugstore bag sitting on the seat beside Amanda slid to the floor. Its contents spilled out and as she picked them up, she noticed the word
Trojan
. “What have we here?” She giggled—her, Amanda Sheridan, who had not giggled for at least a dozen years. “We have condoms.” She stopped laughing as the realization hit her. “But I don’t need condoms.” Stricken, she held the box aloft and slid forward in her seat so that she could talk to Brooke and Candace. “I may never need condoms again.” Her eyes teared up.

“Amanda, there are plenty of other men out there. I know. I’ve been out with what feels like millions of them.” Candace’s words were slightly slurred, but they were still reassuring. “I’ll buy you some condoms for your birthday if you want. We’ll get you a whole truckload of them.” Candace smiled crookedly at her. “Because that’s what friends are for.”

BOOK: Single in Suburbia
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