The Divorce Club (16 page)

"Sounds good." I breathe out, relieved, as we
step outside into the cool air. The tension's slowly dissipating.
Even Mindy smiles again, and this time it's genuine.

The local
McDonald's
is a small
drive-through with only three tables, which makes me assume people
in such a posh area probably don't eat here often. We pay for our
coffees and sit at the table farthest from the service
personnel.

"What do you think?" Mindy takes a sip and
smirks. I push two sachets of sugar across the polished counter.
She stirs them in, but doesn't drink.

"You could be right that he's seeing someone
else. The telltale signs are there."

"Yes," she hisses. "He's going down.
Shouldn't have messed with me."

I rub a hand against my temple as I consider
my words, wondering how to start. "Mindy, I'm not sure this is
healthy for you."

A frown crosses her brows. "I've no idea what
you're talking about."

"You're still young. Don't let someone else
steal your naivety by dragging you into something that shouldn't
concern you." Our eyes connect over our cheap plastic cups. For a
moment, there's a glint in her eyes as though her soul is speaking
to me, imploring me to keep going and save her. Then it disappears,
leaving behind a weak smile and a rigidity I didn't notice
before.

"It's my job, Sarah, just as much as what you
do is your job. I don't judge you, so please don't judge me."

My breath catches in my throat and my legs
threaten to buckle under me. "I didn't mean to sound like—"

She shakes her head. "No, let's leave it at
that. Please don't think you know me. Just because I'm young
doesn't mean I haven't seen the messed-up side of
relationships."

"Fair enough." I drain half of my coffee even
though the heat burns my tongue and I taste nothing. "I'm sorry. I
didn't want to offend you."

"The club's pamphlet says something about
surveillance and helping out with providing documentation," Mindy
says.

I hesitate. It's obvious where she's heading.
"I can do an all night stake-out, no problem. But I'm not a
professional. I've never done this before. A private detective
might be the better choice."

"She's rich and doesn't trust anyone. If this
got out and made it to the papers, can you imagine the scandal it'd
cause?"

For a second, I'm confused because of the
sudden jump from first person to third. It takes me a while to
realize Mindy's out of character now and talking about her boss.
"Still, Mindy, he'll probably play dirty to give her as little
money as possible. If she wants to take him to the cleaners, she'll
need more than a few amateurish shots."

Mindy peers around as though to make sure no
one's listening, then inches closer whispering, "It's not about
money; it's about her dignity and losing her place in society. The
pictures will never even be offered in court."

So, she plans to blackmail him into buying
her a nice house and staying married for the sake of her reputation
and pride. This is way more than I can handle, but as usual I can't
help myself. Mindy looks so earnest and helpless that I feel my
hesitation crumble under my feet.

"Please, my job's on the line here. If I do
this, she'll write me the best reference ever and then I'll finally
be able to set up my own personal assistant agency."

The kid has hefty goals, I'll give her that.
"What the heck. We'll do it."

"Great. Let's devise our battle strategy
right now." Mindy's mood changes could easily keep up with those of
my daughter. I can't shake off the feeling I've just been
manipulated. On the other hand, she seems like a genuinely nice
girl. How could she possibly try to wrap me around her finger?

"You didn't make a list, did you?" I gawk in
horror as she winks and pulls out a sheet of paper with bullet
points.

"He disappears every Tuesday and Friday after
work and doesn't usually come home before I go to bed." Mindy
pauses for effect. When I nod, she continues, "I say we
let
him think it's business as usual, but we follow him to see what
he's up to."

That isn't much of a plan really, but I dare
not tell her, so I nod again. "What if he's just doing late-night
shifts at the gym?"

"Pumping iron?" Mindy snorts. "You've got to
be kidding. But in case he does, I have another plan." She taps on
the paper. "In fact, I have a few of them. The first involves you
playing bait and then luring him into a hotel room for a romp and
some dirty pictures."

I shake my head and laugh. "No, missy. I'm
not doing that."

"Why not?" Mindy peers at me as though I've
just said I'm not joining the recycling trend, or saving the
whales.

"Because it's—" I struggle to find the right
word "—immoral."

"It doesn't have to be." She fishes in her
purse and retrieves a slip that resembles a check. "A thousand
should be worth your while."

"You're offering me that much money to
pretend I'm sleeping with the husband? Who would even believe
that?" I pinch my arm because I must be dreaming. Let's face it,
I'm no Giselle Bundchen, but
some
men have fancied me in the
past, so it can't be that sordid. I shake my head to get rid of the
uber-long list showing me all the good things I could do with the
money.

"I've been told he prefers the chubby type
even though he expects me to work out seven days a week and cut all
the carbs."

"Did you just call me—" It doesn't matter, I
tell myself, because to her I'm probably ten years and several
pounds past my sell-by date. "I'm not doing it."

"It's a lot of cash," Mindy says. "Do you
realize glamour models make much less than that?"

I snort. "Well, that's good to know so I
don't consider a change in career any time soon."

Mind grabs my arm and inches closer, her eyes
as big as saucers. Frankly, she's kind of starting to freak me out.
"You don't even have to do anything. Just take off your clothes and
pretend to make out with him. Did I mention we're talking about a
grand here?"

Yes, only a million times. My mind's
reminding me of the loan I had to take out to pay Greg almost half
of what we've invested in the house so far. The check wouldn't
cover it, but it'd contribute to a few repayments.

"You know, Sarah, it's okay. Just forget I
asked." Mindy reaches in her purse for her cell phone. "I'll offer
the money to Shannon."

"Shannon? She'll never do it."

"Oh, yeah? She's struggling because she
doesn't have a job. I know she fears losing her house. The money's
more than enough to give her a nice start."

I shake my head. "You can't possibly be
serious."

"I'm dialing." Mindy smiles. "Oh, it's
ringing." I can see she'd drag Shannon into this mess in a
heartbeat, and Shannon might just play along because she's
vulnerable and needs the cash. I can't let that happen. My
resolution's starting to crumble again. It
is
easy money,
and Mindy said the photos would never make it to court, so if no
one sees them then there's no harm done.

"Hang up," I say.

She snaps the phone shut. "I knew you'd see
my point. Are you sure?"

"I'm doing it only because of the money," I
whisper. "And I'm not taking all my clothes off, just flashing a
bit of thigh here and a shoulder there."

"Good girl." Mindy pats my arm and slips the
check into her bag. "You'll get it when the deed's done. The
sooner, the better. Let's say, tonight?"

I almost nod when I remember the planned trip
to France and the thousand other things I still need to do. "Not
this week."

"You're bailing out," Mindy says.

"I'm not. I just have something else that I
can't cancel."

"Well, if it's more important than my job, go
on." She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. Luckily for me,
I was married for fifteen years so I know the signs of emotional
blackmail.

I stand, ready to leave. "Next week, Mindy.
That's my final offer."

"You didn't even make a proper offer." She
pouts for a few more seconds, then smiles again. "Okay, but don't
change our plans."

"I won't." The promises keep flowing from my
lips. Once I get home I'm going to pay Amazon.com a visit and order
myself a few instruction guides on learning how to say 'no.'

I have barely time to heat up lasagna for my
starving daughter and grab a bite myself before turning to the
laundry pile waiting to be ironed and the still empty suitcases.
Last night, Jamie texted to confirm the pickup time. It's the only
time I heard from him since Monday, which makes me doubt that he
really wants this trip. Maybe his invitation to France was a spur
of the moment decision and he's too polite to cancel. I'm not keen
on going either; not that I wouldn't like to spend time with him
and get to know him better, but I don't want to have my heart
broken so soon after the disaster with Greg. Jamie isn't ready for
more than a flirt, and I'm not ready for something as insignificant
as a flirt.

Obviously, I'm aware he could still be my
stalker, but the facts speak against it. For one, if he were a
stalker he couldn't keep away from me for four whole days. I think
I'm more of a stalker because my mind can't stay focused on
anything else for longer than five minutes.

Jamie's car pulls up in the driveway. I
prepare to shout for Sam, but she's already sprinting down the
stairs, a huge grin playing on her lips. I might as well be
invisible, because she runs past without acknowledging me and opens
the door before Jamie can press the bell.

"I saw you pull up. Can't wait to get there,"
Sam says. "I
Googled
everything. It doesn't say anything
about shops—"

"Sam, take a deep breath." I look at Jamie,
grinning. "She's not excited or anything."

He smiles and holds out a small bag, this
time no flowers. We're in a hurry and don't have time for opening
gifts, but I don't dare argue in case Sam's turning into a raging
fury. So I stay in the background, regarding them in spite of the
floating sensation in my head and the nausea in the pit of my
stomach. It's surreal how comfortable they seem around each other,
Sam hovering over Jamie's old smartphone he apparently no longer
needs, and Jamie already explaining the functions as he swaps the
SIM card. She's been begging for a new phone for ages, but how did
he know?

"I have something for you too." Jamie walks
closer and presses a box the size of two bread rolls into my hands.
I remove the brown wrapping and blink, unsure what to say. He's
given me an ambient light thingy? "You said you have insomnia. I've
been told the blue light does wonders for your biorhythm," he
continues.

My what? "Thank you. I didn't expect it. This
sure beats downing three glasses of wine and two Ambien an hour
before bedtime."

He laughs. "I've been looking forward to your
sense of humor all week." He points at the luggage blocking the
hallway. "Are you moving out?"

"Those are Sam's shoes," I say, maintaining
my poker face. "Can a woman really have too many shoes? Not
according to my daughter."

Jamie doesn't even blink. "I don't mind one
bit as long as she doesn't own a pair of five-inch stilettos."

"No, that'd be me."

"Sexy. So where are the rest of Sam's bags?
She wears clothes too, right?"

I laugh. "I was just kidding. That's all of
Sam's stuff, including clothes. Mine's the tiny roller in the
kitchen. There wasn't enough room left in the hallway."

"Of course. Sounds plausible," he says. "I
was just yanking your chain."

"Maybe I should've said those were all my
shoes."

He winks. "Now,
that
I would've
believed."

I laugh. "Why? Because I'm a sharp
dresser?"

"Absolutely. You look stunning."

I know he's just giving me what I want to
hear, but I let myself fall for it anyway. "Thank you. Are you
trying to butter me up so you can pick your favorite radio station
on the drive there?"

"We'll have a great time. I can tell
already," Jamie says, starting to carry Sam's baggage to the
car.

Greg would've made a scene, spoiling the next
twenty-four hours with his complaining, but Jamie just laughs.
Either he's too good to be true, or he's hiding his true colors to
appear in a good light. I peer at him from the corner of my eye,
searching for a chink in that perfect armor, as I help him load the
car, but there's nothing that gives away his pretense.

"I'll grab my roller," I say and head back
in. When I return Sam's already sitting in the passenger seat,
phone pressed to her ear.

"Ready?" Jamie asks from the doorway. He
seems eager to get going.

"Do you want to grab some quick snacks to
take on the road for your own sanity? You know teenagers, no snacks
equals a whiney kid and a grumpy parent." I lock the door because I
know his answer already.

"We can buy something on the way there." He
opens the passenger door and points at the backseat. Sam groans,
but swaps seats without arguing.

I wait for him to start the engine and drive
a few miles before I say, "You didn't turn up at the meetings."

"Yeah, I figured it'd be for the best given
how stressed out you were by my presence." He clears his throat and
switches on the radio. An eighties song resonates through the
speakers. It's probably my sign to drop the topic, but I've always
been good at ignoring clues.

I lean over the headboard and press a button
I assume will decrease the volume. Instead, the music booms.

I go with it and vigorously shake my head up
and down because I haven't felt so excited for years. "Head banging
to Def Tiger. Now that rocks," I shout as Jamie turns it down to a
mellow level.

"You didn't turn that up on purpose." He
snorts. "And for some reason you don't strike me as the head banger
type."