The Pre-Nup (6 page)

Jen and Mara fumbled helplessly.

“Well, you say, uh…”

“Yeah, you could always, um…”

“Exactly.” Ellie pushed back her chair and stood up. “There are no answers. Nothing I do or say is going to make any difference. He’s ripping our lives apart, and I have to sit back and take it.” She hoisted her brown suede bag onto her shoulder. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

Jen surveyed the balled-up tissues scattered among the ravaged smears of fondant and cake crumbs. “I’ll get the car.”

Mara complimented the baker as he passed. “Superb. Love the strawberry champagne cake. I’ll get back to you with a final decision next week.”

Jen’s eyebrows snapped together. “I thought you weren’t getting married?”

“Please. Let’s be real here. What are the odds that I’m ever going to be attracted to another cute, smart, decent guy who’s not a total scumbag?”

Jen did a quick mental inventory of Mara’s many ex-boyfriends. “Well,” she admitted, “that would appear to be a long shot. But maybe—”

“Maybe nothing. I argued him into this stupid pre-nup, now I’ll just have to argue him out of it.” Mara looked grim and resigned.

“Ah, true love.”

Mara scraped back her chair. “You bring the car around. I’m off to the restroom to check on our girl.”

Jen felt an unexpected rush of relief as she headed back out into the afternoon sun. Everyone had marriage problems. Everyone. And she and Eric would never have to endure such heart-wrenching doubt and betrayal. They’d never wavered in the promises they’d made the night before their wedding.

I’ll never hurt you and I’ll never ask for more than you can give,
he had vowed.
I’ll love you enough for both of us.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She didn’t want to remember the resolve in her husband’s voice when he swore eternal devotion, the desperate determination in his eyes.

This was what came of abandoning her work plans on a Saturday afternoon. Drinking, carousing, and wanton cake consumption. Plus guilt, lots of guilt. She should have stayed at home with her spreadsheets and marketing plans and—

“Jen?” A man across the street called her name, then raised his hand in greeting. “Jen Finnerty?”

The smooth, deep voice stopped her in her tracks. She struggled to arrange her face in a smile.

Oh, dear God, no. No, no, no. I’m wearing ratty old yoga pants and no makeup. I can’t face him like this.

“You chopped off all your hair.” Patrick Spillane loped across the concrete, rapidly closing the distance between them. “I love it.”

Jen had spent a lot of time over the last six years mentally composing a cutting little speech to deliver at precisely this moment. Too bad she couldn’t remember a word of it.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face.

He didn’t seem to notice on her discomfort. “Just got back into town last week. I’m looking to join a practice out here. Thinking about buying a place in Fountain Hills.”

“You’re so…tan.” Strike two.

Patrick threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what a few years in sub-Saharan Africa without sunscreen will do to you. So really, how are you, Jen?”

She stared up at the sky and said loudly, “I got married.”

“I heard. Eric’s a lucky guy.”

She couldn’t detect any trace of mockery in his tone.

“Look at you. All grown up. It’s been a long time.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across the thick waves of hair above her temple. “Let’s get together soon and catch up. You, me, and Eric. I’ll be in touch.” Then he walked away without a backward glance.

Jen remained rooted to the ground for a few minutes, watching him go. Her face burned against the brisk winter wind. Who the hell did he think he was? How dare he kiss her after all that had happened? How dare he have an opinion about her hair, her life, her marriage?

But that was the thing about Patrick Spillane: He always dared.

She whipped out her phone and speed-dialed Eric. Talking to him would bring her back to herself; besides, he deserved to know that she was thinking of him while he was away.

But Eric didn’t pick up. And as Jen pressed the phone to her ear, listening to the mechanical ringing and reeling from the sensation of Patrick’s lips so close to her face, she had to admit she felt relieved that her husband wasn’t available.

Ellie
Chapter
6

E
llie, darling, I just heard and it’s dreadful; no way around it.” Michael’s mother looked simultaneously apprehensive and relieved when Ellie opened the front door. “I had to come over to see how you’re holding up.”

Patrice Barton exuded an air of effortless chic and endless hospitality. A fixture on the Scottsdale social circuit, she was sweet, petite, and always perfectly put together. This Saturday afternoon was no exception. Her thick blond hair (shot through with just the right amount of silver) was freshly blown out, her blue blazer was classic silk tweed, but her smile couldn’t quite disguise the anguish in her eyes.

“Patrice!” Ellie sloshed a bit of lukewarm coffee from her mug onto the floor as she took a step back. “What a surprise!”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Well, good, of course. I wasn’t sure when I’d hear from you, given the, uh, circumstances.”

Patrice nodded. “May I come in? I know I should have called first, but…”

“Don’t be silly. You know you’re welcome anytime.” Ellie beckoned her inside. “This coffee is cold and vile, but if you wait ten minutes, I’ll brew a fresh pot.” She called into the kitchen. “Hannah! Look who’s here!”

“Gramma!” Hannah scampered in and threw her arms around Patrice’s knees.

Patrice scooped up the little girl and twirled around the foyer. “Hello there, kitty cat! Goodness, you’re getting big.”

“Did you bring me a prezzie?”

Ellie gasped and put her hand on her hip. “Hannah Rose Barton! That is rude. You do not ask your grandma—or
anyone
who comes to this house—to give you—”

Patrice waved this away and glanced conspiratorially at Hannah. “Of course I brought you a prezzie. That’s what grammas are for. Go peek in the front seat of my car.”

Hannah dashed out to the green Jaguar parked in the driveway, jerked open the passenger side door, and seized a large paper bag overflowing with white tissue paper.

“Ooh!” She dug through the wrapping to reveal a large box labeled “Fine English China.” “A teapot!”

“That’s right.” Patrice’s smile widened. “A real tea set with blue flowers, just like in
A Bargain for Frances.
”

“And a doll!” Hannah glanced sidelong at Ellie, then folded her hands and cooed sweetly, “Thank you, Gramma.”

“You’re very welcome. Now listen, kitty cat, your grandma and mommy are going to catch up for a few minutes. Go start a tea party with your dolls in your playhouse in the backyard, and we’ll be out to join you in a few minutes.”

“’Kay!” Hannah gathered up her loot and sped off.

When they heard the sliding glass door in the kitchen slam shut, the two women looked at each other and sighed.

“People were whispering at the art gallery opening this afternoon,” Patrice said. “It’s true, then?”

Ellie knew the expression on her face was confirmation enough. “Oh God. We’re the talk of the country club already?”

“You know how fast word travels around this neighborhood.”

“What exactly are people saying?” Ellie pressed. “They didn’t mention anything about apple juice, did they?”

“Don’t worry,” Patrice said firmly. “I’ll handle the gossip. You have more important matters to think about.” She nodded toward the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

“Give me a minute to start some coffee.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine. Sit down and we’ll…” Patrice trailed off as she glanced toward the dining room and noticed the traces of pulverized porcelain still scattered across the floor. “Oh dear. Apparently, I should have bought
you
a new tea set, as well.”

“I’m still cleaning up,” Ellie stammered. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I completely understand. Sit.” Patrice led the way into the living room and perched on the rose-and-cream-striped sofa. “I know that your marriage is none of my business. I’ve tried very hard not to be one of those burdensome, meddling mothers-in-law—”

“Don’t even say that!” Ellie broke in. “You’ve been wonderful. No one ever could take the place of my mom, of course, but since she passed away, in some ways it’s like…”

Patrice pressed her lips together and covered Ellie’s hand with her own. “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’ve always thought of you as my daughter. I loved raising my boys, of course, but I always wondered if Heath and I had tried again if we would have had a girl.”

Ellie swallowed hard. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me and Hannah. She adores you. And I want you to know that whatever happens in the future, I hope we can remain close.”

“So you haven’t made any definite decisions?” Patrice looked hopeful. “About you and Michael?”

“I’m calling a lawyer on Monday.”

“What have you told Hannah?”

“Nothing yet, but I’m going to have to come up with something.”

“Oh darling, this is so hard.” Patrice’s voice was strained. “I know how you must be feeling right now.”

“No offense, Patrice, but no, you don’t.”

Her mother-in-law lifted her eyebrows and gave her a meaningful look. “I assure you, I do.”

“What?” Ellie couldn’t contain her shock. “You mean Heath…?”

Patrice inclined her head slightly in affirmation.

“Are you kidding me? But you guys seem so happy!” Ellie winced as the words left her mouth. Everyone down at the country club was probably saying the same thing about her and Michael.

But then Patrice smiled. “We are happy. Very happy. But thirty years ago, when Michael and Daniel were little and we were just starting out…things happen.”

“They do,” Ellie allowed. “But there’s a difference between things happening and people
making
them happen.”

Patrice continued as if Ellie hadn’t spoken. “I swore I’d never get over it. I was furious and humiliated, but most of all, I was devastated because my heart was broken and I thought I could never trust my husband again.”

“Check.” Ellie nodded. “Check, check, and check.”

“But a lot of time has passed since then. Births and deaths and triumphs and tragedies. And do you know what? Somewhere along the way, Heath and I fell back in love. The heart is very resilient. I healed. Our marriage healed.”

“Okay,” Ellie said slowly. “I don’t know all the specifics of your situation with Heath, but—”

“I don’t know all the specifics of your situation with Michael. But I do know that he loves you very much.”

“You don’t treat people you love the way he’s treating me.”

“Oh, I’m not defending his behavior,” Patrice assured her. “He’s debased himself and this family and I’m going to express that to him in the strongest possible terms.”

“Then what exactly are you saying?”

“When Heath and I reached our crisis point, I learned a lot about compromise.” The older woman smiled wryly. “You know me, I’m not one to be led around by the nose. But I refused to give up on my marriage until I was absolutely sure it was beyond salvation. There are very few things in life worth that kind of struggle, but family is one of them. At first, I stayed with Heath not because I loved him, but because I loved my children. I wanted my sons to have a father. Ultimately, keeping the family intact was more important to me than my pride.”

Ellie didn’t respond, but she considered how alone she would be without Michael and Patrice and Heath in her life. How alone in the world she had felt before she married Michael. She never, ever wanted her daughter to experience that kind of isolation.

“And slowly, Heath and I came back to each other. We’re more in love now than we were when we got married.” Patrice held up her index finger to hold off Ellie’s protests. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just giving you a perspective from the other side. You can make it through this together if you both commit to doing the work. Heath and I will help in any way we can. We’ll pay for counseling, we’ll give you the house in Sedona for the summer so you can spend some quality time together, reconnect.”

“I think we’re past the point of quality time.”

“And if that’s really the way you feel, there’s nothing more to be said. But if there’s even the slightest chance you’d be willing to try again, you need to consider what’s at stake. It’s a question of compromise.” She glanced up at the framed family photograph resting on the mantel. Ellie, Michael, and Hannah beamed out at the photographer. The three of them looked so comfortable and carefree. Hannah’s smile still gapped where her baby teeth hadn’t come in yet.

She’s growing up so fast,
Ellie realized.
We’ll have to schedule another family portrait soon.

Except that the next portrait would only show two of them.

“Let’s have brunch at the club tomorrow morning. Just the two of us.” Patrice winked. “A show of solidarity.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said softly. “That would mean a lot to me.”

The sliding glass door in the kitchen squeaked open. “Gramma, read me
A Bargain for Frances.
”

“Coming, kitty cat.” Patrice leaned in to kiss Ellie’s cheek. “Keep your chin up, darling. And try not to worry about Michael. I’ll deal with him.”

The doorbell rang again at six-thirty, just as Ellie and Hannah were finishing a makeshift “breakfast for dinner” consisting of fruit salad, pancakes, and crisp veggie bacon (Jen’s influence at work).

Ellie tucked her daughter safely away in the family room and turned on a Disney DVD. Then she marched into the foyer and made her stand beneath that huge chandelier, peering out through the thick beveled panes of glass framing the door.

Michael stood on the welcome mat with his head hung low. His hands were jammed into his jacket pockets; his shirt collar was rumpled and unbuttoned. And still he managed to radiate confidence and capability. The all-American husband and father with thick hair and perfect teeth, straight out of central casting. And with acting skills worthy of an Oscar.

The two of them stood there for a few long minutes, separated by slabs of wood and glass, and waited. He didn’t raise his face or try the lock. She didn’t reach for the knob.

Finally, he lifted his head and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

All of Ellie’s rage and resentment evaporated into an almost comical sense of defeat. He was
sorry
?

She cracked open the door a fraction of an inch. “It’s a little late for sorry. I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I have a lot to say to you.” Michael wedged the door open with his foot and hurried over the threshold.

Ellie crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels. “Did your mother send you?”

“No, my mother did not send me.” Michael rankled. “I’m here because I need to talk.
We
need to talk.”

“Michael…” Ellie paused, trying to figure out how to make him understand. “Are you planning to castrate yourself with a rusty spoon in the front yard?”

Michael frowned. “What?”

“Because, honestly, that would be the only thing you could do right now to make me feel better.”

He flinched but stood his ground. “I deserve that.”

“And so much more.”

“I know you hate me right now. I know I screwed up. But here’s the thing—”

“No, Michael.” The rage and resentment made a surprise comeback. “There is no thing. Nothing you can say or do can make this better. Ever.”

“Ellie, I love you.”

She recoiled as if he had slapped her. “Fuck you.”

She had never dropped the f-bomb in seven years of blissful marriage and motherhood, but now seemed like the appropriate moment.

Michael didn’t look so calm and confident anymore. He blanched and wobbled a bit on his feet.

“I don’t care what your excuse is or how sorry you are,” Ellie spat. “Pack your bags. Everything you leave behind is going to Goodwill. You have two minutes. The clock starts now.”

He refused to retreat. “I’m not here for my clothes. Give them to Goodwill; I don’t care. All I care about are you and Hannah.”

“Oh really?” Her laugh was bitter. “Then why are you having an affair? Or is it
affairs
—plural? How many women have you slept with since we got married?”