A Woman's Place: A Novel (18 page)

I watched Cynthia browse through her listings. She rejected one after another with a grimace here, a headshake there. "Too far away," she would say, or, "No land." She kept returning to study one, frown, move on, then return again a short time later. Finally I asked what it was.

"Not a rental," she said, but she didn't turn away from it this time, simply left the listing on her desk and grew pensive. At one point she swiveled her chair and leaned toward the file cabinet, caught herself and sat back again.

"Strictly for sale?" I asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Are the owners living there now?"

Cynthia shook her head. "They moved south. The place has been on the market for a while. It's a special kind of place and needs a special kind of buyer. There haven't been many nibbles." But something interested her. I could see it. "Tell me about it. Just for kicks."

She did go for the file cabinet then. Seconds later, when she opened a folder and I caught sight of the color photograph inside, I knew what it was that kept drawing her back. Reaper Head was a small, egg-shaped island connected to the mainland by a causeway. A newly automated lighthouse stood at its wide end, private homes were strewn among pines through its middle. At its narrow end stood a second lighthouse. This one had been built in the mid-1800s and relieved of service a century later, at which time it had been bought by the adventuresome young couple that, no longer young, had just moved south. Made of field stone, it stood three stories high and was broader than most lighthouses, more a thimble than a needle. Its entrance was through the keeper's cottage, a single-story structure also of field stone, that housed an eat-in kitchen, an open living area, and a bathroom. Through an archway, the ground floor of the tower offered a den in the round with a spiral staircase at its heart. Up the staircase, the second floor was divided into three arced rooms and a second bathroom. The top floor, originally the lantern room, was narrower than the lower floors but bounded all the way around by windows and, outside, through a door as well-insulated as the windows if the muted sound of the sea was any judge, a railed walk.

There wasn't a stick of furniture in the place. The stuccoed walls needed painting, the wood floors needed sanding, the windows needed washing. I guessed that the Franklin stove in the keeper's cottage might need replacing. But the kitchen was state-of-the-art and polished, as were the bathrooms. There was no mildew smell, just that of stone and, faintly, from beyond, wisps of pine and the sea. The place felt warm, no hint of a draft when I put my hand to the window. And the lantern room--what could I say? "Bingo." A helpless smile, a flicker of hope. Page 92

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Cynthia smiled back. "Uh-huh."

"Not a rental?"

"That's what the owners say. I could give them a call and make an outrageous bid for the use of the place for a month, but I don't think they'll bite. Aside from redecorating needs, it's in good shape. They wouldn't trust what a renter might do."

"I'm not any old renter."

"Maybe not, but they love this place. They'd be here still, if it weren't for his arthritis. They want to sell to someone who'll love it too, and they're prepared to wait. Money isn't an issue. They're not hurting."

That was clear. The asking price was reasonable. I could afford it. I walked through the place again, picturing wicker, wood, and rattan, some new, some antiques that I would take from the big house, picturing art on the walls and fabric above the windows and nothing, absolutely nothing blocking that all around view from the top. Johnny and Kikit would love that room, though I wouldn't give it to them. Their bedrooms would be on the second floor and seafaring in decor. The lantern room would be mine.

Even if the order against me was reversed that very day. It wouldn't be, of course, though it might be by week's end. Still, I wanted the lantern room.

"I must be crazy," I said when I rejoined Cynthia in the kitchen, but somehow this seemed the most sane thing that had happened since I had returned from Cleveland five days before. Everything about the lighthouse was right--from the fact that it was a short ten minutes from the children, the office, and the store, to the fact that it was the perfect size, to the fact that it was unoccupied, unfurnished, and in need of little more than cosmetics to aid its charm. But there was more. It was a challenge at a time when I desperately needed a diversion.

"And at the end of the month?" Cynthia cautioned. "Will it be right back on the market? I do feel an obligation to the owners. They want a permanent resident here. What'll you do with the place once things are settled at home?"

"I'll keep it," I answered, perhaps impractically, but I didn't care. I had spent my life being practical, being rational and responsible, and look what had happened, thank you very much. If I was back in the big house by the end of the week, I could use this as my own private hideaway. I could use it as an office or a workshop. I could use it as a beach house. It was an investment. If worst came to worst, I could always rent it out.

My gut said I wouldn't regret the purchase. That was good enough for me. The only condition I put on buying the old Reaper Head lighthouse was that I had to have immediate access. I wanted to start sanding and painting and cleaning, wanted to actually sleep there that night. As fate had it, the attorney for the owners was a local man familiar with my business. He readily vouched for my character--what a balm that was, after the battering I'd taken, another something telling me that buying the lighthouse was right--and the owners, contacted on the phone, agreed. I spent the rest of the day finalizing the sale, dashing between Cynthia's office, my own, and the bank, making phone call after phone Page 93

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call, setting things in motion.

More than one of those phone calls was to Carmen, because no matter how diverting buying the lighthouse was, I couldn't forget why I was doing it. No matter how caught up I was at any given moment, waiting in the wings were thoughts of what the children were doing right then. Carmen hadn't heard from Selwey's clerk by noon, or by two. She promised to talk with Art about giving me unlimited phone access to the children. She had already talked with Dean Jenovitz and directed me to give him a call. At the advice of his voice mail, I left my name, the number of my cell phone, and an offer to meet with him wherever and whenever suited him best.

I called the phone company to have a line connected at the lighthouse. I called a floor man, a painter, and a window washer. I called Dennis to remind him to bring cupcakes to Kikit's ballet look-see, and kept the conversation brief and to the point. I was angry still, didn't really care to be talking with him at all. I didn't tell him about my new home. Nor did I offer to buy the cupcakes. If I was on my own, so was he.

I would have liked to share my news with Brody, but he was off to the Vineyard again. There had been a faint tension between us that morning, so we had kept our breakfast talk light and business related. I sensed he was as unsettled by what had happened on the sofa in the loft as I was, and as ill prepared to deal with it just then. That was why I planned to sleep in the lighthouse that night.

Carmen called shortly after four to say that Selwey had denied the Motion for Reconsideration without a hearing.

"Can he do that?" I asked, appalled. It was one thing to argue and lose, another to be denied the opportunity to argue, period.

"He can. I'm not surprised. It's in character. So I'm preparing a Motion to Recuse. We'll ask that he disqualify himself from this case because of bias. It'll take more time to put this one together. I'll need to go over everything he said during yesterday's hearing and even go back to earlier cases over which he presided. But I'm aiming to get it filed by Thursday."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Keep your spirits up. That's all."

The lighthouse did it. Moving in enough so that I could sleep there that night kept me busy until well past sunset. Then, perched on a stool, eating pad that from a takeout container, I called the kids. Kikit answered the phone.

"I've been waiting for you to call, Mommy. Where are you?" The sweet sound of her voice was an instant balm, a far cry from the screams that had reverberated in my ears since the afternoon before. She wasn't crying now. She wasn't whining or angry. She had bounced back, resilient as children were. I never failed to be amazed. And relieved.

"I'm in my new place," I said.

"What new place? Where is it? Is it near us? Come get me now, Mommy. I want to see."

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"You can't see now. It's too late. You'll see it tomorrow."

"Where is it? What's it like? Will I have my own room?"

"Yes," I said, dipping my chopsticks into the container, "and I'll tell you the rest as soon as you get your brother to pick up so he can hear it too. Where is he?"

"Upstairs. Want to hear the coolest thing? Know what kind of cupcakes Daddy brought to ballet? Hostess ones,"

The chopsticks had noodles halfway to my mouth. I returned them to the container. "Yuk!"

"I was thinking that, too, when he took them out of the bag, but they were really soft and squooshy, and everyone loved 'em. I'm glad for Daddy. He was feeling funny, I think, because it was him and all the moms at the look-see. Mommy, I want to hear about your place."

"Tell your brother to pick up upstairs, so I can tell you both." Hostess cupcakes? Had Dennis actually stood there tearing open two-pack after two pack? I was intrigued.

"Johnny," Kikit screamed, nearly popping my eardrum. I held the phone away while she yelled, "Pick up, it's Mommy," which was followed quickly by, "You have to, she wants to talk to you!" then, to me, "He says he's busy. What a grouch. He wouldn't talk to Daddy, either. So tell me, Mommy. I'm here and I want to talk."

My heart ached for Johnny, standing alone watching me drive away, sitting alone in his bedroom.

But denying Kikit would only compound the wrong. So I told her about the lighthouse, about the room that would be hers, about the view from the lantern room. Her excitement was precious. I was sure Johnny would feel it, too, but when I had her call him again, he still refused to talk. What to do? Short of making a big deal about it to Dennis, which would likely make things worse, I was helpless, which brought back the whole of my predicament in ways that preoccupation with the lighthouse had freed me from earlier. Again I felt the anger, the sorrow, the fear, all made worse by the distance at which I was being kept. After working so hard to make a secure and happy home for my kids, I felt thwarted. Minutes later, Dennis called. Without so much as a hello, he said, "You bought a lighthouse? Lighthouses are cold and damp. If they're not surrounded by water, they're damn close to it." I hadn't expected that he would love the place, but the force of his censure took me by surprise. It was in stark contrast to the excitement we had shared buying the colonial. On the day we passed papers, he had given me a huge hug in the lawyer's office, followed by a fancy lunch, and on the day we moved in, he had actually carried me over the threshold. Such a romantic gesture. I had loved it. Now his displeasure flowed, rivers of cold water dousing the memory.

"What is this, a cockamamie scheme to win over the kids? Give them something that's fun and irresponsible and dangerous? Right on the water, with winter nearly here," he sputtered. "That's brilliant, Claire. Wait till the judge hears about this." I was in the kitchen still, trying to finish my first dinner in my new home and resentful of his intrusion. I told myself to be pleasant. Page 95

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Carmen had warned against acrimony. Leave the tough stuff to me, she had said. You need to stay on peaceful terms with the man who has custody of your children. But I couldn't not respond to his charge.

"I'll bring pictures for the judge myself this time," I said. "This is a great place." I slid the last of a spring roll into my mouth and talked right through it. Dennis wasn't spoiling my dinner. "It's warm and bright. It's farther from the water than my office is. You've never complained about the kids spending time there."

"What possessed you to rent a lighthouse?"

"I'm not renting," I said, delighted to feel in control again, "I'm buying."

"Buying. Talk about hinge spending--"

"Whoa," I cut in, all nonchalance gone. "I need a place to live because, thanks to you, I've been kicked out of the first place I bought. So I found a place that I like, and that, yes, the children will like. That was a priority, because I want to please them, want to cheer them up, because, thanks to you again, they're facing a major adjustment in their lives. I'll do anything I can to make it easier for them. If finding a home that diverts them will do it, fine."

"I'm sure that's just the beginning. Kikit said you're going to let her decorate. I can see it now-expensive little dolls, expensive little furnishings, anything and everything her little heart desires-you're trying to buy her love, it's common when parents separate." I nearly laughed, the charge was so absurd. "I don't need to buy her love."

"Talk about me harming the kids. I'd be careful what you do, Claire. They'll ask for the world if you give them a chance. They'll be spoiled rotten in a flash. You bought them a lighthouse? Incredible." My anger flared. "I bought me a lighthouse. I bought it because love it. Me, just me. No one else."

"Not Brody?"

I took a steadying breath. "Brody is out of town. Brody doesn't know I looked at it, doesn't know I bought it. Brody is not an issue here. He never was." I was trying to contain myself, but I had spent too many long hours since last Thursday asking questions I couldn't answer. Pulling a foot up on the stool and cinching my knee close, I asked,

"Just out of curiosity, how long do you allege this affair has been going on?"

"For all I know, it's been years. For all I know, it started when the two of you paired up for work. For all I know, my partnership with Brody fell apart because he took up with you."