A Woman's Place: A Novel (8 page)

"Yesterday. I would have called you last night, only Dad said the cell phone wasn't working and he didn't know your hotel. Why didn't you call us?" I wanted to answer honestly, but didn't know how I could. I hated Dennis for making me lie. "It was too late. There's a time difference."

"What's Santa Fe like?"

I had never been to Santa Fe in my life--but then, neither had Johnny.

"Uh, nice," I supposed. "Warm. Dry. Did you finish your book on Paul Revere?"

"Yeah. There's a field trip to Boston to see the one-if-by-sea church. Someone has to sign my permission slip. I have to bring it back tomorrow."

"Daddy'll sign it."

"But I have to bring in six dollars and eighty-five cents for the bus and stuff."

"Daddy'll give you the money."

"I need exact change. He never has exact change."

"Grandma does. She'll give it to you. I'll ask as soon as we get done. Did Grandma cook dinner?"

"No. We went to Bertucci's. Are you okay? You sound like you have a cold."

Tears had a way of doing that. "No cold. I'm just missing you and Kikit."

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"When are you coming home?"

"I'm trying to figure that out. I'll let you know as soon as I do."

"Here's Grandma."

"I love you, Johnny," I rushed out to catch him before he passed on the phone.

A chipper Elizabeth came on the line. "Well, hello, Claire. How are you?

You missed a good supper. The children had pizza, and Howard and I had pasta. Bertucci's is a national chain, I believe. Have you seen one in Santa Fe? How lucky you are to be there. Everyone I know who goes there loves it. There can't be any better place to open a new store."

"Claire?" came Howard's voice. "I'm in my den, Claire. Elizabeth, hang up the phone."

"I will. Oh dear." There was a ruckus in the background. "Wait, wait, wait."

Kikit came back on. "We were singing last night--"Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog'--and Daddy was so funny when he croaked, only it wasn't the same without you. I miss you, Mommy. When are you coming home?" My breath went short again. Singing was a Raphael thing. Dennis and I had shared a single year in the same a capella group in college, his senior year, my freshman year. We had met singing, had dated singing. Some of the kids' earliest memories were of our singing together. Bedtime, car time, holidays --perfect for harmonizing, for feeling close without saying the words. When the kids were infants, most anything with a soothing lilt worked. The lyrics came to matter more as they grew and joined in. Both loved singing. Both could hold a tune. Johnny was at the stage where he was wanting to deepen his voice--it was priceless to watch him with his chin on his chest and his brow furrowed-so the harmony suffered at times. Still, singing together was special. We hadn't done it as much lately as we used to. Either Dennis was away, or I was away, or one of the kids was out doing something else. Sometimes, three of us improvised when the fourth wasn't there. But this was different. This time Dennis had sung with the kids, knowing that he was about to boot their mother out of the house.

When was I coming home? I only wished I knew. "As soon as I can, baby, as soon as I can. I'll talk with you soon, okay, sweetie?"

"I love you, Mommy."

The pain was excruciating. Fresh tears flowed. It was all I could do not to let her hear them. "I love you, too, baby." Brody paused from wiping his neck with a towel to touch my face. He looked as tortured as I felt.

Elizabeth returned. "You have a good trip now, Claire. Yes, Johnny, I do have change. I have all kinds of change. Come, you'll count it out. Take care, Claire."

There was a click, then only the faint rattle of Howard's breathing. He was clearly out of earshot of the kids. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No, I'm not," I wailed and took a minute to recompose myself. "I'm sick about this. Do you know what's going on?"

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"Dennis wants a divorce."

"Did he tell you about the Order to Vacate?" There was a pause, then a reluctant, "Yes. Look, Claire, I don't care for the method he's chosen, but Dennis is like this when he takes up a cause. He dives into it headfirst."

"I know. I've watched him do it and seen him fail. This time the stakes are higher. I'm worried about the kids." But I was reassured having talked with them. They sounded all right. I was glad I had called.

"Kikit sounds all right. Is she clingy?"

"A little, but you know Elizabeth and me. We never mind that."

"Is she sleeping all right?"

"Dennis says they are."

"Do they know any of what he's doing?"

"No."

"Suspect anything?"

"No. He's been good about that, I have to say. He's waiting to tell them until after the hearing on Monday. I'm hoping he'll soften some before then, but his lawyer sounds tough."

"Who is the lawyer?" When Howard didn't answer, I said, "It's a matter of public record. Someone stood there in court with Dennis and convinced a judge to issue this order. My lawyer will be able to find out in a single call. You won't be telling me anything I won't learn anyway."

"Arthur Heuber," he mumbled, then raised his voice. "Dennis will be coming back here soon. I should hang up. He'll be angry if he thinks I'm telling you things."

"But don't you agree that this is insane?"

"Don't put me in the middle. Don't make me take sides."

"Will you talk to him, at least?"

"I did. He says what he's doing is right. He won't budge."

"But how can he want custody of the kids? He's never been a full-time father. There were always too many other things he liked doing. Does he have any idea how full-time parenting will cramp his style? Or is he counting on you and Elizabeth baby-sitting? Where is he now? If he left the house when I did, he should have been with his children two hours ago." Howard didn't answer. More tentatively, I asked, "Did he tell you the charges against me? Did he list my crimes?"

"Claire."

"They aren't true, Howard. You know me. You know I adore my kids."

"It's been hard for you, worrying about your mother and all."

"No. I'm handling it. Dennis is the one who isn't. He should have been with us in Cleveland. He could have come if he'd wanted to. Or was that Page 40

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his last fling at freedom before becoming a full-time father? He had this all planned. He must have been planning it for a while." I took a quick breath, lowered my eyes. "Did he tell you his thoughts about Brody?" There was a pause, then a quiet, "Yes." I had to get used to it, I supposed. Such an intimate subject, such a personal accusation. Dennis had told his lawyer, who had told the judge. He had told his parents and God knew who else. I felt betrayed, and angry.

"And you believe it? You know Brody," I cried, darting a quick look at the man. He had the small of his back to the sink and his arms folded over his chest. His expression spoke of the same betrayal, the same anger. "He spends holidays with us like he's family. Do you truly think he's capable of carrying on with his partner's wife?"

"He and Dennis ceased being partners five years ago."

"There was never, never anything sexual between Brody and me," I swore and lowered my eyes again. I was embarrassed for Brody, embarrassed for me. "Dennis is wrong. It's all in his imagination, his own insecurity, jealousy, whatever."

"I have to go, Claire."

"When will the children be back at the house?"

"I can't say."

"Will they be sleeping home over the weekend?"

"Claire."

"I'm just trying to get a handle on this, Howard. I don't know what to do. I don't want them hurt, they're innocent of wrong-doing. I don't want Dennis telling them lies. I don't want him trying to turn them against me. If he has a gripe with me, he should take it up with me and leave the children out of it. They aren't pawns."

"He knows that."

"Once certain words are spoken, that's it. They won't be forgotten. They can't be taken back. Permanent damage will be done. Take care of my children for me, Howard?" I begged. "Make sure Dennis understands how vulnerable they are. If he says the wrong thing, it's done."

"He loves them, Claire."

Yeah, well, he was supposed to have loved me, too. Hadn't he said the words just last month on my birthday? He had handed me a gift-wrapped package that contained another gift-wrapped package that contained a third. Inside was a pair of earrings made by an artist he knew I admired. I had been touched by the thought he put into the gift, touched that he had taken pains in the packaging, drawn, as always, by Dennis's flair for the dramatic. And yes, he had said, "I love you." So what had he meant by the words?

I spent the night at Brody's. It seemed the only sensible thing to do; it was late and I was upset. Brody was my dearest friend. He knew how I worried about what the children were thinking and how starkly I felt the separation. With Brody, I was free to rant and rave or sit quietly. I did both. He made me eat his burgundy chicken and take a long, hot bath. Page 41

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He even turned down the bed in Joy's room for me.

In the morning, he insisted on driving me into Boston to see Carmen, and I didn't argue with him there, either. A hole gaped inside me where home and family had always been. I felt washed out and empty, weak, frightened. I'm not sure I could have managed without Brody holding my hand. I was eternally grateful for his presence.

Carmen Niko wasn't. four.

Carmen's office was on the fourth floor of a building the stone face of which was streaked with city grime. The elevator was quaint, a square lift encased in scrolled iron bars that jangled with the fits and starts of opening, closing, and rising, but the office itself had a newer feel. The reception area was early morning immaculate--neatly fanned magazines beside a telephone on a polished oak table, two chairs and an upholstered love seat a receptionist's desk to match the coffee table, scenic prints tastefully framed, vacuum marks on the carpet. Nothing was glitzy or pompous, overdone or intimidating as Lloyd Usher's lobby had been. This one was attractive and down to earth. The colors were warm--greens, apricots, and tans--clearly meant to be soothing, though that was a tough order. I doubted I would feel better until I was back with my kids, doubted I would breathe freely until I had a grasp of what Dennis was about. Still, there was a gentleness to Carmen Niko's waiting room that gave me hope.

The woman herself was warm and straightforward, not naturally beautiful but put together in a way that belied it. Tall, dark-haired, and olive skinned she wore a soft, squash-colored suit and no jewelry save gold hoops at her ears. She greeted me with an open smile and a handshake, greeted Brody with a wry, "Hey, handsome," and a peck on the cheek. Without missing a beat, she gestured him into one of the love seats clamped a hand around my arm, and ushered me down a short hall to her office.

Rather than putting the desk between us, as Lloyd Usher had done, she took up a legal pad and settled into the chair kitty-cornered to mine. I watched her face while she read the court order. No matter what Brody said about the woman, if she turned around and put me on trial the way Usher had done, I was out of there fast. I was too tired, too frightened, too raw to withstand another attack.

Yeah. Right. The truth was that I was too tired, too frightened, too raw to go elsewhere if I struck out with Carmen Niko, so my bravado wasn't worth much. I steeled myself for whatever her response might be. But she simply nodded when she was done, said, "This is a standard order," and set it aside. She uncapped her pen and--softly, sympathetically-asked me to tell her what had happened the day before. She took notes while I talked, asked questions when I skimmed details, returned to the beginning when I had finished, seeming intent on knowing everything there was to know about my homecoming.

"So your husband knew when to expect you."

"Give or take fifteen minutes. He had my flight number and my sworn promise to be on that particular plane." He had been insistent. What had I thought? That he was that eager to see me? Maybe. More likely, that he was tired of baby-sitting the children. Foolish me, I hadn't guessed the truth.

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"Between the time when you opened the front door and when he came out of the den, would he have had time to call the constable?"

"Yes. Especially if he saw the car pull up. I still had to sign the voucher and get my bags from the trunk."

"Tell me about the police officer who came. How much did Dennis say on the phone?"

"Not much, I don't think--but I'm not sure." My mind was muddled about the things that had happened when I was most upset and confused. "I was arguing with him. "Get someone here fast." That's all I remember him saying."

"But only one officer came. Jack Mulroy. He rang the bell and waited patiently for Dennis to answer. Did he have a gun drawn?"

"Good God, no." It was a minute before I saw what she was getting at. My voice jumped an octave. "You think Dennis tipped them off beforehand?"

"It's possible. Probable, actually. They know your family. They know there isn't a history of domestic violence. So the normal reaction to a

"Get someone here fast' would have been that either your daughter was having an attack, or there was a break-in or an assault. But they didn't send an ambulance or a SWAT team. They sent one guy, one peaceful guy, who they figured you knew and would listen to." Feeling humiliated, I rubbed the spot on my chest that burned. I shot a helpless look at the ceiling. "I left here two weeks ago thinking Dennis loved me. Now I find that he talked with the police? Told them about the court order? Told them he thought I would make a scene?" But it did make sense, given the police response. "Why would he do that?" "To make you look bad," Carmen suggested. Her voice was throaty but soft, her manner calm. "We have to find out whether what he really wants is the kids or something else. Most immediately, we need to counter his arguments." Her pen scratched a line across the page. "Okay. Tell me again the examples he gives of how you're a neglectful parent."