An Ex to Grind (42 page)

Yes, of course I felt awful about handing over Evan's painting to Leah. He'd
given
it to me instead of trying to sell it and make money from it, and it was a piece of art, not some cheesy knickknack you pawn off on somebody you hardly know.

What's more, it had personal significance for me, not only because Buster was in it but because Evan had cared enough about me to teach me a life lesson with it. I wouldn't have dreamed of parting with it—or the painting where Buster doesn't venture into the water—if Mrs. Thornberg hadn't told me the story of her brother-in-law and the dance records that brought her and Mr. Thornberg back together. Leah honestly believed that the painting was a conciliatory gesture from Dan, and now I would convince him that the other painting was a conciliatory gesture from her, and their relationship would be repaired just as the Thornbergs' had been. I hoped that Evan would be proud of me, as opposed to disappointed in me.

The only hitch was that Dan had frozen me out to the extent that delivering the second painting to him was a major challenge. In the days following my visit with Leah, I'd tried calling him but never reached a live human being, only his voice mail. I'd tried going over to the apartment, but he'd instructed Ricardo not to buzz me up unless he was out and Isa was there by herself. I'd tried ambushing him at his old haunts—the places to which Desiree had dispatched Jelly and Rochelle—but he no longer frequented them. He wasn't an idle, aimless, unemployed bumbo anymore. He was a college coach now, and he was busy with a full slate of preseason activities. Or so Isa told me.

Yet again it was Mrs. Thornberg who offered the solution to my problem after I'd presented it to her. At her insistence, I brought the painting over to her apartment and stayed overnight in her guest room. The next morning we camped out in her foyer, our ears practically Velcroed to the wall, and lay in wait for Dan to emerge from 32G. When he did, she opened her door, wished him good morning, and asked if he could help her open the jar of honey she was hoping to dribble over her oatmeal.

"I've got a bad arm," she told him. "It's never been right since I slipped on a wet spot in the lobby. I'm still looking into who was at fault."

There was a brief back-and-forth—Dan said he had a meeting to attend; Mrs. Thornberg said her arm hurt so badly she was contemplating taking dope. Ultimately, he said he'd be glad to be of service, and before I knew it they were walking in the door. I swallowed hard and prepared myself for his reaction when he saw me.

"Oh, jeez," he said when he did, his eyes flashing with anger. "If you think you're cornering me, you've got another thing coming." He was wearing a business suit, so he must have been on the level about the meeting. But if I had my way he wasn't going anywhere, no matter how many times he spun around and threatened to storm out. When he finally stopped huffing and puffing and tugging on his earlobe, I stood face-to-face with him.

"Dan, you have to listen," I said. My impulse was to reach for him, to touch him, but I knew that any demonstration of affection would not be welcome.

"And you have to stop stalking me," he snapped.

"Now, now, Mr. Swain," interjected Mrs. Thornberg, who placed herself between us like a referee. "Melanie is my guest. I'd appreciate it if you'd treat her with respect."

"Then you'll have to find someone else to help you open your jar," he said. "You can't treat people with respect if you don't respect them."

"I just need a few minutes with you," I told him. "It's not about us. It's about you and Leah. She asked me to give you something. Something important."

He tensed, working his jaw muscles at the mention of her name. "So you two are still bosom buddies?"

"Oh, give that a rest." Suddenly, I was emboldened by his stubbornness. I had planned to be gentle with him, as I'd been with Leah, but the tough love approach seemed more appropriate. He was macho? I'd be macho right back at him. "We were never buddies. I met her twice. Maybe three times. With
you
there. She didn't know anything about the alimony plot. You should believe that, if you know what's good for you."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because she loves you and you love her. You're just too much of a Neanderthal to admit it."

"Would either of you like some oatmeal?" asked Mrs. Thornberg. "It's supposed to lower the blood pressure."

"No oatmeal, thanks," I said with a wink. "Just a little private time with my ex-husband."

"Of course," she said and dashed into the kitchen, out of sight, the model of circumspection.

"Now," I said when Dan and I were alone. "Would you let me give you Leah's gift?"

He had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was tapping his toe, impatient and unyielding. "If you're not buddies, why would she entrust you with this
gift
?."

"Because she's so upset about what happened that she was afraid to come to you herself," I said. "She thinks you hate her. God knows, you've shut us both out of your life. I guess she just figured I'd be the more persistent one."

"That you are, Melanie." It was not meant as a compliment.

"She said I owed her a favor after what I'd done," I continued. "So when she asked me to be her emissary, I agreed."

Aware that he might bolt at any second, I quickly ran over to the wrapped painting and brought it over to him. "Before I give this to you, I just want to say again how sorry I am for trying to steal the money that was rightfully yours."

"Not interested. Tell it to someone who cares."

"But mostly," I went on, ignoring his dismissal, "I want to say how sorry I am for messing things up between you and Leah.
She's so good for you, Dan. Much too good to let me or anyone else come between you. She fell in love with you when you were down, stood by you as you made your way back up, and helped you change from the boy I married into the man you've become—and in just a few short months.
She
did that.
She
was your champion.
She
loved you unconditionally. Never forget that."

"What I can't forget is that she was fixed up with me by
your
matchmaker."

"She was a client of Desiree's. So what?"

"She didn't tell me. She let me think we met by chance."

"Oh, come on! She didn't commit a murder! Get over this, would you please?"

He smiled just a tiny half-smile. "Did Leah ask you to give me a tongue lashing along with whatever you've got in that package?"

"No. She's much nicer than I am."

"No argument there."

"Then open her gift."

I handed him the package.

He shook it. "You sure it won't blow me to pieces?"

"Just open it already. It's something that celebrates a mutual interest of yours—a love you both share."

He unwrapped it carefully and was instantly delighted by its contents, smiling in earnest now. "Jeez. It's a beautiful painting of Buster."

"Leah had it commissioned for you as a wedding present," I said. "She knows how much you love our dog. She thought it would have special meaning for you."

"She did that?" he said, his expression one of genuine awe.

"She did," I confirmed.

"It's amazingly realistic," he said, studying the painting.

"The artist captured our Busty to a tee. See how the dog will only stick his paw in the water instead of jumping right in? You must have told her Buster does that," I said with the beatific smile of a nun. A macho nun. "The symbolism she intended is that the dog in the painting wouldn't take a risk but that
she
would—by marrying you after only three months of living with you."

He glanced up at me. "You're telling me she had this made for me? Really?"

"Yes, for the second time."

"Then I've got to tip my hat to her. It was a great idea for a wedding present," he acknowledged.

"Yes, but now it's more than that. It's her way of saying she wants
you
to take a risk and go forward with your relationship."

He ran his fingers over the dog in the painting and heaved a heavy sigh.

Smelling victory, I stepped up the attack. "So will you stop hanging on to your pride and anger and resentment? Will you accept this painting as proof that she loves you in spite of how cruelly you cast her aside? Will you melt your hardened heart and venture into the sea of life with her?" Yeah, yeah. It was even more over the top than the speech I gave Leah, but I was starting to enjoy myself.

"So she thinks we can make it work?"

"Absolutely."

"Even after all that harsh stuff I said to her?"

"That's what 'unconditional' means, Dan."

There were a few beats, then: "I don't know if I can handle a relationship yet. You knocked the crap out of me emotionally, Mel, and I'm just getting back on my feet. I'd rather concentrate on the new job for now."

"Concentrate on the new job? Leah was the one who urged you to go out and get that job!"

"She did, but I—"

"Just talk to her."

"All right, all right. I'll call her sometime."

"Too noncommittal. Go see her."

He squirmed as he stood there in Mrs. Thornberg's living room. "I'm not ready to see her."

God, he was uncooperative. "Listen, she made another request when she asked me to bring you the painting. She wants you to meet her at the football field in Central Park on Wednesday afternoon at two—the place where you and she met. It's her way of trying to rekindle what you had, I guess. If you get there and decide you don't love her as much as I think you do, so be it. But go. See her. Just this one time."

"I can't. I've got a meeting on Wednesday at two."

"Then reschedule it. You used to tell me how I made my work a higher priority than I made us. How about practicing what you preach?"

He hesitated. "I'd hate to lead her on. If I show up, she might mistake—"

"If you show up, she'll be thrilled, trust me."

"Trust you?" He laughed. "Why should I? All you've done is manipulate me."

And I wasn't about to stop manipulating him until I made sure he was happy, even if it wasn't with me. "Fine," I said. "Don't trust me. Trust love."

I know, I know. Dan's a guy, and guys don't normally fall for treacle like that, especially caveman types, but I had the routine down. Macho was fine at first. But treacle was better for the big finish.

" 'Trust love?'" he said derisively. "Sounds like you've been watching chick flicks."

"It does," I agreed, thinking perhaps I would write those instead of country and western songs, Hallmark cards, or romance novels. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."

"You never let up, do you, darlin'?"

"That's what they tell me."

"Did they also tell you I could bring legal action against you if I wanted to?"

"Do you want to?"

"No, but only because I'd rather get past this nightmare."

"Good choice. So will you trust your love for Leah and hers for you and meet her in the park?" I said, staring intently at the man who'd aroused every imaginable feeling in me over the years, the man who would always own a piece of my heart, the man who was better off with someone else. "Will you forgive her, Dan?"

"Am I supposed to forgive you too?"

"I would like that, yes."

"I'll give them both some thought," he said.

And just like that, he walked out of the apartment, Evan's painting under his arm and an inscrutable look on his face.

After the door closed, Mrs. Thornberg came scurrying out of the kitchen, fluttering her hands in excitement.

"How'd it go?" she said.

"I'm not sure," I said.

"Did he say he'll meet her on Wednesday?"

"He didn't say he wouldn't."

"Men." She shrugged. "You career girls made them scared to cross the street. In my day, they knew who they were."

I put my arm around her bony shoulder. "In your day, we didn't know who
we
were. That wasn't so great either."

"Maybe the next generation will even things out."

We both knew that was unlikely, and so we changed the subject.