Indefensible (3 page)

“Yes, I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath.” She was glad she'd have a few weeks to recuperate. She'd go to a bookstore tomorrow and stock up on books, newspapers, magazines. She could hardly wait.

She just needed to get that damn phone call over with.

Then she could start her holiday.

Friday, 5:52 p.m.

K
ate was at the intersection between Young Avenue and the park when an SUV with dark-tinted windows and Ontario plates turned into a driveway across the road. Kate hadn't really been paying attention, but she found herself slowing to a half jog, studying the woman who'd gotten out of the car.

Afterward, she wondered what it was about the woman that caught her attention. She was stunningly attractive—wavy blond hair that curved in layers to her shoulders, broad cheekbones and long legs. The type of woman most women would look at again. Either with admiration or, more likely, envy.

But it wasn't her looks that caught Kate's eye. It was the way the woman staggered against her car.

Was she going to pass out?

She looked as if she needed help. And Kate wasn't sure if there was anyone to help her. Her license plates indicated she was from out of town. Something about the woman's disheveled state screamed road trip.

Kate tugged at Alaska's leash. “Come on.” She stepped off the curb, heading toward the SUV, then stopped as the passenger door of the car swung open and a preteen version of the blond woman sprang out.

“Mum, are you okay?” Kate heard her ask.

The blond woman straightened, pushing a hand through her mane of hair. She lifted her face to the breeze. “Yes, I'm fine,” she said. “I just need to catch my breath.”

She did look better. Kate stepped back onto the sidewalk, bending down to tighten her shoelace, keeping an eye on the scene across the street.

The air seemed to revive the woman, because she leaned into her car and pulled out her purse. She's not going to pass out, Kate thought. She stood, ready to move on, but Alaska slowed to sniff a tree.

“Oh, look, Mum, there's a husky!” the girl exclaimed, and rushed down the driveway toward Kate. Her mother shot an alarmed look at the large dog.

“Luce, make sure you check with the owner first!”

The girl threw a disgusted look at her mother. “I know, I was going to.” She crossed the road, stopping in front of Kate, her blue eyes a shade darker than Alaska's. “Can I pat your dog?”

“Sure,” Kate said. “His name is Alaska.”

The girl let Alaska sniff her hand, then ran her palm over his neck. “He's so soft,” she breathed.

“Yeah, his fur is nice, isn't it?” Kate said. Alaska allowed the girl to pat him for a minute, then shifted away from her, pulling his leash.

The girl stood back. “Thanks.” She crossed the road, then gave a little wave over her shoulder.

“Have a nice night,” Kate said. She broke into a jog, running down the hill toward the harbor, the shadowy pine trees to her right. She wondered if her quad muscle had cooled down too much and if she should stop to stretch it.

Regular physio had helped with the muscle strength in her quad, but she was still working on reconditioning the leg.

Eager not to lose momentum, Kate focused on her stride, the swing of her arms, her breathing. The irony of her final words to the girl and her mother only hit her the next morning, when she ran past the house again.

They had not had a nice night.

Friday, 6:05 p.m.

E
lise gave the jogger a cool nod and turned away. She did not want others to see her weakness. They could never resist taking advantage of it.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and leaned into the car to grab her water bottle. A dark blue BMW coupe pulled up behind them.

Her body froze, knowing who it was before her brain acknowledged the man in the unfamiliar car.

Her ex-husband.

She did not want to face him tonight. She'd wanted to break the news of Nick's refusal to go sailing with him over the phone. It was safer.

There was too much pent-up hurt and grief in her to have this conversation face-to-face.

“Daddy!” Lucy called.

He waved to her, a smile warming the tension on his face. “Sweetheart.”

Lucy threw herself into her father's arms. Elise took
a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the water bottle.

Damn him for reawakening feelings she thought were gone—or at least numbed by time. She'd thought her relationship with Jamie had finally closed the door on Randall. But her feelings for her lover had never been the same as the ones she'd had for her ex-husband. No matter how hard she had tried to excise Randall from her heart, she couldn't.

Damn him for making her do something she never thought she'd ever have to do.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and despised herself for doing so. God. Her skin was pale, a clammy sheen on her nose. She scrambled quickly for her compact, dusting the powder over her nose, around her eyes, and then hurriedly skimmed lip gloss over bloodless lips. She stuffed a breath mint in her mouth. Then she put on her sunglasses. At least it hid her eyes from him.

She backed out of the car, aware of how wrinkled and travel stained she looked. Had she even washed her hair this morning?

She couldn't remember. Because her brain was being bombarded with memories of the last time she'd seen her ex-husband. Of feeling him inside her. Of the look on his face when he left.

A cold sweat dampened her armpits.
Deal with it, Elise.

But she wasn't sure if she could. Anxiety, her comrade in despair, was making her breathing uneven.

She pulled her purse strap higher on her shoulder and stepped away from the protection of her hulking car. Nick was still in the backseat. His iPhone was audible
even through the heavy metal of the door. She was sure he had turned it up so he could tune his father out.

Lucy smiled excitedly at her father. He smiled back, his face more open than Elise could remember. They were picture perfect together. A small part of her heart broke at the sight.

She turned and opened the trunk, hauling out her suitcases. She locked the cases' extendable handles and began pulling them up the walkway.

Randall strode toward her. “Let me help.”

“No, it's fine,” she said tightly.
You owe me nothing. You made that clear enough.

She yanked the bags over the uneven walkway. The concrete was cracked. Small spurts of grass caught the wheels of her case. She tugged at the suitcases impatiently.

Randall grabbed two more bags out of the trunk and followed her up the walkway. She felt his eyes on her. She prayed,
please don't let the sweat on my back show through my shirt
.

She lugged the suitcases up the porch steps and glanced over her shoulder, irritated. What the hell was Nick doing? She'd give him a good talking-to later. Not in front of his dad.

Just as she reached the top step, the second suitcase caught its wheel, pulling her off balance. She teetered on the edge of the step. Randall dropped the bags he was carrying, leaping up the stairs.

Knowing he was about to catch her made her determined not to fall. She righted herself, yanking the suitcase behind her.

“Damn,” Randall muttered. “I'm sorry, Elise.”

She glanced over her shoulder. In his haste to break her fall, Randall had dropped her overnight bag. And, she realized to her chagrin, she must have forgotten to zip it all the way closed this morning.

Now her panties, sanitary pads, two lacy bras, ibuprofen and a host of things she did not want anyone to see graced the weed-pocked grass. She hurried down the porch stairs—grateful that at least her dirty laundry was in a different suitcase—and knelt on the ground.

Randall, aware of her embarrassment, grabbed the suitcases she'd abandoned on the porch and pulled open the screen door. “The key is in the mailbox,” Elise said, angling her body so she could covertly stuff the most embarrassing items into her bag. He raised his brows at this example of blithe home ownership and unlocked the door.

He disappeared into the house. Lucy, her arms full of pillows, stuffed animals, her iPod and portable DVD player, backed out of the SUV. When she saw her mother kneeling on the ground, she dropped everything on the lawn and rushed over to help.

Elise gave her daughter a wan smile. “Thanks, honey.” She'd already finished repacking the bag, but she was gratified that her daughter had tried to help her. Unlike her son. What was wrong with that boy? But she knew what was wrong. She just didn't know how to fix it.

Randall came out of the house and strode down the porch steps. His eyes traveled over her. Lingering in places she wished they wouldn't. All her humiliation and anger rushed back. She crossed her arms. “The arrangement was that I would call you after we arrived.”

He shrugged. His brawny shoulders moved smoothly under his pale blue golf shirt.

She could not deal with his physicality right now. The memory was too raw. It had not lessened one iota since she'd last seen him two months ago in Toronto.

“I was impatient to see the kids.” Randall squeezed Lucy's shoulders.

Lucy gave him a quick smile, but Elise could see uneasiness in her eyes. Her daughter was caught between the two of them. The story of her young life.

Well, Elise was sorry about it. She was sorry about most of her life. But she refused to let Randall think that he could suddenly claim the right to show up on her doorstep whenever he pleased just because he wanted “to see the kids.” If he'd wanted to do that, he should have stayed in Toronto. “You need to call first, Randall,” she said coolly. “That's the deal.”

Lucy threw her mother a pained look.
Don't do this
, her eyes begged.
I want to see him.

He shrugged again, but his mouth was tight. He was fighting for control.
Good.
He had no idea what it was like to always feel as if your ex got the best of you. “Where's Nick?” he asked, his gaze turning to the tinted rear window of her SUV. “Why isn't he helping?”

Her irritation rose. As usual, he thought he could just pick up where he left off months before, and not listen to a word she said. She felt like a fly buzzing around his golden head. “I told you, you need to call first, Randall.” She pulled her pride around her. Shielding the tattered remains of her dignity. “It's in the agreement.”

“I know what's in the bloody agreement.” His gaze
sharpened. “But if you want more money, I want more access.”

Elise crossed her arms. “What, do you think they're for sale?”

Lucy pulled away from her father. She recognized that the first stone had just been thrown.

Randall shoved his fists into his pockets. “Of course not. You are deliberately misconstruing what I said.”

“Oh, really?” She didn't think so. She didn't think she misconstrued him eight weeks ago when he pulled her into his arms in her Toronto kitchen and kissed her in a way that left no doubt about what he wanted.

And yet, she
had
misconstrued him. Why else the look on his face when he left her?

She had been a pity fuck.

There was no misconstruing that.

Friday, 6:18 p.m.

“Y
ou and I both know that the last agreement was unfair, Elise,” her ex-husband said. Calmly. Too calmly.

No. What was unfair was how you abandoned us and came here.

“It was more than fair,” she said. A flush prickled her chest and arms. She didn't remember Halifax being so hot in the summer.

“Then why are you asking for more money?” Randall shot back.

She inhaled sharply. The bastard. He had trapped her neatly, expert cross-examiner that he was.

“You always need the last word, don't you, Randall?” She stared at him. He raised a brow. “You are such a prick!” she cried, her stomach threatening to heave. She spun on her heel.

You did this to me.

“Mum,” Lucy said, putting her hand on Elise's arm. “Calm down.”

Calm down? She gazed at her daughter's anxious
face. How many times during their marriage had Randall told her the same thing? Making her feel childish, as if she were to blame for their problems.

Lucy had no idea.
No idea
what she was going through right now. She jerked her arm away from her daughter. She could not calm down. And she hated herself for it. She hated that her emotions could smash through the taut barricade of her reason as if it were constructed of rice paper.

“Lucy,” Randall said softly. “Go inside.”

Lucy glanced at him, then Elise, her gaze helpless. “Go inside, Lucy,” Elise said. “Please.” Her fingers trembled.

Lucy hurried up the walkway. Elise heard the door latch squeak open, the screen door bang shut behind her.

Randall turned around and looked at Elise. His face, finally, showed his anger.

Elise welcomed it. They had spoken only twice after his life-altering visit in June. The first phone call was just a few weeks later and Elise had gripped the phone, holding her breath. Having the rules change so suddenly had left her own feelings about him in chaos.

She'd spent years regretting the end of her marriage. Then she'd met Jamie Gainsford eighteen months ago. She was one of his clients. Eight months ago she became his lover. And except for one moment of doubt, she'd thought she'd finally found love again.

But Randall's visit in June had made her reexamine her feelings for Jamie. Made her question what they were founded on. Was she just another needy patient who was experiencing transference for her hunky therapist?

No. Jamie felt the same way about her. They had a connection. There was no denying it. That was why they both took the risks they did. He'd never been involved with a client before; it violated his personal and professional ethics. She knew that if their relationship were discovered, Jamie would be kicked out of the College of Psychologists of Ontario.

It was a difficult, stressful situation. They couldn't help their feelings for one another. Yet the Ontario college stipulated that a therapist could only enter into a relationship with a former patient after the treatment had been terminated for two years.

Two years was like two centuries.

Or so Elise had thought. Until that evening in early June when Randall had confronted her in her kitchen.

Would she go back to him if he asked?

Yes.

But he hadn't asked. He'd just taken what he wanted. And when he called her two weeks later, it was his children he had wanted, not her.

He had invited the kids to spend the month of August with him. She had refused on their behalf, citing the various demands on their schedules. She had also instigated a new demand for increased child support.

But then her world had turned upside down. And suddenly Halifax in August seemed as good a place as any to lick her wounds. She'd called him back, the second and final time they'd spoken before today. He was wary. They'd had a brief conversation, agreed on the dates, then exchanged terse emails.

“Don't speak to me like that in front of the children,” Randall said.

“I'll speak any way I like.”

“Not to me.”

“Then leave,” she said, gratified that she'd turned the tables on him.

“Not until I see Nick.” His face was drawn, his eyes grim. She was pleased to see she had that effect on him. “Where is he?”

“Where do you think?” She jerked her chin toward the car. “Did you think I left him in Toronto?”

“No.”

“He wanted me to.”

Randall shrugged. “He'll enjoy the trip. I've got it all planned out.”

“Maybe that's the problem,” she said. “Maybe he doesn't want you planning everything for him.”

“It would be a change for him to have a parent do that.” He crossed his arms. “Instead of a nanny.”

She jerked back. “How dare you.” Her voice shook. “I have a career, too. Why should I give it up just because you know full well that you would not make time to look after Nick?”

Randall's eyes flickered toward the SUV, but there was no sign of life within. Nick was plugged into his own world and it didn't include his father. “That's old history, Elise.”

“Not to him.” Her ex-husband just didn't get it. After their divorce was finalized, Nick had begged to live with his father. Since she had no moral ground to stand on, Elise had reluctantly let him go.

As she feared, it had been a disaster. Randall didn't understand Nick's issue with school. Learning had been easy for Randall; doing schoolwork a simple task. For
Nick, it was torture. Plain and simple. What Randall took for procrastination and laziness was in reality a paralyzing fear of failure. After a year and a half of tears, arguments and visits to his teachers, Randall sent twelve-year-old Nick back to live with Elise.

That was three years ago. Nick had never gotten over it.

Randall walked around Elise to the SUV. He stopped at the window on the passenger's side and rapped his fingers lightly on the glass.

There was no sign Nick heard him.

Randall hesitated, then peered into the window. His mouth tightened. He grabbed the door handle and yanked it.

But his son had already locked the door.

Elise watched the two of them, disgust at her husband outweighing dismay at her son's behavior. She hurried over to the car. “You can't force him.”

“Nick,” he yelled through the glass. “Open the door!”

His son turned his back to him. Part of Elise cheered him on.

Randall slapped his hand on the window. “Open the door right now!”

“Randall, this isn't the way to deal with it,” she said.

“Oh, really?” He turned to look at her, his eyes on fire. “I expect him to account for himself. It's time for him to be a man, Elise. I am willing to forgive him for what he did with my bank account. But he can't be a coward and sit in the car.”

Elise glanced at Nick. If her son had heard his father,
he gave no indication. He sat with his earbuds plugged firmly in his ears, staring into nothingness.

“Where are your keys?” Randall asked.

She hesitated.

“Where are your keys?” He held out his hand.

Elise shook her head. “I'm not giving them to you.”

Suddenly, Nick's door swung open and he stepped out, planting himself between Randall and Elise. His blond hair was longer than Randall's and he had the tall, lanky frame of adolescence, but it was clear he was his father's son.

“Stop it, Dad.”

Randall opened his mouth, then closed it. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Nick. We need to talk.”

A flush burned along Nick's jaw. “I already said I was sorry.”

Randall sized him up. “I know. We need to talk about the trip.”

“I'm not going.”

“I told you that this was part of the deal. You can pay back what you owe me by crewing on the boat.”

Nick grabbed his duffel bag out of the backseat of the car. He shoved his hand in a side pocket and pulled out a stack of bills. “Here's your money.”

Randall unfolded the wad and briskly counted the amount. Six hundred and thirty-five dollars. “Where did you get this?” His tone was casual, but the tension in his face revealed his anger.

Nick's chin rose. “I earned it.”

“How?”

“I worked at the golf club.”

Randall's gaze whipped back to Elise. She nodded.

“Did your mother give you any of this?” Randall demanded.

Nick crossed his arms. “I earned it myself.”

“Is that true, Elise?” Randall's eyes drilled into hers.

She forced her gaze to remain steady. “Yes.”

“Why won't you believe me?” Nick asked. But they all knew why.

He'd lied before.

A lawn mower ripped to life. Nick hoisted his bag on his shoulder and spun on his heel. “Have a good trip, Dad.” He headed up the walkway to the house.

“Nick, come on,” Randall said. His eyes, so piercing just moments before, were dull with hurt.

Nick clomped up the porch stairs.

“Nick, you promised,” Randall called after him.

That stopped Nick. He turned. Anger and hurt vibrated from his eyes. “I changed my mind.” He looked at Elise for help. “I'm going to camp instead.”

Randall's eyes narrowed. He turned to Elise. “When did you arrange this?”

“On our way here.”

Randall gave Nick a hard look. Nick shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Why didn't you call me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn't listen to me, Dad.”

“We made a deal,” Randall repeated.

“You mean
you
made a deal.” Nick grabbed the handle to the screen door and pulled it open. It squeaked rustily. “Anyway, I paid you back.” He stepped through the doorway.

“Nick, wait!” Randall said. Nick slammed the door shut behind him.

Elise watched this drama playing out, wishing she had half the guts of her son.

Randall spun around and glared at Elise. “Congratulations. You've achieved what you set out to do.”

She tried not to shrivel under the heat of his anger. “What do you mean by that?”

“You've turned him against me.” There was stark pain under the accusation.

“Why are you always blaming me?” He was the one who moved to a different province. How did he expect to have a relationship with his kids?

“Because you're the one who divided this family,” he said.

She flinched, unprepared for that attack. These arguments had been laid to rest years ago, but clearly the sex had raised them from the dead. She lifted her chin. “Only because you stopped being a part of it.”

“Don't blame me for your infidelity, Elise. It was you who ruined our marriage. Remember that.” He stalked away to his car.

“Don't worry. You'll never let me forget,” she called after him. He ignored her. Just as he always did. They'd start having an argument and he'd turn on his heel and walk out.

Not this time. He would not get the last word this time.

The trauma of the past two months was too fresh in her mind. He'd opened a door she'd thought had been sealed shut. She'd glimpsed a future—had allowed herself to hope. And then found out in a phone call that she'd been foolish. Naive. Unwanted. The loss had been huge. The procedure worse than she imagined.

He was not going to get the final word.

She hurried after him. He was unlocking his door. She grabbed his arm. “I may have ruined our marriage, but you've had your revenge.”

He threw her an angry look and climbed into the immaculate, shining tribute to his manhood.

She rushed around to the driver's side and pounded on the window.

He rolled it down. Anger, impatience, irritation—that one really got her—flashed across his face. “I heard you.”

That's what he thought. He always claimed he heard what she said, but he didn't. He didn't hear the pain, the need, the hurt. Or he chose to ignore it.

Anger surged inside her. “If you heard me, then why don't you answer me!”

“Because I don't want to talk about it. What happened in Toronto was a big mistake. But it's over. You have to move on, Elise.”

“How easy for you to say.” Her voice trembled with rage. “How fucking easy for you to sit there in your new car—it is new, isn't it, darling, and yet you claim you can't afford more child support—and tell me that it's over. You've moved on. Be a big girl, Elise, and suck it up.”

He stared at her. She knew he was waiting for her to vent her rage, move away from the car in a sobbing heap, and he'd roar down the street like a bat out of hell. Same old, same old.

Her hands gripped the edge of the lowered window. Her fingertips dug into fine leather, her palms pressed against hot chrome. “Let me tell you exactly what I had
to suck up, Randall. Or should I say, suck out.” She took a deep breath, swallowed. “Your baby.” She'd meant to end it on a bitter, angry note, but it came out pathetically weak.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Randall stared at her. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. “Jesus,” he murmured. His eyes opened again and she saw his shock, his anger. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't.” She straightened and turned away, not wanting him to see the tears that sprang into her eyes. The pain of his abandonment had never eased. It seemed half her life had been spent getting over his desertion of her—first emotional, then physical, and finally both.

He got out of the car, his body rigid behind her. “I deserved to know.”

He'd fucked her, knocked her up, left her—and then insisted he
deserved
to know.

She couldn't answer. Anger swelled her throat.

He added, “Is that why you asked for additional child support?”

Jesus
. She spun around. The words jerked out of her throat. “No! The money was for Nick and Lucy.”

His eyes flickered over her abdomen. She was grateful her arms were hugging her waist. He said softly, “But you said it was mine.” He paused. “Wasn't it?”