Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (2 page)

He sat up a little straighter in his chair, a veil of
boredom descending, the ‘come hither’ expression vanishing. He yawned.

“Call me Eli. Please.”

“Eli.” She nodded. She quickly explained the change of
council to him. “He should arrive shortly. We’re overdue to begin.” She glanced
at her watch. “I hope you’re okay with the change.”

“He won’t care,” D’arcy said. “Eli’s not one for legal
matters.”

“
Au contraire, ma chere
. I fired my last lawyer,
Kate,” he said pointedly, turning to her. “We didn’t see eye to eye,” Eli
elegant dark brows furrowed. “And I really was looking forward to working with David
Broadbent. He’s a great guy.”

“Don’t worry, Eli. You’ll like Simon just as well,”
Sharon said. “I’ve known him for years, and he’s a fine lawyer.”

Kate’s skin tingled, and she suppressed a shiver of mixed
anticipation and dread. Just then, she heard footsteps in the hall outside, and
they turned as one to face the door like spectators at a tennis match. She
straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and took the deep, calming
Pranayama breaths she’d learned in yoga class.
Shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti
.

Eli frowned as the door opened, his eyes scanning the man
who entered.

Kate’s gaze locked on him, her breath frozen in her
throat. There was no mistake. Simon Sharpe had hardly changed at all.

Her
mouth
moved, but no sound emerged.

The tall blond man slid into the room. He shook the
raindrops from himself and shrugged out of his wet, wrinkled raincoat,
revealing a light grey suit that was hardly better. With a world-weary air, he
grinned and looked around, taking everyone in. His startling bright eyes
settled first on Sharon, nodding his acknowledgment while her eyes glinted like
an eagle sighting prey.

He assessed D’arcy for a moment. Then his gaze rested on Eli,
his brows lifted, and finally on Kate herself, where it froze, a look of
bewilderment appearing, as if he found himself suddenly in the ladies room and
wondered how he’d got there.

Simon Sharpe!
Kate’s breath stuck and her heart
pounded in her tight chest. An explosion of disparate thoughts and feelings
crashed around in her head, a chorus of dissonant voices. She darted an anxious
glance at the others in the room, but no. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know
who he was. To her.
Pull yourself together, Kate.

“…em…”

Simon Sharpe!
Simon! No. Her stomach lurched.
Perspiration blossomed on her brow, upper lip, palms — everywhere. She tensed
against the hard leather seat of her chair, wishing she could run and hide.

Kate heard Sharon speaking, circumventing Eli, who was
already half out of his chair. She grinned at Simon like a Cheshire cat.
“–pleasant surprise,” she cooed.

He lifted one side of his mouth and his left eyebrow, an
unruly wing, the only elements of asymmetry in an otherwise even and striking face
and addressed the room. “Simon Sharpe. How do you do?”

“Did David—?” blurted Eli.

Simon faced Eli, rested a hand on his shoulder and took
Eli’s hand, almost more a caress than a handshake. “I’m sorry to catch you off
guard, Mr. Benjamin. My colleague, David Broadbent,” he explained to the room
at large, “was suddenly called away, and asked me to step in this morning. We
tried to reach you without success. I’ve been fully briefed.”

“Hey, dude.” Eli shook his hand, shrugged and flopped
back into his chair.

“Simon, delightful,” Sharon said. “You’ve met Eli. And
this is D’arcy Duchamp, my client, and Kathryn O’Day, our mediator.”

Simon Sharpe visibly flinched. His eyes darted around to
acknowledge Sharon’s introductions, then sprang back. His gaze locked on Kate’s
face, curious, squinting. “
You’re
the mediator?”

She was staring. Kate took a deep ragged breath and
discretely wiped her damp palms on the legs of her trousers, forced herself to
rise from her chair with an outer appearance of calm and control that she
didn't feel. Like an automaton, she turned and took two stiff steps toward him
as he approached. Her mind whirled.
I have to take the offensive. He's late.
He's unexpected. He's making me uncomfortable.
What do I say to him?
She raised her gaze to his chin, attempting to swallow the cotton stuffed into
her dry throat.

“Yes. Mr. Sharpe... at last." She took another
reluctant step as though she were trudging to the electric chair. Should she
pretend they’d never met or acknowledge that they knew each other? Play it
down, then own up later? "How… nice to… meet you… again. Please take a
seat. We’d like to begin." Gathering her courage, she forced herself to
meet his penetrating blue eyes with her own, revealing nothing, she hoped, of
her inner turmoil. She almost succeeded. Her heart thumped violently in her
chest as she gaped at his familiar face. That beloved face.

"Kate?" he said, his voice a strangled whisper.
He didn’t move toward a chair.

"You know each other?" Sharon asked.

Did they ever. “Yes. We knew each other… as students…
years ago," Kate said with a flip of her hand, as though it were nothing.

He peered at her, his face devoid of expression, his eyes
searching her features.

"Isn't that right? Or am I mistaken?" Kate
said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes, that's true. Excuse my rudeness. I’m surprised
to see you after all these years.” He dropped his eyes, scanning down to her
feet and up again. "Kate."

She’d seen his expression metamorphose from bewilderment
to a cool blank stare, but not before she saw a flicker of annoyance there.
That was no surprise. She was likely the last person on earth he wanted to see,
let alone work with. However passionate their youthful affair had been, he
clearly remembered, as she did, its sordid ending.

Her ribs tightened like a clamp around her lungs,
squeezing. Warning.
Stop it!

He couldn't possibly know how he'd broken her fragile
heart when he dumped her, or that her unrequited love for him had grown into a
malignant obsession that was nearly her undoing. That was her dirty little
secret.

What the hell am I going to do?
She reached out
her trembling hand, petrified at the effect his touch would have on her.
“Likewise,” she murmured.

He inclined his head and gave her hand a gentle but
masculine shake. Did his grip linger overlong, or had time slowed down? All her
nerve endings zinged with the electrical knowledge of him, his skin touching
her skin, and she could not take her eyes off their joined hands or form
another coherent thought. A great weight on her chest seemed to be crushing the
air out of her. She lifted her shoulders up and swallowed through a throat that
seemed to be closing up, stiffening, as though she'd swallowed a bag of rocks.
She recognized all the familiar signs of a panic attack, but it had been years.
She’d been fine.
This can’t be happening to me.

He squinted at her, a subtle smile curving the taut bow
of his lips and she jerked her hand away as though she'd been burnt.
He's
laughing at me!
She was ridiculous, getting all worked up now. This
shouldn't matter. But it did. It did.

It was happening again. The anxiety. She couldn’t trust
her own reaction to him. Looking at him made her instantly realize he had the
same effect, unwittingly triggering painful memories of her trauma, tangling up
her reactions to him. Attraction, obsession and repulsion. She’d thought those
days were long past, all of her skeletons buried.

Simon sat next to Eli.

Kate sat down and picked up her fountain pen, noticed her
hand trembling, and set it down again. She clenched her fists to stop her
fingertips from tingling. How could she take notes now? She tried slow
Pranayama breathing,
shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti
, smoothing her brow with
nervous fingers while she stared blindly at her notes. She had to find a way to
carry on as though the earth hadn't fallen out from under her.

 "Shall we g-get started?" she smiled
around the table, trying to meet everyone's eyes. The smile on her face was so
tight she was sure it would crack. When she reached Simon, her gaze flitted
past. Trickles of moisture tickled her breastbone as they slid down. How could
she feel anxious and phony? It’s not right. This was her arena. It was
impossible to muster her usual sincerity or enthusiasm when starting a new
case.
Focus! Be strong!

Remember why you're here
. She adored her work as a
mediator. She was able to share her insight and experience with people she
could truly help.

Each new case was an adventure that she relished, just
like a crisp, new romance novel; she knew what to expect. She would crack the
front cover and meet the principal characters—her clients—in a story that
involved misunderstandings, hurt feelings, secrets, and revelations, perhaps
even a villain or two to hinder progress. But then there would be love,
hopefully enough to pull them through to the happily-ever-after ending that
Kate believed everyone deserved.
If
they were willing to do the work.

Looking down, she loosened her tight fist, frowning at
the red arcs her fingernails had inscribed on the palm of her hand, barely
registering the pain.
Breath
.

She understood how damaged people were. How this led them
to hurt themselves and the ones they loved. She had been that way herself,
once.

This time, D'arcy had filed for divorce, while Eli
refused to consider it. Attempts to negotiate at first escalated and then
broken down entirely. Neither the lawyers nor the family were getting anywhere,
and emotions were incendiary. To Kate, this sounded like a classic case of
people not saying what they really wanted to say, or asking for what they
wanted. A perfect storm of hurt and betrayal.

This case, in particular, was special. Nearly ten years
had passed since Kate had become a mediator and made a name for herself as a
specialist in reconciliation. To commemorate her career accomplishments, the
Mediation Roster Society was presenting her with a special award at the annual
meeting and banquet early in the new year. The board had asked her to give a
presentation when accepting the award, and since this would be her fiftieth
case, she'd chosen to make a special study of it. Kate was flattered by the
award, but even more proud to be able to share the details of her methods with
colleagues. She planned to take careful notes, and in particular, record her
own emotional responses and strategies. If she could focus. How could she do it
now? She had to remember her goal.

His
being here would
not
interfere with her
job. She took a deep, determined breath and hardened her mind, shutting out all
awareness of Simon Sharpe.

"First of all, thank you all for coming. D'arcy and
Eli, I know how difficult this must be for you. I want to commend you both on
your courage in embarking on a new and different approach to resolving your
differences. From conversations I've had with D'arcy and Sharon, I understand
that your hope is to sort out your current stalemate regarding a possible reconciliation,
versus divorce.”

She met first D’arcy’s eyes and then Eli’s. D’arcy
appeared wary, her pupil’s dilated, poised for fight or flight. Eli
compulsively scratched lines on a notepad in front of him. His art a kind of
personal armour.

"Before we go there, I'd like to get to know both of
you and your history, and try to apply my expertise to your communication
challenges. Our goal here is to get you both on the same page. I am absolutely
confident you will be rewarded for your efforts and leave here feeling better
about yourselves and each other, whatever you decide is right for you."
She intercepted Simon sharing a small smirk and raised eyebrows with Sharon,
and scowled. It was bad enough having Sharon to contend with. She'd have to
confront them immediately before they poisoned the atmosphere.
Damned
lawyers.

Kate much preferred working without them. They tended to
make her job as mediator harder. While some showed compassion and professional
integrity, others, like Sharon Beckett, balked at the very idea of mediation.
Kate shuddered. With luck it would only be for this first session. For so many
reasons.

"Sharon, Mr. Sharpe–"

"Simon."

Her breath caught. "Simon. Thank you. I'm sure
attending mediation sessions offers you a more passive role than you're used
to, but I appreciate your willingness to participate today according to your
clients' wishes." Kate lifted her hands, palms out, in a welcoming gesture
to the couple in question, consciously keeping her elbows close to her hot,
damp body.

"I want to remind you that you've chosen mediation
because of your conflicting objectives. D'arcy, at the moment, still wants a
divorce, whereas Eli does not. You two have come here with a goal of seeing if
it is possible to reconcile your relationship. Rather than wasting time and
money, and making everyone miserable, we're here to get to the bottom of what
you both want and why, so you can move forward with consensus."

She felt like a rookie on her first day, mentally
following the protocol in her textbook. "My goal as a mediator is to help
you explore your issues and see if it is possible for us to come up with an
agreement where we lay out new ways that the two of you will interact. You
could think of it as a type of marriage counseling."

"Now,” Kate met Sharon's gaze first, hoping from
previous experience that these words would disarm her. "We need to have a
mutually agreed upon set of goals. I'm not talking about material ones, which
might be the usual stuff of divorce settlements. This is couple's mediation.
It's meant to be different. The way I do it, it's more structured than
open-ended marriage counseling."