hers. “But she has kayaks. You know how Scott loves toys.”
“And activities,” Addie said.
“He’s telling everyone our split is my fault, but he knew exactly what he wanted. Cash. He didn’t ask for half the pictures or books or special things we’d gotten as wedding gifts. Just money. Money and half the value of the house.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I said I would do from the start—give him what he wants right up to half. He liked the zeroes. There are a few caveats—as long as we’re joint tenants, he has to pay his half of the mortgage or lose his half of the house. He signed off. I’ll be legally divorced in a matter of weeks. In fact, any minute. And then he’s not getting another thing from me, not even a smile.”
Their lunches arrived. Addie buttered some bread and slid it over to Justine. She cut up her tomato and avocado slices, dipped her fork in the dressing and then stabbed a bit of chicken.
Justine smiled. “You look amazing,” she said. “Addie, I’ve neglected you. We were both raised as only children, but you hung in there with Mom through the dark years, when she barely communicated.”
“I knew what she was communicating,” Addie said. “Sort of. Most of the time.”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing special. I usually get my meals ready for the week, shop for food, exercise a lot, hit a meeting at my weight loss support group...”
“Let me take you shopping. I’ll ask the girls if either of them wants to go along. We can have lunch, too.”
“First you have to tell me something,” Addie said. “I need to know how you’re really feeling.”
“I told you already,” Justine said. “There isn’t any more.”
“But of course there’s more because underneath you’re not so much in control as it appears on the surface. I want to know. I want to hear. Maybe you need real counseling, not just that sham of a marriage counselor who Scott was so successful in lying to. I won’t know how to help you unless you’re completely honest with me. I see women all day long who have been abandoned or divorced or abused and have barely escaped, and I can’t ask them. I look at them and know they’re covering up an enormous mound of toxic, terrifying feelings, but I’m not a counselor and I can’t ask. I know what you’re doing. I want to know what you’re feeling.”
Justine took a slow sip of soup from her spoon. She thought for a moment, dabbed her lips and said, “I’m not withholding from you, Addie. Nor being untrusting of you. It’s just that I’m so careful about what I let myself feel because I’m afraid I might crack. And if I crack, I’m might collapse and never get up again. I have to be strong for my girls, for my ability to support us. What I feel is terror. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone. I can’t let the girls see how afraid I am. All those years I asked Scott for his opinion on something or asked a favor, like would he mind stopping at the bank, or called him from work to ask him what he felt like for dinner, or just called him to ask if he heard some news item and talked to him for five or ten minutes. He draws me as job obsessed and cold, yet we texted, talked and emailed each other all day long.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her texts.
Hey babe, I pulled out that pork loin to thaw. Does that sound good?
Sounds delicious.
I’ll stick it in the crock pot if you’ll bring home some deli potato salad.
Sure, and I’ll find something green. Love you.
Love you!
Sweetheart, I’m running a little late and won’t get home till about seven. Tell the girls we’ll work on homework then if they need help.
Sounds like pizza night. Will that work for you?
Perfect. I’ll pick it up on the way home if you’ll order it.