The View from Alameda Island - Robyn Carr Page 0,30
she was optimistic—obviously her daughters had witnessed some of the vulgar things that had passed between them. She would call Lacey as soon as she could.
On the lawyer’s advice, Brad would be served with not only divorce papers but a legal document instructing him that there would be penalties if he emptied out their accounts or ran up charge accounts in her name. She’d contacted her own credit card companies—the ones he routinely paid—and canceled them. She opened new ones and had a debit card from her personal bank account. She took no money from their joint accounts. She had put aside some money over the past several years, money he didn’t know about that allowed her to make the deposit on a rental and would get her through the first few weeks of separation. And then there was the money from the sale of Honey’s house. It was in a trust, safe from Brad’s hands. Beth guarded it carefully. And Lauren fully intended to give it all to Beth if she eventually received a settlement from the divorce.
With the proceeds from the sale of the house, her little stash and her job, she’d be all right even if Brad found a way to freeze her out.
She dropped her things off at Beth’s, then went to work. She told her boss first. Bea said, “Oh Lauren, what a shock! I’m so sorry.” Of course everyone at work thought she lived a charmed life—that’s what she’d intended them to think. First of all, she felt she was liked at work yet had no close friends there. She was rarely included in their away-from-work socializing, probably because they all thought they had nothing in common. She never let on that life in that big house was cold and heartless. She never complained about Brad.
Then she told some of the people who worked for her, warning them that she might run into scheduling problems if she had legal emergencies. Again, they said they were sorry, but she detected in their voices that they didn’t really feel sorry for her at all.
Brad texted her three times. Pick up my cleaning. Make an appointment for my car to be detailed while I’m at the hospital, Tuesday is best. What’s for dinner?
She answered: Okay. Okay. Maybe takeout.
Then she went home and waited for him. She sat at the kitchen counter, still dressed in work clothes, and tried to stem the trembling. He was not later than usual but it felt like she had waited for hours. She didn’t have a glass of wine but when this was behind her, she was having a big one. Very big.
He walked in through the garage door, briefcase in hand, and seemed surprised to see her sitting there. He didn’t smile or say hello. He pretty much ignored her. “Your cleaning is in the closet and you have an appointment for the detailers at noon on Tuesday. Meet them at the car. I told them it would be in the doctor’s lot. And I’m leaving.”
“Going somewhere?” he asked, leafing through the mail.
“I’m filing for divorce, Brad. I’ve arranged to have you served at the office tomorrow—you can either tell your office staff or just say you’re expecting some legal documents. If you’re not there, there’s always the hospital. But I thought you’d appreciate telling those people yourself.”
He put down the mail. “What brought this on?”
“Twenty-four years of abuse,” she said. “I’ve canceled my charge cards and had my mail forwarded.”
“Going with the clothes on your back?” he asked. Then he smiled mockingly.
“I’ve packed some clothes but I’ll wait for our settlement before taking anything else from the house.”
“And where the hell are you going?”
“My cell phone will be turned on if you need to talk to me. If you harass me, I’ll block your calls.”
“You’re such an idiot,” he said. “You’ll regret this.”
“I believe it will be difficult but I don’t think I’ll regret it.”
He continued to smile. “Oh, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Why bother? Really. Our marriage died years ago. What am I besides a housekeeper and arm piece for your social obligations?”
“A very well-paid housekeeper,” he said. “And not that much of an arm-piece anymore. You came from nothing, Lauren. Is that what you want to go back to? Nothing?”
“I came from a loving if modest home and I can support myself.”
“If you walk out that door, you won’t get another dime from me. I’ll make you suffer, wait and see.”