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Today, I’m asking for a divorce.
Erin Lockwood Palmer barely managed not to crush the grapes in her hand.
No, Erin, don’t think about the divorce right now.
Instead, she smiled at the ten-year-old boy who was sitting on the floor beside her. “Want the ammunition for the catapult?” She handed him some grapes.
Bobby examined the fruit suspiciously. “How’s something like this gonna break a castle wall?”
Kids are so fun. She chuckled and looked around the living room. “Hmm. We seem to be lacking a castle to aim at. And, since we’re inside the house, if we use big boulders or stones like a war catapult, we’ll break the windows. So…grapes.”
A huff of agreement came from Delilah who was mopping the marble tiled entry. “Don’t you dare go busting up the house, boy.” Dressed tidily in dark jeans and a tucked-in shirt, the housekeeper had brassy red hair with matching lipstick. She’d arrived today, full of apologies that her daughter was ill and so Delilah had her grandson with her.
Erin didn’t mind at all. Aside from being a fantastic kid, Bobby made the time go faster. She glanced at the clock, feeling dread building inside. Today, when Troy got back from Washington, DC, she’d give him the divorce papers.
Even if he didn’t want her, he wouldn’t react politely to her being the one to initiate cutting ties. A tremor of worry ran through her, making her shake inside.
With an effort, she turned her attention back to the child and the catapult they’d built with pencils, masking tape, rubber bands, and a bottle cap. “Tell you what, when you play outside, you can use rocks.”
Not that playing outside would happen today. She glanced at the rain-streaked windows.
“Cooool.” Satisfied with the stone versus grapes compromise, the boy arranged the opposing toy soldiers in a line farther away, set one grape into the bottle cap launcher, and pulled the catapult arm back. He released, and the fruit went flying.
Perfect.
Bobby cheered, fist pumping in the air.
“Very good.” Erin tilted her head. “But what were you aiming at?”
“The Greek army.”
“It appears you missed. Why would that be?”
He frowned. “Cuz the catapult kinda bounced?”
“Exactly.” She tapped the Roman soldier standing next to the catapult. “Your soldier engineer here would be scrounging something to weigh down the base.”
As Bobby worked on taping the bottom to a heavy piece of cardboard, Erin grinned. Teaching a child how to build toys and fix ensuing problems until everything worked as designed made her mechanic’s heart happy.
A couple of adjustments later, the grape struck the opposing force and knocked down a wide swathe of toy soldiers.
The cheering was loud
enough to bring Delilah into the room.
“If you’re done, my boy, we must be off. Congressman Palmer is due home today,” Delilah said.
Erin suppressed a sigh. Her husband had made it clear to staff that he didn’t want to interact with them. “Yes, his flight from Washington should be in anytime now.”
He’d be in a foul mood. The flight from the East Coast to Sacramento was a long one.
Bobby scrambled to his feet.
“Here, sweetie, take this with you. Anyone who enjoys history should have his own catapult.”
Bobby stared at her with shining eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Palmer.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Now don’t forget to change, Ms. Palmer.” Delilah gave a meaningful wave toward Erin’s clothing.
“Oh, right.” Erin eyed her dirty jeans and T-shirt. She’d spent most of the day at a local auto shop where she was restoring a classic 1970 Chevy Corvette. “Thanks for reminding me.”
No need to get Troy huffy before their discussion.
She waved goodbye as Delilah and Bobby hurried out.
After a quick shower and putting on pants and a nice shirt, Erin tucked away the clutter from the catapult build. A glance around showed everything was impeccably clean in the room that was a shining example of…bland.
Off-white walls, cream-colored furniture, beige carpet. Much like the luncheons for politicians’ wives, the house was adamantly neutral. Her husband had owned it before they married and wasn’t about to change the decorating scheme for her. Not in the almost three years they’d been married.
Now there wouldn’t be—
Her phone dinged with an announcement from the airlines. Troy’s flight had landed. He’d soon be on his way from the airport.
The countdown had begun.
Oh God, I’m really going to do this. Her breathing sped up until she took control of it with slow, deep inhalations.
After glancing at the clock, she nodded. Just enough time to work on the gardener’s daughter’s laptop. The girl had been in tears after her beloved laptop died, so her father asked if Erin would take a look. He knew Erin loved fixing things. All the things, from cars to
high-tech devices.
But not when Troy was home.
He didn’t think wives of ultra-conservative politicians should have any profession at all and certainly shouldn’t be some grease-covered mechanic. She was supposed to be gracious, supportive, and provide him with a baby or two to complete the image of him as a loving husband dedicated to old-fashioned values.
Politicians’ wives had to be the most boring people in the world. Who could be interesting when every word must be examined for possible offense, political correctness, and implications to the husband’s status?
When she told Troy it wasn’t right to be so artificial, he’d mansplained how politicians serve the country. Since her behavior reflected on him, if she upset people, they wouldn’t want to work with him. He went on to add that what he was asking of her was a very small sacrifice to keep the government running smoothly.
She rolled her eyes. What with having a senator mother, she’d learned proper etiquette almost before she could walk. But…there was inoffensive behavior—and there was stifling all individuality. Her husband wanted a Stepford Wife.
Frowning, she set out her smaller toolbox and the laptop. For Troy, she’d given up her job, her goals, even her personality, to help further his career.
It’d taken her nearly two years to realize what was happening. But when she told him she thought they should end their marriage, he’d cried and said he needed her. Begged her to stay.
So she had and then realized why he hadn’t wanted her to leave. Because he’d been up for re-election. Because a divorce would ruin his pro-family brand. Because he wanted her mom’s influence to help him win.
I’ve been a fool. But now I’m done.
After a glance at the clock, she plugged in the laptop. No boot up screen. She listened—nothing had come to life.
She tried a different cord. Nothing. So…not the cord. It wasn’t powering on at all. No fan noise even. Maybe the battery. Erin pulled out a micro screwdriver to open the case, as content as a rabbit in clover.
After a few minutes, she flipped on the television, needing something to combat the silence.
She used to watch the news faithfully. Troy made fun of her if she didn’t stay current
with what was going on in the world. Seriously, though, who wanted to know? Face it, the news media twisted the headlines to present the most worrisome aspects of anything going on.
“Tell me, oh television, what disaster has occurred today to terrify the masses?” She bent her head and pried open the laptop.
The newscasters blathered away, blackening her mood.
In world news: people killing other people, governments being shaken apart, a tornado here, a hurricane there. US news: shootings, hate crimes, and appallingly ignorant politicians spouting a bunch of fearmongering. It burned how they received more airtime than the intelligent ones.
She grumbled under her breath and kept working.
California news: the dry weather, water shortages, latest wildfires, a corrupt politician. “We have the latest news about Congressman Troy Palmer, who—
Erin snapped her head up in time to see the picture of her husband. What in the world?
The male newscaster assumed a concerned expression. “Yes, more questions have been raised regarding how the construction of a private prison near Bear Flat, California, got approved.”
Oh, this could get ugly. But was Troy involved? Erin shook her head. Surely Mr. Perfect himself wouldn’t have broken the law.
Last year, the prison was in the news when convicts staged a riot and broke out. She’d been shocked, especially since their vacation home was just outside Bear Flat. Further investigations revealed that the private prison shouldn’t have been built at all, having failed the environmental impact studies. The facility had been shut down.
Would Troy really have taken bribes to open a prison?
She bit her lip, trying to believe in his integrity. But she couldn’t. When it came to getting ahead, he would manipulate people, would do or say anything.
Like how he’d lied to get her to marry him.
She’d been so naïve. After dropping out of college at twenty-one and spending two years caring for her dying grandparents, she was still mourning Grammie and Grampie when she’d met Mr. Charming. She’d fallen
hard. He was everything any girl could want. He’d listened to her, acted like she was his whole world, been so loving.
And she’d adored him. Why hadn’t she seen he needed her mother’s influence to help him climb the political ladder? Mom had been a powerful, popular US Senator, and of course she’d helped her daughter’s new husband.
Because Mom loved me.
Tears burned Erin’s eyes. “I miss you so much, Mom.” Her death three months ago had been unexpected. Erin’s flight to Washington, DC had taken too long; the heart attack had been too massive. There’d been no chance to say goodbye.
Although Troy had attended the funeral for the media coverage of him accepting condolences from Washington’s movers and shakers, he hadn’t returned home afterward. Hadn’t been there when she was grieving.
Because I’m not useful to him any longer.
While Mom was alive, he’d gone through the motions of being a loving husband. Since her death, he had become increasingly scornful—or maybe she should say, more blatantly scornful.
“You’re worthless. No connections—not anymore.”
“You don’t have any networking skills. Won’t even make speeches.”
“What good are you to me anyway?”
At the last fundraising dinner, when she’d met him there, he’d hissed at her under his breath while flashing a smile for everyone around them. “Jesus, can’t you make an effort to at least be pretty? God knows you can’t talk to anyone, but if you’re going to be quiet, at least be ornamental.”
His contemptuous remarks had hurt…but forced her to see how many times he’d said similar things over the years.
When they’d had sex before he left for DC, she was desperate to see if there was anything left between them. But he was aloof, even cold, during and after. When she tried to talk to him about it, he scoffed. “You’re overreacting, as always. Maybe if you were any good in bed, I’d be more engaged.”
That…had been the last straw. She’d felt so numb, she hadn’t even cried. Because it was over. In truth, she didn’t love him any longer—hadn’t loved him for a long while. In fact, she was far happier when he was gone.
I deserve better. I do.
She’d filled out the
divorce papers the very next day.
Considering the things he’d said—and that her mother couldn’t help him any longer—she couldn’t imagine he’d be very upset about a divorce. Yet a shiver of worry ran through her.
But her hands continued to work, repairing the laptop for the little girl.
When she saw Troy’s car turn into the driveway, she hastily packed everything away in her small toolbox and returned it to her sitting room closet.
Just in time.
The front door opened, and Troy stopped in the doorway, complaining about something. Behind him, a man laughed.
Who was with him?
All her muscles were tight as she stood in the center of the living room. Now she regretted not moving out and hiring a process server to deliver the divorce papers.
No, this way was best. If at all possible, she’d keep this amicable. Reasonable.
Should she ask about the bribery investigation?
Bad idea. Bringing up his misdeeds would make it sound as if she was bailing out for that reason, rather than because she was simply done with him.
He walked in. His brother, Emmett, the CEO of Confinement Corp International came in behind him. Both were mid-thirties, around five-eleven, blond, blue-eyed, and clean-shaven.
Despite the long flight from the other side of the country, Troy’s hair was still perfectly styled, and his well-tailored suit unwrinkled. He glanced at her. “Erin.”
She pulled in a breath. “Welcome back. How was your flight?”
“As annoying as usual.”
Emmett smiled at her, polite as always. “Erin, my dear, how are you?”
She suppressed a sigh. Why’d he have to be here, anyway? “Fine, thank you. And you?”
“Good. I’m sorry to disturb my brother’s homecoming.” He turned to Troy. “If you’ll get those papers, I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course.” Troy headed down the hall to his office at the end.
“Erin, I’m glad you’re here for Troy.” Emmett shook his head. “Those allegations about Bear Flat are hard on him.”
She stiffened. A divorce would look as if she wasn’t standing behind him. As if she thought he might be guilty.
Then again, it was what she did think.
Rather than blurting something out, she simply murmured a noncommittal, “He does look tired.” Between her mother’s career and Troy’s, she was well
versed in how to say nothing when surrounded by verbal landmines.
Footsteps heralded Troy’s return.
“Thank you.” Emmett took the manila envelope from him. “I’ll call you tomorrow and find out how things are going.”
Troy smiled. “I’m sure it’ll go well.”
Emmett nodded to Erin. “It was good seeing you, Erin.”
“Have a nice evening, Emmett.”
As the door closed behind his brother, Troy headed back down the hall to his office. “I’ll be ready for dinner in an hour.”
She stared after him, feeling deflated. Ugly.
Angry.
He couldn’t even be polite?
Well then, let’s get this over with.
Although California had an annoying, mandatory waiting period of six months before the divorce would be finalized, she was moving out tomorrow.
In her sitting room, she used the bathroom. Splashed cold water on her face. Breathed.
With the divorce papers and checklist in hand, she walked down the hall toward Troy’s office. Realizing she was hanging her head like a child, she stopped…and narrowed her eyes. Interesting. The off-white carpet here was almost gray with ground-in dirt.
Amusement tickled her throat. Last year, when Delilah was hired, she’d cleaned his office. Troy had yelled at her, ranting that no one, including Erin, was to enter his office.
From the looks of the dust, the housekeeper had been avoiding even the hallway.
That makes two of us.
The door was closed—as usual—and Erin put her hand on the knob. But she could hear Troy talking. He must be on the phone.
His angry voice grew louder. “Listen here, Senator. Either your committee deals with the problem we spoke about…or the news media will get several nice pictures of you with a thirteen-year-old boy.” Troy’s tone took on a sneer. “Very graphic pictures.”
Erin snatched her hand away from the door and took a step back.
“Blackmail? Let’s not be harsh, Silas. We’ll just say a favor for a favor. You enjoyed the party in New York. And the party favors. Now it’s time to do
some quid pro quo, so to speak.”
No. Erin’s throat closed. What he was talking about was blackmail. Was her husband pandering children? For political favors?
It was all…all illegal. Horrendous. Her stomach turned over.
Backing away from the door, she retreated down the hall and into the living room. Grabbing her purse, she jumped in her car and left.
And asked her phone for directions to the nearest FBI office.
What an awful month.
With every mile she drove away from Sacramento, Erin could feel her heart grow lighter. Turning off Highway 120, she headed down smaller roads and onto the narrow Kestrel Mountain Road. The engine’s purr deepened as the road grew steeper. Not far after the turnoff to Whiskey Creek Lane, she turned down the small, barely visible dirt road through the trees.
At the end was the vacation home Mom had given her for a wedding present. Mom knew Troy would enjoy it during hunting season but had put it in Erin’s name only. Thank goodness. Troy had owned the Sacramento house before they married, and he had sole title.
This place was hers. And she needed it badly since, before he fled the country, Troy had cleaned out their accounts and investments. The annual payment from her mother’s trust fund had been in their joint account and was gone too.
The bastard. Somehow, he’d gotten word before the FBI showed up to arrest him. He was probably lounging on a tropical beach without a care in the world.
But her? She’d be lucky to keep her head above water. As her eyes filled with tears, she blinked hard.
The last month had been ghastly.
At least her divorce papers were filed. She’d jumped through all the hoops needed for dumping a missing spouse. It would still be months before finalization.
The police interrogations…uh, interviews…were finished along with their searches of the Sacramento house, Troy’s condo in DC, his office, and even the vacation home here.
They’d gone through all their financial papers. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. An FBI agent—a forensic accountant—had shown her Troy’s credit card statements for jewelry and women’s clothing. There were hotel receipts for Sacramento as well as at luxury resorts for times he was supposedly at political conventions.
He’d been cheating on her.
Seeing Erin’s shock, the female agent had gently suggested she get tested for STDs.
God. The agent’s sympathy had helped. Not everyone in the world was vile.
However, the press came close. Thankfully, when her statements to the reporters that she knew nothing and had nothing to say didn’t change, their interest in her died down. Maybe there was a benefit to appearing as dull as Troy characterized her.
So…he was gone. And she was starting over. Picking up the life she’d abandoned to keep him happy.
Her chin rose. She would use this time and space to remember who she truly was.
In the clearing before the two-story house, she parked near the front steps. The utility trailer she’d towed behind the SUV wouldn’t fit in the garage.
Juggling bags of groceries, she headed inside the house and stopped at the panel inside
the door to input the security code.
After dropping her sacks on the kitchen counter, she walked into the great room. One wall was all windows, overlooking the pastoral valley down below and the encircling mountains. Light streamed in like a benediction of peace.
Thank you, Mom, for this sanctuary. For teaching me about love and loyalty.
She lowered the temperature setting in the fridge and put her groceries away, then adjusted the thermostat for the heat pump. In late May, nights in the mountains were still darn cold.
Suitcase by suitcase, box by box, she unloaded her SUV and the small utility trailer. She didn’t have enough possessions to require a moving van. Before marrying Troy, she’d only spent a couple of years at college before returning home to care for Grammie and Grampie. She’d always be grateful to have had those last two years with them before they’d died.
All the furniture in the Sacramento house was Troy’s. She’d left it there.
Ruthlessly thinning what she did own, she’d donated to charities and made lots of presents to the staff and her mechanic friends. The so-stylish clothing Troy preferred her in went to Delilah’s daughter. Bobby got an antique clock Erin had restored for Troy’s office and a spare eReader. The large coffee-maker-espresso machine went to Delilah.
She’d packed up the few items her grandparents and mother had left her. She brought those along with the clothing she’d kept, personal belongings, and of course, her hobby stuff and tools. Lots and lots of tools.
She’d sold the black gas-guzzler Troy had insisted she drive for the “right image”, along with the two classic cars she hadn’t finished restoring. The small, practical SUV she’d bought was capable of handling the mountain roads even if she was only here long enough to sell this house.
Bear Flat was…tiny. What with Mom in DC, her grandparents in San Francisco, and Troy in Sacramento, she’d lived in cities all her life.
She’d only visited here a few times to escape the heat in the valley. Although the forest surrounding the house was beautiful, she hadn’t even attempted hiking. Face it, she had no sense of direction, and someone had totally forgotten to put street signs on the evergreens.
Using the vacation
home for political networking, Troy had been here much more often with various VIPs. In the fall, he’d hire a guide and take his guests hunting.
She’d come with him the first time and never again. To kill a harmless animal and boast about it? No. Just no.
Walking into the bedroom with a suitcase, she frowned at the off-white walls and tan bedspread. Was the beautiful old quilt from Grammie’s house still in the storage boxes?
Speaking of bedding, the sheets and blankets were rumpled, half on the floor. Troy had been here last month. The lazy clod. Scowling, she yanked the sheets off the bed.
And the distinctive stink of stale perfume and sex wafted to her nose.
He’d brought some woman here. To my house. And had sex with her here. In their bed.
God. Erin’s stomach turned over, and she barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.
Afterward, she wiped her streaming eyes and brushed her teeth. When was the last time she’d vomited? Probably in college when she’d discovered that drinking tequila shots was a stupid idea?
Getting involved with a man was also a stupid idea. Never again.
In the hall closet, she found spare bedding. The storage box yielded Grammie’s quilt. After the soiled bedding was in the laundry—on the sanitize setting—she cleaned the house and dumped everything of Troy’s in the garbage. Especially the mounted antlers.
So cathartic.
Eventually, the whole house was spotless. The breeze through the wide-open windows had cleared away the musty scents. A citrus-scented candle filled the air with cheer.
Moving room to room, she unpacked Grampie’s restored antique clocks. The banjo clock replaced the ugly antlers in the great room. The adorable cuckoo clock he’d used to teach her about restoration went into the kitchen. Her nightstand in the bedroom got the 19th century gilt bronze clock with angels.
She dug into the next storage box. Tiny yellow and pink bud vases she’d bought in college went to the kitchen windowsill. One of Grammie’s paintings of sunflowers in front of a weathered barn replaced the photo of Troy with his foot on a dead buck. ...
