The Guest List
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Synopsis
Satisfied with her life and a new relationship, Abby Mitchell is most happy to be reunited with her sister, who was separated from her after their parents died. The siblings are planning a sumptuous party, unaware that an uninvited guest is coming, one who'll do anything to help keep the past hidden.
Release date: October 24, 2011
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 400
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The Guest List
Fern Michaels
Edison, New Jersey—1976
John Evans stood with his hands jammed into his pockets in the open doorway of his wife’s hospital room. He was instantly aware of two things: first, that his wife looked as if she’d been arranged in the bed. She wore her frilly bed jacket, and her long golden hair had been placed just so over her shoulders. Lipstick and rouge were evident, as though she were waiting for a special visitor. He sniffed. Perfume, too. The second thing he noticed was the silence, a little like the first ten minutes before Mass got under way at St. Gabriel’s.
He didn’t want to go into the room and make conversation with his beautiful, unloving wife. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her the bad news, but the doctors insisted he do it. They thought Harriet would accept it better coming from him.
They didn’t know Harriet.
No one knew Harriet, except maybe his brother-in-law, Donovan. This past year John had come to realize that Donovan knew Harriet better than he did. If John had known two years ago what he had learned since, he never would have married her. His only explanation—and Donovan agreed with him— was that she’d cast a spell over him with her beauty, her wit, and her charm. Who but a fool wouldn’t have been smitten?
John’s eyes narrowed. The still form in the bed hadn’t so much as twitched. If her hands were folded across her chest, she would look like a mortician’s handiwork. He thought about the ten-and-a-half-month-old baby at home with the sitter. Baby Mallory looked like him, with her dark eyes and dark hair. He adored her.
Harriet tended to the child, but as far as he could tell, she’d never bonded with her. She never cuddled her or rocked her, never played with her. She saw to the baby’s needs, but that was all. All the loving and cuddling had to come from him. He did it all willingly because he loved the child.
A voice behind him hissed in his ear. “Is she dead?”
John twisted around. “Jesus, Donovan! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He put his hand on Donovan’s arm. “Let’s go out to the waiting room.”
Donovan Mitchell was a tall man, sandy-haired, rugged, with an open smile. For a big man, he carried his 180 pounds with athletic grace. His wife, Harriet’s sister, Emma, had died in childbirth. He’d tried to warn John about Harriet—that she was mean and hateful just like Emma—but John had been too smitten to listen.
“You look like hell,” Donovan said with concern. “Was it a hard delivery?”
“Ten hours. Longer than the doctors expected.” John raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been here all night. I think I drank two gallons of bad coffee and smoked two packs of cigarettes.”
“Who’s watching Mallory?”
“Mrs. Lascaris.”
Donovan narrowed his eyes. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Harriet looks fine, so it must be the baby. Don’t look at me like that. John, what’s wrong?”
John shook his head, unable to speak.
Donovan clapped his hand on his friend’s back. “C’mon, tell old Donovan what’s wrong.”
“Why don’t I show you, instead? Then you tell me. You didn’t go to the nursery, did you?”
“Nah. I came straight here when I got your message. I know where it is. The nursery, I mean.”
They walked in silence until they came to the nursery window. John tapped lightly on the glass. A nurse looked up and smiled. She moved to the far end of the nursery to lift a small pink bundle from the crib. She was still smiling when she held the infant up for inspection.
“Shit!” Donovan gasped. “What the hell is that? Is it going to go away? Jesus, John, what is it?”
“A birthmark. The doctor called it a port-wine stain. I don’t know if it will go away or not. She’ll have to go to a specialist at some point. It’s really deep. It’s the whole left side of her face, Donovan.”
“I see that. Listen, modern medicine …” His voice trailed off as he stared at the baby.
John’s shoulders slumped. “Harriet is never going to … Children are so cruel. … Jesus, Donovan, what if it can’t be removed?”
Donovan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “Listen to me, John, this isn’t the time to be thinking along those lines. Is she healthy? Will that mark make you love her any less?”
“She’s perfect in every other way. And, hell no, it won’t make me love her any less,” John said, rallying to Donovan’s question. But then he thought about Harriet. “Harriet doesn’t know yet. She’s going to be …” He sighed. “To make matters worse, she was expecting a boy.”
“A boy. A girl. Babies are babies.”
“God, Donovan, what am I going to do? If I know Harriet, she won’t want anything to do with a less-than-perfect baby.” His voice softened as he stared at the baby through the glass. “Look at all those golden curls. I didn’t know babies could have so much hair. Mallory was bald for six months.” He turned away from the window, and the two of them started back down the hall toward Harriet’s room. For John, each step was harder to take than the last. “I don’t know what to say to Harriet. Where’s the money going to come from for the operations? Insurance will only pay so much if they pay for something like this at all. I can’t work any more overtime. As it is, I’m killing myself taking care of Mallory and working seven days a week. You know the construction business. What happens if we hit a dry period?”
Donovan put a hand on John’s shoulder to halt him. “It’ll all work out,” he assured him. “I’ve got a healthy little nest egg. I’ll help you.”
The corner of John’s mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile. “Thanks, buddy, but we both know that money is only a small part of this problem.”
“Yeah, and you and I both know the solution to all this bullshit is for you to take the kids and walk out. It’s never going to get any better between you and Harriet. I never thought I would say this, but divorce is your answer. Harriet won’t give a shit one way or the other. Trust me on that, John. She’s just like Emma. Hell, I can even tell you what she’s going to say the first time she sees the baby.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Donovan.”
“You need to hear it, so you’re prepared,” Donovan persisted. “She’s going to tell you to put the baby up for adoption or farm it out to foster care. She’s not going to want anything to do with that child.”
John’s face contorted with anger. “You’re wrong. Harriet would never say something like that.” But she would. He knew she would. What he didn’t know was why he was defending her.
“Ten bucks says I’m on the money,” Donovan said, then waved his arm as if to erase what he’d said. “Oh, forget it. I can’t take your money. It was a bad joke, and I’m sorry.” He punched John’s arm. “Listen, buddy, how about I go over and pick up Mallory and take her to my house so Mrs. Lascaris can go home? It’ll cut down your sitter bill. I’ll clean her up and put her to bed.” When John started to shake his head, Donovan cut him off. “Don’t argue with me. You stop at Tony’s on your way home and pick up a large combination pizza. We’ll pound a few brews and think about what to do. You can even spend the night if you want. Okay?”
Defeated, John nodded.
“Tell Harriet I said hello.” Donovan waved his arm. “Nah, forget that. Harriet thinks I’m the spawn from hell. See you later, buddy.”
“I’ll be over later,” John said to Donovan’s back as Donovan walked down the hall. He watched his friend until he got into the elevator. Donovan was right—about everything. Even about Harriet hating him. Actually, it was their friendship Harriet hated, probably because it was the only thing he refused to give in on. In everything else, he let Harriet have her way. It made life easier.
Before he knew it, John found himself back in his wife’s doorway. Nothing had changed. She still looked laid out, and he was still as jittery as he’d been twenty minutes ago. Just tell her, he told himself. Get it over with. Cough, shuffle your feet, shake her shoulders. Blurt it out and get the hell out of here.
He did all three at the side of her bed.
Harriet opened one lavender-shadowed eyelid. “Oh, John,” she said wanly. “Have I been sleeping long?”
John cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I just got here a little while ago.”
“Did you see our son?”
“We don’t have a son. We have another daughter,” he said, practically running the two sentences together.
“A daughter! That can’t be. I wanted a boy! I was going to call him Christopher Matthew. There must be some mistake. Hospitals are always making mistakes. You need to check on that, John, and you need to do it right now before it’s too late. Go. Quickly.” When he didn’t move, she asked, “Why are you still standing there?”
She was an amazing woman, he thought. She had more arrogance than any man he’d ever known. She’d wanted a boy, and she’d taken it for granted that she would have a boy. It never even occurred to her that God might have something else in mind.
“I’m standing here because I don’t know what else to do. Our daughter is wearing her ID bracelet with our name on it. There is no mistake.”
“It’s your genes, John. This child was supposed to be a boy. I wanted a girl and a boy. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Harriet turned her face to the wall.
“I’m sorry, Harriet, but in spite of what you wanted, this is the way it is, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it. I happen to love little girls. A son would have been nice to carry on the Evans name, but a girl is just as nice.” He bent his head and mustered up his courage. “I need to talk to you about something, Harriet.”
“For heaven’s sake, what is it?”
“Aren’t you going to ask how Mallory is?” he asked, hedging from what he’d meant to say.
“Mrs. Lascaris is very capable even though she’s a nosy old biddy. Mallory is in good hands. Giving birth is very traumatic. I’m here to rest. There’s absolutely no need for me to concern myself about Mallory.”
Gathering his courage, John moved around toward the window. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this except to say it,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Our new daughter was born with a birthmark on her face.”
“What!”
“They call it a port-wine stain,” John explained, determined not to break down. “It covers the whole left side of her face and neck. The doctor feels at some point it can be removed, but I don’t know when that will be. She would need a specialist. She weighs seven and a half pounds and is twenty inches long. Her head is covered with golden curls. She’s beautiful, Harriet. Aside from the birthmark, she’s perfect.”
Harriet reared back into her nest of pillows. Her carefully made-up face turned hateful as she spit out the ugly words that would ring in her husband’s ears for the rest of his life.
“Are you saying I gave birth to a freak?”
Edison, New Jersey—1981
John Evans sat at the kitchen table, a pile of bills in front of him, consumed with worry about how he was going to pay everything and still have enough money left to take Abby to the specialist in New York. He pushed the bills aside as Abby ran to him, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I want to go, too, Daddy. Mama said no. Can you take me?”
John’s stomach started to churn. It was like this every damn day of Abby’s life. He had a strong urge to smash something or better yet to pummel his wife, but instead he reached for the curly-haired little girl, lifted her onto his lap, and dried her tears with the edge of a paper napkin.
“Daddy, Daddy, how do I look?” Mallory shouted as she danced into the kitchen.
John stared at the fairy costume that had cost him half a day’s pay and winced. He struggled for a light tone. “You look just the way a fairy princess is supposed to look.” Too bad you don’t act like one, he thought.
“Do I look bee-yoot-e-full?” Mallory asked, turning left, then right, so he could see her from every angle.
“You look—”
Harriet’s high-pitched, nasal voice stopped him from answering. “Come along, Mallory, or we’ll be late. The star of the play has to be on time.” Harriet stuck her head into the kitchen. “She looks magnificent, doesn’t she, John?”
“I want to be a fairy princess,” Abby said, sobbing anew.
Mallory twirled around on tiptoe. “You can’t be a fairy princess. You’re an ugly witch!” she said spitefully.
John jumped to his feet, Abby in his arms. “That’s enough, Mallory. Tell your sister you’re sorry.”
Mallory flew into her mother’s arms. “I’m not sorry. I’m not,” she wailed loudly.
John ignored the whiny little girl. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Harriet. Why can’t Abby go to the play?”
“You know very well why she can’t go. This is Mallory’s night. There is no place for beautiful and ugly in this discussion.”
John stared at his wife in utter disgust. “What kind of a mother are you that you can be so cruel to your own child?”
“If you remember, John, I didn’t want to be her mother. I only took her home from the hospital because you insisted.” In a double swirl of skirts, Harriet and Mallory turned and went down the hall.
John cradled Abby in his arms, crooning soft words of love that he hoped would replace Harriet’s and Mallory’s hateful ones. “I have an idea, honey,” he said, turning the little girl around to face him. “Let’s walk across the yard to Donovan’s house and see what he’s doing. I bet we can get him to make us ice-cream cones. With chocolate sprinkles.”
“Okay, Daddy. But first I have to get Bailey.” She never went anywhere without the cuddly stuffed dog, a gift from Donovan.
“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world!” Donovan Mitchell shouted, as John and Abby walked across the lawn and up to the patio. “I bet you’re here for ice-cream cones. Good thing I remembered to buy sprinkles.” He held the screen door open, then knelt as Abby stepped inside onto the porch. “I got you something else today, too. Something you’ve really wanted.”
“You bought me a present?” the little girl squealed.
Smiling, Donovan nodded, then pointed her in the right direction. “Go into the living room. It’s in the big white box by the sofa.”
As soon as she raced off, Donovan popped an iced beer for his friend and pulled out a chair. “I told you Harriet wouldn’t take Abby with her.”
John slumped into the chair Donovan offered. “I know.” He sighed and turned his face toward the street. “It’s just so damn hard for me to believe a mother can be so cruel to her own child. It’s not natural. It’s … sick. Mothers are supposed to … Ah, hell!”
“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up,” Donovan agreed.
“And on top of everything else,” John went on as if he’d never stopped, “she’s teaching Mallory to be just like her.” He set his beer down on the floor and rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know what the hell to do anymore.”
“Lookee, lookee, Daddy! It’s a fairy-princess dress just like Mallory’s!” Bubbling with excitement, Abby draped a filmy net creation over her father’s leg. “Can I put it on? What do fairy princesses do, Uncle Donovan?”
A wide grin split Donovan’s features. “They wave their magic wands and say abracadabra!”
“That’s what magicians do,” John said, grinning in spite of himself. Donovan always made things better. He was a hell of a friend and a one-man support group. John picked up the frothy little dress and helped Abby into it. “Fairy princesses do nice things for people and make them feel better when they’re sad,” he told her, then patted her bottom and sent her away to play.
Once she was out of sight, he sighed and looked at Donovan. “Thanks. How did you know?”
Donovan shrugged. “I have eyes and ears. Yesterday when I was mowing, the girls were playing in the yard. I heard Mallory bragging to Abby about her dress. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist, John, to figure out which way the wind is blowing. Mallory is turning into a spiteful, miniature Harriet, but then you already know that. Anyway, I called Carol and asked her to pick up the costume on her lunch hour today.”
John thanked God for a friend like Donovan. What would he do without him? “I’ll have to remember to thank her. You need to snap that woman up, if you ask me. Women like Carol don’t come along very often. She’s perfect for you.”
“Maybe a little too perfect,” Donovan said, chuckling. “Nope. Marriage isn’t for me. I tried it once, and that was enough. Things are fine the way they are. It works for Carol, too. You know what they say—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Abby came running back. “Look, Daddy, Bailey has a costume, too. I love this. I love this,” the little girl squealed as she dipped and swayed the way she’d seen Mallory do. “Am I still ugly, Daddy?”
Donovan reared his six-foot-four, 180-pound bulk out of his chair so fast, John was left breathless. “You are the prettiest fairy princess I ever saw!” he boomed. “And I’ve seen a lot of fairy princesses in my day. Ask your daddy.”
John hauled Abby into his arms. “Uncle Donovan is telling you the truth, honey. You are the prettiest of them all.”
“As pretty as Mallory?”
“Prettier,” both men said in unison, then laughed.
Abby tucked her chin into her chest. “Then why wouldn’t Mama take me to see the play? I promised to be good.” “You aren’t old enough,” John lied. What else could he say? He couldn’t tell her the truth. He pressed his lips to her temple. Who am I kidding? She isn’t deaf. She heard the truth from her mother’s own lips.
“It’s a silly play,” Donovan added, feeling out of his depth. “You wouldn’t have liked it.” He reached down and touched the tip of her nose. “I have an idea. Why don’t you and Bailey go into the living room and practice a play for your daddy and me. When you’re ready, come out here and perform it for us. You can sing us one of the songs you learned in nursery school. Afterward, we’ll have ice-cream cones smothered in chocolate sprinkles. What do you say, Princess?”
Abby’s eyes brightened. “My name isn’t Princess. It’s Abby.” She giggled.
“Oh, I forgot. I guess I must have called you that because you look like a princess.” She giggled again, then skipped off.
As soon as she was out of earshot, John swigged from his beer bottle, gulping down half the contents without taking a breath. He sat back, leaning the chair on its hind legs. “I can’t take it anymore, Donovan. I think this play thing was the last straw. I know what you’re going to say, but how can I leave? I can’t afford to maintain two residences, pay alimony and child support, and pay for whatever treatment Abby needs.” He rotated his neck, trying to relieve the tension. “Just before I came over here, I was trying to figure out where I was going to get the extra money to take Abby to New York to a specialist the pediatrician recommended.”
“And?”
“There is no ‘and.’ We only worked ten days this month. Who knows if the rain is going to let up anytime soon. June, July, and August could be just as bad.”
“You could tell that wife of yours to get off her skinny, regal ass and get a job,” Donovan drawled.
John gave a humorless laugh. “I tried that once. It didn’t work.”
“She’s so much like Emma, it’s scary,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “Their mother did one hell of a job on those two girls. Emma thought just the way Harriet does, that the world owes her a living and man was born to be her slave. I knew I’d made a mistake the first year of our marriage. Like you, I hung on thinking it would get better. If Emma hadn’t gotten pregnant, I was going to get a divorce. I still have trouble believing she really had a heart attack on the delivery table and that the baby was stillborn. I wanted that kid. I really did, but everything happens for a reason. She would have been the same kind of mother Harriet is.”
“It is what it is,” John said. He thumped his empty beer bottle on the wrought-iron patio table.
Donovan sat down across from John. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been kind of waiting for the right time. I think this is it. I’ve been offered a partnership in a construction company in South Carolina. Building is booming there, and the weather is pretty good all year round. I’ve got enough capital to buy in and enough set aside if things don’t work out. I paid off this house right after Emma’s death, and with property values being what they are now, I should get a pretty penny for it.”
At John’s look of confusion, Donovan explained. “I used Emma’s insurance money. A hundred thousand dollars. I guess Harriet didn’t mention it. Probably because it’s sticking in her throat. She told me I should give it to her—or at least half of it.” He leaned forward. “Listen, I’d like you to come with me. We make a good team. I know Harriet wouldn’t object to your taking Abby. In fact, she’d probably be relieved never to have to see her again. She’ll fight you for Mallory, though, but that’s a choice you’ll have to make. Abby will be better off with the two of us since we both love her. It’s not that I don’t love Mallory, I do, but in a different way. She’s not a kid that lets you get close to her. She’s like her mother—prissy, arrogant, and cold.”
When John nodded, Donovan went on. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. At first we could rent a house with a yard. Later, when we’re settled, we could buy.” He paused. “If you need an incentive, think about this. This company does work overseas. If things get dicey with Harriet, we could both do a stint in Asia.” John’s look of interest spurred him on. “I’m going to be leaving in a few days to check things out. I’ll probably be gone a week. If you want to get away from Harriet or you just want some peace and quiet, feel free to stay here. There’s plenty of food and beer.”
John rubbed his hand across his chin. “I don’t know what to say, Donovan. It sounds great, but if I tell Harriet I’m leaving her, she’ll … Christ, I don’t know what Harriet will do.”
“I’ll tell you what she’ll do. First she’ll act shocked. Then she’ll act sweet, nicey-nice, and try to get you to make love to her. If that doesn’t work, she’ll start making all your favorite foods, and when you’ve eaten your fill, and you’re at your most vulnerable point, she’ll try again to entice you into her bed. And you’ll go. She’ll play her little game for about two weeks, at which point the devil in her will sprout wings. She’ll get you where it hurts, with Abby.” He stopped to take a breath and regroup. “Emma did the same thing. I’m not a seer or clairvoyant or anything like that. I lived it. Think about it, John. You know I’m right. This is your chance, my friend, to make a clean break.”
John let his breath out in a loud swoosh and shook his head. “It’s too much, Donovan. You’ve always been generous, but this is going too far. I’ll be like an albatross around your neck.”
“You’re my friend. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, just like I know there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for me. I was taught never to take friendship lightly. My old man used to say you could be dollar-poor but emotionally rich if you had one good friend. I’m not looking for a payback, John. I just want to help, to see you and Abby happy.” Donovan’s voice turned gruff. “Besides, I don’t want to lose you two. You’re family.”
“Christ, Donovan, I don’t know …”
Donovan raised his hand to stop him. “Take some time to think about it. I’ll call every other day or so to check in, but as soon as I get back I’m going to put this house on the market. School will be out in another week. We could be out of here in ten days …”
“Ten days,” John echoed. “That doesn’t give me much time.”
Donovan ignored John’s worried look. “The only reason not to consider going is if, in spite of everything, you really love Harriet.”
John pulled another beer out of the cooler. “Love her? No, I don’t love her. At least, not anymore. I can’t even remember the last time Harriet and I had sex. Certainly not since before Abby was born.”
“Do you think you could leave Mallory behind?”
“I don’t know. I—I suppose I could…. It’s not that I don’t love her,” he insisted. “I do. It’s just that I’ve never been able to get close to her. God knows I’ve tried but … She’s so like her mother; she doesn’t seem to have much use for me.”
“Well, then?”
“Daddy, I’m ready,” the golden-haired little girl called as she came out onto the porch.
“So are we, baby,” John answered in return.
John stared at his beautiful wife, trying to find one thing he liked about her. Dressed now in a frilly robe with matching mules, her makeup model-perfect, she glided toward the refrigerator to pour orange juice into a crystal wineglass. John watched her with clinical interest. Two little quick sips, then a longer sip, and then she drained the glass. She set it in the sink, knowing he would rinse it later. He waited. If he took Donovan up on his offer, then his cleaning-up-after-Harriet days were just about over.
“Mallory was enchanting this evening. She took two bows. She was really quite mature about the whole thing. Her costume looked so professional, not tacky like the others.”
John said nothing, Donovan’s offer ringing in his ears. In ten days, he and Abby could be out of there and on their way to a new life. His shoulders stiffened when his thoughts shifted to Abby and the last words she’d mumbled as she drifted off to sleep. “Will I be pretty someday like Mallory, Daddy?” He’d wanted to cry. Shit, he wanted to cry right now, but couldn’t risk Harriet seeing how upset he was. Be cool like Donovan, he told himself. Be a goddamn man for a change. Stand up to this bitch the way Abby’s father should.
Harriet really was beautiful, with a model’s thin body that wore clothes to perfection. He was homely by comparison, with his thinning sandy hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Unlike Donovan, who was thirty-five—eight years his senior—and an in-your-face person. John had always been laid-back, easy-going, never confrontational. How often he’d wished he was more like Donovan. Then again, if he was like Donovan, they probably wouldn’t be friends.
“I suppose you’re going to be in a snit for the next week or so over me not taking Abby to the play,” Harriet said. “Get over it, John. I hate taking that child anywhere. People stare. They talk behind your back. It isn’t good for Abby, and it certainly isn’t good for Mallory. Mallory is normal in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Her eyes flashed, and he could see her lips moving, but the only thing he could hear were the words he’d been practicing in his head. “I’m leaving you, Harriet, and I’m taking Abby with me,” he blurted, startling himself. For Abby’s sake and his, he forced himself to make a quick recovery. “I’ll be out of here in less than two weeks. After that, you can do whatever you want.”
Harriet looked incredulous. “What did you say?”
“What part of I’m leaving you didn’t you hear?” he asked in a tone he’d never had the courage to use with her before. “I’m leaving, moving out. I no longer want to be married to you. I’m divorcing you.” There, he’d said it, and it felt good. Damn good.
Harriet threw her head back and laughed. “We’ll just see about that. There will be no divorce in this family.” Her voice was so cold it could have frozen ice cream.
John stood his ground. “That’s what you think. And when a judge hears how you’ve neglected and mistreated Abby, there won’t be any contest about who gets custody of her. I’ll have so many witnesses testify on my behalf, your hair will turn gray.” He swept his arm in front of him. “You can have this house along with the mortgage payments. You can have both cars with both car payments. You can have all the maxed-out credit cards. In short, Harriet, you are going to have to get off that skinny, regal ass of yours,” John said, parroting Donovan’s words, “and get a job to support yourself and your fairy princess of a daughter.”
Harriet waved her beautifully manicured hand in dismissal. “This is absurd, John. We’ve had our ups and downs, but things haven’t been that bad.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This is that bastard Donovan’s doing, isn’t it?”
John felt his insides return to normal. “This has nothing to do with Donovan. I’ve been thinking about divorce for a long time.”
“Stop talking like a lunatic, John. This is all because of that crazy Donovan. My sister must have been insane to marry him. He was happy when she died so he could collect her insurance. He preys on women. I’ve seen the parade of women who go in and out of his house. He has a different one for every day of the week. If he was a woman, I’d call him a slut.”
“He doesn’t have a very high opinion of you either, Harriet.”
“So you want a divorce,” she said, walking away from him. “You’ll have to pay alimony and child support, you know.”
“We’ll let t
John Evans stood with his hands jammed into his pockets in the open doorway of his wife’s hospital room. He was instantly aware of two things: first, that his wife looked as if she’d been arranged in the bed. She wore her frilly bed jacket, and her long golden hair had been placed just so over her shoulders. Lipstick and rouge were evident, as though she were waiting for a special visitor. He sniffed. Perfume, too. The second thing he noticed was the silence, a little like the first ten minutes before Mass got under way at St. Gabriel’s.
He didn’t want to go into the room and make conversation with his beautiful, unloving wife. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her the bad news, but the doctors insisted he do it. They thought Harriet would accept it better coming from him.
They didn’t know Harriet.
No one knew Harriet, except maybe his brother-in-law, Donovan. This past year John had come to realize that Donovan knew Harriet better than he did. If John had known two years ago what he had learned since, he never would have married her. His only explanation—and Donovan agreed with him— was that she’d cast a spell over him with her beauty, her wit, and her charm. Who but a fool wouldn’t have been smitten?
John’s eyes narrowed. The still form in the bed hadn’t so much as twitched. If her hands were folded across her chest, she would look like a mortician’s handiwork. He thought about the ten-and-a-half-month-old baby at home with the sitter. Baby Mallory looked like him, with her dark eyes and dark hair. He adored her.
Harriet tended to the child, but as far as he could tell, she’d never bonded with her. She never cuddled her or rocked her, never played with her. She saw to the baby’s needs, but that was all. All the loving and cuddling had to come from him. He did it all willingly because he loved the child.
A voice behind him hissed in his ear. “Is she dead?”
John twisted around. “Jesus, Donovan! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He put his hand on Donovan’s arm. “Let’s go out to the waiting room.”
Donovan Mitchell was a tall man, sandy-haired, rugged, with an open smile. For a big man, he carried his 180 pounds with athletic grace. His wife, Harriet’s sister, Emma, had died in childbirth. He’d tried to warn John about Harriet—that she was mean and hateful just like Emma—but John had been too smitten to listen.
“You look like hell,” Donovan said with concern. “Was it a hard delivery?”
“Ten hours. Longer than the doctors expected.” John raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been here all night. I think I drank two gallons of bad coffee and smoked two packs of cigarettes.”
“Who’s watching Mallory?”
“Mrs. Lascaris.”
Donovan narrowed his eyes. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Harriet looks fine, so it must be the baby. Don’t look at me like that. John, what’s wrong?”
John shook his head, unable to speak.
Donovan clapped his hand on his friend’s back. “C’mon, tell old Donovan what’s wrong.”
“Why don’t I show you, instead? Then you tell me. You didn’t go to the nursery, did you?”
“Nah. I came straight here when I got your message. I know where it is. The nursery, I mean.”
They walked in silence until they came to the nursery window. John tapped lightly on the glass. A nurse looked up and smiled. She moved to the far end of the nursery to lift a small pink bundle from the crib. She was still smiling when she held the infant up for inspection.
“Shit!” Donovan gasped. “What the hell is that? Is it going to go away? Jesus, John, what is it?”
“A birthmark. The doctor called it a port-wine stain. I don’t know if it will go away or not. She’ll have to go to a specialist at some point. It’s really deep. It’s the whole left side of her face, Donovan.”
“I see that. Listen, modern medicine …” His voice trailed off as he stared at the baby.
John’s shoulders slumped. “Harriet is never going to … Children are so cruel. … Jesus, Donovan, what if it can’t be removed?”
Donovan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “Listen to me, John, this isn’t the time to be thinking along those lines. Is she healthy? Will that mark make you love her any less?”
“She’s perfect in every other way. And, hell no, it won’t make me love her any less,” John said, rallying to Donovan’s question. But then he thought about Harriet. “Harriet doesn’t know yet. She’s going to be …” He sighed. “To make matters worse, she was expecting a boy.”
“A boy. A girl. Babies are babies.”
“God, Donovan, what am I going to do? If I know Harriet, she won’t want anything to do with a less-than-perfect baby.” His voice softened as he stared at the baby through the glass. “Look at all those golden curls. I didn’t know babies could have so much hair. Mallory was bald for six months.” He turned away from the window, and the two of them started back down the hall toward Harriet’s room. For John, each step was harder to take than the last. “I don’t know what to say to Harriet. Where’s the money going to come from for the operations? Insurance will only pay so much if they pay for something like this at all. I can’t work any more overtime. As it is, I’m killing myself taking care of Mallory and working seven days a week. You know the construction business. What happens if we hit a dry period?”
Donovan put a hand on John’s shoulder to halt him. “It’ll all work out,” he assured him. “I’ve got a healthy little nest egg. I’ll help you.”
The corner of John’s mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile. “Thanks, buddy, but we both know that money is only a small part of this problem.”
“Yeah, and you and I both know the solution to all this bullshit is for you to take the kids and walk out. It’s never going to get any better between you and Harriet. I never thought I would say this, but divorce is your answer. Harriet won’t give a shit one way or the other. Trust me on that, John. She’s just like Emma. Hell, I can even tell you what she’s going to say the first time she sees the baby.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Donovan.”
“You need to hear it, so you’re prepared,” Donovan persisted. “She’s going to tell you to put the baby up for adoption or farm it out to foster care. She’s not going to want anything to do with that child.”
John’s face contorted with anger. “You’re wrong. Harriet would never say something like that.” But she would. He knew she would. What he didn’t know was why he was defending her.
“Ten bucks says I’m on the money,” Donovan said, then waved his arm as if to erase what he’d said. “Oh, forget it. I can’t take your money. It was a bad joke, and I’m sorry.” He punched John’s arm. “Listen, buddy, how about I go over and pick up Mallory and take her to my house so Mrs. Lascaris can go home? It’ll cut down your sitter bill. I’ll clean her up and put her to bed.” When John started to shake his head, Donovan cut him off. “Don’t argue with me. You stop at Tony’s on your way home and pick up a large combination pizza. We’ll pound a few brews and think about what to do. You can even spend the night if you want. Okay?”
Defeated, John nodded.
“Tell Harriet I said hello.” Donovan waved his arm. “Nah, forget that. Harriet thinks I’m the spawn from hell. See you later, buddy.”
“I’ll be over later,” John said to Donovan’s back as Donovan walked down the hall. He watched his friend until he got into the elevator. Donovan was right—about everything. Even about Harriet hating him. Actually, it was their friendship Harriet hated, probably because it was the only thing he refused to give in on. In everything else, he let Harriet have her way. It made life easier.
Before he knew it, John found himself back in his wife’s doorway. Nothing had changed. She still looked laid out, and he was still as jittery as he’d been twenty minutes ago. Just tell her, he told himself. Get it over with. Cough, shuffle your feet, shake her shoulders. Blurt it out and get the hell out of here.
He did all three at the side of her bed.
Harriet opened one lavender-shadowed eyelid. “Oh, John,” she said wanly. “Have I been sleeping long?”
John cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I just got here a little while ago.”
“Did you see our son?”
“We don’t have a son. We have another daughter,” he said, practically running the two sentences together.
“A daughter! That can’t be. I wanted a boy! I was going to call him Christopher Matthew. There must be some mistake. Hospitals are always making mistakes. You need to check on that, John, and you need to do it right now before it’s too late. Go. Quickly.” When he didn’t move, she asked, “Why are you still standing there?”
She was an amazing woman, he thought. She had more arrogance than any man he’d ever known. She’d wanted a boy, and she’d taken it for granted that she would have a boy. It never even occurred to her that God might have something else in mind.
“I’m standing here because I don’t know what else to do. Our daughter is wearing her ID bracelet with our name on it. There is no mistake.”
“It’s your genes, John. This child was supposed to be a boy. I wanted a girl and a boy. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Harriet turned her face to the wall.
“I’m sorry, Harriet, but in spite of what you wanted, this is the way it is, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it. I happen to love little girls. A son would have been nice to carry on the Evans name, but a girl is just as nice.” He bent his head and mustered up his courage. “I need to talk to you about something, Harriet.”
“For heaven’s sake, what is it?”
“Aren’t you going to ask how Mallory is?” he asked, hedging from what he’d meant to say.
“Mrs. Lascaris is very capable even though she’s a nosy old biddy. Mallory is in good hands. Giving birth is very traumatic. I’m here to rest. There’s absolutely no need for me to concern myself about Mallory.”
Gathering his courage, John moved around toward the window. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this except to say it,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Our new daughter was born with a birthmark on her face.”
“What!”
“They call it a port-wine stain,” John explained, determined not to break down. “It covers the whole left side of her face and neck. The doctor feels at some point it can be removed, but I don’t know when that will be. She would need a specialist. She weighs seven and a half pounds and is twenty inches long. Her head is covered with golden curls. She’s beautiful, Harriet. Aside from the birthmark, she’s perfect.”
Harriet reared back into her nest of pillows. Her carefully made-up face turned hateful as she spit out the ugly words that would ring in her husband’s ears for the rest of his life.
“Are you saying I gave birth to a freak?”
Edison, New Jersey—1981
John Evans sat at the kitchen table, a pile of bills in front of him, consumed with worry about how he was going to pay everything and still have enough money left to take Abby to the specialist in New York. He pushed the bills aside as Abby ran to him, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I want to go, too, Daddy. Mama said no. Can you take me?”
John’s stomach started to churn. It was like this every damn day of Abby’s life. He had a strong urge to smash something or better yet to pummel his wife, but instead he reached for the curly-haired little girl, lifted her onto his lap, and dried her tears with the edge of a paper napkin.
“Daddy, Daddy, how do I look?” Mallory shouted as she danced into the kitchen.
John stared at the fairy costume that had cost him half a day’s pay and winced. He struggled for a light tone. “You look just the way a fairy princess is supposed to look.” Too bad you don’t act like one, he thought.
“Do I look bee-yoot-e-full?” Mallory asked, turning left, then right, so he could see her from every angle.
“You look—”
Harriet’s high-pitched, nasal voice stopped him from answering. “Come along, Mallory, or we’ll be late. The star of the play has to be on time.” Harriet stuck her head into the kitchen. “She looks magnificent, doesn’t she, John?”
“I want to be a fairy princess,” Abby said, sobbing anew.
Mallory twirled around on tiptoe. “You can’t be a fairy princess. You’re an ugly witch!” she said spitefully.
John jumped to his feet, Abby in his arms. “That’s enough, Mallory. Tell your sister you’re sorry.”
Mallory flew into her mother’s arms. “I’m not sorry. I’m not,” she wailed loudly.
John ignored the whiny little girl. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Harriet. Why can’t Abby go to the play?”
“You know very well why she can’t go. This is Mallory’s night. There is no place for beautiful and ugly in this discussion.”
John stared at his wife in utter disgust. “What kind of a mother are you that you can be so cruel to your own child?”
“If you remember, John, I didn’t want to be her mother. I only took her home from the hospital because you insisted.” In a double swirl of skirts, Harriet and Mallory turned and went down the hall.
John cradled Abby in his arms, crooning soft words of love that he hoped would replace Harriet’s and Mallory’s hateful ones. “I have an idea, honey,” he said, turning the little girl around to face him. “Let’s walk across the yard to Donovan’s house and see what he’s doing. I bet we can get him to make us ice-cream cones. With chocolate sprinkles.”
“Okay, Daddy. But first I have to get Bailey.” She never went anywhere without the cuddly stuffed dog, a gift from Donovan.
“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world!” Donovan Mitchell shouted, as John and Abby walked across the lawn and up to the patio. “I bet you’re here for ice-cream cones. Good thing I remembered to buy sprinkles.” He held the screen door open, then knelt as Abby stepped inside onto the porch. “I got you something else today, too. Something you’ve really wanted.”
“You bought me a present?” the little girl squealed.
Smiling, Donovan nodded, then pointed her in the right direction. “Go into the living room. It’s in the big white box by the sofa.”
As soon as she raced off, Donovan popped an iced beer for his friend and pulled out a chair. “I told you Harriet wouldn’t take Abby with her.”
John slumped into the chair Donovan offered. “I know.” He sighed and turned his face toward the street. “It’s just so damn hard for me to believe a mother can be so cruel to her own child. It’s not natural. It’s … sick. Mothers are supposed to … Ah, hell!”
“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up,” Donovan agreed.
“And on top of everything else,” John went on as if he’d never stopped, “she’s teaching Mallory to be just like her.” He set his beer down on the floor and rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know what the hell to do anymore.”
“Lookee, lookee, Daddy! It’s a fairy-princess dress just like Mallory’s!” Bubbling with excitement, Abby draped a filmy net creation over her father’s leg. “Can I put it on? What do fairy princesses do, Uncle Donovan?”
A wide grin split Donovan’s features. “They wave their magic wands and say abracadabra!”
“That’s what magicians do,” John said, grinning in spite of himself. Donovan always made things better. He was a hell of a friend and a one-man support group. John picked up the frothy little dress and helped Abby into it. “Fairy princesses do nice things for people and make them feel better when they’re sad,” he told her, then patted her bottom and sent her away to play.
Once she was out of sight, he sighed and looked at Donovan. “Thanks. How did you know?”
Donovan shrugged. “I have eyes and ears. Yesterday when I was mowing, the girls were playing in the yard. I heard Mallory bragging to Abby about her dress. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist, John, to figure out which way the wind is blowing. Mallory is turning into a spiteful, miniature Harriet, but then you already know that. Anyway, I called Carol and asked her to pick up the costume on her lunch hour today.”
John thanked God for a friend like Donovan. What would he do without him? “I’ll have to remember to thank her. You need to snap that woman up, if you ask me. Women like Carol don’t come along very often. She’s perfect for you.”
“Maybe a little too perfect,” Donovan said, chuckling. “Nope. Marriage isn’t for me. I tried it once, and that was enough. Things are fine the way they are. It works for Carol, too. You know what they say—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Abby came running back. “Look, Daddy, Bailey has a costume, too. I love this. I love this,” the little girl squealed as she dipped and swayed the way she’d seen Mallory do. “Am I still ugly, Daddy?”
Donovan reared his six-foot-four, 180-pound bulk out of his chair so fast, John was left breathless. “You are the prettiest fairy princess I ever saw!” he boomed. “And I’ve seen a lot of fairy princesses in my day. Ask your daddy.”
John hauled Abby into his arms. “Uncle Donovan is telling you the truth, honey. You are the prettiest of them all.”
“As pretty as Mallory?”
“Prettier,” both men said in unison, then laughed.
Abby tucked her chin into her chest. “Then why wouldn’t Mama take me to see the play? I promised to be good.” “You aren’t old enough,” John lied. What else could he say? He couldn’t tell her the truth. He pressed his lips to her temple. Who am I kidding? She isn’t deaf. She heard the truth from her mother’s own lips.
“It’s a silly play,” Donovan added, feeling out of his depth. “You wouldn’t have liked it.” He reached down and touched the tip of her nose. “I have an idea. Why don’t you and Bailey go into the living room and practice a play for your daddy and me. When you’re ready, come out here and perform it for us. You can sing us one of the songs you learned in nursery school. Afterward, we’ll have ice-cream cones smothered in chocolate sprinkles. What do you say, Princess?”
Abby’s eyes brightened. “My name isn’t Princess. It’s Abby.” She giggled.
“Oh, I forgot. I guess I must have called you that because you look like a princess.” She giggled again, then skipped off.
As soon as she was out of earshot, John swigged from his beer bottle, gulping down half the contents without taking a breath. He sat back, leaning the chair on its hind legs. “I can’t take it anymore, Donovan. I think this play thing was the last straw. I know what you’re going to say, but how can I leave? I can’t afford to maintain two residences, pay alimony and child support, and pay for whatever treatment Abby needs.” He rotated his neck, trying to relieve the tension. “Just before I came over here, I was trying to figure out where I was going to get the extra money to take Abby to New York to a specialist the pediatrician recommended.”
“And?”
“There is no ‘and.’ We only worked ten days this month. Who knows if the rain is going to let up anytime soon. June, July, and August could be just as bad.”
“You could tell that wife of yours to get off her skinny, regal ass and get a job,” Donovan drawled.
John gave a humorless laugh. “I tried that once. It didn’t work.”
“She’s so much like Emma, it’s scary,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “Their mother did one hell of a job on those two girls. Emma thought just the way Harriet does, that the world owes her a living and man was born to be her slave. I knew I’d made a mistake the first year of our marriage. Like you, I hung on thinking it would get better. If Emma hadn’t gotten pregnant, I was going to get a divorce. I still have trouble believing she really had a heart attack on the delivery table and that the baby was stillborn. I wanted that kid. I really did, but everything happens for a reason. She would have been the same kind of mother Harriet is.”
“It is what it is,” John said. He thumped his empty beer bottle on the wrought-iron patio table.
Donovan sat down across from John. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been kind of waiting for the right time. I think this is it. I’ve been offered a partnership in a construction company in South Carolina. Building is booming there, and the weather is pretty good all year round. I’ve got enough capital to buy in and enough set aside if things don’t work out. I paid off this house right after Emma’s death, and with property values being what they are now, I should get a pretty penny for it.”
At John’s look of confusion, Donovan explained. “I used Emma’s insurance money. A hundred thousand dollars. I guess Harriet didn’t mention it. Probably because it’s sticking in her throat. She told me I should give it to her—or at least half of it.” He leaned forward. “Listen, I’d like you to come with me. We make a good team. I know Harriet wouldn’t object to your taking Abby. In fact, she’d probably be relieved never to have to see her again. She’ll fight you for Mallory, though, but that’s a choice you’ll have to make. Abby will be better off with the two of us since we both love her. It’s not that I don’t love Mallory, I do, but in a different way. She’s not a kid that lets you get close to her. She’s like her mother—prissy, arrogant, and cold.”
When John nodded, Donovan went on. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. At first we could rent a house with a yard. Later, when we’re settled, we could buy.” He paused. “If you need an incentive, think about this. This company does work overseas. If things get dicey with Harriet, we could both do a stint in Asia.” John’s look of interest spurred him on. “I’m going to be leaving in a few days to check things out. I’ll probably be gone a week. If you want to get away from Harriet or you just want some peace and quiet, feel free to stay here. There’s plenty of food and beer.”
John rubbed his hand across his chin. “I don’t know what to say, Donovan. It sounds great, but if I tell Harriet I’m leaving her, she’ll … Christ, I don’t know what Harriet will do.”
“I’ll tell you what she’ll do. First she’ll act shocked. Then she’ll act sweet, nicey-nice, and try to get you to make love to her. If that doesn’t work, she’ll start making all your favorite foods, and when you’ve eaten your fill, and you’re at your most vulnerable point, she’ll try again to entice you into her bed. And you’ll go. She’ll play her little game for about two weeks, at which point the devil in her will sprout wings. She’ll get you where it hurts, with Abby.” He stopped to take a breath and regroup. “Emma did the same thing. I’m not a seer or clairvoyant or anything like that. I lived it. Think about it, John. You know I’m right. This is your chance, my friend, to make a clean break.”
John let his breath out in a loud swoosh and shook his head. “It’s too much, Donovan. You’ve always been generous, but this is going too far. I’ll be like an albatross around your neck.”
“You’re my friend. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, just like I know there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for me. I was taught never to take friendship lightly. My old man used to say you could be dollar-poor but emotionally rich if you had one good friend. I’m not looking for a payback, John. I just want to help, to see you and Abby happy.” Donovan’s voice turned gruff. “Besides, I don’t want to lose you two. You’re family.”
“Christ, Donovan, I don’t know …”
Donovan raised his hand to stop him. “Take some time to think about it. I’ll call every other day or so to check in, but as soon as I get back I’m going to put this house on the market. School will be out in another week. We could be out of here in ten days …”
“Ten days,” John echoed. “That doesn’t give me much time.”
Donovan ignored John’s worried look. “The only reason not to consider going is if, in spite of everything, you really love Harriet.”
John pulled another beer out of the cooler. “Love her? No, I don’t love her. At least, not anymore. I can’t even remember the last time Harriet and I had sex. Certainly not since before Abby was born.”
“Do you think you could leave Mallory behind?”
“I don’t know. I—I suppose I could…. It’s not that I don’t love her,” he insisted. “I do. It’s just that I’ve never been able to get close to her. God knows I’ve tried but … She’s so like her mother; she doesn’t seem to have much use for me.”
“Well, then?”
“Daddy, I’m ready,” the golden-haired little girl called as she came out onto the porch.
“So are we, baby,” John answered in return.
John stared at his beautiful wife, trying to find one thing he liked about her. Dressed now in a frilly robe with matching mules, her makeup model-perfect, she glided toward the refrigerator to pour orange juice into a crystal wineglass. John watched her with clinical interest. Two little quick sips, then a longer sip, and then she drained the glass. She set it in the sink, knowing he would rinse it later. He waited. If he took Donovan up on his offer, then his cleaning-up-after-Harriet days were just about over.
“Mallory was enchanting this evening. She took two bows. She was really quite mature about the whole thing. Her costume looked so professional, not tacky like the others.”
John said nothing, Donovan’s offer ringing in his ears. In ten days, he and Abby could be out of there and on their way to a new life. His shoulders stiffened when his thoughts shifted to Abby and the last words she’d mumbled as she drifted off to sleep. “Will I be pretty someday like Mallory, Daddy?” He’d wanted to cry. Shit, he wanted to cry right now, but couldn’t risk Harriet seeing how upset he was. Be cool like Donovan, he told himself. Be a goddamn man for a change. Stand up to this bitch the way Abby’s father should.
Harriet really was beautiful, with a model’s thin body that wore clothes to perfection. He was homely by comparison, with his thinning sandy hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Unlike Donovan, who was thirty-five—eight years his senior—and an in-your-face person. John had always been laid-back, easy-going, never confrontational. How often he’d wished he was more like Donovan. Then again, if he was like Donovan, they probably wouldn’t be friends.
“I suppose you’re going to be in a snit for the next week or so over me not taking Abby to the play,” Harriet said. “Get over it, John. I hate taking that child anywhere. People stare. They talk behind your back. It isn’t good for Abby, and it certainly isn’t good for Mallory. Mallory is normal in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Her eyes flashed, and he could see her lips moving, but the only thing he could hear were the words he’d been practicing in his head. “I’m leaving you, Harriet, and I’m taking Abby with me,” he blurted, startling himself. For Abby’s sake and his, he forced himself to make a quick recovery. “I’ll be out of here in less than two weeks. After that, you can do whatever you want.”
Harriet looked incredulous. “What did you say?”
“What part of I’m leaving you didn’t you hear?” he asked in a tone he’d never had the courage to use with her before. “I’m leaving, moving out. I no longer want to be married to you. I’m divorcing you.” There, he’d said it, and it felt good. Damn good.
Harriet threw her head back and laughed. “We’ll just see about that. There will be no divorce in this family.” Her voice was so cold it could have frozen ice cream.
John stood his ground. “That’s what you think. And when a judge hears how you’ve neglected and mistreated Abby, there won’t be any contest about who gets custody of her. I’ll have so many witnesses testify on my behalf, your hair will turn gray.” He swept his arm in front of him. “You can have this house along with the mortgage payments. You can have both cars with both car payments. You can have all the maxed-out credit cards. In short, Harriet, you are going to have to get off that skinny, regal ass of yours,” John said, parroting Donovan’s words, “and get a job to support yourself and your fairy princess of a daughter.”
Harriet waved her beautifully manicured hand in dismissal. “This is absurd, John. We’ve had our ups and downs, but things haven’t been that bad.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This is that bastard Donovan’s doing, isn’t it?”
John felt his insides return to normal. “This has nothing to do with Donovan. I’ve been thinking about divorce for a long time.”
“Stop talking like a lunatic, John. This is all because of that crazy Donovan. My sister must have been insane to marry him. He was happy when she died so he could collect her insurance. He preys on women. I’ve seen the parade of women who go in and out of his house. He has a different one for every day of the week. If he was a woman, I’d call him a slut.”
“He doesn’t have a very high opinion of you either, Harriet.”
“So you want a divorce,” she said, walking away from him. “You’ll have to pay alimony and child support, you know.”
“We’ll let t
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