“What did she want?” Wyatt asked.
“What she always wants. She wanted to raise hell with me. Wanted to know where you really were. If you were out with your new girlfriend. She claimed you didn’t tell her about Bo’s game because you wanted your girlfriend to go to the game instead of her. I told her if you did have a girlfriend it was none of her goddamn business. Then she wanted to know why Bo wasn’t in bed, since it was after nine, which is his bedtime at her house. I told her it was Saturday night and there’s no school tomorrow and I didn’t give a tinker’s damn what time he went to bed at her house.”
Nelson’s voice was rising, his breathing getting shallow. He waved his arms as he shouted, and from the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw Bo, standing, wide-eyed in the doorway. A moment later, Grace was behind him, gently shepherding him into the kitchen.
He leaned forward and grasped his father’s arms, forcing the old man to look at him. “Okay, Dad, calm down. I am going to have a discussion with Callie and her lawyer, and tell them that she is not to talk to you anymore. All right? This isn’t your fault. But you need to settle down. Did you take your blood pressure meds this morning?”
“What? Hell, who remembers that long ago?” Nelson grabbed for the remote control, but Wyatt held it out of his reach.
* * *
Bo sat at the kitchen table, clutching Sweetie in his arms. Huge tears welled in his dark eyes, and he was rhythmically kicking the chrome table leg.
Grace found the foil-wrapped remains of the brownie pie. She cut a generous slice and put it on a plate and poured a glass of milk, which she set in front of the little boy.
Without a word, Bo picked up a fork and took a bite. He gulped his milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Sweetie wriggled in his lap and licked his neck. Bo giggled.
“She just wants some of your pie, but we can’t give her any, because chocolate isn’t good for dogs,” Grace warned.
She gave Sweetie a mock-stern look. “What? Sorry, little girl. There are no leftovers when you feed three hungry single men.” She looked around the room until she found the jar of dog treats she’d given Wyatt. She handed one to Bo, who offered it to Sweetie, who snapped it up without hesitation.
Bo ate a few more bites of the pie. He had a milk mustache and his ears were bright pink as he looked at Grace with open curiosity. “I think my mom is mad because I told her Dad took you out to ride around on the golf cart.”
Grace nodded. “She’s probably mad at me, not you. But that’s understandable.”
“She thinks you’re Dad’s new girlfriend.”
“I wonder how she got that idea?” Grace said. “Your mom doesn’t even know me.”
Bo hung his head.
She laughed, leaned over, and ruffled his close-cut hair. “It’s okay with me, but I don’t know how your dad will feel about hearing that I’m his girlfriend.”
“You’re my new girlfriend?” Wyatt walked into the kitchen and swiped the last bite of pie from his son’s plate.
“That’s what Bo’s mom apparently thinks,” Grace said. She bustled around the kitchen, packing up the empty food containers.
“Hmm,” Wyatt said, looking from Bo to Grace. He nodded at Bo. “Wonder where she got that idea?”
Bo’s voice was very small. “I told her. She made me very, very mad when she yelled at me about the game. So I told her you have a new girlfriend who is really nice, and whose name is Grace, and who brought us taco casserole and chocolate pie. I told her I get to take care of her dog. And then I told her I do not want to move to stinking Birmingham.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. He looked at the clock on the oven. “It’s past your bedtime. How about you tell Grace good night and then go brush your teeth and hit the hay?”
Bo looked like he might put up a fight, but then thought better of it. “Is Granddad okay?”
“He’s kind of tired right now, so he just went to bed,” Wyatt said. “I think maybe he forgot to take his medicine this morning. Guess we’ll have to do a better job of reminding him, won’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Bo said. He set the dog down on the floor and stood. “Good night, Grace. Thank you for dinner.” He thought for a minute, then added, “And for letting Sweetie stay here.”
* * *
“I’d better get going, too,” Grace said, watching the dog follow Bo down the hallway.
“I could make some coffee,” Wyatt offered. “Don’t run off just yet.”
He poured them each a mug of coffee and sat opposite her at the kitchen table. “Sorry about all the drama,” he said, taking a sip. His face hardened. “It’s like Callie enjoys stirring up trouble. She hasn’t been to a single one of Bo’s Saturday games this season. She’s always too busy with Luke. Now, suddenly, it’s my fault she didn’t know about today?”
“It does sound like she’s deliberately trying to provoke you, and Nelson,” Grace observed. “The question is, Why? What does she get out of it?”
“I’m sure she’s got an ulterior motive,” Wyatt agreed. “But I have no idea what it could be. And I don’t feel like investing a lot of energy trying to predict what her next move will be.”
“Maybe just be careful with what information Bo gives her,” Grace said. She felt her face warm. “So … it’s official? I’m your new girlfriend?”
“I hope so,” Wyatt told her. “Is that weird?”
“Not weird,” she decided. “Different. New. I haven’t been anybody’s girlfriend in a really long time.”
“It’s new to me, too,” he admitted. “Not at all what I expected when Stackpole ordered me to attend divorce camp.”
“Speaking of,” Grace said. “I had lunch with Camryn Nobles today.”
“Camryn? Why? I didn’t know you two were buddy-buddy.”
“Neither did I. She’s been doing some investigating. She found out Paula lost her therapist accreditation out in Oregon, after she got caught forging her ex-husband’s name on some prescriptions for tranquilizers.”
“No shit?”
“It’s kind of a sad story.” Grace filled him in on everything Camryn had confided in her at the Rod and Reel pier and about Paula’s new career as a divorce coach.
“We know she’s taking pills again,” Wyatt said. “I wonder if they have something to do with her family emergency the other night?”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” Grace agreed. “Camryn wants to report her to the authorities here. But what good does that do? I think we have to help her.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I think we, that is, the group, have to confront her,” Grace said. “Tell her we know she’s self-medicating and that we know she was in rehab for the same thing. Maybe she’ll open up and talk to us.”
“Or … maybe she’ll tell us all to fuck off and then rat us out to Stackpole for spying on her,” Wyatt said. “And then we’re all really, really screwed with the judge who has life-or-death jurisdiction over our divorces. Have you considered that possibility?”
Grace sighed. “Stackpole’s the bad guy in all of this. I really think Paula is like us, another one of his victims.”
“But we can’t prove they’re involved or that Stackpole is doing anything illegal, right?” Wyatt asked. “And in the meantime, it’s hard for me to feel sorry for a phony therapist who’s ripping us off.”
“I disagree,” Grace said lightly. “I just don’t believe Paula is the one getting as rich as Camryn believes she must be. I’m going to call Mitzi tomorrow, just to let her know what we’ve found out about Paula. And I think we ought to at least let Ashleigh and Suzanne know what Camryn discovered.”
She took her coffee mug and set it in the sink. “But now, I think I’d better head home. Thanks for a lovely evening, Wyatt.”
He walked her outside to her car, his arm slung casually over her shoulder. “I just wish things had gone differently tonight. I wish…”
She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I wish it, too. It was nice while it lasted, though.”
He kissed her. “Nelson wanted me to apologize for him. For ruining our ‘date,’ as he called it. He keeps asking me if we’ve slept together!”
“Oh my God,” Grace said with a giggle. “I should not be telling you this, but Rochelle keeps asking me the same thing.”
“So why haven’t we?”
Grace arched an eyebrow in response.
“I’m a slow starter,” Wyatt admitted. “But once I build up steam … I won’t lie. I’ve been trying to figure out how we can be alone since last week.”
“We can’t be together at the Sandbox, that’s for sure,” Grace said.
“Ditto for here,” Wyatt said, resting his hands lightly on her waist. “Bo and I share a room, and even on nights he’s with Callie, Dad’s room is right next door, and the walls in this trailer are like toilet paper.”
“Poor us,” Grace said mockingly.
“I’ll think of something,” Wyatt said. He lifted her chin and kissed her hungrily. “Soon. Very soon.”
42
The coffee shop was only two blocks from the Manatee County Courthouse in downtown Bradenton. The lunch-hour rush was over, and Grace and Mitzi Stillwell were alone at a booth near the front window, sipping watered-down iced teas while the hostess counted down the money in her cash register.
“I’ve got a little good news for you,” Mitzi said. “After much arm twisting and hand wringing, I heard from Ben’s lawyer today. You’ll have your first check tomorrow.”
“It’s about damn time,” Grace said. “How’d you manage it?”
“A combination of threats, nonstop phone calls and e-mails, and borderline harassment,” Mitzi said. “It’s not nearly enough, but it’s a start.”
“I cannot wait to buy myself a decent pair of shoes. And some new underwear,” Grace added.
Mitzi gave Grace a critical glance. “You’re looking good, Grace. I think the single life must suit you.”
“Thanks. I’m busy, working on a house, and that makes me happy. As for single life? Things are getting, um, interesting.”
“Hmm. Interesting as in good?”
“Very good,” Grace assured her.
“And how’s Rochelle? Do you think she’ll ever get back in the game?”
“Mom?” Grace looked puzzled. “Date? We’ve never discussed it. To tell you the truth, the idea of her going out never entered my mind. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Mitzi said quickly. “She’s not that old, not even sixty, right? My mom married her second husband at seventy, and when he dropped dead five years later, she picked right back up again. She’s always got a guy in the wings. Rochelle’s a very attractive lady, very young-thinking. I just think it would be a shame if she turned into one of those dried-up mean widow women you always see in every retirement community in Florida.”
“Mom. Dating?” Grace couldn’t quite seem to put the words together, in her mouth or in her mind.
“Never mind,” Mitzi said. “Tell me how it’s going in divorce-recovery group. Does your therapist seem to have recovered from her episode?”
“That’s why I called you,” Grace said eagerly. “Camryn—she’s that reporter from channel four. Stackpole sentenced her to group after she put a video of her husband parading around in a pair of red satin women’s thong panties up on YouTube…”
Mitzi coughed violently, and dabbed at her face with a paper napkin. “Oh my God! That’s her husband? Camryn Nobles, News Four You? What’s that song he’s dancing to in the video? Have you seen it? It’s hysterical!”
“No, I haven’t seen it. Stackpole made her take it down,” Grace said. “But listen to what Camryn found out about Paula.”
* * *
“Really? I’m impressed. Camryn Nobles figured this out? I always thought she was just a pretty face. Who knew she could actually do real journalism?”
“Paula’s not even a licensed therapist in this state. She gets around that by calling herself a divorce coach. Mitzi, she doesn’t even have a Web site. So how did she get that successful that fast?”
“Her book?”
“It’s only available as an e-book, and
Mindful Marriage
’s Amazon ranking is 367,459,” Grace said.
Mitzi chewed on some ice. “Those people in the other divorce-therapy sessions, were they all women?”
“Yes.”
“Well … if we knew that all of them were referred to Paula by Stackpole, that might be a very useful piece of information,” Mitzi allowed.
“How could we find that out?”
“I guess you could ask them,” Mitzi said.
“I think our group should have an intervention with Paula,” Grace said. “We could confront her about the pills and her odd behavior. But Wyatt thinks if it goes wrong, it could make things even worse for all of us. With Stackpole.”
“Wyatt?” Mitzi pursed her lips. “He’s the guy we saw in court that day? The one who put his fist through his wife’s car window? Are you two seeing each other?”
Grace blushed.
“Is it serious?”
“I hope so,” Grace said quietly. “He’s a good person, Mitzi. He doesn’t deserve the crap his wife is handing him.”
“I remember the wife from court. She was a terror.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Grace told her. “Wyatt is sick with worry that Stackpole will allow Callie to move to Birmingham with his son, Bo.”
“About Stackpole,” Mitzi said. “I’ve been asking around, very quietly. He and his wife used to be quite the social butterflies around town. She chaired the big Heart Fund ball last year, and they’re members at the Longboat Key Club, where he plays a lot of tennis, but nobody’s seen them out and about together much these past few months.”
“Maybe the wife found out about Paula.”
“Could be,” Mitzi allowed. “Or maybe it’s just that it’s July. The Stackpoles have a house in the mountains in North Carolina. One of those woodsy, social places like Highlands or Flat Rock. I think she spends most of the summer up there.”
“And while the cat’s away, the rat will play,” Grace said. “Mitzi, I just know Stackpole and Paula are having an affair. I can’t prove it, but if you’d seen them that night when he showed up at group, it was just so obvious.”
Mitzi stirred the dregs of her ice with her straw. “So what? You’ve only got two more weeks of divorce camp left, and then Stackpole will sign off on your divorce.”
“I know,” Grace said resignedly.
“Isn’t that what we want? You—divorced? Free to get on with your life? Free to have a relationship with Wyatt or anybody else of your choosing?”
“The whole thing with Stackpole and Paula—it’s wrong, Mitzi! And there’s nothing I can do about it.”