The Divorce Club (17 page)

"Of course I am," I protest.

"Yeah? Then you might want to get the band
right. It's called
Def Leppard
."

"You sure?" The corners of my mouth start to
twitch. Jamie's such a cool guy, no wonder even Sam likes him. Greg
would've made me feel stupid for years.

"Since you're such a huge fan, we'll stop at
the store and pick up some Led Zeppelin to listen to over dinner,"
Jamie says.

He can't be serious. I couldn't stand that
noise for longer than five minutes. "Oh, no. You're doing enough
already."

"No, I insist," he says. "You love it, right?
I want to make this trip memorable."

I shake my head. "You're such a sweetheart,
but I couldn't possibly enjoy it without my denim jeans and groupie
t-shirt."

"You're a groupie too? Of which band? And
don't say the one we just heard on the radio."

"There's so many to choose from." I peer at
Sam, my eyes imploring her to help me.

"Hey, I wasn't even born yet, old lady." She
slumps into her seat and glues the phone back to her ear.

"The metal group. Metallic."

"
Metallica
?" he asks, grinning.

I nod. "Yeah, that one."

He laughs. "Nice try. Any other favorite
band? I bet you don't even know any more."

"I actually do." I kick my brain into motion,
but the memories are rather faint. "AB/CD."

"Don't you mean
AC/DC
?"

"What would the girls back at the club think
of us, if they knew we were dashing off to France for the weekend?"
I ask, eager to change the topic before he realizes I've no idea
what I'm talking about, if it's not too late already.

Jamie shrugs. "Who cares?"

"They'd faint right on the spot, but I'm only
here to help you mend your heart."

"Rumors spread like a bushfire." Jamie's lips
jerk. He's about to wind me up again. "They could say you're dating
your client, the guy you're actually trying to fix. It's like a
psychologist seeing his client. That's just hot and taboo."

"No one's going to find out. Besides, we're
not dating." Yet. And if that happens, I'll deal with the
consequences because there's no way I wouldn't date this guy—once
his divorce is finalized and I can be sure I'm not just a rebound.
"I'm here to help you sort things out and get you through all that
pain you told me about. So, what's going on with Chloe?"

Jamie's tone turns chilly. "Maybe you are the
head banging type, because I have a headache now."

"Who's Chloe?" Sam asks from the backseat.
And there I thought the phone glued to her ear would keep her from
paying attention.

"His wife." I peer at him from the corner of
my eye to catch his reaction. He doesn't even blink.

"I didn't know you were married," Sam says.
"Where's the ring?"

Jamie's jaw sets. "My soon-to-be
ex-
wife."

"Is it because of Mum?" Sam leans between the
front seats. The topic has her attention now.

"Of course not," I snap. "He joined the club
because his marriage isn't working any more. We didn't know each
other before."

"But you're helping him divorce Chloe, so
it's because of you, sort of," Sam says.

What's with my daughter and her inability to
stop judging me? I turn to glare at her, hoping she gets the
message and returns to her phone call, iPod or whatever teens do
these days. Jamie doesn't bother to respond, so I feel compelled to
return to the topic at hand. "So, how are things with Chloe?"

"Okay." He shrugs as though he doesn't really
care. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Yeah, Mum, what's with the buzz kill?" Sam
yells.

I've no idea what language she's speaking so
I ignore her as I whisper to Jamie, "I see you're not in the mood
to have this weekend ruined because I can't switch off work for a
while."

He cocks his head, shooting me a fleeting
look. "You said it, not me."

I nod and stare at my lap. Sam snuggles on
the backseat and starts chatting on the phone again. The silence
between Jamie and I is awkward, but he doesn't seem to want to
start another conversation, so I close my eyes and tune out,
hopeful to get some of the sleep I missed in the last few days. I
wake up when the car halts with a jolt.

"Need to stretch your legs? Grab a snack?
Coffee? Potty break?" Jamie asks. "Long list, I know." Rubbing my
temple where it hurts from leaning against the window, I shake my
head. "Sam and I are going to buy out the entire store. Are you
sure you don't want anything? Speak now or forever hold your
peace." He smiles.

He looks so relaxed and handsome, my heart
skips a beat. Maybe a bottle of wine to ease my nerves, or a few
cosmos. I shake my head again. "I'm fine, thanks."

He leaves and I close my eyes again,
dizziness washing like after every nap. I must've nodded off again
because the sound of a car door slamming jerks me back from
oblivion. I turn my head to Sam's slurping on the backseat just as
Jamie gets in and hands me a tall latte and some warm pastry in a
clear paper bag. The aroma of cinnamon invades my nostrils. I peer
in awe as he takes a bite of his own pastry, a soft moan escaping
his throat. "It's really good. You should try it." He winks.
"They're homemade, like your brownies."

Still staring at him, I take a tentative bite
and nod. "Thanks."

"Dad never let us eat in the car," Sam
says.

Jamie smiles and finishes his pastry. For
some reason, I can't shake off the feeling that he's being so
easy-going to impress us, but if his attitude is a sham, I don't
care. It works even though I wish it didn't.

Two hours and several attempts at small talk
later we cross over to France. Outside, it's started to rain; heavy
drops splatter against the windshield, making us slow down.
Although it's only late afternoon, the sky has turned a dark-grey.
The vehicle rolls smoothly on the highway; the French countryside,
brown fields and white cottages, stretches in the distance. Jamie's
hand clasps carelessly around the steering wheel and his movements
are blasé. If I were to drive on the right side of the road, I'd be
frantic with panic.

"How much longer?" Sam whines. It's the forth
time she asks.

"Half an hour tops," Jamie says.

I turn to face her, my gaze imploring her to
stop complaining. "Why don't you listen to your
iPod
?" She
shrugs and sinks back into the backseat, pouting.

Jamie smiles at me. I bet he's forgotten our
conversation from before, so I see a new opportunity to start
again. I wait for Sam to turn on the music, then I ask, "What's the
real reason why you didn't turn up at the meeting?"

"You're not going to drop it, are you?"

"No." I shoot him a sideway glance. He might
get mad and decide to ignore me but, stuck in this car, that's
about all he can do.

He squirms in his seat, hesitating, before he
answers. "For some reason, you were mad at me, so I decided to stay
away. I figured if I didn't you might cancel our trip."

"Really? That's it?"

"What did you think?"

I shrug even though he probably can't see me
because his gaze is fixed on the slippery asphalt. "Maybe that
you've decided to reconcile, or that you got bored."

"Of what? Of you?" He laughs. "I'm not your
ex. For someone who believes to be so knowledgeable in love
matters, you have the strange habit to assume all men are the
same."

Now, he's making me defensive again. I pout
as I try to keep my mouth shut, but it's not working. "I never
assumed your reason had anything to do with me."

"No?" He cocks an eyebrow and grins.

"Not in the least. And what did you mean with
that derogatory comment about my knowledge in love matters? I
know
what I'm talking about because I went through
everything I teach my clients."

"Yeah, well, see that's the thing, Sarah.
You're teaching your side of the story, which is fine since that's
what people signed up for, but what happens after their divorce is
finalized?"

"They'll be free to start a new life, date
again, do whatever they want to do. Honestly, I've no idea where
you're going with this," I say.

"You mean they'll start a new life by turning
into this bitter woman that hates anything male on the planet?"

He thinks I'm bitter? I gape at him, a hot
rush spreading from my neck to my face. "If you don't agree with
who I am and what I do, why did you join my club?" My voice is low
and menacing, my eyes throw daggers. I've never been so
insulted.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said. It wasn't
personal. It's just that you say all the things you say about men
and I don't feel it applies to me. You're not exactly giving me a
chance."

As if I'd ever believe that. I turn away from
him to stare at the raindrops splattering against the passenger
window. The car leaves the highway and turns right onto a country
lane. We've come so far and I've barely noticed the beautiful
countryside and the heavy scent of manure in the air.

"Are you still mad?" Jamie whispers.

"I'm not mad. I'm fuming."

He laughs. "At least you're honest. Want me
to stop and get out the fire extinguisher?"

"Do I look like I want to be covered in a sea
of foam?"

"Listen, I'm really sorry."

I roll my eyes. "You don't mean it because
you've no idea what you've done wrong in the first place."

"See, you're jumping to conclusions again.
I'm sorry for saying you're bitter. Everything else still
applies."

"Men were never meant to join the club," I
say.

Jamie takes another bent past a town sign. My
basic French is not good enough to read it, but I assume he knows
where we're going. In the distance, slim shapes of townhouses
stretch against an overcast sky.

"That's just sexist."

I turn away from the fast approaching village
to face him. "You keep saying that."

"Because you keep
being
it. You'd
never get away with it in our politically correct time."

I snort. "Yeah, well, I would've if you
didn't insist on joining."

"And what a privilege it is, particularly
since I pay double the usual membership fee." Heat is scorching my
face as I focus on the street again. Jamie continues, "You're
probably surprised I found out." My head bobs even though I'd
rather drop the topic. "The brochures you keep in your office."

How could I have forgotten they specify the
price? I mentally slap my forehead at my own stupidity. There I
deceive once in my life, and then I'm not even clever enough to do
it right, but I'm not going to admit it. "I instituted a new policy
after the pamphlets were printed—all men pay double."

"Sounds like a good idea," Jamie says. "Don't
worry. I don't mind."

"Thank you for understanding my policies," I
whisper so softly I'm not sure he heard me. We drive through the
village in silence, but I barely notice the pretty white houses in
the background or the people clad in colorful clothes ambling on
the cobblestone pavements.

As we leave the last sparse buildings behind,
Jamie speeds up the winding country lane past trees on either side.
Five minutes later, his SUV pulls up in the driveway of a
whitewashed cottage and we get out. My legs feel numb so I try to
stretch them as inconspicuously as I can while Jamie hurries to
open the door and starts heaving luggage out of the boot.

"That's your house?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Oh, come on, Mum," Jamie says. "It's a
fixer-upper. With a little elbow grease, this thing would be
awesome. And it's in France! How cool is that? Just give it a
chance. It's much nicer inside."

I can only laugh at this attempt to make it
more appealing to us. Granted, the plaster's peeling from the
walls, but that doesn't take away from its Mediterranean charm. The
windowpanes, painted in a burgundy red, hang open, grazing the
naked rosebushes stretching underneath. I couldn't possibly imagine
a more beautiful and serene place.

"Come on in." Jamie stands in the doorway and
points behind him. Sam darts in.

"Take off your shoes," I say as I walk past
Jamie, my arm brushing the front of his shirt.

The hall's narrow with a small wardrobe
lining one wall and several landscape paintings covering the other.
I shrug off my shoes while Jamie helps me out of my jacket, then
leads me into a small but cozy kitchen with shiny pans and strings
of garlic hanging from hooks in the ceiling. On the windowpanes,
several pots with fresh herbs enjoy the last daylight.

I nudge him to get his attention and point at
the garlic. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"Garlic is a weapon every land owner should
have against the everlasting battle with vampires."

I smile. "I missed your sense of humor as
well."

Jamie retrieves a bottle of red wine and a
Coca Cola
from the fridge, then pours the wine into two
glasses and hands me one. "Cheers. To us."

I clink my glass against his and take a
tentative sip. The full aroma of ripe grapes tickles the back of
mouth.

"Hey, what about me?" Sam asks from the
doorway.

"Catch." Jamie throws her the
Coca
Cola
can and turns back to me. Sam disappears again, probably
eager to get away from the old folks.

The soft skin around his eyes crinkle with a
smile, his blue gaze twinkling as though it's trying to tell me
something, but I've never been the intuitive kind, so I just ask.
"What's on your mind?"

He laughs softly, making my stomach flip.
"I'm not telling. You'd take it the wrong way."

And there I was thinking it might be
something along the line of 'you're beautiful' and 'I've just
fallen in love with you'. But I'm curious and insecure, so,
naturally, I want to know. "Tell me anyway."