Bernadette Peacham hated that her ex-husband had caught her eating a frozen lasagna for dinner. She hadn’t even bothered to put it onto a plate or make a salad. She’d simply stuffed the single serving into the microwave, peeled off the film cover and dug in, and there was Cal, as handsome as ever, standing in her kitchen doorway.
And it was her kitchen. Not his. Despite their divorce, she’d hung on to both her house here in Washington, just off stately Massachusetts Avenue, and her lake house in New Hampshire. Her first marriage had smartened her up about protecting her financial interests, if not about improving her taste in men.
“I just heard about Mackenzie,” Cal said. “An FBI agent stopped in my office. I came straight here. Have you talked to anyone?”
“The FBI just left.”
He looked truly upset. “Bernadette – thank God you weren’t at the lake this weekend. The police say the man who attacked Mackenzie might have camped on your property.”
She shoved the lasagna container into the trash. Cal had always been disdainful of her benevolence. “For the record, I didn’t let him.”
“Do you have any idea who it was?”
“No.”
Cal ran a finger across the round, white-painted table, a habit of his when he was stressed and trying not to show it. He’d taken off the ten pounds he’d put on in the last six months of their marriage, and he looked good. His hair was a little thin on top, and what he had left was all gray now, with no hints of the dark blond it used to be. Bernadette had met him three years ago, and it was as if she’d waited her entire life for him. Now, she could hardly stand the sight of him.
The feeling, she was quite sure, was mutual.
He was getting ready to move into the condominium he’d bought in an expensive complex on the Potomac. In the meantime, she’d agreed to let him stay in a guest suite at the house they’d once shared. He was a successful corporate attorney who needed nothing from her, but he would never see it that way. Cal, Bernadette knew, was a man who always wanted more, more, more.
It hadn’t always been like that, she recalled. When they’d first met, he had talked longingly of living out at the lake full-time. Fishing, kayaking, growing a garden. But their marriage had opened up new doors for him, and Bernadette had watched as his income, his stress level, his tolerance for risk, his love of action – the game – all skyrocketed. The lake had lost its appeal for him. For a brief time, he had viewed the lake house as quaint and charming. Now, he regarded her house and land on the lake a waste, when she could sell lots, make a fortune, tear down, rebuild. He had any number of plans for what she could do with the property that had been in her family for generations.
She simply hadn’t seen him changing until it was too late and their marriage was beyond repair.
“You and your three-legged puppies,” he said.
“I told you that I didn’t let him camp -”
“I was talking about Mackenzie.”
Bernadette gasped, taken aback. “I can’t believe you just said that. What a callous prick you’ve become, Cal. Mackenzie barely escaped with her life today. At least let her heal before you start demeaning her.”
“I’m not demeaning her. I’m just being truthful. Where would she be now without you?”
“I imagine she’d be doing exactly what she’s doing.”
“No, you don’t. You know what you did for her.”
“What did I do? I hired her father to build a shed and damn near got him killed. That’s what I did.”
Cal sniffed. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. He was careless, upset because of his wild daughter -”
“For God’s sake, Cal, Mackenzie was eleven. She wasn’t wild – she’d just wandered off. Later on, she got a little wild, but – please. Let’s not do this. I know you resent the help I’ve given to people along the way, but it’s just a part of who I am. I don’t think about it. I’m not looking for anything in return. So just let it go.”
“I’m not as good as you are.” His tone held no plea for understanding, no regret, only condescension. “Living in your shadow has never been easy.”
So much, Bernadette thought, for their mature, civilized divorce. It had gone the way of their mature, civilized marriage. She had finally come to realize that he believed she was lesser for her generosity. Weaker.
She leaned back against the counter, feeling the cool granite through the thin fabric of her skirt. “Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” she said, hearing the exhaustion in her voice. She was just so damn tired of sparring with him.
“I never asked you to be less than the good person you are,” Cal said. “I just got tired of being reminded every day that I don’t measure up – if not by you, then by your deeds, your friends, your colleagues. My own clients.”
Bernadette checked her impatience. They were divorced; she didn’t have to wear herself out trying to pump him up. “Let’s not rehash our problems. What do you want, Cal? Are you hoping to benefit in some way from what happened today in New Hampshire?”
“That’s not fair.”
She sighed. “No, it isn’t.”
“Are you happy as a federal judge?” Cal asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”