“No benefit?” John argued. “Certainly, after fifteen years of living together, it couldn’t hurt to spend a few hours with a therapist. My client believes that the children’s welfare should be paramount here. He’s merely asking for an opportunity to save his family.”
Meghann turned to her client. “It’s a reasonable request, Celene,” she whispered. “You won’t look good if we fight this battle in front of the judge.”
“Oh. I guess …” Celene frowned.
Meghann returned her attention to the bench. “We’d ask for a time limit and a follow-up court date to be set now.”
“That’s acceptable to us, Your Honor.”
Meghann stood there, a little unsteady on her feet as the details were worked out. Her right hand was still trembling and a tic had begun spasming in her left eyelid. On autopilot, she packed up her briefcase.
“Wait. What just happened?” Celene whispered.
“We agreed to counseling. A few months or so. No more. Maybe—”
“Counseling? We’ve tried counseling—or did you forget that? We’ve also tried hypnosis and romantic vacations and even a weeklong couples’ self-help seminar. None of it worked. And do you know why?”
Meghann had forgotten all of that. The information that should have been at her fingertips had vanished. “Oh” was all she could manage.
“It didn’t work because he doesn’t love me,” Celene’s voice cracked. “Mr. Computer Software likes male prostitutes, remember? Blow jobs under the Viaduct and in X-rated theaters.”
“I’m sorry, Celene.”
“Sorry? Sorry. My children and I need to start over, not relive the same old shit.”
“You’re right. I’ll fix this. I promise I will.” And she could. A phone call to John Heinreid that threatened to reveal Mr. Miller’s preferred sex partners and it’d be handled instantly. Quietly.
Celene sighed. “Look, I know what happened last week. It was on every channel. I feel sorry for that lady—and for you. I know that husband tried to kill you. But I need to worry about myself. For once. Can you understand that?”
For a terrible moment, Meghann thought she was going to lose it. How in God’s name had she glanced at Celene Miller and seen just another pampered, spoiled housewife? “You should be taking care of yourself first. I did you a disservice in here. I screwed up. But I’ll fix it, and you won’t be paying a dime for this divorce. Okay? Can you trust me again?”
Celene’s frown released. “Trusting people has always been easy for me. It’s part of why I’m here.”
“I’ll catch up with John right now. We’ll talk tomorrow about what I came up with.”
Celene tried valiantly to smile. “Okay.”
Meghann put a hand down on the desk to steady herself as she stood there, watching her client walk out of the courtroom. When Celene was gone, Meghann sighed heavily. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath.
She reached for her yellow pad, noticed her trembling fingers and thought: What’s wrong with me?
A hand pressed against her shoulder, and she jumped at the contact.
“Meg?”
It was Julie Gorset, her partner.
“Hey, Jules. Tell me you weren’t in the courtroom today.”
Julie looked at her sadly. “I was. And we need to talk.”
The Pike Place Public Market was wall-to-wall people on a sunny summer’s day. Now, at nighttime, it was quiet. Sweaty vendors in gauzy clothes were busy packing up their homemade crafts and loading them onto trucks parked outside on the cobblestone street. The night air rang out with the ping-ping-ping of delivery trucks in reverse gear.
Meghann stood outside the Athenian’s open door. The bar was hazy with cigarette smoke; the expansive Puget Sound view sparkled in the few open spaces between patrons. There were at least two dozen people at the bar, no doubt shooting oysters—drinking them raw from a glass jigger. It was a house tradition.
She glanced from table to table. There were plenty of possibilities. Single men in expensive suits and college boys in cutoff shorts that showed their lean torsos and checkered boxers.
She could go in there, put on her kiss me smile and find someone to spend time with her. For a few blessed hours, she could be part of a couple, no matter how false and fragile that pairing might be. At least she wouldn’t have to think. Or feel.
She started to take a step forward. Her toe caught on the threshold and she stumbled sideways, skimming the door’s side.
And suddenly, all she could think about was what would really happen. She’d meet some guy whose name wouldn’t matter, let him touch her body and crawl inside of her … and then be left more alone than when she’d started.
The tic in her left eye started again.
She reached into her handbag and pulled out her cell phone. She’d already left a desperate-sounding call me message on Elizabeth’s answering machine, when she remembered that her friend was in Paris.
There was no one else to call. Unless …
Don’t do it.
But she couldn’t think of anywhere else to turn.
She punched in the number, biting down on her lip as it rang. She was just about to hang up when a voice answered.