“We’ve discussed this. The dogs were his before you got married. It seems reasonable—”
“I was the one who reminded Lupe to feed and water them. Without me, those Lhasa Apsos would be hairy toast. Dead by the side of the pool. I want them. And you should quit fighting with me. You’re my lawyer, not his. I can hardly live on twenty grand a month.” She laughed bitterly. “He still has the jet, the place in Aspen, the Malibu beach house, and all our friends.” Her voice cracked and, for just a moment, Meghann saw a flash of the woman Robin O’Houlihan had once been. A now-frightened, once-ordinary girl from Snohomish who’d believed a woman could marry her way to the top.
Meghann wanted to be gentle, say something soothing. In the old days, it would have been easy. But those days were gone now, stamped into muddy nothingness by the stiletto heels of a hundred angry wives who didn’t want to work and couldn’t possibly live on twenty grand a month.
She closed her eyes briefly, wanting to clear her mutinous mind. But instead of a quiet darkness, she flashed on an image of Mr. O’Houlihan, sitting quietly in the conference room, his hands clasped on the table. He’d answered all her questions with a sincerity that surprised her.
No prenuptial, no. I believed we’d last forever.
I loved her.
My first wife died. I met Robin nearly ten years later.
Oh. Yes. I wanted more children. Robin didn’t.
It had been one of those uncomfortable moments that occasionally blindsided an attorney. That sickening realization that you were leading the wrong team.
Simply put, she’d believed him. And that was no good.
“Hel-lo. I’m talking here.” Robin pulled a cigarette from her quilted Chanel bag. Remembering suddenly that she couldn’t smoke in here, she jammed it back in her purse. “So, how do I get the house in Aspen? And the dogs.”
Meghann rolled the pen between her thumb and forefinger, thinking. Every now and then the pen thumped on the manila folder open in front of her. It sounded vaguely like a war drumbeat. “I’ll call Graham and hash this through. Apparently your husband is willing to be very generous, but trust me on this, Robin. People get pissed off over a lot less than a beloved dog. If you’re going to go to the mat for Fluffy and Scruffy, be prepared to give up a lot. Your husband could yank the houses from the table in an instant. You better decide how important those dogs are.”
“I just want to hurt him.”
Meghann thought of the man she’d deposed more than a month ago. His look had been sad—worn, even. “I think you already have, if that’s any consolation.”
Robin tapped a long scarlet fingernail against her teeth as she stared out toward Bainbridge Island. “I shouldn’t have slept with the pool guy.”
Or the meat delivery boy or the dentist who bleached your teeth. “This is a no-fault state, remember.”
“I’m not talking about the divorce. I’m talking about the marriage.”
“Oh.” There it was again, that flash of a real person hiding behind the decoupage of expensive makeup. “It’s easy to see your life in retrospect. It’s too bad we don’t live life backward. I think it was Kierkegaard who said that.”
“Really.” Robin was clearly disinterested. “I’ll think about the dogs and let you know.”
“Act fast. Graham said this offer lasts for thirty-six hours. After that, he said it was ring time. Round one.”
Robin nodded. “You seem awfully timid for someone they call the Bitch of Belltown.”
“Not timid. Practical. But if you’d prefer other representation—”
“No.” Robin slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. As she opened it, she said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Without looking back, she left. The door clicked shut.
Meg let out a heavy sigh. She felt pummeled, smaller somehow.
She set the file aside, and as she did, she thought of Mr. O’Houlihan’s sad face again.
No prenuptial, no. I believed we’d last forever.
This was going to rip his heart out. It wouldn’t be enough to break his heart. Oh, no. Meghann and Robin were going to take it one step further and show him the true character of the woman he’d married. He’d find it damn near impossible to trust his heart the next time.
With a sigh, she checked her schedule. Robin had been her last appointment. Thank God. Meghann didn’t think she could handle another sad story of failed loved right now. She packed up her papers, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and left the office.
Outside, it was a balmy early-summer night. The hustle and bustle of rush hour traffic clogged the streets. In the market, tourists were still crowded around the fish stand. White-aproned vendors threw thirty-pound king salmons through the air to one another: at every toss, tourists snapped photographs.
Meghann barely noticed the familiar show. She was past the fish market and down to the vegetables when she realized what route she’d chosen.