California Girls

“He’s standing right there,” Ali said frantically. “Please, can we talk about this later?”

“No. I want to talk about it now. He stole his brother’s girl, Ali. What does that say about his character?”

Daniel headed for the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Don’t go.”

“It’s okay, Ali. She’s your mom.”

Ali had no idea what that meant, but she knew it wasn’t good. Not any of it. She leaned back against the pillows and wondered why now, of all times, did her mother suddenly have to give a damn about her life.

*

“She’s sleeping with him,” Mary Jo said for the fourteenth time since Finola had arrived at the house on Sunday morning. “It’s a nightmare.”

“Mom, just stop. Ali’s a grown woman who knows what she’s doing,” Finola said, trying to take in everything her mother had said without getting distracted by the fact that her sister had apparently moved in with a guy she’d fallen for and hadn’t said a word. Although her first instinct was to get mad at her sister, she had a feeling that the real problem was more about her. In truth she’d barely been in touch with Ali over the past few weeks. They’d once been so close, but somehow that had been lost.

Finola assumed they were equally to blame—each of them had been dealing with so much upheaval and there hadn’t been a lot left for reaching out. Still, she should have made more of an effort.

Oh no, she thought, remembering the last time Ali had mentioned Daniel was helping with canceling the wedding. She’d talked about him in glowing terms and Finola had warned her not to make a fool out of herself. No wonder she hadn’t heard from Ali.

“You’re not listening to me,” her mother complained as they sorted through dishes in the large hutch. The estate sale was fast approaching and there were still cupboards and closets to be sorted. Finola had promised they would finish the dining room today.

“I’m listening, Mom, but I’m thinking, too. I’m thinking Ali was with a guy who didn’t love her the way he should have, and we should be happy that she’s with a good guy now.”

“But we don’t know he’s a good guy. What if he’s worse?”

Finola thought about what her sister had said about Daniel. “He was there for her from the first moment Glen dumped her. He stepped in and took care of things. He’s a good guy.” Which her sister had been trying to tell her for a while, only she hadn’t been listening. “Ali knows what she’s doing. We should give her a little credit.”

“Knows what she’s doing?” Mary Jo’s voice rose two octaves. “She practically got stood up at the altar.”

“Yes, and my marriage is in shambles and you got a divorce, so let’s not cast stones.”

Her mother glared at her. “You’re being very magnanimous all of a sudden.”

“Let’s just say I’m trying to make up for past behavior.”

“Fine.” Her mother sniffed with displeasure. “Think the best. It’s all going to fall apart. I just don’t know where I failed my daughters.”

Finola decided not to get into that. She shifted the subject to how they were going to advertise the estate sale and managed to get through the rest of the morning. When she left around noon, she sat in her car and texted her sister.

Mom told me about your broken arm. Please let me know how I can help. Finola hesitated before adding, I heard about Daniel, too. I was wrong before about what I said. I’m glad you’re together and I hope he makes you happy. Love you.

She’d barely pushed Send when her phone buzzed with a text. How on earth had Ali answered so quickly? Only it wasn’t Ali. The text was from Nigel.

Can we talk? I’d like to come by. Are you free today?

She went hot and then cold. Her insides flipped and she didn’t know if she should cry or just throw up.

I’m at my mom’s. Give me an hour and I’ll meet you at the house.

See you then.

Finola sucked in a breath, not sure what to think. She backed out of the driveway and made her way home. She thought about changing her clothes, or putting on makeup or something, then decided that what she should do was breathe. The rest would take care of itself.

Nigel arrived fifty minutes later. She heard the garage door open. She thought about going into the living room, but that seemed too formal. Instead she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

He walked in seconds later. He looked as he had on the interview—older and thinner. Tired. Part of her wanted to go to him and hold him. Part of her wanted to bolt. But nowhere inside did she feel smug or pleased that things had obviously gone badly for him with Treasure. She didn’t want him punished—not anymore. Mostly she wanted not to feel sad.

He got himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her. They stared at each other for several minutes until he finally spoke.

“Hell of a thing.”

“I saw the interview,” she said. “I assume if it’s not over, it will be soon. Treasure doesn’t strike me as the type to take that kind of information well.”

“It’s over.” He dropped his gaze to his coffee. “I was a fool. It’s the oldest story in the book. I thought I was getting something better, something that would last, and I was wrong on both counts.”

Finally, she thought, waiting for the sense of relief, of rightness. At last they could pick up the pieces of their marriage and start over. They could go into counseling and forgive each other. She could even get pregnant.

Only there wasn’t much of anything. It was as if she’d felt so much over the past weeks and months, she was drained of all emotion.

“I don’t know how much you want to know,” he began.

“I don’t want to know anything. It doesn’t matter.”