Chapter 5

 

 

It was past midnight, but James lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

He was thirty-four years old, and he was tossing and turning, unable to sleep because his ex-wife was on a date. He was so tense his shoulders were aching. The thought of Barbara going out with another man, drinking wine with another man—right this moment—laughing with another man, maybe even being kissed by that other man … It drove him to distraction.

And the idea that another man might end up sleeping with her was killing him.

Ever since she’d asked him to take the boys that weekend so she could go on a date, he hadn’t been himself.

He wanted to crash her date, burst in and beat up the jerk she was out with, just to show him that Barbara was his wife, that he would kill any man before they could get close to her.

But, unfortunately, James had no right to do any of that, no right to go all caveman on anyone, because Barbara was not, in fact, his wife anymore.

She was his ex-wife, and she had been thoroughly humiliated only a week ago, when she’d discovered him sitting next to Anna.

James tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.

He had always liked Anna—as a colleague and a friend, but he’d never entertained the idea that she might become anything more to him. Despite all the times they’d worked late into the night at the office, nothing had ever happened between them. He’d never actually looked at another woman after he’d met Barbara. Not like that. But then there’d been a business meeting in Toronto, which he had almost messed up because his thoughts were a thousand miles away, with Barbara. He’d been desperate at the time and unburdened himself to Anna in the hotel bar late that night, only to wake up shocked to find himself in bed with her.

Of course, he’d known what he’d done, and he wasn’t so cowardly as to blame the alcohol for the fact that he’d slept with another woman. No, this dilemma was his fault alone.

However—and this however had been haunting him for two years now—maybe he had been at the end of his rope at the time. Maybe he hadn’t known how else to win back Barbara’s attention after she’d ignored him for months prior to the Toronto trip. James had been desperate because he’d had no idea how to get his wife back.

Of course, when he’d returned from Canada, he’d immediately confessed. If he’d hoped that that would be Barbara’s cue to finally open up to him, he’d been sadly and grossly mistaken. Even after he changed jobs so he wouldn’t see Anna anymore, and even after he suggested they go to couples’ therapy, Barbara had filed for divorce and barely spoken to him ever since.

And now she seemed ready to kick him out of her life for good. She had started to go out with other men.

James didn’t know how he would react if she built a real relationship with another man. The sheer idea hurt him so deeply that he wanted to do something drastic.

The soft creak of wood made him lift his head and blink into the dark, his eyelids heavy. He spied Hamilton standing in the doorway to James’s bedroom, looking indecisive.

“Hey, pal,” James whispered, sitting up slowly. “You can’t sleep either?”

Hamilton shook his head. “No.”

James smiled and scooted to one side. “Do you want to sleep here?”

His son didn’t need another invitation. He quickly crawled under the duvet as James generously surrendered his favorite pillow and laid back down.

“That better?” James asked, listening to his son sigh.

“Mm-hm,” the nine-year-old mumbled.

James reached out and rubbed his shoulder. “Is everything okay, big guy?”

Hamilton didn’t answer right away but wiggled and tossed until he’d found a comfortable position. Only then did he look up at his dad.

James stroked his son’s tender neck soothingly, remembering with dismay how deeply Hamilton had suffered during their separation. He still berated himself to this day for not only hurting Barbara with his mistake, but also throwing this amazing child for a loop. For months afterward, his oldest son hadn’t been able to sleep alone. He’d crawled into his dad’s bed every time he spent the weekend here.

Hamilton was quick for a nine-year-old, a fact he proved yet again when he stated thoughtfully, “We were supposed to be at Mom’s this weekend, weren’t we?”

“What, you don’t enjoy being here?” James asked jokingly. “I thought we could go play tennis early tomorrow morning. You and Scott against your old man.”

“You always let us win at tennis,” Hamilton scolded him. Much to James’s delight, when it came to sports, the boy had inherited his parents’ ambition.

“That’s not true at all,” James replied softly. “You and your brother are far too good for me to let you win.”

Unfortunately, Hamilton wasn’t easily distracted, and he returned to his initial question. “If this is Mom’s weekend, I don’t understand why we’re here.”

“Oh, you know …” James shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Your mom had an appointment, pal, and she couldn’t find a babysitter.”

“An appointment?”

“Mm-hm.” James tried to sound cheerful. “You know your mom’s quite busy with all her charity stuff. But that’s fine with me. We haven’t gotten to play tennis in a long time.”

“Dad,” his oldest replied gravely, “I’m not a baby anymore. Mom has a date, right? She went out with a man.”

James sighed and wrinkled his nose. “How do you know what a date is, huh?” he asked, forcing himself to sound calm.

“TV,” Hamilton replied dully.

If James hadn’t felt so horrible about the hopelessly muddled situation, he’d probably have burst into laughter at his son’s grave reply. Instead, he frantically wondered how to explain to Hamilton that his mom had every right to date as much and as often as she pleased—no matter how painful that was for him.

“Well, I think we should be happy for your mom if she gets to spend a nice evening out, pal. We want your mom to be happy, don’t we?”

“But I don’t want her to meet another man!” Hamilton protested passionately.

James’s shoulders sagged. “Hamilton—”

“Can’t you tell her not to date?” his son pleaded, sounding scared.

James twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. “No, I can’t do that, buddy. Your mom is a grown-up, and she wouldn’t appreciate it if I started telling her what she can and can’t do.”

Hamilton took a hasty breath. “Can’t you go on a date with her then?” he suggested excitedly.

James’s answer was very deliberate and composed. “Your mom and I got a divorce. You know that. It means we’re both allowed to go on dates with other people, Hamilton. It’s absolutely fine for your mom to go out with other men.”

Liar.

“But I don’t want another dad,” Hamilton blurted out. “I don’t want that!”

James turned toward his son and put a soothing hand on the small blond head. “Listen to me, Hamilton,” he said firmly. “You, Scott, your mom, and I—we’re a family, and we’ll always be a family. You don’t need to worry about me disappearing, or not being here for you anymore. Mom and I both love you and your brother more than anything else in the world, and we’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“But if Mom marries another man, he’ll live in our house!” Hamilton’s anxiety was bordering on panic. “I don’t want another man to move in with us. I don’t want to call him Dad! You’re my dad!”

“Hamilton.” James sighed and pulled his son closer. “You shouldn’t worry about things like that. Of course I’m your dad, and I always will be. Just because your mom went out with someone else, that doesn’t change the fact that you and Scott are my sons.”

Hamilton was hiccupping with panic. “Jeremy Myers’s parents got a divorce, too. Now his mom has a new husband, and she and Jeremy moved in with him. Jeremy doesn’t see his dad anymore and has to call the other man Dad. I don’t want to do that!”

James’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of his son’s head. “I promise you that such a thing will never happen to us. Neither Mom nor I want anything to change for you. We’re your parents, Hamilton. We may be divorced and not live together anymore, but we’re still a family.”

For a few moments, Hamilton didn’t say anything. Then, in an uncharacteristically defiant voice, he declared, “Mom shouldn’t go on dates with other men. It’s … It’s mean!”

“You shouldn’t say that,” James scolded his devastated son. “Your mom has never done anything mean.”

“But she hurt you, Dad,” Hamilton pointed out astutely.

Jesus, when had he started to discuss his failed marriage with his nine-year-old?

“Your mom is not responsible for our divorce, Hamilton,” James explained in a hoarse voice.

“But she hurt you!”

James shook his head. “I was the one who hurt your mother. I hurt her badly. I made a huge mistake, and your mom is still very sad about that, Hamilton. She didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Can’t you tell her you’re sorry?” his son suggested pragmatically.

James’s smile was weak as he explained, “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

Though his oldest was trying his best to keep his emotions to himself, his hiccupping voice was a clear indication that he was close to bursting into tears. “I don’t want her to love another man, Dad. I want her to love you again!”

James’s eyes were stinging now as well. Much like his son, he wanted Barbara to forgive him and love him again, too. There was nothing in the world he wished for more passionately, but he was scared that particular ship had sailed long ago.

“Hey,” he said, trying to cheer up his son by tousling his blond hair. “Who says Mom and I no longer love each other? We have the greatest kids in the world, and we made them together. For that alone, we’ll always love each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Before Hamilton could continue asking difficult questions, James pulled the duvet up to cover both of them and rested his chin on his son’s head. “And now let’s try to sleep,” he mumbled with forced cheerfulness. “I want to beat you and your brother at tennis in the morning.”

“You can try,” his son replied, then gave a great big yawn.

 

 

***

 

 

When James had dropped off his sons, his former mother-in-law had invited him to join her and the rest of the family for cake in the beautiful garden of the Ashcroft mansion, but James had declined. Though he still got along well with her, and even with Patrick and Stuart, the sheer fact that three hours earlier, Barbara had sent him a text asking him to bring Hamilton and Scott to her mother’s house because she wasn’t home, had upset him greatly. It had also upset his stomach, and he couldn’t have played tea party with the Ashcrofts right then.

If she wasn’t home, that could only mean that she hadn’t come home after her date last night. And that meant …

He gripped the handle of the shopping cart, which he was pushing listlessly through the virtually empty aisles of the grocery store. It was probably only lonely men in their mid-thirties who ended up at the only open store in the county on a Sunday afternoon to stock up on toothpaste, detergent, and fabric softener.

In fact, his trip to the grocery store fit the stereotype of the sad divorcé. The man whose entire life revolved around his children, who spent every other weekend with him, while he still yearned for his ex-wife, who was well on her way to leaving the past behind for good.

Despondent, James stopped before a shelf stacked high with cat food. With a lopsided, self-deprecating smile, he wondered how much longer it would be before he drove to the nearest animal shelter and adopted a cat for some company during his evenings on the couch. He’d actually prefer a dog, but that was out of the question at the moment, considering the workload he took upon himself to avoid thinking and, thus, becoming despondent—like now. Besides, who would look after the animal when James had to go on yet another business trip?

Speaking of business trips …

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared indecisively at the screen.

Of course, it wasn’t necessary to call Barbara today just to inform her that he’d gotten an email that morning about attending a convention in two weeks, so he’d miss Scott’s next soccer tournament. He could have sent her a text, or called her in a few days. But since it was killing him not to know whether she really hadn’t come home the night before …

He sighed and dialed her number.

He felt like the most pathetic idiot in the world.

It took what felt like an eternity for Barbara to finally pick up. “James … what is it?” she asked in a harried voice.

At least she’d taken the call, he told himself, while his eyes roamed the endless variety of cat food. “Hi, yes … well, I-I just wanted to let you know I-I dropped the boys off at your mom’s.” He was stammering like a teenager in sex ed class. “They were both excited because there was strawberry pie. You know Scott loves strawberries. And Hamilton loves any kind of pie. So the two of them are—”

“James,” his ex-wife groaned into the phone, “excuse me, but what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is everything okay with the boys?”

“Of course, everything’s okay. They’re fine,” he promised, pressing a hand to his forehead. He barely knew himself anymore. He’d never had any problem talking to Barbara before. But then, at some point, they’d stopped talking to each other—about the important things. That had been the beginning of the whole ordeal.

“Okay, then why did you call to tell me about my mom’s strawberry pie?” She sounded overwrought, and then she started swearing under her breath. “Ouch!”

“Ouch?” James pressed his ear to the phone and heard with mounting confusion how much noise there was in the background on her end. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” she snapped. “I just got a paper cut, and it stings like a bitch.”

He almost smiled. It was just so good to hear her voice.

The noise in the background increased, and he frowned. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Where am I?” Barbara sounded anything but thrilled. “I’ve spent the entire morning in the Bridgeport Women’s Association clubhouse taking inventory of the used clothing. I was just sent off to deal with paperwork a minute ago.”

Surprised, he tilted his head back. “But … But it’s Sunday.”

“A lovely Sunday, and I’m spending it burrowing through old socks and dusty donation receipts while my mom apparently makes a bunch of strawberry pies.” She sighed. “I can think of better ways to spend a Sunday.”

James didn’t know what to think about the fact that Barbara was complaining to him about her day, but he knew it was a good thing that she was speaking to him at all—and he was glad she was busy with the Bridgeport Ladies’ Club or whatever it was called, and not with another man.

He cleared his throat and said casually, “I didn’t think you’d get up so early for work after a night out.”

There was silence on the line for a moment.

James waited with bated breath for Barbara’s reply. It came as an irritable-sounding question: “Do you want to know how my date went?”

“No, of course not!”

“Good!” Her voice trembled. “It’s none of your business, and you know that.” He wanted to say something, but Barbara didn’t give him a chance to get out a peep. “If that’s your newest thing, spying on me by calling me under a flimsy pretext, just to sound me out—”

“I’m not spying on you, goddamnit,” he interrupted, sticking out his chin as he pushed the shopping cart away from the cat food. “Can’t I just ask you how a night out went?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m curious,” he replied honestly.

“But you’re not supposed to be curious, James! If I went out with a hundred different men, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

He balled his right hand into a fist. “Is this your payback for the incident at the fucking gala? Are you trying to hurt me on purpose?”

“You know what?” she hissed at him. “I don’t care what you do or with whom! And if you think you have to flaunt your affair by taking your lover to a charity gala—”

“I did not take her to the gala!” he barked into the phone. “Are you deaf? I hadn’t seen the woman in more than two years! It was nothing but a stupid coincidence that she was seated at the same table!” By now, he’d lost the last shred of his composure, and he didn’t care who overheard him yelling into the phone at his ex-wife.

“Listen to me, James! I don’t care. Do what you want and with whom you want, but don’t call me and feign interest in me or my dates.”

Although he was furious, he felt a painful lump form in his throat. “You can accuse me of a lot of things, Barbara, but not a lack of genuine interest in you.”

His ex spat out her next words. “I can remember a time when you were more interested in sleeping with another woman than being there for me! If that isn’t the ultimate lack of interest in me, then I don’t know what is, James.”

He was so close to exploding. “Once, Barbara, I slept with another woman exactly once, because I was unhappy and desperate. Have you never been unhappy and desperate?”

“Yes, I was, but how would you know about that?” she asked brokenly. “You can’t know anything about that, because you were in Toronto at the time, screwing another woman.”

Despondent, he stared at the bright lights on the ceiling above him. “How many times have I told you how sorry I am? How many times have I told you that I want to turn back time and undo my mistake? That I’d change the past if I could? How many times have I told you I still love you?”

She was utterly unreceptive to his heartfelt, vulnerable words. “And how many times have I told you that you should finally leave me alone?” she hissed back angrily.

“Barbara,” he choked out.

“No.” Panting, she roared into the phone, “I don’t want to hear anything from you, James. Least of all when I’m standing in the middle of the clubhouse!”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “For more than two years, you’ve refused to talk about it! Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Why?” she barked back. “We’re divorced, and there is nothing left to talk about. Live your life the way you see fit, and I’m going to do the same of mine. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m busy.”

The annoying beep told James that she’d hung up on him.

He felt so angry he wanted to throw a few cans of cat food against the wall.