Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

Wyatt glared at her. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t,” Camryn snapped. “Can you quit being macho man long enough to answer an honest question?”

He eased back into his chair, some of the fight gone out of him. With his thumb, he twisted his wedding band around and around. “You read all these statistics about the children of divorce. They don’t do as well in school, have emotional problems. I don’t want that for Bo.”

“Listen, Wyatt,” Rochelle said, reaching down the length of the table and grabbing his hand. “Shrinks can come up with all kinds of statistics to make people feel guilty. What kind of home will you be raising Bo in if he knows you and Callie hate each other? Kids aren’t dumb. They can sense things. And what happens if you take her back and she decides to go off with some other guy?”

Wyatt’s face contorted and Grace wished she could kick her mother under the table. Instead, she spirited some more popcorn into her tote bag.

“Suzanne?” Now Rochelle was concentrating on the least forthcoming member of the group.

“What about you? Would you take your husband back?”

Suzanne seemed to shrink into her chair. “Our situation … is unique,” Suzanne said. “I’m sorry. You’ve all been so open and honest. I feel like a voyeur, sitting here, contributing nothing. I’m still … still trying to sort out my feelings.” She took a deep breath and started again.

“Let me try to explain. I come from a very religious Catholic family. My father dragged us to Mass every Sunday. My mother was very pious. From the outside, we looked like the ideal family. Inside?” She shrugged. “He cheated on her. Always. Made her life miserable. She’d never worked outside the home, what was she going to do? Leave him? Besides, we Catholics don’t divorce, right? So she stayed, a martyr to the end. Why did she put up with his crap? My two sisters and I swore a pact that we would never, ever fall into the same trap she did.

“Damned if we didn’t. Tricia’s husband is a closet drinker. Eileen? We think he abuses her, but we don’t have any proof, and even if we did, she has kidney disease, and she needs his medical benefits. And me? Eric and I lived together off and on for eight years. When I was thirty, and still working on my Ph.D., I got pregnant with Darby.” Suzanne’s small, sad face suddenly lit up. “It was a huge surprise. I’d had ovarian cysts in my twenties, and my doctor told me I probably wouldn’t have children.”

Suzanne took several deep breaths, sucking in more oxygen to fuel her narrative. The others waited, willing her to continue. “Even then, I waited until Darby was two, just to be absolutely sure, before I agreed to marry Eric. I thought we had something good, you know? Not perfect, but a much better marriage than my parents’.”

“You poor thing,” Rochelle said. She stood quickly. “Don’t say another word, okay? I need to see if everything’s all right in the kitchen. Can I get anything for anybody?”

Ashleigh raised her nearly empty margarita glass. “I could use a freshie.”

Grace could feel her jaw tightening. Did she dare suggest that Rochelle stick to bartending instead of marriage counseling? Probably not.

“Listen, Suzanne,” Grace said gently, “don’t feel like you have to talk, if you don’t feel like it. We all understand.”

“No!” Suzanne said, taking a gulp of her tea. “I think this is probably good for me. I’ve never discussed my family’s … marriage issues, to anybody. Ever. Not even with my best friend. Not even with my sisters. So thanks, for listening. And not judging.”

“Oh, you are just so welcome,” Ashleigh said, looking around the table for consensus. “Isn’t this awesome? I mean, I feel soooo much better, hearing what you guys have been through. If I didn’t hate the whole idea of paying three hundred dollars an hour to Paula, I would think just being with you all was totally worth it.”

Camryn had her chin propped on her hands. “Yeah. I can’t believe Stackpole is making us pay Paula that much money for the privilege of watching her fall asleep and drool on herself once a week.” She grimaced. “Speaking of sleep, I’ve got to be at the studio at six, to tape an interview with some exercise diva, and if I don’t want to have king-sized bags under my eyes, I better get out of here right now.” She stood, pulled money from her billfold, and placed it on the tabletop.

“Grace, tell Rochelle I said ’bye. See y’all next week!”

Ashleigh yawned widely. “I can’t believe it’s not even ten o’clock and I’m this sleepy. Guess I need to take off, too.” She stood up and slapped her backside. “My new trainer is making me do this really intensive booty camp, starting tomorrow.” She added some bills to the pile on the table. “I’ll just run by and tell Rochelle never mind on the drink,” she added. “I probably don’t need the calories anyway.”

“I hate to ask,” Suzanne said, turning to Grace. “But is it too much trouble for somebody to give me a ride back to Paula’s office?”

“I’d be happy to take you, but the front seat of the pickup is loaded with sacks of bird feed and crap for the park,” Wyatt said apologetically. “Didn’t want the chance of it getting rained on.”

“I can take you,” Grace said. She was painfully aware that that the tote bag at her feet was starting to wriggle, and every once in a while a small brown muzzle would pop out. “Be back in a minute.”

By the time she got back to the table, Suzanne and Rochelle were deep in conversation. Wyatt was standing, looking around, unsure of his next move.

“If you’re going to take Suzanne back to Paula’s office, why don’t you let me ride with you?” He was trying to sound casual, cool even. “It’s not that great a neighborhood.”

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