LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

grown up.”

      “They’re fourteen.”

      “Well, they’ve always been closer to you, anyway. They’ll be fine. They’re good kids.”

      “Yes. Good kids who deserve more from their father.”

      “What do you want me to do? Go out and get another job with another investment bank? Return to working twelve-hour days and six-day weeks? End up croaking from a heart attack at fifty like my old man?”

      I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to me. Like he was the intelligent, rational adult while I was the mental equivalent of a temperamental toddler. He was treating me and our marriage like an encumbrance to be gotten rid of in the same way as a bothersome outstanding balance on a mortgage.

      “Don’t you love me anymore?”

      The question just came out. I hadn’t planned to ask it. As I stood there waiting for his answer, I found myself remembering the girls when they were little, scrambling out of the pool after a swimming lesson, wet and shivering, waiting for me to wrap them in a towel.

      Now I was the vulnerable one, waiting for Gary to throw me something. If not a towel, then maybe a facecloth.

      “Lauren.” He sighed. “I’ll always love you. But things are different now.”

      I summoned my courage. “Is Melanie going on your backpacking trip, too?”

      His mouth tightened. “This has nothing to do with Melanie.”

      “So she’s not going?”

      He didn’t say anything.

      Damn him. The bastard.

      “I have an appointment booked with my lawyer this afternoon,” I said. “Where should I have him send the papers?”

      He straightened slowly. “You mean divorce papers?”

      The D-word hung in the air between us. I couldn’t believe I’d found the courage to deliver the ultimatum.

      Please, please, please, I found myself praying to an unknown, unimagined entity. Let Gary realize what I mean to him. What our family means to him.

      But he nodded, as if a divorce had been in his plans all along. Rather than trying to talk me out of legal action, he grabbed paper and pen and wrote down an address.

      Melanie’s no doubt.

      Gary added one more pair of socks to the pack, then closed the flap.

      “That’s it? That’s all you’re taking?”

      “You can sell the rest,” he said, as if all the belongings he’d amassed over the past twenty years—the gold cufflinks, the Cartier watch, the twenty Harry Rosensuits lined up on his side of the closet—meant nothing to him.

      I sank onto the bed. In stunned silence, I let Gary kiss me on the forehead. I watched him sling the backpack over his shoulder, then walk out of our bedroom without a final glance.

      “Don’t forget to write.” Ha-ha.

      I collapsed onto the down comforter and wondered how I was going to tell the girls when they came home from camp.

      CHAPTER 1

      Dovercourt Village, Toronto

       One year later

       I stood back from the moving truck and took a long look at my half of the semidetached house that would be our new home. If it had any redeeming features, I couldn’t see them. The place was old. Tired. Though I’d had the structure inspected and been assured of a dry basement and sound roof, the house looked as if a strong gale would send it toppling. Even the lawn and few scraggly shrubs appeared in need of resuscitation.

      How was I going to make this place a home, a welcome sanctuary from the world for my girls and me?

      The task seemed impossible.

      I felt lost. Ever since Gary had left, I’d been losing little bits of myself. They disappeared along with the people who had once constituted my world: my husband, our mutual friends, my in-laws and even my own parents. None of my relationships had emerged from this divorce intact.

      And now my home was gone, too.

      I sighed as I pulled out the envelope of cash for the mover. He accepted payment, handed me a receipt, then took off.

      I wished I could do the same.

      Toronto was a city of neighborhoods. Where you lived said a lot about you. My previous home in Rosedale had announced that I was part of the Toronto establishment—wealthy, privileged and entitled to the best the city had to offer.

      This house, in this neighborhood, said blue-collar worker, unconnected, struggling to get by.

      Those were hardly labels to aspire to. But a place in Dovercourt Village had been all I could afford within a reasonable distance of my daughters’ private school.

      Unfortunately, Gary and I had never been savers. We’d piled all his salary into our house and our extravagant lifestyle.

      So here I was. Or, more accurately, here we were. The new family unit—me, Devin, Jamie…that was it. Just the three of us now.

      I brushed dust from my hands and headed for the front door. It was original to the house, too, protected by an ugly screen door. I’d have loved to rip the screen off, but maybe we’d need the extra insulation when winter came.

      Inside, the foyer was so small it could hold no more than a couple people at the same time. With just two steps, I reached the stairs that led to the second story. I was heading for my bedroom, when I heard the doorbell.

      Had the mover forgotten something?

      I retraced my steps and opened the door. An attractive, but hard-looking young woman and a little girl stood on the front porch.

      “Hi, I’m Erin Karmeli and this is my kid, Shelley. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She slapped the wall that divided our two houses. “I’m your new neighbor.”

      I supplied her with my name and a smile that, despite my best efforts, must have looked hesitant.

      Six months later, I would look back on this moment, on this first impression, and see Erin in a completely different light. Right now, though, I took in only a tall, thin woman with an improbably large bust displayed to advantage in a bright red tank top. Erin had striking, angular features, and wild, curly dark hair. Add in the miniskirt and high heels and there was no disputing what she looked like.

      Just my luck. I’ve moved next door to a prostitute.

      But there was the child to consider, a little girl about six years old, holding Erin’s hand and gazing curiously down the hall at the stacked cardboard boxes. The girl had neat blond hair, wore clean denim overalls, and smelled—when I crouched to say hello—of toothpaste and sunscreen.

      My mothering instincts approved on all counts.

      “Are you in grade one, Shelley?”

      She nodded, then said, “We made cookies.”

      Erin brushed a hand over the little girl’s shoulder. “That’s right. We did. We thought you might like to take a break and come for some iced tea on our porch.”

      She watched as I brushed my bangs from my forehead. My fingers came away tacky with sweat. No air-conditioning in this house.

      Erin looked sympathetic. “Moving days are a bitch, aren’t they?”

      “Yes. They really are. And I’d love a break. Thanks, that’s very hospitable of you.”

      “So you’ll come?” Erin had a broad smile, not without charm, despite crowded front teeth. “Great. Your kids are welcome, too.”

      “Actually, I’m pretty sure they’re busy.” Devin was organizing CDs in her new room,

Скачать книгу