We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Brenda Novak
Читать онлайн книгу.
She figured the kids had to reveal in everyday conversation bits and pieces that gave her away, but Terry wasn’t about to make life any easier on her. He wanted her as miserable as possible, and he didn’t seem to care if his children suffered right along with her.
“It’s none of your business how I spend the money,” she said. “I don’t have to account to you. Believe me, it takes every dime and then some to give the kids what they need. It’s not like I’m spending the money on myself.”
“But they don’t have what they need. I don’t want a kid of mine running around in ten-dollar tennis shoes!”
Jaclyn stifled a groan. “That’s great, Terry,” she said. “Then, I have a simple solution. Buy Alex the Nikes and don’t charge me for them. You can buy him whatever you want. Buy him and the girls whole new wardrobes. I won’t stop you, and I won’t take anything back, as long as you don’t deduct it from my child support.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you might have the money to get a new dress and a manicure and go on the hunt for another man.”
“It’s a tragedy that you won’t be generous with your kids for fear I’ll benefit in some way. It’s the same thing with the piano issue. You won’t let me have my piano even though, if I had it, I could teach the children to play.”
He chuckled bitterly. “I bought you that piano, and it cost me thousands. If you want it back, you know where to find it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you don’t like the way things are, you can always change them, Jackie.”
“By coming back?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You sure have a strange way of showing it.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve tried every way. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded, I’ve promised—”
“And drank and philandered and lied…”
“I’m sorry about that, Jackie. How many times do I have to say it? I’m damn sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“For twelve years? What’s changed?”
“I’ve paid my price. You’ve taught me a lesson. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it? Now, come home. I want my kids back.”
That’s what he thought the divorce was about? Revenge? Jaclyn could hardly believe it. What about the trust he’d destroyed, the faith, the love, the family ties? If he didn’t understand by now what losing those things had cost them all, he never would.
“You get your kids whenever you want them,” she said. “I’ve never tried to keep them from you.”
There was a long pause. “I want my wife back,” he said softly. “I still love you, Jackie.”
Jaclyn’s stomach hurt so badly she thought she might throw up. “You and your high-priced lawyers have done everything possible to make my life miserable because you love me? That’s not what I call love, Terry. Neither is how you treated me when we were married.”
He cursed, growing angry again. “The lawyers were your idea, dammit. I’m not taking the blame for that. I never wanted the divorce in the first place.”
Wordlessly, Jaclyn shook her head, feeling the dull throb escalate to a sharp, pounding pain. This conversation was certainly par for the day, but she and Terry had been down this road too many times. She thought about hanging up on him, but she had an issue she wanted to discuss, too, and now was as good a time as any.
“What about the decisions we made concerning the kids?” she asked.
“What decisions?”
“We agreed to make the divorce as easy on them as possible. We were going to speak kindly to and about each other. We weren’t going to place blame. We weren’t going to compete with each other for their affection. I’ve done my part, Terry.”
“And you’re saying I haven’t done mine? What exactly are you accusing me of?”
He knew, but he was playing his favorite role—the innocent, persecuted martyr.
“Every time the kids come home, they seem angry with me, as though they blame me for something,” she said.
“And you think it’s my fault that they’d rather we were a family again?”
“Don’t twist this. Alex told me what you’ve been saying about me.”
Silence.
“How can you tell them the divorce was all my fault?” she asked.
“Who should they blame, Jackie? I had nothing to do with it. I can’t believe you want me to be the bad guy.”
“I don’t think either one of us should have to be the bad guy. That’s the whole idea. We’re supposed to support each other, for their sakes. Don’t you understand, Terry? You’re not doing it for me. When you say bad things about me to them, you make them choose between us. That’s hard on a child. And it’s terribly selfish.”
“Well, you should know about that. You’ve ruined all our lives with this divorce. How selfish is that?”
“What?” Jaclyn’s blood pressure nearly went through the roof. “You’re acting as though I was the one who was unfaithful to you!”
“I was never unfaithful to you, Jackie. Not really. I didn’t care about those other women.”
“And that makes it okay to sleep with them?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for his answer. It wouldn’t make sense to her. It never did. And no amount of arguing would change his mind. He wasn’t going to take any responsibility for the divorce. He’d never had to take responsibility for anything in his life. Why start now?
She hung up and stared at the phone, breathing hard, letting the impotency of her anger drive away her earlier tears.
Come hell or high water, she would not let Terry starve her out. She would find a job, and she would make a success out of her life if it killed her.
Flipping off the stove, she ignored the water that had nearly boiled away to nothing and went back to the paper. She’d check each ad, no matter the column, and she’d apply for everything, whether she was qualified or not. Something had to go her way eventually, didn’t it?
And that was when she saw it—an ad under Real Estate Sales.
Wanted: agent to work out of model homes near Washoe County Golf Course. Must have R.E. license and at least three years’ sales experience. $36,000/year plus commission, full benefits. Call 555-4108.
Thirty-six thousand dollars a year sounded like a fortune to Jaclyn, but the salary wasn’t what caught her interest. Below the ad, in big, fancy script, was the logo of the company that had placed it: Perrini Homes.
THE NEXT DAY, Jaclyn wiped her sweaty palms on a tissue, straightened her linen dress, checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and climbed out of her Mercury Sable, hoping she looked professional, capable, poised. It was early yet, not quite eight o’clock, but finding Cole Perrini’s development had been easier than she’d thought. Blue-and-white flags heralded the entrance, along with a huge sign that announced five new model homes open to public viewing. The golf course was less than a quarter of a mile away.
Wow, she thought, squinting against the rising sun to better see Cole’s houses. They were big and made mostly of brick. Steeply gabled roofs, dormers with black shutters and lots of white-paned windows gave the development a Georgian grace that was definitely unusual for Nevada, but classy. Very classy.
“You’re certainly not sparing any expense, Cole,” she murmured to herself, noting the expansive yards, recently groomed to perfection with brand-new landscaping and white, split-rail