Quickly editing herself, she continued, “I’ll be fine, thank you very much.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Having anticipated that you may be tired, there’s a salad, also a stew in the fridge that only needs warming. I’ll just get your luggage inside and be on my way.”
E.D. waited for him with her shoulder bag and briefcase in hand, wondering what his story was and how long Dylan had entrusted this mystical place to him. On further study she noted that he moved like a man of thirty-five or so, but his weathered features suggested adding some years. Suspecting that as much as he liked it here that life wasn’t a free ride, she appreciated Chris all the more for making this so easy for her—at least as easy as an already humiliated woman could feel at this point.
Minutes later, she stood alone in the cabin. It wasn’t her familiar two-story Tudor with halls full of family photos, hutches of antique crystal, silver and china, some that she could trace back to great-grandparents. Yes, there were antiques, but of a more primitive Mexican design. Interspersed with large leather couches and chairs, they reflected Dylan’s grounded, stable personality well and she could see him everywhere she looked.
Strangely, that left her feeling all the more of a fraud what with her home being predominantly about status and image and less about who she was. Save for her sunroom-breakfast nook, it struck E.D. that the word home had become mostly a lie to her. At least in the nook she could corner the kids long enough to share their experiences and ask about anxieties. It was also where her African violets and orchids caught her attention, getting the water and fertilizer they needed to bloom. She shook her head, realizing she’d have been willing to sacrifice the plants if her kids could have thrived more. The den was well lived in, thanks to the kids’study marathons and movie parties. But except for their bedrooms, the rest of the house was all for appearance—the French provincial dining room, the equally formal parlor. As for Trey’s office, it was known as No Man’s Land to everyone including her, and yet also furnished to give the impression of intellectualism and success. That was the biggest joke considering that all those wooden file cabinets contained were unfinished manuscripts and rejection letters.
As bitterness rose again like bile in her throat, the phone rang.
E.D. glanced around and found the remote on the sofa table. Grabbing it, she saw the caller ID information and smiled. “Yes, I’m here,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“Good. I was beginning to worry.”
Aware she was breathing like a sprinter, E.D. pressed a hand to her heart.
“I made a wrong turn and almost ended up in El Paso.”
Despite the hilly terrain, a baritone chuckle came back clearly over the wireless connection.
“You’d be thirsty and hungry long before you got there.”
No doubt. She dismissed that to communicate her reactions to what he was making available to her. “Oh, my. I’d forgotten how refreshing yet peaceful it was here.”
“Sorry that I didn’t have time to do anything special.”
E.D. supposed he meant flowers. “Your man was here waiting. He’s been very kind—and thorough. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. Now that that’s out of the way, how are you, really?”
Several people had asked her that, but this was the first time that E.D. felt she could dissolve into a puddle upon hearing the question. She had to swallow hard not to embarrass both of them. “Stunned. Worried. Hurt. Getting angrier by the minute.”
“All understandable and probably healthy reactions. I’m particularly supportive of the latter one.”
“Unfortunately, it’s a luxury I can least afford. He may not let me speak to them, but I need to look into who he’s hired to represent her.” He, meaning Trey. Her, meaning her daughter. E.D. knew better than to give out names on yet another open line and suspected from his careful wording that Dylan continued to share her mindset.
“Is there something I can do from this end?” he asked.
Any queries he made would immediately make him vulnerable to public speculation. She had no doubt he could handle that, but could his career at this fragile juncture? “Thank you, but opening your home to me is more than enough.”
There was a slight pause on the line, then he said, “Since it’s obvious you’re not going to rest, I can help you think things through.”
E.D. covered her eyes with her left hand. “It’s humiliating to know you’ve heard what you have. I can’t bring myself to discuss them with you at this point, even if I had all the truth, which I don’t. He won’t talk to me, and he’s cut me off from my own children. Me! I’m the one who can actually help.”
As her voice broke, she compressed her lips and shifted her hand from her eyes to her mouth to help fight back a sob.
For a good while there was only the sound of Dylan breathing on the other end of the connection. Finally, he said with new determination, “There’s a fax machine in my office. Why don’t you go turn it on?”
“Excuse me?”
“You need an attorney willing to do what you’re in no condition to do for yourself. I’m writing down a name and number.”
How did she tell him that her finances were complicated right now, that Trey had locked her out of their checking and savings and had changed the passwords on their money market account? She had funds to secure a divorce attorney, but a top gun to go after the scum that was hurting her child? That was a different matter entirely.
Her silence apparently spoke fathoms to Dylan.
“Let me cover whatever retainers you need.”
She couldn’t believe he would make such an offer, let alone not recognize what a paper trail that would leave. “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, “but I need a minute.”
Without giving him an opportunity to protest, she disconnected, and with her insides roiling for the second time today, E.D. sought and found the bathroom and became physically ill. The day’s events were taking their toll and the only good news was that her stomach was mostly empty, which made her discomfort thankfully short-lived. Unfortunately, after she washed her face and rinsed her mouth, she was left back where she’d started—gruesomely aware of the long journey ahead, a journey full of traps and pitfalls regardless of the route she chose to take. Like her day job didn’t provide plenty of that.
Worried that Dylan would assume the worst and charge over here, she forced herself to key his number. Once again he answered immediately.
“You do know how to keep a guy’s attention. Better now?”
He spoke with a suspicious calmness and E.D. had the strongest urge to go to the window to make sure he wasn’t parked outside. “Ask me in six months…more likely a year.” God have mercy, she thought, please don’t let it all take that long. But it probably would—or longer yet—and Dylan’s failure to contradict her told her that he believed much the same thing.
“The good news is that often cases like your daughter’s have a tendency to settle out of court,” he said at last. “As to the other, let’s hope his attorney will see what prolonging the divorce would do
