she’d never outright lied to him. What had that storm blown in yesterday?
Chapter 7
Elizabeth sat in the solitude of her ultramodern kitchen. The black-and-white space was equipped with every tool to make even the most resistant cook want to try their hand at being a chef. Cooking was Elizabeth’s passion. She so enjoyed the looks of delight on her family and friends’ faces when she’d present them with a new creation.
She’d transferred her culinary love to her twin daughters, Dawne and Desiree, who ran a small health-food café and grill in the West Village. They did all of the cooking themselves and enjoyed it, and from the booming business they did, so did their customers.
Elizabeth looked around. Her entire home was a showplace. She took pride in creating a special feel and tone to the four-bedroom brownstone. She’d spend hours scouring catalogs or hunting through out-of-the-way shops for the perfect pillow, throw rug, handmade sculpture, quilt or piece of art. Her family and her home were all she had. It was who she was.
Her throat muscles clenched as a single tear slid down her cheek. She thought she had no more tears to shed. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was raw.
Matthew hadn’t even bothered to come home last night, and if he did, she’d been too drunk to notice, and he was long gone by the time she woke up. Just as well.
What was she going to tell her daughters, that she was a failure, another woman who couldn’t hold on to her husband?
Damn you, Matthew! She hurled a mug across the room. The sound of it crashing against the opaque-colored stucco wall was equal to a sonic boom inside her head. She covered her face with her hands and wept.
The ringing front doorbell penetrated her sobs. Through bleary eyes she looked up, confused. It rang again. Her head pounded. She pushed herself up from the chair and went to the front door. It was probably the UPS delivery she was expecting.
“Just leave it,” she croaked through the door. She’d hate for Jeff, her regular delivery guy, to see her in such a mess. The thought of how bad she must look sent her off on another crying jag.
“Ellie, it’s me, Barbara. Open the door.”
“Go away, Barbara.”
“Elizabeth, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to call the police and tell them I smell gas. You know I will.” She waited, determined.
If there was one thing everyone knew about Barbara Allen it was that she was good at her word. The last thing she needed today was to have the police breaking down her door. Elizabeth wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her robe then reluctantly unlocked the door.
Barbara stopped in shock at the disheveled look of Elizabeth. “What in the devil happened to you?”
Elizabeth ignored the question, turned and walked back into the kitchen. Barbara closed and locked the door then followed Elizabeth inside.
“Ell, what’s going on? You look awful.” She put her purse on the kitchen table. “Did something else happen with…you know who?” She was still mindful of not mentioning the unmentionable one’s name.
Ellie shook her head, her wild and matted hair swinging around her face like an old beat-up mop. “Isn’t being served with divorce papers after twenty-five years enough?” she snapped.
Barbara took the verbal assault in stride. She sat down and waited for Elizabeth to talk. She’d sit there with her friend all day if need be. She reached across the table and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own.
“Ell,” she said gently, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it will be all right. It’s going to hurt like hell, but you will get through it.”
Elizabeth looked at Barbara through swollen, red eyes. “How, Barb? How am I going to make it without him? He and the girls are my whole life. The girls are out on their own.” She slowly shook her head, still in disbelief. “I…thought that now it would be time for me and Matt. Do all the things we didn’t get a chance to do.” Her voice cracked, the pain so intense that it hurt Barbara’s heart. She could kill Matt with her bare hands for doing this to Ellie. She held Elizabeth’s hand tighter, letting her get it all out.
“I’ve never been anything but a wife and mother.” She blinked hard and lost fighting back the tears. “What am I going to do? I’ve never even had to work since college. Matthew took care of me. Oh, God.” She covered her face and broke down, her shoulders shuddering and shaking with the force of her sobs.
Barbara came around the table, dragging her chair with her. She snatched Elizabeth’s hands away from her face and stared into her eyes.
“Now, you listen to me. Snap the hell out of it. If Matthew doesn’t have the good sense God gave him, then you are better off without him. Period. No, you didn’t deserve to be hurt like this, but it happened. Happens every damn day of the week and it’ll keep happening. Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself. If you do then he’s won, plain and simple.”
“But—”
Barbara held up her hand. “No buts. This is an ugly blessing in disguise. A time for you to take charge of your own life for a change instead of being the extension of everyone else’s.”
“You don’t understand, I—”
“Yes, I do understand. You’re hurt and scared and angry. But you can’t let those emotions paralyze you into inaction.”
Elizabeth started to protest.
Barbara stood and pulled Elizabeth to her feet. “First things first. Take a shower, comb your hair, put on some makeup and get dressed. We have work to do.”
Chapter 8
Barbara hadn’t felt this good about something in a very long time, she thought as she waited for Elizabeth to return. She felt energized and it was just the thing to get each of them out of the slump they’d fallen into. They’d be so busy they wouldn’t have the time to dwell on what ailed them. And it would give her the time and space she needed to think clearly about her and Michael and the invisible line they’d crossed.
Michael had called earlier in the day. He’d wanted to see her. Against her better judgment she’d told him he could stop by for a little while and she’d prepare brunch.
When she opened the door for him and saw him smile at her as if he’d gotten the greatest gift of his life, she kicked her inhibitions to the side. If only for one night, as dearly departed Luther would say. But in her case, if only for one afternoon.
“Come on in. I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable.” How she was able to speak as calmly as she did was a mystery to her, especially with her heart pounding at an alarming rate, her stomach in an uproar and her knees about as weak as a newborn’s.
“Let me help. After all, I did kind of bully my way over here.” He chuckled. “It’s the least I can do.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Come on.”
He followed her into the kitchen. “Wow, what a spread.”
She’d
