it was curiously fun. Like live TV for divorcées. When the man paused, raising his hand to wipe his brow, Elaine felt her body flush with a tingly sense of familiarity as she saw his strong neck and clean jaw, a nose with handsome character and—
Oh, dear Lord. That was no ordinary afternoon fantasy trimming her grass, it was—
Mitchell Ryder, Esquire. Chocolate cherry ice cream splattered the window in a fine spray as she choked.
She could only stare, surprised to the point of confusion. It couldn’t be, she thought as he lowered his hand, arched his back in a stretch and looked right at the door.
She didn’t pause to think. With a sharp “Yipe!” Elaine ducked below the level of the smeary window, her back to the door, knees tucked up, Ben & Jerry’s carton clutched against her.
“Calm down,” she whispered to herself. “Calm down.” Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. That was Mitch Ryder, all right, über divorce lawyer, the man known in legal circles—and to anyone he wasn’t representing—as “The Eel.” His reputation for calm, emotionless litigation made him a favorite among judges, a real lawyer’s lawyer. The last time Elaine had seen him he’d been about to make partner in the same firm her ex-husband belonged to.
No, wait a minute. That wasn’t the last time she’d seen him.
Elaine shook her head. Silly her. She had seen Mitch Ryder again in divorce court when he had represented her husband, and managed to make her own hundred-and-fifty-dollar-an-hour attorney look like a very expensive prelaw intern!
It had been so humiliating to have her marriage dissected by someone with whom she’d once shared aperitifs.
Mitch had been to her house several times for cocktail parties and business dinners. What she remembered was that he’d arrived promptly, left early and always thanked her personally as he did so. The year she and Kevin hosted a madrigal-themed Christmas brunch, Mitch had come to the kitchen, where Elaine had been sponging spilled mead off her Italian tiled floor. Wordlessly he had grabbed a towel and bent down to help, literally waving away her protests. Crouched near him on the ceramic tile, their knees almost touching, she’d felt her face flame.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked when the floor was cleaned.
Elaine released a little puff of inappropriately breathy laughter as she reached for his wet towel. “Wh-what? Wiping spills?”
“Inviting people in.” He held on to the dish towel, surprising her, until she looked up at him. “You have a gift for making people feel comfortable, Elaine.”
Really? That was exactly what she liked to do. And he had a gift for making women feel like he truly saw them. His golden-brown eyes never wandered when he spoke.
Elaine knew she absolutely should not have felt that frisson of awareness when he said her name, and she certainly wished she could forget it now. Unfortunately the memory popped to mind to torment her at the most inopportune times. She’d remembered it vividly, for example, the day Ryder had informed the judge that her husband had fallen out of love years ago, but hadn’t wanted to “hurt” her.
Bastard, Elaine had thought at the time, fairly certain she ought to have meant her husband, but actually referring to Mitch. There had been times during the divorce proceedings when he’d turned to her and she could have sworn she’d seen regret in his eyes. Or maybe it had been pity. The emotion had been little more than a flash, in any case. Most of the time, he’d seemed devoid of feeling, even toward his own client.
To Elaine, though, every word uttered in that courtroom had felt deeply, agonizingly personal. God, she’d hated everything about the divorce. She’d felt drained, pummeled every single day. And, finally, she’d felt that most frightening of feelings: dead indifference.
That’s when she had given up, told her lawyer at the lunch break to ask for half the proceeds from the sale of her and Kevin’s home and to let the rest go. No alimony. He could keep the expensive antiques and the vacation home, the bonds and the stock portfolio. Half of everything should have been hers, but she didn’t care anymore. It cost too much to fight.
Her attorney had been violently opposed, of course, but Elaine hadn’t budged. The day it was all over, she’d walked to a city park near the court building and perched stiffly on a wrought iron bench. Wrapped in a winter coat, numb to the wind chafing her skin, she’d sat and stared at a fountain for who knows how long, until a young couple claimed the bench opposite hers….
In their early twenties, dewy even in frigid December, their giggles were at once intimate yet somehow universal. With the sack lunches they’d brought discarded beside them, they snuggled and kissed, pausing now and again to stare at their own clasped hands as if they had never seen such a romantic sight.
Watching them, Elaine felt her chest squeeze and her throat start to close, and she realized it had been years since she’d known what it was like not merely to be young, but to feel that way. To feel fresh and ripe with plans and giddily, incautiously in love.
Swallowing the grief that surged to her throat, Elaine rose from the bench, turned to walk away and found herself locking gazes with Mitchell Ryder. He stood fifty feet ahead of her, carrying his briefcase. Wearing a wool trench coat, he looked like he belonged in a window seat at Higgins Restaurant, not standing in line at a two-dollar-a-piece Polish dog stand. He stared at her with the same steady intensity with which she’d gazed at the lovers, and Elaine knew instantly he’d been watching her the whole time. The expression in his eyes was different from any she had seen there before. Mitchell “The Eel” Ryder was looking at her with what could only be called compassion.
Embarrassment threatened to drown her. She walked away, moving quickly along the crowded city block, but her wobbly legs wanted to give out. When the Heathman Hotel appeared on her left, she darted in, heading immediately for the bar.
Normally a white wine spritzer gal with a one-drink limit, Elaine sat down and ordered a brandy. She didn’t even bother to take off her coat. At this moment she thought she might never feel warm again.
Her drink hadn’t even been served yet when Mitch Ryder slipped onto the bar stool next to her. He said nothing for several moments, didn’t glance her way, merely called for an expensive scotch and waited for it to arrive. Then still without looking at her, he said in a hushed tone, “Why did you give up? You could have held out for more than you got. A lot more. Your lawyer should have made you see it through.”
He sounded angry, which Elaine thought was a little ironic, considering.
Brandy snifter cupped between her cold palms, she drank quickly, too quickly, but the brandy burned a path to her stomach that at least served the purpose of making her feel warm. She sat, trying not to cough, focusing instead on the heat. After a moment, the drink gave her a pleasantly light-headed feeling, and fortified, she answered, “I don’t want to ‘see the divorce through.’ I wanted to see my marriage through. And I don’t want more money. I just want it to be over.”
In the silence that ensued, Elaine finished her drink, but instead of getting up to leave, which had been her plan, she ordered another. She had a question for Mr. Ryder, too, and it burned like the brandy. “Why did you represent Kevin?”
A muscle jumped in Mitch’s jaw. Beneath the dulcet music and soft murmur in the Heathman’s classic lounge, he answered, “It wasn’t personal. It was business.”
It was an awful answer, and she said so. Her husband had cheated on
