I’m going to next Tuesday’s game.”
“And I won’t,” she said sweetly. “Now, was that so hard?”
“No,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Goodbye, Michael,” she said and replaced the receiver. Slumping in the chair, she buried her face in her hands. It shocked her to realize how badly she was trembling.
She’d talked to her ex-husband. During their conversation, she’d felt rage, exhilaration and a sense of bitter victory.
What she felt now was despair.
Chapter Eight
KAREN CURTIS
“The worst part of success is to try finding someone who is happy for you.”
—Bette Midler
This lunch was destined to be even worse than Karen had imagined. As she stood in the foyer of the yacht club restaurant, she saw her mother pull up to the valet attendant and step out of her Lexus. Catherine Curtis wore a pastel-blue linen dress with a huge wide-brimmed matching hat and white gloves. Victoria looked like her twin, only she had on a tailored blue suit with a white collar. Apparently, three-year-old Bryce was spending the day with his father. Karen was disappointed; she’d looked forward to seeing her nephew. It went without saying that her mother and sister weren’t going to approve of her jean overalls from Old Navy.
“Hi, Mom,” Karen said, standing when they entered the yacht club.
Her mother’s expression spoke volumes. “Karen.” She leaned forward and presented her cheek for Karen to kiss.
“You’re early,” was her sister’s sole greeting.
“My car’s on the fritz, so I took the bus.” Actually, Karen had made a day of it, shopping in Willow Grove that morning, then catching the bus out to the marina. She’d read the current Vanity Fair during the forty-minute ride, which had been relaxing and enjoyable, calming her before the inevitable confrontation.
Her mother and Victoria exchanged glances.
“Don’t worry,” Karen said in a stage whisper. “No one saw me get off the bus. Certainly no one who’d connect me with the two of you.”
“Shall we have the hostess seat us,” her mother said, ignoring the comment.
“Yes, let’s,” her sister piped in with phony enthusiasm. The two headed in the direction of the restaurant, leaving Karen to trail behind. The temptation to slip away was almost overwhelming, but the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. So, like an obedient child, she followed them.
The hostess directed them to a window table and handed them menus before she left. Karen sat across from her mother and sister and gazed out at the marina for several minutes. The water sparkled in the January sun, and boats of every size lined the long dock. Everything from the simplest sailboat to yachts with price tags that ran into the millions.
“What looks good to you?” Victoria asked Catherine. Karen observed, not for the first time, that Victoria rarely made a decision without consulting their mother.
“The crab and shrimp quesadillas, perhaps. With a small avocado salad.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Victoria said, closing her menu. “What about you?” she asked Karen.
“I’ll have the crab Louis.”
“Excellent idea,” Catherine said approvingly.
At least Karen had enough ordering savvy to please her mother.
Catherine set aside her menu and focused her attention on Victoria. “How’s Roger?”
Karen frowned. She’d hoped all conversation regarding the twit would be over by now. They’d probably spent the entire drive out to the club admiring Roger and then discussing Karen—her lack of direction, her fanciful dreams, her multiple shortcomings.
Victoria smiled benignly at her mother. “Busy, as always.”
Wishing now that she’d taken the time to change out of her jean overalls and into her new skirt, Karen leaned sideways, searching for the shopping bag. She’d purchased the skirt in a close-out sale, so the price was affordable. It would be the perfect thing to wear on the days she subbed for the school district; in fact, it was the most respectable thing she’d bought in years. She could hurry into the ladies’ room and make a quick change. That way, she’d definitely gain a few points with her mother. Easy points.
Pretending to be enthralled by the witless conversation taking place, Karen edged the shopping bag closer with her foot. She reached for it without success, so she had no option but to lean down, peek under the table and grab it.
All at once her mother turned and glared at her accusingly. “What exactly are you doing?” she demanded.
Caught in the act, Karen flashed a brilliant smile. “What do you mean?”
“You’re squirming around like a two-year-old in church.”
“Oh,” she said innocently. “I was getting my bag.”
“Your bag? Whatever for?”
“I thought I’d change into my new skirt.”
Her mother nearly leapt out of her seat, then regained control. Tight-lipped, she spoke in a slow, stiff voice. “This is neither the time nor the place for you to be changing your clothes.”
“I intended to put it on in the ladies’ room,” Karen told her.
“At the Yacht Club? Karen, do I need explain that the facilities here are not dressing rooms?”
“Mom, don’t get all worked up. I should’ve changed earlier. I meant to…” She hadn’t, but then how could she know that her mother and sister would arrive looking like they expected to have lunch with the Queen of England?
“Please.” Her mother was breathing hard. “Don’t embarrass me any further.”
“Embarrass you?” Karen asked in a puzzled voice. She’d had good intentions, and for her efforts she was rewarded with a hard, cutting look.
“Shall we order?” Victoria said, her voice slightly raised as the waitress approached the table.
Both her mother and sister ordered the shrimp and crab quesadillas, plus avocado salads as planned, and Karen asked for the crab Louis. As soon as the waitress left, the three went quiet.
Victoria was the first to speak, asking Catherine about her bridge club. It wasn’t long before the two of them were involved in a meandering conversation about people who were of little or no interest to Karen.
She tried to comment once, but was cut off when their lunch arrived. The discussion continued with Karen feeling more and more out of place. It was just as bad as she’d feared. Worse.
Suddenly her mother turned her attention entirely on Karen. “You haven’t contributed to the
