she chided. “Nobody else is thinking about being fair. Life isn’t fair. The world isn’t fair,” she insisted heatedly. “Why should you be so concerned about always being fair?”
Something was up, Stacey thought, studying her friend. Kathy sounded way too bitter. “It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it. Besides, I’m not nearly as pessimistic as you.”
“Don’t see why not.” Kathy took another long sip through her straw. “You’re married, too.”
Stacey debated asking what was wrong or waiting until whatever was bothering Kathy came pouring out of her. “Marriage is not the end of the dream, Kathy.”
“It certainly isn’t the beginning of it.”
Stacey turned in her chair, her eyes following Kathy as the latter moved around the office. Were those tears shimmering in her eyes, or just a trick played by the lighting? “You seem unusually bitter this morning.”
“Thanks for noticing.” After dragging the last bit of coffee down her throat, Kathy crushed her cup before throwing it into the trash with enough force to slam dunk a basketball in a championship game. “Ethan wants a divorce.”
Stacey looked at the calendar on the side of her desk. “It’s the middle of the month. Doesn’t he usually ask for a divorce around now? You get the end of the month, he gets the middle. You both realize you can’t live without each other around the first?”
Her words didn’t evoke a smile from Kathy the way they usually did. “This time, I think he’s serious.”
On her feet, Stacey drew closer to her. Her voice was soft, compassionate. “Why?”
Kathy raised her head, shaking it a little like a kewpie doll about to stonewall anyone offering the slightest bit of sympathy. Her eyes were even brighter with tears.
“Because he didn’t shout it. He just said it. Quietly. Like he’d been thinking about it and just said it out loud to see how it sounded.”
Stacey slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Do you want to divorce him?”
This time, the tears became a reality. “Of course I don’t. I’m forty-eight years old,” she snapped, pulling away. Wishing she had something to punch that wouldn’t hurt her knuckles. Like Ethan’s soft midsection. “I don’t want to have to start over again with someone else.”
“There has to be a better reason to stay in a marriage than that,” Stacey told her kindly. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard Kathy bandying the word divorce about. But before, it was Kathy who was vocal about leaving Ethan.
“Maybe.” She brushed the back of her hand against her damp cheek. There was a smudge of mascara across the skin. She murmured a curse. She was going to look like a bat and it was all Ethan’s fault. “But that’s all I got.”
Stacey didn’t believe it for a minute. Taking her best friend by the shoulders, she forced Kathy to look at her. “And you don’t love him?”
Kathy tossed her head. “What’s love got to do with it?”
“Everything, Tina Turner.” Stacey laughed. “Everything.”
Kathy went on the offensive—or thought she did. “After all this time, you still love Brad.”
There wasn’t a single moment’s hesitation on her part. “Yes.”
“Even though living with him is like being stuck in a reenactment of Where’s Waldo?”
It was second nature for Stacey to defend her own, no matter what she felt to the contrary. “I see him more often than that.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Stacey, the woman you’ve poured your heart out to.”
Stacey laughed softly to herself. Served her right for talking. “My bad.”
Kathy looked at her, confused. “What?”
She’d forgotten. Kathy and Ethan had three dogs and no children. Popular slang bypassed them all the time. “Something Jim says. It means my mistake. My error.”
“The error,” Kathy said with feeling, “is that God didn’t make disposable men. You know, like disposable cameras. You get what you want out of them, then throw them away.” The thought really pleased her as she rolled it around in her head, picturing Ethan in a giant wastepaper basket. “Kind of like the Amazons. Those Amazons, boy, they had the right idea when it came to men. You fool around with them, and then you kill them. Neat, clean. No muss, no fuss.”
Stacey smiled. She knew Kathy inside and out. Knew what was behind this display of anger. Coming up behind her, she whispered in her friend’s ear. “He doesn’t want a divorce, Kathy.”
Kathy gave up the ruse. Turning, she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, God, I hope not.”
“Why don’t you go home early today?” she suggested. Granted, this was Monday, which was always busy, but this was an emergency. She could cover for Kathy as long as no one wanted her to give a shot. Besides, there were two other nurses to take up the slack, provided there was any. “Make something special for dinner, put on something sexy, lower the lights—”
A self-deprecating snort escaped her lips. “The way I cook, I’ll have to lower the lights so he doesn’t see what he’s eating.”
“Then bring home takeout and warm it up. The meal isn’t the main thing. You are.” Stacey squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right.”
Kathy raised her chin a little, half hopeful, half pugnacious. “Thanks, Dear Abby.” And then her smile softened. “I hope you’re right,” she all but whispered.
Me, too, Stacey thought. Me, too.
“I’ve got to get back to this before the patients start coming,” she said, sitting down at her desk.
The front door opened and a child was heard wailing.
“Too late,” Kathy announced.
The words sounded more like a prophesy.
Stacey held back a shiver. God, I hope not.
CHAPTER 4
She wasn’t going to tell him.
As the weekend inched closer to reality, Stacey swore to herself that this time, she wasn’t going to tell Brad that their anniversary was coming up. Wasn’t going to spend her time dropping broad hints that even a cerebrally challenged person to whom English was a completely foreign language could pick up on. She’d done that once or twice before, but not this time. This time Brad was on his own when it came to remembering their anniversary.
She was still arguing with herself when Friday finally arrived, settled in and drifted into afternoon. The argument continued as she drove home that evening. She had a lot of time for it. MacArthur Boulevard had turned into a pricey parking lot with cars lodged nose to bumper.
A new element had entered her mental tug-of-war. The very real
