Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.
Franklin divorced Hope after a one-year separation. He gave her the six-thousand-square-foot house, the car, and worked out a time-share agreement with her for the house on the Cape. She could use it for the last two weeks in July. Big deal. He continued to pay her living expenses and had given her half the stock he received when he left the investment firm. He paid the taxes, utilities, phone, gas, cable TV and even for bottled water. But he refused to continue her country-club membership, pay her credit card accounts, or for a housekeeper, beauty shop, florist or spa. He paid alimony and child support and told her to figure out how to budget for the first time in her life. He said what he had given her was generous. Given! As though she hadn’t worked her ass off for fourteen years to create the most perfect, flawless home and family for the vice president of finance of a major investment firm!
A year after the divorce he had married Pam, who Bobbi and Trude said was nice. But she convinced herself that nothing had changed. She wouldn’t take the family portraits off the walls, wouldn’t pull up the personalized welcome mat and kept sending out Christmas cards signed, “The Griffins—Franklin, Hope, Bobbi and Trude.” She wrote an annual newsletter that chronicled every family member’s achievements for the year, including Franklin’s. She kept going to her volunteer posts and kept talking as though she and Franklin were still living together, embarrassing the girls and everyone around them. She wouldn’t stop going to the club even though she was no longer a member until one of the managers had to ask her to stop coming unless she came as the guest of a member. She was mortified to realize no one ever invited her. But it didn’t change her thinking.
Nothing would change her thinking, not even the gradual disappearance of all her friends. Her behavior definitely further deteriorated when her daughters went to live with their father. They told her she was crazy. That’s when she let herself and the house go into the tank. She’d gone through all the money from the stock in short order, stunned to realize after it was gone that it had been a few hundred thousand dollars. She stopped going out. She kept running into people like Maxine, who were interested only in confronting her with her divorce. She only cleaned and dressed when the girls were coming home for a weekend, but even then she didn’t do a very good job. Then they started begging to be allowed to skip their weekends with Hope. They claimed the house was a mess. Well, it was hell without help. Hope’s best housekeeping efforts had a rather smeary, lackluster effect that she’d gotten used to. She’d bust her butt if Franklin would even get out of the car when he picked up or delivered the kids, but since he didn’t care, she didn’t care. She had her groceries delivered. She had gained something in the vicinity of eighty pounds. Thirteen pounds a year. Roughly one pound one ounce per month since Franklin left her.
She spent her days and nights on the couch, watching TV and cutting pictures out of catalogs. Earlier on she spent most of her money paying for the useless things she’d bought from the shopping channel; Franklin had bailed her out of credit card disasters twice but on the third time around he refused and her card was canceled so she was reduced to catalog snipping until her monthly check was due. Then she ordered COD. She frequently overordered and had to send packages back.
But all that was going to change now. She was going home. Home to her rich family. Grandma Berkey had piles and piles of money and was older than dirt. She probably wouldn’t last much longer... Hope would finally get her inheritance... Maybe she would move in with Grandma Berkey and start over... Oh, God, she needed to lose some weight! She needed to get her house in shape! She would have to get in touch with the girls and let them know what they were doing this summer.
Somehow, in the fever of all this, she pushed aside the fact that Megan had cancer. Hope’s mother, Josephine, had chronicled all she knew about Megan’s illness and treatments in her regular letters to Hope, but Hope almost never read them. If she did open a letter, she merely scanned it in search of something of importance to her. It had not for one second occurred to Hope that Megan might be spending her last months at Lake Waseka.
Hope dressed in the only clothes that would fit her and began the most thorough job of housecleaning she had done in at least five years. She heaved out so much trash—from papers to cans to dead houseplants—she completely filled the Dumpster at the far end of the alley. She scrubbed, scoured, dusted, washed, wiped, shined, vacuumed and waxed. She laundered and ironed. She phoned in a grocery list that was largely fresh greens and cleaning supplies. She called carpet cleaners and window washers. She wrote checks for those services she couldn’t cover immediately and made appointments to have her hair and nails done. And her legs waxed.
Hope’s house had twelve rooms and even though she had been the only one living there full-time for five years, it took days to snap it into even tolerable shape. She was never going to be a very good housekeeper. She drank a lot of coffee, didn’t eat any sweets and only slept for a few hours each night on the sofa in the den. Then she called Franklin.
“Is this the Franklin Griffin residence?” she asked the woman who answered the phone. She pretended not to know Pam’s voice even after all this time.
“Just a moment, Hope. I’ll get him.”
It annoyed her very much that Pam would take that kind of liberty with her. She grimaced and tapped her freshly manicured finger on the streaked kitchen counter.
“Hello, Hope,” Frank said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Franklin. And yourself?”
“Well, thank you.” He waited. She didn’t speak. “What can I do for you, Hope?”
“Nice to talk to you, too, Franklin.”
“All right, then—”
“Wait! Wait a minute,” she begged. “I’m making some summer plans and I have to discuss the girls’ schedules with you, among other things.”
“Shoot,” he invited.
“Well, my family is opening up the lake house for the summer. We haven’t been back since the judge died,” she explained, which she knew was not the truth at all. Her brow wrinkled. She’d taken him to the lake the summer they got married...1996? It had only been seven years since the family had stopped going there but the years had been very hard on the house. Was that when Franklin first began to doubt that she came from a very rich, prominent family? Was that why he really left her? “It’s been completely refurbished,” she informed him quickly, hoping first that Megan would at least buy some new appliances, and second that her daughters would lie to their father about its condition. “I’d like to take the girls there for six weeks or so this summer. From about the tenth of June to maybe the end of July.”
“No can do, Hope. We’re going to be in New York and the Cape until the middle of July. The girls are expecting you to join them at the Cape and bring them home by the first of August. As usual.”
“Franklin, this is my family!” She stopped herself just short of demanding that he be there with them. Despite what she said to others, she knew Franklin was not inclined to spend any time with his old family.
“Maybe we can work out some compromise, but the girls are going to have a say in this. They don’t have to go with you at all if they don’t want to.”
“Franklin, why do you persist in trying to turn my own daughters against me? Isn’t it enough that you’ve taken them away from me? My own children?”
He sighed into the phone. “We’ve been over this, Hope. They love you very much but they hate this game you play, pretending we’re still married. Not to mention all the other airs you put on.”
“I
