Body Language

Becky actually liked him, as hard as that was to believe. The woman thought he was charming, handsome and quite intelligent. And of course he was. She also thought he was a vast improvement over Mr. Moody. And of course he was.

It had been hard to dispute that point, but she had tried her damnedest, citing Moody’s experience and wisdom, though she nearly choked on her words as she’d said them.

Ellie couldn’t wait to get home to her new apartment, take a long, leisurely bath, exercise Barnaby, and spend a quiet, relaxing evening by herself. She might even build a fire in the fireplace.

The nights were getting colder now, and she’d been dying to sit in front of a warm, cozy fire with a glass of Chianti and just let the world slip by for a while.

She needed time to get her thoughts together about how she was going to handle the fact that Michael was now her boss.

No. She would not think about him. They were through, finished, done as overcooked steak.

Ellie looked heavenward. “Why me, God? What did I ever do to you? On second thought, don’t answer that!”

Hearing male laughter, she turned to find Mr. Roselli restacking the apples in front of his market and smiled sheepishly. “You talking to yourself again, Ellie?” the portly grocer asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, but I’m not answering myself this time, Mr. Roselli.”

The older man chuckled. “That’s good. I won’t have to call the men in the white coats to come and get you then.”

“How’s Mrs. Roselli? Is her foot still bothering her?”

“She’s got the gout again. It always bothers her.”

“Tell her I said hi.” She waved goodbye and kept on walking the few remaining blocks to her building.

Ellie loved her new neighborhood, comprised of mostly brownstones. The people were friendly, and she was starting to feel like she belonged.

She hadn’t felt that way while living with Brian, hadn’t fit in with the Fifth Avenue crowd, or with Brian’s snooty friends and co-workers.

No way did her income even come close to matching their pretentiousness.

Ellie took the stairs to her second-floor apartment, two at a time, eager to see Barnaby and find the refuge she was seeking. It had been a long, difficult day—one of many to come, she was sure.

As she reached her front door, it opened of its own accord, and she nearly screamed, until she saw who was standing behind it.

Then she nearly fainted.

“Hello, dear.”

“Mom!” She blinked several times, hoping it was just an aberration, an evil specter floating through her overactive imagination.

No such luck.

“What are you doing here? You were supposed to call me.” Two horrible shocks in one day didn’t seem at all fair.

“I know, I know. But things got progressively worse between your father and me after I confronted him about his dalliance, and I just couldn’t stay in that house a moment longer. I hope you don’t mind that I came.”

Of course she minded. What normal adult daughter wouldn’t? But could she say that? NO!

“I thought you were going to talk to Dad, ask him about the e-mails he’s been exchanging with that woman.”

Rosemary walked into the living room, and Ellie was right behind her, giving Barnaby a cursory pat on his head.

Her dog walker, Jen, had come earlier and taken Barn out for his afternoon walk, so Ellie would be spared that chore for the moment, though the bulldog did not look pleased and was giving her his “you traitor” look.

“I spoke to your father about this woman—Michelle. He claims they’re just good friends. I asked why, if that was so, did he write all that disgusting filth and why did he give her diamonds?

“He said the bracelet was a birthday gift, and that the other was just a private joke between them. I knew right away Ted was lying. Your father lied, Ellie. He stood there and lied right to my face.”

“How do you know, Mom? Maybe Dad is telling the truth. He doesn’t usually lie.” And maybe pigs fly, Ellie thought, feeling more depressed by the minute.

Men were such assholes. The thing was—she had never lumped her father into that category. He was supposed to be above all that…that…stupidity.

“Ted has a nervous twitch beneath his right eye when he’s not being truthful. I used to think it was cute when he was trying to surprise me, on those rare occasions when he made the effort. But that damn twitch was moving a mile a minute, like water drops dancing on a hot griddle.

“But aside from that, I just know. I’ve been married to the man for thirty-five years. A wife knows these things. I was just too trusting to realize that something was terribly wrong. I feel so stupid for not knowing what was going on right under my nose.”

“You’re not stupid. How could you know? Dad went out of his way to deceive you.”

Rosemary looked sad, angry and defeated, and Ellie was worried. Her parents had always been close—the perfect couple. Her mother had reveled in that, taken it to heart and believed in it. Having your illusions shattered was difficult to overcome. Ellie knew that firsthand and was the perfect example of someone who’d never really accepted her fate.

She and Michael had been apart for seven years, and still the pain of his betrayal—or change of heart, as he so blithely put it—continued as a gaping wound to her heart that refused to heal.

And if she were truthful with herself, the sight of him had brought all those disturbing memories of their time together to the surface.

“Do you have any wine, dear? I could use a glass right about now.”

Ellie’s musings came to a halt, her eyes widening. Her mother barely touched the communion wine at church service, let alone cocktails. “But you don’t drink. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. It’s time I entered the twenty-first century. Don’t you think? If your father can carry on an affair, I can learn to drink.”

A thousand uh-ohs reverberated in Ellie’s head. Her mother’s new tit-for-tat philosophy was not a good thing.

But Ellie knew all about a woman’s need for revenge.

She fetched the wine, handing her mother a glass and pouring herself one—which she needed more than Rosemary did—then asked the question uppermost on her mind. “Have you thought about how long you’ll be staying? Not that I’m anxious for you to leave or anything,” she added quickly, noting the hurt look flashing across the older woman’s face.

“It’ll be hard for you and Dad to work things out if you’re not at home, is all I meant.”

Sipping her wine, Rosemary tried valiantly not to make a face at the dryness of the Chianti. “I’ll be here indefinitely, Ellie. I have no intention of going back to that worm I used to call husband. Not now, not ever.”

The word indefinitely hit the side of Ellie’s head with the force of a jackhammer.

“Mom, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m very serious. I’ve made up my mind to divorce your father. If Ted wants other women, then he can have them. I no longer care.”

Crisis! Crisis!