We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Brenda Novak

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СКАЧАТЬ I’ve pleaded, I’ve promised—”

      “And drank and philandered and lied…”

      “I’m sorry about that, Jackie. How many times do I have to say it? I’m damn sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

      “For twelve years? What’s changed?”

      “I’ve paid my price. You’ve taught me a lesson. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it? Now, come home. I want my kids back.”

      That’s what he thought the divorce was about? Revenge? Jaclyn could hardly believe it. What about the trust he’d destroyed, the faith, the love, the family ties? If he didn’t understand by now what losing those things had cost them all, he never would.

      “You get your kids whenever you want them,” she said. “I’ve never tried to keep them from you.”

      There was a long pause. “I want my wife back,” he said softly. “I still love you, Jackie.”

      Jaclyn’s stomach hurt so badly she thought she might throw up. “You and your high-priced lawyers have done everything possible to make my life miserable because you love me? That’s not what I call love, Terry. Neither is how you treated me when we were married.”

      He cursed, growing angry again. “The lawyers were your idea, dammit. I’m not taking the blame for that. I never wanted the divorce in the first place.”

      Wordlessly, Jaclyn shook her head, feeling the dull throb escalate to a sharp, pounding pain. This conversation was certainly par for the day, but she and Terry had been down this road too many times. She thought about hanging up on him, but she had an issue she wanted to discuss, too, and now was as good a time as any.

      “What about the decisions we made concerning the kids?” she asked.

      “What decisions?”

      “We agreed to make the divorce as easy on them as possible. We were going to speak kindly to and about each other. We weren’t going to place blame. We weren’t going to compete with each other for their affection. I’ve done my part, Terry.”

      “And you’re saying I haven’t done mine? What exactly are you accusing me of?”

      He knew, but he was playing his favorite role—the innocent, persecuted martyr.

      “Every time the kids come home, they seem angry with me, as though they blame me for something,” she said.

      “And you think it’s my fault that they’d rather we were a family again?”

      “Don’t twist this. Alex told me what you’ve been saying about me.”

      Silence.

      “How can you tell them the divorce was all my fault?” she asked.

      “Who should they blame, Jackie? I had nothing to do with it. I can’t believe you want me to be the bad guy.”

      “I don’t think either one of us should have to be the bad guy. That’s the whole idea. We’re supposed to support each other, for their sakes. Don’t you understand, Terry? You’re not doing it for me. When you say bad things about me to them, you make them choose between us. That’s hard on a child. And it’s terribly selfish.”

      “Well, you should know about that. You’ve ruined all our lives with this divorce. How selfish is that?”

      “What?” Jaclyn’s blood pressure nearly went through the roof. “You’re acting as though I was the one who was unfaithful to you!”

      “I was never unfaithful to you, Jackie. Not really. I didn’t care about those other women.”

      “And that makes it okay to sleep with them?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for his answer. It wouldn’t make sense to her. It never did. And no amount of arguing would change his mind. He wasn’t going to take any responsibility for the divorce. He’d never had to take responsibility for anything in his life. Why start now?

      She hung up and stared at the phone, breathing hard, letting the impotency of her anger drive away her earlier tears.

      Come hell or high water, she would not let Terry starve her out. She would find a job, and she would make a success out of her life if it killed her.

      Flipping off the stove, she ignored the water that had nearly boiled away to nothing and went back to the paper. She’d check each ad, no matter the column, and she’d apply for everything, whether she was qualified or not. Something had to go her way eventually, didn’t it?

      And that was when she saw it—an ad under Real Estate Sales.

      Wanted: agent to work out of model homes near Washoe County Golf Course. Must have R.E. license and at least three years’ sales experience. $36,000/year plus commission, full benefits. Call 555-4108.

      Thirty-six thousand dollars a year sounded like a fortune to Jaclyn, but the salary wasn’t what caught her interest. Below the ad, in big, fancy script, was the logo of the company that had placed it: Perrini Homes.

      THE NEXT DAY, Jaclyn wiped her sweaty palms on a tissue, straightened her linen dress, checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and climbed out of her Mercury Sable, hoping she looked professional, capable, poised. It was early yet, not quite eight o’clock, but finding Cole Perrini’s development had been easier than she’d thought. Blue-and-white flags heralded the entrance, along with a huge sign that announced five new model homes open to public viewing. The golf course was less than a quarter of a mile away.

      Wow, she thought, squinting against the rising sun to better see Cole’s houses. They were big and made mostly of brick. Steeply gabled roofs, dormers with black shutters and lots of white-paned windows gave the development a Georgian grace that was definitely unusual for Nevada, but classy. Very classy.

      “You’re certainly not sparing any expense, Cole,” she murmured to herself, noting the expansive yards, recently groomed to perfection with brand-new landscaping and white, split-rail fences. She’d driven around the neighborhood when she’d first entered the development, and knew there were at least fifty homes in varying stages of construction on a maze of streets and cul-de-sacs. She suddenly felt foolish for having asked Cole if he was still driving semis. Evidently he’d come a long way since then.

      Her heels clicked on the aggregate walkway that led up to the first home, set apart from the row of models by a fancy stone fence with Oak Ranch Estates by Perrini Homes carved into it. A sign on the house labeled it as the office. Another sign in the window said Closed.

      Jaclyn stood on the front stoop, wishing she could turn around and go home. But she wasn’t about to lose her nerve now. Someone would be coming shortly. If Cole could afford to hire a real-estate agent for thirty-six thousand dollars a year, maybe he could afford a secretary to run errands and type and file for far less than that. Then she could learn the business, get a start and she hoped, become a real-estate agent someday. Showing homes was something she thought she might be good at. At least it was a job with a future.

      A light glowed inside the house, but for all Jaclyn knew it had been on all night. She tucked a strand of fallen hair into the knot at the back of her head, fidgeted with her purse and watched the street for an approaching car. Then she glanced at her watch. Seven-fifty. СКАЧАТЬ