The Husband Lesson

He dragged his gaze from the observation panel, and found Rhonda watching him, seeing way too much with her trained psychotherapist gaze.

“Are you going to be able to handle this?” she asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

“One that doesn’t involve abandoning my post and losing my shot to join the Catskill Center?”

She shrugged, and he could tell she was fighting a smile. “We’ll have to figure that part out. I’m curious, though. Does your ex-wife know you’re affiliated with this program?”

“I have no idea. I never see her.” He stopped short. “Correct that. I run into her at the hospital on occasion.”

“Hmm. I just wondered. From what I understood from Chief Sloan, she had to agree to the alternative sentencing. I’m interested to know if she knew you’d be here.”

Interested? There was only thing Charles wanted to know. “What are you planning to do with her?”

“I have no idea until we talk and figure out what she can do.”

“Good luck with that. We didn’t install a tanning bed, so I can’t imagine—”

Rhonda stopped him with a raised hand. “No opinions please. I’m intrigued enough. I’d rather form my own impressions without yours coloring my professionalism. Your ex-wife has been ordered into counseling. I thought it made sense for me to treat her since she’s our trial run with alternative sentencing.”

He nodded, still struggling to pull the pieces together to decide what he was going to do with this. Running into Karan each and every time he walked through the door wasn’t going to work. That much he did know.

“Why is she in court-ordered community service and counseling?” he asked. “What in hell did she do?”

“DUI? DWAI? One of them.” Rhonda twisted around and flipped open the folder on her desk. “Driving while ability impaired.”

“Drugs?”

She shook her head. “Alcohol.”

“That’s about the last thing I would have expected.”

Rhonda waved him off again. “Shh.”

Karan didn’t drink. Never had. When other college students had been getting plowed during rush week, she’d made it her life’s quest to find other ways of unwinding and having fun. Picnics. Boating. Trips into the city for gallery showings.

He remembered how much he’d once liked that about her.

Karan’s dislike of alcohol was deep-rooted, physical and psychological, the result of a low blood sugar condition and an alcoholic mother. Throughout their marriage, she wouldn’t pick up the phone at night without screening the call. She’d never said why, but Charles had known she was avoiding her mother, who normally started drinking after the sun set.

DWAI. That didn’t make sense for the woman he’d known. Then again, he hadn’t known Karan in a long time. He had heard she’d gotten divorced again, which was probably why she was back in Bluestone Mountain. Maybe the divorce had driven her to drink.

Had she cared that much for husband number two?

Charles couldn’t reconcile that with the woman he’d known. Karan didn’t care about anyone but herself. She used men then jettisoned them. Charles had come home from the hospital one day to find a key in an envelope and a storage facility filled with everything he owned. Jack Sloan hadn’t fared much better—only he’d been smart enough not to marry her, so he hadn’t had to retain an attorney and sign papers.

But DWAI? Was it possible, by some miracle, Karan had actually cared for husband number two?

The way she hadn’t cared for him.

“So how does this work in your field, Rhonda?” He did not want to be thinking about Karan, feelings he didn’t know he still had being dredged up without permission. So what if she cared for her second husband? “Do we have conflict of interest?”

With any luck they could get out of this whole alternative sentence thing. Let Jack handle Karan and her grief instead of dumping the problem onto New Hope. Charles had done his time. He’d earned a break from Karan and her drama. For the rest of his life.

“I don’t see conflict, but there’s only one ethical thing to do.” Depressing a button on the intercom, Rhonda said, “Lori, you can show my appointment in now.”

“Damn it.” He couldn’t get away without running into Karan in the outer office.

Rhonda shrugged. “Nothing left to do but deal with her.”

Deal with Karan…wasn’t he supposed to be fishing?

CHAPTER THREE

KARAN FLIPPED PAGE AFTER PAGE of the celebrity magazine, trying to interest herself in the current state of high-profile marriages and who had or hadn’t been invited to the latest A-list playgroup outing. But she couldn’t seem to get past the fact that she was inside the childhood home of the woman who’d managed to get Jack down the aisle.

Frankie Cesarini. Ugh. The very thought of her was enough to make Karan twitch. Fortunately, they’d had only limited contact since Frankie had come back to town.

Of course, Karan could have gotten Jack down the aisle years ago, if she’d wanted to be a cop’s wife. No, thank you. Still, to her knowledge, Jack hadn’t even come close to marriage in all the years since Karan had dumped him. The man obviously had never gotten over losing her. Who could blame him? They’d been so good together. With her by his side, he could have been running for senate himself by now.

What admittedly surprised her was who had finally gotten a ring on his finger—a woman who’d once been the antithesis of everything Karan considered relevant. No family. No money. No friends. No chic whatsoever.

Nowadays Susanna worked for Jack’s new wife and swore the woman resembled nothing of the girl who’d once been nothing more than bad hair and a smart mouth. Karan had trouble believing that and would have dismissed the possibility as nonsense from any other source. But she couldn’t dismiss the reality of this house. Or the fact that she was inside it and would be for another three hundred and fifty-nine hours and forty-six minutes.

From what she understood, the entire structure had been extensively renovated, which meant she couldn’t blame the generic furnishings on Jack’s new wife. The outside wasn’t bad. The house itself was a three-story Victorian with lots of windows and gingerbread trim. Fresh paint, new windows and proper landscaping had only brought out the character. Karan did wonder if there had been conflict involved with the hamlet of Bluestone Mountain purchasing the police chief’s wife’s childhood home.

Wouldn’t surprise her in the least. Also wouldn’t surprise her to learn there hadn’t been a cop in town willing to drag the police chief before a judge. As if that would have done any good with a judge like Wannabe Jenny. She, like the rest of the girls at Ashokan High, had thought the sun rose and set on the former football star.

How could Karan have forgotten how much she hated this town?

A door cracked open and a woman close to her age appeared. “Dr. Camden will see you now if you’ll follow me.”

Only fifteen minutes late. Any other doctor and Karan would have waited closer to an hour, so no complaints here. She cautioned herself to start finding reasons to smile through this nightmare, no matter how small. Guaranteed there would be precious few in the weeks ahead.

Tossing the magazine onto a table, she started her trek into hell bravely, glancing at the woman’s name badge.

“You’re a volunteer,” she said. “Is your job greeting the visitors?” Playing hostess for the duration of her sentence might not be too terrible. She could deal with people.

The woman smiled. “That among other things. Switch board detail and lots of administrative duties for the counselors.”

“I see.” Karan wasn’t interested.

They entered a smaller reception area and the woman went straight to the door marked Director, tapped lightly and pushed it open. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Karan smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved past the woman and into the office, ready to deal with this situation head-on.