Body Language

Which brought to mind her mother’s intention to come and stay with her. Ellie’s stomach soured at the thought.

“That’s great, Becky.” She tried to sound cheerful and upbeat.

“Not really. It’s the house next door to Ben’s parents.”

“Well, at least you’d have a built-in baby-sitter. There’s always that to consider.”

Okay, so finding positives wasn’t all that easy. At least she was trying.

“It wouldn’t be worth it. Ben’s mother thinks she knows everything about running a household and taking care of children. She’d drive me nuts in two seconds. And she’d have Jonah spoiled rotten in less time than that.”

“So tell Ben no. You still have that option, you know. He’s your husband, not your father. And you do have a say in what happens in your marriage; it’s a partnership, remember?”

Becky looked conflicted, which was how the woman went through life, unfortunately. She hadn’t yet learned that you can’t please all of the people all of the time. “But Ben’s so excited about the prospect of having a home of our own, where he can put up a swing set for the baby, and—”

“Listen to yourself. Jonah is ten months old. He’s not going to be using a swing set for a couple more years. In the meantime, you’re stuck with mommy dearest. If I were you, I’d say something to Ben, and soon.”

“I guess you’re right.” But Becky didn’t look at all convinced by Ellie’s argument. “Enough about me,” she said, obviously eager to change the subject. “How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun and exciting?”

Before Ellie could respond, her friend added, a wistful note to her voice, “I miss the single life. Don’t get me wrong. I love Ben and Jonah—they’re my whole life. But I miss going out with the girls and meeting interesting men, shopping till I drop and buying the most outrageous, impractical shoes that I can find.” She sighed. “Now I scour the shelves for the cheapest kind of disposable diapers. Sometimes I think I made a mistake by getting married.”

Uh-oh.

Something sounded rotten in paradise, and she hoped the signal Becky was sending was wrong. She’d read that women often became depressed after childbirth and prayed that Becky’s disillusionment with married life was nothing more than a hormone imbalance.

“The single life’s not that great, Becky, and you know it. We all want what you have.” Sort of. Well, except for the poopy diapers and controlling husband. And that house thing next door to mommy dearest was definitely out.

The unhappy woman shrugged. “I guess. But I bet you did something wildly exciting.”

“Hardly. I was supposed to go out clubbing with my friend, Steffie, but I wasn’t in the mood after my mom called, so I canceled.” She explained the phone call, relating her parents’ present situation. Becky looked suitably horrified.

“My father had an affair with his secretary when I was a teenager. It was a horrible mess.”

“What happened? Did your mother ever forgive him?”

Becky shook her head. “No, she divorced him and still won’t talk to him to this day. It makes the holidays very difficult, not to mention that our wedding was a nightmare. ‘Who’ll give the bride away? Dad number one, or husband number two?’ Dad won out, because I insisted, but not before the War of the Roses Part Two aired.”

“Has your father remarried?”

“When my mother flatly refused to take him back, Dad married the woman with whom he’d had the affair. It lasted less than six months. Apparently living with her wasn’t the same thrill as banging her.”

“If I can’t convince my mother to stay in Florida and work things out with my dad, my life as we know it will be over.”

“Wish I could be more optimistic, but based on my own experience, I’d say it doesn’t look good. The only thing you have going for you is that the affair took place on the Internet and not in person.”

“Well, Mom’s still not one hundred percent sure about that. I haven’t had confirmation as yet.”

“Oy! Parents. I thought we were the ones who were supposed to screw up their lives, not the other way around. They’re older and should know better.”

“True. And we’ve got enough to worry about. Our jobs could be hanging in the balance, our futures left in the hands of some unknown entity.”

Ellie’s computer signaled that she had mail. She hoped it was from her mother, but it wasn’t. It was a summons to appear in the office of the now defunct Herbert Moody.

Normally Ellie felt confident about her position. She was good at her job, and everyone around her knew it. But today for some reason she was filled with unease. The unknown always frightened her.

Mr. Moody might have been a turd, but he was her turd.

ELLIE DID NOT FEEL one iota better after talking about the possibility of her parents divorcing. Becky made it sound like a fait accompli, that there was no hope for her parents whatsoever.

So, as she made her way down the long hallway to what used to be Herbert Moody’s office for her so-called “interview,” she decided that if Rosemary did actually come to visit—please, God, save me!—she would do everything in her power to push for a reconciliation.

It was her duty as a daughter.

It was her duty as a woman who preferred sanity to madness.

It was her duty as—

The door was ajar, and as she stepped into the outer office, butterflies began beating viciously against the lining of her stomach. Placing her hand over it to calm her nerves, she smiled at the white-haired receptionist.

“Hello, Mrs. Greenlaw. How are you?”

“Hello, dear,” the older woman said. “Nice to see you again. It’ll be just a minute.”

Mrs. Greenlaw had worked for Mr. Moody for over thirty-four years and had survived with most of her brain matter and good humor intact, which Ellie thought was nothing short of a miracle.

“And what shall I call our new director, Mrs. Greenlaw? The memo didn’t list a name, which was probably just an oversight.”

“Oh, no, dear. That’s the way the director wanted them sent. Said he didn’t want anyone to form any preconceived opinions before he had a chance to talk to them.”

Thinking that was a strange approach, Ellie’s eyes widened momentarily. Maybe he was someone infamous, like O. J. Simpson, whom everyone knew had killed his wife, but was trying to start anew, anyway. Or that guy they sent to prison for stock fraud before it became fashionable and everyone started doing it.

The buzzer on the secretary’s phone intercom buzzed. “You may go in now, Ellie. Mr….” She got flustered and covered her mouth, then tee-heed about her almost gaffe. “The director is waiting to meet you.”

Pasting on a smile, Ellie smoothed out the skirt of her black wool Ann Taylor suit and pushed open the door.

The tall man in question was standing at the wall of windows with his back to her. The office was dimly lit, made even darker by the lack of sunlight. A light rain had been falling for hours, the sky gunmetal gray, which pretty much matched her mood.

“You asked to see me, Mr.—” She froze, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she zeroed in on the nameplate gracing the desk.

“Deavers.”

“Get sexual satisfaction any way you can.

(The Stones weren’t kidding.)

Buy a good vibrator and stock up on batteries!”

CHAPTER FOUR