311 Pelican Court (Cedar Cove #3)(14)

The garage door was closed and Rosie frowned when it opened and she saw Zach’s new vehicle parked in her spot. What was that about? Getting out of the car, she slammed the door. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with him, especially after the day she’d just had.

She hesitated at the door, wondering if she should knock, then decided this was her house as much as his. Without bothering to announce her arrival, she barreled into the kitchen from the door off the garage.

Sure enough, Zach was in her kitchen wearing a ridiculous-looking apron. Both kids were with him, which irritated her further. Eddie sat at the table doing his homework, and Allison was standing at the sink peeling potatoes. This was a sight she could hardly believe, especially since the kids seemed to be performing these tasks willingly.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“What do you mean?” Zach asked, glancing up. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. His hands were buried wrist-deep in a blue ceramic bowl full of what looked like hamburger and cracker crumbs. Ah, now she understood. This was his pitiful attempt at meat loaf. A year ago they’d had a big fight over her not serving him a three-course meal every night when he came home from the office. He seemed to think she had nothing to do all day but hang around the house and watch soap operas and trashy talk shows.

“Meat loaf?” she asked, making no effort to disguise her sneer.

“It’s my night with the kids,” Zach said. His hands froze as he glared malevolently at her.

The hell it was. “I don’t think so.” Rosie wasn’t backing down. It was bad enough having Zach in her house. She hated every minute of this switching back and forth. She’d memorized the schedule: she was with the children every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Zach was at the house Thursday, Friday and Saturdays, plus holidays. She’d felt triumphant about getting that extra day, but she’d had to give up the major holidays for it. The trade-off didn’t seem fair, but it was the best deal Sharon Castor had been able to get her.

“Monday was a holiday,” Zach reminded her.

Crossing her arms, Rosie gave him a slow, sardonic smile. “So?”

“Monday was Labor Day.”

“Dad has the holidays, Mom. Remember? So he’s supposed to get an extra day this week.”

Leave it to Allison to side with her father. Rosie frowned at her daughter. She’d asked her a thousand times to peel potatoes for dinner. In response Allison always gave her the beleaguered look of an overworked galley slave. But let her father ask…

“We decided last month that instead of me coming here on the less important holidays, we’d simply tack a day onto my usual week.”

“We did?” She vaguely remembered some discussion having to do with Labor Day, but it had slipped her mind with all the craziness that surrounded her first day of school. The situation would be the same for Columbus Day the following month, she realized.

“Do you want my attorney to mail you the paperwork—complete with your signature?” Zach asked.

“There’s no need to get sarcastic with me,” she replied.

Eddie slammed his book closed and covered both ears. “Stop it!” he screamed. “Just stop it.”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Rosie flared, placing her arm protectively around her son’s shoulders. Eddie had always been a sensitive child.

Zach’s gaze bored holes into her. “This is my time with my children,” he said, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

Rosie opened her mouth, intent on arguing, but he was right. She was the one who’d made the mistake.

“Fine,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which at this point was very little. She sent her son and daughter a reassuring smile, then walked out of the house.

Tears burned just below the surface as she climbed back inside the Explorer. This wouldn’t happen again; she’d make sure of it. From here on out, she’d have the days clearly marked on the calendar so there wouldn’t be a repeat of this dreadful scene.

The apartment she shared with Zach was less than a mile away from the house. She pulled into the assigned parking slot and turned off the engine. The neighborhood wasn’t as good, but the rent was reasonable.

Everything inside the apartment was neatly divided. She had her own shelf in the refrigerator and Zach had his. She kept her personal items locked inside one bedroom, and his were locked in the other—not that she cared what he did or didn’t have.

The apartment was hot and, unlike the house, lacked air-conditioning. Rosie turned on the television for noise and then took two aspirin and plunked down in front of the television set. The news was on, but she had no interest in world events. It was all she could do to deal with what was happening in her own life.

She must have fallen asleep because the phone woke her. Startled, she leaped off the couch and raced into the kitchen.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, not sounding anything like her normal self.

The person on the other end of the line hesitated. “I think I have the wrong number,” the woman said softly.

Rosie would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Janice Lamond, the home-wrecker who’d stolen her husband. The woman who’d carefully planned to ruin Rosie’s life. She seethed with anger and resentment.