Lost Along the Way(87)

“Okay,” Meg said. “What do you want to do? You can’t go back there. I can loan you money if you need it.”

“I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do! That’s the problem. It’s not really about what I want anymore. I know I don’t want to go back, but I can’t keep hiding.”

“You’re not hiding. You’re on vacation from your problems,” Jane said.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Cara asked as she absentmindedly stared out the window.

“What’s crazy?” Jane asked.

“That this is even an issue. On paper it should be easy. I’m in a horrible marriage that makes me miserable, I don’t have any children—I should be able to just pack up and leave. But he’s my husband. I can’t just skip out one day and never go back like some angry teenager running away from her parents.”

“Why not? What do you have there? Clothes? You can buy new clothes. Get a lawyer, file for divorce, and see him in court,” Jane said. “You can send for your stuff.”

“It’s not that simple. I called the bank. We had a joint checking account and he’s transferred almost all of our funds out and into an account he controls. I don’t have any money. I let him put everything in his name.”

“What about the money from the sale of your mom’s house?” Meg asked.

“There wasn’t that much. By the time I paid off the mortgage and the taxes and her medical bills it was almost all gone. I put what little there was left into our joint account and now he has that, too. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You weren’t stupid. Why would anyone think it was a bad idea to have a joint checking account when they got married? You couldn’t have prepared for this and it’s not your fault, but you can do something about it now. I know it won’t be easy, but you can’t go back there,” Jane said, surprised at the wisdom in her words. “I know I’m the last person who should be telling anyone how to move on with her life, but for some reason it’s always easier to give other people advice than to take it yourself.” She paused. “Why is that anyway?”

“My life is completely intertwined with his,” Cara said, ignoring the question. “I mean, look at me! I’m living out of a travel bag. I have a few pairs of jeans and some sweaters. I’m not going to pretend like this is some Underground Railroad stop on my way to freedom. What if there is no freedom? My whole life is with that man, in that house, and I can’t just leave everything behind. My mother’s jewelry is tucked in the top drawer in my bedroom. Every picture I have of her. They’re all there.” She started to sob.

“In the guest room,” Jane pointed out. She was trying to make Cara laugh. It didn’t work.

“Whatever. It’s all there and I’m not going to pretend like it doesn’t mean anything to me. It means everything to me.” Cara was shaking. She wasn’t someone who was beholden to material things. She didn’t care about the cashmere scarves in her closet or the china in the hutch in the dining room. The only things she cared about were the things that reminded her of her mother. They were the only ties to her past and to a time in her life when she felt safe and happy. Those things, and now, thankfully, the women sitting next to her at the table.

“I understand,” Meg said. “I get it, and you’re right. You’ve given up enough for him. There has to be a way for you to get your things back and to get some cash. It’s not like you lived off his income. You sold real estate. You earned that money yourself. He can’t just take it away from you.” She added, “Maybe you should go to the police.”

“I have an idea,” Jane said, which was never a good sign. Cara couldn’t remember a situation that started with one of Jane’s ideas that ever ended well for anyone. “Screw the police. Cara, how badly do you want out of your marriage? Because if you’re serious, I think I know a way.”

“What are you talking about? What are you going to do, hire a hit man? Knock him unconscious and throw him in the Long Island Sound?” Cara asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve had enough bad press. I don’t need to add murder to my résumé. That’s exactly the point, though,” Jane said, the familiar glint of mischief returning to her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about a conversation we had the other day and I’m telling you I have a really good idea. Cara, I want you to get pissed. I want you to figure out where your anger went, and I want you to get it back. No more pity, no more regret, just pure, unadulterated f*ck-you anger.”

“I don’t get it,” Meg said. “And I don’t know if I want to.”

“What’s Reed’s Achilles’ heel? The thing that he worries about most in this world? The correct answer, by the way, should be you, but we know it’s not, so just play along. If you wanted to do something to really back Reed into a corner, what would you do?” Jane asked.

“I don’t know. Ruin his reputation so he’d be exiled from his stupid club? Let the world know that the guy they think is husband of the year is really an *?” Cara answered.

“Bingo,” Jane said.

“And how do you suppose I do that?” Cara scoffed. “Take out an ad in the newspaper?”