My One and Only(74)

“Well, kindly tell him I’ll be back in another day or two, remind him that I must have at least two months of vacation accrued and let him know I’m working when I can…my schedule’s pretty light this week, anyway. How are you?”

“I’m great!”

Oh, dear. He sounded sincere. My doom-o-meter fired into the red zone. “Great?”

There was a meaty pause. “Meggie and I are back together!” he said joyfully. Oh, crotch.

“We talked the other day, and it was just like old times, Harper. I mean, it was great! And she’s really sorry and stuff and she wants to move back in!”

I took a breath, held it, then proceeded with caution. “Tommy.”

“Isn’t that great, Harper?”

“Um…Tom. Couple things. Counseling immediately, okay? And don’t—do not—put your money back into the joint account. Promise?”

“Why?” he asked. “I mean, we’re really past the bad stuff.”

“You already did, didn’t you?” Visions of LOL Kitty Man (and every other naive spouse I’d dealt with) danced in my head. “Okay. Get to the bank and put everything in an account with only your name. Okay? Just trust me on this one.” My phone beeped, signaling the end was near for my battery (and Tom’s marriage).

Tommy didn’t answer for a second, and when he did, his tone was decidedly frosty. “Look, I know it’s your job to be cynical,” he began. “But Meggie and I, we love each other.”

“Well, that’s…interesting,” I sighed.

“And I’m capable of forgiveness. I ran into Dennis, by the way. He told me you guys broke up. Sorry, boss. So I understand if you’re feeling a little…down on love these days.”

“Down on love? Tommy, I’m not down on love, I’m the voice of experience. If she moves back in with you, her claim on the house will be stronger. And that house has been in your family for how long? I’m not saying it won’t work, buddy—” but it wouldn’t “—I’m just saying to take things slowly here.” Because Meggie will clean you out faster than a cat can lick its ass, I thought, borrowing one of BeverLee’s favorite phrases.

“Gotta run, Harper. Is there anything else?”

I took a breath. “Yes, please. Reschedule Joe Starling, tell him I’m sorry, make it for Tuesday, okay?” Beep.

“Want me to send you the depo notes for the Mullens? You have Wi-Fi, right?”

I paused. “Sure…actually, no. I’m in the middle of nowhere right now. That can wait till I’m back. Oh, and would you send Carol some flowers for me? Have the card say ‘Sorry you work for such a pain in the ass, love Harper.’ Okay?”

“Sure, boss,” he said, chipper once more. “Have a great trip home. Gotta go, Meggie’s on the other line.”

I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Well, this sucked. Tommy would be out his life savings any minute now, not to mention a claim for half the value of the house built by his great-great-grandfather. Once again, he’d have his heart stomped on by Meggie and her trashy shoes.

Tom was the poster child for why divorce could be a good thing. My father and Bev…that was another story. BeverLee loved him, even if she viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Granted, her endless chatter could match a Republican filibuster, and her unique blend of Cinnabar, Virginia Slims and Jhirmack could cause black lung, but BeverLee…she was okay.

I sighed and got up to switch my laundry. The mother and daughter were folding their laundry at the wide counter. The mom passed the little girl dishcloths and hand towels, praising her for being such a good helper, and the little girl smiled smugly, as if well aware of her prowess at laundry. They talked amiably about the girl’s upcoming birthday party and how important it was to thank everyone for coming.

I guess I was staring, because the mother caught my eye. She gave me the smile of a woman content with her life, aware of her child’s wonderfulness, rock solid in her devotion.

I’d always thought my mother felt those things, too.

When Nick arrived later that afternoon, Coco and I were the only ones in the Laundromat, the mother and daughter having left an hour before. He smiled as he pulled up in front of BubbleNSqueak. “Yo, Harper, get in the car, woman,” he called, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.

“The mating call of the Brooklyn male,” I grumbled, but my laundry was already folded and stowed in my suitcase, so I hefted my bag into the trunk and got in the passenger seat. Coco curled up in my arms, resting her teensy head on my collarbone. “Where now, chief?” I asked. “Back to the thrill of the open road?”

“Actually, no. Can Minneapolis wait till tomorrow?”

“Another meeting?” I said, a twinge of irritation flashing. Should’ve bought the damn plane ticket.

“Nope.” He gestured to the backseat. “A picnic.”

“Oh.”

Nick and I had never been on a picnic together. I remembered that one time we’d tried, the ill-fated chicken salad, the fight that marked the beginning of our end.

“Is that okay?” Nick asked, and looking up at him, I saw that he remembered, too.

“That’s great,” I said, clearing my throat.

Half an hour later, we were down by the Missouri River, looking at some rather odd, cut-out statues of Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea as they pointed to a parking lot…or the river, more likely. Nick pulled a blanket out of the trunk and grabbed the cooler that ostensibly contained our food.