The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(29)
She’d forgotten how drop-dead gorgeous he was—if a bit on the pretty side. He had perfectly smooth skin, sandy-blond hair that hung below his jaw, and beautiful green eyes. Tall, slim, and always dressed sharp, she wondered what kind of woman could handle dating him.
Peyton rose from the chair. “Originally, I’d thought we’d go out to eat, but then I decided it’d be more relaxing to stay in. Hope tapas is okay with you.”
“Of course.” Steffi took another minute to study her friend. Pale-purple circles shadowed her eyes. Beneath a strained smile, Steffi saw fear, too. Gossiping about Ryan and Claire had been a temporary distraction at best. Steffi needed to let Peyton know she had friends who cared. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
Logan set the bags on the counter and gave Steffi a friendly hug. He then threw his arm around Peyton’s shoulder and kissed her head. “How are you?”
“Good. Maybe we can take a walk and shop after lunch.”
“Don’t push.” He began unloading black plastic containers with clear lids from the bags. “Remember what the doctor said.”
“What’s that?” Steffi asked.
“Nothing,” Peyton interjected. “Logan’s a nervous mother hen. You know the drill. I need to stay well rested and away from germs because my immune system will be so compromised.”
Steffi smiled at Logan, whose sunny personality should be helpful in this situation. “I’m glad you’re here for her.”
Peyton clucked. “I warned him he’ll be tossed off a balcony if he tries to document this process.”
When Steffi looked to him for clarification, he said, “I think we should take photos and she should keep a journal.” Then he addressed his sister, “At the very least, a project would occupy us. And, who knows? It could be a great memoir or inspirational story when you’re well. Photos will keep it real.”
When you’re well, he’d said. Yes, please, God, let him be right about that.
“He has a point.” Steffi spooned a bit of seafood paella onto a plate and then forked a beef empanada.
“Can we eat lunch without talking about my cancer? This might be the last meal I actually enjoy for a long while.”
“As you wish.” Logan loaded his plate with chorizo and shrimp.
Peyton finished swallowing her first spoonful of paella. With a sassy look in her eye, she said, “Logan, did you know Ryan Quinn moved back to Sanctuary Sound? Apparently, he’s getting divorced.”
Logan’s brows rose, and he slid a glance to Steffi. “Well, isn’t that an interesting tidbit. Sounds like I need to take a road trip soon to organize a big ol’ high school reunion.” He speared a shrimp and winked at his sister. “I’ve always liked a good challenge.”
“I thought alimony was capped at sixty percent of the length of time we were married?” Ryan tamped down the growl building in his chest and smiled at the mediator, Ross Wallingford, a kindly, bald gentleman wearing a pink bow tie.
“That’s correct, but that’s duration of payments, not the amount.”
“I’m owed some support, Ryan.” Val sat ramrod straight. She’d put on quite a show so far: dressed in her least expensive clothes, ditched the fancy shoes and purses and jewelry, and even toned down her makeup. To look at her today, you’d think she was two pennies shy of needing food stamps. “We were married for almost ten years, plus the fact that I stayed home with Emmy to let you be successful in your career.”
Wallingford nodded with a pleasant smile. “Yes, that’s part of the point of alimony.”
Ryan shifted. “You worked part-time for a few years, so you’ve only been out of work for about six years. You’re college educated and employable, and living rent-free. Meanwhile, I’m the full-time caregiver for our daughter, which means I’ll be out all the money for day care. You’re getting half the equity in our home. How much more do you need? For chrissakes, you can’t get blood from a stone.”
“You’re a lawyer, Ryan. A criminal defense lawyer, for God’s sake. You could quit the PD office and hire yourself out to white-collar criminals. You could be rolling in dough.”
He barked a laugh, although part of him couldn’t ignore the idea for Emmy’s sake. The other part might want to make a ton of money to spite Val. But that wasn’t who he was or why he went to work. It had never been about money. Now, however, his capped income presented challenges he hadn’t anticipated.
He gestured to Val while looking at Wallingford. “She cheats, leaves me to go live in a multimillion-dollar penthouse with her lover, leaves our daughter in her wake, and has the nerve to sit there and demand anything from me.” Ryan tossed his pencil on his pad, completely aware of, yet uncaring about, his unprofessional behavior. “You are a serious piece of work, Val.”
Wallingford held up his hands to staunch another tirade. “Folks, I know this is difficult. I presume you both agreed to mediation in order to avoid the lengthy and costly court battle that can ensue in these situations. Let’s remember our goal, which is to come to a fair compromise so that you can both move on and concentrate on your child.”
“I am thinking about my child. I make eighty-two grand a year. After taxes I clear a little over four grand per month. Housing near my mother, who has offered to help me watch our daughter after school, is not inexpensive. Modest Cape Cod homes are still between three and four hundred thousand. Plus bills, food, and clothes for Emmy, gas and things I need for work and my life. I won’t have any disposable income at all.” He looked at Val now. “You don’t need my salary, Val. John is taking care of you now. Can’t you just take half of the equity in the house and half of our savings and walk away? Come on . . . think about Emmy. Do you want her living in a hovel?”