“Right. Like you know so many people,” he scoffs, his expression turning ugly. “I have clearly been scraping the bottom of the dating barrel.”
“Well, we are streaming live right now,” Wesley says, holding up his phone. “And we’ve been recording video just so we don’t miss anything. Would you like to wave to your audience?” He turns to his twin. “How many do we have watching right now, Phoebe?”
“We’re still building, but we’ve got a good six thousand eyeballs already. We’re also sharing every profile photo and alias we’ve discovered . . . so far. We’ve reached out to some influencers we know. Plus several local TV and radio stations and the Atlanta-Journal Constitution have expressed interest in our group’s personal experience with fraud in the online dating world.” Phoebe grins. “You’re going to be an even bigger name than you ever imagined, Frank.”
“This is bullshit!”
“When did you first come up with this scam?” Wesley asks. “Just out of curiosity.”
“There is no scam. And I really have no idea what you’re talking about!” He glares at us even as he ducks his head in an attempt to hide his face from a camera he can’t see.
We glare back.
“I . . . I think I’m having a heart attack!” He clutches at his chest and goes down on one knee, but he sounds more hopeful than frightened.
“No, you’re not,” Chaz says with confidence, from out of camera range. “But if that should change, you won’t need to call 911 to get a trained medical professional to the scene. Lucky for you, I happened to be browsing in the bookstore.”
“What do you think?” Meena asks the group. “Anyone besides Chaz want to offer CPR?”
“Hell, no.” Carlotta moves in closer, legs wide, fists on her hips. She looks a lot like a taller, more muscular Wonder Woman. “What do you think, Dorothy? You think we should do a Bobbitt on him?” She smirks at the reference to Lorena Bobbitt, who severed her husband’s penis while he was sleeping.
“I know it’s not nice to kiss and tell,” Meena says. “But it’s not all that big, so I’m not sure how satisfying that would be.”
“I don’t think we’d even need a knife.” Dorothy gives Frank Anderson a murderous look. “It would be far more satisfying to rip him apart with our bare hands.” She breaks away and charges toward him, her outstretched hands reaching for his neck.
In that moment, I believe my mother-in-law is capable of anything. So, apparently, does Frank Anderson.
“Oh no, you don’t! Don’t you dare come near me!” He gets to his feet and stumbles toward us as Carlotta reaches out and plucks my mother-in-law out of his path. Is it wrong that I’m happy to see a wet patch spreading across the front of his khakis?
“You are crazy people! You are completely out of your minds!”
At a nod from Annell, we part, kind of like the Red Sea.
He skids through the opening we’ve created, then turns and races out of the carriage house, through the breezeway, and into the store. We follow, grinning like the crazy people he accused us of being, while he fumbles with the front door. We break into applause and laughter as he finally yanks it open and flings himself outside.
Thirty-Seven
Sara
“God, that felt good!” In the car on the way home, Dorothy is like a prizefighter exulting at the end of a championship bout. “I’m so glad we didn’t just let him off the hook without at least having our say. Don’t you feel empowered?”
“I do,” I say truthfully. “But you’re the one who landed the knockout punches, Dorothy. You were impressive as hell.”
She raises one fisted arm like the prizefighter in my head. “I would have chickened out if not for you . . . and the others. And I would have regretted it.”
“I think that’s true for all of us, Dorothy. But you, my friend, are a formidable woman.”
“So are you,” she says.
We smile the whole rest of the way home, completely in accord.
Some of the joy dissipates when we arrive and see Mitchell’s car in the driveway. I’d hoped he and his things would be gone before we got home. Now I have no choice but to face him. Hopefully, for the last time.
We come in from the garage and find him standing at the kitchen window looking out at the yard.
His presence dredges up the memories that I’ve buried under my hurt and anger. I loved him. In some ways, I always will. He was the first person who loved me back. Not out of pity or duty—which I’ve learned the hard way are not his strong suits. But because he saw things in me that no one else ever had.
It was with him that I first felt and recognized desire. He was my first and only.
Dorothy’s eyes narrow. She nods at her son. To me she says, “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
I watch Mitch’s face as her footsteps recede.
“Do you remember how small the magnolia was when we got it?” He points to the now towering tree that we planted the day we moved in. My very first tree in my very first house.
His eyes meet mine. For the first time in a long time, I see the man I married, and I believe he sees me.
“I really fucked things up, didn’t I?” he says.
“You did.”
“I’m sorry. Honestly. I don’t know what got into me. I just . . . If I could go back and undo what I’ve done, I would.”
I study his face. Try to read what’s in his eyes. I see love and sorrow and regret, all the things that have churned inside me. My heart aches for who we were, for what I thought we’d always have. I wish that everything that’s happened—Mitch’s secret life, the divorce, all of it—was just a bad dream, something conjured out of my own fear and insecurity.
He moves toward me, reaches out as if to cup my cheek.
“No. You no longer have the right to touch me.” I step back and shrug away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dorothy materializes in the doorway and walks toward us. “What are you doing, Mitchell? I certainly hope you’re not trying to get her into bed.”
“This is none of your business.” He scowls at his mother. “Leave us alone. We’re just . . . saying goodbye.”
“Your attorney did warn you not to sleep with him before the divorce goes through, didn’t she, Sara?” Dorothy’s tone holds a clear warning.
“Yes.” I think about that first appointment. “She said that it could . . . derail things. But I assumed that was for emotional reasons.” I stare at my husband. “I promise you I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with him.”