In the end, Eleanor got bitch-slapped at every turn by Terrence and his team of lawyers. And then by the divorce judge. And then she got bitch-slapped again in the legal malpractice case. The same way, it seems to me, if I’m reading between the lines correctly, she’d gotten bitch-slapped by Terrence during their marriage.
After the judge in the divorce case granted Terrence full legal and physical custody of Reed, Eleanor swallowed a bottle of pills. It was the same thing she’d done after Oliver died seven years prior. And, again, it ultimately led to her institutionalization in a shitty facility in Los Angeles. Against all odds, she bounced back after about a year and came out with her boxing gloves on. She filed a legal malpractice action against her divorce attorney, the one I’ve just read, as some sort of last-gasp attempt to prove she’d been railroaded in the divorce, and that she did, in fact, have the wherewithal to care for Reed.
But when the judge in the malpractice lawsuit ruled against Eleanor, the same way the divorce judge had, it was game over for Eleanor’s mental health. She snapped for the last time. Once again, she tried to end it all. And wound up in that same, shitty Los Angeles institution. This time, for good, until her hard-working, loyal, and generous son moved her to a posh facility in Scarsdale.
Was Eleanor capable of caring for Reed at the time of the divorce, as she insisted vehemently at trial? I have no idea. All I know is it strikes me as awfully unfair that Terrence had Amalia’s full-time help with Reed, and yet the judge expressly commented in his ruling against Eleanor, “A woman shouldn’t need a paid nanny to help her care for her own children.”
Also, I can’t help feeling irate that the judge believed everything Terrence said, without question, given that, a mere two and a half years later, the FBI raided Terrence Rivers’ sprawling mansion at dawn and arrested him in his underwear for staggering, truly evil financial crimes, thereby rendering his thirteen-year-old son, Reed, whom he’d fought so hard to claim for himself in the divorce, an effective orphan. Was Terrence Rivers any less of an “unfit parent” for mercilessly stealing from countless innocent families who’d trusted him, as Eleanor was for taking a nap, along with her two sons, when she had the stomach flu? I mean, assuming Eleanor’s version of the story was true. Which, granted, I don’t know.
I scrub my face with my palms, overwhelmed and aching for Eleanor. And Amalia. And Oliver. And, of course, for my beautiful liar, Reed. I’ve always found his hard outer shell immensely attractive, because it’s what makes the rare glimpses of softness and vulnerability all the more breathtaking. But now, I’m realizing Reed’s patented poker face, the steely mask he wears so well and often, must have been forged early on in his life as a coping mechanism. A way to survive the chaos. The abandonments. The lack of control he must have felt, at all times.
Even though I lost my mother at a young age, I nonetheless had the good fortune to observe her passionate, happy marriage with my father before she died. But what has Reed observed of marriage that would make him believe it’s possible for one to be happy? If I’d experienced everything Reed has, I’d probably have ten layers of cement around my heart, too. Frankly, after reading all this, I’m in awe of how kind and generous Reed is... exactly as Amalia said to me, that time we were cooking together in the kitchen.
I love him so much.
The thought pops into my head and streaks through my heart.
I love Reed. Even though I fervently wish I didn’t.
But so what if I do? I simply have to get over it. Because loving Reed isn’t enough. For our relationship to work, I need to love and trust him. And I don’t see how I could ever get there. Not really. If I were to give Reed another chance, I know, deep down, I’d slowly become jealous, paranoid, and possessive. I’d grow to despise the woman I’d become with him. And he’d despise her, too. Which means it really is time for me to move on.
Ciao, stronzo.
It’s what my brain keeps telling me to do. The thing I know is for the best. Move on, Georgie. There are other fish in the sea. You’re too young to have met the great love of your life, anyway, no matter what your foolish heart is telling you. Yes, Mom met her Prince Charming at nineteen. But Mom and Dad’s fairytale was the exception, not the rule.
I tell myself all of these things, as I stare at the conference room wall in a daze. I tell myself these things and stuff down the urge to call Reed and tell him I miss him. I love him. I forgive him. But no. I can’t wave a magic wand and make everything the way it was before. Even as my heart wants to hug the tragic, neglected, abandoned little boy who grew up to be a wildly successful, sexy, breathtaking man, my brain knows it’s time for me to move on.
Chapter 6
Reed
Tuesday 10:12 pm
I’m grunting. Sweating. Shaking as I finish a savage set of clapping pull-ups in my home gym. Henn texted yesterday to say he’d have something on Gates by Friday. So, at least, there’s that. But regarding Georgina herself, I still haven’t heard from her, other than that one soul-crushing text she sent twenty-four hours ago, after I threatened to call her father.
To entice her to call me, I did something yesterday morning that’s surely going to piss her off when she finds out about it. Hopefully, enough to make her call me and chew me out. Obviously, I’d rather Georgina call me to whisper sweet nothings into my ear. But at this point, I’ll do whatever I have to do to hear her voice, even if she’s screaming at me.
I finish my pull-ups and look down at my phone on the floor, checking to see if I somehow missed a call from Georgina. But, nope. Grunting with annoyance, I grab my phone and head to a workout bench in a corner. But as I’m getting into position with some heavy dumbbells, it finally happens. My phone rings with an incoming call from Georgina!
Gasping like a fish on a hook, I scoop up my phone and briefly fumble with it, like some kind of electrocuted circus clown, and, finally, gather enough control of my fingers to connect the call.
“Georgina,” I blurt, far more enthusiastically than intended. “You’re alive!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shouts.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The sound of her voice, even when she’s shouting angrily at me, is a balm for my tortured soul. “Whatever do you mean?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.
“I don’t have a price, Reed!” she shrieks. “Get it through your head. You cannot buy me.”
I feel physically dizzy. I’m a junkie getting his first hit of the good stuff after three torturous days of withdrawal. I sink into the workout bench, feeling blissed out. “What crime have I committed to elicit this shrieking reaction from you, Miss Ricci?”
“You know exactly why I’m screaming at you. My father just called. His email address is the one on record for all my student loans. Apparently, two minutes ago, he checked his inbox for the first time today and discovered he’d received a ‘paid in full’ notification at noon regarding all my student loans!”
I smirk. God, I’m good.
“You can’t pay off my student loans!”
“It appears I can. Quite easily, in fact.”
“I won’t let you.”