Yeah, she said that word. And she didn’t care that she had. They were being honest. That was what the therapist demanded, and so she was peeling away the polite veneer, the good-girl persona she’d been taught to use in all situations. Because that felt honest.
Kit’s eyes grew big, and then his mouth flatlined. “Come on, Mel. This isn’t about sex.”
“Isn’t it? Because that’s probably what Charlotte’s offering. That and what comes next. Let me fill you in on how this works, Kit. Charlotte is younger and probably doesn’t have much in her 401(k). And you’re older and have a lot in your bank account, retirement, et cetera, et cetera. Charlotte’s not stupid. She knows what you’re worth, and she knows her best years are slowly slipping away. Tick, tick, tick. She doesn’t want to drive a Toyota. She wants a Mercedes, designer clothes, and vacations in Fiji, but she can’t do that on her part-time assistant salary. But she can do that as the next Mrs. Christopher Layton, so she laughs at all your jokes, embraces the opportunity to touch you, and makes you feel like you’re the greatest man alive because that’s what her hormones and bank account are telling her to do. Because if she really wanted to do it all herself, she would have utilized that fancy business degree and stayed in Boston,” Melanie said, standing up and striding toward the window that overlooked downtown Shreveport. The therapist’s office was close to Kit’s because that was what was convenient for him. He didn’t care Melanie had to drive all the way downtown for the appointment because she didn’t work.
“Okay, let’s slow down here,” the therapist said.
“So you think a woman can only want me because of what’s in my wallet?” Kit asked, his voice quiet and somehow defeated. That tone caused Melanie’s surging anger to abate. Her words had been spiteful and not altogether true. Kit had way more to offer a woman than a healthy bank account. He was a great conversationalist, never stingy in bed, and could even sew a button back on a shirt. Not to mention all the obvious things like his sense of humor, attractiveness, and kindness.
“No, that’s not true.” She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair, wishing she’d washed it that morning. “Look, I’m angry and scared. That makes me defensive. You know my past makes me act that way. Everything that happened with my dad paired with the fact Tennyson is back in town, and it’s as if the black hole of bad in my life has reopened and is slowly swallowing me up.”
The therapist was wisely silent, watching them with eyes that were intense.
“Mel, I know things are unsettled, but all that with your father is in the past,” Kit said, rising and moving toward her.
Melanie snapped her head around. “He killed himself because of what Tennyson did. And now she’s back, acting like she didn’t . . .” She covered her face with her hands because she’d tried not to let Tennyson and the past tear at her, but there were times it all came back. And those memories still hurt. Even if she’d started not hating Tennyson as much. Even if she liked the way Tennyson pushed her buttons. For some reason, when she was with Tennyson, she felt stronger. Which was crazy cakes because the woman had betrayed her and ruined her life.
Kit braced her shoulders with his hands. “Mel, you can’t make yourself crazy with all this, and your father’s death wasn’t because of Tennyson. He had his own issues, and it feels easier to blame her. Your father didn’t handle the whole thing very well. He did what you’re not doing—he ran from his mistakes and let them define him. You’re a fighter, Mel. Come on, honey, let’s fight for our marriage, huh?”
And then his arms came around her, like a favorite Wubbie Blanket enveloping her and giving her the peace she so craved. She wanted to cry everything out. If she could release everything, then it would be easier. But those tears didn’t come, the emotions she needed to feel for her husband stayed barred behind the terrible defenses she’d erected against the hurt the world constantly gave her. Still, his arms around her gave a comfort she craved.
He released her, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and led her back to the white leather couch so they could further discuss her fears of abandonment and the alarming thought she wasn’t enough for him. They also talked about her concern about the Destin trip. When they left the therapist’s office, they were both better. Much better.
So why had Kit reverted back to a man who was oblivious to his wife the moment they arrived in Florida? Why was Kit allowing Charlotte to press herself beside him, making inside jokes that intentionally snubbed his wife?
When Melanie got to the table where Charlotte and Kit were seated, they were in such deep discussion that at first they didn’t notice her.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down.
“Oh, Melanie, hey,” Charlotte said, tossing her a smile. “Did you have a nice day on the beach?”
Melanie pulled a napkin into her lap and flagged a waiter. She wore the dress she’d bought in Dallas. When she’d left the room, carefully patting her somewhat sunburned nose with a mattifying powder and painting her lips with the berry lipstick she’d gotten as a sample from the Neiman Marcus Chanel counter, she’d felt a prettier version of herself. But looking at Charlotte in her strapless white pantsuit with several gold chains casually looping her neck, she felt overdressed and trying too hard. “I did. Took a walk and picked up three sand dollars. You remember how hard we searched for sand dollars the year after that hurricane, Kit?”
He smiled. “We found one, and it was broken.”
“The kids were so disappointed. It was definitely the golden goose that trip,” Melanie said, congratulating herself on steering the conversation toward the warm familial glow of beach trips past.
Charlotte sipped her wine. “It must be weird to have all that behind you. Your children are grown, and I suppose that feels like starting a new life, huh? Almost like a blank slate for you both.”
What the hell did that mean?
Kit nodded. “We still have one more year with Noah, but then he’ll be off to college. And my daughter’s getting married? Makes me feel a million years old.”
“You’re not old. You’re in your prime. Look at you,” Charlotte said, allowing her gaze to do just that. Heifer.
“Aren’t I the lucky woman?” Melanie said.
The waitress showed up at that very second. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’ll have a mojito,” Melanie said. No one else requested another drink, so the waitress vamoosed toward the bar.
“I love mojitos,” Charlotte said, leaning back in her chair. “But they just have so much sugar. My figure can’t handle it.”
Score one for Team Whore.
Melanie curled her hand into a fist. God, she wanted to hit Charlotte. Like a hard throat punch that would lay her out and have her rolling around the sandy deck clasping her throat, eyes bugging.
“So I made dinner reservations for eight o’clock. That gives us time to have a few drinks and then change,” Kit said.
Melanie’s stomach growled as she glanced at her Apple watch. She wished she hadn’t skipped lunch in favor of more rays. It was only 5:45 p.m., and she could cheerfully eat her own arm.
“That’s perfect,” Charlotte said, placing her hand on Kit’s forearm. She looked up and smiled at Melanie. “I have a darling dress I just bought that I’ve been dying to wear. Tonight will be perfect. Because we’re celebrating your nomination for treasurer.”