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Disgusted, Margo worked it off. "If you're yanking my chain just to get me to talk to you—"
"Like I've got nothing better to do at five A.M. on April fifteenth than make crank phone calls. Listen, pal, I haven't slept in twenty-six hours and I've burned off most of my stomach lining with caffeine. Don't start with me."
"You called me, remember? I'm on my way out the door."
"And Laura's on her way to see a lawyer."
"A lawyer? At five A.M.? You said there wasn't an accident."
"She's not literally on her way. She has an appointment at ten. I wouldn't have even known about it, but her lawyer's a client of the firm and he thought I knew. He said he was sorry she was upset, and—"
"Just nail it down, Kate."
"Sorry, I'm strung out. She's divorcing Peter."
"Divorcing?" Since the chair that had been by the phone was now in the inventory section, she sat down abruptly on the floor. "Oh, Christ, Kate, it's not because they fought over me?"
"The world doesn't revolve around you, Margo. Hell, sorry. It's not your fault," she said more gently. "I didn't get much out of her when I went over, but the deciding factor seemed to be that she walked in on him and his secretary. And he wasn't dictating a letter."
"You're kidding. That's so…"
"Ordinary?" Kate suggested dryly. "Trite? Disgusting?"
"Yes."
"Well, that sums it up. If it's happened before, she's not saying. But I can tell you she's not giving him another turn at bat. She's dead serious."
"Is she all right?"
"She seems very calm, very civilized. I'm so bogged down here, Margo, I can't work on her. You know how she is when she's really upset."
"Sucks it all in," Margo murmured, jiggling the earring impatiently in her hand. "The kids?"
"I just don't know. If I could get out of here I would. But I've got another nineteen hours before flash point. I'll corner her then."
"I'll be there inside of ten."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say. I'll see you at home."
"I don't know why I'm surprised you'd fly six thousand miles for something like this, Margo." Laura competently sewed stars onto Ali's tutu for her daughter's ballet recital. "It's just like you."
"I want to know how you are, Laura. I want to know what's going on."
Margo stopped pacing the sitting room and slapped her hands on her hips. She was past exhaustion and into the floaty stage of endless travel. Ten hours had been typically optimistic. It had taken her closer to fifteen to manage all the connections and layovers. Now, she was cross-eyed with fatigue, and Laura just sat there calmly plying needle and thread.
"Would you put that silly thing down for a minute and talk to me?"
"Ali would be crushed if she heard you call her fairy tutu silly." But her daughter was in bed, Laura thought. Safe and innocent. For the moment. "Sit down, Margo, before you collapse."
"I don't want to sit." If she did, she was certain she would simply fade away.
"I didn't expect you to be so upset. You were hardly fond of Peter."
"I'm fond of you. And I know you, Laura. You're not chucking a ten-year marriage without hurting."
"I'm not hurting. I'm numb. I'm going to stay numb as long as I possibly can." Gently she smoothed a hand over the net of the ballet skirt. "There are two little girls down the hall who need someone in their life to be strong and stable. Margo…" She looked up then with baffled eyes. "I don't think he loves them. I don't think he cares at all. I could handle him not loving me. But they're his children." She stroked the tulle again, as if it were her daughter's cheek. "He wanted sons. Ridgeways. Boys to become men and carry on the family name. Well"—she set the skirt aside—"he got daughters."
Margo lighted a cigarette with a quick jerk, made herself sit. "Tell me what happened."
