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“May I come in? Just for a second.”
“I…uh…don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I know. I don’t, either,” Meredith said honestly. “But I’m here anyway. No one was behind me as I pulled in, and I parked my car around back. I’d really like just a couple of minutes with you.”
Another second passed and then the door opened enough to let her in. Ruth Barnett locked the dead bolt behind her.
“Is Tommy here?”
“Upstairs,” his mother said, giving a jerky nod over her shoulder. “In his room playing a computer game. He’s allowed to play them all he wants on Fridays.”
“But not during the week, huh?” Meredith followed the woman through a formal living room to a much more comfortable-feeling room decorated in shades of soft rose.
“Not until his homework’s done.”
It was a good plan. One Meredith wished more of her parents would implement.
“This is lovely,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.
“Thanks.” Ruth Barnett’s smile was more genuine as she looked over her surroundings. “I’m hoping to open my own business soon.”
“You do interior decorating?”
The woman nodded, her burgundy slacks and jacket a perfect complement to the chair on which she sat. “I got my degree last year, but Larry wouldn’t hear of me going to work. He thought it made him look bad.”
“Was that before or after he filed for divorce?”
“He didn’t file,” she said softly, glancing down. “I did.”
That wasn’t as much of a surprise as it could have been. She waited, hoping the woman would say more. But when she didn’t, Meredith said, “According to the papers, he did.”
“He wanted it that way.”
Of course he did. Couldn’t have people thinking he was the one who’d been left behind. An object of pity. Or a bad husband.
“Why did you allow it?”
“Because I wanted my freedom enough to let him spin the details however he wanted.”
Meredith had said she was only going to stay a minute. “How are you?” she asked, her voice warm and compassionate. In another life, another time, she and Ruth Barnett might have been friends.
“Trying to concentrate on the future.”
Mrs. Barnett was prevaricating.
“You know about tomorrow’s show, don’t you?”
The woman nodded, her hair as stylish as her clothes.
“But you aren’t going to do anything about it.”
“What can I do?” she asked. “Larry quit listening to my pleas long ago.”
“You could call the station, tell them the truth.”
Ruth Barnett paled. “No, I can’t do that.”
She hadn’t expected her to. Not really. But she’d had to try.
