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“Because we haven’t been tortured enough, our family likes to have yet another service to honor the dead a week after they are laid to rest.”
“Oh, well, whatever it takes, I guess.”
When Clare Saint drove through the gate out of the development, she didn’t realize until she reached the stop sign that she was trembling. So Charlie was finally seeing someone. That someone looked like she could be his daughter, too. Did he realize that?
She was gorgeous as far as Clare could tell from a distance. Young, blonde, sitting up tall in the seat. Knowing Charlie, his companion was probably in shape, too. He’d lost interest in Clare when she gained a little weight, although he’d denied it, blaming his failing libido on his age and on life. But their neighbor didn’t mind. Harry Steinberg liked her big ass, as he said: “Get that big ass on my face.” And she’d been happy to oblige.
Leaving Charlie meant two important factors to Clare. Number one, she wouldn’t be entitled to any money from their house. He’d paid cash for it twenty years earlier before they were married, and although they didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, he’d made sure to have the title worded in such a way that it would revert to a trust if ownership was ever challenged, a little-known law in the State of California.
Number two was the final thing. She’d broken all ties with him years before they were separated. She’d moved him out of their shared marital bed, let it be made known among friends and family that they had separate bedrooms and separate lives, and even arranged to see their children separately when they had parent weekends, always stating that she couldn’t go on Charlie’s days off from work.
It was a relief not to worry about him any longer. Having a firefighter for a husband was emotionally draining. Now with Mike dead, the curse had touched the Saint family, who’d escaped death and severe injury for as long as anyone could remember a Saint being at Number 34.
When her son Paul announced he was going to follow in Charlie’s footsteps, Clare almost fainted. He wanted to go a little farther north, about thirty miles into the backcountry. And then Oliver said he wanted to play football, and the relief she felt was insurmountable. He might get his brains knocked out, but he wouldn’t die in a fire.
The news that Mike had been killed broke her heart, but also the knowledge that it wouldn’t happen twice in the same family. It couldn’t. Her sons would be safe from harm.
Why couldn’t life just go on peacefully? Charlie’s having a young girlfriend was sure to cause a stir among their sons and might even make Harry do a double take. It annoyed Clare that the presence of a woman in Charlie’s life would make her question her self-confidence or doubt her value. She pulled out onto the road, determined to quit with the negativity, at least for this moment.
Inside Charlie’s house, the atmosphere was definitely more relaxed. Standing in the foyer gave Lila the opportunity to assess the situation. Why would his ex leave the splendor of this place? It was just beautiful, with tall ceilings and windows that reached their heights, and expansive, interestingly shaped, inviting spaces.
“Wow, this is quite a place.”
He placed his keys and sunglasses in a basket on a buffet and glanced around. “It’s really just a house. You’ll see that my dogs get up on the furniture. Nothing is precious here.”
“Where are your dogs?”
“Probably sleeping on my bed,” he said. “Follow me.”
They went through a maze of hallways until reaching the back of the house. Double doors, which were open, led to a sprawling room with French doors looking out over a terrace and a covered swimming pool.
“Great watchdogs,” he called out, and the head of a Great Dane popped up, and yawning first, he slid off the bed, stretching lazily. He meandered over to Charlie and plopped down at his feet, licking his paw.
Then two small Jack Russell terriers hopped off the bed and began to wildly bark like things possessed, jumping up in the air around Lila but not touching her.
“Jackanapes,” Charlie teased.
“Aw, they’re so cute. Jack Russell, right?”
“Yep. Wild as can be, but as you’ve seen, terrible watchdogs.”
Petting the dogs helped ease the awkwardness of the moment. Here they were, standing in his bedroom, and it didn’t escape her that it was a glamorous space, probably decorated by his ex-wife, with big furniture and light colors, a comfortable space that beckoned relaxation, if not love.
“This is a beautiful room,” she said, hoping he’d elaborate on the decorator.
Much to her pleasure, he didn’t hesitate.
“After Clare left, I gave the old furniture to Paul for his apartment, and what didn’t fit went to the Salvation Army.”
“Oh. Did you do this yourself?”
“I did. Me and Coastal magazine.”
Lila chuckled. “I can see the beach theme in the light colors. Lovely.”
“Clare liked everything dark. She called it restful. I slept in there most of the time.” He pointed to a small room off the bedroom that led to a sitting area and a door to the pool. “She said I snored.”
“Snoring isn’t an issue for me. I’ve been told I snore like a trucker, whatever that sounds like.”
