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“Okay. What’s going on with you two?” he asked again.
“Charlie, you go ahead,” Clare said.
“No way. This is your dog and pony show,” he said, the corners of his mouth down in a smirk.
“Thanks,” she replied, frowning. “Let’s sit down.”
“You’re scaring me,” Paul said.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’re both healthy. And I think you’ll find that we’re all going to be happy.”
“You’re stalling,” Paul demanded. “Spit it out.”
Clare tilted her head, with her chin in the air, proud but awkward. “I’m moving in with Harry.”
Harry Steinberg was a neighbor, a businessman the Saint boys knew in passing, if their football made it over the hedge into his tennis court, or if they saw him on the street in his Ferrari. An overweight, older guy who had paid attention to their mother when she was lonely or bored, and it ruined a marriage.
“I guess it was inevitable,” Paul said, stewing.
“I promised myself I’d stay until Oliver finished college, and he’s done. Well, he’s done with San Diego State, not with college.”
His brother had been a draft pick and moved to Detroit, leaving his parents to finally make the decision everyone knew was coming. She was going to divorce their father.
“It’s your business, not mine,” Paul said, trying to be an adult and not a little boy who remembered hearing his mother begging Charlie for his affection at night, or at neighborhood parties, lying by the pool in a bikini long after it was appropriate for her figure, flirting with any man who would look her way.
Clare remembered it differently. She’d forgotten the early years of desperation, looking for attention. It had started later, with Harry pressuring her to leave Charlie.
“Look, Harry, I don’t sleep with Charlie, you know that. And he doesn’t care about me. But I still have sons who show up from time to time. I’ll be available to you when Oliver finishes college.”
So for the next couple of years, Harry made himself satisfied with Clare’s presence when Charlie was at work and when she could get away while he was home.
After Oliver moved on, Harry approached her again. “We’ve been together for four years. I want you full time now.”
“What if the kid wants to go to grad school?” Clare lamented.
“Let him. I want you in my bed. This is your final ultimatum.”
“Harry, you’re so convincing!” she replied, giggling. “How can I turn you down?”
“Don’t. Just tell Charlie to enjoy his life, and move in with me.”
So she did just that. On Charlie’s day off, she approached him. “We need to talk.”
“Talk,” he said, flipping through the mail.
“I’m done. I want a divorce.”
He looked up from the pile of junk mail, his face pale, shocked. “Why?”
“Ha! Are you kidding me? I’m not going to explain. I’m moving in with Harry Steinberg, so I’ll be close by when the boys come around. I’ve been packing while you were at the station. I’d like the artwork I chose. The boys can have the wedding china and silver if they ever get married. I’ll just take my clothes and jewelry box. Any belongings of mine you don’t want around, just throw them into a box, and I’ll get them later.”
Beyond speech, Charlie listened to her continued rant. Used to hearing Clare’s barrage listing his shortcomings and inadequacies, there was nothing left to say. He couldn’t imagine living in that rambling place alone, but would try not to focus on the isolation. Clare leaving meant he’d have to find a dog sitter who could come in when he was gone. That was the main inconvenience. She’d become nothing more than a dog sitter.
“Okay. It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
“Harry loves me,” she said triumphantly. “You never loved me. I’m not even sure why we got together. Why did we, Charlie?”
Her voice had grown shrill, and she was on the verge of tears.
