AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lawyer’s office was located on the ground floor of an old two-story redbrick house on Portland Street, normally a five-minute drive from Chloe’s Binney Street address, but taking almost twice that time because of continuing roadwork in the area. It seemed that all of Cambridge was under construction, the ubiquitous orange-and-black pylons that lined the streets and interrupted the flow of traffic starting to feel more like a permanent installation than a temporary inconvenience.
The bus for day camp had picked up Josh and Sasha just before nine, and Chloe had spent the rest of the morning, as she had the previous morning, combing through the list of divorce lawyers online. She finally settled on Pamela Lang, partly because she liked her photograph, partly because her office was in the area, and mostly because, of the half dozen family law practitioners she’d already tried, Pamela Lang was the only one who could see her before the end of the month. Matt hadn’t so much as phoned since he left, and already Chloe was second-guessing her decision, wondering if she’d done the right thing. It was important that she see someone soon, before she had a chance to change her mind.
Not that shecouldn’tchange her mind, she reminded herself as she left the white Hyundai that Matt had bought her for their last anniversary at the end of the street and pushed her way through a stubborn curtain of late-July heat toward the lawyer’s office. Even now she was hoping that Matt could come up with an explanation that would somehow redeem him, convince her that he would never stray again. Maybe he would agree to marital counseling, something he’d rejected in no uncertain terms in the past. “We don’t need some stranger meddling in our lives,” he’d told her the first time she’d suggested they might benefit from counseling. “There’s no problem we can’t solve ourselves. We just have to be honest with each other.”
Which was exactly the problem. He wasn’t honest.
“He’s a liar and a cheat,” Chloe whispered as she pushed open the heavy oak front door and stepped inside the dark wood, air-conditioned foyer. She wiped the perspiration from her neck and pulled at the waist of her red-striped sundress, standing for another minute outside a second door, this one made of translucent glass.Pamela Lang and Richard Fogler, Attorneys-at-Lawwas painted across the rippled glass surface in swirling black cursive.
Fighting the urge to flee, Chloe opened the door and stepped inside a small waiting area, where a middle-aged receptionist with bright orange hair and huge, round, black-rimmed glasses sat behind a large oak desk, leafing through the latest issue ofInStylemagazine.
“You must be Chloe Dixon,” she said with a smile so wide that it exposed both rows of teeth. “We spoke earlier. I’m Trudy. Come in. Have a seat.” She motioned toward four navy-blue chairs propped against the ecru-colored wall, her smile so persistent that Chloe felt obliged to return it. “Pamela’s running a little late, but she should be back any minute.”
Chloe automatically checked her watch. Her meeting with the lawyer was scheduled for one o’clock and it was past that already. The camp bus would drop the kids off at three and she couldn’t be late getting home. Josh was already suspicious that something was wrong.
“Where’s Daddy?” he’d asked at breakfast, the same question he’d asked yesterday.
She’d lied and said that Daddy was very busy at work, but there was only so long she could keep using that as an excuse.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Trudy asked.
“No, thank you.” Chloe checked her watch again, more for show than necessity. Several minutes later, she checked it again. She glanced back at Trudy, who was still smiling as she flipped through the pages of her magazine. “I’m sorry,” Chloe began, not sure what she was apologizing for. “But my kids get home at three o’clock and, obviously, I have to be there.” She held up her left wrist and pointed at her watch, an oversized Michael Kors that Matt had bought her for Christmas.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Trudy said, her smile as big as ever. “Pamela’s meeting ran longer than she expected. And the traffic…you know…with all this construction…I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.”
“Maybe I should come back tomorrow,” Chloe said after another ten minutes had passed.
“I’m afraid she’s fully booked for the rest of this week, and she’s away all next week at a conference,” Trudy said, checking her boss’s schedule on her computer. “I could give you something the week after that.”
“No, that’s too late.”
For the first time, Trudy’s smile threatened to disappear. “She really should be back any second. Is there someone you can call…for your kids?”
Well, I can’t very well call my husband,Chloe thought.“Hi, hon. It’s me. I’m stuck at the divorce lawyer’s and I was wondering if you could go back to the house I kicked you out of and look after the kids till I get back.”
And she couldn’t call Paige and impose on her again. Besides, with the traffic, it was unlikely Paige could get there in time anyway.
Which left only one option. “Dear God,” Chloe moaned, punching in her mother’s digits on her cellphone.
Jennifer Powadiuk lived in a small apartment off Harvard Square, just minutes away, although her heavy schedule of dance competitions across the country meant she was rarely there. Chloe had no idea if she was even in the city, not having heard from her in six weeks. (Came in second in the tango competition in Tampa,read her last email. Should have won.)
“Please answer,” Chloe whispered as the phone began ringing. She pictured her mother staring at her caller ID, trying to decide whether to pick up. After six rings, her mother’s breathy whisper came on the line:“Out tap-dancing my little head off. But do leave a message. Preferably one that’s X-rated.”
Chloe sighed, about to click off when her mother came on the line. “Chloe? Is that you?”
“Where are you?” Chloe asked, hearing chatter in the background and the clinking of glasses, which meant her mother was likely at a bar, regardless of what city she was in.
“What can I do for you, Chloe?” her mother asked, ignoring the question.
“Are you in town?”
“Yes. I don’t leave till Friday.”
“Where are you going?”
“Toronto. There’s an international polka competition—”
