“Dad, I like football better, and you said to focus on one thing and go after it.”
“I put you up to this?”
“No, sir, it’s just . . . I thought you’d be okay with it.”
“That’s why you didn’t tell me, right? If you thought I’d be okay with it, why didn’t you tell me months ago?”
“Mom said . . .” Brad looked in her eyes, then back at his dad. “I mean—”
“No need to lie, Brad. Mom told you not to tell me. It’s okay.” Chuck leaned up on the table. “Why don’t you finish your dinner inside.”
Brad slowly gathered his silverware, apologizing to Bobbi with his eyes. He carefully balanced his plate on his glass and walked inside.
As soon as the door clicked, Chuck started. “Why did you keep that from me?”
“Because you’re extremely busy right now, and don’t need to worry about every little household detail. I can manage.”
“But this is a major parenting decision. I think I should have a part in that.”
“It’s baseball, Chuck. It’s not major.”
“It’s abandoning a commitment! I don’t understand how he could walk away from something that had been such a big part of his life . . . since he was six, for crying out loud!”
“He’s a kid! He doesn’t have to be locked into this for the rest of his life.” She stood and started to gather the dishes.
“What else haven’t you told me about?”
“What?”
“What else are you keeping from me?”
“Chuck, make up your mind. Do you want me to call you for every little thing, or do you want me to let you focus on this case?”
“I don’t want to be purposefully left out of the things going on in my own house!”
“Fine, I’ll get the checkbook, my calendar, and the mail from the last month. You want to check my e-mail, too?”
“Will you stop mocking me? Why is it every time I make a legitimate request or ask a question, you come back with the sarcasm?”
“I am not getting into this right now.” She carried a carefully balanced stack of dishes into the kitchen, with Chuck close behind her. “I wanted two days. Just two days where we could be like a normal family.”
“And it’s my fault your fairytale didn’t come true again.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t win.”
“That’s because you’re playing a completely different game.” She stormed outside and gathered the rest of the dishes. He stood and watched her fumble with the door handle. She slammed the dishes on the counter. “I have tried my best to make your home a refuge for you where you could escape the pressure that everyone else was putting on you. I wanted this to be a place where you knew you were loved and respected. But apparently, I’m doing it all wrong. I can’t please you. The boys walk on eggshells when you’re home—”
“See, this is where you just don’t understand—”
“Then tell me! I am begging you. I want to understand.” He just shook his head.
“What? You won’t open up, or you don’t think I’m capable of understanding?”
“Bobbi—”
“No, you hold on just a minute. Do you love me?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer me.”
“Bobbi . . .” He rolled his eyes and huffed.
“Chuck.” She folded her arms across her chest. She was not losing this one.
“Yes, all right? Yes. Of course I love you. Are you satisfied?”
“I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to get it with both ears. I love you. I will be here when you get through this . . . midlife crisis or whatever it is you’re going through right now. But I will not be part of some plastic picture-perfect family that you can show off without it interfering with your life in any way.”
“That’s not—”
“You decide whether you want to be part of my family.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “You decide. Because I am through begging, through humiliating myself.” In one quick motion, she swept the blueberry pie into the trash can. “I’m through trying to make you happy.”
She stormed out of the kitchen, but Chuck couldn’t respond. She’d never . . . Then she slammed the bedroom door, causing the dishes on the counter to rattle.
He had to act fast. “Bobbi! Wait!” He charged up the stairs after her and knocked on the bedroom door. She had a point. He’d beg her forgiveness and show her how much he needed her. “Bobbi?”
“Go away!”
“Is the door locked?” Silence. “Is the door locked, Bobbi?”
“No.” Her soft, gentle voice invited him.
He turned the knob slowly and eased the door open. She stood in the doorway of the master bath, her arms tight across her chest. She clutched a wadded-up shirt in her hand, and she wiped her eyes with the palm of her other hand.
“I’m sorry.” He crossed the room and took her in his arms. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just . . . I lost sight of everything.” He kissed her, then whispered, “You are a wonderful wife. I’m sorry I take for granted everything you do for us.” He kissed her cheek and then lingered over her lips.
“Listen, Mister.” He kissed her in between words as she tried to speak. “I don’t want you . . . to think . . . you can just . . . come in here . . . and kiss me . . . and it’s all better.”
“I would never think that.” He raised her hand, the one with the wadded shirt in it. “What is this?”
She unfurled a silk nightgown, the color of brown sugar, trimmed in lace. “I picked this up in . . . in Windsor.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“Would you try it on?”
“Now?” She glanced toward the door. “But . . . the boys.”
“Are old enough to take care of themselves.” He stepped back and locked the bedroom door.
CHAPTER 21 LOYALTY
Friday, December 16
Bobbi leaned in close to the mirror in the master bathroom and applied her lipstick with long, deliberate strokes. Her sleek, black dress flattered her. Her haircut and color banished all traces of gray for at least six weeks. She slipped her earrings in and then inspected herself in the mirror one more time.
Not bad. She smoothed her dress and pushed her hair behind her ears. I can do this. I can be Mrs. Chuck Molinsky. If she could survive the evening, and if Chuck behaved more like a husband and less like a law partner, she’d have him come home.
She dropped the lipstick tube into her beaded clutch purse and headed down the back stairs to the family room. A World War II video game commanded Brad’s undivided attention, but Joel saw her walk in the room. “Wow, Mom! You look great!”
“Thanks, Buddy. You guys will be okay, right?”
“I’ll watch out for Brad. Don’t worry.” Brad threw a pillow from the sofa at his brother, without missing a beat on the video game.
“You know the rules, no visitors, and if anyone calls, do not tell them you’re here alone. My phone is charged and the firm’s number is by the kitchen phone.” She double-checked her purse for her cell phone. “Oh, Aunt Rita and Uncle Gavin had plans this evening, but the Shannons are home if you need anything.”
“Crud!” Brad exclaimed as his turn ended. “So close!” He dropped his controller on the floor in front of the television. “Mom, just go. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you in a hurry to get rid of me? What are you going to get into?” Bobbi asked, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.
“We only have three islands to go to defeat the Japanese, so we’ll be right here when you get back.”
“I know, I know. You’ll be fine.” Bobbi kissed Brad on the cheek, and turned to kiss Joel on the top of his head. “I thought I heard your dad. Is he here?”
“I am,” Chuck said from the entry hall behind Bobbi. “I put the pizza in the microwave.” When Bobbi turned to face him, she saw a look in his eyes that rivaled his first glimpse of
her on their wedding day. “You look . . . incredible.”
“Thanks.” Bobbi felt her face flush. “I need to get my coat.” She pointed past him to the front closet.
Chuck stepped aside and opened the closet, then took out Bobbi’s coat and held it for her as she slipped it on. Two steps onto the porch, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the nice, new, but unpretentious, grey sedan in the driveway. “What is this?”
“It’s a Chrysler,” Chuck said. He took her by the arm, and walked her toward the car.
“I can see that. Where’s your car?”
“That is my car.”
“No, really. Where’s your BMW?”
“I traded it.” Chuck opened the sedan’s door for her.
“But you loved that car,” Bobbi said as she got in.
“No, I love you, and you hated that car. I bought it for all the wrong reasons.” Then he smiled and patted the car’s hood. “Besides, this one has a four hundred and twenty-five horsepower engine.” He closed her door, walked around the car and got in. “Are you positive you want to go to this party? Because we can just go to dinner or something, if you’d rather.”
“I want people to know you still have a wife.”
Bows, ribbons, wreaths, and evergreen branches hung in every corner at Benton, Davis, & Molinsky. Soft string music played in the background. The rich aromas from the buffet met Chuck and Bobbi as soon as they entered the building. Among them, Bobbi thought she recognized Dear Joe’s Moroccan coffee.
“What’s wrong?” Chuck asked.
“Nothing. It just . . . it smells like . . .”
“Like what?”
“Moroccan coffee.”
“Not everybody drinks liquor,” Chuck said, reaching for her coat.
“And nobody else drinks imported coffee.”
“What’s your point?” He hung her coat on the rack, then slipped his overcoat off. “You don’t think we should try to accommodate our guests?”
“Guest, singular.”
“I happen to love Moroccan coffee,” he said.
“You threw half of the Turkish blend away.”
“Fine,” he pouted. “I had the caterers get it special for you. Sue me.”
She smiled and arched her eyebrow. “You should know better than to say that in a building full of lawyers.”
“Yes, but don’t hold that against us.” Walter Davis slipped up behind her and took her hand. “It’s good to see you. I hope you’re able to enjoy the evening.” He leaned forward, kissing her cheek.
Bobbi stiffened and held her breath to keep from choking on the strong scents of cigars, Old Spice, and bourbon. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said once he stepped away.
Walter pumped Chuck’s hand. “The food’s back towards the conference room like last year.”
The words ‘conference room’ stabbed Bobbi. Could she do this? Could she push from her mind all the things she knew happened in this building, and be the wife she took a vow to be? Dear God, stick close to me tonight.
“Where’s Helen?” Chuck asked, glancing back through the lobby. “She’s not here. Her sister broke a hip a week or so ago, and Helen is staying with her this weekend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, Pat’s healing, and it means no one is counting what I have to eat and drink this evening.” He slapped Chuck on the back, then wandered off to continue his hosting duties.
“I’d say Walter’s had a couple already,” Bobbi said.
“You think?” He slipped his hand around hers. “Can I get you a cup of that coffee?”
“I’d like that.” They walked across the lobby toward the conference room and Bobbi felt eyes on her. Before she could turn around to see who it was, Chuck began reintroducing her.
“Bobbi, you remember Eva Tamashiro, one of our paralegals.”
Bobbi reached out a hand, but the other woman mumbled a hello and walked away. “Frosty.”
“Eva didn’t like me before and now she hates me. All the women here hate me, except Christine, our receptionist. She still speaks to me.”
“What did you do to get in her good graces?”
“Nothing. She prays for us every day.”
“Tell her thank you.”
“You can tell her yourself. Come on.” He led her across the room to a young blonde woman with sparkling blue eyes. “Christine, I’d like you to meet my wife.”
“Mr. Molinsky, Merry Christmas!” She smiled and reached her hand out to Bobbi. “Mrs. Molinsky, I’m very glad to meet you.” She pulled the elbow of the young man next to her. “This is my husband, Brian. He’s a paramedic.”
Brian shook hands. “I drive the ambulances you guys chase.”
“Sorry,” Chuck said. “That’s not us. You’re thinking of Carter Gilman. We’re all business law.”
“Chuck, it was a joke.” Bobbi rolled her eyes at her husband. “Christine, I wanted to thank you for your prayers. We need them.”
“My heart did a little flip when I saw you guys come in together,” she said, raising a hand to her chest.
“We’re making progress, but don’t mark us off your prayer list yet.”
Christine took a step toward Bobbi and lowered her voice. “Can I be really honest with you, Mrs. Molinsky?” As if on cue, Brian stepped forward and directed Chuck toward the buffet.
“I know Mr. Molinsky was wrong,” Christine said, “completely, totally wrong, but he didn’t stand a chance. That woman was determined to . . . take advantage . . . of somebody. Mr. Davis was probably the only one safe, and I’m not so sure about him.” Christine shook her head. “She was awful. She insinuated herself into everything Mr. Molinsky tried to do—”
“And now she’s gone, and we’re trying to move on with our lives,” Bobbi said.
“Oh, of course, I’m sorry.” Christine’s cheeks flushed.
Bobbi dropped her head, frustrated for shaming the one ally she had in the building. “You have a very kind heart, and I appreciate you being Chuck’s friend.”
“Yes, ma’am, but he spelled out the boundaries after he came back to work. He told me not to come to his office, but to call him out front, and to make sure he never has a meeting alone with a woman. Sometimes, that’s a real trick to schedule.”
“It means a lot that you go to that much trouble for us,” Bobbi said. Chuck never mentioned any of this, even though it would have benefitted him.
“Oh, it’s kind of fun sometimes. One time, he asked me to sit in on a meeting, so it wouldn’t be just him and a lady client, you know. I carried in a big ole stack of folders and notebooks, and just acted like I knew what they were talking about.” Christine smiled. “Thankfully, nobody asked me any questions or anything. I would’ve been dead.”
“No, trust me, lawyers are all talk. I’m sure you could’ve faked it.” Bobbi glanced around the room. “I don’t think there are too many people standing in line to help Chuck out these days.”
“No, ma’am. It’s a shame, too. Mr. Molinsky is a really nice guy.”
“That’s one I don’t hear very often. You and Brian are newlyweds, right?”
“Is it that obvious?” Christine smiled, and blushed again. “We got married in July. Brian’s a goof, but I love him to death.”
July . . . when my marriage was falling apart.
“I hope you and Mr. Molinsky and your boys are able to enjoy Christmas. Don’t let that woman steal that from you,” Christine said, as Brian and Chuck returned to rejoin the conversation. “If you would kindly excuse us, I need to introduce Brian to Mr. Weinberg. He’s our newest partner.”
Bobbi leaned close to Chuck. “I thought Pete was Jewish. He comes to the Christmas party?”
“This is purely a social event for him. Here, I brought your coffee.”
Bobbi took the cup from him and savored the aroma before taking a long drink. “How long has he been a partner?”
“Walter moved him up in late July.”
&n
bsp; “How late?”
“The Friday after I got back from Kansas City.”
Bobbi watched Chuck as he dragged his shrimp through the cocktail sauce on his plate. “Was Walter punishing you by moving Pete up?”
“Pete’s earned it. He works hard.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What else did Walter do to you?”
He looked up from his plate. “Walter made some management decisions that he believed were in the best interest of the firm as a whole.”
“You are such a lawyer,” she said, rolling her eyes. For the first time, Bobbi considered what the affair cost Chuck professionally. Tracy Ravenna, however, walked away unscathed. What was she really after? Partnership? “Did you consider Tracy for partner?” Bobbi asked.
“What?” Chuck coughed to keep from choking.
“You heard me.”
“No, I never recommended her.”
“Her plan didn’t work then, did it?” Bobbi said, raising her eyebrow in the slightest a hint of a smirk.
Before Chuck could answer, a balding man in his late fifties broke in between them and seized Chuck by the shoulder before he fell over. He reeked of whiskey and once he regained his balance, he slurred, “Chuck, you have great taste in women.”
“Walker, this is my wife.” Chuck set his plate down on a nearby table and took a step closer to her. “Bobbi, this is Walker Prescott. He’s a client.” She forced a smile and shook the man’s hand.
“Your wife!” Walker clutched his heart and staggered backwards a step. Off to the left, a couple glanced in his direction and moved further away. “You cheated on this woman? Then you’re just plain stupid.”
“That’s the consensus,” Chuck said, his eyes darting past Walker. Bobbi knew he was looking for an escape, some way to get rid of Mr. Prescott before the conversation degenerated.
“The other one must have been a goddess. Do you still have her phone number?” he asked Chuck with a leering wink.
Chuck’s eyes flashed, and he reached out in what appeared to be a handshake, but with a quick twist, he locked Walker’s wrist.
“What are you . . . doing? I have . . . tendinitis . . .”
“You’re drunk,” Chuck hissed. “That’s the only thing saving you right now—”
“Mr. Prescott, have you met Will Hines?” Chad Mitchell tugged Walker’s free arm and Chuck let go. “He just joined us in April.” Chad gave Chuck a quick ‘got your back’ nod.