“What is it ‘not’?”
“It’s not deep or complex or even very significant. It’s a way to spend the morning when I’m not getting my hair done.”
“So I’m just a trivial screw?”
“I never said you were trivial.”
“But I’m just some guy you’re screwing. It doesn’t mean anything more to you?”
“That’s correct.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes, I’m lying. Let’s just leave it at that.” She knotted the towel in front and got up.
He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go. Don’t walk away from me. Sit.”
“There’s no point in talking about a future when we don’t have one.”
“Listen to me. Would you just listen? Don’t hide from me. Don’t hold back. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is just a fling, but that’s not what it feels like to me. If this is all we have, then let’s be honest with each other. Can’t we do that?”
She looked down at him. His was a face she loved, but she couldn’t tell him that. He tugged at her hand and she sat down beside him.
He lifted her hand and put her fingers against his lips. “Nora, whatever happens—whether you go with me or not—you’ve gotta get out of that marriage. Maybe that’s what I am to you, a midwife, delivering you from him.”
“We’ve been through a lot together. You don’t throw away a life because it’s rough now and then. History counts for something.”
“No, it doesn’t. You think being in a bad relationship for a long time makes it worthwhile? It doesn’t. It’s more time wasted. Fourteen years of misery is fourteen too many.”
“Channing and I have had good years. I don’t cut and run.”
“What about your ex? You don’t think divorce is a form of running away?”
“We didn’t divorce. He died.”
“Of what?”
“A fluke; a heart anomaly he’d had since birth, something the doctors missed. He was a banker. He had a great job. He was thirty-six years old with no idea whatsoever he was living on borrowed time. I thought life was perfect. We had each other, we had our boy. We also had a hefty mortgage and a lot of credit card debt. What we didn’t have was life insurance, so when he dropped dead, I was left without a dime. I was thirty-four years old and I’d never held a job. I was in a panic, desperate for someone to take care of me. I met Channing six months later and by the time Tripp had been gone a year, I was married to him. My son was eleven. Channing’s twin girls were thirteen.”
Dante squinted at her. “What did you say?”
“About what?”
“Did you say ‘Tripp’?”
“Yes.”
“You were married to Tripp Lanahan?”
“I’ve mentioned him before.”
“You never said his name. I had no idea.”
“Well, now you know,” she said. She glanced at him. The color had drained from his face and he was staring at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re white as a sheet.”
He shook his head briefly, as though to ward off a ringing in his ears. “We did business once. He approved the loan when I was buying my house. No other banker in town would touch me because of what I did for a living.”
She smiled. “He was a good judge of human nature and he wasn’t afraid to bend the rules.”
Dante hung his head. He’d said the same thing about Tripp in referring to him. He ran a hand down his face, pulling his features out of alignment.
She put her arm around him and gave him a squeeze. “I have to go. I told Channing I had a meeting with my broker in Santa Monica. It sounded like a lie when I said it, but it turns out to be the case. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” He put his hand over hers without quite meeting her eyes.
She tilted her head and leaned against him. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll call and let you know. You drive safely.”
“I will.”
The meeting with her broker was brief. He was in his early seventies, lean and humorless. He’d managed her portfolio for twenty years, so long he thought of it as his own. When she told him she was cashing in her stocks, he seemed confused. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“May I ask why?”
“I don’t like what the market’s doing. I want out.”