She shrugged. “I don’t know, Gray. Who cares? Start a strip club. Buy and sell used cars on the Internet. It makes no difference as long as he’s out of your company.”
That’s when my mind started racing. I’ll be honest: I couldn’t imagine Greg running his own show. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hire the right people and start a competing company. And I didn’t know Brooke that well, but who knew what she was capable of? I remembered her sparkling résumé and how much she had impressed me during our interview. There was a good reason I’d hired her. I said all that, and Marcy responded, “He said, and I quote, ‘I would never do this mind-numbing bullshit an hour longer than I had to.’?”
I laughed. That was a relief. “So what does he want?”
She handed me a piece of paper. I opened it, saw the seven digits on it, and about spit out my wine. “That is insane. No. Absolutely not.”
Marcy shrugged. “Look, I’m a therapist. We both know I’m not good with money. But I’m assuming this isn’t close to as valuable as half your company, right?”
That was technically true. And I could get rid of him. I could be rid of Greg and not have to see him except at handoffs and not have to be annoyed every single moment that he had not only ruined our marriage but had taken half of what was rightfully mine. Mine, mine, mine. Yes, divorce drives grown adults back into toddlerhood.
“I love that you are suddenly negotiating my divorce. You have to teach me your tricks sometime, how you get into people’s souls like that and figure out what they really want.”
She scoffed. “I would never. I manipulate the hell out of you on the regular.”
“I will give him half of this,” I said. “Half of this should be enough for him to completely start over.”
Marcy nodded. “I don’t know that he’ll take it. But I’ll try.”
I held up my glass. “Should we finish these on the porch?”
As Marcy followed me outside, she said, “Look. I’m getting you out of your marriage. In return, it would be fantastic if you could help me get into mine.”
“Want me to see if Andrew has, like, a twenty-one-year-old friend for you?” We both laughed as we folded ourselves into the oversize cushioned chairs on the back porch.
“Keep the house,” Marcy said. “I don’t know what we’ll do without this back porch.”
I nodded. And I realized that I didn’t know what I would do without a best friend like her.
diana: shine again
One of the first things people do after a breakup is get rid of their pictures. Makes sense. But I had saved two. The one in the locket, and one of Frank and me standing outside his car. It wasn’t a special day or a special occasion or anything like that. It was just me and him and his friend Ronnie. Ronnie had snapped a Polaroid of us. And we looked so happy. I pulled it out every now and then and thought,This is all I want, to be this happy again.
So, all I had been able to think about these past few days was Frank saying that he couldn’t be happy without me—and my not being able to be happy without him. He was right. I couldn’t be happy without him. Ever. None of the other many, many men in my life could take his place. Harry was the only one I’d managed to even somewhat settle down with for more than a couple of months.
But the scared little girl part of me had been avoiding Frank since I had seen him. Ignoring his texts, refusing to return his calls. His words—I knew I’d never be happy without you—ran through my mind over and over. But, well, I was in shock. And the ball was still in his court after all this time. If he wanted me, he knew where to find me.
When I pulled into the Beach Pub parking lot Thursday night, I recognized that car right off the bat, before I even saw Frank. That old, rusted-out T-bird was painted a perfect, glossy Carolina blue. Its fenders gleamed. I couldn’t help but smile. He had done it. He had taken that beat-up car and made it shine again.
Frank was leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed, his hair lying just so across his forehead, looking so much like he did twenty years ago that I forgot for a minute we were forty and forty-four. And I think that’s the danger—and the fun—of old loves, of past lives. When you haven’t seen someone in twenty-two years, you have no frame of reference for each other as adults. You are, for a while anyway, thrust back to that period of time where you left off. I was still eighteen. Frank was still twenty-two. And in the moment of reconnection, youforget all the pain; you forget all the hurt. You remember the happy. You remember the good. I was trying to protect myself from that.
When I parked right beside him and got out of the car, I said, “You traded me for a chain of auto parts stores, Frank. How am I ever supposed to get over that?”
“Diana,” he said soothingly, reaching his arms out to me. “I didn’t trade you for a chain of auto parts stores. You know it was a lot more complicated than that.”
I sniffed. “It didn’t feel complicated. It felt like your mom called me a trailer trash orphan and threatened to take away the stores, and you caved like a barn loft holding too much hay.”
He shook his head, and even though he didn’t move, I could see that he was getting impatient. I studied his face. He had the same deep, dark tan and some lines on his forehead, a tiny bit of gray around his temples. He was even more handsome, if that was possible. The door of the bar swung open, and Robin came out hesitantly. The girls knew the battle I’d been fighting. I was sure Robin had been sent out to check on me.
“How you doing, Frank?”
He ventured a smile. “Oh, I been better, Robin. How about you?”
“I’m doing pretty good. You hanging around here for a while? Should we pull up a chair for you or grab our guns?”
“That depends on this one, I suppose.” He gestured toward me.
Robin raised her eyebrows for about a half second. “You okay, D?”
