I dialed.
A man answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Uh—hi. Is Melanie there?”
“Who’s calling?”
I hesitated, knowing my name was blacklisted in the Carver bubble. “Scott.”
There was a pause. Then a knowing exhalation. “McKallister?”
“Please don’t hang up.” I rushed the words out. “I’m trying to find Michelle and my kids. Can you just tell me—is she still here in Los Angeles?”
Another pause.
“Dude, please. Man to man. I need to know if they’re okay.”
“They’re fine. Melanie is with her.”
I exhaled audibly. “Are they in LA?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where?”
“One of her father’s properties. That’s all I’m going to say.”His voice was smooth and practiced, but there was a hesitancy to it. “I’m already on thin ice with my wicked witch of a mother-in-law. I can’t risk getting involved. You hear me, Scott? Man to man.”
“I hear you. It’s James, right?”
“Yes. Your much older and wiser brother-in-law. And as such, I feel it is my duty to give you a valuable piece of advice.”
“Okay,” I said, wary.
“Find your wife. Find your kids. And get them the hell away from the Carver family.” His tone hardened. “They’re poison. I wish I’d never crossed paths with them.”
The line went dead.
25
MICHELLE: MY SO-CALLED LIFE
Despite having her own room to retreat to, Melanie had been spending most of the week in ours. Now she sat cross-legged on the sofa and flipped absently through a magazine as she waited for me to put Keith and Emma to sleep. I changed into a t-shirt and pajama pants before sitting across from her in a too-stiff chair.
She gave my loungewear a once-over. “I can’t remember ever being that comfortable.”
“This is my fancy set.”
“I’ll give you credit, Michelle. I didn’t think you’d last a month. And here you are—nearly six years in cotton-polyester. I underestimated you.”
I laughed. “The things we do for love.”
Her amusement faded. “I know you don’t want to think about it—”
“Melanie, stop,” I warned.
Melanie and I had been circling each other since the dinner four nights ago, trading polite smiles and useless small talk. We were both avoiding the inevitable. But I knew why she keptpushing. Mother was behind it, pulling the strings, as if leaving my husband were a decision you made on a whim.
“She meant well,” Melanie said at last.
