“Well, mine is on its last legs, and I thought maybe—that minivan I used to drive—I could use it. I knowyouaren’t driving it!”
“Well,I’mnot driving it,” Perry retorted, adjusting his gold-framed glasses on his nose, “but Bridget needs a backup car. For when she takes the dogs to the park.”
“So that car is for the dogs’ use?” I repeated blankly.
That minivan hadmyhistory in it. It was my car that I’d driven Laurie back and forth in to school every day, then to softball practice or to play games with his friends. I’d been the one to clean up the fossilized chicken nuggets from under the seat and the stinky teenage boy socks.
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “Bridget and I are married now. What’s mine is hers. If you didn’t like our divorce agreement, you should have said something last year.”
The objections felt stuck in my throat, buried too deep to drag out.
Last year I hadn’t had any money of my own.
Fighting my high-powered lawyer husband had seemed absurd, an impossibility. And I had wanted to beout, to be done with him.
“Is there a problem?” I heard the high, nasally twang of his new wife, and Bridget came into view, her long sleek blonde hair swinging almost down to her waist and her perky trim figure in a strapless minidress.
“There’s no problem,” I said brightly. “I want to use that minivan. I used it a lot when we were married and my car is about to die.”
Bridget looked highly offended at the reminder that Perry and I had been married. “If youwantto change the divorce decree, you’ll have to get a lawyer.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “I know the two of you aren’t using it.”
“What did you do with all that child support I paid you?” Perry asked firmly.
“You mean the $400 a month?” I asked. “I put it toward apartment rent and food for our child.”
“Well, Polly, he was in school by then. You should have gotten a job.”
“I did,” I said, but Perry only sneered.
“Well, I guess you should have made better life choices. Then maybe you’d have a job that made some money. Now, if you’ll excuse us, our party guests await.”
I wasn’t normally an angry person, but I felt pissed off as hell. It took three turns of my key for my car to start. What was I supposed to do when it died? I didn’t have enough money for a new car.
Perry assured me foryearsthat I’d never need to work, had scoffed at the very idea of me ever needing to work. As a result,I’d entered the workforce 18 years after college with very few options.
But it was true I did need a new job. Something paying way more than the greasy spoon diner.
I let myself in to my crummy apartment, which I had done my best to make cheerful. It would be cheaper to downsize into a one-bedroom, but what about when Laurie came home?
He was such a good boy and had never once complained that my place had only a fraction of the space his dad’s did.
I shoved a pile of unopened mail aside and started the coffee maker.
What skills did I have? My house had always been the one Laurie’s friends wanted to hang out at, and it had been fun to make them massive snack platters and try out new recipes. That was the kind of thing I was good at. Making Halloween costumes and decorating for school dances.
But I didn’t think those were very marketable skills. Maybe I should take my Aunt Bonnie’s offer to come live with her. But I’d feel horrible, like I was sponging off her.
As the coffee percolated, my eyes turned idly to the mail, and the words JOB OPENINGS caught my eye.
Hmm, interesting.
Who even advertised in thenewspaperanymore?
“Job opening at The Legends Motorcycle Club. Needs a woman’s touch. Bed provided. Occasional hard labor, but plenty of free time. Lots of fresh air. Inquire in person at the Shop.”
What kind of job had “occasional” hard labor but lots of fresh air?
