Page 2 of Shaw

“My therapist says that’s because you turned me into a complete sex addict, you heartless slut,” he said, smirking.

“Mr. Fumagalli, please.” Paul cleared his throat and glared at George. “Advise your client not to shout or use verbal abuse toward my client, Counselor.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s not interested in talking, and I have to go to work now.” She got to her feet, glad again that she stood two inches taller than her ex, and regarded her attorney. “Mr. Whitley, I’ll call you tomorrow about the court date. Have a nice day, Mr. Armstrong.”

She almost made it to the parking lot before her ex caught up with her.

“Give it up, Julie,” Mitch said, stepping in front of her. “I’ve got the best lawyer in the state, Dad’s life insurance, and all the time in the world. I can make this go on for years.”

“I have nothing else to say to you.” When she tried to go around him he grabbed her arm to stop her. “They’ll take pictures of my bruises at the police station when I go to report you, and we can use that in court.”

He held up both hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. “Don’t beat me again, baby cakes. I thought you were going to trip.”

“Just quit with the lying, will you?” Julianne wished she’d parked closer. “I’ll never give you what you want.”

“I figured that out on our honeymoon.” He uttered a snorting laugh that grated on her nerves as much as his cologne. “How does an airhead bombshell turn out to be a dried-up fridge?”

“I’m a fridge because I wouldn’t get my nipples pierced for you, or dance on amateur night at that raunchy strip joint you love, or let you make a sex tape of me touching myself.” She nodded, happy to own her prudery. “So why do you think anyone will believe I addicted you to sex and had affairs with your college friends?”

“You mean the revenge sex? You planned to drive away all my buddies so I’d have no one to support me through this terrible ordeal of leaving my abusive wife.” Mitch beamed. “Anyway, that’s what my guys will tell the judge if you accuse me of infidelity, honeybuns. It’s a shame you don’t have any friends to lie for you. Even that dyke from Sacramento bailed after we got married, didn’t she?”

She’d already guessed he’d screwed around on her, but being reminded of the loss of Eva, her bestie from high school, was like being kicked in the heart. “Enough already, Mitchell.”

“You never should have left me,” he said, leaning close to whisper. “You have no idea what I can do to you, you stupid bitch, but you’re going to find out.”

Julianne realized in that moment that he was doing all of this not only for the money he’d make selling the farm, but because she’d hurt his pride. He’d thought she’d be too dumb to see who he really was. It had taken a while, but once she’d realized just how much of a selfish ass Mitch was, she knew it was over for her.

For a control freak like him, that must have been the absolute worst.

Despite all the rotten things he’d done, Julianne still wished he’d accept it was over. She had managed to get through her entire life without hating anyone, and it made her happier than most people. That wasn’t the case for Mitch, obviously. He’d always liked being smarter than her, and he’d probably counted on her being stupid enough to do what he wanted. Going after her parents’ farm was his way of punishing her for that.

“We loved each other once,” she said softly, knowing that at least that was true on her part. “Please, let’s just end this and move on.”

“Then I’ll see you in court,” her ex said. “Unless you want to have break-up sex with me. There’s a motel right across the street, and I just got my third shot, so I should be clean.” He openly rubbed his crotch. “You never know. A reverse cowgirl might make me change my mind.”

He really did hate her, Julianne thought. “Good-bye.”

“We’re still married, remember,” Mitch called after her. “If that junker you’re living in suddenly catches fire one night, I inherit everything.”

That unsubtle threat almost made her trip over her own feet, yet somehow Julianne managed to keep going until she reached the decrepit cargo van she’d borrowed from a co-worker. After checking her watch she pulled out the cheap burner phone she was using and called the office to explain why she’d be late.

“It’s okay,” David Gonzalez told her. “Melanie called in sick, though, and I’ve got my daughter’s ninth birthday pizza party tonight. If I don’t show, I’ll need to borrow your lawyer for my own divorce.”

Since the three of them were the only lifeguards working at Marson Beach, that meant there would be no one to relieve Julianne. Melanie had also been the one to lend her the van.

“No problem,” she told David. “I’ll work Mel’s shift and mine.” She thought of the last thing Mitch had said. “I just need to make a stop before I come in.”

After she hung up, Julianne rested her arms on the top of the steering wheel and sniffed hard until she was sure she wouldn’t cry. In the rearview mirror she could see the bright pink blow-up pool mattress on which she would be sleeping tonight, and the duffel bag with the clothes she’d bought at a thrift store. She could still shower at her gym, but that membership would end in four months. All she had left to eat, a couple of granola bars sitting in the pocket of the bag, might have to last her another three days until she got paid.

“Could be worse,” she told her reflection in the rearview as she touched the locket she wore, the little gold heart giving her some reassurance. “You could still be sleeping with that greedy, lying sack of STDs.”

The pale, wan image gave her a wistful smile, as if she knew worse would come.

At the office supply store Julianne found a last will and testament form that was legal in all fifty states. Pulling out her last emergency twenty, she paid for it and sat in the parking lot to read and write it up. She usually needed help with stuff like this, but luckily all she had to do was fill in the blanks with names and dates. Tomorrow she’d get it notarized at the bank, and then the farm would be safe. The fact that she even needed a will now seemed ridiculous. Was the universe punishing her for how she’d been before she’d met Mitchell Fumagalli?

Julianne still longed for the days when she had lived with her parents on their little farm just outside Napa, where they maintained a small but productive orchard of fruit trees and acres of vegetables and berries. Highly prized by chefs and gourmets all over the state, their organic heirloom varieties and baby primeur produce commanded top dollar, especially as the demand always outweighed the supply. Instead of expanding their operation, Jack and Sarah Scott had been happy to grow just enough to feed the family, and sell the rest to pay the bills and save a little for the future.

“It’s because you’re hippies, right?” Julianne asked her father one afternoon while they were picking the last of the season’s peaches. “You can’t get into the rat race because you’re discounting culture. It’s your like mission in life to do it simple, right?”