New Uses For Old Boyfriends Page 4

  Lila nodded, her molars grinding as she maintained her chipper facade. “Tell you what. You stay here. I’ll go peek in your bedroom closet and find a few options.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child and don’t you dare paw through my closet.” Daphne went from indolent to incensed in the blink of an eye. She pushed off the headboard, hopped out of bed, and hurried down the hall toward the master bedroom. “I’m perfectly capable of putting together an outfit.”

  Lila trailed behind her, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong.

  “And I don’t need fashion tips from someone wearing baggy flannel pants, thank you very much.”

  “I was trying to help.” Lila remained doggedly cheerful as she crossed over to the closet. “Sometimes it’s fun to pick out stuff together. Remember that time we—”

  “Don’t!” Daphne cried before Lila could grasp the doorknob.

  Lila froze, stricken by the panic in her mother’s voice. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t open that door.”

  Lila pulled her hand back, her eyes huge. “Why not?”

  Daphne’s whole face tightened. “Because I told you not to, and I’m your mother.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me.” Daphne pointed to the door. “Step away from the closet.”

  Lila kept her hands up as she slowly moved aside.

  “Must I remind you that I am a grieving widow?” Daphne fluffed her sleek brunette bob, which looked camera-ready right out of bed. Must be an ex-model thing. “You have to mollycoddle me and let me have my way.”

  But her mother didn’t sound grief-stricken at the moment. She sounded bossy and sharp and a little bit fearful.

  Lila raised one eyebrow.

  Daphne took her daughter’s elbow and hustled her back toward the mirrored vanity table. “Be a good girl and change the subject, won’t you?”

  Lila narrowed her eyes but complied. “Fine. What do you want to talk about? And don’t say Ben.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about your other friends.”

  It took Lila a few moments to admit the truth: She didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. Not anymore. Over the past ten years, she’d given up her single social life to be part of the perfect power couple. She and Carl had couple friends, and when Carl left her, many of the wives patted her hand sympathetically but said they didn’t want to choose sides. She’d told them that of course she understood. She didn’t want anyone to feel awkward or uncomfortable. Even in the court-ordered mediation sessions, she’d smiled and spoken softly and comported herself like a lady . . . and then gone home and sobbed in the shower. “I haven’t really stayed in touch with anybody from high school.”

  “But you were the most popular girl in your class.” Daphne seemed a bit anxious at the thought that this might no longer be the case. “Stacie and Christa and Valerie still live nearby. You should call them and have lunch.”

  “I haven’t seen Val since her wedding, and Stacie gave up on me a few years ago. I didn’t even get a Christmas card from her last December. It would be weird, calling them out of the blue after all this time.”

  “They’d be delighted to hear from you,” Daphne said. “Remember how much fun the four of you used to have together?”

  Lila glanced down at her cheerleading shirt and softened. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Daphne cleared her throat. “Because you’re having cocktails with them at the country club at four.”

  “What?”

  “I made some calls last night.” Daphne picked up a tiny bottle of oil and started ministering to her cuticles. “Valerie still lives right here in town, Stacie moved to Rehoboth Beach, and Christa works up by Dover, but she said she’d be happy to take the afternoon off and come catch up.”

  Lila sat down on the edge of the bed. “What?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. I spent two hours on the phone with their mothers arranging all this.” Daphne looked offended. “A simple ‘thank you’ might be in order.”

  “I am a grown woman. I do not need you to arrange playdates for me.”

  “Of course you don’t. I’m just trying to help.” Daphne’s mood was improving by the moment. “Getting out and about will do wonders for your confidence. Although you really should try to get your highlights touched up before you go.” She glided over to Lila and peered down with concern. “What’s the matter, pumpkin?”

  Lila literally bit her tongue and forced herself to count to twenty before she replied. “I cannot believe you did that.”

  Daphne’s enthusiasm ebbed away. “I didn’t mean to . . . I just wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be thrilled.”

  Lila started back at zero, counted to twenty again, and then kept right on counting.

  “I only wanted to make you happy.” Her mother was wilting before her very eyes. “They’re your friends. I thought you might want to have some fun and chat with someone who isn’t your mother.”

  Thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . . “I’ll go,” Lila ground out. “Thank you for thinking of me. I’ll go. But no deal on the highlights. I’m in a bit of a cash crunch; I don’t have the budget to constantly go to the salon anymore.”

  Daphne scoffed. “There’s always enough money for highlights.”

  “There’s actually not.” Lila glanced out the side window toward the driveway. “My net worth consists of a heap of wrinkly clothes and a car that’s trying to kill me.”

  “Look at the time.” Daphne glanced at the clock and got to her feet. “No more putting it off—we’ve got to get ready. Run along and get changed.”

  Lila lingered in the doorway.

  Daphne took the coffee mug back. “Yes? May I help you with something?”

  “What’s in your closet?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Come on. Just tell me!”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” Daphne dabbed eye cream onto her face. “You don’t get to know every single thing about me, that’s why. Believe it or not, there’s more to me than just being your mother.”

  * * *

  As soon as she glimpsed the receptionist’s face, Lila braced herself for bad news.

  The interior of the estate attorney’s office was tasteful and subdued with lots of dark wood, tufted leather furniture, potted plants, and a woman with pearl earrings and a chignon stationed at a desk. She glanced up when Lila opened the door, and Lila recognized the emotions flickering across the woman’s face. Pity. Condolence. The urge to soften the blow.

  Lila had seen the same look in Carl’s eyes in the weeks before he announced that their marriage was over. It took all of her self-control not to turn around and walk back out of the office.

  But her mother sat down on a long, low leather sofa against the wall, so Lila forced herself to approach the receptionist.

  “Hi. We’re here to see Mr. Walther.” She nodded over at her mother, who was listlessly flipping through a magazine. “Daphne Alders.”

  “Of course.” The woman focused on her computer keyboard and avoided direct eye contact. “He’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The sky had been dark and gloomy all morning, and the first few droplets of rain splashed onto the windows. Her mother flipped through an old issue of Architectural Digest. “What do you think of this wallpaper? For the upstairs hallway?”

  Lila glanced at the nubby, oyster-colored swatch. “Didn’t you just redecorate the upstairs?”

  “The bedrooms, not the hallway,” Daphne replied. “And that was eighteen months ago. The wallpaper, sweet pea. What do you think?”

  “I think I’d rather spend my imaginary money on highlights.”

  “Don’t be a spoilsport.” Daphne’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe after this, we can go to that h
ome decor shop in Rehoboth Beach and look at upholstery fabric and rugs. Go crazy and buy some drawer pulls.”

  “Let’s worry about the property tax bill first, okay?”

  “Let’s not worry at all.” Daphne turned to the next page. “Money matters always work themselves out in the end.”

  Lila half coughed, half laughed. “Um.”

  “Remember what your father always used to say: ‘If you can solve the problem with money, it’s not a real problem.’”

  “Mr. Walther is ready for you.” The receptionist stood up and motioned for Lila and Daphne to follow her through a doorway. “Go right in.”

  * * *

  “We have a real problem here and it’s time to address it,” the estate attorney said as he shuffled a stack of papers. “This isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Mrs. Alders—”

  “Oh, Richard, stop with the ‘Mrs. Alders.’” Daphne smoothed the crisp folds of her skirt. “I’d say we’re well beyond that by now, wouldn’t you?”

  “Daphne.” Mr. Walther’s smile was sad and sympathetic. “Your estate is . . . well, it’s in the red.”

  Lila froze, her posture perfect. “Excuse me?”

  She stared at her mother. Her mother stared at the lawyer. The office was so quiet that she could hear the faint whoosh of air circulating through the ceiling vents.

  Richard cleared his throat and consulted the paperwork. “May I speak frankly?”

  Daphne settled back in her chair and sighed.

  “Please do,” Lila said.

  “When your father died, he left behind substantial debts. Most of the business loans can be discharged, but the personal loans have to be repaid and your mother and I have had several conversations about downsizing her lifestyle and reconfiguring her budget.”

  “Wait, how much debt are we talking about here?” Lila turned to her mother. “I thought everything was going great. Dad’s business made it through the recession—he never said a word about loans. And I know you’ve never said a word about downsizing.”

  “Because I’m fine.” Daphne’s voice was high and thin. “I’m the parent and you’re the child. I don’t need a guilt trip from you right now.”

  Lila threw up her hands. “I’m not giving you a guilt trip. I’m just trying to figure out—”

  “Let’s look at the portfolio.” Richard pushed a folder across the desktop. “Let’s focus on the numbers.”

  Lila set her jaw and inched forward in her seat.

  “Bill’s construction business never recovered after the recession, and he took on a lot of secured debt trying to salvage the company.”

  “He did?” Lila glanced at the contracts and spreadsheets in the portfolio.

  “He did.”

  “And you knew about this?” she asked her mother.

  Daphne shrugged one shoulder. “Your father didn’t like to talk about money.”

  Lila gripped the chair’s carved wooden armrests and addressed the attorney. “So there were business problems.”

  “Add that to the outstanding credit card debt, the maintenance and taxes on the primary residence, the line of credit leveraged on the house, and the liquidated investments, and it’s . . .” The lawyer cleared his throat. “It’s not very promising, from a financial standpoint.”

  Lila looked back at her mother. Her mother gazed out the window. “You did know about this.”

  She nodded.

  “And it’s been going on for a year now.”

  “You had just lost your father, and then you lost your job, and then that nasty legal battle with Carl . . .” A single tear slid down Daphne’s cheek. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Since when did you take out a home equity loan?” Lila asked. “And credit card debt! Weren’t you the one who gave me a big lecture about the dangers of high interest payments when I left for college?”

  “Stop yelling at me! I already feel terrible!” Daphne broke into sobs.

  Richard raised his index finger, calling for calm. “Your mother and I have had several discussions about her current cash flow and the need for economy.”

  “I see.” Lila folded her arms. “And how is that going?”

  Daphne kept crying.

  Lila took a deep breath. “So where are we right now?”

  “There are no remaining assets to speak of,” the attorney said. “And very little investment income.”

  Lila glanced over at her mother. “But what about all the rental houses?” Lila examined one of the financial documents, but couldn’t make sense of what she was looking at. “The retirement accounts?”

  “Your father liquidated everything trying to salvage his business,” Mr. Walther said. “I did advise him at the time that he’d be better off declaring professional bankruptcy and safeguarding his personal property, but I believe it was a point of honor. He very much valued his reputation in the community.”

  “Of course he did,” Daphne snapped. “He was the best builder in Black Dog Bay.”

  “Bill and I had several meetings about the state of his financial affairs before he died.” Richard handed a tissue to Daphne. “He kept hoping things would turn around once the real estate market recovered.”

  “But they didn’t.” Lila flinched as she heard her jaw joint click. “So now what?” She released her death grip on the chair, reeling at the implications of this. She was shocked, of course, and angry that her father had hidden this from his family, but she also tried to imagine the crushing sense of responsibility he must have felt, charged with taking care of his daughter and wife. His success had become a matter of routine and expectation. He had always been the bedrock, the hero, the provider. “We have a property tax bill to pay. Among a lot of other things, apparently.”

  “You’re in a financial state of emergency,” the attorney declared.

  “Okay.” Lila kept studying the legal documents as if the answers to all of life’s problems were buried in the tiny rows of text. “What’s the first thing we have to do to turn this around?”

  “To be blunt, turning things around isn’t an option. Daphne, you’re going to have to sell the house—”

  “Never.” Daphne jumped back into the conversation. “Absolutely not. I’m not selling the house.”

  “He’s saying we don’t have a choice,” Lila pointed out.

  “I spent thirty years pouring my heart and soul into that house. I just updated the living room this fall. Selling it is out of the question, and I won’t hear another word on the subject.”

  Lila made eye contact with the attorney. “No way to save the house?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “I assume you’re not in a position to assist your mother financially at this time?”

  Lila felt her cheeks flush. “That would be a correct assumption.”

  “Well, there’s no need to call a real estate agent today.” He shot a sidelong glance at Daphne, who was blithely ignoring them. “I do think, though, that action should be taken sooner rather than later. Because, given the monthly expenses and the debts your mother is already responsible for—”

  “We’re screwed.” Lila shot to her feet. “Got it.”

  “This is obviously an emotional time.” The lawyer adjusted the knot in his tie. “Why don’t the two of you take a day to collect your thoughts, come to a decision about the house, and—”

  “The decision is made,” Daphne said. “I’m not selling the house.”

  Richard gave Lila a look and handed her a stack of folders.

  Lila accepted the paperwork and gathered up her coat and handbag. “Mom? We’re going.”

  Daphne waited for the attorney to stand up, walk around the desk, and help her put on her sable-trimmed black coat. Then mother and daughter walked back through the waiting room and out of the office.

  Finally, once they’d pushe
d through the building’s glass doors to the wind and cold rain, Lila trusted herself to speak. “I need a few minutes alone.”

  Daphne dabbed at her eyes with the wadded tissue. “I think that’s a good idea. Take some time to process everything before you meet the girls at the country club.”

  Lila pivoted on her heel and rounded on her mother. “Are you insane? I’m not going to the country club to have cocktails right now.”

  Daphne held her ground. “You have to. Canceling would be rude; everyone will be so disappointed. What will people think?”

  “Sorry; I got my priorities screwed up for a second there.” Lila let out a dry little laugh. “Who cares what’s really going on? All that matters is what people will think.”

  Daphne drew herself up to her full, formidable height. “Lila Jane Alders—”

  “I know, I know.” And Lila did know, before her mother could say the words, what she should focus on. The fact that her friends, whom she hadn’t seen in over ten years, had taken time off work to drive to Black Dog Bay to see her. They deserved to be greeted by the warm and bubbly girl they remembered, not a bitter and penniless divorcée. Lila would meet everyone’s expectations of her; she always did.

  After all, she had learned from the best.

  She turned back to the FUV and offered her hand to her mother. “Watch your step. I’ll drop you off at home.”

  “Thank you.” Despite her imposing stature, Daphne looked smaller than Lila had ever seen her. “And I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Lila kept her gaze on the asphalt. “I know.”

  “I don’t know how I ended up here.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Daphne settled into the passenger seat with her handbag in her lap. “But don’t let this ruin your day. Go to the club. Have fun.” She leaned forward and rubbed her index finger against Lila’s cheek. “There. Your blush wasn’t quite blended.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and you’ve got the tiniest little blemish on your chin.” Daphne rummaged through her purse. “Not to worry—I’ve got the most amazing concealer. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll look flawless.”