Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel Read online

  Reconcilable Differences

  M A Clarke Scott

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2016 by: Mary Ann F Clarke Scott

  ISBN: 978-0-9949507-1-0

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. M A Clarke Scott holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  You can sign up to follow M A Clarke Scott’s blog & website at www.maryannclarkescott.com to get release dates, discounts, giveaways and contests.

  DEDICATION

  For Pindy…

  Because you always knew I was a closet shrink.

  And because you’ve been there since the beginning.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgments

  Subscribe & Follow MACS!

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kate O’Day checked her watch, eager to begin, but they were still missing two important players. Today marked the beginning of a brand new mediation. She scribbled the date in bold strokes at the top of the page of her case notes.

  She sat back and observed the woman across from her, the immaculately well-groomed and chic D’arcy Duchamp, her client. D’arcy stared sightlessly out the window at the grey haze that blanketed downtown Vancouver’s urban skyline, patently ignoring her mother’s chosen counsel, Sharon Beckett. Not surprisingly, top dollar.

  The sound of the door opening caught their attention and the young receptionist stepped in. “Excuse me, Ms. Beckett? Lynda from Goode & Broadbent just called to say, Mr. Broadbent was suddenly called to judge’s chambers and won’t be able to attend. But they are sending a replacement.”

  Their host, Sharon Beckett, sat beside Kate, her tightly coifed flaxen head bent over her smart phone, jabbing it forcefully with her fingertip. “I didn’t get any message about this, Carrie.”

  Carrie cleared her throat daintily. “Um. No, apparently it was quite unexpected. They sent their apologies.”

  “Well they’d better not keep us waiting. Who’s coming instead?”

  “Someone named, uh…” she referred to a paper in her hand, “Simon… Sharpe?”

  Kate gasped, her body stiffening like she’d been hit with a Taser right there in her chair.

  “Oh, really? All right, then,” Sharon crooned. “Thank you, Carrie. Let us know when he arrives.”

  Kate’s hand jerked up to cover her mouth, her pulse kicking into high gear at the sound of his name.

  “Oh well, these things happen. I’d forgotten he’d recently changed firms. I haven’t been in touch with him much lately.” Sharon lifted her head, a small frown creasing her brow. “I assume, Kate, that you informed Eli of today’s meeting. He won’t know about this change.”

  Kate had worked with Sharon before and was familiar with her reputation. She was a darn good lawyer, but she was rigid, repressed, and confrontational. Right now, she couldn’t think of a response. Her thoughts were suddenly scrambled. Had she heard correctly? She swallowed. “Who did you say?”

  Sharon made Kate uncomfortable. Sharon reserved a special tone of voice for her colleagues. Tolerance, iced with a hint of disapproval, as though she couldn’t be sure you were worthy. With her crisp taupe suit and primly buttoned sage green blouse, she reminded Kate of a tiny, tightly wound army sergeant ready to pounce on wayward recruits. One could never fault her. She was always correct, strictly business, though one came away feeling abused, somehow. “Eli?”

  “No, I mean–” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name aloud. Simon. Simon Sharpe. Kate’s breath became as shallow as a gentle breeze ruffling the surface of a calm lake, upsetting the glass-smooth surface, tossing a leaf or two into the air like the harbinger of an as-yet unseen storm. A storm that would soon heave the water of the lake upside down, churning its muddy, murky bottom into a roiling stew pot of reluctant rememberings. If she stopped breathing, maybe she could prevent the storm from coming.

  “I left him a message, Sharon,” D’arcy cut in, a knowing smirk on her glossy ruby lips, like the self-possessed cherubs that Kate had seen in the Baroque paintings of Rubens.

  “Good.” Sharon offered D’arcy a patronizing smile that stopped short of her icy blue eyes. “Well, well. So we’ll be working with the charming Simon Sharpe.”

  She had heard correctly. But there must be some mistake. Or maybe it was someone else with the same name. That was possible, wasn’t it? The thought of him walking into the room any moment caused Kate’s stomach to clench into a hard, heavy knot of dread.

  “You know him?” D’arcy asked, examining the perfect claret tips of her soft white hands.

  Do I ever! He’d touched her body and soul.

  “I was in law school with his wife. We’re good friends,” Sharon replied.

  His wife. Of course, he would have a wife. Why wouldn’t he? Kate hadn’t seen him in –her mind spun back in time, calculating, counting the years– fourteen? Fifteen? Since her third year at university.

  D’arcy shrugged and reached for her small Louis Vuitton handbag, retrieved a nail file, made a minor correction to her manicure and put it back. She tossed the bag onto an empty chair.

  As if from a distance, Kate observed the way her hands fluttered about like doves in a cote, in direct contrast with her serene countenance. She was a strange mix of cool confidence and nervous energy. And now so was Kate, aware that she felt breathless, her pulse racing. Adrenaline flushed her body, her head and chest suddenly hot, sweat breaking out on her face.

  Kate frowned, taking in the cool, glossy black lacquer table, the spare modern leather and chrome chairs and stark white walls. A too-loud hum emanated from a grill vent in the ceiling and the view from the eighteenth floor window was flat and faded by cloud covering the sky. She had a sudden image of herself fleeing, flying out the window like a bird and disappearing into that soft, concealing grey. The ostentatious board room of Flannigan, Searle, Meacham & Beckett, Barristers & Solicitors, was as cold as a surgical theatre and too impersonal for Kate's liking. As soon as she'd won her clients’ trust, she'd suggest a move to her own, more homey, studio.

  Her muscles tightened again. But she couldn’t have him there, in her space.

  D’arcy cleared her throat and spoke in that peculiar accent that was uniquely Montreal-bilingual, neither the lilting cadence of a Quebecois Francophone nor CBC-Radio English, but something in between. “I’m dying for a cigarette.”

  “Are you nervous, D’arcy?” Kate asked, distracted. “Today will be just an informal introduction. Nothing too serious, yet.” Not fo
r D’arcy, anyway.

  D’arcy rolled her khol-rimmed round eyes toward the ceiling. “No. I’m just in nicotine withdrawal. I’m quitting.” She was glamorous in a silent-movie-siren sort of way, but dark circles under her eyes betrayed an otherwise cool, well-contained façade. “I have quit.”

  “That’s an excellent decision, D’arcy, dear. Your mother will be pleased to hear it,” Sharon said, glancing up from her phone.

  D’arcy’s lip twitched, barely suppressing a sneer. “I suppose you’ll be discussing that with her, too? Would you like to know what I ate for lunch?”

  Sharon clucked her tongue and went back to her phone, her teeth clicking. “What’s taking them so long? We can’t wait all day.”

  Kate pulled herself together and bent over her notebook to jot down a few impressions while they were fresh. She wasn’t known for following the norm — such as meeting clients individually prior to the first group session — and she had chosen not to this time as well. Her unconventional style involved feeling her way through based on the people and their raw reactions, affording her a glimpse into their inner nature. She glanced up, her eye drawn to the sweeping arc of a red umbrella in an impressionistic Mediterranean landscape on the wall opposite her. The gash of red against blue sky provided the only spots of color in the sterile room.

  Today’s introductory session was just that, an opportunity for her to get to know her clients, D’arcy and Eli. And, unfortunately, their lawyers. Kate had to stay calm and keep her wits about her. Focus on the clients. Right. Just ignore the lawyers. Both of them. As if she could ever ignore Simon Sharpe.

  Sharon pulled a notebook and pen out of her briefcase and silently made notes. Kate tried to smile at D’arcy, who offered a weak smile of her own.

  “When did you last speak with Eli?” Kate asked her.

  Her face sullen, D’arcy searched around with an exaggerated air. “A couple of weeks ago, maybe.”

  Sharon flipped a few pages in her notebook. “It was September seventeenth. The night of the…” her lip lifted in a sneer, “… party.”

  D’arcy’s eyes turned glassy, and Kate fervently wished she could do her work without the interference of lawyers.

  Clients came to her because they hoped for a resolution to their conflict that was as congenial as possible, usually in the context of a complete communication breakdown. She looked up, pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Success for her was nothing short of reconciliation, healing broken relationships. The better she understood their strengths, failings, and fears, the more effectively she could help them.

  Her cell phone jangled in her bag. Damn, she forgot to turn it off. “Excuse me.” She picked up the phone and squinted at the screen, her irritation rising at the interruption as she silenced the ringing.

  Jay. The last person she wanted to hear from right now.

  Guilt swamped her, her finger hovering over the “busy” button, recalling her last conversation with him. Her phone buzzed in her hand. A text.

  Hey, Angel. How about dinner tonight?

  She thumbed a quick response. In client mtg.

  Another text buzzed.

  She clenched her jaw and put her phone away without looking at it. She was going to need to call Alexa tonight, if she made it through this afternoon, not Jay.

  She knew what he wanted and she didn’t want to deal with it. Jay had been the perfect companion. Their two year relationship was a record for her. He was gorgeous, talented, fun, sexy, easy-going and lacked the capacity for self-examination. In other words, he was a long, long way from thinking about commitment. Or so she’d thought. Lately he’d begun hinting about the future, spoiling everything.

  Kate studied the shell-shocked D’arcy, trying to imagine what a couple as young as she and Eli were thinking, getting married in their early twenties. No wonder they were having trouble. On the other hand, she thought with sympathy, they must have been wildly in love. Perhaps they still were. She remembered what that felt like.

  Now all Kate’s relationship skills went toward helping her clients sort out their problems and providing them with happy-ever-afters. That was enough for her, since she wasn’t ever going to get her own.

  Most people needed a prod to their self-awareness, and help clarifying their goals. Unlike Kate, who, through counseling, already knew herself far too well. If Jay knew everything there was to know about her, he wouldn’t want to push for more.

  There were too many ghosts in her past that made intimacy hard, if not impossible. And yet, nothing less than true intimacy could induce her to spend the rest of her life with one man. There had been only one man that had made her feel that way. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling numb. Apparently he was about to enter the room.

  The truth was she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life at all. Jay distracted her from her work and somehow made her feel guilty for devoting herself to what she loved most. Except… at thirty-five, she did, in theory, want to settle down and have a family, too.

  The three women sat in silence, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, the minutes dragging, until the annoying whine of the HVAC system began to grate on their nerves. D’arcy rolled her eyes to the ceiling with a huff.

  What was taking them so long? It was like waiting on death row. Kate just wanted to get it over with now.

  She cleared her throat. “I understand you went to McGill, D’arcy. Did you like it?”

  “What’s not to like? It was my hometown, you know. All the local kids went there who didn’t have a plan.” D’arcy lifted one round shoulder. “I did figure out what I wanted, eventually.”

  “Political science, wasn’t it?” pressed Kate gently.

  “Yes. And history. Daddy thought I should study journalism. Maybe work at one of his magazines until I met Mr. Right.” She pulled her mouth tight. “But it wasn’t my thing. I organize people better than words.”

  “Sharon mentioned you worked as a campaign manager for a while,” Kate said, nodding. “What happened? Did you enjoy it?”

  “I loved it!” D’arcy paused, considering her hands again, while a wistful expression stole over her features. “Eli happened, I guess. When he came along, it was obvious he needed me more than Minister Bradley ever could.” A breathy laugh escaped her lips. She paused, gazing past Kate. “Anyway, I fell hard.” One side of her full lips quirked up.

  She knew what that felt like. Interesting, Kate thought. So, D’arcy was one for causes, including the struggling artist Eli.

  “Looks like you should have stayed in Montreal.” Sharon said with a drawl. “Where are Eli and Simon, I wonder? It’s nearly two.”

  As if on cue, the door opened again, and Carrie entered. Kate’s pulse kicked up again, her eyes locked on the door, feeling an irrational but powerful urge to leap out of her chair and run like hell.

  “Mr. Benjamin is here,” she said with a flicker of a smile, then slipped back out the door. Kate let out her breath. Not him. Not yet.

  A young man entered and scanned the room through narrowed eyes. He made a point of not looking at D’arcy. Flopping himself into the chair to Kate’s right, he draped his agile frame over it like a blanket. Ignoring both his wife and her lawyer, he settled back and assessed Kate from under hooded lids, while she studied him in return. She could feel the tension vibrate between husband and wife like a plucked cable, though they didn’t acknowledge each other.

  “Hello,” Kate said, realizing the others weren’t acknowledging him.

  “Hey. Nice to meet you, Kathryn O’Day,” he said, tossing her a careless smile, his dark espresso eyes smoldering. Ebony waves grazed the shoulders of a weathered brown leather jacket. He emanated sexual heat.

  A bad boy? She held her face as neutral as she could to conceal her reaction, piercing him with her x-ray stare. “You can call me Kate. Good morning, Mr. Benjamin.”

  He sat up a little straighter in his chair, a veil of boredom descending, the ‘come hither’ expression vanishing. He
yawned.

  “Call me Eli. Please.”

  “Eli.” She nodded. She quickly explained the change of council to him. “He should arrive shortly. We’re overdue to begin.” She glanced at her watch. “I hope you’re okay with the change.”

  “He won’t care,” D’arcy said. “Eli’s not one for legal matters.”

  “Au contraire, ma chere. I fired my last lawyer, Kate,” he said pointedly, turning to her. “We didn’t see eye to eye,” Eli elegant dark brows furrowed. “And I really was looking forward to working with David Broadbent. He’s a great guy.”

  “Don’t worry, Eli. You’ll like Simon just as well,” Sharon said. “I’ve known him for years, and he’s a fine lawyer.”

  Kate’s skin tingled, and she suppressed a shiver of mixed anticipation and dread. Just then, she heard footsteps in the hall outside, and they turned as one to face the door like spectators at a tennis match. She straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and took the deep, calming Pranayama breaths she’d learned in yoga class. Shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti.

  Eli frowned as the door opened, his eyes scanning the man who entered.

  Kate’s gaze locked on him, her breath frozen in her throat. There was no mistake. Simon Sharpe had hardly changed at all.

  Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

  The tall blond man slid into the room. He shook the raindrops from himself and shrugged out of his wet, wrinkled raincoat, revealing a light grey suit that was hardly better. With a world-weary air, he grinned and looked around, taking everyone in. His startling bright eyes settled first on Sharon, nodding his acknowledgment while her eyes glinted like an eagle sighting prey.

  He assessed D’arcy for a moment. Then his gaze rested on Eli, his brows lifted, and finally on Kate herself, where it froze, a look of bewilderment appearing, as if he found himself suddenly in the ladies room and wondered how he’d got there.