He waved to me.
Not a nasty wave. Not a condescending wave. Just a casual raising of his right hand like we were old acquaintances passing on the street. Like I meant nothing to him. Not only was he over me, it was like I had never existed.
I couldn’t let Marty see how this was affecting me, so I pretended to sneeze and put my hands over my face.
Marty was too smart for that. He slid an arm around my shoulder and said, “Let’s find a place to sit back and talk for a while.”
Chapter 10
We walked across the street to the public beach and found a park bench on the south end. It was a breezy day and the sun was behind us as we looked out over the choppy Atlantic. A lot of people say the Palm Beach public beach is the least-enticing beach in Florida. Parking is expensive and the locals clearly don’t want people visiting from off the island, but our comfortable bench, just off the road, provided a vista most people can only see in magazines.
Marty put his arm around me and didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to solve my problems or analyze me or give me advice. We just sat quietly, and I found my head rolling onto his shoulder. It was exactly what I needed. Before I knew it, I started to talk. I talked about Brennan and our marriage for maybe the first time.
When people hear you’re going through a divorce, it’s almost like you have some communicable disease. They stay at arm’s length and let you know they’re still your friends, but that this is probably something you should get through on your own.
Not Marty. He just listened.
I said, “Brennan was so dashing the first time I ever saw him. He was playing polo in Wellington and I was there with a girlfriend. He looked like a knight sweeping through the pack and swinging his mallet, or club, or whatever they call that thing that hits the ball. It was almost like a dream, it was so perfect. And he was charming. I mean actually charming, not faking it. He had an accent like a yacht club member on Martha’s Vineyard, but he was also funny and extraordinarily polite. A sense of humor and good manners go a long way with most women.
“Until about our third date, I hadn’t even known he’d been married before. They had been college sweethearts, and it sounded like she hurt him pretty badly. At least that’s how I interpreted it. I never heard many specific details, except when he’d tell me she never made him feel like I did. What a load of shit.”
Marty didn’t seem fazed at all by my rambling as we both watched the few families on the beach build sandcastles or run through the shallow water along the shore.
“Brennan proposed to me after six months. Two days before the wedding, he said his father insisted on him signing a prenup with me. He assured me it was no big deal, but the family wanted to protect the assets that provided the income for him. I didn’t care about money. I really still don’t. At least not that much. Anyway, I never even bothered to consult an attorney. All I wanted was to be his wife, maybe have a few kids, and live with this dream husband. I signed the prenup. Ugh. What a rookie mistake.”
Marty said, “You didn’t talk to any of your friends about it?”
“None of them had any experience with prenups. They were all married to teachers, insurance agents, or firemen.” I wiped a tear from my eye and regained my composure. I hated that Brennan still got to me like this. Then I said, “He never really kept any promises. We were going to travel, have a kid, be a family. He never even took me to Disney World like I wanted. He said there was no time. It was Disney World, for God’s sake. Was that too much to ask? My parents couldn’t afford a trip from Jersey when I was little, and my husband didn’t have time for fun. I’ve still never been to the Magic Kingdom.” I looked out at the ocean in an effort to hide my emotions. Marty had done nothing to deserve this kind of baggage.
After a long silence Marty said, “What happened in the end? I mean, why’d you guys break up?”
“Maybe he wanted a younger woman, but I think the real reason is that he just got bored with me. Then he threw me out on the street. I was so stunned, I barely made a squeak.”
Marty kissed me. “That’s where he’s wrong. You are anything but boring. You’ve revived me.”
That was exactly what I needed to hear him say.
Chapter 11
Over the next few days, Marty and I got in the habit of walking the beach and talking. We always started from the north end of the public beach and strolled south, right past my former house. I liked being seen with such a good-looking man. I wanted people to know that my life wasn’t over just because someone like Brennan was trying to divorce me. It was simply a lot of fun to be with a guy like Marty, who listened and made me feel wanted. What a change from Brennan.
Some days, I agreed to jog on the beach because I knew Marty preferred the faster pace. I wanted to prove I could keep up with him. It was the competitive streak of a girl raised by a man who had wanted a son. Some days I ran hard on the sand, making my heart race. Marty appreciated the effort. Brennan never would’ve even noticed.
I wondered why I was trying so hard to please Marty; then I realized just how serious my feelings were for him. He’d rescued me and changed the trajectory of my life, and I was actually happy. It was incredible.
The one thing that seemed to interrupt my joy was when I flashed back to my life with Brennan.
It’s hard to explain, but every time I saw the house from the beach, I got a little angrier. I know there are people in the world with much more serious problems. I had my health, a new boyfriend, and a lot more life to live, but it sure would have been nice if that house had been part of my life. I could picture Marty sitting by the pool or working on house plans in the den.
Just when I thought I couldn’t get more annoyed, one day we noticed Brennan getting ready to pull out of the driveway. He wasn’t in the Jag. The bastard was driving a brand-new Bentley. A black Bentley Mulsanne that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. He’d bought a more formal car to go with his convertible.
Marty and I were running out on dinner tabs and this son of a bitch had a car for every occasion. Something just wasn’t right about it.
Marty said, “What an asshole. Anyone under seventy who drives a Bentley is, by definition, an asshole.”
I reached out and gripped his hand. Marty really was on my side. His face was red and he looked like he was ready to burst through the gate next to the bungalow and charge Brennan in his brand-new Bentley.
Marty said, “I could punch that guy in the face.”
I stared at Marty, wondering how serious he was. He stepped toward the gate, and I reached out to hold his arm. We watched as Brennan, oblivious to the world as usual, pulled out and drove away in the Bentley.
Marty took a breath and shook his head. “I should welcome you to the club.”
“What club?”
“The getting screwed in your divorce club.”
His color had already come back, showing off his pleasant tan complexion, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. He looked like he had just been blowing off steam and Brennan was a convenient target.
Then Marty said, “Don’t worry, it gets better.”
“Really?”
“It did for me.”
“How long does it take?”