Between Sisters

“Now, what?”

Meg shrugged. “The real world is back. ” She looked up. “My condo is quiet. I never noticed that before. ”

“Your niece was loud?”

“She never stopped talking. Except when she was asleep. ” Meg felt a tightening in her chest. She would miss sleeping with Ali, miss having a little girl to care for.

“It reminded you of Claire. ”

“Lately, everything reminds me of those days. ”

“Why?”

“We were best friends,” Meg said softly.

“And now?”

Meghann sighed. “She’s married. She has her family. It’s just like before. I probably won’t hear from her until my birthday. ”

“The phone works both ways. ”

“Yeah. ” Meghann looked down at her watch. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It hurt too much. “I gotta go, Harriet. Bye. ”

Meghann stared at her client, hoping the smile she managed to form wasn’t as plastic as it felt.

Robin O’Houlihan paced in front of the window. Stick-thin and wearing more makeup than Terence Stamp in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, she was the clichéd Hollywood wife. Too thin, too greedy, too everything. Meg wondered why none of these women noticed that at a certain age thin became gaunt. The more weight they lost, the less attractive their faces became, and Robin’s hair had been dyed and redyed blond so often and so long it looked like a straw wig. “It’s not enough. Period. End of story. ”

“Robin,” she said, striving for a calm and even voice. “He’s offering twenty-thousand dollars a month, the house on Lake Washington, and the condo in La Jolla. Frankly, for a nine-year marriage that produced no children, I think—”

“I wanted children. ” She practically hurled the words at Meg. “He was the one who didn’t. He should have to pay for that, too. He took away the best reproductive years of my life. ”

“Robin. You’re forty-nine years old. ”

“Are you saying I’m too old to have a child?”

Well, no. But you’ve been married six times and frankly, you have the mental and emotional stability of a two-year-old. Believe me, your never-conceived children thank you. “Of course not, Robin. I’m simply suggesting that the children approach won’t help us. Washington is a no-fault state, you remember. The whys of a divorce don’t matter. ”

“I want the dogs. ”

“We’ve discussed this. The dogs were his before you got married. It seems reasonable—”

“I was the one who reminded Lupe to feed and water them. Without me, those Lhasa Apsos would be hairy toast. Dead by the side of the pool. I want them. And you should quit fighting with me. You’re my lawyer, not his. I can hardly live on twenty grand a month. ” She laughed bitterly. “He still has the jet, the place in Aspen, the Malibu beach house, and all our friends. ” Her voice cracked and, for just a moment, Meghann saw a flash of the woman Robin O’Houlihan had once been. A now-frightened, once-ordinary girl from Snohomish who’d believed a woman could marry her way to the top.

Meghann wanted to be gentle, say something soothing. In the old days, it would have been easy. But those days were gone now, stamped into muddy nothingness by the stiletto heels of a hundred angry wives who didn’t want to work and couldn’t possibly live on twenty grand a month.

She closed her eyes briefly, wanting to clear her mutinous mind. But instead of a quiet darkness, she flashed on an image of Mr. O’Houlihan, sitting quietly in the conference room, his hands clasped on the table. He’d answered all her questions with a sincerity that surprised her.

No prenuptial, no. I believed we’d last forever.

I loved her.

My first wife died. I met Robin nearly ten years later.

Oh. Yes. I wanted more children. Robin didn’t.

It had been one of those uncomfortable moments that occasionally blindsided an attorney. That sickening realization that you were leading the wrong team.

Simply put, she’d believed him. And that was no good.