For Services Rendered (21 page)

But Brigitte was no longer listening. "Claire, look ..." She pointed out the front window.

Puzzled, Claire looked down the street. A silver Lotus was parked in front of her aunt's house. Claire's heart leaped up into her throat. Leaning against the Lotus was a tall, dark-haired man who she'd recognize anywhere.

What was he doing here?

"It's Nick," Brigitte said, voice lilting.

Claire pulled in the driveway and cut the engine. Brigitte wrenched open her door and went flying toward Nick. "Hi, gorgeous," he said, hugging her close. His compelling eyes met Claire's over the top of Brigitte's head.

"Hello, Nick," Claire said quietly, although her pulse was racing and her insides were quaking. He was wearing soft, well-worn jeans, polished brown loafers, and a cream-colored sweater under a tan corduroy jacket. His hair glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Hello, Claire."

She stood awkwardly. She wasn't sure what he wanted, and she didn't know what to say.

Finally he spoke. "I went by the home today. They told me Brigitte was with you."

"Oh." Oh, dear. She could see by the way his eyes had darkened that he wasn't pleased.

"Brigitte," he said, "do you mind going on into the house. I'd like to talk to Claire privately."

Brigitte looked at him, then at Claire. Claire gave her an encouraging smile. "It's okay, honey. I'll be in in a minute."

Brigitte frowned, but she complied. When the front door closed behind her, Nick turned toward Claire once more. "What kind of game are you playing here?"

Claire stiffened. "What do you mean? I'm not playing a game."

"You must be. You never brought Brigitte home with you while you were living with me. So the only conclusion I can draw is that you're using her."

"Using her!" Claire's nervousness disappeared. "What have I ever done to cause you to believe I'd use a child— for any reason?"

"You used me, didn't you?"

Claire stared at him. She knew she'd wounded his pride. She knew he was angry. She also knew she couldn't let Brigitte be hurt. "I was only thinking of Brigitte when I asked her out," she said quietly. "When I visited the home on Tuesday, Brigitte and I talked, and when she asked me, I told her the truth— that you and I are separated and in the process of getting a divorce. She cried when she found out."

Claire looked away, the memory of Brigitte's pain knifing through her once more, mingling with her own pain. "When I asked her why she was so upset, she . . ." Claire slowly met Nick's gaze once more. "... She said she had dreamed of becoming our daughter."

The color drained from Nick's face.

Claire was relentless. Let him hurt, too. She no longer remembered that she'd left him to keep from hurting him. She no longer remembered that she wanted him to think of her as being selfish. She no longer remembered that she didn't need to look good in his eyes. All she knew was that she was hurting, Brigitte was hurting, and he would have to take his share of the blame for all the problems they'd caused.

After all, it was
his
idea that they make a marriage of convenience. Not hers.

"So your solution to the kid's daydream is to dangle a carrot under her nose? Make it even harder for her to accept that her dream isn't going to come true?"

His words were cutting and icy cold.

"You can really be a bastard, can't you?"

"I never pretended to be anything but," he snapped. "Unlike you, who pretended to be all sorts of things you weren't."

All Claire's joy in the day faded. She could feel her shoulders slumping under the weight of Nick's dislike and disapproval. What could she say? There was so much subterfuge and distrust between them, nothing she said would even make a dent. "Brigitte's lonely, Nick. You and I let her down. I was only trying to make it up to her a little bit. That's all. No sinister motive."

"You don't have to worry about Brigitte any longer. You're right about one thing. I
did
let her down. So I'll take care of her from now on." He began to walk toward the house.

"Where are you going?" Claire said, alarm coursing through her.

"To get Briiette. I'm taking her home."

"No, you're not!"

He jerked to a halt, turned slowly. His eyes glittered.

"If you go into that house, if you try to take Brigitte away, I'll call the police."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

For several long seconds, they stared at each other. Claire could see a muscle twitching under his left eye. He was very angry. But Claire was very angry, too. And she would not allow Brigitte to be caught in the middle of the mess they'd made of their lives.

Finally he moved toward the car, and Claire could feel relief washing over her, and weakness coming in its wake.

"We're not finished," he said in a parting shot before opening the door to the Lotus. "But the next round will be in court."

Claire's anger faded quickly. How could she stay angry with Nick? He was only acting in character. Besides, she was the one who had made him suspicious of her motives. She couldn't have it both ways. If she wanted him to believe she felt nothing where he was concerned, why shouldn't he think she was the same way where Brigitte was concerned?

For the rest of the weekend, Claire couldn't get the memory of Nick's coldness and indifference out of her mind. She had obviously done her job well, for it was apparent to her that he was completely over her.

Of course, he never loved you anyway. So it's not surprising it didn't take long for him to decide to cut his losses, chalk you up as a mistake and move on with his life.

If only she could move on with hers.

If only she didn't still love him.

* * *

Two days later Claire was served with divorce papers. Her heart thudded as she stared at them. Each beat was like a blow to her heart. It was really happening. She hadn't realized the divorce would hurt so much.

Isn't this what you wanted?

She only gave the papers a cursory glance, making note of the fact that she was due at a preliminary meeting the following Monday morning. Then she set the papers down. She couldn't bear to look at them any longer.

"Do you mind if I take a look at those, Claire?" her Uncle David asked.

"No."
Oh, Nick. If only things could have been different. If only I'd been able to give you a child.

After her uncle read through the papers, he said, "Who's representing you in this divorce?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't have a lawyer."

"You'd better get one. This all looks fairly complicated to me. Do you want me to find an attorney for you?"

"No. I don't want anything from Nick anyway, so why do I need a lawyer?" /
just want to forget. As quickly as possible.

"Claire, you're not thinking straight, honey. Of course you must have someone to represent your interests."

"I told you, Uncle David. I don't want a cent from Nick. I'm not entitled to anything of his. A lawyer would be a waste of money." Nick's face, with its grooves and hollows, haunted her. She'd thought she was doing so well, forgetting him, but seeing him the other day had proven her wrong.

The very next day she received a call from Tim Sutherland. "Your aunt gave me your number at work," he said. "Do you mind?"

"No. But could you hold on a minute?" She got up and shut the door to her office, then picked up the phone again. "How have you been, Tim?" She felt absurdly pleased that he'd called her. He was a link to Nick.

"I've been fine, Claire, but I didn't call to talk about me. I'm concerned about you. Who's your lawyer?"

"For the divorce, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I don't have one, Tim. I really don't need one."

"Of course you need one."

"No, really, I don't."

"Listen, Claire, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. You can't go to that meeting without a lawyer. They'll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what's happening."

"I won't have a lawyer," she said stubbornly.

"Will you at least let me go to the meeting with you?"

"You! But ... I thought—"

"No, I'm not representing Nick." A hardness settled into Tim's voice. "I told him my sympathies lay with you, so it wouldn't be ethical to represent him."

"Oh, Tim ..." How Tim's statements must have hurt Nick. His best friend! Nick would view this as a betrayal, Claire knew it. "Listen, it's so sweet of you, but I can't—"

"You can. I won't take no for an answer. I can't represent you—I drew up the prenuptial agreement, so representing you would be a conflict of interest—but I can advise you. And if it turns out you need an attorney, I can recommend one to you."

And no matter what Claire said, Tim insisted he would be at the meeting. Claire thought about it, and she realized it would be a good idea for Tim to be there. She intended to get some things straight with Nick, and she wanted the arrangements to be legally endorsed. She would need Tim's help.

Claire's new boss wasn't thrilled about her asking for the following Monday morning off, but he didn't refuse. For the rest of the week, Claire could think of little else but the meeting and the fact that she'd see Nick again. She and Tim talked several times that week, and on Thursday after work he came over to her aunt's house.

When she opened the door and saw him, she realized how much she'd missed him. They hugged, and Claire wished with all her heart that everything had worked out differently.

Later Tim took her out for dinner. He took pains to entertain her, and she was grateful for his friendship. But even though she enjoyed the evening, it was with a bittersweet pleasure, for she knew she could never see Tim without thinking of Nick. Without being reminded of what she'd lost.

Tim briefed her on what to expect at the meeting. "Remember, Claire, don't agree to anything without getting my okay."

They made arrangements to meet Monday morning at nine forty-five in the lobby of the building where the law offices were housed.

Claire was early and nervous. When Tim arrived, he squeezed her arm and smiled down at her, his brown eyes warm and comforting. "Don't worry," he said. "It'll be okay."

The law offices of Angelo, Ford, and Angelo were dignified and elegant, just what Claire had expected. She and Tim were ushered into a sunny corner office where a big, dark-haired man was sitting with Nick at a rectangular conference table.

After the introductions were made, Claire and Tim sat across from Nick and Bill Angelo, his attorney. Claire's gaze met Nick's, and for just a second, she saw a flash of pain in the depths of his eyes, but it was quickly banished. A dull ache throbbed in her chest. What a mess they'd made of their lives.

Bill Angelo cleared his throat, looked at Nick, then began speaking. Claire watched his face. She couldn't look at Nick. If she were to keep her equilibrium and not make a fool of herself today, she'd better avoid those eyes she'd never been able to resist.

"Since there is an airtight prenuptial agreement between the two of you, Mrs. Callahan," Bill Angelo said, "this meeting is simply routine." He began enumerating the terms of the agreement, all of which Claire knew by heart. When he finished, he put the papers down. "Based on this, my client is prepared to make a complete settlement today." He turned toward Nick.

Claire twisted her hands in her lap. She glanced at Tim. He knew what she wanted him to do, and he'd argued with her about it, but he'd finally agreed.

Nick opened his briefcase. He drew out something that looked like a check and handed it across to Tim. Tim looked at it briefly, then handed it to her, his face impassive.

Claire accepted the check. It was a cashier's check made out to her for the sum of $250,000.00 At the bottom was typed: FINAL SETTLEMENT—CALLAHAN VS. CALLAHAN. FOR SERVICES RENDERED. For a moment, Claire couldn't move. The blood rushed through her veins, and a great wave of dizziness rocked her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She had to remember that Nick was striking back. She had wounded his pride deeply, and he was getting even the only way he knew how.

Shakily, she stood. Her eyes met Nick's.

Slowly, deliberately, she tore the check into four pieces, letting the pieces float to the table. Fighting tears, Claire said, "I don't want your money. I don't want anything from you, Nick. In fact, as Tim will tell you, I plan to pay back every cent you spent on me or my mother if it takes me the rest of my life. All I want is my freedom."

Then she picked up her purse and walked out of the office.

* * *

For the next two days, Claire walked around like a zombie. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't concentrate on her work. By Wednesday night she knew she had to do something to snap out of her misery. She couldn't go on like this. Her marriage was over, but not her life. She was acting as if the world had come to an end, and it was time to stop.

She decided to visit Buffalo Children's Home. Just thinking about seeing Brigitte and the other children cheered her up. Maybe she could take Brigitte out for dinner.

But when Claire got there, she was told she couldn't take Brigitte out.

Paul Civic gave her the news. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Callahan—"

"Ms. Kendrick," Claire corrected. "Is there some sort of problem?"

"Uh . . . no . . . Ms. Kendrick . . . uh . . . I'm really sorry, but I can't give you permission to take any of the children out. Today ... or any other day." He didn't meet her eyes.

"Why not?"

He looked at her and shrugged. "It's a judgment call, that's all. As you know, passes are strictly optional, and we've decided it's not in our best interest to allow you to take Brigitte off the grounds. I'm sorry."

Nick. This had to be Nick's doing. He hated her.

She didn't tell Brigitte about the conversation. Above all, she did not want Brigitte to have to choose up sides. Nick's action had accomplished one good thing, though. When she left the home that evening, Claire was determined to get her life straightened out. For her own survival, she would make herself forget Nick Callahan and their short-lived, ill-fated marriage.