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Out With The Old, In With The New
Nancy Robards Thompson
Ask your husband what he's been doing all those nights he claimed to be at the hospital…The aforementioned suggestion would never be welcomed by any woman who'd been married for the better (well, mostly) part of twenty years. But for Kate Hennessey, who was celebrating turning forty by taking a fabulous vacation with her two best friends, the timing was not the best.Does she go, or does she stay?She'll get the answer soon enough. And though her world may be rocked, maybe she can cope better than we think. Because design is her business, after all. You know, changing things around and putting the pieces together in a whole new way….
So the big four-oh looms right down the pike
For each of us, one right after another. Boom, boom, boom. I’m the first to cross that dubious threshold in May. Alex turns right after me in August—
Turns? That’s horrible. It sounds like one day we’re light and lively and the next day we’re soured milk. I’d never thought of it that way and wish I hadn’t because it gives me yet another reason to dread turning forty. Anyhow, Rainey, the baby of the bunch, is the last to outlive her shelf life. She turns in November.
And we started the annual girls’ getaway the year of our thirtieth birthdays. So in a sense this year is a double celebration.
But I can’t go. Because I don’t trust my husband enough to leave him alone for two nights….
Nancy Robards Thompson
Nancy Robards Thompson has reinvented herself numerous times. In the process, she’s worked a myriad of jobs, including newspaper reporting; television show stand-in; production and casting extras for movies; and several mind-numbing jobs in the fashion industry and public relations. She earned a degree in journalism, only to realize that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Much more content to report to her muse, Nancy has found nirvana doing what she loves most—writing romance fiction full-time. Since hanging up her press pass, this two-time nominee for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart struck gold in July 2002 when she won the award. She lives in Orlando, Florida, with her husband, Michael, their daughter, and three cats, but that doesn’t stop her from dreaming of a life as a bohemian writer in Paris.
Out with the Old, In with the New
Nancy Robards Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
From the Author
Dear Reader,
I read recently that forty is the new thirty. What does that mean? That forty was considered over the hill and is no longer as old as once perceived? Or is it reflective of a new attitude? That chronological age is irrelevant, and a woman can reinvent herself at any age?
The latter is the premise of my story Out with the Old, In with the New. When forty-year-old Kate Hennessey discovers her marriage of twenty years is over, she’s faced with the horrifying realization that she gave half her life to a man who doesn’t want her anymore. At first, she worries the breakup means the best years of her life—and all she’s accomplished in that time—are null and void. Learning to stand on her own two feet, she embraces her new path and the opportunity to grow into her full potential.
I hope you enjoy Kate’s journey of self-discovery. Here’s wishing you a lifetime of love and happiness…and the strength to look deep inside yourself and discover where those qualities live.
Warmly,
Nancy Robards Thompson
This book is dedicated to the transforming
power of friendship and to my good friends
Katherine Garbera, Mary Louise Wells,
Teresa Brown, Elizabeth Grainger, Catherine Kean,
Debbie Pfeiffer, Robin Trimble, Joanne Maio,
Carol Reiss, Evelyn Sechler and Christina Mancia.
Ladies, your friendship makes my life very rich.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I’d like to thank two wonderful
women—Michelle Grajkowski, my agent, and
Gail Chasan, my editor. Michelle, thanks for having the
foresight to get this manuscript
into Gail’s hands. Gail, thanks for everything.
I look forward to many years of collaboration
with both of you.
Heartfelt appreciation (and a long overdue dinner) to
Robert Trimble for your sage advice on divorce law (for
the book, thank God, not for real life!).
Finally, love and thanks to Michael and Jennifer.
I couldn’t do this without your love and support.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 1
Confession time. I’m not going on the annual girls’ weekend with Alex and Rainey. But how do you tell your best friends you’re breaking a ten-year tradition because you don’t trust your husband enough to leave him alone for two nights?
It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.
Rainey would hate Corbin if she thought he was having an affair. And Alex—she’d kill him. Then they’d both rally around me, like a prizefighter’s coaches who were training for the kill.
I’m not ready to deal with it. Saying it out loud makes it so…real.
I can hear Alex now. “Kate, if he’s cheating, your staying in town isn’t going to stop him. So you can’t miss our weekend.” And that would inevitably prompt her to add, “If you even think he’s cheating, why don’t you hire a private detective and find out for sure?”
Don’t think I haven’t considered hiring someone. But for God’s sake, it hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since the bomb dropped. I need time to think, to sort out my options and figure out how to deal with the aftermath, should I discover the man I sleep with every night is being unfaithful.
This ugly jealousy is so new. All I can think of is this time yesterday I trusted my husband. I loved him and was so sure he loved me.
Right now, I don’t even know my next move. Let me figure that out first. Then I’ll sic Alex on him.
So instead of leveling with them, I resort to diversionary tactics. “Palm Beach is too stuffy.” I sink into the couch cushions and slant a glance at Rainey. I catch her almost imperceptible eye roll.
“Come on, Kate.” Alex scowls at me. “You’ve managed to pooh-pooh every suggestion we’ve made tonight. South Beach is too wild. Palm Springs is too boring. Napa’s too far.” She says this in a singsong voice that makes me want to jump out of my skin. “New York’s too… What was wrong with New York?”
I shouldn’t have come tonight, but after what happened today, I’ve been running on autopilot, trying to regain my equilibrium. Quite unsuccessfully, I might add. So I can’t blame them for being annoyed. I’d be irritated with me, too. Especially since this girls’ getaway is the last one we’ll take as thirty-somethings.
Yep, the big four-oh looms right down the pike. For each of us, one right after the other. Boom, boom, boom. I’m the first of the three to cross that dubious threshold in May. Alex turns right after me in August—
Turns.
Turns? That’s horrible. It sounds like one day we’re light and lively and the next day we’re soured milk. I’d never thought of it that way and wish I hadn’t, because it gives me yet another reason to dread turning forty. Anyhow, Rainey is the baby of the bunch, the last of us to outlive her shelf life. She turns in November.
We started the annual girls’ getaway the year of our thirtieth birthdays. So in a sense this year is a double celebration—ten years of annual getaways and our foray into the fabulous forties. I guess that makes me a double party pooper.
“Must we decide this tonight? It’s late.” I stand up and prepare to leave, ignoring the pair of disapproving looks. Rainey levels me with a stare that screams stop being so difficult.
“Palm Beach is perfect. It has spas and shopping. What more could we ask for? All in favor of Palm Beach?”
As I pull my car keys from my bag, the two of them raise their hands, voting yes, looking at me with equal parts exasperation and impatience.
I hitch my Coach bag onto my shoulder. “Okay, fine. Palm Beach. Whatever.”
At this point, I’ll agree to anything, even though I have no intention of actually going. I just want to leave before the walls close in on me. Later, I’ll think of a plausible excuse to bow out of the trip. Maybe I’ll even tell the truth.
Ha. The truth. What a novel idea.
I don’t have to tell them about my suspicions, mind you. The other truth is that my six-year-old, Caitlin, hates it when I go away, which is not very often. So I can’t go because Corbin’s not a good babysitter. He’s a good dad, and Caitlin loves him as if he were a prince. But when it comes to bedtime, she wants me.
God, that’s lame. They’ll never buy it.
Well, we’re all adults. Alex and Rainey will understand. Eventually.
Alex makes a satisfied noise. “This is going to be a blast.” She does a little merengue step. “We’re going to get every imaginable spa treatment known to woman-kind, then we’re going to par-tay and we’re going to shop— Oh, Kate, that reminds me, I still have your pearls. Let me run upstairs and get them before you go.”
She’s out of the room before I can tell her not to worry about it. Rainey and I stand face-to-face for an awkward moment. I can tell she’s going to ask what’s bugging me. So I drop my purse onto the chair, pick up my champagne flute and carry it to the kitchen.
She follows me.
The room is too small for both of us and the pregnant questions wedged between.
I keep my back to her and wash my glass.
“Are you all right?” she finally asks. “You haven’t been yourself all night.”
“I’m fine. Tired.”
My composure wavers. In my mind’s eye I see hysteria reaching up to trip me, yanking my poise out from under me like an old rug. I have that sense of slow-motion disorientation, like when you see yourself suspended in midair a split second before a hard fall.
But I’m still standing.
If I stand perfectly still, not moving or speaking or breathing, I will not go down.
I will not come undone.
For a full minute I let the water run over my hands and stare at the vivid cobalt and yellow in the Spanish tile backsplash behind Alex’s kitchen sink.
My eyes haven’t teared. No surprise. For the past twelve hours, I’ve felt as if I were locked inside a wooden cask of a body, incapable of emotion. Numbed by the hard exterior that’s settled around me.
Movement reflected in the kitchen window catches my eye. I see Rainey’s reflection. She’s just standing there. Not pushing or needling or prodding. Somehow, without even looking directly at her, I sense she’s reaching out through the murky stillness. I know in that instant I could fall backward, and she wouldn’t let me hit the ground. But I can’t right now. I just can’t.
I turn to her and say, “I’m fine, Rainey. Really.”
Alex enters with my pearls. They were an anniversary gift from Corbin. She drops them into my hand, and I get the absurd vision that they’re an abacus tallying Corbin’s transgressions.
