such a tightwad? She’s your daughter!” She turned to Darcy. “How much are the back payments?”
“Twenty-four hundred dollars.”
Lyla froze. “Oh,” she said, and reached for the bottle of Wild Turkey in the lower cabinet.
Great. The one time Darcy needed her mother’s outrage, it had fizzled like a lit match in a mud puddle.
Thanks a lot, Mom. Drink up
.
Lyla poured a hefty amount of bourbon into a glass. In the living room, Clayton settled into his recliner, ran the TV dial, and landed on a monster truck rally.
“We could loan you money,” Lyla said, “but we just got back from Vegas. Damned slots. Swear to God they’re tighter every time we go.”
Which was about four times a year. Darcy knew that whatever her mother hadn’t lost at the blackjack table last week had undoubtedly been invested in the Texas state lottery this week. No eighty-three-million-dollar jackpot was getting past her.
Unfortunately, Warren had shared her mother’s love of gambling. He also shared her inability to know when to stop, always gambling away every penny he came with and then some.
“It’s just entertainment,”
he’d always told her, but sometimes she had the feeling he was going to entertain himself right into the poorhouse.
“Did you make some calls?” Lyla asked. “Try to find Warren?”
“Yes. Nobody knows where he is.”
“Try again tomorrow. When a man is having an affair, he can never keep his mouth shut about it. Somebody will know what he’s up to.”
Darcy could barely concentrate on the horrible things she was sure Warren had done, much less on those she hadn’t proven yet. She just couldn’t make sense of it. If he’d wanted to leave her, all he had to do was hire a divorce lawyer, and considering the prenup she’d signed, it didn’t even have to be a very good one. He still would have ended up with the lion’s share of all they owned. Yet he’d cashed out everything and disappeared.
Why?
She thought about reporting him as a missing person, but she’d seen enough cop shows to know that if it looked as if he’d left of his own accord, the police wouldn’t do anything. Selling the house and cleaning out the bank accounts certainly seemed to point to a voluntary absence.
“Talk to an attorney,” Lyla said. “Eventually you should be able to get something out of this mess.”
“Assuming Warren shows up again,” Clayton said. “And even if he does, how long will it take to get him into court?”
Forever, of course. Everyone knew the American judicial system moved with the speed of an asthmatic snail.
Lyla tossed down the shot, stuck the glass in the sink, and announced she was going to bed. As she stumbled toward the hall, Darcy was struck by the most surreal feeling that her life with Warren had been a dream and now she’d woken up to a horrible reality.
“Mom?”
Lyla stopped at the doorway. “What?”
Darcy’s voice came out in a choked whisper. “I have nothing left. What am I going to do?”
She teared up a little, and she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in her mother’s eyes. After all, Darcy was undergoing the biggest crisis of her life. Of course her mother would sympathize. In spite of her accusations that this was all her daughter’s fault, in the end, blood was thicker than—
“You might as well stop crying,” Lyla snapped. “You’ll only make your mascara run. No woman ever won a man back when her makeup was a mess.”
With that, she turned and headed down the hall, swaying like a willow in a light breeze. There was nothing like a few warm fuzzies from her mother to make Darcy feel as if everything was going to be just fine.
“I have a car I can loan you,” her father said, his eyes never leaving the television.
“What kind of car?” Darcy asked, wiping her eyes.
“One with four tires that runs. Come with me to the shop in the morning to get it. Be ready to leave at seven-thirty.”
Clayton picked up the remote and turned up the
“Twenty-four hundred dollars.”
Lyla froze. “Oh,” she said, and reached for the bottle of Wild Turkey in the lower cabinet.
Great. The one time Darcy needed her mother’s outrage, it had fizzled like a lit match in a mud puddle.
Thanks a lot, Mom. Drink up
.
Lyla poured a hefty amount of bourbon into a glass. In the living room, Clayton settled into his recliner, ran the TV dial, and landed on a monster truck rally.
“We could loan you money,” Lyla said, “but we just got back from Vegas. Damned slots. Swear to God they’re tighter every time we go.”
Which was about four times a year. Darcy knew that whatever her mother hadn’t lost at the blackjack table last week had undoubtedly been invested in the Texas state lottery this week. No eighty-three-million-dollar jackpot was getting past her.
Unfortunately, Warren had shared her mother’s love of gambling. He also shared her inability to know when to stop, always gambling away every penny he came with and then some.
“It’s just entertainment,”
he’d always told her, but sometimes she had the feeling he was going to entertain himself right into the poorhouse.
“Did you make some calls?” Lyla asked. “Try to find Warren?”
“Yes. Nobody knows where he is.”
“Try again tomorrow. When a man is having an affair, he can never keep his mouth shut about it. Somebody will know what he’s up to.”
Darcy could barely concentrate on the horrible things she was sure Warren had done, much less on those she hadn’t proven yet. She just couldn’t make sense of it. If he’d wanted to leave her, all he had to do was hire a divorce lawyer, and considering the prenup she’d signed, it didn’t even have to be a very good one. He still would have ended up with the lion’s share of all they owned. Yet he’d cashed out everything and disappeared.
Why?
She thought about reporting him as a missing person, but she’d seen enough cop shows to know that if it looked as if he’d left of his own accord, the police wouldn’t do anything. Selling the house and cleaning out the bank accounts certainly seemed to point to a voluntary absence.
“Talk to an attorney,” Lyla said. “Eventually you should be able to get something out of this mess.”
“Assuming Warren shows up again,” Clayton said. “And even if he does, how long will it take to get him into court?”
Forever, of course. Everyone knew the American judicial system moved with the speed of an asthmatic snail.
Lyla tossed down the shot, stuck the glass in the sink, and announced she was going to bed. As she stumbled toward the hall, Darcy was struck by the most surreal feeling that her life with Warren had been a dream and now she’d woken up to a horrible reality.
“Mom?”
Lyla stopped at the doorway. “What?”
Darcy’s voice came out in a choked whisper. “I have nothing left. What am I going to do?”
She teared up a little, and she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in her mother’s eyes. After all, Darcy was undergoing the biggest crisis of her life. Of course her mother would sympathize. In spite of her accusations that this was all her daughter’s fault, in the end, blood was thicker than—
“You might as well stop crying,” Lyla snapped. “You’ll only make your mascara run. No woman ever won a man back when her makeup was a mess.”
With that, she turned and headed down the hall, swaying like a willow in a light breeze. There was nothing like a few warm fuzzies from her mother to make Darcy feel as if everything was going to be just fine.
“I have a car I can loan you,” her father said, his eyes never leaving the television.
“What kind of car?” Darcy asked, wiping her eyes.
“One with four tires that runs. Come with me to the shop in the morning to get it. Be ready to leave at seven-thirty.”
Clayton picked up the remote and turned up the
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