"I don't have a wife," he reminded her, handing her his briefcase so he could pull off his jacket.
She made a face at him. Julie was a pretty brunette in her mid-thirties, the mother of three boys and wife of a cop. It was hard to rattle her.
"You know what I mean," she said softly, holding the phone to her chest as though to protect the caller's sensibilities. "Your ex. And Mrs. Phillips is already here." She lowered her voice. "The twins from hell are in three and four." She handed back his briefcase.
"Thank you." Mike walked toward his office with the phone, remembering how he used to hate it when a day started this way - patients here before he was, a frantic atmosphere in the office when he was determined to take a Zen approach to dentistry.
But he was older and wiser now. Zen had to be modified in a schedule dictated by other people's emergencies, and since Marianne had left with his children two years ago, every day was the same, anyway. In his office, he slapped his briefcase on a chair and went to the window with its aerial view of downtown Boston. He put the phone to his ear. "Yes?" he asked, polite but cool as he watched the earlymorning activity.
"Michael," Marianne said sweetly. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, Marianne," he replied in the same cool tone. And in no mood for chitchat, he added silently. "What is it?"
He heard a theatrical gasp of indignation. "Well, you might show a little interest. What if something was wrong with one of the girls?" It amazed him that she continued to expect him to be friendly and forgiving when she'd taken their children and left him without warning for the contractor who'd been doing their renovation. During the divorce proceedings, he'd discovered they'd been lovers for several months. He hated being stupid.
"Claudie called me on her way to school this morning, so I know the girls are all right." Claudette was their eight-year-old. "Whatever the reason for this call, it has to be about you."
She sighed. "So it is. Nardo and I were hoping to go to Provincetown for spring break. His friend runs a gallery there and wants to talk to him about having a show. We were hoping to turn the visit into a romantic getaway if you'll take the girls."
Mike's interest was suddenly piqued. Nardo was an artist, the third boyfriend she'd had since the contractor. According to Claudie, he was Portuguese and nice enough, but strange. He used the garage for a studio, and Marianne was always complaining because when he'd moved his things into it, he'd dragged out the gardening tools and everything else stored in there. It all still stood in the driveway, covered with a tarp.
But their romantic getaway meant he could have Claudie and Angel, five, for longer than a weekend. "Of course I'll take them," he said.
"And Chewie, too? The kennel's booked up."
He smiled. Chewbacca, a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound Saint Bernard, had been Mike's when he married Marianne, but the girls were attached to the dog, so he'd let Marianne have him in the divorce. Mike missed him, though.
"And Chewie."
Mike's condo didn't allow pets, so a week-long visit from the dog meant that he would have to take the girls on a trip. He remembered that Julie and her husband had taken their children and two full-size poodles on a vacation in the Berkshires. He'd have to ask her where they'd stayed.
"You're a dear," Marianne said, her voice breathy and lowered an octave. Was she tiring of the artist already? In the two years since their divorce, she seemed to have been on some kind of self-exploration odyssey. He'd spoken to his lawyer about filing for complete custody of the girls, but he'd been told he didn't have a leg to stand on. Claudie was doing well in school and Angel seemed happy in preschool. There was no evidence that Marianne was a bad mother - just a woman who was indecisive where men were concerned.
So ... Mike was biding his time and watching the situation carefully.
Meanwhile, he was delighted at the prospect of having his girls and Chewbacca for eight or nine days.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm a prince. I'll pick them up at nine Saturday morning."
"Perfect. Thank you, Mike."
"Sure. Bye, Marianne."
"Mike?"
He shifted his weight and tried to reply patiently. He had things to do now - block out that week of appointments, find a motel that'd take a Saint Bernard, lay in chocolate-cream-filled cookies for Claudie and Rice Krispies Treats for Angel.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Are you ever going to forgive me?" Her voice was plaintive and wheedling.
"No," he answered, astonished she could even ask the question. "You ruined our lives."
"Because I deceived you and you're embarrassed that I put something over on you." She spoke the words as though convinced it was his problem and not hers.
"Because I trusted you and believed in you," he corrected, "and you stole my children."
There was a moment's silence. "But you see them every other weekend," she argued.
As if that was enough. He had to bite his tongue. He had an office full of people. And she just didn't get it, anyway.
"Is there anything else?" he asked stiffly.
"No," she replied. "Nothing. Goodbye, Mike."
"Goodbye, Marianne." He turned off the phone and took a minute to clear his mind. He'd recovered from her deception, and he was doing fine without her, though not so well without the girls. He had a thriving practice and a reasonably satisfying life. But he'd never let love into it again. He'd learned an important lesson.
That resolved, he walked back to Julie's desk with the phone and asked her to clear next week's appointments. She blinked at him. "The whole week?" She flipped through the appointment book to show him the filled pages.
"I'm getting the girls," he explained. "Just reschedule as best you can."
She understood his devotion to his daughters. "I'll get right on it."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from For the Love of Mike! by Muriel Jensen Copyright © 2003 by Muriel Jensen
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.