Secrets of a Shoe Addict (20 page)

But that wasn’t true. Things hadn’t worked out with Robert. She couldn’t give him what he needed. She was alone again. A single mother.

And she was taking steps now—great, determined steps—to be the very best mother she could be.

Something was going on with Tiffany Dreyer, Abbey Walsh, and Loreen Murphy, Deb Leventer just knew it.

First off, there had been a peculiar absence of crowing after the band competition, even though Tuckerman had come in third. If Deb had been PTA president—as she
should
have been—she would have made absolutely sure there was a big celebration, maybe a banner, and
certainly
a trophy case put up in the entrance hall. Yes, that would have cost some money, but it was the first time Poppy—that is, the school students—had ever won anything, and it deserved recognition.

She noticed it now as she walked into the school. She’d been called in because Poppy wasn’t feeling well. There, by the door, was the perfect space for a trophy shelf, but instead they had that big construction paper chart of “character kids,” otherwise known as kids who never won anything legitimately and needed to have a pat on the head. A lighted cabinet would be
perfect
there, and if they wanted something more than the band trophy, there was no reason Poppy couldn’t lend them her T-ball participation trophies. At least until they got something else.

After all, she
was
a student in the school.

The PTA should already have thought of all this, set up incentives like this for the kids. But no. The current PTA officers always seemed busy chatting away on their phones instead of paying attention to
school matters
. As a matter of fact, she’d noticed all three of them, at various times, blabbing on their cell phones in line to pick up the kids. Whom were they talking to? Each other?

Deb was positive they were plotting next year’s election coup. In fact, they were probably cheating, because it was the only explanation Deb could come up with for her baffling loss in the last election.

What Deb wouldn’t give to listen in on one of
those
conversations.

There was Loreen Murphy now, Deb noticed. What was she
doing in the school office? Her bratty son had undoubtedly gotten into some sort of trouble. Again.

“Mrs. Leventer,” Sally Tader, the school secretary, called as Deb walked past.

“Hello, Sally. No time to talk, I’ve got to go get Poppy from the health room.”

“Poppy’s not in the health room. She’s in the principal’s office,” Sally said, indicating Deb should come in and wait in the chair next to Loreen Murphy.

This made no sense. “Why is she in Dr. Steckman’s office?” Deb asked. She cast a sly glance at Loreen. “Did someone do something to her?”

The buzzer on Sally’s desk went off, and she said, “Dr. Steckman can explain all of that to you. Go right in.” She looked at Loreen with, it seemed to Deb, some sympathy. “Dr. Steckman will explain everything.”

Obviously that brute Jacob Murphy had done something to Deb’s Poppy, and she would say it right now, she was not afraid to take legal action if that’s what was called for.

They went into Dr. Steckman’s office, where Poppy and Jacob were already sitting, hands folded in their laps, looking shamed, while the principal ushered the parents in.

Jacob had a black eye.

Good. Poppy had defended herself. Deb was glad to see it.

“Jacob, what happened?” Loreen ran to her son and cupped his face with her hands. “Good Lord, that looks awful! Does it hurt?”

He cast a hostile look at Poppy, then said, “No.”

“It seems that Poppy tried to kiss Jacob during recess,” Dr. Steckman began, and gave a chuckle like this was perfectly normal. “And
from what I understand, Jacob didn’t want that, and things got a little ugly, as you can see.”

Jacob’s face turned beet red.

“He attacked her?” Deb asked incredulously.

Dr. Steckman and Loreen looked back at her like they didn’t understand what she was asking.

“
Jacob
is the one with the black eye,” Loreen said sharply.

“Only because Poppy got a good shot in defending herself,” Deb said. “Isn’t that right, Pops?” She really hoped it was right. Because none of this was stacking up in a way that made sense to her. Particularly the fact that Poppy wasn’t standing up for herself.

“He was being a jerk,” Poppy said.

“I was not!” Jacob growled back. “You just wouldn’t leave me
alone
. I
hate
that! Just leave me alone.”

Deb had a hard time not rolling her eyes. “Clearly this boy is very hostile toward my daughter,” she pointed out to Dr. Steckman.

“Deb Leventer, you are trying to incriminate my son over something he didn’t do,” Loreen snapped, a bit wild-eyed. “I am so sick of the way you do this!” She turned her attention back to Dr. Steckman. “Is there anything else we need to discuss here, or can I take my son home?”

“I think we’ve covered everything.”

“Good.” Loreen huffed up and told her son to come with her.

Deb watched them go, and then turned back to Dr. Steckman. “There’s one to keep an eye on,” she said, putting her arm around her daughter, as if that gesture could protect her from all the Jacob Murphys the world would throw at her. “I expect you’ll be doing that.”

Dr. Steckman, surprisingly, didn’t look all that sympathetic. “We’ll keep an eye on
both
children,” she said, then turned her attention
to Poppy. “And I don’t want you to take any more potshots at anyone, young lady, do I have your word?”

Poppy hung her head. “Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deb corrected automatically, even while she herself was already mentally composing a letter to the superintendent of schools to complain about Dr. Steckman’s incompetence.

Imagine! Blaming a little girl for just trying to defend herself! What kind of message was this woman sending?

As she bundled Poppy up and huffed from the office, she thought about how different Dr. Steckman’s attitude might have been if
Deb
were the PTA president, as she should have been, instead of Tiffany Dreyer.

Then
maybe both Deb
and
Poppy would get the respect they deserved.

Tiffany was doing the dishes after dinner when Charlie came in holding a piece of paper.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.” She fished Charlie’s dirty napkin out of his milk glass. She hated how he did that.

“It’s a receipt,” he said, and her blood ran cold. “For a store in Las Vegas called—” He looked at it. “—Fiona Pims.” He looked at her expectantly.

Now was not the time to tell him it was
Finola
not
Fiona.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know what this
was
the time for, since she was blank on what to say. “I don’t know,” she said. “What about it?”

“It’s for five thousand dollars,” Charlie said, not letting up an inch on his indignation.
“Five thousand dollars.”

“Okay, someone spent five thousand dollars at a store in Las Vegas.” She put a plate in the dishwasher and hoped the shaking of her hands wasn’t so noticeable to him as it was to her. “So what?”

Charlie just looked at her. “Tiffany, don’t embarrass us both by lying. This is your credit card number at the bottom of the receipt.”

Tiffany felt her face grow hot. He’d caught her lying, he knew what she’d done,
and
he’d been going through her purse. Though she didn’t really have a
best defense
at the moment, Tiffany decided nevertheless to try the only offense available to her. “Why were you going through my purse?”

“I wasn’t
going through your purse.
I was looking for a pen. And don’t evade the point. You spent five grand on clothes.” He shook his head. “This is exactly why I separated our finances.”

“Why you what?” She stopped midrinse and set down the plate. “What do you mean?” She turned off the water.

“I took my name off of this credit card, and took your name off of mine. Don’t use the Bank of America card anymore, by the way.”

This was unthinkable. “You’ve been shuffling our names around on our finances without telling me?”

He shrugged. “It was just a business maneuver,” he said evasively, “for my expense accounts and whatnot. But now I see it was very fortunate.”

Tiffany was not buying the “business move” nonsense at all. “The company provides the credit card for your expense account.”

Charlie gave her a hard look. “Are you questioning my business?”

“No, I—”

“Let’s stick to the point. This is a huge debt, and I resent the idea that it might come out of the income I work hard for. I think it’s time you got a part-time job.”

She was dumbstruck. “You do.”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“In between taking care of the kids, keeping the house clean, making dinners, and handling everything from your dry cleaning to cooking for you and your buddies, you think I should get a job.” It didn’t matter that she already had one. He didn’t know about it, and she wasn’t about to let him find out. Their relationship was winding up toward something ugly, she suspected, and she didn’t want to give him any ammunition against her.

He nodded, and an outsider might have thought he looked patient. She knew he looked condescending. “I think it’s best. Also, I’ve opened another bank account and need you to sign off on me leaving the joint account we’ve been sharing.”

“What?”

“We’ll still pay the bills from that account,” he said, as if reassuring her. “Nothing will change. I just want to shift our liabilities.” He smiled, but it didn’t seem even remotely warm. “Don’t worry, as far as the running of the house goes, nothing will change.” As he turned to go, he added, “Like I said, it’s just business.”

Yeah. Monkey business. Charlie was positioning himself to leave her, Tiffany realized with great clarity. And he thought she was too stupid to understand that. He thought he could baffle her with talk of expense accounts and liabilities.

Her whole body shook with anger and pain that bounced around inside her without an outlet. This was surreal. And yet, at the same time, it felt inevitable. Somewhere inside she’d known her marriage wasn’t right. She wasn’t sure what hurt more: the fact that the man she’d spent so many years with, and had two children with, wanted to leave her and apparently was willing to leave her high and dry; or the
fact that after all this time, he clearly didn’t know her at all.

She sat down at the kitchen table, tapped her fingers for a minute, then stood up again. Where should she go? What should she do? She needed a drink. First things first.

She opened the freezer and took out the frosty blue bottle of Skyy Vodka. Then she took out a glass and poured some vodka in. The first sip she took burned down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. Good. Maybe it would burn all traces of Charlie out of her.

The second sip went down easier.

The third made her pick up the phone and dial a number she knew by heart even though she rarely called it.

“Hi, it’s me. Can you . . . um . . . can you come over? I’m having sort of an emergency. No, no, everyone’s okay, it’s just—” Sudden tears filled her eyes, and her voice faltered. “I need to talk.”

Chapter
      
13