Prodigal Son: A Novel Page 9

  The boys were shocked that he wasn’t in New York, but they could hear that he was excited about being at the lake, and they were slowly adjusting to the idea that their parents were getting a divorce, although it still felt unreal to Peter too, and his heart ached when he thought of no longer living with his boys. Strangely, losing Alana wasn’t as hard. Maybe she was right, and they had grown apart. He was feeling bitter that she wasn’t willing to stick by him, and now that the golden days were over, she had bailed. It told him who she really was. And made it less agonizing to lose her.

  For the moment, his life consisted of simple pleasures, and he was beginning to enjoy them. By mid-March, he realized that he needed to start stocking the house, from the long list he had made. There were tools he wanted to buy to make some repairs, a few pieces of furniture he could use, and he was going to buy a decent bed. The narrow beds he and his brother had slept on were wreaking havoc with his back, and his parents’ bed was even older and in worse shape. He needed to get a line put in for his computer. He was getting all his e-mails on his BlackBerry, which wasn’t enough. And he couldn’t get everything on his list in West Brookfield, so he decided to drive the seven miles to Ware, where he’d grown up. It was going to be the first time he had seen it in fifteen years. He had been hesitant about going there, because he didn’t want to run into his brother, and with any luck he wouldn’t. His first stop was the hardware store, and he had decided to go to the used-car lot and buy a truck afterward. He still had a mountain of things he needed to haul away. The realtor had come out to check on him, and he was impressed by all that Peter had accomplished. The place was already looking better, and Peter was getting it in great shape. He was doing it now not so much to sell it as to show his boys. He wanted them to love it when they saw it, and enjoy it as much as he had when he was young. It was a piece of his history he wanted to share with them and never had before, because he hadn’t come back here himself.

  Peter felt strange when he drove into Ware. He went to the hardware store and went down his list with a young boy working there. They had everything he needed, and the boy helped Peter carry it to the car. There were tools, and several pieces of lumber, hardware for the kitchen cabinets, and utensils he needed for the kitchen. He was just coming back in for the last load, when an old man walked toward him from the back of the store. He looked ancient to Peter, but Peter recognized him immediately. It was old Mr. Peterson, the owner, who had already looked ancient fifteen years before, and he was still sharp as a tack. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Peter, and he saw a flicker of recognition there. But Peter had changed a lot more than he had in the past fifteen years. Walter Peterson had to be close to ninety years old.

  “I know you, don’t I, son?” There was something totally familiar to him about Peter’s face.

  “I haven’t seen you in a long time, Mr. Peterson,” Peter said politely, as he extended a hand. It was too late to avoid the meeting now. “Peter McDowell.” The old man broke into a smile.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” He didn’t tell him how much he still looked like Michael. He knew there had been bad blood over their parents’ will. “What brings you to town? Do you live in Boston or New York?”

  “I’m doing some work on the house at the lake,” Peter said, avoiding his second question. He wasn’t sure where he lived right now. Lake Wickaboag was the only address he had.

  “It’ll need a lot of work,” the old man ventured.

  “Yes, it does,” Peter concurred. “How’ve you been?”

  “I’m holding up. I’m turning ninety in June. I still manage to run this place.”

  “You’re looking great,” Peter said with a smile, scooping the rest of his purchases into his arms. “See you again sometime,” he called out as he left, and Walt Peterson stared after him, thinking it was too bad that he hadn’t come back to town in all these years, and even more so that the two brothers were estranged. Peter looked like he had calmed down a lot with age. He’d been a wild one in his youth, rowdy a lot of the time, not like his brother Mike, who’d been easygoing all his life. It was funny how different they were, Walt Peterson mused, since they were twins.

  After the hardware store, Peter went to the used-car lot, and checked out the trucks. There was an old blue one with a big bed in the back that was just what he needed. He paid for it, and the dealer offered to drive it out to the lake for him when his son came in that night to do deliveries for him. He offered Peter a very good deal, and he didn’t recognize Peter since he’d only owned the dealership for three years. The previous owner had died. It was rare for businesses in Ware to change hands, in the old days anyway.

  By twelve-thirty, Peter was back at the lake, and he spent an hour putting his tools and supplies in the garage, and then he went inside and made lunch. He heard his cell phone ring and was startled when it was Alana. She wanted to know if he’d called a lawyer yet. It was a wake-up call back to real life. He’d had a nice day until then.

  “I haven’t had time. I’ve been busy here,” he lied. He had been busy, but not too busy to make a call. He hadn’t felt ready to face calling a divorce lawyer yet. As far as he was concerned, there was no rush. This was her idea, not his. And he still hoped she might change her mind, although he was angry at her for what she’d done and deeply hurt by it. But he would have preferred to stay married to her, if she was willing. It was obvious from what she said that she wasn’t.

  “What are you doing at some lake?”

  “It’s where I grew up. I used to spend the summers here. I’m living at the house for now. It’s free. And the boys will have fun here this summer. I’m cleaning the place up so I can sell it in the fall.” Alana remembered hearing about it—he had just inherited the house from his parents when they got married—but he had never gone there during all the years they were together, and never wanted to, from what she could tell.

  “Where is it?”

  “About two hours out of Boston. It’s a nice place.” He wouldn’t have said that six months before. “There’s nothing happening in New York, so I figured I might as well be here.”

  “Well, call a lawyer,” she said, sounding impatient.

  “I’ll do it next week,” he said, and she was annoyed when they hung up. He was dragging his feet, and she was ready to move on. She wanted to file. Once she made up her mind, it was done.

  He called his tax lawyer the next day, and got the name of a divorce lawyer from him. He told Peter he was sorry to hear he needed one.

  “So am I,” Peter said with a sigh. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “I think a lot of marriages bit the dust with the crash,” his attorney said philosophically.

  “It kind of lets you know what those marriages were based on,” Peter said, sounding bitter for an instant. “Alana went back to L.A. as soon as she could.”

  He left a message for the divorce lawyer that afternoon, and he called Peter back the next day. He took down Alana’s name, and Peter’s information, and said he’d let him know if he heard anything from her lawyer. Peter didn’t know her lawyer’s name, and he texted her with the name of his. And then he went back to work on the house.

  While Peter was working hard at the lake, Walt Peterson sprained his ankle at the store. He missed a step when he came down from his apartment upstairs, and the boy he had working for him thought it might be broken and talked him into going to the doctor. He drove him to Michael’s office to get it looked at. But when Michael examined him, he said it was just a sprain.

  “You were lucky with that,” Michael said, smiling at him. He hadn’t seen Walt Peterson in a while. He was in good health. “How did it happen?” he asked as he bandaged it for him. He told him he’d have to stay off it for a while, although he knew he wouldn’t. He’d be back at the store that afternoon. And at the local bar that night, where he hung out since his wife died.

  “Progress is a dangerous thing. I’ve been wearing two pairs of spectacles for fifty years. One for distance, a
nd one to read. I wear both of them around my neck. My eye doctor talked me into a pair of those bifocal progressives, and I can’t see a damn thing with them. They make me dizzy, and the ground goes all fuzzy under my feet. I missed the step when I was wearing them. I’m going to throw them away.” He looked outraged as he said it, and Michael grinned.

  “They take a while to get used to,” he confirmed. And then he saw that Walt was staring at him, measuring his next words, and he had no idea what he was going to say. “Something else?” Sometimes his patients were shy about their problems, even at Walt’s age.

  “Someone came into my store the other day whom you used to know,” Walt said cautiously. He hadn’t heard Michael mention his brother in years. It was as though his twin had died.

  “And who was that?” Michael asked pleasantly, as he finished wrapping Walt’s ankle, and set his leg gently down.

  “Peter,” he said simply, which meant nothing to Michael. There were a lot of Peters in town.

  “Peter who?”

  “Peter, your brother. He came in and bought a load of stuff from me. He says he’s working on the lake house. Maybe he’s getting ready to sell it. He hasn’t been here in all these years.” Michael knew that as well.

  “That’s interesting,” Michael said coolly, showing none of the emotion he felt. It bothered him to know that his twin was in town, but he didn’t want Walt to know that. He wasn’t about to feed the gossip mills, it was a small town, and people liked to talk. There had been enough of that when his parents died, about the inequities in the will. “The prodigal son returns” was Michael’s only comment, but Walt could see that he wasn’t pleased by the news, and wondered if he should have stayed quiet. He didn’t like upsetting Dr. Mike, he was a good doctor and a nice guy.

  “I’m sure he won’t stay long,” Walt said to reassure him, although he had no idea if that was true. Peter hadn’t told him his plans.

  “Let’s hope not. This town’s not big enough for both of us. It never was,” Michael said, and helped the old man up and onto his feet. He gave him a pair of crutches to take with him. “Now you stay off that foot. And watch out for your new glasses until you’re used to them,” he reminded him, and said not another word about his brother. And Walt Peterson took his cue from him.

  “Thanks, doc,” he said, and hobbled out with his employee’s help. And as Michael moved on to his next patient, he decided to put the unpleasant news out of his mind. As far as he was concerned, his twin brother was dead, and had been for fifteen years. And after all the trouble he’d given Michael when they were growing up, he had no desire to see him again.

  Chapter 7

  Alana’s lawyer called Peter’s the following week, and his lawyer then called him. He told Peter that Alana wanted to file the divorce, but they had to work out their financial settlement first. She was willing to hold off on alimony until he was employed again, although she expected him to support their boys, and Peter had no problem with that. He wanted to support them too. He suggested an amount to the attorney, which sounded reasonable to him as well. And she wanted back alimony with interest once he had a job. Peter didn’t like that as much, and it sounded greedy to him, since her father was supporting her lavishly, but they had been married for fifteen years, and she deserved something for that. Peter thought the conversation was over after he made that point, but the lawyer said she had one more request. Peter couldn’t imagine what it was, as he waited to hear.

  “She wants the Southampton house as a settlement,” he said simply. It was the only thing Peter had left of any value, other than the lake house, which was worth next to nothing compared to it. He whistled through his teeth.

  “That’s pretty much all I’ve got right now.” There was very little remaining from the sale of the New York apartment, and she still wanted half of that. Peter was sure that her father was advising her. The Southampton house was a valuable piece of real estate, particularly if she kept it until prices went up again. Asking for it was a smart move. Peter was living off the monthly rental they were getting. It would hurt to lose that, particularly while he was unemployed.

  “What if we split it when we sell it?”

  “She says she wants to use it with the boys.”

  “We can still split the proceeds when we sell.”

  “I’ll try,” the lawyer promised. Other than that, it didn’t sound like there was much left to divide. He was handling several divorces like theirs, particularly of Bernie Madoff’s past clients who had nothing left at all. In March, Madoff had pleaded guilty to the charges of investor fraud against him and was waiting for sentencing in June.

  The lawyer called Peter back the next day, after talking to Alana’s lawyer again. “No deal,” he told him bluntly. “She wants the house, no split. She wants it all free and clear. They sounded pretty tough about it, but we can put up a fight for it in court. Since it’s the only asset left, a judge is liable to give half of it to you.” Peter thought about it for a long moment, and about his boys and the years he had spent with her. He was angry at her for bailing on him, but he still loved her. And he felt bad to have put her through hard times when he went broke in the crash, but it certainly wasn’t his fault, and if that hadn’t happened, they’d probably still be married, although that was a damning statement about her. But he didn’t want to fight. She was a woman who was willing to be there for the good times, but not the bad. She was spoiled. And he also knew that her father would help her fight like a demon to get what she wanted.

  “Give it to her,” he said quietly. It was like emptying his pockets to make amends. After that, he had nothing left except the house at Lake Wickaboag, which was worth too little to fight about.

  “Are you sure?” his lawyer asked him. “Why don’t you think about it for a few days? There’s no rush here. The final decree will only take six months once we get this worked out.”

  “I’m sure.” He wanted it over now. If all she wanted was the house and back alimony with interest, it was a business deal now, not a marriage. It was over for him now too. Fifteen years down the tubes, just like everything else. He felt like a failure across the board. At least he could make one last grand, elegant gesture with the Southampton house. “She can have it.”

  “Do you want some kind of restriction put on it that she has to keep it for the boys?”

  “No, it’s hers.” Peter knew that his father-in-law would provide handsomely for Ben and Ryan in his will—he didn’t need to worry about them. And one day, he would be solvent again too. Maybe not as rich as he had been, but you never knew what could happen. He had a lot of years left to earn big money, if that was what he wanted to do.

  “That’s it then. I’ll send you the papers to sign,” the lawyer said simply.

  “Thank you,” Peter said quietly, and hung up. It was a strange feeling suddenly. Unencumbered. Unfettered. He had nothing left, except the house he was working on. He went back outside and repaired the loose boards in the front steps. His life had suddenly become very simple, and for now, he liked it that way. There was something very symbolic about it, and very Zen. It was 180 degrees from his old life, and the passion he had had for making money for twenty-one years. Now he was giving it all away.

  Two hours later he got a text from her. All it said was “thank you,” just those two words. He knew what it meant. The house meant more to her now than their marriage, or him. The only thing they had left in common was their boys. The rest was gone. And in the end, it came down to money for Alana. It was a sad thing to learn about her. Success meant everything to her and her father, and Peter had failed. He had lost his grip on the brass ring and fallen off the merry-go-round. Alana was still on it, but Peter wasn’t. For now, he was living in a whole other world, one that Alana wanted no part of. She would have died if she could see the house at the lake. There was nothing grand or elegant about it. But Peter was proud of the work he had done on it with his own hands. The place was starting to look good again. It was flourishing w
ith his attention and hard work, and there was satisfaction for him in that. His life was really down to the basics.

  Peter went into Ware again the next day, to buy groceries and get more cleaning supplies. He drove to the supermarket in his new truck, and as he parked it, he saw a woman sitting in a car in the space next to him. She looked familiar, sitting in the passenger seat, and he realized instantly who she was. She looked older and more fragile, but the minute she smiled up at him, she looked the same. It was Maggie. Lisa had taken her for a ride, when she went to buy groceries for them. Maggie loved getting out on the rare occasions she could, and she looked at Peter now with disbelief.

  “Is that you?” she asked, smiling in delight. She had been no part of the battle between the two brothers, and she’d always been sorry it ended so badly for both of them. Peter had been a good friend and date for a while when they were kids, and she often wondered how he was.

  “No, it’s just a ghost,” he said, laughing, getting out of the truck. He bent down into the window and kissed her cheek. She looked frighteningly frail, and he could see how thin she was. Her hand resting on the open window looked transparent, it was so thin. “How’ve you been? Any better?”