I look into Ken’s eyes and find no lies, which is tough, because I want to hate this guy.
I nod once, take the envelope, and then Tommy and I join Portia outside.
The car takes us to a gulf-front hotel in Clearwater. We eat dinner and walk the beach. We hang Tommy’s Quiet Riot mask over one of the headboards, get him to sleep, and then talk on the balcony with a partial view of the water, as the waves roll in endlessly through moonlight.
Portia’s on her fourth glass of wine when she says, “Why did you take the papers from Ken?”
“He handed them to me,” I say.
“Why didn’t you leave when I did?”
“I tried, but he kept talking.”
“You didn’t have to be polite to him.”
“What was it you said to me earlier—you didn’t have much practice with divorce? Well, I don’t have much practice helping the woman I love through one either.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not fair. His getting away so squeaky clean like this—buying his absolution from that priest.”
“Would you rather he continue to be an asshole for the rest of his life?” I say. “Keep underpaying and exploiting young women? Because building a school for poor kids sure seems like what I’d vote for.”
“It’s just that—” She doesn’t finish.
“What?”
She downs her wine, and then with a shaky voice she says, “Why did he change for her and not me? I would have loved to do all that charity work. How is it that she got him to—”
“Maybe you’re supposed to do cool stuff with me instead. If you haven’t noticed, I’m sitting right across from you. I’m here. I want to be with you. And I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of money—”
“It was never about the money. Jesus.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. There was Mr. Vernon and then Ken. Both of them—I couldn’t save them. I failed.”
“Do you want me to go swimming in the gulf after a big breakfast tomorrow morning? I can cramp up and you can swim out and save me. We could call the local news crews and have them cover it on TV. I’d do that for you. No sweat.”
She laughs.
Thank god she laughs!
“I’m being stupid, right?” she says.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
“Did you think she looked like his daughter?”
“First thing I thought when they opened the door.”
“It’s creepy, right?”
“Yep. But it’s also none of our business. And we can be free and clear of them easily enough. Don’t you think that it’s all a nice twist of fate, Portia? I mean, if Ken was half as bad as you made him sound—and I absolutely believe he was all you said he was—his lawyers could have made things awful for you. Maybe the guy really just wants to do the right thing here and move on. And maybe that means we get to move on too. Get busy living the rest of our lives together.”
Portia’s silent for a long time. “I think I just need some time, Chuck, out here. I just want to think. Would I be a complete bitch if I asked you to leave me alone for a few hours?”
“Like go inside?”
“Yeah,” she says in this quivery voice that suggests tears are coming.
So I go inside, brush my teeth, plop down onto the queen-size mattress, and listen to Tommy breathing in the next bed. I wonder if Portia is crying outside, and what that would mean. Does part of her still love Ken? It’s got to be normal to mourn a failed marriage, especially since they were together for years. There would probably be something wrong with Portia if she weren’t a little upset tonight, I tell myself, but it’s hard to swallow.
Around three in the morning I hear the sliding door open and listen to Portia make her way through the dark to the bathroom.
She’s in there a while, but she finally comes to bed and pulls my arm over her so that we are spooning.
“I love you,” I whisper into her ear.
“Love you too,” she says.
In the morning Tommy wakes me up, and we find Portia on the balcony reading over the divorce papers.
She signs later that day at Ken’s lawyers’ office in downtown Tampa Bay.
Tommy and I go along for moral support, and so does Julie, who—in another white sundress—looks even younger than she did when we all first met.
When everything is inked and legal, Julie squeezes Ken’s arm, and he immediately asks if he can take us all out for a big meal, just to clear the air, so to speak.
Without missing a beat, Portia says, “No thanks, Ken. We’re going to Disney World tonight.”
“Seriously?” Tommy says.
“Seriously,” Portia answers.
And the next thing I know, we’re on a first-class flight to Orlando.
We spend our last day in the Magic Kingdom. Even though Tommy doesn’t bring up the fact that his mother once promised him a trip here, I think about that a lot, but still mostly manage to relish the smile plastered on the little guy’s face as he enjoys the various rides and shows and gets his picture taken with all of the characters.
Danielle would have loved this day, I keep thinking.
The week after I complete my first year of teaching first grade, with Tommy and Portia’s mom acting as our only witnesses, Portia and I are married by a justice of the peace.
We tell Tommy he can pick the honeymoon destination, since he’s going with us, and when he says he wants to go back to Disney World so he can see the other parks and spend more than a day down there, we laugh and book it, because why the hell not.