“It’s a glorified secretary. A valet.”

“You’re on the path to become a bishop,” Beau said. “Congratulations. We’ll throw you a party or something.”

“Except, that doesn’t really interest me,” Tim said.

Beau was stunned. “Wait a minute. I thought you wanted to be the pope!”

“No. I wanted to be Bing Crosby,” he said. “Maybe when I was a kid, I thought being the bishop was such an achievement, but what really propelled me was the idea of a nice little Brooklyn neighborhood parish filled with hardworking men and women in need of more than prayer, in need of sustenance and opportunity and a good singing voice. Children who could be encouraged and filled with hope. I never wanted anyone to be sick or hungry, you know? But there were going to be people in need. I wouldn’t be able to right all the ills of the world, I knew that. But...” He became quiet. “I wanted to help, to give comfort.”

“Did you want to be a hero?” Beau asked.

“I wanted to be another pair of hands,” Tim said, his voice soft and earnest. “I wanted to work, not write canon law that controlled people and kept them from being human. I wanted to be needed. No, that’s candy-ass—I wanted to make a difference in ordinary lives. They need another bishop like they need a rash.”

“Oh boy. They’re about to grace you with this high honor and you’re...you’re...”

“Losing the fire,” Tim said.

Beau was quiet. He watched his friend closely. It was unusual for Tim to be this serious, this grave. “Why have you never said anything?” Beau finally asked.

“The real question should be, why am I saying something now? Because, my brother, I feel there could be changes coming. I know you need me right now. I hope you understand if I’m unavailable for some reason.”

“Of course,” he said. “Listen, take care of yourself, Tim. I’m good. I want you to be happy. You didn’t sound happy just then...”

“God didn’t put me here to be happy,” Tim said. “He put me here to be useful. That’s happiness right there. So you see, in the end it’s entirely selfish. It makes me happy to dig my heels in and work alongside the poor and disenfranchised.”

“You should have skipped the seminary and the vows and just hired out as a missionary. I can think of a hundred nonprofits who would kill to have someone like you, someone willing to break his back for a bowl of soup.”

“Tempting,” Tim said, causing Beau to look at him with amused surprise.

Beau shook his head. “You’re one of a kind, you know that.”

* * *

Lauren had tried not to think too much about the upcoming holidays, but the truth was it popped into her mind often and it worried her. She would bring it up to Cassie first. She was the most loyal and reasonable. Then she would talk to her sister; she would offer all the cooking and hosting she was able to. Maybe Beth would have no interest in having a holiday meal at Lauren’s new house, which was perfectly all right. She would go anywhere that seemed agreeable. She even had passing thoughts of going to Boston, though she was sure Jeremy’s family would invite them home and Lauren suspected they would include her.

But who would rear an ugly head this holiday season? Would it be Lacey, angry that the family she had known was splitting apart? Would it be Brad, furious that the holiday he had designed was not to be? Would the holiday spirit throw him into a rage?

Brad loved the Christmas season particularly. He liked attending parties; he liked throwing parties. Though he played host and had specific ideas about what should be done, he didn’t do any of the work. He liked showing off at all of the parties, but he wouldn’t like it while going through a divorce. Adele had never joined them at Beth’s house. Instead, whether Thanksgiving or Christmas, he would make a run by his mother’s house and have dessert with her, dragging Lauren along. But while he paid homage to Adele by having a holiday meal with her now and then, he didn’t much enjoy it. He didn’t stay long and his mood was usually dark when it was over. What he liked was hosting a lavish celebration at his house, whether it was for his friends or even Lauren’s family. That’s where he was comfortable—the king and his subjects. Whether Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, he liked it when people gathered at his house.

That would never happen again. The only way he could do it without Lauren was to have it catered the way Adele did, without his queen to oversee the details and do the work.

But perhaps he was working on his next wife, she thought cheerfully. That would eliminate a number of problems, if she could just pass him off to the next woman. That she pitied her successor went without saying, but she couldn’t help the mysterious her.

But would he snap? That was her real worry. When the holidays didn’t go the way he’d like them to go, would anger overwhelm him? Would that restraining order keep her safe from him?

Erica called her. It was the second week of October. The leaves were turning. It was still warm in most of the Bay Area while the coast was still cool and damp. The harvest was almost over. “Dr. Delaney would like to have a face-to-face conference with you. He termed it a renegotiation,” Erica said.

“A what?”

“I have no idea what he means by that,” she said. “Given your history with the man, I suggest we just say you’re not interested in a meeting.”

“What does he want?” Lauren asked. “Sorry, I’m thinking aloud. You just said you have no idea what that’s about.”

“Think about your experience with him,” Erica said. “What does he do?”

“He lies and manipulates and here’s the hook—I get sucked in because I wonder what he’s going to say. I wonder so passionately that I can’t wait to hear what he wants now. But you’re right. Please tell his lawyer that I don’t want to meet with him. He can talk to you.”

Erica sighed deeply. “I’ll listen to any offer, present it to you, and we’ll go from there.”

“And here I was just thinking how well things are going—he hasn’t bothered me, nagged or intruded on me, and I’m getting a stipend to help with finances. It was too good to be true, wasn’t it?”

“We don’t know yet,” she said. “His attorney says his request is very sincere. Of course, that’s exactly what I would say. I’ll be in touch.”

Three days later Erica called again, this time asking Lauren to stop by the office. Erica Slade kept offices in a chic Victorian building that housed several lawyers, paralegals and clerical staff. She was located on a fashionable San Francisco street that also had residences—very upscale, as were Erica Slade’s fees.

“I gave him a couple of hours of my time, which he will pay for, just as he will pay for the time I’m presently giving you. I wanted to see your face when I tell you this. I have accustomed myself to surprises but I’ve never grown to like them.”

“Oh dear,” she said weakly.

“He is willing to make a substantial cash payment to you with a few stipulations. He would give you five million in cash, transferable bonds and stocks if you will give the marriage another go. He would agree to a post-nuptial agreement that would keep the settlement from being a part of your future community property if your attempt at reconciliation fails. He wants you to agree to six months effort for the transfer of funds. And—”

Lauren shook her head. “You really don’t have to go any further. There is no possibility for reconciliation.”

“You don’t want to hear the rest?”

“Is it even interesting?” Lauren asked.

“Well, yes. At least informative. If you move home for what he considers to be a substantial reward, he will be responsible for your daughters’ post-graduate studies. Harvard Law is pricey, to say the least. If you won’t try again, he will refuse to help them with their educational costs. We can make it part of our negotiation, but...”

Lauren pinched her eyes closed and a little moisture gathered on the lashes.

“What did that trigger?” Erica asked.

“They’re his daughters, too,” she said in a whisper. “How can he be so uncaring? So selfish? Is everything a negotiation with him?”

“You know him better than I do,” Erica said rather coldly. “One more thing. If you find these terms unacceptable, he’d like to take this matter of property settlement to mediation.”

That brought a bitter laugh out of Lauren. “I wouldn’t dare,” she said. “If you could see the way he brought marriage counselors to their knees... I should go to court and have a jury!”

“You won’t get a jury. You could draw a family court judge and bear the same risk as with a mediator. However, I can exercise some small bit of control with a mediator. I’ve worked with quite a few, as has my opposing counsel. We can strike a deal for joint approval of the mediator. I cannot choose a judge, however.”

“He really knows how to turn on the charm—he knows how to get what he wants.”

“Lauren—you’re not going to exit this marriage broke, I can guarantee that. But listen to me—those of us who have been working in the divorce business for a number of years are understandably jaded. Cynical. We have a hard time believing anything we can’t see, touch, hear, smell or count. I don’t trust anyone. And most of my colleagues are the same way, mediators included.”

“Me?” Lauren asked. “You don’t trust me?”

“You’re a nice lady. I think you’ve been treated badly. I think your decision to divorce is sensible and I like you. But there are always two sides. I think you’d be okay with a mediator and it might speed things up. In any case, we should bring a motion before the family court to issue a deadline for this proceeding. And I’m still waiting for that forensic audit. That’s one of my holdouts—we don’t do anything without that audit. We have to know his net worth. His real net worth.”