Page 26 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Chapter Twenty-Two

Things were definitely not fine in Veronica’s world.

In her email was an urgent note that her bank account was overdrawn.

A second notice said that her rent payment had been rejected.

Under cover of the conversation between Henry and Mariah, Veronica tried to figure out what had happened.

Everything was automated, and she didn’t use that account for anything except essentials. No way it could be overdrawn.

And now her hands went clammy as she remembered that her credit card had not worked in the grocery store. What the hell was going on?

“Sure you’re okay?” Henry asked.

She waved it off. “Minor glitch, I think.” But her ears felt hot with a form of embarrassment she had not felt in decades, since she’d been a scholarship student at CU working three jobs and carrying instant coffee in her backpack to get by while all her friends had credit cards funded by their parents.

She had been determined that no one would know.

She’d changed everything about herself when she moved from Taos to Boulder, Colorado, a change of climate, culture, and class she was determined to navigate properly.

She observed the way the monied girls cut their hair and cut hers the same; she shopped ceaselessly at thrift stores for pieces that gave her a well-tended, if faintly shabby, look.

She lied about her background, saying she was from Albuquerque—a city they still looked down on.

Honestly, it was shocking how little any of them knew about New Mexico, a state directly south, not even a three-hour drive away.

She said her mom had been a Realtor and her dad a car salesman, careers she thought she could fake knowledge about, positions that could make a solid middle-class living, but not like a dentist or a teacher, people who’d gone to college.

She also changed her name, from Brandi (with an i !) to Veronica, which sounded sleek and sophisticated, the name of the elegant girl in Archie comic books.

In those days, it had never occurred to her that her mom would have been devastated that Brandi/Veronica had lied about so much, that by changing her history, she was nullifying her mother and stepfather.

It wasn’t like she’d continued to lie over time. Spence and the kids knew about her life in Taos, but she didn’t talk about it a lot. She tried to avoid even thinking about New Mexico, the high desert, the red earth, the hardscrabble life they’d lived there.

But this bone-deep shame over being completely broke, without a single penny or a way to get it until Mariah paid her, was searingly familiar even after almost thirty years. She couldn’t bear it if Henry and Mariah suspected that she had nothing at all.

The good thing was that Mariah would keep paying her every Friday. That sum wouldn’t address the missing rent payment, but it would keep her afloat here.

The rest she’d have to figure out on the fly.

“What are we ordering?” she asked, and opened her little notebook to a new page to take notes on the samples.

Henry dropped them back at the hotel. Mariah crashed for a bit.

While she slept, Veronica paced the sitting room, from the window overlooking Russell Square to the minikitchen, around the coffee table, back to the window.

When she could open the app for her bank and see the day’s new activities, she saw that what she’d feared was exactly what had happened: the alimony payment from Spence had not shown up in her account.

That meant that all the autopayments were refused, with the exception of the electric bill, which had come out first.

That was the stress of living hand-to-mouth. If one thing fell out of place, it could wreck everything.

She sank down on the couch, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw spots. What the actual hell was she going to do? If she didn’t pay the rent, the apartment would be lost, and she had no way to get it cleaned out between now and the first of January.

Not to mention she didn’t want to lose the apartment at all.

When the clock showed it would be 10:00 a.m. in Colorado, she called Spence in his office. He always arrived at 9:45 a.m. and spent an hour on grading or preparing lesson plans. He prided himself on his systems.

He answered the phone, a landline on his desk, on the second ring. “Hello,” he said pleasantly.

“It’s me, Spence.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I think you know the alimony check didn’t arrive.”

“I am aware, but as you are aware, the furnace had to be replaced, and the money had to come from somewhere.”

Jagged anger bolted red through her veins, feeling so hot it could split her skin. “It is not my house,” she said, enunciating each word.

“And. You. Are. Not. My. Wife,” he returned.

“You’re breaking the law!”

“Not a very important law,” he said mildly. “And you have a job now.”

“I do have a job,” she said, trying to calm herself. “But it will not cover my rent, and I cannot afford to lose that place.”

“You don’t have to live in Boulder,” he said. “The kids are grown. They can visit you in Denver.”

His cavalier attitude hit the back of her throat, spread downward to her gut, burning, turning back on itself. Her heart raced so hard she feared a heart attack, and the soles of her feet burned on the floor. If she walked, she’d leave behind footprints of fire.

In a whisper, she asked, “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t expect anything. You’re a grown woman.”

“How can you treat the mother of your children this way, Spence? You’re a better person than this.”

“I’m doing what I have to do to take care of my current family, Ronny.”

“Don’t call me Ronny,” she said tightly, but he’d backed her into a corner.

A hard heel of anxiety pressed into her chest. What else could she do but give in?

Taking a breath, she said as calmly as she was able, “Look. I can’t do anything from England.

Pay me this month’s alimony, and I’ll sign the bloody agreement. ”

“Funny how you can make it work now.”

“I can’t. But I can’t lose the apartment when I’m halfway around the world, either. And you’re doing the same to Jenna.”

“I’m not going to take her money away. That was just to get her attention. She needs to earn more. So do you. You’re a capable adult.”

Veronica closed her eyes, breathed through her nose, repeating all the things she’d learned in group about how to manage her emotions.

Tears flowed down her face, but no one could see her, and as long as he couldn’t hear it, she didn’t care.

A second, horrible thought came to her. “Did you cut off my credit card?” It had been on their shared account, although she paid the bill.

“It’s time, don’t you think?”

She had a debit card, which was where the money from Mariah would go. “Spence, I can get back without the credit card, but please don’t force me to lose that apartment.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Too late. I paid for the furnace instead of your alimony.”

“Spence!”

“Not my problem.” He was practically whistling with victory. “I’ve got to go.”

And he hung up.

Veronica couldn’t sit still. She knocked on Mariah’s door. “I’m going out. Do you need anything?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“I’ll have my phone.”

“I’m not twelve,” Mariah said, pulling open the door. “Are you okay? I heard a fight.”

Veronica squared her shoulders. “Nothing I can’t manage.” She tugged her sweater down over her hips. “Are you planning to pay me on Fridays, still?”

“Definitely. Do you need it sooner?”

Her cheeks flamed. “No. I’ll be okay.” But that was a lie. “Honestly, yes. My ex and I are struggling over alimony.”

Mariah reached into her back pocket for her phone and pulled it out. “I have the routing number here. You want to check it and make sure it’s right?”

Relief poured through Veronica, cooling the fury, slowing her heartbeat. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Veronica said, “Right now, I’m going to take a walk. Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?”

“I think I’m going out,” Mariah said. “Feeling kind of restless. You do you.”

Which meant she had the night to herself. “Sounds good.”

She donned her coat and ran down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator. For the first time, she saw that there were profiles of the Bloomsbury set on the walls. She paused to read them, feeling something lighten with each bio. This one a painter, that one a writer, this one a lover.

What was the appeal of this group? Why did she identify so much with them?

As she headed outside and crossed the street to Russell Square where she proceeded to speed walk around the winter-yellow grass, she pondered the question.

Some of it was right here, these graceful squares with agreeable homes around them, a London that no longer existed.

The air was sharp and smelled of the watermelon notes of today’s rain, and it was far more appealing to think about the Bloomsbury set than about her own life, which was such a shambles right now.

It still amazed her that everything was so upside down.

It made her think of a Leonard Cohen quote about expectations, that everyone thought they’d go out and slay the dragon, but growing older taught you that the dragon often slayed you instead.

Her nerves settled a bit as she walked. Another round and she could take a deep breath again.

The dragon of mental illness had slayed Virginia Woolf, and her sister, Vanessa, loved the adamantly gay Duncan Grant all her life.

Brandi Pusset had slain the dragon of her history and emerged as Veronica, the wife of a professor, who had an enviable life.

But the dragon had turned on her, burning to ash the gilded life she’d built. She was at ground zero again, her goals abandoned for the lure of children and family and comfort, with decades stretching out ahead of her and no idea what she was going to do with them.