The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (23 page)

Chapter 32:

The Return of Ira?

T
hings between Julian and me were going great. The sexual tension showed no sign of dying out and we’d done it oodles of times—in his bed, in my bed, on his chaise longue (that was a favorite of ours), on my sofa, on his sofa, in my shower (another favorite), in his shower. On my kitchen counter (Paul had the kids) among flour and chocolate (which I strongly recommend, especially if your man likes to lick it off you. Julian’s got a shameful sweet tooth). The only place we hadn’t done it was our cars or our offices, but we’d pretty much covered the geography of our lives. It was obvious we had feelings for each other. I mean, what hunk hangs around with a woman for four months (geez, had it been that long?) if nothing keeps them together besides the sex?

We’d laugh, eat and talk. We talked for hours about everything. The only thing I couldn’t manage to bring up was Tuscany.

* * *

One February evening as I was waiting for Julian to take me out on another dinner-date, I got a little visit from Ira. He was standing in the doorway, pale and unshaved. He looked horrible.

“What do you want?” I demanded as that old feeling of resentment rose in me as if on cue.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m on my way out. You should call.”

“Where are the kids?”

“With Judy and Steve.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your business.”

And just then, Julian pulled up in his jeep, carrying a box of pastries and a bottle of wine—hopefully
Inzolia
—to where we were standing. His smile disappeared like an elastic band that had been stretched and flung far away.

“Julian, you remember my ex-husband Ira,” I said, baring my teeth. Then, unable to stop myself, “Ira, your idol Julian—my new, fantastic lover.”

The pounding silence of my heart as the seconds dragged by…

“Uh, hello, Ira,” Julian managed, and both men shot me a flabbergasted look. More dead silence. Good. Let him simmer. I’d apologize to Julian later.

Julian recovered first. “Do you want me to wait here?”

I shook my head, motioning him in. “No, go on in, Julian, Ira was just leaving.”

Ira stared at him, then at me, as if he still couldn’t fathom someone like Julian Foxham, Red Sox champ, was with someone like me.

“Tell the kids I’ll come by tomorrow evening,” he snapped and left, driving off with a screech as Julian watched him go, then turned to me again, his eyes still huge.

“I’m sorry, Julian—it just came out. I wanted to hurt him.”

“Is that the only reason why?” he asked softly, placing my gifts just inside the entrance, under the mirror, leaving me a moment to think that one over without him breathing down my back. “Or does it feel good to say it out loud?”

He was so sweet it scared me. I turned to look at him. Was he asking me for himself or for me? I could no longer keep him hanging. It wasn’t fair on him.

“Ah… well,” was all I could say, not being one for words when talking about private stuff, and then there was an awkward silence, which I knew he was waiting for me to fill, but he took my hand, guiding me to his jeep where he opened the door, helped me in (ah, these English gentlemen), closed it and grinned at me.

I swallowed. I wasn’t used to having someone looking at me so intensely. Then he leaned in and took my chin in his hand. I closed my eyes and he dropped a smackingly delicious kiss onto my mouth. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck, almost pulling him in through the window.

* * *

As I was putting away some groceries the next day, the doorbell rang. It was Ira again, his face drawn, and his eyes sunken, as if suffering from a severe illness.

“The kids are upstairs,” I managed, grinding my teeth. Full custody my foot.

“I—I need to talk to you first, Erica.”

I opened the door wider to let him in against my better judgment. “What is it?”

He nodded his thanks and sat down on the sofa, fidgeting with his tie like a rookie at his first job interview. I sat opposite him, my heart racing. What could he possibly
want
still?

Then he took a deep breath and said it. “I want to come back home, Erica…”

So much for full custody. He followed me back into the kitchen—another first—where I continued to pull the groceries out of the bags. It was obvious Maxine wouldn’t last long, but
come on
. And now he realized what he had lost—a sturdy presence behind him, a family.

“Listen, you can see the kids any time you want. You know that,” I said, but Ira shook his head, taking the milk cart out of my hands and stilling me so I was looking straight into his eyes. Those dark eyes that I had once loved so passionately. So hopelessly. Now they just made me sick.

“I know, but… can’t we work it out?”

I pushed him away. “No, we can’t, and for the record, don’t even dream of applying for full custody. I’ll kill you first—and don’t for one minute think I won’t.” Years and years of dreaming murder would morph into a full execution if he went down that road.

“No, Erica—I don’t want full custody. Listen to me, please. I’m so, so sorry. I miss you—not just the kids. I miss
you
, my wife.”

I stared at him stupidly as he said the words I’d waited to hear for twelve years. Ira still loved me. Ira wanted me back. What a bunch of
bull.

I pushed him away and buried myself in the fridge, stacking up my dairy products. M
ilk, cheese, butter, yogh—

“Erica, honey—”

That
honey
could have been useful while I was trying to win his heart, once upon a billion years ago.

I faced him again, the blood flooding into my cheeks and let it all out in one breath. “What happened—Pristine Maxine too high maintenance for you? Doesn’t she want the kids around? Good, because guess what? They’re not interested in hanging around your sluts.”

“Please, Erica. Forgive me,” he said softly, his hand on my shoulder. I flung his arm off me and moved away.

“I made a big mistake. I need you. You give my life a meaning. You’re my rock. I love you.”

I laughed bitterly. “No you don’t, Ira. You don’t treat people you love like you’ve treated me and your children all these years.”

His fingers tightened around my wrist. “No—you don’t understand. I need your support.”

“I do understand. You think you made a mistake, but you haven’t. You left because you didn’t love me. Or the kids.”

There was a long, heavy silence, as if he was considering my words, wondering how true they actually were.

I sighed. “You can go now. I’m busy. I have a guest for dinner.”

At that Ira’s chest puffed out. “You and Julian were already sleeping together, weren’t you?”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Didn’t you once tell me there was no way a man could ever be interested in someone like me? Aren’t I too fat to attract a man, let alone a champion like Julian Foxham?”

But Ira ignored my words, struck by a bright light bulb in his deviated little mind. “And you even brought him here, in my own home! You should be paying
me
alimony!”

At that, he stomped up the stairs. I followed him. “What are you doing?” I demanded as he strode into our—
my
bedroom.

He yanked the bed out away from the wall and retrieved his baseball bat, sweating and already red from the exertion.

Chapter 33:

Ira and the IRS

I
blinked, frozen to my spot as Warren and Maddy skidded to a halt on the landing, Warren’s face ashen.

“Ira, put that down, you’re scaring the children!” I hissed.

“I just want you to listen to me, goddamn it!” he yelled. “I’m over a hundred thousand dollars in debt and I don’t know what to do!”

So
that
was it.

Maddy began to cry and I swiftly moved downstairs so Ira would move away from them. But, to my horror, they followed as well.

I hollered back just as loud, “Get out!”

“You’re paying me alimony!”

“Get out!”

“Dad—” Warren said, puffing his chest out bravely, but his lips were quivering. “Put that bat down.
Please.
”

“Warren,” I managed. “Daddy isn’t going to hurt anyone, I promise.”

Ira whirled around to stare at me. “Of course I’m not—what do you think I am, Erica—a psycho or something?”

Looking at him wielding a baseball bat, insanity
did
come to mind. I stared into Ira’s eyes as I spoke to Warren. Calm but firm. “Warren. I need you to take your sister upstairs again. Now. Can you do that for me? Daddy and I need to talk. Please, sweetheart?”

Warren gave his father a look of hatred mixed with fear, scooped Maddy up into his strong arms, and headed upstairs. After a moment I heard the key turn in the lock and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. As long as they were safe nothing else scared me.

I finally exhaled. “You left me, remember?” I repeated softly, fighting back the tears. “What the hell do you want from me now?”

“I want you back.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks too, and he was babbling incoherently, but I had no pity for him. In fact, I felt nothing for this man I had once loved.

“And you’re trying to convince me by threatening us with a
baseball bat?
” I spat.

“I’m not threatening you with anything!” he boomed. “I just want you back!”

“I don’t want you!” I cried. “I don’t love you anymore. Now get out, you’re terrifying my children!”

“Our children!” he screamed and wiped the photos off the mantelpiece with one sweep of his hand. “They’re mine, too!”

I screamed. An angry scream. “Stop it, Ira!”

“I don’t want a divorce,” he bawled.

“Too late!” I bawled in turn. “I loved you for years, Ira! For both of us! I can’t do that anymore!” I cried.

As a response, he swung his arm out again, knocking the lamp off the side table. I protected my face as the shards flew around my head. This was not the way I had envisaged it. In my mind I had always been the one to attack. I had always been the one killing
him
.

Then a loud bang shook the house. I whirled around to see Julian’s face in the front door window.

“Erica!”

I turned as Ira neared me, his eyes unfocused.

Julian punched a fist through the front door window and stuck his arm in to unlock the door. Once inside, he took in the smashed lamp and looked at me, paling instantly.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, and I nodded.

“Mr. Lowenstein—Ira,” Julian continued. “Please put that down; you’re scaring everybody.”

“You!” Ira spat, coming forward. “Baseball champion!”

“Come on, Mr. Lowenstein, before somebody gets hurt…”

“You want my family? Come and get it!” And then he dropped the bat, throwing himself onto Julian, who easily wrestled him to the ground.

Julian didn’t look at me, but his voice was low. “Erica, get me some duct tape. The police are on their way.”

And as if on cue, there was a loud bellow from the front door. “Everybody—hands up!” And only then did I see the blue, white and red lights of the police car swirling around the living room walls, like a giant psychedelic star-spangled banner.

To an outsider, Julian, crouching down to keep Ira still, would’ve seemed like the aggressor, huge and panting, as Ira crouched in the corner sniveling.

“You all right, ma’am?” asked one of the agents.

Ira let himself be handcuffed and taken to the car, his eyes burning through me. I would never forget the sheer hatred in his eyes. It was much more intense than all my murder fantasies put together.

“Ma’am, you need to come down to the station with us.”

I had no choice but to leave the kids with my neighbor Mrs. Oldman, who shuffled them in through her front door, as I called my parents. Who called their lawyer.

Who found out that Ira was being hunted down by the IRS. The bastard wanted to get back with me to minimize the chances of my testifying against him. Some love.

I refused to press charges against Ira. But I had a restraining order issued against him.

At the station Julian held my hand, looking at my bruised fingers, kissing them one by one. Neither of us spoke. It was enough to just have him near me.

* * *

In three hours we were back home. Paul opened the door, pale and shaken as he opened his arms for us. My family had come and gone, offering to stay the night, and even Mrs. Oldman next door offered to keep the kids for the night, but I refused. I needed to keep things as normal as possible.

The broken lamp and pictures had been removed. Maddy and Warren, who were still shaking under the blanket I’d put over us, refused to go upstairs to bed lest their father return to finish us all off.

So Julian temporarily patched up the window he’d broken earlier and Paul cooked us a meal while I lay on the sofa with Maddy in my lap and an arm around a still trembling Warren. I only hoped it was from shock and not rage. Shock subsides in time, while rage only grows like a well-fed fire.

“You did the right thing, calling Mr. Foxham,” I whispered as I kissed the top of his head, and he nodded against my chest, snuggling up to me like when he was little, only now his arms rested around me protectively.

“He was going to kill you, Mom.”

“Oh, honey, Daddy would never hurt us,” I said. “He’s just not well at the moment, but he’ll get better soon, you’ll see.” Ira needed financial and psychological help.

“Good thing Julian came.”

I wondered fleetingly when Warren had started calling his principal by his first name. “Julian’s cool,” Warren whispered, and, as if he had been summoned, Julian and Paul appeared with steaming trays of spaghetti and meatballs, grilled vegetables and cake. Plus a glass of red wine for me.

As I watched, Julian cut up Maddy’s spaghetti for her with a spoon, just the way she liked it. How did he
know
? Maddy took her bowl and he tickled her until she giggled.

Julian had managed to reach their hearts in no time, so starved were they for a father figure. Julian was the alpha male. The protector. He’d sure won me over. Not only was he kind and considerate, he was warrior-like. Which was so, so sexy.

“I always knew he was a shit,” Paul whispered to Julian, who tilted his head to listen and nod. I glared at them and jerked my head toward the kids.

“As if they didn’t know,” Paul hissed and got to his feet. “Sunshine, you’re in good hands here. Get some sleep—preferably in this gorgeous man’s arms, huh?” he whispered in my ear and kissed my cheek. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

Julian and Paul swatted each other across the back like gorillas, nodded, and Paul headed for the door.

Sitting on the sofa with my children, I watched Julian’s back as he whispered something else to Paul. It was probably about Ira, but now I didn’t have to worry anymore. For tonight, at least, there was someone taking care of me. I wanted to pull Julian to me and feel the stubble of his cheek against mine again. To be with him all the time.

“Hey, Warren,” Julian said as he came back into the living room. “You were very brave today. You’re a real champ, you know that? Want to do some throws tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Warren said, all proud of himself. And then added, “Can you stay the night? Please?”

“Aw, champ, I don’t think—” Julian began, and I said, “Stay, Julian.”

I didn’t care what people thought. From now on I’d do things my way and not worry about other people. This was our life now.

“You’re sure?” Julian asked dubiously.

“We’d be happy to have you.”

“In that case, I’d be happy to stay.”

“Cool. Thanks, Fox.” And with that, Warren was asleep on the sofa within minutes. Julian grinned.

As we lay sprawled with my children between us, I listened to their breathing.

“You hanging in there?” Julian whispered, placing a finger under my chin to look into my eyes. The unexpected contact made me shiver, and I nodded.

“Thank you,” I whispered back, my eyes never leaving his face. His own were solemn and dark in the evening glow of the fire he’d built. In our house it was always me who made the fire. Ira had never stuck around long enough to enjoy its warmth and now the flames seemed to be caressing me. “Thank you—for everything you’ve done for us.”

“I want to do more,” Julian whispered back. Was this the time to talk to him about Italy? I slowly eased myself out of the tangle of my kids as Julian brought Warren upstairs and I placed Maddy in her bed, my love fiercely gushing out of every pore. I’d kill anyone who hurt them.

I sat there for a few moments as he came back from Warren’s bedroom, then I crept downstairs into the kitchen and away from Julian. My face was hot and I was trembling. Julian’s presence in the house was reassuring me, but his nearness was overwhelming. I felt drawn to him like to no one ever before. I wanted to reach out and touch him, smell the shampoo scent of his hair, touch the tautness of his skin. I wanted him to put his arms around me and tell me everything was going to be all right, because
he
was there.

There was no denying it. I wanted him to be my man for good. I wanted him to be part of my Tuscan dream. Was it asking too much? Once his Superman syndrome subsided, I’d be on my own again, and my wounds would never heal this time. Healing from Ira wouldn’t be easy, but healing from Julian would be impossible.

Julian took my empty mug from my fingers and set it on the counter and before I knew what was happening, he pulled me into his arms and I finally,
finally
felt the stubble of his face against my cheek, and my body and soul filled with so much longing I moaned. He pulled me closer and I wrapped my arms around him, my hands climbing up his back, gripping his shoulder blades. The feel of his strong, lean frame against mine was so new, so invigorating and it scared me, the way my body reacted. Like never before.

He stroked the back of my head and neck, and I could hear his breathing, feel the warmth of it against the side of my face.

“You’re so amazing, Erica…” he whispered, his voice deep, hoarse. Breathless almost.

“What are you talking about? I’m a total loser. Can’t you see the mess my life is?”

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked down at me in surprise. “No. I see a strong woman whose kids love her to pieces because she is a wonderful mother,” he said softly. “I see a kick-ass manager who makes things work. And a sexy, intelligent woman.” Then he went silent, busying himself with our coffees.

I had to hand it to Julian. He was a real gentleman. I knew he wanted to take this further, but he respected the situation I was in. Sex—sure. But was he ready for the kind of relationship I needed? A total, Tuscan commitment? I’d been racking my brains for days to think of a way to ask him how serious he was without scaring him off. Would he really be willing to leave his world here and move with us? Because that was what I wanted and a no would devastate me for good this time.

“You’re the amazing one,” I said finally. “And so was your meal. You and Paul could rival
Le Tre Donne
restaurant.”

“You’re my teacher. You know, we should ditch our jobs and open an Italian restaurant somewhere,” he whispered, and I felt my cheeks go hot. Now would have been the perfect time to investigate.

The coffeemaker pinged. “Milk, no sugar—right?”

“Thank you,” I whispered as he handed me a full mug, and I turned to go. He touched my elbow, and I stopped without looking at him. “Hmm?”

He hesitated, then swallowed, and I almost felt sorry for him. “I meant it, Erica. You are wonderful.”

I couldn’t believe that this magnificent man, who could have anybody, was talking like that to
me
. I’d seen the way women looked at him. I turned to face him, running a hand through his soft hair. “So are you, Julian. What you did today—you saved our lives. Ira could’ve seriously hurt you as well.”

“Well, he didn’t, and you won’t have to be afraid anymore. Now you’re free of the sod.”

Free. I would never be totally free until I landed on Italian soil. Unless I could confess my Italian desires to Julian.