Ex-Husband, Inc

Chapter 6: Membership Review

Teddy had the whole thing pulled up on the screen by the time Marcus got to the office Monday morning.

"Ashford Bay Country Club," Teddy said, turning the laptop around. "Meridian's held a quiet majority on the membership board for two years. Nobody there knows it's us, same as everywhere else. Every year around this time, the board does a routine review — dues, standing, that sort of thing. Nothing exciting. Except this year, somebody decided to flag the Sinclair family file for a closer look."

"Who flagged it?"

"You did," Teddy said, and almost smiled. "Well. Meridian did, three days ago. I figured you'd want it moved up the list."

Marcus leaned back in his chair. He hadn't asked for that specifically, but he wasn't surprised Teddy had gotten there on his own. That was the thing about Teddy — he didn't need every instruction spelled out. He knew where this was going before Marcus finished saying it.

"What happens in a review?"

"Normally, nothing. Rubber stamp, everybody keeps their membership, life goes on." Teddy tapped the screen. "But if the board decides a family's standing has changed — financial trouble, bad press, anything that makes them a liability — they can put the membership under a formal hold. No black-tie events. No guest privileges. No spot at the fall gala."

"And Vanessa's whole life is the fall gala."

"Pretty much."

Marcus almost felt bad about it. Almost. Then he remembered three years of dinners, three years of Vanessa laughing a little too loud at every joke her father made at his expense, and the feeling passed.

"Let the review go through," Marcus said. "Don't rig the outcome. Just let them actually look at the file."

Teddy raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to push it?"

"I don't need to push it," Marcus said. "The file's a mess on its own. Overdue dues from two quarters ago, a formal complaint from another member about Vanessa's husband at the spring social, and a credit reference that's not going to hold up under a real look. I didn't create any of that. I just stopped covering for it."

"Covering for it?"

"Meridian's been quietly clearing the Sinclairs' overdue dues for three years," Marcus said. "Small thing. Nobody at the club ever asked who kept smoothing it over. I told the board this morning to stop."

Teddy sat back, impressed despite himself. "You've been paying your ex-wife's family's country club bill. For three years. While they called you a birdhouse builder at dinner."

"I wasn't paying it for them," Marcus said. "I was paying it so nobody would look too closely at the file before I was ready for them to."

"That's either the smartest thing I've ever heard or the saddest."

"Can be both."

His phone buzzed before Teddy could answer that. Marcus glanced at the screen — a number he didn't recognize, a Ashford Bay area code. He almost let it go to voicemail. Then some instinct made him pick up.

"Marcus! Hi — it's Vanessa. Vanessa Sinclair. I got your number from Mom, I hope that's okay."

Marcus put the call on speaker without saying anything yet. Teddy leaned in, grinning.

"That's fine," Marcus said.

"So — this is going to sound random, but do you happen to know anyone on the club's membership board? Just, we got this letter about a 'review,' which I'm sure is nothing, total formality probably, but my husband's a little worried, and I thought, well, you always seem to know people, don't you? People we don't really talk about at dinner?"

Teddy had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"I might know someone," Marcus said carefully.

"Oh, that's great! That's so great. Honestly, Marcus, I've been meaning to say — I feel like we never really got to know each other properly, all those years, and that's really a shame, because you're clearly a lot more — " she paused, hunting for the word — "capable than I think any of us gave you credit for."

"That's kind of you to say."

"I mean it! In fact, I was thinking, maybe you'd want to come to lunch sometime. Just us. Get to actually talk."

Marcus caught Teddy's eye across the table. Teddy mouthed the word birdhouse silently and Marcus had to look away to keep his face straight.

"I'll think about lunch," Marcus said. "About the review — I really can't promise anything. The board looks at the whole file. Dues, complaints, that sort of thing."

There was a small pause on the line. When Vanessa spoke again, her bright voice had thinned out just slightly, like a person realizing the ice under them wasn't as solid as they'd hoped.

"Complaints," she repeated. "What complaints?"

"I wouldn't know the details," Marcus said, which was true, in the narrow sense that he hadn't needed to ask — Teddy had already told him everything twenty minutes ago. "You'd have to talk to the board directly."

"Right. Of course. I'll — I'll do that." A pause. "Marcus, if you did know anyone over there, and if you could just put in a good word, I'd really—"

"I have a meeting," Marcus said. "I'll talk to you soon, Vanessa."

He hung up before she could finish the sentence.

Teddy was laughing outright now, leaning back so far his chair creaked. "Capable," he said. "She called you capable. A month ago you were a waste of a chair."

"Funny how fast people can change their minds," Marcus said, "once they think you're worth something."

"You gonna help her?"

Marcus thought about it. Not for very long.

"No," he said. "But I'm not going to hurt her either. Let the board look at the file. Let them decide, honestly, without me covering for the mess or making it worse. If the Sinclairs can't survive one honest look at their own paperwork, that's not something I did to them. That's something they did to themselves, a long time before I ever showed up."

Teddy nodded slowly, closing the laptop. "You know Vanessa's going to keep calling."

"I know."

"And the country club thing is just going to make the family panic more. Diane's going to start showing up here next. Gerald's going to try something bigger."

"I know that too."

"You ready for it?"

Marcus stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair — the same worn brown one, the one that used to be a joke and was starting to feel, more and more, like the only honest thing left in the whole story.

"I've been ready for ten years," he said. "They're the ones still catching up."