Written in 62 minutes.

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Emily heard her mother’s voice the moment she opened the front door and headed towards the parlor where she found the three family members she wanted to yell at the moment —

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Edward retorted, waving a sheaf of papers in Monica’s face. “It doesn’t matter how many damn senators or congresspeople I call! This report is a death knell—”

“I just don’t understand—” Alan took the papers, staring at them, almost dazed. “Justus—he said it was hers — but I thought—”

“Oh, good, I was hoping I’d get to be here when you found out Jason was the freeloading gold digger.” Emily leaned against the door jamb, smirking when all three of them whirled around. “Go ahead, Dad. Tell me more about how you thought my best friend was only using Jason for his money.”

“Emily.” Alan set the report on a nearby table. “As I’ve told you—”

“No, no, Dad. I interrupted you. Go on, what did you think?” Emily arched on brow. “That they were living off the trust funds? That Elizabeth was, what, drinking away the money she made at Luke’s?”

“She’s a bartender,” Monica began, “at a seedy nightclub—”

“She’s the bar manager at a jazz and blue club that’s packed every night of the week. B.B. King was their opening act. Luke’s was good enough for you back then, Mom. You and Dad went to the opening party.”

Monica grimaced. “That was before—”

“Before what? Before Elizabeth went to work there? Before she started dating Jason? A bartender isn’t good enough for your precious son?”

“No. She isn’t. And I don’t care what that report says—she was biding her time,” Monica said. “Waiting until Jason came into the full trust fund, until he was done medical school—”

“And went into residency and internship, and the fellowship he’d need to be a surgeon. A decade of investment while she paid the bills.” Emily folded her arms. “You think she was playing the long game, huh?” She shook her head. “None of this matters, and you know it. That report just proves you were always wrong about her. And I don’t know what lies you’re telling, Mom, but the only way my brother was going to leave Elizabeth was in a body bag.”

“Emily, you were only here for a few weeks,” Edward said. “You can’t understand the pressure and worries we all had while Jason was in the first stages of his recovery—”

“You did something underhanded to get Jason put into a conservatorship, Grandfather. You control his money, his ability to get a job, to sign a contract, to find a place to live—you had him thrown out on the street. And while you were crippling any chance Jason had at independence away from all of you, you were systematically stripping Elizabeth of anything that connected her to Jason or this family. The money, the apartment that was Jason’s first, and I just bet there was something in there about relinquishing the name.”

“Well, naturally, in a divorce,” Edward muttered, but dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Who’s idea was it to say anything about a divorce?” Emily challenged. “Because it’s the first I’m hearing about it, and I think this is the kind of thing you run past your sister before you just up and leave your grieving wife—”

“You’re Elizabeth’s best friend,” Alan said. “Fiercely loyal to her. Of course Jason wouldn’t tell you that—”

“Jason and Elizabeth both knew I was a vault when they talked to me. You didn’t know that, of course, because you never bothered to get to know her. Jason talked to me all the time after Cady died.  I called him every day, Dad. Did you know that? The last time I spoke to him was the morning of his car accident. He was so angry because there was another story in the paper about Elizabeth, and she’d seen it. Accusing her of being the drunk driver — that the Quartermaines were covering up for her and that’s why they never found the actual driver.”

Alan shook his head. “No one in this family—”

“He wanted them to leave her alone. To leave him alone. Because how could they ever move on from, how could Elizabeth ever forgive herself if the world kept blaming her?”

“Whatever conversation you had with your brother, Emily, he had changed his mind. Because he was here that day to tell me,” Monica told her. “You don’t have to believe me—”

“Prove it,” Emily cut in, sharply, and Monica closed her mouth. “You can’t. It’s just another story you’re telling yourself because you can’t believe your precious perfect son fell in love with someone you didn’t pick out for him. I spent too long staying out of this. Avoiding the argument, letting Elizabeth tell me not to get involved. I never did enough when it could have mattered. I’m not doing it again. So you either make this conservatorship disappear, Grandfather, or I’ll be the next grand child that you don’t talk to. I’ve already spoken to a lawyer to help me liquidate my trust fund so you can’t threaten to stop paying for college.”

“Emily, just wait—”

“No. No. I’m done. I just went to see Jason and he’s happy. Because he’s away from you. What’s it gonna be, Grandfather? You gonna let me walk or are you going to set Jason free?”

“It’s not that simple,” Edward began, but Emily just turned and headed for the stairs. “Now just a minute—young lady, you come back here right now—”  A few moments later, a door slammed and he returned to the parlor, red-faced. “Damn it, Alan, can’t you control any of your children?”

Exhausted, Alan took a seat, reached for the financial papers. “She never spent a single dime of his trust fund,” he murmured. “Every deposit, every withdrawal in this account — it’s all her salary. And we took what was left, Father. Because we assumed—”

“They must have had some sort of understanding,” Edward said gruffly. “To keep him out of student loan debt. He could have asked for more money from the trust. Why didn’t he do that? Why let her pay for the everyday—”

“Because she could afford it.” Alan shook his head, a slight smile. “She made quite good money. And they paid her full salary while on her maternity leave.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Monica said, disgusting. “You two fools started all of this, and now you’re throwing in the towel? So what if she paid a few bills for a year—she’s just better at manipulating than we thought. What about all the times Jason did ask us for money? For her?”

“For her art school tuition. We said no, and she didn’t go.” Alan looked at his father. “He told us she didn’t know he was asking, but we thought he was lying about that. But it was before they were dating—”

“Before they admitted to dating—” Monica tossed in.

“It would be like him,” Edward admitted. “Grand gesture. He was always a little sweet on her, you know. And—well, I have to admit—if we’d investigated the accounts before closing them—”

“We acted too rashly,” Alan said. He rose to his feet. “The grief of losing that little girl, and then the double tragedy of Jason’s accident, AJ’s issues — we should have taken a moment. I think—”

“Oh, well, this is just wonderful,” Monica said sourly. They both looked at her. “You find out she could support herself and now suddenly, you want to throw a ticker tape parade?”

“I never said that, Monica. I just—you reevaluate your position with new evidence. That’s just good business—”

“Good medicine,” Alan added. “We can rethink our position—”

“We’re so close to getting her out of his life,” Monica said. “We’ve been trying for over a year, and just when we’re in the home stretch, the two of you want to give up? If we can get him back in this house, if we can get him to listen to us, you said he was good in court. Maybe there’s still a chance he’ll think about medical school. Or law school. Or—”

“What makes you think we can get him to listen to us?” Edward said. “We miscalculated. You were right on the money there,” he admitted to Alan. “We pushed him too far, and made Elizabeth into the tragic heroine.”

“I’m going to vomit,” Monica muttered, folding her arms. “Fine. Emily wants proof? I’ll get her proof. Jason wanted to be done with that woman, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

—

“Don’t start that again,” Elizabeth warned, carrying their coffee mugs to the kitchen, the ceramic mugs clinking against each other.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Jason said, leaning against the back of the sofa, with a grin that belied his words. “You can get someone to do the inventory, and we can—”

Elizabeth glanced around the edge of the cabinet, then her cheeks pinked up. “Put your shirt back on. You know I can’t think when you do that.”

“Then why—” Jason stooped to snag the blue shirt from the ground as he joined her in the kitchen. “Why did you take it off me in the first place?”

“It’s your fault,” she muttered, but her ire was only for show. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her back against him, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck, nibbling gently below her ear. “This is why we never get anything done.”

“Not on your list, no. But we always finish mine.” His fingers, warm against her belly, crept beneath the hem of her shirt. “Call Claude. He’ll do the inventory—”

She was tempted, she really was, but— Elizabeth ducked out of his arms, covered her eyes. “I did that last week. And Claude’s not scheduled today. Put the shirt one.”

She heard him laughing. “Fine. You can look now.”

Elizabeth peeked between her fingers, and sighed in a mixture of disappointed relief. “Thank you. Was that so hard—don’t answer that,” she ordered when he just grinned again. She started past him, pausing at the door to the bathroom. “And because two can play that game—remember the other night? In the shower? Well, imagine me all alone, with the soap and water—”

He scowled. “That’s not fair—”

“Exactly.” She smirked, closed the door behind her, and immediately started the shower. Jason wasn’t the only one who knew how to be distracting.

—

Still enjoying her good mood, Elizabeth was humming when she arrived at the club forty minutes later, her hair still a little damp and tucked up in a clip. If she was quick and efficient, she could be finished inventory before Jason showed up to help with deliveries, and just maybe she’d let him talk to her in the sky diving lessons he was going to book this weekend.

Maybe.

She was halfway through counting the liquor behind the bar when she heard the door open, followed by footsteps. “You’re early,” she sang out, not turning around. “And you’re not going to distract me again—”

“I’m afraid that I don’t have a choice.”

The tone was short, clipped, and the temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped twenty degrees. Elizabeth slowly turned, found Monica on the other side of the bar, her coat over her arm and brown leather portfolio tucked under the other one. She set the clipboard down on the bar. “We’re not open.”

“I know. I also know this is your morning to work in the club alone,” Monica said. She set her things on the bar, flipped open the portfolio. “I didn’t think we needed an audience for this conversation.”

“No, you never do.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Makes it easier for you deny it later. What’s it going to be this time, Monica? Have you increased your price again?”

“You had your chance to take that offer. To take any of the generous offers my family have made to you over the last eighteen months, but you were holding out for something better. And you were right.” Monica reached for Elizabeth’s left hand, and she snatched it back. “You’ve got the ring, the name, and no prenuptial agreement. The trifecta of the successful golddigger.”

“Well, I talked to Emily, so I know that you got the copy of the audit of our accounts. But if I know you, Monica, and I think I do—” Elizabeth tipped her head. “You immediately fit that into the narrative and rewrote the story to fit your needs. I was playing the long game, right? Banking on that rich, successful surgeon I’d trapped into marriage. Everyone knows you can’t make any real money without investing your own.”

“At least you admit it—”

“I admit that you know how a golddigger thinks. I mean, my father wasn’t good enough for you,” Elizabeth said, and Monica clenched her jaw. “And when you had the chance to be with your true love—my uncle—you chose the cheating bastard who had tried to kill you. And who kept having affairs. How many is Alan up to now, Monica?”

“You have no right—”

“You think you see yourself in me,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve always known that. I never told Jason why you’re so convinced I’m just here for the name and the money. See, he still loved you. Still wanted to believe in you and his father, and the whole family. But I don’t have to worry about that anymore. And it’s all thanks to you. Jason wants nothing to do with any of you.”

“You think he’ll want you after he’s used you?” Monica asked. “I know all about that divorce case. He’s staying with you because he needs you to get out of this ridiculous mess Alan and Edward created. But what happens when that’s over, Elizabeth?” She leaned in. “What happens to you when Jason’s bored and wants to move on? You need to think about the future.”

“A few months ago, that might have hurt,” Elizabeth said. “It might have shaken me because I’ve asked myself that a time or two. But here’s the thing, Monica, whatever happens when Jason’s finally free of your family, is between him and me. Just like it always has been. Whether we sink or swim—whether we’re together for a century or divorced in six months, that’s going to be a decision we make. Not you.”

“Is it though?” Monica slid a sheaf of papers out of portfolio, turned it around so that it faced Elizabeth. “Because Jason made that decision before the accident. Emily said you wanted proof. Here you go.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to look down. Couldn’t bear it. But finally she dropped her eyes and her belly clutched.

Action for Divorce. Jason Morgan Quartermaine, Plaintiff against Elizabeth Imogene Quartermaine, defendant. Grounds for divorce, cruel and inhumane treatment—

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Monica said, almost kindly. “For all your faults, Elizabeth, no woman wants to read what their husband really thinks about them. But you wanted proof. Go ahead. Call the lawyer. I did when Jason gave them to me. I was sure that it was a lie, but he confirmed Jason was his client and had drawn up the papers. You see, Jason came to apologize to me. After that last story, it was just too much.”

Elizabeth looked up. “He didn’t believe it—”

“He didn’t know that no one had ever tested your blood. And you had just come from a bar—he’d already blamed you, Elizabeth. For months. For taking his daughter there in the first place. But he couldn’t tell you. He was afraid you’d kill yourself. After all, didn’t you threaten to throw yourself out the window when he brought you home after the hospital?”

“How—” Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “How did you know that?”

“Jason told me.” Monica’s eyes were steady. “That day. He’d blamed you from the first, but he’d thought it was irrational. The horror of the grief. And it just kept eating at him until he couldn’t take it anyway. Even that last day, even at the end of his rope, Elizabeth, he was still so worried you’d hurt yourself. That’s what you did to him. You trapped him with that baby, and then you trapped him all over again with your threats of suicide. I’m asking you, mother to mother, to let my son go.”

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