My Girls by Todd Fisher

Author:Todd Fisher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

We stopped at a café for an almost inedible lunch when we’d finished exploring. Carrie had bought a bunch of postcards along the way and started filling them out to send to friends back home, starting each one with “I’m writing to you from the Great Wall of China, sending you a postcard from the edge of the world.” And from that came the title of the book she was working on: Postcards from the Edge.

We were headed home three weeks later, going through customs at the Honolulu International Airport, when, with no warning, Carrie flipped. The woman at the customs counter seemed to take an instant dislike to Carrie; and as she sorted through the wrapped Christmas gifts in Carrie’s luggage we were bringing home from Singapore, she thrust one at Carrie and almost growled, “Open it.”

Carrie threw it right back at her and said, “You open it.”

The two of them squared off and started yelling at each other. I immediately pictured Carrie and me being escorted off for deep-cavity searches and asked to see the customs agent’s supervisor. The whole time I was talking to him, wallet in hand, assuring him that I was perfectly happy to pay whatever duties were owed, I could hear Carrie yelling in the background in a full-blown, aggressive Roy rage. I excused myself, walked over to her, grabbed her coat, pushed her against a column, and said, “Sit! Do not talk!”

Carrie started to argue with me. I moved closer to her face and said, “No! Absolutely not! I said, ‘Do not talk!’”

I rejoined the supervisor long enough to get everything settled, and by the time I got back to Carrie, she was in tears. I knelt down beside her. “You know I had to do that,” I quietly explained. “You were about to get us in trouble.”

She was calm, Pam now, and apologetic. She wasn’t crying because I’d torn into her. She was crying because she’d lost control, and she knew it and hated it. I hated it for her and wished for the millionth time that I could do more to help than just keep my promise to never, ever walk away.

A few weeks after Carrie and I got back to L.A., I filed for divorce from Donna. I thought I was pretty generous—I let her stay in the Cedarbrook house while I kept paying the mortgage and expenses until I put it on the market. I also agreed to pay the bills on the American Express card I let her keep “for emergencies only.” (Why do people even bother saying that when they give someone a credit card? Have you ever known anyone who didn’t go right ahead and use that card whenever they felt like it? Me neither.)

While all that was going on, there was drama going on at another house that seemed to have nothing to do with me at the time—Johnny Rivers and his wife, Christi, whom I knew from The Hiding Place, split up. They were

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