(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 4: "Living"

"Good morning, Gregory."

I turn, hearing the voice of my attorney. "Harry." He drops a hefty briefcase onto one of the chairs and takes the other one for himself. With an internal sigh, I sit down and reach for my humidor. The mahogany box has taken up new residence in the corner of my desk, replacing the photo of my wife that once stood in the spot. "Well?" I ask, snipping the tip off the cigar and striking a match.

"I received this an hour ago."

He unfolds a document and I flinch, not needing to read it to know what it was. "Petition for dissolution of marriage," I say, sucking on the cigar until it sparks.

Harry nods. "Charles Lakin is representing Olivia," I hear him explain, though I'm not surprised. She's had him on retainer since the early 90's. "In absentia," he adds and I look up, exhaling sharply.

"What?"

"He's indicated that Olivia is unwilling to return to California. In fact, she's unwilling to return to the country."

I sit up abruptly, a silver fog of spicy smoke surrounding me. "She's staying in London? For good?"

He shrugs and leans back, the lines of his crisp suit breaking. "At least through the proceedings. It's not completely unusual. After all, she does maintain dual citizenship."

It might be the norm for other people perhaps. But, for Olivia not to return to the children is…unusual. The cigar dangles from my fingers and I tap it harshly. Ash falls into the shallow crystal dish and a thought whispers from the back of my mind. She never did like it when I smoked in the house. She claimed the stench lingered for days. The maroon leather gives as I lean back, dragging deeply on the Behike. "Will her refusal to come back delay anything?"

After a moment's thought, he shakes his head. "No. Charles's firm has an office in London, so I don't anticipate it being a problem. At some point, the judge may request she appear by closed-circuit video link, but the divorce will proceed without her."

Divorce. The word leaves a bitter tasted in my mouth, spoiling the $400 cigar. But, what my wife started, I will be sure to finish. "Let's talk about the assets."

Harry reaches into his briefcase for another document. "This arrived a few minutes after the petition. It was signed by," he reads grandly as he looks down at the bottom of the page, "'The Right Honorable Colin Andrew Baron Lavenham'." He looks up, his gray eyes sparkling. "Apparently, her London lawyer also has a seat in the House of Lords."

"What does she want?" I ask testily, shaking my head when he holds out the document.

"Well, Gregory, as I'm sure you know, when you married Olivia in 1974, you did not enter into a prenuptial agreement with her."

"Darling, do you want me to sign one?"

My heart skips a beat, remembering the way she watched me closely all those years ago. Our own wedding was less than a month away and on that day, we were attending Del and Madeline's wedding reception. Bette, who always had a knack for ferreting out every morsel of gossip, whispered that the only reason the ceremony finally took place was because Del agreed to sign a prenuptial agreement. Madeline's very wealthy father insisted on it. Next to me, Olivia stiffened and glanced over quickly. Her confession about being poor still lingered between us, somehow revived during the stress of the wedding preparations.

"Olivia-"

Her hand slipped into mine, her fingers like ice as she led me to a quiet corner of the banquet hall. "I don't mind," she whispered, her eyes burning into mine. "This way, you'd know."

"Know what?" I asked, thoroughly confused as tears sprang to her eyes.

"That I'm not marrying you for your money," she whispered, her voice trailing off into a strangled sob.

"Liv," I murmured, drawing her closer, "I already know that." She frowned and shook her head, trembling against me as I continued, "Besides, we would never need it." She looked up slowly as I cupped her face. "When I marry you next month, it's going to be for forever."

She smiled and nodded, sniffling. As she leaned into my touch, her eyes turned up to me and she whispered, "I just want you."

I returned her smile. "You've got me."

"Gregory?"

I look up, meeting Harry's quizzical gaze. "Continue."

"I was saying that the Divorce Gods have smiled upon you. Olivia has specific requests, but you won't be losing half of your assets."

I say nothing. He doesn't understand it was never about the money. To hell with it all. It was about Olivia. It's only ever been about her. I left Italy numb, still not believing that she left me standing on the sidewalk in Naples. By the time I landed in Sunset Beach, I had convinced myself that she simply flew back on her own. Expecting to find her at home, I instead returned to a quiet and empty house. Eleven hours later, my investigator discovered that she checked into the Dorchester the same day she left me. And, like the time she spent on the cruise, the silence between us resumed.

"What does she want?" I ask blandly, somewhat intrigued by the notion of hearing from her for the first time in ten days. Even if it was through a team of lawyers.

"I think you'll be pleased." I nod, slipping into atrophy as he looks down at the document. "She doesn't want alimony or a financial payment of any kind. She wants WHOC and its license split apart from the Richards Communications Group. She also wants the Deschanel jewels delivered to Sotheby's in London. But, that's it."

I'm not marrying you for your money. Her quiet declaration echoes in my mind, as clear as the evening when I first heard her say nearly a quarter of a century ago. I look away, my gaze naturally landing on the spot where her photo once stood. How often I turned to it over the years, retreating to the comforting lure of her sapphire irises.

"It's clear she's going to auction off the jewel collection," he continues, mistaking my silence. "Between the proceeds and the radio station, she'll be an independently wealthy woman and your money will stay with you."

I feel myself nodding as a part of my soul dies. She's thought of everything. While I holed up in our house, waiting for her to come to her senses and come home, she's taken charge of ending it all. Our marriage, our family, our life. And, like everyone else I ever loved, she's left me. I sit up, clearing my throat and say, "So, that's it then?"

"Yes. Unless you object to her requests."

I wave my hand dismissively, not admitting to Harry that I would've given Olivia half of everything if only she merely asked for it. Without her, it was all for nothing anyway. Caitlin moved out and was living her own life, Sean was only a few steps behind her from leaving. Their mother was all I had left. And, now she was gone too, leaving me alone.

"There's no minor children to consider," I hear Harry say and I wince. But there weren't. Not anymore and not ever again. I stand as his briefcase snaps shut and he continues, "You've agreed to her two requests. Therefore, I'm confident this can all be settled in a matter of weeks."

I leave the cigar smoldering in the crystal ash tray and lead him out of my study. What it took us a lifetime to build can be destroyed in weeks. I'm still pondering that profoundly disturbing thought as I enter the foyer and open the front door. Harry leaves quickly, promising something about keeping me updated and I nod blandly, closing the door behind him.

Turning for the living room, I rub my face but don't feel my hand. I'm numb, succumbing to paralyzing realization that Olivia is gone. Forever. I stand in the doorway, the sound of hushed voices surrounding me. Caitlin and Sean look up, dropping into silence. "Good morning," I mutter, reaching for the decanter of Scotch and a glass.

"Morning, Daddy," Caitlin says softly.

My son is quiet and I feel his eyes burning into my back as I raise the crystal tumbler to my lips. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?" I hear him ask and I can't help but smirk. He's been asking that question to Olivia for years.

I turn around, raising my glass. "It's a toast to your mother. She's eight hours ahead of us, so I'm drinking on London time."

"Daddy-"

"To the end," I say before I take a deep sip. "Your mother has filed for divorce." Over the rim, I watch them exchange a long glance. I lower the glass as Sean turns to me, determination flickering in his eyes. "You knew," I say, realizing that Olivia would never trust me to break this news to them.

Caitlin nods. "Mom called us early this morning. Then, we came here. Are you ok?"

"Fine," I snap, not wanting their pity or concern.

"Mom said she's not coming back," Sean says and my eyes dance over to him. "She's staying in London."

"Yes," I say vaguely. "So I heard."

My daughter looks up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. "Daddy, I'm so worried. She tried to kil-" she stops abruptly, not able to continue and I'm forced to remember the way Olivia's eyes fluttered open in the Italian hospital. "And, now she's all alone again."

I drain my glass and set it down hard. "Perhaps that's how she wants it," I murmur, turning away from their heartbroken eyes. "Perhaps that's what she deserves."

"Maybe it's for the best," I hear my son say and I glance over my shoulder. He's leaning over, his hand on his sister's shoulder as she sobs into her hands. I sigh, listening to my daughter's cry and realizing how much she sounds like her mother. "Mom wasn't happy here," Sean continues and I turn back to the bar, pouring more Scotch. "Maybe she can find peace in London."

The grass crunches beneath my feet, the dark green blades merry against the fading English sun. I follow the groundskeeper through the cemetery, weaving through and around the stone markers. With a sigh, I look around. The trees are in bloom, filtering the sun into golden-white patches. The sky, which had been pale blue for most of the day, was morphing into a sad shade of gray, a harbinger of the impending night.

"Just this way," the old man says and I nod to his back, recognizing the area. It's been years since I've come, but the cemetery managed to stay the same. The paper wrapped around the bouquet of flowers crinkles and I hold it against my chest. Petals shift and a moment later, the sweet scent of the hyacinths surrounds me. Mummy always did love them so.

It's been years since the last time I was here. On that visit, my father had been dead for a year and it seemed like the right thing to do, making a pilgrimage to his grave. Gregory managed to clear his calendar and came with the children and I. It was winter then, the white sky utterly depressing and befitting all our moods. Caitlin, perhaps sensing the gravity of the moment, curled into my embrace, as we looked down. Sean stood between Gregory and I, hugging my waist as he peered down at the grave.

Gregory stood on my left, our gloved hands clasped. The year before, our shared grief over my father's death temporarily united us. In the absence of his father, my own meant a great deal to Gregory. He squeezed my hand as an icy gust howled across the empty cemetery.

"Here we are," the groundskeeper says and I turn away from my memories, the sound of a chirping bird echoing in the distance. I meet the old man's weathered face and nod, whispering my thanks. He leaves quietly and I look down, my eyes moving over the letters carved into the stone.

BLAKE

Thomas Michael
1921-1992

Barbara Philippa
1922-1990

Beloved parents & grandparents

My heart races as I crouch down, not caring that my pants will be ruined. Gently, I unwrap the hyacinths and place the pot before the grave of my parents. My throat tightens as I turn my eyes up to their names, my finger tracing the letters. "It's been so long," I whisper, my knees sinking into the cool earth. "It shouldn't have been that way."

There's no reply other than the continued chirp from a bird. I wasn't there when either of my parents died and I've always been grateful for that. It's easier to remember them the way they were, the way my father enthusiastically cheered for Chelsea or the way my mother hummed while she cooked in her kitchen. Not that I haven't wondered what it would've been like if they lived. What would they have said about the way my life has turned out? Would it have disappointed them? Would I have disappointed them? Would things even have ended up this way if I had them here to guide me?

"I've made such a mess of everything," I whisper, a sob rising in my throat. I grip the corner of the headstone, wishing in vain for it to be my mother's hand. Tears sting my eyes as I shiver, remembering the way my father would embrace me. "I left Gregory. I abandoned my children. I kil-" I sob, suddenly unable to continue. But, if I can't admit it to my parents, who can I admit it to? "My baby died…and it's my fault," I sigh, brushing the tears from my face. "I killed him and then, I tried to kill myself."

My litany of sins and faults wavers before me and I lower my head. I continue to sob, unleashing the pent-up agony from the last ten days. "And, I can't help but wish you were here to help me," I cry, my voice strained. "I left Gregory and ran back to London, as if you were both waiting here for me."

But, they weren't. No one greeted me at Heathrow and I numbly left the airport, ignoring all of the happy and reunited families. Somehow, I got to the hotel, though I don't know what made me choose the Dorchester. I wandered around the quiet suite, unimpressed with the opulent surroundings and longing for the quaint simplicity of my parent's home. It wasn't London I wanted, it was my parents.

I sigh, biting my lip as I look up. The name on the gravestone to the left catches my eye and a small smile dances on my lips. On our last visit here, Sean crouched before that same stone and read it aloud.

"Marmaduke Seamus O'Malley," he read carefully before he turned to Gregory and I with a grin. He giggled, his brown eyes dancing as he skipped back to my side. "What a silly name: Marmaduke."

Slowly, I turn back to my parent's grave and gasp. The realization floods over me, an ice bath that I fall into. On that visit, Gregory chose the Dorchester for us to stay at. Even when I thought I was running away from him, he's still there. Would he always be there, a shadow over my thoughts and the rest of my life?

Perhaps I am destined to live with ghosts, the living and the unliving.

The puzzle box slides open, revealing the hidden chamber. With a deep sigh, I reach in and pull out the documents. The baby's death certificate is on top and, after a moment's hesitation, I push it aside. I've read it so often these last three months that I could recite it from memory. Besides, there is nothing new written on it. Olivia and I had a son. Gregory Arthur Richards, Junior. And, she killed him.

Her letters are all that's left in my hands. A lifetime of letters, contained in envelopes that are bound together with a ribbon. Years ago, I pulled on the lavender ribbon and watched her long hair spill free. Later, as the letters began to pile up, the ribbon found a new use.

I rifle through the stack, moving back in time. My wife was nothing if not meticulous and each envelope has a date written in the corner. Our marriage fluctuated, with frequent lows and occasional peaks, and I try to remember the way we were with each letter. 1992 had a brief high. We clung to each other after Thomas died in early December and the shared grief bound us in a way we hadn't been in years.

As I thumb through the envelopes, I realize our marriage had more rough patches than good ones. But, our good moments, when she and I were on, were very good. The annual vacations in July with the children was always a peaceful time for all four of us. We could leave our problems in Sunset Beach and pretend we had all the time in the world, for each other and our sometimes fractured family.

There's a knock at the door of the study and I look up as it opens. "What now, Annie?" I snap, straightening the envelopes in a pile. "You're more underfoot than that mutt."

She shrugs, tossing back her red hair defiantly. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

I lean back in the chair and glower at her. The virginal white dress she's wearing seems like a silent punch line. "You've been in and out of this house for months. Did you move in and Sean or Rose not tell me?" Her eyebrow arches as I continue, "There's got to be a reason, so why don't you just make it easier on both of us and tell me what it is?"

Slowly, the space between us diminishes as she nears me and a moment later, she's standing at my side. The chair rotates as she turns it to her and there's a brief moment of silence before she lowers herself into my lap. I inhale sharply as she looks up, a smirk dancing on her lips. "I just want you," she murmurs, echoing a decades old statement first uttered by my wife.

Her fingers dance against the buttons of my shirt and they pop out, one at a time. I reach up, my hands on her hips as she locks her legs on either side of me. Her sharp hips feel different than Olivia's, whose slim body curved softly after four pregnancies. "What are you doing?"

She chuckles beneath her breath as she pushes my shirt apart. "I thought it was obvious."

"Annie…" I begin as her fingertips graze my bare chest.

"Stop fighting me, Gregory," she murmurs, leaning in. Her lips brush against my own and I turn away. "You and I know this was inevitable. We've known it for months." She cups my face and kisses me. She tastes like cinnamon and she gasps against me as her tongue slips in my mouth.

I push her off and stand quickly, wiping the taste of her from my lips. "Get out," I say, a dangerous growl clinging to my words. Her eyes are wide as she watches me, her lipstick smudged.

"Gregory-"

"I don't know what you want, but I do know I want you out of this house," I interrupt. "Out of this house and out of my life!"

"Life?" she repeats, chuckling as I stiffen. "You call this a life?" She sighs angrily and I see her neck flush. "This house is a mausoleum to Olivia and you're the gatekeeper! You know, I don't know what I was thinking!" She starts to leave and then turns back to me, breathing hard. Her eyes are shining as she retorts, "You are so stuck in your memories of that drunk slut that you can't even see what's right in front of you!"

"GET OUT!" I snap, grabbing her by the arm and intending to drag her out.

"Oh, what? Now you defend her? When are you going to realize that she's gone?!" She spins away from me, her hands on her hips. "She killed your son and she ran away! And what? You still want her?" She gestures to the desk, ripping away any semblance of privacy as she shouts, "Sitting here, going through old letters and memories of that murderer? It's pathetic! You are pathetic, Gregory!"

I grab her arm and push her against the door, seething. She struggles against me, breathing hard as I watch her. She's right. Olivia's divorcing me. She killed my son and now she's divorcing me. Annie whines my name and tries to move away, but I've got her pinned. Rushing, I lean in, kissing her hard. After a moment's surprise, she responds hungrily, reaching up to push my shirt from my shoulders.

And, I let her, my hands exploring her body as she moans, my heart pumping for the first time in months.