The Husband Lesson. Jeanie London

her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world with her spun-silk hair, porcelain skin and striking light eyes. Adulthood hadn’t changed that opinion. Her mother was still one of the most beautiful women Karan knew.

      “Good morning, dear.” Her mother smiled in welcome. “You look very lovely this morning.”

      “Thanks, Mom, you look well, too.”

      “Come sit. Tell me how everything went yesterday. Would you like coffee? I’ll have Abigail bring more.”

      “Thanks, but no. I’ve had some.” Setting her purse on a side table, she sat across from her mother, who folded a paper and set it aside to give Karan her undivided attention.

      “How did everything go?”

      Karan met her gaze across the expanse of the table and gave a casual shrug, determined to do her part to keep this conversation light. “Well, I’m happy to say the people were welcoming. I’m not exactly sure yet what I’ll be doing there, but the program director seemed eager for me to start.”

      One of them, anyway.

      Karan weighed the merit of mentioning Charles. Did she roll the dice and chance that her mother didn’t find out?

      “So it’s a big place then? I haven’t seen much about it in the papers. Only public budgetary reports and minutes from the town council meetings. And that exposé, of course. They must have run a full week of stories about women, and men surprisingly, who’d broken away from abusive relationships. Apparently, domestic violence is epidemic.”

      Her mother was clearly interested, so the odds of her not discovering Charles’s involvement at some point weren’t looking good. If she did find out and Karan hadn’t mentioned it…

      “I did get a surprise while I was there.”

      “Really?”

      “Turns out Charles is one of the program directors.”

      Her mother stopped with the cup poised at her lips. “Your Charles?” Karan nodded.

      She took a small sip, considering, then said, “Well, that is news. Why is a cardiothoracic surgeon involved with a domestic violence program?”

      “I have no idea. But from what I’ve been told few people are actually paid employees. The majority are volunteers. Charles shares managerial responsibilities with a psychotherapist who has a local practice.”

      “Is this the psychotherapist you’re seeing for your…treatment?”

      “It is. A lovely woman. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.”

      “No. I imagine not,” her mother said slowly. “Not as a patient, at any rate. Socially, I’ve met several and have had positive interactions.”

      “True, true,” she said lightly, leaning over to brush some invisible dust from her Prada loafers.

      “And what does Charles think of you being a patient in a facility he manages?”

      Karan groaned inwardly and braced herself. “He welcomed me, didn’t say much more. I’m not sure he knows specifically what I’m doing there.”

      The cup settled in the saucer with an audible sound, and her mother said derisively, “Karan, everyone knows you’ve been court-ordered into treatment.”

      “Thank you, Mother. That’s helpful to know.”

      Georgia frowned thoughtfully. “You don’t think everyone will assume you divorced Charles because he was abusive?”

      “Why would anyone assume that?”

      “Why wouldn’t anyone assume that? You’re in treatment in a domestic violence facility. Ordered by the court. Charles is there volunteering his time. Seems rather obvious.”

      “Mother, he’s an upstanding surgeon who’s been a part of this community for years.”

      “But you were ordered there by the court rather than go to jail, dear. Not so upstanding, I’m sorry to say. Your life has become quite the sordid affair.”

      Not a mention of the champagne that had gotten her in this mess. Of course not. Her mother had nothing to say about that. Not when the pot would be calling the kettle black.

      But Karan had no intention of engaging, so she didn’t say anything. There could be no right response with her mother looking for a reason to argue.

      “I have no way of knowing what people might think,” her mother continued. “I do know I’ve received many condolences from friends and acquaintances because you’re reflecting poorly on this family.” God, Karan hated this small town where there was nothing better to do than gossip. “I’m sorry for that.”

      “Add your latest divorce, and I look as if I didn’t do my job properly as a mother.”

      Except at this stage of the game, Karan was an adult who was entirely responsible for her own behavior.

      She didn’t point that out.

      “Drinking and driving, Karan. Honestly. You really should have had more sense.”

      This from the woman who spent half her days working out and sweating in a sauna to reverse the effects of the alcohol from the night before.

      But, in all fairness, her mother kept social drinking social. The rest of her drinking she did in the privacy of her own home so she didn’t get behind the wheel.

      “No argument there, Mom,” Karan said carefully, trying to project sincerity. Too flip and her mother would go off all over her. But she couldn’t seem too eager to commiserate with the inconvenience her mother was enduring as a result of Karan’s mistake. She was, after all, the cause of the inconvenience, and her mother was nowhere close to stupid.

      No, Karan’s only course of action right now was not to engage, weather the storm and flee as soon as she could.

      Her chance came only blessed moments later when Abigail knocked at the door and slipped into the room, holding up a rolled linen napkin.

      Blessed woman! This was a staged visit if ever Karan saw one. She seized the opportunity with both hands.

      “Got to run, Mom.” Popping up from the chair, she hurriedly gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’m taking a chance even being here with my restricted driving privileges.”

      Seriously restricted.

      Karan caught Abigail’s gaze on her way out and that one winked cheerily.

      Then Karan was skimming down the staircase and out the front door. She had reached her car when her cell phone vibrated. She was almost afraid to look, fearing that her getaway wasn’t a clean one after all, but the display revealed a welcomed caller.

      “Good morning, Susanna.” Karan cradled the phone against her ear and slid into her car.

      There was a relieved sigh on the other end. “You sound completely awake for the crack of dawn on a Saturday. I would never have called you at this hour, but your message said—”

      “No worries. I wanted this day off to an early start.”

      “Really? Does this have to do with your first visit to New Hope? Tell me what happened.”

      “It’s official, Suze. I’m in hell.”

      A beat of silence. “Things didn’t go well yesterday?”

      Karan turned at the end of the drive. “Whew, I’m back on the road and I wasn’t caught. Made a quick pit stop at my mother’s—”

      “Are you crazy?”

      Karan was about to reply that her mother had that affect on her as Susanna well knew, but Susanna didn’t give her a chance.

      “I was in that courtroom, Karan. I saw Judge Jenny in action. Why would you give her a reason to send you to lock-up