Introduction

From the bestselling author of HERE, HOME, HOPE, comes a novel of suspense and choices, with a nod to the best of Susan Isaacs's tales of suburban murder. Once again, everything isn't what it seems in the suburb of Grandville. ALL THE DIFFERENCE is the story of three Grandville women whose lives become entangled by the choices they make and how, ultimately, one of them turns to murder to achieve her goals. Roommates Laura and Angie couldn't be more different. Laura is a local celebrity, the television anchor who is motivated to move out of small-time media markets and on to the big time, no matter the cost. Meanwhile, Angie, a luckless waitress, spends her time waiting for Mr. Right to save her from temporary jobs and a life spent making bad choices. On the other side of town, Ellen abandons her life as a successful fundraiser for that of an isolated housewife in the country estate she shares with her husband, whose affairs become increasingly hard to ignore. When the city's gossip columnist, Maddie, and restaurant reviewer, Dixon, become involved in the story, the unlikely duo stir up more than they intended. With her signature mix of compassion and wit, Kaira Rouda once again takes readers on an entertaining journey into the heart of women's lives in suburbia, this time with a dose of suspense.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Friday, May 23

Tossing the script onto her desk, Dave told Laura, “Here, read this,” as he sped past. “The teleprompter is set, Sunshine. We go live in two.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Laura said, not adding “you jerk,” although she wanted to. She hated Dave Robinson, producer for WCOL-TV5, and didn’t care that the feeling was mutual. Laura Mercer didn’t care about much except ratings, beating the local competition to a story, and looking like big-city-market material. Laura knew she was the latter. She looked like the girl next door and sexy at the same time. That’s what her adoring fans kept writing since she had leapt onto the screen in Columbus four years earlier. She was promoted from reporter to anchor of the noon and early evening news two years later. Already her name was a household word. Especially in households with male viewers.

Laura knew she was considered a draw at charity events. She agreed to lunches with local power brokers and marketing folks. Accessible, beautiful. And she was always perfecting her presence. Changing the tone of her voice, practicing inflections, tilting her head just a little farther left, or simply picking up a new adjective to drop into idle anchor babble. Laura was learning, absorbing, and mimicking everyone at the station. When the general manager asked her to do the news bulletin cut-in, she felt it was her big chance. Maybe this could lead to a network feed or even CNN Headline News pickup?

Eschewing a read-through for further primping time, Laura arrived in the studio with twenty-two seconds to spare, Dave’s script in hand. Clipping on her microphone, she smiled at the cameraman, Rob. Soon, the cameras would be automated robots, but until then, she needed Rob to like her. Glancing up at the booth where Dave sat hunched over the control panel, Laura sneered—but it could have just been a squint because of the lights.

“Ready and three, two, one, music…”

“We interrupt our regular programming to bring you a special news bulletin from WCOL-TV5,” the station announcer’s voice boomed.

Suddenly, Laura’s face popped into the middle of one of the station’s highest-rated shows, prompting hundreds of calls from angry show addicts. Laura’s hair was perfect—she was the brunette Breck girl. Her squeaky-clean image had boosted the number-three station in town to a tie with the perennial number-one. The soft orange and yellow backdrop complemented her skin tones. Set approval was part of her contract by now, and she exercised it.

“This is Laura Mercer, News Channel 5, with a special bulletin,” she read from the teleprompter. “An hour ago, an explosion from unidentified causes ripped through a large home in Field City, five miles northwest of Grandville. Sources on the scene tell News 5 the two adult victims were airlifted to an area hospital in critical condition. We will have more about this story as information becomes available, and, of course, tonight on the eleven o’clock news. This is Laura Mercer. We now return to regular programming.”

“And, we’re out. Nice job, people.” Dave’s voice boomed from the control booth above the studio. Hoping to cover the story first, and thus smack an early, crippling home run useful for self-promotion for months to follow, he had obviously decided to break into programming with a news bulletin containing little news. It was May, sweeps week, a critical time to lure viewers to the station. It wouldn’t matter to him how stupid Laura would look, interrupting a program to give no news.

“Goddamn it! Heads are going to roll for this one,” Laura screamed after she’d removed her microphone. She held her breath then, waiting until Rob sauntered out of the studio. She needed him on her side until the studio was automated. The camera equaled power, since his choice of angles and camera position could make the difference between her nose seeming prominent or ugly. Someday she’d have the money to fix those faults, but not yet.

“Is it too much to ask to have a few facts before we jump on the air?” she yelled to Dave, her invisible producer above. “I know this is TV news, but facts, some facts, are important!” Feeling better after the tirade, she walked out of the studio, back to her desk.

Over the speaker, Dave said, “Have a nice day, Sunshine.” Sunshine was the nickname he had given her two years ago when she arrived to save their sagging news ratings, fresh from a Dayton Fox affiliate. At first, he had seemed to like her. Six months later, he began complaining that “Sunshine” was raining on his parade.

The public loved her. Laura knew most of the staff at the station hated her as much as Dave did, but the station owners—the only people who mattered in the end—decided she was their “it” girl. Her ticket was written. She was biding her time until an anchor spot opened up in a bigger market at a sister station. Her departure could not come soon enough for Dave or the rest of the staff, Laura knew.

Once back at her desk in the center of the noisy newsroom, Laura thought, Today was intriguing. For once, the news registered. She’d actually felt something, deep inside, almost like a stomachache, as she read the story. It had to be his house, she thought. But who was the woman? Even now, Laura’s heart was racing, and she realized her fingernails were drumming the fake wood veneer of her desk. Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice her agitation.

Turning in her chair, Laura yelled, “Tony, call all the hospitals in town. They airlifted the victims, so they’re probably at Grant or University. I want the names of both people injured in that explosion, and I want their status. Now, Tony, move!” Laura knew the stone-faced assignment editor couldn’t tell the orders were a personal request; she always treated him in the same demoralizing manner. Consistency is key, she thought to herself as she watched him fumble with the computer keyboard at his desk.

For a moment Laura wondered whether anybody at the station would connect her to the explosion. No, she’d been discreet.

“Hey, Mike, is Headline News interested in a feed?” she called out to another editor, before jumping out of her chair to hover over his desk. This could be big.

 

CHAPTER 2

Three Weeks Earlier, Friday, May 1

Ellen Anderson could see the fork in the road from her kitchen window. She watched as cars chose one route or the other. Some drivers were confused, swerving at the last minute as they made a choice. Many seemed to know exactly where they were going. Only a couple had smashed into the tree growing in the median.

That’s me, she thought. In the middle, smashing into the tree. Barren. Empty. Dead. Hungry.

It was almost time for lunch. She stared out the window past the bright green carpet of grass at the acres of farm fields rolling behind her Victorian dream home. She expected her husband’s red convertible Mercedes, top down, to burst around the back corner of the house any minute.

Michael’s dark brown hair—thinning on top—would be tossed by the wind. He liked his hair like that—young, carefree. His six-foot frame folded into the front seat, and even in a small sports car, he appeared in command of the road, his home, his life, and of course, his wife. With his sunglasses on and his face locked in a grin, his music cranked, he still looked the part of the fraternity social chair he was when they met. Glasses off, he had lines at the corners of his eyes, golf squint lines, defining his thirty-eight years.

She didn’t see him yet. So Ellen waited. She’d been cooking all morning. It was her hobby, really her only passion these days, and now, with the Internet, she could find recipes for anything. Everything had a recipe. Except, of course, her life. She planned, thought she had all the ingredients, but always, something was missing. Having finished cooking, she waited.

An observer may have thought that, standing there on her tiptoes, silhouetted by sunlight piercing the leaded glass panes, Ellen looked like a bird about to take flight. Her shiny black hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Her dark skin, a tribute to her Brazilian roots, made the perfect contrast to the white countertops and yellow and white walls of the kitchen.

As with most things in the house, the countertops were built too high for her, a bow to Michael’s height and ultimate say on everything, even her kitchen. After thirty-three years of feeling small, whenever Ellen wanted to feel empowered, by habit, she would stand on her toes and lean forward.

The last time she had done so was earlier that morning, as Dr. Burnhardt, her fertility specialist, murmured there was nothing else he could do and handed her an adoption brochure. He didn’t seem to understand adoption wasn’t an option for Michael and, therefore, wasn’t for her either. She’d endured years of tests and humiliating procedures. All in vain. The dream home she and Michael had completed the year before was a family home, with four extra bedrooms and a large nanny suite.

“I’m so very sorry, Ellen, dear,” the doctor said. Listening, Ellen fell off her toes. Her last hope was gone; she felt deflated, subhuman. Women were supposed to get pregnant and have babies. Weren’t they? It’s supposed to be natural. Why had she worried about contraception all those years? Maybe it was the miscarriage, she thought, and shuddered.

“But, you know, I had, had—”

“Yes, you mentioned the miscarriage. I remember, dear. And while you were able to conceive then—I believe that was what, ten years ago, right?—your body changes, and conception is harder the older a woman is. It’s a mystery. I wish we could control conception like we can contraception. I am sorry, Ellen,” Dr. Burnhardt said again, sounding anxious to conclude the discussion and send his pitiful patient home.

Ellen thought she was about two months pregnant when she had lost the fetus. I wonder if it was a boy or girl, and I wonder who the baby looked like. The same questions floated through her subconscious often, never dislodged by the reality of a new fetus growing inside.

She was still dreaming of the baby she would never hold when she heard the sound of gravel rumbling outside. Michael had arrived home for lunch. They’d planned this date at home so she could fill him in on the results of her latest and final round of tests.

“Ellen, what did he say?” Michael asked quietly when he walked in the door behind her.

“We won’t be having any children, Michael. I wish I could’ve kept our baby, the one we made,” Ellen said, turning, tears streaming down her face.

“Maybe it’ll still happen, Ellen. We need to get on with life. You know, maybe you should go back to work,” Michael said, trying to be calm, be nice.

“What about adoption, Michael, please?” Ellen asked between sobs.

“I’ve told you my feelings on this. I’m just not going to raise a kid that isn’t mine.” Seeing her tears, he softened his tone. “It just wasn’t meant to be, El. You know that. It’s OK. You can start up your career, or do that garden club or whatever. That’s why I put you through school. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re already fine, aren’t you? Where were you last night?” Ellen asked, quietly. She wondered why, if he thought she was as pretty as he said, why she wasn’t enough.

“Working.”

She turned back to the window then, as Michael grabbed the sandwich from the plate on the table and said, “Have a nice day, and don’t wait up. It’ll be another late night at work.” She heard the rumbling as his car pulled out on the gravel and then sped silently back down the winding driveway.

Ellen counted to twenty and then pushed the button to close the front gates.

****

“Well, I wanted a boy and we ended up with this scrawny thing,” he said to his girlfriend, who moments before, in a final agonizing scream, delivered his fourth child. Her first. Delivered in a twelve-dollar hotel room so no one would know.

“She’s pretty. Just give her time, you’ll love her, you’ll see,” said the new mother, shaking as she cradled her newborn.

“I doubt it. I’ll see you later; I have stuff to do.” He left then. And he never came back. If the manager hadn’t found them and called the ambulance, they both would’ve died.

Subsequently, instead of celebrating her birthday every year, her momma dreaded it. Dreaded the day and blamed her daughter for her aloneness. For their poverty. For being.

By her second birthday, she’d caught on. She knew how to be quiet, to be like a mouse. She didn’t want to get a beating on her birthday. She didn’t want anything except for her momma to love her.

****

Janet Jones was lost, a stranger in her own community. A spectacle in the suburbs. Suddenly life as she knew it was over, so she stood, watching the traffic drive by, her typically coifed white-gray hair blowing in the divergent directions of each passing car. Some honked. There were, she learned, two distinct types of honk. A short, light, beepish honk. Polite. Helpful. And the other. A firm, hard, blaring honk. Her presence near the street, in the gutter actually, upset the normal drive home for some people, resulting in an affront to their sensibilities and a loud honk.

“Oh, take another way home,” she yelled, teeter-tottering on and off the curb.

She didn’t know why she’d ended up here, on the road, at rush hour. Her yellow suit, from the best boutique in town, was wrinkled and dirty. If only she hadn’t picked this day to come home early from work. So, so stupid. She’d surprise him at the showing, she had thought, and maybe they could go eat an early dinner. Yeah, what a surprise.

Janet noticed a car stopping next to the curb across the street. “Great, it’s Maddie,” she muttered. Her friend, Madeline Wilson, the city’s gossip columnist to the rescue. This is just what I need, Janet thought.

“Don’t move, I’m coming to get you,” Maddie yelled to Janet as cars swooshed past between them. “It’s going to be OK. You’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

Janet watched as Maddie darted—yes, she could dart at five foot four—across the street. Her brown highlighted hair and small build made her appear more like a burglar caught in a heist than a guardian angel friend. Once she’d crossed to Janet’s side of the street, Janet noticed Maddie’s trademark pin: today it was a southwestern Native American dream catcher in silver.

“Nice pin. Maybe all of this is just a bad dream,” Janet said by way of greeting.

“Janet, please, come with me. I’ll take you home, to my house. We’ll talk.”

“It’s all over. He…he was fucking her in our duplex listing. There I was walking in like an idiot to surprise him, and he was having sex with our administrative assistant on our client’s white couch. Surreal.”

“You guys have been a real estate sales team and a couple forever. You’re in shock. Let’s get off the street, go have a cup of coffee or a drink. Come on,” Maddie said, gently steering Janet across the street and helping her into her Jetta.

Janet had helped Maddie find her home, her condominium in German Village, a historic district downtown. It was the first place Janet showed her, and she made an offer immediately. Janet had been friends with Maddie’s parents until her parents’ divorce. At that point, Janet’s husband remained friends with Maddie’s dad. Maddie and her mom remained friends with Janet. Fifteen years older than Maddie, Janet was a perfect surrogate mom when Maddie needed a working-woman role model. They tried to have lunch at least once a month. Typically, Maddie needed Janet’s advice.

Today, the opposite was true.

Looking in the visor mirror, Janet saw she looked terrible, like someone had poured just enough water on her face to force her makeup to slide down two inches. Her mascara, foundation, even her lipstick was low. Her chin-length hair looked like it’d been in a tornado, and her suit looked like a crumpled piece of paper.

“Where have you been all afternoon? The entire Grandville Real Estate office is out looking for you.” Maddie clicked off the hazard lights and pulled out into the traffic. “I mean, by the time that receptionist called me, they were all at the end of their ropes. They’ve been looking for you since lunch. Luckily some freaked-out commuter recognized you, Janet, and called your office.” Maddie punched in her lighter, waiting for it to get red-hot as she paused for Janet’s answer.

Janet sat silent for a few minutes. She had been married to Chuck Jones for twenty years, and they were the top real estate sales team in the city for fifteen of those. A model of success in both work and home life. Parents of two boys, one in college, one building a life in Dallas.

Yet, out of the blue, her visit to the duplex had revealed the truth about the Joneses—Chuck was having an affair and Janet caught him in one of the homes they had listed. According to Maddie, a caller three hours later had informed the office Janet was roaming the streets of Grandville.

“I’ve been walking, I guess,” Janet said finally, staring out the front windshield of the car but not seeing anything. “You know, it’s funny, Chuck’s always made fun of the fact I’m a Realtor, but I can’t find my way across Grandville without getting lost, let alone Columbus. So today I just did what I’m best at: wandering. All of a sudden this town just seemed so small.”

“Janet, you grew your business. You had the sense, the clients. Chuck learned everything from you. You are the face of the Joneses of Grandville Real Estate. Don’t forget that,” Maddie said, inhaling deeply.

“I did everything he ever asked me to do. Did you know I always let him drive, just to make him feel important? At first. Now I’m just used to it. Sitting. Supporting him. Oh my God, he was naked with Angie,” Janet sobbed, dropping her head into her hands.

Maddie drove out of the suburbs and back downtown. She pushed in her lighter again. “Maybe being single in my mid-thirties isn’t so bad after all,” she said consolingly.

“I’d gone over to surprise him, you know, during his showing. I knew he was showing the Hamilton house and it’s on a lockbox, still furnished. I heard sounds upstairs. I walked in and his butt was sticking up, you know. He was on top. It was so white, and his back had all that dark hair all over it and he was, disgusting. I couldn’t even see her, just him. She said, ‘It’s Janet.’ And I said, ‘Angie? Chuck?’ Like an idiot, I felt guilty at first, for interrupting them. Ha.” Sniff, choke. “It was all in slow motion.”

“I know, that’s what your brain does when you are in shock. That happened to me, when I was in that armed bank robbery in Nice, France. Did I tell you about that?”

“He rolled off of her,” Janet said, ignoring Maddie’s blatant attempt at a change of subject. “And I could see his midlife midsection and her young, firm body, and I turned to the wall and threw up. Not pleasant, but all of this seemed to last an hour and I bet it was seconds. It was gut-wrenching, actually. And then I walked.”

Maddie paused her parallel parking, shaking her head briskly, probably trying to erase the graphic scene from her mind. “Let’s go inside, talk. Don’t think about it anymore right now. OK?” Her voice was pleading.

“You’re right, I could be sick just thinking about it again,” Janet answered, opening the car door to follow Maddie into her condo. “I wouldn’t want to make a mess of your carpet.”

****

Angie Brown, former personal assistant to the Joneses of Grandville Real Estate, stood leaning against the doorframe, halfway in and halfway out of the kitchen. The two women were the same age, but while Laura Mercer was driven, Angie was drifting. Laura’s eyes glistened with life’s promises, and Angie’s were circled by life’s experiences.

Laura poured a glass of wine for each of them, smiling, as the story unfolded.

“You’re sick. You think this is funny, don’t you?” Angie insisted. This wasn’t funny; this was her life. You’re a complete bitch, Angie thought, glaring at Laura.

“Not funny—how about mildly amusing? Anyway, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Good-bye nine-to-five, hello Grandville Country Club. No more waiting tables and answering phones at Grandville Real Estate. You’ll be buying your own home now.”

“Do you really think so? I think Chuck was a little shook up. Maybe he’ll want to go back to the hag. She looked horrid today, like Big Bird or something. She was all in yellow, and you know it cost a fortune. On me, it would’ve looked great, but on her, that suit was stretched in all the wrong places,” Angie said, hopefully. Married. Rich. It was all she ever dreamed of being, and Chuck could make it come true.

“You’re screwing your boyfriend when his wife walks in on you, and you have time to check out her fashion statement? Now that’s sick.” Laura smiled her broadcast smile.

“You think Chuckie will call me? I mean, after he straightens things out?” Angie asked.

Laura made a strange face. She said, “Of course he will, dear. He’s not going to blow it with you. He loves you, right? He told you he did. You’re his—what does he call you? Peach? Pumpkin?”

“Puppy.”

“Right, puppy dog. Everything will work out fine. Don’t worry.” Glancing at the clock, she said, “I’ve got to go. I’m emceeing one of those charity functions tonight. The anchor with the most community service hours wins at bonus time, they told me. See you tomorrow.” Laura walked past Angie in the doorway, through the living room, and out the door.

“Thanks, as always, for the support, roomie,” Angie said after she heard the door slam shut. Angie grabbed the glass of wine Laura had left on the counter for her and poured it down the kitchen sink drain. She picked up the bottle of gin from the cupboard under the counter, grabbed a glass from the kitchenette, and created her own type of martini to kill time until Chuckie called. This may make her leave him, seeing the two of us together like that, she thought. She chugged half of her drink and then shivered as the alcohol raced through her system.

So much for my career in real estate. She wandered into the small living room of the apartment, which was almost completely filled with an overstuffed orange velour sectional she’d found at a rummage sale. I guess I’ll be a professional waitress until Chuckie marries me. She grabbed the TV controller and clicked on the movie of the week.

“Puppy” sat.

****

For once, Laura was glad she had a stupid charity event. It made for a perfect escape from the lame roommate. She hated Angie Brown, the waitress, and felt she deserved about as much attention as the mouse that also shared their apartment. In fact, Laura thought, Angie looked like a mouse. Pinched nose, white sallow skin, thin lips, and brownish blondish mousy hair. Skinny. Laura would live through living with Angie, just as she’d survived other things. The rent was cheap.

Arriving in town from Dayton, Laura was friendless and strapped for cash. The job in Columbus was a promotion, without the commensurate pay. Ah, but the glamour. She needed a roommate and perusing the want ads led her to Angie. She was fine for now.

****

This one, he was the worst, she thought.

In her four-year-old life, she’d seen a lot already. He definitely scared her from the moment he stepped foot inside their trailer. He smelled like hate, and monsters, and dinosaurs. And he looked like a spider—a hairy spider with black scratchy hair, scratchy hairy face, and hairy hands and arms.

Why does Momma like him more than me? Why does she like everybody, even Mr. Platz next door, better? I’m going to go collect some more rocks, she thought. Maybe I’ll find a special one with shine on it for Momma.

“Beat it kid,” he told her, with a grin.

“Just play outside right around the trailer. I don’t want to have to come find you and beat you, you hear?”

“Yes, Momma,” the little girl said and went out the door, listening for it to bang behind her. It did. She hoped the noise scared them, but knew they probably didn’t even hear it.

****

An hour later, wearing a borrowed cotton pullover dress, with her hair combed and makeup redone, Janet popped her head into Maddie’s kitchen. Maddie did a double take and smiled.

“I’m calling him now. Do you want to listen?” Janet asked.

“No, thanks, unless you need me. You look great, by the way. Let me know if you need me,” Maddie said.

Janet walked down the hallway and back into the bedroom. She remembered the condo from showing it to Maddie. Janet never forgot floor plans. Sitting on the edge of Maddie’s bed, she thought of her two boys, one in college, one finding life on his own in Dallas. She’d talked with the cowboy just the other night. Told him how hard it was in the early twenties: deciding on your career, where to live, who you want to date and possibly marry. “Welcome to the real world,” she had told him with a smile. She didn’t add that life just kept getting more complicated from there.

Career, marriage, kids. I put everything else aside for those three things. First, I taught Chuck the real estate business—pricing a home to sell, staging it, holding buyers’ and sellers’ hands, and all of the other subtle and not-so-subtle tricks of our business—and then I had babies. Close together, one after the other. They had been fifteen months apart. My beautiful baby boys. A month off with each of them, and then they went to day care and I went back to the business. The Jones Team, the number-one real estate sales partnership in the city. And our kids grew, and our business grew, and our relationship died.

It had died. While they were busy living, working, caring for their children, their relationship ended. They went through the motions. Sex once every six months. No wonder he found Angie so appealing. She’s probably looking for a father figure. He’s looking for sex. How stereotypical all of this is. Except I don’t think the wife is supposed to catch you in the act. The sick feeling in the pit of Janet’s stomach became a sour taste in her mouth.

“Hello.” It was a tentative Chuck. What a strange voice for him, she thought.

“It’s me.”

“Janet, oh my God, I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I don’t love her. It was all a mistake. She’s fired, of course, and I’m begging your forgiveness. Where are you? Can I come pick you up? Please, let’s talk in person, get through this, for the boys’ sake. Janet?”

“Chuck, I don’t love you anymore. I just had a dawning. Suddenly, I don’t care about you or our facade of a happy marriage.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Yes, I do. I’m saying you don’t love me and I don’t love you. We made a good business team, we raised a couple great kids, but we’re through. I won’t be embarrassed by a man I don’t love. We’re over. Don’t make this ugly.”

“Listen, I’ll call you in the morning. You’re in shock or something. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Good night, Chuck. Sweet dreams.”

Janet’s next phone call was to her personal banker, Donna, telling her she needed all of the joint accounts frozen until the divorce papers were filed. She transferred the proceeds of the most recent closing into her own account, since he’d presumably pocket the cash if the duplex sold. “I guess now it has scandal appeal,” she told Donna after finishing the story of her day. “I’ll be by in the morning to finish up all the transactions. And thanks, Donna.”

“No problem, Janet. What a jerk. I can’t believe he did this to you.”

“He did it to himself. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Janet placed four more calls, to her travel agent, her mother in Pittsburgh, her favorite administrative assistant at the Grandville Real Estate office, and her brother, an attorney in Cleveland. With those four calls, her life was in order.

By the time she rejoined Maddie an hour later, her plans were made. Janet thought she looked refreshed, like a successful Realtor about to show a new client around town. It was 9:30 p.m. and Maddie smiled when she saw her.

“Are we going out or something?” Maddie asked.

“No, I just wanted to get cleaned up—you know, if you look good you feel good, that kind of thing,” Janet answered as she plunked down on the dolphin-gray leather couch next to Maddie. She leaned back, allowing her head to rest on the couch.

“Did Chuck apologize?” Maddie asked.

“Of course he did,” Janet said.

“And?”

“And I’m filing for divorce in the morning. Chuck’s made his choice, and I’ve made mine. Did you ever think that choices are like a chain reaction? Your choice affects another person’s, and so on.”

“But divorce, Janet, are you sure? A lot of men wander, women put up with it. Right?” Maddie paused. “What am I saying? I sound archaic, don’t I? ” Maddie realized she would never live the life she advised Janet to lead. And it sounded stupid, crazy. Janet was watching her. “Maybe you should just take some time, think it over. Now I sound like the crazy person, don’t I?”

Janet sighed, staring up at the ceiling.“Many of my friends do stay. And that’s not all bad. Staying together for the sake of your family, your kids. The problem is—and mind you, I’ve been doing this myself for many years—in the end, everyone is happy and fulfilled except you,” Janet added, “a career isn’t the answer, and neither, probably, is motherhood, although a lot of women think one or the other or both can be. My husband had sex with his assistant in someone else’s house and I walked in on them. It’s a movie of the week. He made his choice. And I’m making mine.”

“Janet, you’ve had a long day. Come eat. I saved you some dinner. The sheets on the bed in the guest room are clean, and I put some of my pj’s on the chair in there for you.”

“You know what, I am starving. It smells like fresh-baked bread in here, oh, and garlic. My goodness, what have you whipped up?”

“Just a small Italian feast,” Maddie answered.

“Thanks, Mad, you’re a class act. Unlike Chuckie, and, by association, me.” Janet took the proffered glass of Chianti from Maddie’s outstretched hand, lifted the glass in the air, and said, “Cheers. What I have now is time. I’m glad I’ve been saving my money all these years. Now, I can buy my fun and peace,” Janet said, clinking her glass against Maddie’s and drinking from the glass.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, unfortunately, I waited for this inevitable outcome before taking charge of my life. Chuck and I were over long before Ms. Brown landed in bed with him. The business kept us together. That’s not a life, though.”

Janet paused, drinking deeply from the wine glass. “Would you be able to drive me to get my car in the morning? I have errands to run before beginning my life again. This time, I’m in the driver’s seat—well, as soon as I get my car,” she laughed, finishing her wine.

And there they sat, talking and drinking when Lyle Boardman, Maddie’s most recent brooding artistic boyfriend, reluctantly walked in.

****

Lyle had taken the long way home. Driving was peaceful for him even though he was a classic aggressive driver. He was feeling old and tired and stressed. Driving with the bumper of his Jeep Wrangler almost touching the bumper of the guy’s Lexus in front of him was fun. A release. Stupid rich jerk should be in the right lane.

People called him “sir” when he went to McDonald’s now. Two weeks ago, he pulled the first gray hair out of his brown head of hair—at first he couldn’t believe it—and then before he knew it, there was one growing in his pubic hair. Gray. Old. Shit. At work—he was a copywriter at the Martin Agency, a local advertising agency, until he could sell his screenplay or a blockbuster novel and then, of course, he’d be gone—he saw a group of interns at the coffee machine, hanging out. He asked them if they were new grads or seniors in college. Turned out they’d graduated seven years earlier.

Lyle decided he was old, then. He thought about that Frank Sinatra song: “When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year, it was a very good year…” In the song, the guy ages from seventeen to twenty-one to thirty-five, and then to it’s all over, sonny. The end of life. The end. Shit.

Why won’t that guy in the Civic get going? he thought, blaring the horn. “When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year,” Lyle hummed. “It was a very good year for—” I’ll be buried and my tombstone will read, here’s a damn dependable guy. Predictable. Almost artistic, a pseudoliterary genius. Stable. Sensitive. Oh, and, he almost sold a prize-winning screenplay.

Today was one of those days Lyle wished he didn’t have to be so damn dependable. He knew Janet was at his house, and he knew he’d have to help Maddie deal with the emotionally draining situation. Lyle didn’t have an excess of emotion anyway. Physically, he didn’t have an excess of anything either: no fat, skinny; no distinguishing features, pasty white skin; and a slow, languid gait that drove Maddie nuts.

In bed, though, he excelled, almost as if all of his energy was stored for exuberant lovemaking. Actions were easy in a relationship; the corresponding emotions were too tough to unlock. So he provided Great Sex. That was his forte, his hold over Madeline Wilson, at least for now.

In Maddie, he’d found a woman who loved words—as Lyle did—and didn’t try to compete to be published. “She’s an editor at the city’s daily,” Lyle proudly told his starving poet friends. So what if it was trivial shit she wrote? At least they paid her. He thought that was cool. He knew she cared about him and supported his dreams of the big time. Just as he knew tonight he’d be in trouble. He was late, and she’d know he was avoiding dealing with the Joneses.

Maddie had called him after picking Janet up out of the gutter. Stupid shit, this relationship stuff. He’d handled the soap opera all day long at work, a pleasant listener for whatever tearful young account executive had a crush on whichever young creative director. And now, the drama had invaded his home.

Like any place where young, attractive energetic people gather, the Martin Agency was a hotbed of sexual tension. Lyle had enough energy to follow the gossip but not enough to participate in the flirting frenzy. Therefore he’d become muse and advisor. As he parallel parked in front of Maddie’s—well, their—condo, he pasted a smile on his face. He wasn’t amused.

****

“Hi, ladies,” Lyle said too brightly as he shoved the door closed behind him. Maddie rolled her eyes, and Janet smiled. “How are you holding up, Janet?” he asked.

“Howdy, Lyle, so nice to see you,” Janet said, standing up to give him a hug. Hugging him suddenly made her eyes well up, and she pulled away and carefully wiped her eyes. “It’s just that hug felt, well. Sorry. I’ll be fine once I have some distance.”

“What are you talking about?” Lyle asked, plunking his laptop down on the rugged pine desk in the corner of the sitting room. The room was cluttered with an eclectic mix of Maddie’s traditional dark-wood antiques and her favorite leather couch, and Lyle’s light minimalistic Scandinavian pieces. The walls, a bright sky blue, were covered with contemporary paintings, gifts from Maddie’s former live-in lover. Maddie suspected Lyle resented them.

Janet simply smiled, and Maddie said, “Lyle, your dinner’s in the oven, if you’re hungry.”

Obviously sensing an easy escape, Lyle murmured, “Great. Hang in there, Janet,” before walking out of the room. He had looked confused by and relieved at the relative calm he’d encountered.

“I think he expected to see me wailing and ruined,” Janet said.

“It’s good for him, to see strong women. You are strong, Janet, and you’ll be all right,” Maddie answered. At the same time, Maddie thought Janet was the confused one, that she didn’t really mean to dump Chuck and start over. How could she? She was in shock, Maddie thought. Later, she understood Janet’s future materialized the instant she discovered her husband’s betrayal.

Choices are a chain reaction. Chuck’s decision to have a fling with Angie Brown, once discovered, forced Janet to choose a response, Maddie thought. Acceptance and forgiveness—or not. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Each of the female characters in ALL THE DIFFERENCE is striving for what she believes will be a more fulfilling life. Laura’s goal is to become a TV anchor in a major metropolitan market. Ellen’s dream is motherhood. Angie wants to find her knight in shining armor, complete with shiny shoes and a large net worth. Whose struggles or problems do you see as the most severe? Most worthy?
2. How do the supporting female characters – particularly Maddie, Janet and Francis - illustrate what happens when dreams come true?
3. In ALL THE DIFFERENCE, an unknown narrator shares her experiences of a very troubling childhood. As you read the story, did you think the mystery woman was one of the characters in the story or another, distinct character? Why or why not? Did the ending of the story surprise you or had you guessed the truth?
4. We’ve all made choices we regret. That’s the nature of life. In ALL THE DIFFERENCE, there are many shades of gray. The line between good and evil isn’t always clear. Who are the villains in the novel?
5. Have you or anyone you know been a victim of sexual harassment or gender discrimination in the workplace? Do you think places like Drummand Industries exist?
6. Maddie is a society columnist and Dixon is a restaurant reviewer. How do these types of journalists help build community and why are they important to the suburb of Grandville? Is Laura’s reach as a television anchor more powerful? Why or why not?
7. Do you feel sorry for Angie? Why or why not?
8. Do you think Janet was brave to start over, or do you think she overreacted to Chuck’s affair? What would you do if faced with a similar situation?
9. Which character’s choices, in the end, made ALL THE DIFFERENCE?

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