“A little extra money wouldn’t be unwelcome,” I replied. “We just bought a new van with a chair lift, and the loan payments are taking a serious bite out of our savings.”
Sloane kept her eyes fixed on her children in the pool. “Well, now. That makes me feel very self-absorbed.”
“Why?”
“Because all I can think about is the fact that I need money, too, and I don’t want you to have it because I want it, quite desperately at the moment.”
“Why is that?”
She exhaled heavily. “Because I’ve been thinking about asking my husband for a divorce, but if I do, I won’t get anything in the settlement, except maybe some child support.”
“But you did get money,” I reminded her, sitting forward slightly on the lounge chair. “A few million British pounds, if I remember correctly.”
Sloane waved away a butterfly. “I know that, and I feel like a spoiled brat for saying this, but it doesn’t feel like very much money when you’re used to a certain standard of living. I have two children to raise, and . . .” She paused. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It might sound laughable to you, but I have no doubt you’ll understand what I mean soon enough.”
I chuckled. “I doubt that. I’m sorry—I don’t mean to be judgmental, but I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for you. You’ve been rich your entire life.” I waved an arm about. “Look at this place! This was your summer camp.”
Sloane shook her head. “I don’t feel very rich right now. All I feel is alone and stuck in a bad marriage because I signed a prenup where I’d get nothing if I left my husband. And I’m terrified about how I would raise my children without a father. On top of that, I’m convinced that my own father hated me because I never came to visit him, and that’s why he cut me out of his will. So I suppose it depends on your definition of the word rich . And Fiona . . .” Sloane turned to me. “As far as money goes, it’s all relative. I don’t know what your situation is, but if you have a roof over your head and a brand-new van, a homeless person might consider you to be rich as Croesus.”
I drew back slightly. “Wow. Okay, you win that round.”
We sat in silence, each of us watching the children.
“I didn’t mean to suggest,” I said, after a time, “that having money means you’ve lost your right to be unhappy. Life sucks sometimes, whether you’re rich or poor. And I’m sorry about your marriage. It’s always sad when a relationship doesn’t work out. I wouldn’t actually know about that from experience. I’ve never been married, but—”
“My husband sent a dick pic to our daughter last night,” Sloane bluntly announced.
I regarded her with surprise. “He did what?”
“Not on purpose,” Sloane explained. “Apparently, he meant to send it to a woman he’s been screwing behind my back. No idea who she is.”
I tamped down my surprise. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard, and I had the sense that she was fighting to hold back tears. “Obviously, I’m angry with him, but I’m angry with myself, too, because it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. My husband was always a flirt. Even on my wedding day, I knew deep down that he wasn’t capable of being faithful to me for the rest of our lives, but he was so handsome and successful, and I was completely infatuated with him, so I went through with it anyway. I just stuck my head in the sand, telling myself everything would be different once we were married. That he would change and settle down. Become a family man.”
“That’s gotta be rough.”
“It is. Especially when I look at those beautiful kids, who don’t deserve to grow up in a house where their mother is an emotional wreck all the time, completely insecure and heartbroken and trying to hide it. How am I supposed to be real with them when I’m faking everything? I’m trying to pretend that our life is perfect and beautiful so that all my friends will envy me. But honestly, who cares what they think? Wouldn’t it be more fun to just let my natural hair color grow out and eat pasta without worrying about looking bloated the next day?”
“I do love pasta,” I said. “What color is your hair?”
She removed her sun hat and showed me her roots. “It’s brown, not black.”
I bent to look closely and nodded without judgment.
Sloane put her hat back on and sighed heavily. “You know what they say. Women often marry some version of their fathers, and according to Mom, our father was a lady-killer of the highest order.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if handsome, wealthy men are even capable of being faithful to one woman for the rest of their lives when younger women are always throwing themselves at them.”