Peter Gourd is a passionate man. Unfortunately, for his wife,
Emily, most of his passion is reserved for his work as a lawyer
at his family's law firm.
Finally fed up with his neglectful ways, Emily sends him an email
with a slightly mocking tone that begins Peter, Peter Pumpkin
Eater/Had a wife and couldn't keep her. Taking a cue from the
nursery rhyme, he hatches a plan to lock her up in their beach
cottage--affectionately known as the Pumpkin House.
But things do not go to plan for Peter, and he soon finds the
tables have turned!
Excerpt
Peter received the email from his wife just before lunch,
but he didn’t get around to opening it until after his
third cigarette break, just before four. Expecting to see a
simple request to stop at the grocery store, or perhaps to pick
up her clothes from the cleaners, it took several readings before
the true contents sunk in. He understood what each word meant,
but he couldn’t make sense of the whole.
“Julie, can you come in here for a moment?” Peter
said into his intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Gourd.” The young blonde bustled in, a
notepad in one hand, a pen in the other. “What can I do
for you?”
Peter liked Julie Summers, a bubbly, eager, talented, exceptionally
bright, young woman. She was the best executive assistant he
had ever had, but he only liked her as an executive assistant,
despite the persistent rumors that spread like wildfire through
the building and even into his social circle.
“Can you come over and read this email?” Peter asked.
“I know it sounds crazy…but I don’t understand
it.”
Julie frowned slightly, visibly perplexed by the request. Ever
the professional, she circled the desk to look at his computer
screen over his shoulder.
Julie reared back. “Is this some sort of joke?” she
asked.
“What?” Peter shook his head, joking the farthest
thing from his mind. The situation seemed deadly serious to
him. “No.”
Julie put her hands on her hips. “Look, if this is some
sneaky way to hit on me, you know I’m engaged and I will
contact HR. Just because your dad owns this firm doesn’t
mean you can get away with anything you want.”
Peter held up his hand, struck by her icy tone. He hadn’t
meant to offend her. “What? No! Julie, it’s nothing
like that.”
“Then why would you have me read a Dear John email from
your wife?” She seemed to relax, concern replacing the
anger in her eyes. “I mean, I know we work closely, Mr.
Gourd, but I don’t need to know all the details of your
life.”
Peter’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t misunderstood
the email, then. “Thanks, Julie,” he said, waving
his hand toward the door. “Take the afternoon off.”
“Are you going to be okay, Mr. Gourd? You look a little
pale.”
Peter looked up at Julie’s sweet, concerned face, grateful
that she had calmed down. He didn’t need to deal with a
complaint to HR on top of…everything. “I’m fine,”
he assured her, though he knew his face betrayed his words.
“I’ve just got to get this straightened out.”
Julie picked up his calendar and flipped through the pages.
“I’m rescheduling your appointments for the next week,”
she announced. “I’ll do that before I leave.”
“What? No, you can’t shuffle my schedule like that.
There are too many meetings, and I have a court date next Wednesday.”
He tried to take the planner from her hands, but she held it
above her head, out of his reach. Despite everything, he needed
to keep his priorities straight. Why should his clients suffer
because he had a problem with his wife? They still had lives
and businesses to run, and they relied on him.
Julie could see the conflict in his eyes. “Mr. Gourd…Peter…listen
to me. You probably have only one shot to make things right
with Emily before she’s gone forever. All of this can wait,
but she can’t.” She crossed his large office to the
door, still gripping the planner. “You take the afternoon
off. I’ve got work to do.”
Peter watched her leave, blinking. He could attempt to argue
with her, plead his case, but to what avail? She was right,
of course. He couldn’t argue with her or with the email.
He checked the time stamp—10:34:28 AM. It was already past
four. She’d be long gone by now. He wouldn’t even
know where to look, much less what to do once he found her.
He turned back to the computer screen, and reread the email,
searching for any clues.
Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater
Had a wife and couldn’t keep her.
I’m sorry, Peter, but I finally understand that we wanted
different things from this relationship. I wanted a partner
and a friend, and you wanted a hostess for your parties. You
can hire somebody for that. I need to go. I need to think. Don’t
bother responding to this email. I won’t get it. I’m
sorry, Peter.
Emily.
Fresh pain twisted in Peter’s heart as he grabbed the
framed photograph of her from the corner of his desk, holding
it up to the light. He vividly remembered taking this photograph
of her at the beach, her long, brown hair whipping around her
face. She hadn’t noticed him standing above her on an outcropping
of rocks with his camera poised, because their new puppy, Remi,
had distracted her by chasing seagulls up and down the empty
beach.
That had been the weekend they had found the Pumpkin House.
Emily had fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen
it.
Peter straightened. Of course. She wanted to find a place to
think and get away from him. Where else would she go? He had
only been to the beach house once since they’d bought it—Emily
had turned it into a sanctuary and went up there several times
a week, armed with books or a canvas and paint. It was only
about an hour away, and the midday traffic would be light.
He shut down his computer, grabbed his jacket, and hurried
out of the office.
“Are you going after Emily?” Julie called as he passed
her desk.
“Of course.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, rising from
her chair. “I hope you’ve got something big planned.
Because I think you might need a miracle.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” he muttered, pulling his
jacket on. “I’ll think of something when I get there.”
He stepped to the door, but paused as another thought occurred
to him. “Oh, Julie, can you forward my calls to my cell?
Henderson should be calling this evening or tomorrow morning
and I…”
“Sir?” Julie interrupted. “May I remind you
that Emily left because you neglected her? It might not be a
great idea to bring your work with you.”
Peter nodded. “Right, right. Okay, don’t forward
my calls, just…”
“I’ll take care of everything. That’s what I’m
here for, right? Now go! Do you know where she is?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Julie said as the
phone started to ring. She lifted the receiver, shooing him
away with her free hand. “Gourd and Gourd Associates…I’m
sorry, he’s not in the office right now.” She covered
the mouthpiece with her hand. “Will you go?”
Peter still hesitated. He was already six hours late, another
fifteen minutes wouldn’t make a huge difference, would
it? Henderson had been trying to set up a meeting for the past
three weeks. “Who is it? Is that Henderson?”
“Do you want to save your marriage or what?” Julie
asked.
Briefly, he imagined a life without Emily’s smile, without
the feel of her soft hair, without the brightness she brought
to a room. He could live without Henderson—he couldn’t
live without Emily.
Peter nodded, and stepped into the waiting elevator. He had
a dozen other things he wanted to tell Julie—what to do
if this client called, or that one needed help, or his father
came downstairs looking for him. But he trusted Julie, and he’d
have to trust her judgment while he was away.
Still, his stomach churned. He had only left the office for
longer than a day once, and that was the weekend he got married.
They had never gone on a honeymoon—the Johnson case had
gone to court that week, he remembered, after six months of
delays and scheduling conflicts. Emily had claimed she understood,
and why shouldn’t he have believed her? There would be
plenty of time to go on a honeymoon—a whole lifetime, right?
The elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor, its doors
opening to Justin Lennon, a young paralegal who had worked with
Peter on a few cases. Justin reminded Peter a little of himself
at that age—intelligent, eager, a bright future ahead of
him. Peter knew that the younger man could make it far in the
firm. Still, there was something about him that Peter just didn’t
like.
“Hey, Mr. Gourd!” Justin exclaimed, offering his
hand. “I was just coming up to see you.”
Peter shook it without enthusiasm. A distracted corner of his
brain noted that Justin’s hands were warm without being
clammy. “Yes, well, an emergency has cropped up, so I’ll
be out of the office for a while.”
Justin gaped. “Are you serious?”
Peter arched his brow. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry…it’s just…you never take
time off. You’re like an institution!”
“What did you want to see me about, Justin?” Peter
asked, uninterested in discussing his working habits.
“Do you mind if I walk with you to your car?” he
asked.
“No.”
The elevator began its smooth descent to the parking garage.
Peter wasn’t interested in whatever problems or questions
Justin had. He needed time to gather his thoughts and form a
plan for Emily.
“So, what kind of emergency? It’s nothing serious,
I hope,” Justin started, fidgeting with the knot of his
tie.
Nope, nothing serious. Just the death of my marriage. “It’s
Emily.”
Justin stepped forward, his eyes wide, the color on his face
rising. “Oh my God, nothing happened to her did it? She’s
not hurt or anything, right?”
Peter blinked, surprised by Justin’s reaction. As far
as he knew, Justin had met Emily once, at the Christmas party,
but otherwise, didn’t know her at all. Justin moved in
a different social circle than the Gourds, and their paths rarely
crossed outside of work. “She’s fine.”
Justin blushed, his smile self-conscious. “Good. Good.
So, um, I actually needed to get some time off cleared with
you…”
“When?” Peter suddenly wished he had a cigarette.
“Right now.”
Peter sighed, growing exasperated. “No, when are you taking
time off?”
“Right now. I…uh…have my own family emergency.”
Justin looked down quickly, avoiding eye contact. The color
of his face deepened, and Peter thought he looked remarkably
like a trapped animal.
“Is that so? Is somebody in the hospital?” Peter
kept his voice light and curious, despite the alarm bells going
off in his head. He had seen that sort of body language in the
courtroom countless times—the silent signals of a man hopelessly
guilty and desperately trying to hide that fact.
“No…no, nobody’s in the hospital.” He continued
fidgeting with his tie. “It’s not…it’s not
that kind of emergency.”
“I see. How much time do you need off?”
“A…a couple of days…” Justin nodded quickly.
“Yeah, a couple of days should be enough.”
“Really? So it’s just a minor emergency? Nobody died
or anything?”
The doors opened, depositing them in the parking garage. Peter
walked the short distance to his Mercedes, Justin following
just a few feet behind.
Justin switched tactics now, as if trying to squirm away from
the trap Peter was laying. “Look, Mr. Gourd, if you don’t
want to give me the time off, I understand…”
“Have you ever been to Farmer’s Beach?” Peter
interrupted, catching Justin off-guard.
“Um, once or twice.”
“That’s where I’m heading. Right now, in fact.
It’s really a beautiful place. Most of it’s privately
owned, so there are no crowds. I don’t get up there as
much as I like to. I own a house there. Did you know that?”
Peter smiled, waiting for Justin’s response.
“Oh, really?” His voice cracked on the last syllable
of really. He coughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t
know that.”
Peter waited a beat, finally catching and holding Justin’s
eyes. He allowed the silence to stretch between them, until
he thought Justin would snap. “Anyway, I guess you can
take a few days, since I won’t be around…”
Justin held up his hand, backing away from him quickly. “You
know, on second thought, I can’t afford to lose the hours.
Thanks though.”
“You’re sure? I mean, if it’s an emergency…”
“I’m sure, I’m sure. Have a good vacation.”
Justin sent him one last, baffled look before hurrying back
to the elevator. Peter frowned, watching him go, his suspicions
all but confirmed.
“What’s going on here, Emily?” he muttered as
he settled in his car. “What’s going on?”
