Chapter Text
Frosted
by Lucinda
Joyce looked at the papers on her table and smiled. The divorce was over with. She was finally free of Hank and his affairs, his lies to try to hide the affairs, and the need to try to make excuses for their daughters about him and his continual absences. Granted, she had three weeks to vacate the house and find a new place to live, new schools for the girls - a task made harder by Buffy burning down the gym of her last school, but still... This would be better; it had to be.
As long as she could find a place for them. Somewhere free of Hank's memory. Somewhere that she could be happy again.
“Damn it, Hank. Why did you do this to me? Why couldn’t I ever trust you?” Joyce spoke the words, feeling tears burn in her eyes, and shame in her gut. Maybe the real question wasn’t why did Hank cheat, but why had she stayed with him? Why had she put up with it for so long?
The only female secretary that Hank had had for the past fifteen years that she was sure he hadn’t been sleeping with had been Margaret, and that was only because if there had been a Summers affair, Margaret would have picked Joyce over Hank any day. She’d been a rather pretty woman, with delicate bones and beautiful green eyes, and it had felt flattering that she’d flirted with Joyce every time she’d seen her. If she hadn’t been married to Hank, she probably would have taken up the unspoken invitation…
But she’d married Hank. She’d made a promise, and she’d wanted so badly to make things work. Of course, as the years had passed, she’d almost felt like Hank had married her as a career move, someone to have dinner parties and as an excuse why he couldn’t make any promises to his secretaries. Why hadn’t it been Kevin or Jack that had been the guy in her life when the pills had failed her? Why not someone who would have treated her better, even if Hank had shown that unexpected streak of decency to not want any of his children to be born illegitimate? She occasionally wondered what he’d do if he slipped up with one of his secretaries…
She shook her head, trying to crush down the voice that whispered she had a duty to stay with Hank, to let her girls know their father. The voice didn’t sound like her, or like Buffy. She couldn’t quite figure out who the voice reminded her of, but she didn’t like the voice, didn’t like the reminder; didn’t like putting up with Hank’s antics. She refused to put up with any more.
It had been a long time since she'd been happy. Not since her college days, when she'd still been dating around, exploring life. She'd made one of the best friends that she could ask for, despite the fact that she had majored in art, and her friend in business. Business... She had stayed in touch, though not as close as she would have liked. Maybe her friend could help her find a new home, and new schools for her girls? That annoying voice tried to rise again, whispering that Emma had better things to do than waste her time with a divorced woman with no practical skills…
Joyce pushed that whisper down as well. So what if working in an art gallery wasn’t particularly practical? There was a need for art, and when people wanted art, someone had to display and sell it. Why not her? It was fun, enjoyable, and she did quite well with art of all sorts, though she wasn’t much more than a mediocre artist herself. Her friend had always found at least a little time to talk to her in the past.
It didn't take long to flip to the page of her address book, though she'd memorized the number. Her fingers trembled as she dialed, and once again, she wondered why she hadn't listened to her friend's whispered concerns about Hank. It had been like some little switch kept getting thrown, and all her worries would vanish, and she'd be there, swallowing his excuses and apologies again. She still probably wouldn't have married him except that she'd somehow ended up pregnant with Buffy, though she'd been using birth control.
:You’ve reached the office of Ms. Frost, please state your name and business.: The bland voice could only belong to the latest secretary.
"My name is Joyce, and my business is with Ms. Frost. She'll want to speak to me," Joyce replied, her voice sounding far calmer than she actually felt.
: Please hold for a moment.: The secretary's words conveyed a sense that she truly doubted someone as important as Ms. Frost would bother with this presumptuous caller, and there was a sudden rush of classical music.
After several minutes, the music stopped, replaced by a voice that held more warmth than the woman's business contacts would have believed. :Joyce! So lovely to hear from you. Please tell me that jerk hasn't left you crying again. Or maybe one of the girls this time? Your oldest is what, fourteen?:
"Buffy’s fifteen, and if I’ve been crying, it’s only tears of relief. I've got the papers in front of me, signed and everything. It's over," Joyce explained.
:Wonderful,: Emma purred. :Was there an ulterior motive to your call, dear?:
"Apart from taking the moment to say, yes, you were right about him. I can't believe it didn't occur to me sooner, before it was too late, before Buffy, before... everything?” Joyce sighed, resting her hand on her head. “I was hoping that you might be able to help me find a place to move to. I'm now officially divorced, as of a half hour ago, but I need to be out of the house in three weeks or less, with the girls in school. The whole thing is a bit overwhelming."
:I've got a very good idea why you didn't realize, and this isn't the time for that discussion.: Emma's voice didn't quite cover her anger. :If you wouldn't mind my help, I can find you a place to stay, and schools for your girls. We can just put your oldest in the Academy, maybe both of them.:
"Buffy would do terrible in a military environment," Joyce murmured, trying not to laugh at the image of her rebellious cheerleader confronted with a drill sergeant. She'd probably start asking him about proper baton grips and twirls. "But I'd love a bit of help finding a place to live, maybe a job if that's not too much. I've been working in an art gallery, but if I'm moving out of LA, that won't last."
Emma's laughter was a charming trill. :No, I didn't mean a military school, I meant the Frost Academy. That way I could help you keep an eye on her. And how old was Dawn?"
"Ten. It feels like only yesterday, she was just learning to walk, but she's ten almost eleven already. Her birthday’s next month," Joyce mused.
:Hmm... Recently, a group of special students joined the school; they're about Dawn's age. If you think she might be able to keep up... They could use a bit of outside challenge.:
"Outside challenge? Gifted twins, or something?" Joyce asked.
:Quintuplets, actually.: Emma sounded thoughtful. :They could almost be my younger sisters, looking at them. Or clones... I might want to check into that, actually.:
"Remind me to ask you more about your interesting life after college sometimes," Joyce drawled. "I think Dawn could cope."
:Delightful. I'll make some arrangements.: Emma stated, her tone a statement that things would happen.
end part 1.