by Mary Campisi
“I do hope you think of her as more than an asset to boost your company’s net worth.” She had him right where she wanted him; Connor Pendleton and his family were always about bottom line first, emotions second.
“Of course not, but she does have the uncanny ability to get my clients talking. They all love her, even the difficult ones.” He paused. “Should I head to New York and visit her?”
“No! You can’t rush her.” Of course, that wasn’t the real reason to keep him away from New York. Gloria did not want him anywhere near Magdalena and the secrets that could tarnish the Blacksworth name. How long would it take before he learned of Miriam Desantro, and worse, her daughter? Charles’s memory must be preserved, but of course it was more than that, much more. Gloria was not going to let that scandal destroy the image she’d spent years creating: a loving wife with a devoted husband and daughter. A perfect family.
“How do you see this playing out?”
“Give her a little time. She’s filled with so many emotions right now and she needs space to figure them out.” Gloria reached across the table and patted his tanned hand. “Once she does, she’ll come home and you’ll be waiting for her.”
“I’m not a patient man. I don’t wait for things to happen,” he paused, met her gaze with will and determination. “I make them happen. I might be able to convince Christine to end the charade of a marriage if I can see her face-to-face.”
Not in Magdalena. She had to divert his plan while there was still time. “I spoke with Christine yesterday and she indicated the last thing she wants is for anyone to tell her ‘I told you so’. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything other than offer support. If you show up there, she’ll think we plotted against her and Nathan Desantro, and that could actually bring them back together.” She paused long enough to let the lie permeate his brain. “Don’t you think?”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his strong jaw and once again Gloria imagined the beautiful children he and Christine would have. Two was a nice number. A boy and a girl. “I’ll have to think about that.”
“Please do.” She sighed and lifted her champagne glass. “Life has a funny way of correcting itself, evening out the rough edges and changing course when we least expect it. If we’re prepared and vigilant, we won’t miss the opportunity, fleeting as it may be.” She sipped her drink and considered how things would change over the next few months. By Christmas, there could be a pending engagement, by next spring, a wedding. “You and Christine are meant to be together, and while I stopped believing in fairytales long ago, I do believe in creating destiny.” Her lips pulled into a smile of assurance and knowing. “You’ll see.”
The luncheon continued with more champagne and a vigilant Armand anticipating her every need. Amazing what fear could do to make a person more agreeable. Last year’s fall on the steps of The Presidio had not resulted in a lawsuit or even the threat of one, but the fact that it could happen elevated Gloria’s status at the restaurant to one who must be treated with the utmost care and respect. It was quite enjoyable to wield such power without having to actually use it, and there was that other tidbit that elicited equal joy: her presence had driven Harry Blacksworth from his favorite restaurant. He’d loved the place, visited it often, which was why she’d made a point of showing up when she thought he might be there and force him to suffer through Armand’s solicitous behavior toward her. It was a small victory for the years of antagonizing he’d caused her, but it did give her pleasure. Oh, he’d gone and bought a restaurant and handed it over to that little piece he was obsessed with, but it wasn’t The Presidio. That was her turf.
Gloria arrived home in a delightful mood. This Christmas would not be like the last one, filled with elaborate festivities, scrumptious meals, and gifts, but no one to call family. This Christmas would be different because Christine would be home in Chicago, where she belonged. The knowledge spread through Gloria, making her almost giddy. Perhaps she should start making a guest list for her annual Christmas party. It might be sweltering outside, but one could never begin preparations soon enough.
Gloria tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and called out, “Elissa?” The girl had begun staying later to take over some of the other duties that had belonged to another servant who quit when Gloria refused to give her three weeks off to visit family in Italy. No one understood that employees had responsibilities to an employer. Businesses were run on sound decision-making and there were tough calls that had to be made. Why did people believe that just because they asked nicely, the request would be granted? That was not life. Hadn’t she been a good wife for years, reworking her daily existence to accommodate her husband? And for what? He’d grown more distant by the month until finally, she’d lashed out and taken action by having an affair with his brother. What a horrible, painful, and unforgiveable mistake that had been! Charles had never known the man she slept with was Harry, but it hadn’t mattered because he withdrew from her as surely as if he’d divorced her, and eventually, turned to that woman.
“Mrs. Blacksworth? You were looking for me?”
The girl smiled, her youth and beauty making her plain white uniform glow. “Yes, I was. Tomorrow morning, I want you to move all of the orchids from the bedroom they’re in and place them in the one next to it. Then wipe down the walls, clean the blinds, change the sheets. Everything.” The orchids had survived all of these months and so had Gloria.
“Is it your daughter, Mrs. Blacksworth? Is she coming home?”
Gloria had fired a servant for mentioning Christine’s name, but that was when desperation had taken hold and she’d worried she might never see her daughter again. Desperation and worry had fled a few days ago with Natalie Servetti and been replaced with confidence and certainty. Christine would be home soon. Life would return to its new normal, without Charles, but it would be more bearable because her daughter would be here with her, forging a relationship where she belonged. Gloria smiled and did not attempt to hide the joy simmering inside. “Yes, Christine’s coming home.”
***
Christine pulled The Wall Street Journal from her purse and spread it on the tan Formica table at Lina’s Café. She’d ordered a toasted cheese sandwich and if she kept that down, she was going for the coconut cream pie in the glass case by the register. It had been three days since she and Nate spent the night together and though no one had mentioned it, especially Nate, she’d been able to think of little else. When she’d fallen apart and cried, he’d held her, whispered soothing words in her ear, and stroked her back until she fell asleep. In the morning he was gone, nothing but a note on his pillow that said I hope you feel better. I’m thinking of you. No pressure, no demands.
There were still no answers as to what happened that night between Nate and Natalie Servetti, and maybe there never would be. Maybe it really was about blind faith and trust in the person you loved. Oh, but that left a person open to such pain and heartache. Betrayal even. People didn’t always survive it. Could Nate betray her? Her heart told her no while logic demanded proof. This time, her heart was going to win. After lunch, she’d head back to the office and work on a strategy that would involve being at Nate’s by dinner and telling him about the baby tonight.
“Christine?”
She looked up, startled to see Connor Pendleton standing beside her, his blonde good looks dwarfing the table. “Connor? What are you doing here?”
He flashed a smile and slid into the booth across from her. “I missed you.” The smile spread, pulled out two dimples, and made his eyes sparkle. “And I thought why not visit the place that stole you from me?”
What was he talking about and why was he really here? “That’s not exactly what happened.” She’d broken up with him because they wanted different things in life and coming to Magdalena made her realize that.
He shrugged. “We all remember things differently.” He glanced around the small café, his gaze landing on the gray-haired waitress Christine liked to chat with during lunch. Her name was
Phyllis, a widow with five grandchildren, and a Pomeranian-mix named Belle. “I prefer to think a place rather than a person pulled you away.”
Connor would think that because he hated being bested by anyone in business or in his personal life. He would never consider that he might be the problem. His gaze swung back to hers and he frowned. “I’m not seeing anything here that has the hum of Chicago. Is it the coffee? The air? Or do they have the freshest water this side of the Mississippi? What is it, Christine?”
How could she possibly explain it to him? “It’s a different way of life: calmer, slower paced, more centered.”
“And you like that?” She might as well have told him she liked watching water fill in a bathtub. The wrinkled brow and puzzled expression told her he didn’t get it. His next words proved it. “Are you saying you actually enjoy a place that doesn’t even have a major hotel chain or a five-star restaurant?”
Before she could answer, Phyllis slid Christine’s plate in front of her and plopped a stack of napkins in the middle of the table. “There you go, hon. Anything for you, darlin’?” she asked, eyeing Connor with a combination of interest and humor.
He flipped open the menu and scanned the right side. “I’ll have a turkey burger, wheat bun, light on the mayo, extra red onion, lettuce, and a tomato. Can I have a side salad with that? No cheese, and bring the oil and vinegar. And an iced tea, as long as it isn’t sweetened.”
Phyllis snapped her gum and nodded. “Sure. Anything else?”
Connor had never been good at detecting sarcasm and Phyllis had just unloaded a deep-fryer basket of it on him. “No, I think that will do it.”
“Great.” She nodded her gray head and turned away, but not before she threw Christine a look at that said, “Darlin’, you have got to be kidding.”
Christine offered half of her toasted cheese sandwich to Connor and when he shook his head, she squirted ketchup on her plate and dipped the sandwich in it. She and Lily made these at night sometimes and always dipped them in ketchup. “Connor, how did you know where to find me?”
He cleared his throat. “You mean the restaurant?” Long pause. “Or the town?”
“Actually, both.”
He cleared his throat again, a habit he employed when he was trying to avoid a question or prolong an answer. “It wasn’t hard to find your office. The first person I asked knew who you were, where you worked, even what kind of car you drove. That’s just a little too friendly for me.” He shook his head and said, “You would really write, ‘Gone to lunch at Lina’s, back at 1:30’.”
It sounded ridiculous when he said it, but when Pop suggested she make a sign informing prospective clients of her whereabouts, it had made perfect sense. The town prided itself on unity and closeness, and this had been her way of telling them she wanted to be one of them. Whether she’d succeeded or not remained to be seen. “It’s a small town. I like to be available.”
Connor glanced around the café, taking in the customers. It was mostly gray-haired senior citizens dressed in cotton and elastic, their sneakers white, shoelaces double-tied. She recognized many of them from church, the grocery store, the post office. There was Violet Peterson in the third booth with a man some said had been her high school sweetheart and now, sixty years later, had regained that title. And Patch McGregor, a scratch golfer at seventy-two, who walked five miles a day and had never had a cup of coffee.
Aside from the seniors, there were young mothers attempting to feed children whose tiny fists pounded on the tray tops of highchairs. Christine recognized Tammi Reed and Rhonda Brunelli, two of the women she’d helped work on reducing debt a few weeks ago. A smattering of “business people”, dubbed such because they were not dressed in jeans and happened to have a newspaper in front of them, sat at the counter. One looked an awful lot like Dr. Pickering, the town optometrist. Miriam said he had seven children, all of them home-schooled.
“What are you doing here?”
“Huh?” Christine dragged her gaze from the man she thought was Dr. Pickering. “What?”
“What are you doing in this godforsaken town?” He leaned toward her, lowered his voice. “You don’t belong here.”
“It’s my home now.” It was her home; she did belong here.
“Christine.” His eyes filled with what could only be pity. “This isn’t for you. None of it. Where are the lights, the big city, the fancy parties? Where’s the brain stimulation? I’m not seeing it here.”
“Connor,” she enunciated his name like she used to when she had something important to say and he wasn’t listening. “This is my home now. I like it here.” His expression said he didn’t believe her, but before he could tell her so, the waitress delivered his lunch, which gave her a five-second head start on her next question. “You haven’t told me how you knew I was here in Magdalena.”
He shrugged. “The art of the good business deal is knowing the questions to ask and how to get the answers.” A slow blush seeped up his neck, settled on his cheeks.
“Meaning?” What had he done?
“I paid a visit to your company, chummed up with Harry’s secretary, and all it took was a smile and lunch for her to spill that you were here. I don’t even think she realized what she said.”
“You used Belinda?”
He removed the top of his bun, poked beneath the lettuce with his fork. “I think they put relish on this.”
“Connor. You used her, didn’t you?”
“I like to think of it as information gathering. Your mother didn’t want me to come, but you know I’m not a patient person. When I decide on something, I don’t want to waste time waiting.” He picked up his knife and scraped bits of relish from the turkey burger. “This is definitely relish.”
“What does my mother have to do with this?” He’d bitten into his sandwich and took his time chewing—to come up with a story, no doubt.
“Look, I heard about you and,” he paused, “that guy you married. Your mother said things weren’t working out and it looked like you’d be heading back to Chicago before Christmas.”
“What? Why would she say that?” Why would she say that? Did Gloria have spies in Magdalena watching her every move so she could plot and plan a way to break up her marriage? A rush of anxiety pulsed through her, settled in her gut. Was Gloria behind Natalie Servetti’s deeds and her disappearance? Good Lord, was she capable of that? Had Nate been telling her the truth all along?
“Christine, you’ve got to know how I feel about you. Gloria is only the facilitator, so don’t blame her.”
“Don’t blame her? She’s butting into my life, Connor. Did you hear me? My life, not hers, and she had no right to tell you anything about my marriage.”
“Was she wrong?” His words dared her to refute it.
“Yes, she’s wrong.” Christine pushed her plate away, the half-eaten sandwich saturated in ketchup. “I’m married to Nate. I love him, Connor, do you hear me?”
He stared at her as though she hadn’t just spread her heart on the table. “That’s emotion speaking, not logic and common sense. You and Desantro have nothing in common. He’s a loser who will drag you down with him. Cut him loose now and team up with me.” His lips pulled into a bright smile. “We’ll own the world.”
“Do you hear yourself?” How had she ever considered marrying him?
“What? It’s the truth.”
“I don’t know what my mother told you, but she’s wrong.” Hadn’t she always been wrong, manipulating people and events to achieve the reality she wanted, even if it wasn’t true? “You’ve wasted your time; I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with my husband.” She had to find Nate now and tell him Gloria was somehow mixed up in the whole Servetti mess. “Don’t contact me again.”
***
Small towns had their secrets and they held them close, but there was a hell of a lot of information they offered up for public consumption. Betty was big on this, jabbered on and on every day about one thing or another, until Nate had to
close his door or risk a headache. Jack said Betty was like this because she lived alone with her two dogs and had to use up her daily word quota. She talks to those dang dogs, but one-sided conversations don’t yield much in the way of burning up your daily word allotment. She certainly worked on using it up when she was at the office. Damn, but that woman could talk.
Today, however, Nate was glad Betty was a busybody, glad she’d taken it upon herself to rush back from Lina’s Café and tell him what she’d seen: Christine having lunch with a very handsome, very citified, blond-haired businessman. It was a bit curious since Nate knew everyone in town and Magdalena wasn’t actually a “passing through” kind of place. Betty was more intrigued than he was.
“He was a looker, Nate, all tanned and dapper in that fancy suit of his. I tried to stay incognito so I could get a better feel about him, but dang, I just don’t know who he was. Maybe you can call Phyllis at the café and see if the man charged lunch on a credit card. You can get him that way, but he probably walks around with a roll of hundreds in his pocket. Looks the type.” She’d been on her way out of his office when she stopped and said, “And that was some car he had. A Mercedes. Black. Illinois plates.”
That’s when Nate knew the man was Christine’s ex-fiancé. What the hell was Connor Pendleton doing here? He’d hopped in his truck and barreled down the road toward Lina’s, pulling in just as Pendleton opened his car door. Betty was right; that was some car. Nate slammed his truck door and called out, “You Connor Pendleton?”
The man turned and faced him. “I am.” Confusion gave way to understanding and his gaze narrowed, his jaw tensed. “Nathan Desantro.”
“That’s right.” Nate shoved his hands in his jeans pockets to fight the urge to punch Pendleton’s pretty-boy face. “What are you doing here?”
The jerk stared at him as if annoyed by the question. “Isn’t it obvious? I came to see Christine.”
Let him be annoyed, because if Nate didn’t have answers that made sense soon, this guy was going to learn what annoyed really meant. “It’s not obvious or I wouldn’t have asked. I’m wondering why you’d come from Chicago to see my wife.”
