Letters to Caroline (The Talmadge Sisters Book 1)

by Barbara McMahon

  "What do Michelle and Abby think about this?"

  "I didn't tell them. There's the possibility that Eugenia was merely delirious and didn't know what she was saying. Maybe she was hallucinating. I don't know. The first time she said she'd fixed it so he had to leave, I really thought that's what it was a delusion. But she repeated it over and over, so I began to think maybe it wasn't just rambling, but the past coming alive for her."

  "And if you don't find anything?" he asked.

  "If I can't find anything in her papers, I'll look farther afield, see if anyone in town remembers that far back."

  "You should hire a private detective to find out."

  She shook her head, smiling in embarrassment. "It's not that big a deal. I don't need to find the man, just discover if he left or if Eugenia drove him away. It's been twenty-three years. If he hasn't tried to contact us after all this time, I guess he doesn't want to see me or my sisters. But I'd like to know what really happened back then."

  "It won't change things. He'll still be gone."

  "It could change how I feel about him," she said slowly. "All my life I've felt abandoned. Maybe I wasn't."

  "You realize it is probably a futile effort?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  Against all logic, he spoke, "I'll help you look, as long as I'm here."

  Brandon wondered why he kept postponing his departure. It had nothing to do with how she felt when he kissed her. Nothing to do with the passion he felt in her. He wasn't even sure why he'd given in to impulse to kiss her, except she'd been standing there and he hadn't been able to resist.

  It changed nothing.

  They'd had seven glorious months together. When their happiness ended with her miscarriage, she'd packed and left.

  He wouldn't leave himself open to such desolation again. Once he obtained the divorce, he had no immediate plans to remarry. In the morning, he'd give her the papers.

  Or, he could stay through the weekend. Today was Thursday, it'd only be three more days until Monday. He could stay and help Caroline look through her grandmother's papers to see if the old woman had indeed been instrumental in driving away her father.

  Stay and prove to himself that he was over her.

  "Why would she do such a thing?" he asked a minute later, considering the different ramifications.

  "I don't know. I know she wanted my mother to marry into an old Louisiana family. Instead, she ran off with my father. They settled here at Grandmother's insistence, I think."

  Caroline refused to give voice to the hurtful words her grandmother always said, calling her father a no-good, worthless drifter. A child didn't need to hear that about her own father. But her grandmother hadn't been big on psychology for children and forged her own ruthless path.

  "Let's get started," he said, heading for the door.

  Surprised, Caroline looked at him. "I thought you wanted to talk."

  "Later."

  "I don't want you to stay," she said desperately as he stepped closer.

  "And I didn't want you to leave five years ago. Looks like we don't always get what we want. Where do you want to start with Eugenia's papers?"

  Caroline flung open the door and hastened through before Brandon could get too close. Why had he agreed to help her? Distrustful, she glanced at him, keeping her distance.

  "I'll take the help," she said carefully, "but no more kisses."

  She didn't care if she gave herself away, it was too dangerous to have him think he could kiss her whenever he wanted. She wasn't sure she could withstand temptation.

  He smiled sardonically and deliberately took a threatening step closer. "No promises, Caroline. For someone who says she doesn't want any more kisses, you sure responded as if you did."

  "I don't want to discuss it!"

  "Running away again?" he asked softly.

  She shook her head and walked calmly through the foyer to a door at the far end, her heart racing. She'd never admit it, but running seemed the most prudent plan right now!

  "Eugenia used this as her study and office. Any papers she had would most likely be in here."

  Brandon stepped into the doorway and looked around.

  "It shouldn't take too long to go through this." There was a small desk, one old oak file cabinet and several shelves of books. "However, I doubt you'll find anything from twenty years ago here. There's not enough room to store records for that many years. Would she have put earlier years elsewhere?" he asked.

  "In the attic, I suppose. It covers the entire width of the house. We were never allowed up there to play when we were children. I don't think I've been up there more than a half-dozen times in my whole life."

  "Interesting possibility. Let's eliminate this first, then we'll check that out."

  Caroline glanced at her watch. "It'll be dinnertime soon. Rosalie isn't due back until tomorrow. Want me to fix us sandwiches or something?"

  "We could order in a pizza," he said, already opening the top drawer of the polished desk.

  For a moment another time flashed before her eyes. Ordering pizza had been their one extravagance when they'd been married. One they indulged in as frequently as their budget would allow. Memories bubbled up, splashed over. She hugged herself and looked around. She hadn't had a pizza in years.

  Yet, it obviously meant nothing to Brandon. Unaware he'd said anything disturbing, he withdrew a stack of papers and began to sort them.

  Shaking off her melancholy, Caroline went to the phone and dialed. She had to put things into perspective. They were married, yet had lived apart for far longer than they'd lived together. They had their own lives now. And no room for memories of their time together.

  In fact, she was somewhat surprised Brandon had never filed for divorce. She knew why she hadn't, but why hadn't he? She opened her mouth to ask him, and snapped it shut.

  Her life was in enough turmoil right now, the last thing she needed was further discussion on why their marriage ended. And when to finalize the demise.

  Maybe once she learned about her father, she could move on. And if that meant legally ending their marriage, she'd definitely consider it.

  But what if Brandon didn't want to end it, a small voice whispered. What if he had hopes she'd return? What if his kiss had been to prove to her they still belonged together?

  Nonsense! It was time to forget the past and concentrate on the future—and see if she could discover the truth about her father.

  Why had that thought even crept up? When she'd needed him most after losing the baby, he'd been conspicuously missing. She'd left and he hadn't tried to contact her, hadn't followed to bring her home.

  If he'd cared at all, he'd at least phoned her.

  "Pizza will be here in a half hour. What are you doing?" she said, placing the phone receiver back in its cradle.

  "I'm sorting business papers from personal correspondence or anything that looks like it might be personal," he said, not even looking up.

  Caroline pulled a drawer from the desk and took it to a chair placing it on her lap as she sat. Soon only the sound of ruffling paper filled the room.

  Once she had an idea how long it would take to clear out the house, she'd prepare it for the sale. In a few weeks, a couple of months at the most, the albatross would be gone and she'd have nothing tying her to Baton Rouge.

  For a moment, she wondered if she should consider moving to New Orleans to be near Abby and Michelle. But the familiar ache vetoed that idea. She wasn't sure she'd ever want to return to the Crescent City. New Orleans was where she and Brandon had lived. And where their unborn baby had died.

  The memories were too painful. There were some things she couldn't do.

  When the pizza arrived, Caroline brought the box, plates and napkins into the study. Brandon stood, scooped up two pieces and headed for the door. "I'll be back," he said cryptically and kept walking.

  Caroline nibbled at a slice, wondering where he was going. She heard his car, then silence.

  At
least it made eating easier. She was too aware of the man whenever he was near. Too aware of the potent feelings that continued to dance along her nerves.

  She should be focusing on her quest, searching for an answer.

  Instead she'd watched Brandon as he quickly scanned papers and placed them in different piles. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead in disarray as he'd run his fingers through it in the course of the afternoon. She'd longed to brush it back. Longed to ask him what he'd been doing for the last five years.

  And to ask if he ever thought about her.

  Chapter Three

  Daydreams aren't worth the paper they're written on, Eugenia had often said. Caroline could hear her grandmother's voice echoing on the night breeze. And daydreams about Brandon sweeping her off her feet and demanding that she return to him were as worthless as any. She must still be tired to permit such foolishness, Caroline thought.

  It was fully dark by the time Brandon returned. Caroline watched from the wicker rocking chair on the veranda. The temperature had dropped a few degrees with the setting sun. A light breeze blew from the river, cooling things even more. She'd skimmed as many papers as she could find in the study until her eyes had become bleary.

  Seeking solace, she'd come to sit in the dark on the veranda where she could smell the lingering scent of sweet jasmine and hear the gentle murmur from the Mississippi River.

  And allow her imagination free rein—just this once.

  She watched as Brandon pulled up before the house and got out, reaching back inside the car for numerous bags and packages and a slim briefcase. He started for the door. Caroline knew the moment he saw her—he was almost even with her.

  "I thought you'd left," she said.

  He walked over and sank down on a matching rocker beside her, placing the bags and packages on the veranda.

  "I didn't come prepared to stay. I had one clean shirt in the car, but if we're going to be plowing through dusty boxes in your attic, I wanted something more casual than an Armani suit."

  She nodded, noting the quiet pride when he mentioned his suit.

  He'd succeeded, just as he'd always wanted. Did it make him happy she wondered. Did he ever think about what they'd started building together? Their apartment had been tiny, but she'd done her best to make it cozy for them. They rarely could afford to eat out—which was why pizza was considered a treat back then.

  Did you ever think about me after you left? he'd asked.

  She could have answered his question a thousand times over. Which still wouldn't have conveyed how often she'd thought about him. She'd thought about him endlessly when she'd first returned home. Remembered every day they'd spent together. She'd expected him to come to get her, to demand she return, to insist her place was with him, that he couldn't live without her. She'd expected him to prove to her that he loved her far more than business. And once the initial hurt had faded, that they could build a future together.

  But there'd been nothing. No calls, no letters, no visits.

  She suspected that he'd been secretly relieved to be able to discard his wife so easily. Didn't men want children to carry on? And she hadn't been able to provide that.

  "I'm sorry," she said in a low voice, the old pain surging to the forefront.

  "For what? I volunteered to stay. At least through the weekend."

  "For losing our baby," she whispered. "I know you blamed me."

  "What?" He sounded shocked. "Caroline, I never blamed you for losing the baby."

  "It's all right, you know. I blame myself," she said.

  "No. Oh, honey, miscarriages happen. If anything—I blamed myself. If we hadn't had to live in that apartment where you had to walk up two flights of stairs every day, maybe you wouldn't have lost the baby. If I'd been a better husband, I could have provided better for you, for the baby."

  "Don't say that. It's not true. Exercise is good for pregnant women. It wasn't your fault."

  Caroline was stunned at Brandon's words. He'd blamed himself?

  "It sure felt as if it were my fault at the time. But as the years have passed, I wonder if there is any fault? Things like that happen. They're tragic, but not always avoidable. Can you look at any one thing and say it caused the miscarriage?"

  She shook her head, blinking against sudden tears. She was through crying. She'd cried a river's worth over the years.

  Yet the old pain never went completely away. She would always long for her precious baby.

  His admission that he'd blamed himself, that he didn't hold her responsible, eased the horrible guilt she felt.

  Maybe, it was the way things were meant to be. She'd loved him deeply, longed to have his children, to build a loving and happy family with Brandon. And failed.

  She looked over at him though he was hard to see in the darkness. His silhouette stood out against the soft illumination spilling from the windows. Her heart skipped a beat and began to pound. Surreptitiously rubbing her damp palms against her skirt, she cleared her throat. It was easier to talk to him in the dark. It always had been.

  "I want to say that I appreciate your staying after all. Truth to tell, I wasn't too excited about being here by myself tonight. I don't believe I've ever stayed in the house alone. Grandmother was always here. And she usually had servants who lived in as well. It's only in recent years that she made do with dailies."

  Brandon gazed out over the dark lawn, relaxing in the rocker. In the distance, he could see the glimmer of a light from the neighbor's house. The nearest neighbors weren't close. Caroline would have been all alone if he hadn't remained. Yet her admission caught him by surprise.

  "Brandon?" she said.

  "Yes?" Even her voice sounded achingly familiar in the dark. She'd loved to talk once they were in bed. She said the cloak of darkness made it easier to share her thoughts and feelings. He remembered he'd shared more with her than anyone else in his life.

  In the end, it hadn't been enough.

  "I thought about you after I left." She gave a ghost of a laugh. "It's dumb, but I really thought you'd come after me and tell me to come ho—back."

  "Sorry I wasn't fast enough," he said tightly, reaching down to gather his bags and briefcase. "I'll take these in. Did you finish reviewing the papers in the study?"

  "What do you mean, not fast enough?" she asked.

  "Nothing. What about the papers?"

  "I glanced at them. Nothing at all about my parents. I'll check in her bedroom in the morning and see if there's anything there. After that, we can tackle the attic."

  "Good night, then."

  "Didn't you want to talk to me? Abby and Michelle are gone."

  He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not tonight. I need to call my secretary and find out what's happened during the last two days at the office."

  "Of course, business always comes first. Don't let me keep you."

  Caroline sat on the veranda until quite late. The monotonous creak of the rocker soothed her. She and Brandon hadn't said much, but more had been revealed this evening than during all the weeks after the loss of their precious baby. She placed her hand over her stomach as if she could still feel that small presence. She'd miscarried in the fourth month. Just a week or two after she'd first felt the flutter of life. One terrifying afternoon, she'd lost their future.

  Brandon rushed to her side from work and at first seemed as devastated as she felt.

  But by the next day, he was back at work, staying longer than ever before. Even going into the office on the weekends.

  When she needed love and comfort the most, he closed himself off from her—finding his own solace in work. Or maybe he'd always found that special something with his job and turned to it when times got rough.

  Shivering slightly in the warm night, Caroline decided it was Brandon's presence that caused the old memories to flood. Memories made bittersweet with the passage of years.

  Why was he still here? If he was staying from some misguided sense of responsibility, she'd quickly a
bsolve him of the need. And if in the search they discovered her father hadn't left of his own volition, it might reaffirm her faith in men. Maybe.

  What would reaffirm her faith in Brandon?

  When Caroline entered the kitchen the next morning, her grandmother's longtime cook, Rosalie, was back—singing a gospel hymn at the top of her voice as she scrambled eggs. Brandon stood near the back door, sipping a cup of coffee as he gazed over the shaggy yard. He hadn't heard her enter over Rosalie's singing and Caroline took a moment to study him.

  The pullover shirt he wore displayed his chest and shoulders to advantage. Broader and more muscular than she remembered, she wondered if he worked out or if her memory was just faulty. Though how she could have forgotten something like that, she couldn't imagine. His hair fell across his forehead and she once again experienced that longing to brush it back, to tangle her fingers in its thickness, re-familiarize herself with its texture.

  Blinking she shook her head, forcing herself to think of the day ahead. The light khaki pants he'd bought wouldn't stay clean long in the dusty attic. She wondered if he'd considered that.

  Her own shorts were old, the sleeveless top long past its prime. Both were perfect for the unseasonably hot weather and rummaging around dusty boxes.

  "Good morning, Miss Caroline. You sleep all right?" Rosalie spotted her and turned her beaming face toward her. "Mr. Brandon's breakfast is ready and I can make your eggs however you want. Plenty of bacon and sausage, biscuits, grits and coffee. You want some orange juice?"

  Brandon turned and looked at Caroline, studying her with his dark eyes. Face-to-face, Caroline realized more than his body had changed. There was no welcome in his expression, no special smile, especially for her. He might as well be a stranger.

  The pang that hit her was unexpected.

  "Just toast and coffee, please," Caroline said, ignoring the hint of disappointment at his lack of greeting. What'd she expected? She wasn't exactly thrilled to be stuck with him either, given the circumstances. Yet she was grateful to have someone to help her search.