She cocked her head to one side and looked at him with some surprise. "It was scary at first. I had no business experience. My major in college was fine arts—which I never finished, as you know."
"I thought you might have gone back to college."
"No."
She looked back at the papers in her hand not wanting him to know how listless she'd felt for those first few months. She'd had no energy, no enthusiasm. Just making it through the day had been almost more than she could manage. College had been the farthest thing from her mind. Jody's invitation had been listlessly accepted. But once there, she'd made an effort to be a good guest and things improved from that.
"I expect you're also a success because of your determination," Brandon said, frowning as he tossed another small stack of papers into the trash. "With your background you could suggest how people would furnish their new houses and make it a home. Have them see the possibilities through your eyes."
Caroline felt a touch of warmth at his unexpected compliment. "The homes I sell are a far cry from our apartment. You don't still live there, do you?"
He looked at her. "No. It was too empty after you left. I have a place overlooking the river. And even though I had a professional decorator furnish it, it's not as warm and welcoming as our place was. You really made it a home."
"That's nice of you to say, Brandon. I never knew," Caroline said sadly.
She wished that she'd known he felt that way when they'd been together. She'd tried so hard to make their apartment a refuge for them. She'd loved it herself, but never realized how he felt about it.
"Where do you live now?" she asked softly, a remembered fondness for the place sweeping through her. It had been her first home. Her condo now didn't feel the same.
Talmadge Hall never felt like a place of refuge.
"I live in the Arts District. Have a place that overlooks the river."
"Much more suitable to your life-style, I'm sure," she said stiffly.
Another indication of his success and of how far he'd gone in his quest to move up. For a moment, she wondered what his place looked like. Sleek and modern, she'd bet. With black and gray and chrome.
Sighing softly, she looked at the bottom of the box. They were through the entire year's papers and found no mention of her father or mother.
"Nothing," she said, looking at the dust that covered her shorts, rubbing the grime on her hands.
"Nothing in that year, let's try the earlier one. When exactly did your father leave?"
"I don't know. I was so little. Sometime before Abby was born, but I couldn't tell you exactly when."
They opened the box with papers from twenty-four years ago, and began to delve into it.
"Where do you live now, Caroline?" Brandon asked.
"Actually though I work in Dallas, I live in Fort Worth. A bit less expensive and yet really friendly. I just bought my condo last year.”
"Your grandmother didn't mind you moving to Dallas?"
"Actually, she did. I went to visit Jody and then I never came back. You know how crucial appearances were to her. She thought it beneath her granddaughter to work. How she expected each of us to make a living without working is beyond me."
He remembered. He expected Eugenia had planned on rich husbands for her granddaughters. Let the man support them in the style Eugenia so adored. He hadn't fit Eugenia's ideal husband for one of her granddaughters. He was older now and a bit wiser.
"Did Eugenia come from a poor background? Maybe that's why money and class distinction were so important to her."
"Is that why you find it important?" she asked.
He raised his eyes until he stared into hers. "I wanted more than what I started with. Doesn't everyone want to better himself?"
"Maybe, but that's no reason to ignore your family or fight against what's important to them."
"Are we talking about Eugenia or me?"
She shrugged.
"I didn't marry you for money or position."
"Why did you marry me?" she asked, holding her breath for the answer.
"It seemed the thing to do at the time," he replied, holding her gaze with his own. Wondering again, why she'd married him. As an escape from her grandmother's domination?
"What about love?" she asked so softly, he almost missed the words.
"Love's an illusion, a transitory emotion best left to teenagers and dead poets."
For a long moment, she couldn't speak. Her throat ached. She felt the sting of tears behind her lids. The sadness of the years weighed her down. They'd had so much love when they'd started out, how could it ever have gone so wrong?
She licked her lips and looked away. "I should have figured it out then, huh? Especially when you were gone all the time," she said at last.
"Why do you think I worked such long hours? Went without so we could save money to get ahead? I wanted the best for you and instead was only able to give you a third-floor walk-up apartment that contributed to the death of our baby."
"No! I told you last night that had nothing to do with it."
Caroline wanted to say something more about the past, but couldn't find the words. The loss was too great. The longing was something she constantly lived with. She couldn't talk about it.
"Miss Caroline?" Rosalie appeared in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"The appraiser is here."
"I'll be right there."
Scrambling up, she wiped her dusty hands on her shorts, knowing she must look a mess. Well, she wasn't out to impress anyone. She glanced at Brandon and then looked away. Thankful for the interruption, she hurried downstairs.
Brandon watched her go and reluctantly returned to sorting. He needed to focus on his reason for being here and not get sidetracked.
Caroline had become even more beautiful over the years, maturing into a lovely woman. The hint of sadness and mystery in her eyes, her graceful walk, the elegant way she moved her hands when talking only captivated him more.
He didn't wish to be captivated. Once he'd loved her more than life itself. He'd thought she hung the stars. Only to find at the first sign of trouble, she scooted back home and turned her back on him, on that love. On their future.
It proved difficult to concentrate on the task at hand when he had a million questions he wanted to fire off. The primary one being why she hadn't given them a second chance?
Or were the old suspicions true? Had she seen him as an escape from Eugenia only to decide the change wasn't worth the price?
Restless with the pointless questions, he rose and went back to the attic. They'd be finished with that second box in no time. He brought down two more. He thought it extremely unlikely Caroline would find anything incriminating in her grandmother's papers, but he was willing to go along with her for a day or two more. By Sunday, he had to get her signature and head back for New Orleans. His company would only run itself for so long.
Caroline returned a few minutes later, frowning. "He said it may take weeks to get everything appraised. And when I mentioned the furniture in the attic, he upped it by another week."
"Is there any rush?"
She shrugged. "I thought a couple of weeks would see everything wrapped up. Then I could get back to my normal life."
"What did you and your sisters decide about the furnishings? Are you going to sell everything with the house?"
"Not everything. But if a buyer wants what we don't, they can have it. Abby and Michelle told me which pieces they want. The rest I can leave here temporarily. Some pieces are quite valuable. I may be able to sell them to antique dealers. I expect the house will take some time to sell. There's not much market for a huge old antebellum house with all the upkeep it demands. When it sells, any furniture left unsold can be put in storage until I find buyers."
She sat gingerly near the open box, keeping her distance from Brandon.
"There are some very beautiful antiques. And I can offer the buyer a history of each piece. Eugenia told us about them
often enough."
A soft chirping sounded.
"What's that?" Caroline looked around, puzzled.
"My phone." Brandon reached into his back pocket and brought out his thin cell phone. He swiped and spoke. "Madison."
Betty Jean's voice responded. "I know you said nothing short of an emergency, but we've got a problem with Bendix again. The timing's getting tight."
"Have Samuels handle it and update me when I get in."
"And that will be?"
"Monday."
"For sure, boss? I've rearranged all your appointments and meetings for Monday. Don't stay longer, it'll play havoc with your calendar."
"That's why I pay you the big bucks, to keep things running smoothly."
She laughed. "Right. I'll remind you of the big bucks scenario come raise time. What are you doing there, boss?"
"Right now, sorting through papers from twenty years ago," he said dryly. "I'll see you Monday."
"Do you want interim updates on this situation?"
"Monday."
He ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket.
"I guess we should be glad that's the first time they needed you, huh?" Caroline said dryly.
"I've been in touch since I've been here."
"I'm not surprised. Couldn't let something like a visit interrupt your work, now could we?"
"I run a company, Caroline," he said evenly.
"And it's the most important thing in your life, right?"
"It is now."
She dragged one of the unopened boxes and turned her back to him. He almost smiled at the childish gesture. But her words echoed in the silence.
His work was important. It was the only steadfast certainty. He apparently was not good at relationships—witness his own marriage. But he was outstanding in business endeavors. His rise in the tech industry had been nothing short of meteoric.
Caroline ripped off the old tape and opened the box. This one was from the year her mother died. Quickly she skimmed the pages, sorting, discarding, consciously ignoring the man behind her. She heard the pages ruffle as he worked and fought the temptation to shift her position so she could see him.
Gradually her anger abated. She'd known he was a workaholic from the early days. Why try to fight fate? Brandon was as he was. At one time, she'd supported his dedication, his long hours to build a career. She'd been so proud of him.
So focused was she on denying any interest in Brandon, she almost missed the letter. Only after it was in the discard pile did the words register. She snatched it back. Reading it carefully, she felt the first stirring of enthusiasm.
"Brandon, listen to this," she said excitedly, her momentary pique forgotten.
"It's a letter from—" she turned it over to find a signature "—someone named Edith. Sounds like she was a friend of Eugenia, listen. 'My dear Eugenia. I still am so distressed at Amanda's passing,"' Caroline looked up briefly. "Amanda was my mother."
Brandon nodded. "I remember."
Caroline continued, "'But I suspect you know that. When I think of those three motherless children, I want to weep. And especially because it need not have happened. No matter what you say, I firmly believe your meddling in that marriage was a contributing factor to Amanda's giving up. You were a fool to attempt to play God. She loved Sam and he adored her. The fact he had no money or family background to suit you, was always immaterial. I wonder if your conscience lets you sleep at night."'
Quickly Caroline skimmed ahead. "The rest of the letter is about some mutual friends. Then she ends it as 'your longtime friend, Edith."'
Her eyes shining, Caroline looked up. "That's proof, don't you think, that Eugenia did do something!"
"It could indicate that."
"But what? Did she drive him away or did she just meddle in the marriage until he got fed up and left?" she asked, studying the letter again as if it could provide the answer.
"See if there are any more letters from Edith."
"Grandmother probably severed all ties with the woman after that letter. I'm sure she didn't like being taken to task for her behavior. Odd she kept it, isn't it?"
"Unless the other information in the letter was of importance to her. But I'd say it was odd. Yet she probably never expected you to go through these boxes and discover it."
Caroline nodded in agreement. "And I never would have even thought to do so if she hadn't rambled on as she did before she died. I want to see if I can find anything else."
"You may never discover the entire truth," Brandon said.
She looked out the open French doors, gazing over the garden, the stately oaks green and lush, gray Spanish moss dripping from some of the limbs.
"Still, learning the possibility that my father didn't abandon us shook my world," she began slowly. "I thought one of the truths of my life was that he had. I thought everything my grandmother ever told me was the absolute truth. To find out that was such a monumental lie makes me wonder if other things were lies. And if so, what? But the most important part is that maybe my father didn't leave of his own volition, that he didn't deliberately abandon me. I almost can't imagine how that will affect my view of the world. Of relationships."
She darted a quick glance at him.
"And if you find out he didn't want to leave, what then? He's had years to contact you after your mother died. And never did. Gone is gone."
She shrugged. "He could have been killed, moved across the world. Who knows why he didn't get in touch. Maybe there was something Eugenia held over him to prevent his trying. It almost doesn't matter. Just knowing he didn't leave of his own volition but was driven away is enough. For me."
"And will that be enough for Abby and Michelle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Aren't you curious about the man? Don't you want to know where he is, if he's still alive? What he's been doing these last twenty-three years?"
She thought about it seriously for a long moment. "Yes, I would, I guess. But for now that's not as important as knowing he didn't abandon his children. I might be interested in meeting him, talking to him, finding out what he's been doing all this time. But, the important thing to me, is the knowing."
"You need more facts than any papers your grandmother may have saved," Brandon said.
"What else should I be doing?" she asked.
"You could start with talking to contemporaries of your mother or your grandmother. See if anyone has a clue to what happened. For all you know, the situation was common knowledge twenty some years ago." He stretched his arms overhead, then rotated his shoulders, as if stiff from the work.
"My grandmother never spoke of it. She'd always changed the subject if we ever brought it up. Besides, if it were common knowledge, wouldn't someone have told us before now?" she asked, trying to keep her gaze on his face, but she couldn't help be intrigued by the muscles in his arms and chest as he stretched.
He looked solid and big and formidable. Not the striving young man she'd married. He'd come into his own.
For a moment, she felt the sharp prick of regret that they were no longer together. Did he ever wish that he hadn't turned his back on her and let her go?
Did he see other women?
"Now what?" he asked, looking at her sharply.
"Huh?"
"You have the most peculiar look on your face. What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." She looked down at the letter again.
Brandon stepped across the boxes, dodged the stack of papers now spilling over from the trash and hunkered down beside her. He reached out a finger and tilted her face up to his.
"What?" he asked softly.
"I was wondering if you dated other women," she threw out, amazed at her boldness. It was none of her business.
She was his wife, but they hadn't shared a life since—
"No, I don't date. I'm married, remember? Though, I guess, I'm still surprised that's so."
"What do you mean?"
She tried to ig
nore the spiraling sensation of awareness his touch started. She wished he'd move his hand, yet craved his touch the way a thirsty man in the desert craved water. Gazing into his eyes, she saw the lines around the edges that hadn't been there five years ago and a poignant realization hit her. They were growing older. Life was moving ahead and the once bright dreams they shared no longer had meaning.
"I'd have thought Eugenia would have prevailed upon you to divorce me years ago."
"She tried."
"And?"
Knocking his hand away, Caroline stood and took a couple of steps toward the balcony. Brandon followed. She wanted to turn and run. He was so close she could imagine the edge of her shorts brushed against his khakis. His breath stirred the air around her face. Swallowing hard, she faced him and gave a halfhearted shrug.
"I didn't want a divorce. It was my independent stand against her. She couldn't force me."
"And now?" His voice hardened a bit.
"Miss Caroline, you and your man coming to lunch? I don't want to throw it out," Rosalie called up the stairs.
"We'll be right there," Caroline yelled back, grateful for the interruption.
She didn't want to talk about divorce, or marriage, or anything. She started to leave but Brandon caught her arm.
"We still need to talk, Caroline."
"Maybe, but I have a million things to do now. And Rosalie is the only one left to help out around here. I don't want to alienate her or I'll have to do everything."
"Being a few minutes late to lunch won't alienate her," he said dryly.
She pulled her arm from his grasp and started walking. "Maybe not, but we can talk later."
Caroline did her best to avoid Brandon that afternoon. She called her office. When Brandon made a comment in passing about die-hard business owners, she flushed. She was as involved in her business as he was in his.
But she could put it aside for family, she thought defensively. If she needed to. Wasn't her presence in Talmadge Hall proof?
By dinner, Caroline convinced herself she could spend time with Brandon and discuss whatever he wanted rationally, without becoming emotionally upset.
If given the opportunity, would she consider changing her life? Maybe she and Brandon could still build some kind of marriage. Not the way she first expected, but a different kind of relationship. She had her work now. He had his.
Letters to Caroline (The Talmadge Sisters Book 1) Page 6
