Letters to Caroline (The Talmadge Sisters Book 1)

by Barbara McMahon

  By late Friday morning, Caroline felt like a wire being drawn tighter and tighter. The closer she drove toward New Orleans, the more her emotions began to change. Trepidation filled her.

  She wanted to see Brandon, and her sisters, but was she ready to face New Orleans? She'd been so happy there and so devastated. Memories sprang to mind, lingered. The university, nights studying while Brandon worked beside her. Decorating their apartment on a shoestring budget. The walks she and Brandon took along the Mississippi. Shopping for Christmas gifts. They'd only had one Christmas together.

  Finally she let the memories of their excitement over the baby come to the surface. She'd been thrilled about their coming child. As had Brandon.

  Once again, she savored the memory of his pleasure in the first teddy bear they bought right after they confirmed she was pregnant. He'd wanted to buy a football, but she'd asked him to wait until they at least knew if the baby was a boy or girl.

  She remembered what he said about turning to work to fill the emptiness left by their loss.

  She'd been too young to articulate her needs. She'd expected him to intuitively know she ached with sorrow and make things better for her. But she'd never realized he'd felt the same way. That he'd needed comfort and reassurance, too.

  Was she more mature now? Could she deal better with the vagaries of fate in the future because of the past?

  She sure hoped so.

  The traffic grew heavier, demanding her attention. The old memories were once again relegated to another time.

  Weaving around the area near Canal Street, she located the high-rise in which Brandon's company was housed. Parking was a problem, but she finally found a spot. Checking her watch, she saw it was not quite noon.

  She entered the cavernous lobby and located the building directory. His offices were on the twelfth floor. She headed for the elevators and in only a minute she stepped into the tastefully decorated lobby.

  "May I help you?" The receptionist behind the desk was pretty, blond and young and a perfect image for an up and coming software firm.

  "I'm here to see Brandon Madison," Caroline said with a smile.

  "Is he expecting you?"

  "Yes."

  "Whom shall I say?"

  "His wife." She couldn't help the pride in her voice.

  Caroline hadn't said the words aloud in years.

  But they felt right.

  Was she already committed to making an attempt to restart their marriage?

  Or was it for the sheer pleasure of seeing the woman's eyes widen, her expression change.

  Before the receptionist could notify Brandon, he strode into the lobby from the hall to the left.

  "Caroline," he said.

  An imp of mischief, spurred from the receptionist's surprise, had Caroline reach up and offer a kiss.

  "Hello, darling."

  "I see you got here safely," he said, not by a flicker of his expression showing any surprise at her greeting.

  She tucked her hand into his arm and smiled up at him.

  "Of course, though I'd forgotten how awful the traffic is in this city. Do we have time for you to show me around?"

  He nodded and started back down the hall.

  "Care to share with me what game you're playing now?" he asked once they were out of the reception area.

  She looked up at him with feigned innocence. "Why, Brandon, no games. Can't a wife greet her husband?"

  "Right."

  He walked straight through his secretary's area without saying a word—even when the woman looked up expectantly. Pulling Caroline into his office, he shut the door, leaned against it and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was all she remembered—hot and exciting.

  Forgetting everything but the pleasure his kiss brought, she wondered if they could skip lunch?

  Brandon deepened the kiss. One touch of her mouth against his and he forgot everything except the feel of Caroline in his arms. Her slim body was pressed against his. He could feel her soft curves. Her arms were tight around his neck and she returned his kiss fervently.

  When he finally eased away to look down at her, she raised her lids and gazed back. He noted she was breathless and smiled suddenly. Past and present mingled. But was he opening himself up for future heartache? He had his life as he wanted it. Work was compelling and satisfying. He had a small circle of friends.

  Yet he'd missed this woman like no one else in his life.

  His attorney thought him a fool to pursue this chancy arrangement, but he was in for the long haul—to see what they could salvage, if anything, from their marriage.

  "Wow," she said, a smile lighting her eyes. "Another memory?"

  He looked ruefully around his office. Another memory? From when he'd suggested they make memories to last forever. One he'd regret if they didn't try again. His office had been safe from reminders of Caroline before this. Now he'd remember this moment, this kiss for a long time.

  "I've missed you. Are you ready for lunch?" he asked, taking a step away. His hands lingering a moment longer than necessary as if he couldn't let her go.

  He was ready for a lot more than eating, but knew the value of patience in delicate negotiations.

  So much had changed in the last few weeks, he could afford to wait and see what developed. If things weren't going the way he wanted, he'd try a different tactic.

  "Yes, I'm hungry," she said. "But show me around first, please. In case we don't make it back today."

  He tried to guess what she meant, but the only thought he had was of them going back to his apartment when lunch was over and definitely not returning to work today.

  "We'll have a quick tour. There's not much to see. Programmers working on computers."

  "Are you free the rest of the day?"

  "Yes."

  He crossed to the desk and closed a folder, tidied a stack of papers. Looking up at her, he winked.

  "Free all weekend. We'll do whatever tourists in New Orleans like."

  "I'm hardly a tourist," she said, walking over to the window to look out at the view. His office was near Canal Street, not too far from the Quarter. Beyond the French Quarter she could glimpse a swath of the Mississippi River. Container ships were inching by the Crescent City, on their way to sea.

  It felt strange to be back. Surreal.

  "Where are you parked?" Brandon asked.

  "About two blocks over. I'll have to move the car. It's in a two-hour limit."

  "Give me the keys, I'll have someone drive it to my place."

  She smiled and reached into her purse for the keys.

  Things had definitely changed. What an extravagance.

  "And how will that person return to work?"

  "Get a Uber or a cab. How should I know?" he asked impatiently.

  "Nice to be a boss," she murmured with a smile.

  "It is," he affirmed.

  He gave her a whirlwind tour of the office, introducing her to his secretary, to project leads and programmers. Then they ate lunch at a small bistro off Canal Street. Brandon suggested they change their clothes into more casual wear before prowling around the Quarter. Despite the time of year, it was hot in New Orleans.

  He flagged a cab and in only moments they were in the renovated district near the River. The old warehouses had been converted to expensive apartments and condominiums. He opened the door to his building and escorted Caroline to the elevator, wondering what she'd think about his place. It was a far cry from their little apartment near the university.

  He opened the door and stood aside for her to enter, wishing he could be privy to her thoughts when she first saw it.

  Caroline stepped inside and looked around. Sleek, sophisticated and cold were the first three adjectives that came to mind. Dismayed, she kept walking into the room, afraid to let Brandon see her expression.

  Was this the kind of home he liked? He must have hated their place with the vibrant colors and clutter. She liked pillows and plants and pictures and color above all. This
room looked like a museum or showcase.

  "It's nice," she said when the silence stretched out awkwardly. She spotted her suitcases with her keys on top. "If you tell me where to change, I'll only be a minute."

  He closed the door and walked over, turning her around and raising her face with a finger.

  "Where do you want to stay, Caroline? My room or the guest room?"

  She frowned, wishing he'd made that decision.

  "The guest room," she said at last.

  Nothing had been settled. She needed some space before committing herself. There was still a lot to decide. And so much to work through before she'd feel truly comfortable around Brandon.

  If he were disappointed, he hid it . Lifting her bags, he led the way.

  "Follow me" was all he said.

  Alone a few seconds later, Caroline unpacked and surveyed the clothes she'd brought. Deciding on a casual skirt and cool lacy top, she quickly changed. Brushing her hair, she checked in the mirror. Ready as I'll ever be, she thought.

  When she walked into the living room Brandon stood by the window, talking on the phone. He turned and beckoned her over.

  "I can be there for a while tomorrow, one o'clock. But I won't stay long."

  Caroline stepped into his arm as naturally as if she'd been doing it for years, instead of having a long gap when they'd been apart. She breathed in his subtle scent, looking out across the Mississippi, and wondering if she was doing the right thing by coming to New Orleans. Too late now to have second thoughts. At least she wasn't bombarded with memories of her loss. She was taking one day at a time.

  She refused to allow her doubts to take hold.

  He hung up the phone and kissed her cheek gently. "All set?"

  "Business again?" she asked.

  "Right. But this weekend's for you. Since you're having lunch tomorrow with your sisters, I'll meet with Patterson then, and be free by the time you are."

  "Fair enough. Where to first?"

  "Jax? Then we can wander around the Quarter, have an afternoon snack at the Cafe du Monde."

  "You must think I really am a tourist."

  "Sturdy walking shoes?" he asked, checking.

  "Comfortable and enduring."

  He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "Let's go play tourist."

  Caroline's memories again mingled with the present, remembering Brandon's likes and dislikes as easily as she knew her own. They'd often walked around the French Quarter when younger, an inexpensive way to spend a lazy Sunday or to hunt bargains for their apartment.

  It was as if they'd never been apart.

  Yet once in a while, Brandon seemed like a stranger. It was disconcerting, but Caroline was determined to explore all facets of the man beside her. This weekend could be the most important one of her life.

  They wandered around the Quarter, stopped in shops, watched sidewalk artists sketch other tourists. Refusing a carriage ride, they darted across the street from Jackson Square to snack on beignets and café au lait.

  They ate dinner at a Cajun place on a side street, then walked back through the twilight to Brandon's apartment.

  When Brandon switched on the light in the living room, he looked around and frowned. This place wasn't welcoming at all. Whatever they decided about their future, he wanted Caroline to do something with his home.

  "What do you think about the apartment?" he asked.

  "It's nice."

  "It's not like our place was. When I first got it, I wanted something very different. Now, I don't know."

  He shook his head and headed for the kitchen.

  "Want something to drink?"

  "Iced tea."

  She looked at the room from a professional perspective. If she were going to list this place, she'd stage it to be lots more homey.

  "It needs some color," she called.

  She wanted to see the rest of the apartment beyond the guest room. Following him into the kitchen, she noted, the stainless-steel appliances, the austere counter space. A modern kitchen helped sell homes. A sterile one looked like a hospital.

  "It also doesn't look as if anyone lives here," she said slowly.

  Brandon shrugged. "I've lived here for years. I had a professional design the place."

  He looked up from pouring iced tea from a pitcher and caught her eye. "Want to have a go at it?"

  "What would you like?"

  "Whatever you like, I'm sure will suit me. Make it like the place we had before."

  She nodded, ideas already crowding her mind on how to change the austere look into one of warmth and comfort—without making too many alterations or costing him much money.

  They drank iced tea sitting side by side on the easy chairs that faced the wide windows, watching the night lights across the river and the slowly moving lights on the riverboats.

  It was peaceful, Caroline realized a few minutes later. Not like sitting on the veranda at her grandmother's home. But time for doing that was growing short. Once the house sold, they'd never sit on the veranda again.

  They talked about New Orleans, how the Saints were doing, reclamation projects dredging the river and the changes in the Quarter.

  When it was completely dark, Brandon took her glass and put it on the table beside his, pulling her into his lap.

  "Time to talk about us, Caroline," he said.

  She lay against his chest, her eyes still fixed on the darkness outside the apartment. He hadn't turned on any lights, so they were cocooned in the night. Only the lights outside offering a break in the velvety blackness.

  She was silent for a long moment, relishing being with Brandon, feeling quietly content for the first time in years.

  "I missed you these two weeks," she said slowly, willing to admit that much, but not more until she had a better feeling of where this conversation was heading. Did he still want to start again?

  "That's encouraging," he said dryly.

  "I was looking for something more than that in return," she said with spirit.

  "What, that I missed you, too? Take it as a given."

  "You could have called."

  "I did earlier in the week, remember?"

  "And the cell towers were down before that?"

  "Phones work both ways, Caroline. You could have called me."

  He was right. If they were serious about trying again, she needed to do more than sit back and let him pursue her. She'd grown up during the last few years. Everything didn't come automatically. Marriage needed to be a partnership with both partners contributing equally.

  "You're right, I should have called," she said. "Especially when I really needed to talk to someone—"

  She stopped abruptly, remembering she didn't want to tell Brandon about the news she'd received from the attorney. Time enough once she and her sisters decided on a plan. For now, she'd do her best to keep the weekend pleasant.

  "If we decide to restart our marriage, I think we need to discuss ground rules. Make sure our expectations are laid out so there are no surprises and no disappointments," he said slowly.

  Caroline realized he'd said nothing about love. Did that come into the equation? Or had he lost what love he felt for her? Was this an expedient way to end the loneliness they both felt?

  "What would you expect?" she asked, almost afraid to hear what he had to say.

  His hand rubbed against her arm, his fingers tracing light patterns against her skin. For a moment, she wanted to deny the need for a discussion, turn in his arms and kiss him, have passion take over and block all thoughts and feelings and uncertainties that churned within her.

  But Brandon was right. If they wanted a chance at living together again, they needed to be clear about what they expected. This time they'd do best to be up front and honest with each other.

  "I'd want to live together," he said.

  She nodded, her head brushing against his. "Of course."

  Instantly, a million questions surfaced. What about her career? She'd built up a good client
ele in Dallas. Moving to New Orleans meant starting over.

  "Does that prove a problem?"

  "It could. I'd be starting over in an area I'm not familiar with." Just thinking of the challenges ahead had her head swimming.

  She knew a long-distance relationship wouldn't work for the long term. Dallas was too far from New Orleans to find a compromise.

  Something to consider.

  "What about you, will you have to work as long each day now that you've built up your company?" she asked.

  "I won't kid you, Caroline, there're a lot of demands on my time. And I love dealing with every aspect. But I'll curtail some of them, find someone else who can handle some of the things I've done. I'll do my best to be home for dinner every night and on the weekends."

  "What else?" she asked.

  "Children."

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  "I don't think so, Brandon. I don't want to go through that again. I couldn't bear it."

  Tears threatened. Just thinking about how happy they'd been and then the sudden loss was almost more than she could bear.

  "We both wanted children before," he said softly. "I still want them. One or two. Someone to leave all that I've built to. You'll be an excellent mother."

  Struggling to get up, Caroline pushed out of his lap and moved to the window, leaning against the cool pane. Would this be a deal breaker?

  "If that's one of your conditions to resuming this marriage, then we'd better call a halt now. I can't go through that again."

  "Another pregnancy doesn't mean you'll miscarry," he said, coming up behind her.

  "But I could. I could," she whispered, feeling the familiar ache taking over.

  She had yearned for her baby so much, been crushed when she miscarried.

  She wasn't strong enough to face that twice in one lifetime.

  Chapter Nine

  Caroline awoke early the next morning to the aroma of freshly brewing coffee. She turned over in the guest bed and gazed around the room. The decor cried out for as much attention as the living room did. Almost snow-white—everything went together perfectly, yet had no color, no personality, no soul.