“Oh, I love these. Pierce and I had a table almost exactly like this in our first tiny apartment.” She pulled large disposable plates and plastic silverware from her large purse. “I didn’t want you to have to clean up. I figure you’ve got enough on your plate, so to speak.”
She prayed a simple prayer over the food and served Angie.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,” Angelina said. “I’m a terrible cook.”
She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, yet found she was more uncomfortable hearing her own voice in the space than the fact she’d actually said the words.
Laurie’s eyed filled with sympathy. “I’m sure you’re not.”
“I assure you, I am.”
She felt herself smile and immediately squelched it. For a moment, she’d forgotten about Nicholas, and the prison, and why her pillow and a blanket waited on the end of the couch.
“Laurie. This was kind of you. And thanks for being honest about why you’re here. But you’ve done your duty checking on me. Julius already filled me in. You’ve no obligation to stay and—”
She’d almost said pretend to care about me.
She pasted on what she knew from her beauty pageant competitions to be a perfect smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m not here out of duty. I’m here to offer friendship and a listening ear if you need it. If Kay and Daniel weren’t out of town, I dare say they would have beaten me here.”
At the mention of Kay, Angie swallowed against old, hopeful memories of having friends and feeling accepted.
“Your mother-in-law is a very special lady.”
“Don’t I know it? I’m not sure where Pierce and I would be without her and Daniel. She kept me from the edge when I was pregnant with Hope, and Pierce all but left me.”
Angelina remembered a service shortly after Pierce had come to pastor The Barn Church, in which he said he’d recently almost walked away from the church and everything he believed in. He’d asked the congregation to forgive him and to pray for him and Laurie. At the time, Laurie had indeed been pregnant with their daughter. Angelina had envisioned them having the perfect life with the perfect, storybook marriage. So, she’d thought he was giving an illustration and hadn’t taken his confession or his request seriously.
She lowered her fork. Laurie was a compassionate, obviously mature and stable woman. Pierce, a pastor, with Daniel and Kay for parents, and the support of The Barn Church’s entire congregation— the perfect mate for her. Still, he’d almost single-handedly destroyed their marriage.
“This was kind of you, but I can’t eat any more,” she said.
She pushed away from the table, walked to the bank of open windows overlooking the back of the property. She picked up a nearby paintbrush and squeezed. It snapped in her hands.
She and Nicholas never had a chance. They’d been doomed from the start.
No, even before they’d married, their relationship had been destined for failure. She saw that now.
Angelina—who grew up with a domineering, philandering father and an absent, alcoholic mother. She’d been so young and inexperienced, terribly naïve, believing her fledgling yet strong love for Nicholas would carry them through trials and be the foundation on which they could build a life.
And Nicholas. A young man with no example of marriage and fatherhood. A poor, latchkey kid, who was smart and highly ambitious but had no clue how to stay connected to another person.
“The State Prosecutor questioned me today,” Angelina said.
“Pierce told me. How awful for you.”
“He thinks Nick confided in me about his investments.” She shook her head. “I never wanted money and expensive things. I grew up with that. I know wealth won’t satisfy a person.”
“What did you want?”
“Him and his attention. I wanted him to think of me and spend his life with me.”
“I think that’s what every woman wants when she marries. At least, the woman who loves her husband.”
“When he first started his consulting firm, we’d been married three rocky years. Setting his own schedule was supposed to allow him to spend more time home—kind of a new start for us. Instead, his time home shrank to less than what it had been before, and money I thought we’d spend on me traveling with him went into real estate—Nick was always looking for a great deal.
“When I graduated from art school, we moved here. Another new beginning that wasn’t. If I had a dollar for every promise he made me …”
“That must have hurt you very badly. When I believed Pierce wasn’t going to keep his promises to me, well, that’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Worse than when my parents died.”
“I wanted children with him. I wanted to make a home with him, have a family. Instead, he left me over and over again without ever looking back.”
Angelina turned to face Laurie.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears slid down Laurie’s cheeks.
“So am I. I sleep here. I moved out of the house weeks ago. Being there hurts too much.”
And she wanted to be alone. There, in the quiet of the small carriage house, with the smell of solvent and oil-based paint. She wanted to finish checking all her paintings and curl up on the couch and sleep. If she couldn’t sleep, she’d paint.
Although she dare not turn off her phone. Having the police, or worse, the State Prosecutor, show up at her door would heap even more disruption into her life.
“I’m supposed to be preparing for my first art show in Mobile.”
“Angelina, that’s wonderful. I’ve heard the advertisements on the radio. Fairchild’s Gallery in Mobile has quite a reputation.” She scanned the dozens of paintings throughout the space. “This is an incredible amount of work.”
“No kids, and really, no husband, remember? You and I have nothing in common. You must know I haven’t attended a service at The Barn Church in weeks. I’m not active in the church. Your kindness is touching, but I’m sorry, you being here doesn’t make sense.”
“My offer of friendship was real. And I see I should’ve done it long before.”
“I don’t have women friends. I don’t have any friends, really.”
“I know Kay and Daniel would consider themselves your friends.”
“Why would they? When we lived in Birmingham, I didn’t keep in touch. Aside from a few months right after we moved here, when— once again—Nicholas and I were making a fresh start, I haven’t seen them except from afar. I’ve barely spoken to them at church.”
Laurie cocked her head. “Forgive me, Angelina. Didn’t you love Nicholas even when you didn’t see him?”
“Why are you so determined to, to, connect with me? I’m not friendship material. I’m not marriage material. I’m not even churchgoer material.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because God’s supposed to be perfect, right? Anyone who can’t maintain a relationship with a perfect being must have something terribly wrong with them. I’m not cut out to be close to anyone, deity or otherwise.”
She lifted a canvas. One of a series she’d done of Paris after she’d traveled there alone, months ago. Each painting depicted a different Parisian scene or landmark as if the viewer looked over the shoulder of a woman who stood taking in the sight. The woman was actually her— long, dark hair flowing down over a red cape. She’d entitled the series The Lonely Woman, and she considered them her highest quality work.
She removed her wedding rings and laid them aside. “Nicholas and I aren’t like you and Pierce.”
***
She couldn’t paint fast enough. After Laurie left, Angelina had been unable to sleep, so she’d set up a fresh easel. Listening to the rhythm of the cicadas, she swirled and dotted blacks, yellows, and grays across the canvas—a rare storm brewing over a barren desert.
The varied terrains of the world had always fascinated her. But deserts? They spoke to her.
Empty, dry, isolated. If the storm
brought rain, it wouldn’t be absorbed. The land was too parched, too hard. The desert would remain what it was by nature, a desert.
She added stones, sprigs of solitary grass, and tumbleweed. Hour after hour passed, her own words echoing in her head. I’m just not cut out to be close to anyone, deity or otherwise.
At dawn, she stopped. Her hands were cramped, her eyes gritty, and the painting about two-thirds complete. She warmed a bowl of Laurie’s chicken and dumplings, ate, then fell asleep face down on the couch.
Her cell chimed, an incoming text. Sweeping her long hair behind her shoulder, she checked the message from her vet.
Godiva delivered around 8 A.M. She’s fine. New filly fine, as well. Come visit any time after you return.
She’d forgotten about her horses. Godiva and her year-and-a-half old twins born when Angelina had boarded Godiva at Matthews Stables. There, the night of Zeus and Apollo’s birth, she’d revealed her unrequited feelings to Rick. Embarrassed beyond words and worried about the repercussions from Rick’s wife, Julie, Angelina had moved the horses to the never-used stables here on the property.
Now she had a fourth horse, another girl, and honestly, she couldn’t care less. Having boarded them with Dr. Bohannon for her trip to Las Vegas less than a week ago, she’d already emotionally disengaged.
Pete hadn’t expected her to have returned home yet, as she’d told him she’d be gone at least a week. Nicholas’ actions might very well mean soon, she’d no longer have the stables or any home. What would Pete say if she called and asked if he knew someone who might want the horses?
She’d want them to go to a good home. Someone who would love them and keep them.
Rachel. Julie and Rick Matthews’ daughter. She’d be at the end of her sophomore year in high school now and might be more interested in boys than horses. Would Julie let Rachel have Angelina’s horses?
She took a chance and dialed.
“Hello. Matthews Stables.”
Julie’s voice gave her pause. She’d expected Rick to answer.
“Hello? May I help you?”
“Hey. This is Angelina Rousseau.”
“Hi, Angie. How can I help you?”
She couldn’t read Julie’s demeanor. She didn’t sound irritated or angry or even impersonal. Maybe Angelina had caught her in a good mood.
“I’m looking for a good home for my horses.”
“Really?” Julie’s voice lowered. “May I ask why?”
Call her a coward, but she wanted to keep the whole nasty truth about Nicholas private for as long as she could.
“Several reasons, some I’d rather not go into. Suffice it to say I’ve recently realized I’m not wired for long-term horse ownership.”
“I suppose Rick might know someone in the market. Are you looking to sell them quickly?”
“There are four horses, now,” Angelina said. “Godiva delivered a filly this morning at Dr. Bohannon’s. Actually, I was wondering if you’d let me give them to Rachel. Unless she’s no longer interested in horses.”
“That’s incredibly generous of you. I’m afraid she’s not here right now, either. She and Rick have gone to Kentucky for college days at a university that offers equine studies. If you’re certain, I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have your horses, although I will have to speak with Rick about it first. I know he’d want to give you something for them. I heard about your upcoming art show. I didn’t realize you were such an accomplished artist. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” It was true, after returning to Rowe City she’d shared her love of painting with no one, not even Rachel during all the time she’d spent at Matthews Stables. Just more evidence she tended to more surface relationships.
“Why don’t I call you after Rick and Rachel return on Friday?” Julie asked.
“That would be fine. I appreciate it.”
She hung up and felt nothing. No sense of loss, no remorse. Even though she’d thought she loved those horses as much as any human could love an animal.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They transported Nicholas to the bank the same way they’d moved him to the county jail—by van. A three-plus hour drive that made him think of his first trip through southern Alabama, when he’d gotten lost from the detours and stumbled upon The Barn Church.
Julius followed, as well as several other vehicles, one of which carried State Prosecutor Simon. No sirens blared. The officers in the front seats—whom Nicholas had not seen before—gave repeated instructions regarding procedure upon their arrival. Under other circumstances, Nick would have been bored out of his mind. But after spending yesterday evening alone in his cell, he was grateful for even this small amount of human interaction.
They parked. Waited while the others went inside. Still handcuffed, wearing leg shackles and sandwiched between the officers, Nick shuffled his way to the back employee entrance.
The door opened from the inside.
“A moment with my client.” Julius spoke to Nick’s escorts.
The officers looked at each other.
“I’ll wait outside the door,” one said. “My partner will be ten feet down the hall. You’ve got two minutes.”
Julius shielded him from the officer in the hall.
“In a moment, we’ll walk down together, accompanied by these officers,” Julius whispered. “Don’t stop. Don’t engage in conversation. Watch me for a nod before you do anything, before you say anything, even if you’re desperate to explain yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Answer only what is asked, but I can’t stress enough that you be completely honest when you answer. You probably won’t get a second chance to answer truthfully.”
“I’ve nothing to gain by lying.”
“Remember that. And don’t stare at the federal agents. I’m not sure they’re human.”
Nick nodded. “Thanks.”
“We’re ready.” Julius spoke over his shoulder.
The path down was a familiar one. Marble floors, wide steps, and a sterile bunker quality.
Escorted by the officers, they bypassed the small private rooms he’d previously utilized when visiting this area and arrived at a large conference room that contained an enormous table. The two officers flanked the door, joining four federal agents and two bank security guards already present.
Darrin Simon stood beside Nick’s drawer. “When you said safe deposit box, I pictured something smaller. I’m told these have space comparable to a small trunk.”
Julius nodded. Nick took the cue.
“I didn’t mean to be unclear or deceptive. It’s simply a larger option.”
“Agreed. Mr. Floyd, you may hand Mr. Rousseau the key.”
The bank manager approached. “Hello, Mr. Rousseau. I’m sorry for your troubles.”
Nick glanced at Julius, who nodded again.
“Thank you,” Nick answered.
Together, they unlocked the drawer; Nicholas pulled it open.
The documents Simon wanted were in a manila envelope at the back. Nicholas reached for them.
“Gentleman,” Simon said.
Bank security guards nudged Nick aside and lifted the drawer onto the table.
“Empty the contents, Mr. Rousseau.”
Nicholas swallowed.
“Everything out.”
He removed the envelope first, laid it before the State Prosecutor. He could barely make himself look at the other items but knew if he didn’t do as he was told, Simon would willingly misinterpret his inaction.
Julius peeked inside. He stepped back, his eyes filled with questions.
Nicholas braced himself and lifted the long gold box on the top—a gift Gavin had helped him choose. He placed it on his far right. He did the same with the next item and the next until three gifts lined his end of the table.
Finally, he produced a leather legal document satchel and laid it directly in front of where he stood.
Without turning away, the State Prosecutor nudged the
manila envelope to one of the federal agents. “Let me know if these match the others.”
Simon lifted the leather satchel, then cocked his head at Nick in calculation. Everyone waited. “What will I find in here?”
Nick looked first to Julius for a nod, then met the State Prosecutor’s gaze.
“Customs and tax documentation on all foreign gifts I bought for my wife. You’ll see I disclosed each item and paid applicable taxes, although most items were below the limit and without penalty.”
“Are these the only gifts you purchased for her?”
“No.”
“So, there are others. Where are they?”
“I believe in my home.”
“All are unique, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you know where and when you purchased them, even how much you paid.”
“That’s correct. I can match each item with its appropriate paperwork.”
“Two opened, one unopened. These belong to your wife, yet you kept them here. Why?”
Nicholas glanced at Julius, then set his jaw at Simon’s smirk. The man knew something about Angelina, was rolling it around in his mind, savoring it like a fine, aged Italian wine. Nick could almost picture him fantasizing about her.
Julius cleared his throat. “Do we need to confer before you answer the question?”
Nick shook his head. “Yes, these belong to my wife. I keep them here because—”
Every pair of eyes rested on him. The starched security guards’, the stoic FBI agents’, even the sympathetic bank manager’s.
“Be completely honest when you answer,” Julius had said.
Why not? What good would pride do him now?
“These are gifts I bought my wife. At the time they were given, she didn’t want them. I saved them for her, hoping one day she would indeed want them. Their presence in our home caused unwanted tension. I felt it best to remove them.”
“Take it all,” Simon said to his associates.
Nicholas watched as each item on the table went into an evidence bag.
“Julius, how long before I can talk to my wife?” Nick asked.
The prosecutor stared at him as if studying a puzzle, then motioned with his head. “Take him back to the prison.”
Abide With Me (The Barn Church Series Book 3) Page 15
