ONE WIFE TOO MANY

by Susanne Marie Knight

  * * * *

  You really painted yourself in a corner this time, didn't you, Andrea?

  She stormed out of the restaurant and into the parking area. Three rows to the left waited the Lawai'a Taurus, but a fat lot of good that did her. Wilson had the keys.

  Rats! She stomped her high-heeled foot.

  Her anger assuaged, at least for this particular problem, she turned around. The solution to her dilemma was obvious. She'd go back inside and call a cab.

  Double rats. Wilson was making his way toward her, his generous mouth set in a tense line.

  For a moment she admired his broad shoulders, the crisp lean line of his pinstriped suit, his flamboyant Hawaiian tie. His hair--as dark as the night sky--was slightly mussed by the breeze and hung down on his forehead. His eyes, also midnight dark, were narrowed, his gaze locked onto hers.

  A shiver of unease vibrated through her.

  Oh, there'll be hell to pay now.

  He halted in front of her and continued his intimidating stare. "What is this all about?" His voice was harsh.

  "You figure it out." Since he was in her path, she took a step to the side to head for the restaurant.

  His strong grip stopped her. "Are you claiming to be Andrea Ernst?"

  She looked down at her upper arm, now imprisoned by his firm hand. Then she stared back up at him. She raised her eyebrow.

  He released her. "Well?"

  If looks could kill. She gave him a slow, deadly smile. "No. Not Andrea Ernst."

  The change in his expression was hardly noticeable, but she could tell. He was relieved.

  Her smile widened. "Andrea Struthers."

  "Hell." He gripped her upper arm again and marched over to the side of the restaurant with her in tow.

  She didn't protest. In fact, it greatly pleased her that he was so incensed.

  At a private setting, far from the maddening crowd, were two curved seats nestled in between low-hanging fronds and graceful palm trees. He pushed her toward them.

  "What is this, blackmail?"

  "Blackmail?" She fluttered her lashes at him. "Don't you recognize me, Wilson?"

  He swore. Running his hand over his hair, he sat in the other chair, then loosened his tie. "Look, this is not some game here."

  "Then you don't recognize me." She sighed. "Too bad. I recognize you."

  More swearing. He jumped up, then paced back and forth in front of her. "What do you hope to gain here? Money? It's not possible for you to be...who you claim."

  "Would you like to bet on it? You would lose, Wilson."

  "No one calls me Wilson," he snapped.

  "I did." She waited. The truth of what she'd said must've sunk in because he sat back down.

  "Tell me why you think you're Andrea Ernst." He fixed her with a menacing look as if he was ordering her not to use his last name. "Why are you making this preposterous claim now, after seven years have passed? And why today, not yesterday when I first arrived?"

  She smoothed the hem of her dress over her knees. "This is a sorry way to treat your wife, Wilson. Well, one of your wives, anyway."

  Oh, he itched to strangle her. She just knew he did.

  Before he had a chance to accomplish that, she took a second to compose herself.

  "So, here goes. I got swept overboard. Since I couldn't swim, I figured that was it. My ticket was punched." She took a lock of her hair and twirled it around her finger. "Fortunately that wasn't the case. When I woke up, I had amnesia."

  "How convenient." His eyes spit fire. "Tell me something only I would know about Andrea."

  "Hmm, I have a wealth of experiences as your wife to draw upon, don't I?"

  He flared his nostrils.

  "Okay, Okay. How's this? Our dinner tonight was the same as the room service meal in the cabin."

  She'd scored a point. He gazed at her now without disapproval in his eyes.

  After an uncomfortable silence, he said, "You don't look like Andrea."

  She continued to twirl the lock of hair. "In seven years, hair can grow quite long. The color, that hideous platinum, was my father's preference. I was glad to lose it."

  A mischievous imp urged her on. "What else? Oh. As you see, I've filled out." She slowly trailed her fingertips around the edge of her low-cut dress.

  He wasn't unaffected. He swallowed before speaking. "But your skin. You're very brown."

  "Am I?" That imp pushed the limits further. With her thumb, she slid a bit of the dress material down to reveal the startlingly white skin above her nipple.

  "Jesus!" He jumped out of his chair. "Don't do that."

  She couldn't help laughing. "Goodness, we're reunited after a seven year absence, and already you're giving me orders."

  For several minutes he paced. His hands clasped behind him, he remained silent, obviously deep in thought.

  She allowed him this luxury. She also had to think. What was her next step going to be?

  A server walked by, holding a platter filled with drinks. "Would you like a complimentary mai tai, sir, ma'am?"

  Wilson took one without speaking. Andrea picked up a glass and thanked the woman.

  Decorating the drink were a maraschino cherry, a slice of pineapple, and a small tropical flower. She put the flower in her hair, then devoured the fruit. By the time she was ready to sip on her drink, he'd already finished his.

  He set the glass down. "All right, I concede that you might--I stress might--be Andrea."

  "Awfully nice of you, Wilson."

  He acted as if he hadn't heard her. "But I need more specifics. Like why didn't you drown? Why didn't you come forward? Not only did we search the seas, but also combed the islands of Maui, Lanai, Molokai, and Kahoolawe. And the media broadcasted the story day and night for a while."

  "Could you sit? I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you?"

  He complied, then stretched his long legs out in front of him and folded his arms across his chest. He drummed his fingers against his upper arms.

  She took another sip of the strong rum cocktail. "I'm glad there was a search party, but you looked in the wrong places. I actually came ashore here, on the Big Island. Near Hilo. As I'd said, I rarely leave this place. Thankfully, the hoopla surrounding my premature demise didn't seem to reach my sleepy little town. Either that or no one paid attention to the news media. I guess we're all too busy enjoying life here."

  Another sip of mai tai sailed down her throat. "As for what happened, my friends the dolphins rescued me. Somehow they swam all that way, with me on their backs."

  "Is that possible?"

  "It must be." She shrugged. "I'm here, aren't I?"

  He frowned. "So why didn't you come forward?"

  "I told you, amnesia. Really." She felt a little woozy, which wasn't surprising. She hadn't eaten much for dinner. "All I could remember was my name--Andrea. No last name. That, and a general feeling of dread, of an inner voice telling me that I was better off not knowing who I was."

  She gulped down the rest of her mai tai. "I listened to that inner voice and laid low for a while."

  "What triggered your memory?"

  "You did. Or rather your name. You did look familiar to me, but that was about it. But I had a terrible feeling that soon all would be revealed." She giggled. "I never called you Will, but Wilson. When Jack Fairweather used your name, it all clicked into place."

  The alcohol made her feel hot and cold at the same time. She tried to stand, but fell back into the chair. "Click, click, click, and now I remember everything."

  Wilson got to his feet, placed his hand under her armpit and helped her up. "Listen, er, Andrea, is it really you?"

  She enjoyed the feel of his hand so close to her breast. She knew she shouldn't, but she did, just the same. That mischievous imp wanted to come out and play again.

  That's not a good idea, she silently told the imp. Wilson didn't deserve to be played with, and besides, he wasn't married to her anymore.

  Or was he? Could he
be arrested for bigamy?

  "As far as I know I'm me. Who else would I be?" When she shrugged, his hand, whether by design...or not, bumped up against her breast again.

  Moving away from him took some doing, but she finally stood, however unsteady, on her own two feet. She wagged her finger at him. "None of that funny business, Wilson. You had your chance. You screwed up. Too bad." She yawned. "I want to go home now."

  He insisted on helping her. This time he curved his arm around her shoulders then led her to the car. "I can book you on a flight to Richmond for tomorrow--"

  She shook her head so vigorously, she thought it would fall off. "Richmond's not my home. No, don't want to go there. Home to Mama Kalala's, please."

  Although Andrea didn't want to, she leaned her head against Wilson. That caused her to close her eyes. She yawned again. The world around her seemed to spin, but she didn't mind. Wilson would get her home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Once again, Will felt as if life had kicked him in the balls. "In shock" was too mild a term to describe what he was feeling.

  Turned upside down, inside out, wouldn't even begin to cover it.

  He was, to use a term from the academy award-winning movie, Braveheart, fooked.

  As he drove on Highway 19 back to the Lawai'a house, he glanced over at his sleeping passenger. Her thick dark lashes gently fluttered against the soft curve of her cheeks. Her pink lips, pouting as she slept, just begged to be kissed. The neckline of her black dress had slipped down on her shoulder, revealing more skin with which to tempt him. More skin to fondle, to caress.

  He groaned. Yeah, he must've royally pissed off the gods. He no longer had any doubt that this woman was indeed Andrea. Seven years ago, she'd just started to work her magic on him. To weave her way into his psyche. She'd only been eighteen. Now she was twenty-five.

  That she was Andrea explained his immediate attraction to her. Beyond the physical attraction was her very sweetness, her eagerness to please.

  But that was before her memory had returned, of course. Now she loathed him. And he could understand why.

  He pulled into the Lawai'a driveway and parked. Whatever this woman thought, she was not home. She had to return to Virginia. She had to be reunited with her father.

  Seeing Andrea again would restore Randolph Ernst's zest for life, his vigor. But the actual reunion would have to be carefully planned. Without proper preparation, a shock of this magnitude just might kill him.

  Once again Will carried Andrea to the house, only this time she wasn't conscious. As he held her close, her head lolled against his chest. For a moment, he leaned his cheek against her hair, savoring her fragrance of roses and jasmine.

  If only...

  He shook aside his regrets and rang the doorbell.

  Mrs. Lawai'a hustled to the door, then opened it. "Gracious me! My little coconut! She is unwell again?"

  "No, only sleeping, Mama Lawai'a." He kept his voice low. "Let me get her to bed, then I need to talk with you."

  Her face grave, she nodded slowly. "I wait down here."

  Ten to one she knew what the topic of conversation would be about.

  Andrea's weight was inconsequential. He took the stairs two at a time. Inside her bedroom, he laid her on the bed and removed her high-heeled shoes. That was all he had the right to remove. He lifted a patchwork quilt at the end of the bed and pulled it over her.

  She hadn't wakened. She still slept peacefully.

  For a long moment, he watched her. A lump formed in his throat. Thank God she was alive.

  He quickly left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Downstairs, Mrs. Lawai'a sat on the white couch with her hands folded in her lap. "We are alone," she said. "My oldest is courting his newest client, my youngest is spending the night at a friend's, and Mr. Lawai'a is working at Hilo International Airport."

  Will sat opposite her. He puzzled on how to begin. "Mama Kalala, seven years ago, my bride of just a few hours was washed overboard the Ernst, Scargill, and Petersen yacht. We launched an exhaustive search, but we never found her."

  He met the woman's gaze and held it. "Anakalia says she is Andrea."

  Mrs. Lawai'a nodded. "It is true. She was like a mermaid, washed ashore seven years ago. My youngest found her. The dolphins saved her. You must know, Will, she had no memory of anything in her prior life. She called herself Andie. The Hawai'ian name for Andie, or Andrea, is Anakalia. For some reason, her memory returned today."

  She lowered her gaze to her hands. "She is a daughter to me. We all love her."

  They both sat in silence, the only noise disturbing the quiet came from the ceiling fan, whirling the air in a slow, leisurely fashion.

  Mrs. Lawai'a removed a handkerchief from the sleeve of her flowered blouse. She dabbed at her eyes. "What will happen now, Will?"

  The question echoed in his mind. Just what would happen now? Who could say?

  He ran his hand over his hair. "She's been declared legally dead. We'll set in motion a revocation of determination of death. That's not a problem. But I..."

  He twisted his gold wedding band on his finger. It felt cold, alien. "I got married again. Just a couple of weeks ago. So, naturally, I'll have to... I'll look into getting an, ah, annulment for Andrea and me."

  Hesitation usually wasn't his style, but, hell, this business was damn tricky.

  His hostess tut-tutted.

  Will took a deep breath. "As for Andrea's father, you see, he's in rather frail health. He took the news of his only child's death very hard. Naturally. I don't think it would be in his best interest to phone in the news. Nor should he learn of it through a third party. He and Andrea should be reunited as soon as possible."

  "Of course. I understand." Mrs. Lawai'a swiped at her eyes again.

  He leaned in, closer to the woman. "The problem is, Andrea doesn't want to leave here."

  Mrs. Lawai'a sat up straight, her mouth firm. "It is her duty. Not to worry, Will. I shall impress that upon her."

  "Thank you, Mama Kalala." He stood. "I'll make the arrangements."

  He took the stairs one at a time. Both of them were heartbroken in their own way. Mrs. Lawai'a was losing a daughter, and he, well, he had lost the chance to share his life with Andrea.

  * * * *

  Andrea opened her eyes for the first time in seven years as Andrea Ernst. Or was that Andrea Struthers?

  Still in bed, she puzzled on the answer. Who knew? Hers was an unusual situation.

  Morning light peeped in through the partially closed drapes. She glanced at her clock radio. Fifteen after eight. There was much to be done. No time to dawdle.

  She swung her legs out of bed. With the awareness of her identity came responsibility. Duties. Burdens. Her life would never be the same again.

  Setting her misgivings aside for the moment, she entered the bathroom, locked the connecting door, and stepped into the old-fashioned high bathtub. The warm shower helped her to prepare for what the new day had in store for her.

  She dressed quickly in sweats and tiptoed down the stairs. After Papa Lawai'a's shift at the airport, he would still be sleeping.

  Delicious aromas leaked out of the kitchen and into the entryway beyond. Voices resonated out from those four walls as well. Obviously Mama Kalala was already up.

  Andrea heard a deep male voice. Wilson was up, too.

  She held onto the banister, allowing memories from last night to wash over her. At the restaurant, she'd laid all her cards down on the table. She'd gotten Wilson to feel comfortable, and then shocked him with her news.

  Of course he'd been shocked. He'd had everything all nicely figured out--on the fast track as a partner with a prestigious law firm, a new bride, a new life.

  And then he learns his old life.. his old wife has come back to haunt him.

  Tears burned her eyes. She blinked several times to clear them. Last night in a touching moment, Wilson had shared that he thought they would've been good together.

&nb
sp; But she knew better. Seven years had a way of softening memories. She recalled that Wilson had been more than eager to leave Hawaii and get back to his job. That he'd made a deal with her father to marry Andrea and become partner. That he had kissed another woman--and done who knew what else?-- on their wedding night.

  Still, a vague recollection of him carrying her up the stairs last night resurfaced. He'd leaned his cheek against her hair. He'd sighed softly. She'd felt his chest rise and fall with the intake and release.

  As if he had regrets.

  Andrea also had regrets. She wished he would have kissed her.

  Forget about it.

  She walked into the kitchen. The two people at the small table looked up at her. Mama Kalala, with sympathy, and Wilson, with...

  Andrea couldn't identify the look. A strange awkwardness hung in the air.

  "Good morning, young one." Mama Kalala enveloped her in a loving embrace. "I will let you two have a quiet talk. You know what you must do, child. It is your duty. Just as I must leave now for church."

  After a kiss on the cheek, Mama Kalala smiled, and then left by the back door.

  Wilson was wearing one of his new tropical shirts with khaki shorts, which revealed his muscular thighs and calves. Instead of sandals, he had on hiking shoes with socks matching his shirt.

  Her heart made an involuntary flip.

  He looked tired though, as if he hadn't had much sleep.

  She glanced at his empty coffee mug. "Would you like a refill?"

  "Sure, thanks." His gaze was fixed on her.

  It made her uncomfortable. She filled his mug, poured one for herself, before she sat across from him at the table. He was only two feet away from her.

  "Have you eaten breakfast?" she said, to delay the inevitable.

  "Mrs. Lawai'a was kind enough to make scrambled eggs." He ran his hand through his thick, luxurious hair. "Listen, Andrea, I've got to apologize for not recognizing you."

  "It's okay, Wilson. Really." She stirred sugar into her mug. "I mean, we hardly knew each other back then, anyway."

  He laid his hand over hers. "You need to go home. You need to see your father."

  His touch made her shudder. She removed her hand from under his. "I agree. I do need to see him. But Virginia isn't my home anymore. I will visit, but I will not stay."