Twilight Whispers
Page 44
She thought of Natalie, who had watched the years roll by as she silently waited for that which she had wanted most.
She thought of Lenore, who had realized too late what she had wanted most and then not quite known how to fight for it.
She thought of her mother, who had conceded defeat and settled for trying to make the most of it.
And she thought of herself. Too much time had been wasted. If she had confronted Jordan years ago as she should have, instead of taking his repeated rejections in silence, the matter of her parentage would have been brought to a head and they would have been married much sooner.
Now, suddenly, she was impatient. She didn’t want to wait silently for fate to make its play. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to fight for it. And she had no intention of suffering defeat.
Darting free of Jordan, she threw her hands in the air. “That’s it! I’ve had it!” she screamed, sounding for all the world like a woman abruptly gone mad. “It’s senseless! All of it—”
“Katia!” Jordan reached for her, but she threw him off, her eyes wide and wild, and held her hands up, palms out.
“Don’t touch me!” She jerked her head once, then again, as though shaking off a spider. “Don’t lay a single finger on me!”
Cavanaugh had taken a step forward, but he too halted in shock.
“I can’t stand this a minute longer!” she yelled as she turned and advanced on John Ryan, who was every bit as taken aback as the other two men. “You,” she said, pointing a furiously shaking finger, “are cruel! Just who do you think you are that you can do this to me? I never did anything to you! I never hurt you! But I can understand why your daughter must have gone mad!” She had come to a stop and was bending over with her hands on her hips, gasping for breath, nose to nose with a stunned Ryan. “She loved you! She wanted to please you! You were the one in control of her life!” Her hands shot out, flailing. “It’s not fair! You can’t do this to people—”
Before Ryan knew what hit him, she had smacked the gun from his hand. Jordan scrambled for it while Cavanaugh dove for his own revolver. The two men straightened, guns pointed toward Ryan, eyes riveted on Katia.
Stepping safely away from Ryan, she drew herself up to her full height, set her shoulders back, took a deep and audible breath, then smiled broadly at Jordan. “How’d I do?” she asked calmly.
Jordan stared. Cavanaugh stared. Ryan was the only one to lower his eyes and slowly, sadly shake his head.
* * *
The celebration in Dover that night was one of true victory. Amid trappings of the upcoming holiday, three families ate and drank, talked and laughed and hugged one another spontaneously. It wasn’t that it was the first time they had overcome adversity or the first time they had had cause for celebration, but the dropping of charges against Jordan seemed symbolic of the start of a new chapter in the Whyte-Warren chronicles.
Gil was gone. In his stead Lenore had emerged as the cornerstone of the Warrens. She felt strong and vibrant and looked toward the future without dread. She knew there would be problems. Laura’s drinking wasn’t going to stop with Jordan’s release; Peter was as egotistical as ever; Emily as dramatic. Lenore fully expected there to be ups and downs with the grandchildren as well, but for the first time in her life she was willing to meet them head on.
Natalie had Jack and the knowledge that he would be beside her when she awoke the next morning. And if she was rosy-eyed about that particular relationship she saw all too clearly the stumbling blocks her children would have to face. Nick, while having taken over at the office with aplomb, was far from faithful to his wife; she knew that the very modern Angie would have less patience with his dalliances, if they continued, than she had had with Jack’s. She also suspected that Anne, an eighties woman as well, was going to have times of trial in the struggle to maintain a satisfactory balance between her career and her family. Even Jordan and Katia would face challenges. But life was like that. Mark’s death notwithstanding, Natalie felt certain for the very first time that the children she had raised could cope.
Cassie was ecstatic with the turn of events, not the least of which was the fact that, of her own free will, Lenore had thrown her arms around Katia and held her close. For the first time in years Cassie was almost willing to concede that there was God and a method to His madness. From heartache came strength, from strength, satisfaction. Cassie was satisfied. She had what she had always wanted, the promise of happiness and security for her daughter.
And Katia—Katia could do nothing but smile with delight from where she sat within the comforting circle of Jordan’s arms.
Read on for a preview of Before and Again.
Coming in June from St. Martin’s Press.
Copyright 2018
PROLOGUE
Mackenzie Cooper had no idea where she was or, more critically, why she hadn’t already arrived. Her navigation screen said she was still on the right road, in the right town, but all she could see were woods left and right and a curve of macadam ahead. The turnoff was to have been five minutes past the café in the town center, and they had easily gone ten. During that time, she hadn’t seen anything remotely resembling a turnoff, much less the red mailbox that allegedly marked it, although a red anything would have been easy to miss. The fall foliage was a tangle of fiery shades, its leaves crowding the roadside like families at a parade.
A glint in the rearview caught her eye. Braking, she steered to the side until branches brushed the car. She toggled her window down, but before she could get an arm out in a plea for help, the pickup steered around her, sped past, and disappeared over the hill ahead. Assuming the driver knew where he was going, she accelerated and followed, but by the time she hit the crest, the pickup had taken another curve, and by the time she made that one, her car was alone.
She glanced at her phone. It was cradled in a vent holder at the perfect spot for viewing, which had served her well until her map app had frozen. The upper-left corner of the phone showed an ominous NO SERVICE where bars should have been, meaning that she couldn’t even call or text for help.
“Are we there yet, Mommy?” came a plaintive cry from the five-year-old safely strapped in the back. It wasn’t the first such cry, just the first that Mackenzie couldn’t honestly answer.
“Almost, sweetie,” she said, white-knuckling the wheel through another sharp turn. When the road straightened, she touched the SUV’s map screen to zoom in. The larger view showed tendrils where driveways might be—and, oh, she just passed one, she realized, but it was a barely there thing, thin and rutted, with no mailbox of any sort.
Turn around, her sane self ordered. But the red mailbox was likely around the next curve, she reasoned, and, if not that, her phone would wake up. Besides, she didn’t see a place to turn around. Her SUV was big, the road narrow, and it was snaking wildly through a forest that had no business being this close to the city.
Actually, this place wasn’t close to the city. Lily’s school was. But being a private school, many students traveled distances each day, which translated into playdates in the boonies. Lily’s new best friend had already been to their place twice, easily arranged since the Coopers lived close to school, but this was their first playdate at Mia’s. And why would Mackenzie hesitate? Lily wanted to go. She had asked repeatedly, had begged. Besides, Mackenzie liked this family. She liked that they didn’t live in an oversized Shingle-and-Stone rebuild, that the dad was a carpenter and the mom a struggling writer, that Mia was on scholarship. Edward, too, felt an instant connection—as if the Boyds were people they had both known in earlier, more modest lives.
Mackenzie had made the arrangements with Mia’s mom, including drop-off and pick-up times, clothes to bring for playing outside, Lily’s love of peanut butter and aversion to chocolate. She hadn’t thought to ask about cell reception. Her carrier was the best in their own neighborhood, clearly not so here.
The map screen switched to night mode for several beats, seeming as confu
sed as Mackenzie. She knew it was a glorious fall day. Glimpses of blue could be seen through the high canopy, along with shards of fire where sun lit the leaves, but in every other regard, the day-darkness was unsettling.
“Are we lost?” came Lily’s worried voice.
“We are not,” Mackenzie said with determination. “Mia’s driveway is off this road.”
She just didn’t know where it was, and, no matter how often she glanced at the phone, it remained dead. Eyes shifting between the road and the SUV’s map screen, she zoomed the view out once, then again until she saw an intersection, which was good. At this setting, though, she couldn’t judge how far off it was. She was an artist, not a mathematician.
“All I see is trees,” Lily said, more curious than complaining. “Maybe Mia lives in a tree house.”
Mackenzie smiled into the rearview mirror. As dark as the woods were, her daughter’s blonde hair sparked with light. “Maybe a fairy house. What do you think?”
“With fairy dust around it? And popsicle-stick windows and clay walls? That’s silly, Mommy.”
“Why?”
“Only our fairy houses have those. Besides, fairy houses aren’t real. Mia’s house is made of wood. Her daddy built it, and he’s a … what did you say he is?”
“A carpenter.”
“Uh-huh. Are we almost there?”
“I think so. But will you look at these trees, Lily? They’re yellow, like your hair. Know why?” she asked as a diversion.
“The green stuff.”
“Chlorophyll. It dies off when the nights turn cool. Remember, we talked about that? The colors we see now were always there. We just couldn’t see them until the green was gone.”
Lily was silent through another twist of the road, then asked, “Are you sure we’re not lost?”
“Do I ever get lost?”
“You did when we were driving to the ocean.”
“Excuse me, little love. I got us to the ocean, just not the part Daddy wanted us at, but he was sleeping.” In the passenger’s seat. After a late night of work. “No, we are not lost.” But Mackenzie was thinking of turning around and retracing the road to town. If she had a working phone, she could call Mia’s mom for directions. Of course, there was still the turning-around problem. The road was undulating with a frequency that made narrowness all the more of a challenge.
“Why’s it taking so long?” Lily asked.
“Because I don’t want to drive fast on a road I don’t know.”
“Will you know how to find me to take me home later?”
“Absolutely,” Mackenzie said with feeling, though she was thinking it might not be a problem if she didn’t get them there in the first place.
“I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
“Mommy?”
“What, hon?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“We’re almost there, almost there.”
According to the map screen, they were nearing the crossroad. Hoping to get her bearings there, perhaps see a sign or regain her cell signal, at the very least have room for a turnaround, she zoomed in to identify it, to bring the name into view, leaning closer to catch it.
Too late, she remembered that the GPS display of her current position trailed reality by a number of seconds. Too late, she realized that the momentum built climbing another hill would have her barreling down the far side without knowing how close the intersection was.
She never saw the stop sign hidden by leaves of the same color, never saw the van speeding at her from the right. She felt the terrifying jolt of impact, heard a high-pitched scream from the back seat and would have blindly reached for Lily if the SUV hadn’t hurtled into a spin that defied gravity.
She felt another impact, then nothing.
Also by Barbara Delinsky
Blueprints
Sweet Salt Air
Love Songs
Warm Hearts
Escape
Not My Daughters
While My Sister Sleeps
The Secret between Us
Family Tree
Flirting with Pete
The Woman Next Door
The Vineyard
Lake News
Coast Road
Three Wishes
About the Author
BARBARA DELINSKY is the author of more than twenty New York Times bestselling books. She has been published in twenty-eight languages worldwide. A lifelong New Englander, Delinsky earned a B.A. in psychology at Tufts University and an M.A. in sociology at Boston College. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband, more books than she’ll ever be able to read, two tennis racquets, and enough electronic devices to keep in close touch with her children and their families. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Excerpt: Before and Again
Also by Barbara Delinsky
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
TWILIGHT WHISPERS. Copyright © 1987 Barbara Delinsky. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover photographs: sunset © Vintage Tone/Shutterstock.com; yacht © Vereshchagin Dmitry/Shutterstock.com
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e-ISBN 9781466853928
First St. Martin’s Press Edition: January 2018
First eBook edition: January 2017