“Whoa.” Abby flicked on a lamp switch and dragged a bewildered hand through her hair. “Make that a double whoa, sis. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about—”
“Spense’ll take care of the kids, so that’s not a problem. And Paige wanted to come too, but honestly, while she’s still nursing the baby it’s really har—”
“Neither one of you need to come. What on earth even put this idea in your heads?”
“You did,” Gwen said patiently. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Neither does Paige. But it’s perfectly obvious to both of us that you’re really unhappy—”
“Gwen. Back up. Relax. Put your feet up. I’m fine.”
“And elephants waltz. One minute you were thrilled with your job. The next minute you’ve taken off for Tahoe at the drop of a hat, as if your life and job in L.A. never existed. I’d be delighted that you were doing something impulsive, except that you don’t have an impulsive bone in your entire body. Something is obviously terribly wrong, and since you refuse to talk to either of us on the phone—”
“I’ll talk. I’ll talk.” God. Sisters. You could fool a boss, a lover, and for damn sure a mother, but never a sister—at least not one of hers. Abby washed a hand over her face. It never seemed to matter how much. they argued and bickered, how completely opposite they were in personalities. They’d always had an unshakable bond of love from the heart. She had a bad feeling her sisters would kill for her if they had to.
God knew, she would for them.
“I told you both about the promotion I didn’t get, losing my job.” Abby wrapped her arms around a couch cushion. “Maybe it bothered me just a little bit more than I let on.”
“You want Paige and me to hire a hit man for the turkey who fired you? Offhand, I’m not sure where you go about hiring people like that, but believe me, if—”
“That’s all I need. Contending with your two adorable husbands blaming me because you two were in jail.”
“We can handle our husbands,” Gwen said darkly. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand—namely you—and unless you immediately start talking about how you’re feeling and what the holy horsefeathers you’re doing in Tahoe…”
“Hey, I told you I’d talk.” But Abby closed her eyes, not wanting to go into this, not now, not tonight, not even with Gwen. “I just need some time. Time to…change. And I didn’t pick Tahoe for any special reason, except that it was a place where I could get totally away from everything about my life in L.A.”
“Okay. Go on. What about this ‘big change’ you want to do?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” Abby hesitated. “I just realized how much I made business my whole life. Everything. What I wore, where I lived, even my choice in car and how I decorated my apartment—every stupid breath I took was about my career. And I loved my work. I never saw anything wrong with what I was doing…until I lost the job, and it felt like the whole rug was swept out from underneath me.”
“Oh, Abby. Paige and I told you a zillion times that your career was wonderful, but it mattered too much to you. You never even let a man get close.”
“Hey. I like that whole half of the human species. I never had a problem getting along with the guys. I like men, for Pete’s sake.”
“Didn’t say you didn’t. I said you never let a man get close. I don’t know what you’re scared of….”
Blast her sister. Even after Abby hung up the phone, she sat scowling at the dark, cold, empty hearth. Her sister had it all wrong. She wasn’t scared. Of anything.
But she’d never been an earth mother the way Gwen was. And Paige was an artist; there was a feminine sensuality in everything about her. Both her sisters had seemed to find women’s roles that fit them as naturally as old, comfortable gloves. Abby never had. She recognized her own set of talents, but they had always made her a lone wolf. She was a competitive achiever—like men. A go-getter and a lover of battles—like men. She’d always secretly felt that she was a faker and a fraud at this woman business. She’d just never been good at….well, girl stuff.
Slowly she climbed off the couch and headed for bed, pep-talking herself up every stair. Maybe the self-criticism wasn’t strictly fair. The truth was, she’d never tried girl stuff. Now was the first time in her adult life she’d ever had free time, and two months dipped ahead of her to experiment, to find a new balance in her life. To find out, when it came to the crunch, who she was as a woman.
Being fired had left her feeling fragile and vulnerable, Abby knew. But there had to be some woman’s role in the nineties, some niche for her. All she needed to rebuild her confidence again was to succeed at something, to not fail.
When the lights were out and she was snuggled in bed, her mind spun back to Gar. No matter how much she enjoyed being with him, no matter how winsome and sexy and inexplicably drawn she felt when she was with him…he was a dynamic, successful man, and at least temporarily, her life was in downright shambles. In the best of times, she’d never been good with men on a personal, intimate level. And with painful honesty, Abby realized that allowing a relationship to develop any further with him was just asking for failure.
She had to stay away from him. There simply was no other choice.
Gar was leaning against his Cherokee when her Lexus zipped into the drive the next afternoon. Abby obviously spotted him, but she was wearing dark shades against the glare of winter sunlight, and he couldn’t see her expression. He’d been waiting at her place for a full half hour. The cold didn’t bother him, but he was as fidgety as a claustrophobic in a sub-marine.
“Hello,” she called out when she opened the door. Nothing else, and there was nothing in her voice to help him guess if she objected to finding him here. She stepped out of the car, but then bent right back in to grab some packages. Her arms started filling up with bags.
He jogged forward to help when he realized how much she was trying to carry in. “You buy out the stores?” he asked.
“Well, I got just a little overenthusiastic. Needle-point and candlewick and crewel…” He must have looked blank, because she chuckled and filled him in. “Girl stuff. Crafts.”
“You like crafts, huh?”
“Me? Heavens, yes. I’m a craft lover from way back.”
Her tone was oddly firm, as if she thought he might doubt her. There was nothing to doubt. She was balancing enough crinkly, crunkly packages to block her face, sabotage her walk to the door, and for sure make it difficult to ferret out the house key from her purse. “I never did see a point in doing anything halfway,” she said with a laugh. “Although I did seem to overdo it just a teensy bit this time.”
As far as he could tell, she was gonna be doing crafts until the year 2025. On the other hand, he had noticed her teensy tendency to do everything 200%, from her flat-tire battle to her cookie making to her first experience on skis. The tenacious thought had lodged in his mind that she’d love that way, too. Go for it. No holds barred and screw the risks. For anyone or anything that really mattered to her.
Not that Gar had any wild ideas that that “anyone” could be him. But the awkward debacle with his ex-wife the night before had itched on his conscience like an allergy. Somehow, something had gone wrong every time they were together, either her disasters or his. Hers he couldn’t fix. But his he sure as hell wanted a chance to explain.
“Abby—”
“Just set the bags down in the living room, okay? I’ll bring in some coffee. I left the pot on from lunch, so it’s probably like sludge now, but I remember you saying—”
“Yeah. No such thing as too strong for me. Sludge is my favorite flavor.”
There was no chance to talk with her for several minutes, not while she was flying around at jet speeds, what Abby seemed to call her relaxed pace. He juggled the packages and carted them into the living room. When that was done, he stood restlessly, not ready to sit, but not wanting to be caught pacing, either. The couches were a striking turquoise color, but everything else was wood and stone a
nd glass. It was a man’s room, with big furniture, lots of space, and the view from her French doors was a canal for a backyard—iced over now—leading to the blue-green waters of Lake Tahoe.
“Here you go…afraid it is sludge, but at least it’s raspberry-almond sludge.”
He whirled around to take the black glass mug from her. She was still breathless from running around, but her jacket and boots were gone now. She was wearing pale yellow slacks and a matching oversize angora sweater that swallowed her torso. The color and texture made her look soft, vulnerable, fragile. Crushable, Gar thought, and took a breath.
“I wanted to explain about my ex-wife—”
She was shaking her head before the words were even out. “You don’t have to explain anything, Gar. It’s not my business. It was really obvious that meeting was awkward for you. I didn’t duck out to be rude, but just to get out of your way.”
“Yeah, it was awkward. But I’d still appreciate the chance to explain—it had to look like Janet was a regular visitor or still a part of my life. We were divorced three years ago.”
“Okay.”
She curled up in a corner of the sofa, but she clearly wasn’t going to ask any questions, much less invite any confidences. Gar took a gulp of coffee, and decided that being beaten up in a back alley by a gang of thugs had to be more fun than this. “Janet got the idea about a month ago that she wanted to see me again. I don’t know why. We occasionally communicated over business or financial matters left over from the divorce, but she never called or pushed like this before—and last night was the first time she ever just showed up, uninvited. Her place is in Houston. She has some old friends in Reno, and often used to spend a weekend there, but I had no reason to know she was anywhere near Tahoe.”
“Really, you don’t have to tell me any of thi—”
By his code of honor, he did. “I don’t kiss one woman if I’m still attached to another, Stanford. I’m not attached. Legally, emotionally, or in any other way,” he said bluntly.
“I…Okay.”
Well, nothing particularly seemed “okay.” He threw himself into one of the overstuffed turquoise chairs, thinking that honesty was really a rotten policy. It’d be a lot easier to shut up. But he didn’t. “After you left, she came on to me,” he said flatly.
“Um, I hate to break this to you, Gar, but a nun could have figured out she had that in mind,” Abby murmured wryly.
“Well, damned if I was expecting it.” He clawed a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not having any fun telling you about any of this…but I want to see you again. And I can’t swear that my ex-wife won’t call or do something else that…well, that looks wrong.” Since he seemed to be wallowing in mud all on his own, he figured he might as well dive for the bottom of the puddle. “I have a hard time being unkind to her, Abby. She got into cocaine when we were married. Deep. Destroyed about everything in her path, including our marriage, and definitely including her.”
Abby’s expression had been almost unreadably cool and calm, but suddenly there was heart in her eyes. “Oh, Gar. I’m sorry.”
“I was a workaholic in those years. Hardly home. Busy building an empire, inhaling every challenge, happy as hell. While she was sinking lower than a stone.”
“You blame yourself,” Abby said gently. She didn’t waste breath phrasing the comment as a question.
“I didn’t see it. Didn’t see her loneliness, didn’t see how much trouble she was in, didn’t have any comprehension of how well she’d learned to lie to cover up the problem. I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered anyone on drugs—”
“They were everywhere in Los Angeles. The corporate world no different than the ghetto.” She sighed. “Growing up, I had the naive idea that good people never fell off that cliff, but nothing could be less true. Anyone can get suckered in.”
“Yeah. Exactly. But I’d never been around it, had no concept of how the drug would change her whole personality. She turned into a complete stranger, nothing like the woman I married—but the point was…she couldn’t climb out on her own. I don’t blame myself for starting her on the habit. But maybe if I’d been less self-centered, less a workaholic, I’d have realized it earlier, confronted her while she still had some control over it—”
Abby shook her head fiercely, protectively. “You must know by now that it doesn’t work that way. Talk to anyone who’s been on drugs. Talk to any therapist who works with them. There’s only one person who can rescue someone with the problem—and that’s the person themselves.”
“Yeah. I know the ‘talk.’ In fact, I was counseled into getting the divorce when I did…. On the surface, it has to look cold-blooded to desert someone in trouble like that—”
“No, it doesn’t,” Abby said quietly.
“Well, it did to me. But her doc told me damn bluntly that the best thing I could do for her was get out. The thing was, she could get money from me, find ways to hide the habit, knew I’d keep bailing her out…It wasn’t like she still felt love, but just this unhealthy dependency on me. And basically that seemed to prove true, “because she checked into a rehab center as soon as the tie was severed. As far as I knew, she’d straightened out her act, was doing okay. With the divorce she got the Houston house and property, and a lump sum for alimony—which was exactly what she asked for. I never argued, never bickered about the amount, nothing like that. The point being, when this was done, there were no hanging threads, no reason to still be in contact with her.”
“Until she started calling again? And you’re thinking she may show up in black slink and furs another time?”
“Nothing happened, Abby,” he said quietly, “and nothing was going to happen. She startled me, and I wasn’t real happy with the way I handled it. There wasn’t any question about her staying with me—in any way. But I’ve told her no before, and I sure as hell must be doing it wrong, because nothing’s gotten through to her so far.”
Abby cupped her chin in a palm. “I think there’s a lot of rescuer in you, Cameron,” she said softly. “You stop to help damn fool women with flat tires. You pamper idiots who collide with your trees. I’m afraid the evidence was pretty damning, even before you told me about Janet. I don’t think you’d find it easy to be cruel, not to a woman.”
Gar wasn’t sure what to say. He’d expected about anything but warmth and sympathy.
She smiled suddenly. Just a slight curve of her lips that put a spring-softness in her eyes. “You’re really, miserable talking about this, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had more fun at an IRS audit.”
She chuckled. “Well then, we’re done with this. Put it to bed in your mind. If she happens to show up when I’m around again, I’ll know what’s going on. Wish I had some great advice to suggest on how to handle her, but I honestly don’t have a clue. I think when something’s this hard, you just do the best you can and try not to beat yourself up about it.”
Again his throat went dry. “You don’t have to be this understanding. I just need you to believe that I’m being honest with you.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re not ticked?” He still couldn’t believe it.
“You think I should be ticked? Because we were embroiled in a pretty tight clinch when a beautifully—and nominally clad—brunette walked in with the clear intention of seducing you?” She was chuckling, teasing him, when suddenly the oddest shadow seemed to darken her eyes. “Cripes, I guess a normal woman would respond by being ticked, huh? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I could try getting mad or hurt or something—”
“Uh, no. That’s okay,” he said with dry, wry speed.
“I just kept thinking how awkward and miserable I’d have felt if someone had walked in like that on me. I’d have died. A couple of times over. You think I should have been angry?”
The conversation had taken a mighty humorous turn. Gar had the craziest feeling she was going to talk herself into getting ticked, if he wasn’t damned careful. “I thi
nk I owe you—I think we owe each other—at least one time together when there isn’t a disaster going on.”
“They do seem to follow us,” Abby admitted.
“So how about a dinner?”
She hesitated, and he thought, Damn. She hadn’t hesitated once since he walked in, not about listening to him, not about openly offering him understanding and empathy. But it seemed to just now occur to her what direction he was leading in. Time together.
She curled a leg under her, pulled at an earring, shifted a couch pillow, all the while looking at him, studying his face as if she could find answers there. He’d have given her answers, if he’d known the questions.
“Gar,” she said finally, “I’m…uneasy.”
“Over sharing some prime rib and a baked potato?”
She chuckled. “No. Of course not But…” Her voice softened, sobered. “I’m in the middle of a bunch of life changes. Nothing terrible, just some choices and decisions I have to make, and I’m really not sure where I’m going to be two months from now. If you want some company, someone to talk to or just be with…I’m fine with that. But I think right now I’d be a pretty bad risk if you were looking for more than that.”
Gar stood up and grabbed his jacket. Definitely time to leave while he was ahead. Just occasionally Abby seemed to think like a blonde. She didn’t, for instance, seem to notice that he was the one who’d established himself as a bad risk, because of his whole past history with Janet. She’d just seemed to accept that mountain. He couldn’t imagine another woman who would.
“If you were afraid I was going to pop an instant marriage proposal…rest easy. I was, mind you. I was going to forget all the common sense and life experience I’ve accumulated up to age thirty-six, and blindly leap right into a committed relationship. But •then I remembered your stealing my chocolate sundae.”
She grinned. “You’re gonna hold that against me forever?”
“Let’s just say I think fellow chocoholics have an excellent basis for understanding each other…and it seems to me we’ve both earned some play time. Which means—in part—that we’re not going anywhere for dinner that doesn’t have a range of chocolate desserts.”
The 200% Wife Page 3
