by Mary Campisi
Filing divorce papers against a woman who was five hundred plus miles away was one thing, but when she was sitting on the other side of the bed, wearing boxer shorts and a tank top, with no bra, well, dammit, that muddled a man’s senses. Images of Derry sexing it up with Steve Miller exploded in his brain. He wanted to grab the photos from his study drawer, throw them on the bed and force her to explain.
But part of him did not want to see those lips admitting her betrayal. Not yet.
“Sheila told me I was the one our mother wanted.” Her blue eyes glittered. “All these years I thought I was the cast-off, but she had it so much worse. It must have been hell to live with a mother who didn’t want her.”
Alec sank onto his side of the bed, thankful it was a king size. Seeing her so vulnerable made him want to touch her, take her in his arms and comfort her.
And that would be a big mistake.
He propped a pillow behind his head and stuck his arms under it to prevent himself from doing something stupid. It was hard to think with her so close, looking so needy.
“Maybe that explains why she’s so out there,” he said, determined to talk his way out of his growing desire for his adulterous wife.
“She taught at Berkeley,” Derry said, “and she holds a Ph.D. in Abnormal Psychology. But she can’t seem to conquer the demons inside. I know what that’s like,” she murmured.
Skip that subject. “How long do you think she’ll be staying?”
She shrugged and the cotton tank pulled against her left breast. Alec pictured himself sliding the tank over her head, pictured the perfect, pale breasts filling his hands.
“A few days, maybe a week.”
He nodded, his eyes on the slim column of her neck. He’d had many women before Derry, but none since her and none like her. She rendered him powerful and weak, zealous and humble. If only they’d been able to get past the truth about Charlie.
“Did she tell you she’s a schizophrenic?”
That snapped him back to the conversation quick. “What?”
Derry worked her lower lip through her teeth, something she did when she was nervous. “A schizophrenic. She said she’s fine as long as she takes her medication.”
“Great.” He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his jaw. “Just what I need in the house, another Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Implying I’m the first Jekyll and Hyde?”
His face turned hot and he mumbled, “You’ve had your moments lately.”
“I guess I have.” She sighed. “I need her to stay, Alec. It’s the least I can do.”
“I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I should’ve had her investigated.”
“For God’s sake, she’s not a criminal.”
“No, but you’d be surprised what you can discover when you start looking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t miss the edge in her voice that said, don’t engage, but he plowed forward. “Sometimes people say one thing and do another. Or”—he forced her to meet his gaze—“sometimes they do whatever they want because they don’t think anyone will ever find out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Well, you should know, shouldn’t you?”
“I was talking about you.”
“Me?” If he thought Derry had a new subdued persona, he was wrong. This casual, veiled accusation had her furious. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
God, she was a good liar. “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you care to compare notes?”
Her mouth flattened into a thin line. “No, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. Just don’t think I didn’t figure out why you were never here every time I called. I know what you were doing, Alec.” She leaned forward and spat out in a low voice, “I know.”
Right. Let her think he was screwing somebody, at least she wouldn’t know the hold she had on him.
“And I know what you’ve been doing, so we’re even. It’ll all come out soon enough.”
“Sending me divorce papers through the mail was really cheap.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to give you plenty of time to adjust to the idea.”
“I’m fine.” Her chest heaved with an effort to control her temper. “I just don’t want to deal with this right now, not until Sheila leaves. Can you do that for me?”
“Oh.” He let out a harsh laugh. “You want me to play the loving husband for your new-found sister.”
“I have to give her something to believe in.”
“Even if it’s a lie.”
She looked away. “It wasn’t always a lie,” she said in a quiet voice.
“No, it wasn’t.” In that moment, Alec loved and hated her with an equal fierceness that scared him. He wanted to make love to her as much as he wanted to choke the life from her beautiful body. He was the one who’d become Jekyll and Hyde.
“What do you want, Alec? Tell me what it will take to get you to agree.”
Now, there was the fifty million dollar proposition. What did he want? The answer spewed from his lips before he could pull it back. “You. Willingly, openly, every night until she leaves.”
***
“Oh, baby, I missed you.” Richard trailed a tan finger along Shea’s leg. “You have no idea how much.”
Shea shifted on the couch and fixed her gaze on the television. He’d been touching her for the last forty minutes. Mini massages to the neck and shoulders, strokes to the arms, butterfly caresses on her belly and legs. And she felt nothing but growing irritation.
“Do you hear me, baby?” His husky voice slid over her. “Do you hear the want in my voice?”
“Is that the same want you used for Tanya?” She kept her eyes on the television screen.
“Aw, Christ, baby, I made a mistake. I’ve been apologizing for the last two hours. Don’t make me pay for it for the rest of my life.”
“You moved in with her, Richard,” Shea said, wondering why she didn’t feel outrage at the words. “You got her pregnant.” Even those words didn’t spark the angry despair she’d suffered six weeks ago.
“It might not even be my kid. I wasn’t the only one she was screw—I mean, involved with.”
“Tanya’s been a busy girl.”
“She’s a slut.”
“And you just realized that?”
The caressing stopped. Thank God. “Look at me, baby. Don’t turn away.” And then, from the depths of a place she didn’t know existed in him, he said, “Please?”
Curiosity made her shift toward him. He looked the same. Still handsome in a George Hamilton way, with a deep, rich voice that made women want to please him.
“We can start over, do it right this time.” His silver eyes shimmered. “I was thinking we could fly to Vegas and renew our marriage vows, stay at the Bellagio. What do you think?”
What did she think? That the delivery was perfect, the inflection precise, the tone superb. Even the suggestion proved commendable. Only one area suffered—that innate trait that couldn’t be cultivated or captured, and which Richard sadly lacked, had always lacked but hidden so well. Sincerity. Marcus Orelean had possessed an abundance of sincerity. Shea forced him from her thoughts and said, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” His expression darkened but he persisted. “You were always the one who said you wanted a romantic wedding. Well, I’m offering it to you. I can schedule a flight for Thursday.”
“I think we should wait.”
“I’m trying here, Shea, I just need a little help.”
“Why don’t we see whose baby Tanya’s carrying before we think about renewing any vows?” The absurdity of discussing her husband’s paternity woes made her want to burst out laughing.
Maybe she was going to be okay after all.
Richard was another story.
“It’s about the kid, isn’t it?” He flashed her one of his ultra-white smiles and said, “If you really want a kid, we’ll have one
. Okay?”
Shea scooted out of his lap and plunked herself next to him. “Richard, this is not about the baby I lost.” Finally, there was a trickle of pain oozing out.
He had the honesty to look confused. “What then?”
“This marriage.” She spread her hands wide, palms up. “It isn’t working; it hasn’t worked in a long time. Maybe it never worked.”
“I’ll start being around more, okay?”
“It’s not just that—”
“And I won’t look at any more women, ever.”
“Richard, stop.”
“I need this, Shea.” Just the slightest touch of desperation skittered across his handsome face. “You can’t give up on me, I need you.”
She didn’t want to be needed. She hated it. Why couldn’t she ever be the one to need someone?
“Tell me what you want. Anything. Just don’t leave me.”
Chapter 26
Cyn deposited the last bag of groceries on the kitchen table and set down her purse. Tonight she planned to serve Chicken Marsala with homemade pasta and capers. She’d already bought Granny Smith apples for tomorrow’s dessert, deep-dish apple pie, Sam’s favorite.
She’d been home three days, and though she was exhausted from scrubbing six weeks of soap scum, ironing countless shirts, disinfecting toilets, and re-stocking the cupboards and three stomachs with homemade meals, it felt wonderful.
One task spilled into another until the day ended with Cyn falling into Sam’s strong arms. But the night didn’t end there, because gratitude overrode exhaustion as she pleasured her husband until he groaned his release.
This was her new life, her second chance, and she wasn’t going to blow it. Sam encouraged her to call about a broker’s license or at the very least, get back on the computer and start trading.
But she couldn’t.
Even the girls tiptoed carefully around, seemingly uncomfortable and wary of her new submissive demeanor. She didn’t yell, criticize, or demand. Cyn just took it all in, like a giant ball of air and bounced it back, grateful to be among them.
Each day, guilt seeped away like a yellowing bruise and the memory of Steve Miller’s handsome, smiling face faded. She’d only talked to Derry and Shea once, to return their phone calls.
Maybe she couldn’t talk to them right now because they served as neon reminders of Steve Miller and how she almost totally screwed up her life. Or maybe it had to do with the life she’d chosen now, homemade pasta and all, a self-imposed punishment they might not think she deserved.
And maybe they were right. But maybe they weren’t.
If she hadn’t pledged to this new self-imposed Martha Stewart mantra of swiping dust, sorting silverware drawers, and devoting hours to the welfare of the home, she might never have noticed the yellow paper wedged between the refrigerator and the counter. But Formula 409 and Lysol were her two new best friends with the broom and dustpan close seconds.
Cyn tried to snatch the paper but it slipped to the floor just out of reach. She grabbed a wooden spoon and kneeled on the linoleum, swatting at the yellow paper. After several futile attempts, she snagged an edge and dragged it toward her.
It was a discharge summary sheet from Mercy Hospital. Apply ice to affected area. Ibuprofen or Tylenol every four hours as needed. Schedule follow up appointment with family doctor in one week. Discharge instructions from the night Kiki ran the Camry into a street light. Cyn started to fold the paper when the time-dated stamp on the corner of the paper caught her eye—2:22 a.m. Hadn’t Sam told her the accident happened around 10:00 p.m.?
She studied the paper, trying to reason the time difference. Why would Sam lie to her?
And then she saw the reason glaring back at her in small, neat script next to the patient name slot.
The element of surprise was often the best way to glean the truth, especially from formerly “trusted” individuals. So, Cyn busied herself rolling meatballs and baking bread, all the while counting the hours until she had her family together.
It happened at dinner. Janie had just finished saying grace and they’d taken their first mouthfuls of spaghetti, when Cyn spoke.
“What time did you say Kiki’s accident happened?” She addressed all of them but her eyes were on Sam.
He was a horrible liar. His eyes darted at Kiki and Janie, then back to Kiki before he swallowed a third of his wine and said, “I think it was around 10:00. That sounds about right.” His sandy brows pulled into a line and he repeated, “Yes, 10:00.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Janie threw her a horrified look as if she recognized the ploy Cyn often used on them. If I ask you, it probably means I already know the answer. Kiki kept her head bent, intent on twirling massive amounts of spaghetti onto her fork.
“I’m sure,” Sam said. “Right, girls?”
“Sure,” Kiki murmured, studying her fork loaded with five mouthfuls of spaghetti. Janie busied herself with a meatball, stuffing half of it in her mouth, a convenient way to avoid answering.
“Janie?” Cyn leaned toward her youngest daughter, also the weakest link. “Is that right?”
Janie kept chewing and shrugged.
“She wasn’t there,” Sam blurted out. “She doesn’t know.”
“You left her at home while you went to the hospital?”
“Right.”
“How long? Janie doesn’t like being alone at night, let alone with her sister in the emergency room.” Cyn forced a laugh. “Janie’s too inquisitive to let that slip by.”
“She was asleep.”
“At 10:00? I haven’t known Janie to go to bed at 10:00 since she was ten.”
“Why all the questions, Cyn?” He chugged more wine and said, “I handled it.”
“I’m just…” She paused and searched the faces at the table, but none of them would look at her, so she plopped the word “curious” in front of them.
Sam shrugged and bent over his plate. “It was a hell of a time. One I’d just as soon forget.”
“I’m sure.” She lifted her wine glass and took a sip. “But something just doesn’t make sense.”
“You’ve been watching too many re-runs of Columbo.”
She threw him a tight smile and countered, “I love Columbo. He always gets his man.”
“Except this isn’t an investigation. Or is it?”
Cyn halved a meatball and shrugged. “Not unless there’s something to investigate.”
“There isn’t.”
“Kiki? Is that right?”
Of course her daughter wouldn’t give her the common courtesy to look at her. She never had so why start now? “Hmmm,” was as much as she could get from the top of her dark head.
“Janie?” She saved the youngest, most vulnerable for last. “You stayed here alone while Dad went to the hospital for Kiki?”
Janie’s face scrunched up and her mouth curled into a knot. “I…”
Sam threw down his fork. “What are you doing, Cyn? Leave her alone.”
“I’m just trying to find out what happened while I was gone. What’s wrong with that?”
His face burned red beneath his tan. “If you cared that much, maybe you shouldn’t have taken off for six weeks.”
“And maybe you should try telling the truth.”
“She knows!” Janie yelled, tears streaming down her face. “She knows, can’t you see?” Her eyes darted from her father to Kiki, settling finally on her mother. “It was wrong to try to keep what happened from you. I’m sorry, Mom. I was the one—”
“Shut up!” Kiki’s threat sliced through her sister’s confession.
“You shut up! It’s all your fault anyway. If you and that jerk boyfriend of yours hadn’t snuck around in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t have followed you in the car.” She looked at her mother and said, “She uses the emergency fire ladder to sneak out her window and meet Brad. I caught her twice.”
“So, you shoplifted,” Kiki spat out.
“And yo
u’ve got condoms in your underwear drawer!”
Cyn grew hot and cold, her brain spinning so fast she thought she’d throw up. “Condoms?” was all she could manage.
“What the hell are you talking about?” This from Sam.
“Oh, don’t even start.” Kiki stood up and tossed her napkin on the table. “From the looks of things the other night, you could’ve used one.” Her green eyes glittered in disgust. “Or did Rita have her own?”
“Rita?” Who were they talking about? What were they talking about? Cyn felt as though she’d been dumped into a real life version of Talking Head’s, Beautiful Life.
“Cyn, I can explain.”
“Try it, Dad,” Kiki spat out. “Tell her how Rita was doing a lap dance on your lap with her tongue in your mouth.”
“That’s enough,” he said. “Both of you go to your rooms right now.” When neither daughter made a move to leave, Sam raised his usually quiet voice six more decibels. “Now!”
Kiki and Janie scrambled out of their seats and ran from the room. When they were out of earshot, Sam turned to Cyn and laid a hand on her arm. “Cyn, I can explain.”
She stared at the spot where their skin touched, flesh pressed to flesh, and wondered how a woman could share a life and a bed with a man for twenty years, birth his children, bury his mother, cook his meals and wash his underwear, and still, not know him.
This man hovering over her, speaking words she couldn’t hear with such tender regard was a stranger. He looked and sounded like Sam Cintar, but he was just an aberration.
Her Sam didn’t lie about which daughter he’d taken to the emergency room and he would never cheat. Not her Sam. A vague numbness crept through, drying the tears on her face, settling her bones into a languid state of disbelief.
“I’ll tell you everything, Cyn, just listen, okay?”
Her eyes remained glued on the tanned hand massaging her forearm, flesh to flesh and yet, she felt nothing.
“When Kiki called me the night of the accident, I didn’t know at first that Janie was driving. I thought she was just a passenger. But when I found out, all I could do was imagine her mangled body trapped inside the car. I wanted you there so badly, Cyn, but you were on a vacation with your friends, and that made me furious. And I’d just uncovered the password to the online trading which made me even more angry and suspicious about the real reasons for your trip.” He sighed and stroked her arm. Still, no feeling. “Once I saw Janie and knew she was going to be okay, I didn’t see a reason to tell you. I know it was wrong, but I handled it.”
