"He's a great kid. I wish Gary could see him grow up."
"Me, too. Have I told you what you wanted to know?"
He smiled but shook his head. "No, but thanks anyway."
"I told Rachel I'd fax her copies of Gary's cell phone records. Would you like me to send them to you, too?"
"That would be great."
Beth gave him another long, thoughtful look. "Do you think Gary was having an affair?"
"Do you?" he countered.
"I never called him at a motel, if that's what you mean."
"You never called him on anything but his cell phone; he could have been anywhere."
"I think he really loved Rachel. Although ..."
"Yes?"
"I'm not sure I could have put up with my husband staying in the city during the week and only coming home on the weekends. I used to tell Gary to take off early some days and go home. He always acted like he wanted to, but then something would come up. He said Rachel was the most understanding wife in the world and the best thing that ever happened to him. It always sounded like true love to me."
"Yeah, true love." Dylan raised the beer bottle to his lips and took another swig. It didn't taste right. This bar didn't feel right. He had the sudden urge to go home, but it wasn't his apartment he was thinking about, it was the house in the country that called to him.
"Thanks for the drink," Beth said, getting to her feet. "If you need something else, let me know. And if you see Rachel, tell her again how sorry I am, would you? I didn't really know her, but I felt like I did after hearing Gary talk about her. She sounded pretty special."
"She is special," Dylan agreed. Too damn special.
* * *
She couldn't possibly be missing Dylan, Rachel told herself as she loaded the dishes after dinner Tuesday evening. The man had avoided her for nine years, and she'd grown accustomed to his absence. There was certainly no reason that she now couldn't go two days without seeing him.
But the two days had seemed endlessly long. She'd stopped by the house three times, hoping to find him there. Instead she'd found Travis and a plumber. Travis had said that Dylan had run into San Francisco to tie up some loose ends. What loose ends? Had he changed his mind about finishing the house himself? Travis seemed to think he'd be back soon, but maybe Dylan wasn't coming back at all. Maybe he'd changed his mind.
She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. Wesley and Carly were watching television in the family room, and her grandparents had retired to their house after dinner. Pushing open the front door, she stepped onto the porch and took a seat on the swing. It was a beautiful night, filled with bright stars, a big old moon and a cool breeze. Shivering, she wrapping her arms around herself. She needed a coat or a blanket or a man's arms, she thought with a yearning that stretched down deep into her soul.
But there was no reassuring voice coming out of the darkness, no strong male upon whose shoulder she could rest her head. She was alone, a truth she had to face. She wasn't a wife anymore. She was a widow. But she was still a woman -- a woman alone.
Some would say she wasn't really alone, not with her grandparents nearby, her sister and child living in the house with her, an assortment of cousins and aunts and uncles in the surrounding few miles, but still she felt lonely. In recent years she'd been too busy for girlfriends. Heck, maybe she'd been too busy for her husband. And why had she been so busy? Had her priorities been wrong? Had she spent all of her time trying to save the farm, save the family, when she should have been more concerned with saving herself and her marriage?
But she hadn't thought she was in trouble.
"Rachel?"
She stiffened when a male voice did come out of the darkness, but it wasn't Dylan's voice, she quickly realized. It was her grandfather's.
"Hi," she said as John came into view. He walked up the steps and sat down next to her on the swing.
"You should have turned the porch light on. I could hardly see you," he said.
"I like the dark."
"Easier to hide in, that's for sure."
"You think I've been hiding?" she asked. "Carly said the same thing earlier. Why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you grab me by the shoulders and give me a good shake and tell me to open my eyes?"
John put his arm around her. "I think you've spent a lot of time and effort trying to make everyone in this family happy. Now it's time to concentrate on yourself."
"But I should have concentrated more on Gary. Maybe if I'd made him happy …" She couldn't finish the sentence or the thought.
"You did just fine by Gary. Don't be thinking you shortchanged him in any way."
"It's hard not to think that. I'm beginning to realize that my husband was not as happy as I was."
"That wasn't for your lack of trying."
"I guess not. But I can't help noticing you aren't disagreeing with me. You knew Gary wasn't happy, didn't you?"
He shook his head. "I just thought he had feet a little too restless for our neck of the woods. But if he was unhappy, if he wanted change, I'm sure he would have said something."
"Or not. He knew I loved it here. I never hid that."
"And he loved you. You can't keep looking back."
"I don't think I have a choice."
"Because of the insurance money, or is something else bothering you, Rachel?"
She supposed she should tell him about her conversation with Wesley's teacher, but she couldn't quite make herself bring up the subject. Once it was out in the open, she'd have to make a decision, and it was too soon for that. "I'm just on edge," she said instead. "I feel keyed up, and I don't know why. It's as if I'm waiting for something to happen, but I don't know what."
"Dylan came by earlier this afternoon," John said abruptly.
"What did he want?"
"He didn't say. Just asked you to give him a call. I meant to tell you at dinner, but I forgot. Thought I better come back in case you want to call him tonight."
"Thanks." She tried to ignore the little jump in her pulse. Dylan was back. Well, that answered one of her questions. Unless he'd come back to tell her he was leaving, or to tell her something else -- something about Gary? She shook her head as the thoughts chased each other around in a circle, making her dizzy.
"Are you all right, Rachel?" John asked.
"I'm hanging in there. Can I ask you something, Grandpa?"
"Sure."
"Do you think you know Grandma? I mean, really know her."
"Nope."
She was surprised by his answer. "You don't? Not even after fifty years of marriage?"
"Everyone has secrets, including your grandmother, including me."
"You? What secrets do you have?"
He laughed. "If I told you that, they wouldn't be secrets."
"Doesn't it bother you to think that Grandma might be keeping something from you?"
"Well, I'll tell you something. About ten years ago I came across a picture of a young man in your grandmother's Bible. I flipped it over, thinking it was some family member of hers, but on the back it said, 'Margie, I'll always love you, Andy.' " He shook his head. "Andy? I had never heard of an Andy. We'd been married forty years and Marge never once mentioned an Andy, but she'd kept his high school picture in her Bible all those years."
"Did you ask her about it?"
"Damn right I did. Shoved that picture right in front of her face and told her to come clean."
"Who was he?"
"An old flame. They were sixteen when they met, but after graduation he went into the military and was killed in a training exercise."
"That's so sad."
"Marge said she didn't love him, just liked him a lot and still felt a sadness that he'd never gotten to grow up and fall in love, the way she'd fallen in love with me."
"Did you believe her?" she asked, sensing something in her grandfather's voice.
"Not for a second. I think she still has a place in her heart for that Andy. That's why s
he kept his picture and why she never said anything about him. She didn't want to share him with me, because she didn't think it had anything to do with me."
"Did you feel the same way?"
"Hell, no. I was jealous. Still am, if the truth be told. But he's long gone, and I'm still here. I've got the woman I love, so I figure in the long run I'm doing a whole lot better than that poor guy."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're worrying about Gary, and you shouldn't be."
"I didn't find an old picture, Grandpa. I found a perfume bottle in his apartment." She couldn't see John's expression, but he didn't seem all that surprised. "It probably means nothing," she said tentatively.
"Probably doesn't," he quickly agreed. "Maybe he bought it for you."
"It was half empty. And the worst thing is that I can't ask him. What if you'd found that picture after Grandma died? What would you have thought?"
"I don't know. I'd probably try to remember the good times. When you get to be my age, Rachel, you realize that life is about going on. People die, they leave sometimes, they screw up your life. But you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, breathe in and out and try to be happy."
"That sounds easier than it is."
He patted her on the shoulder. "It will sort itself out. Just don't put Gary under too harsh a light. Not many of us could stand the glare."
"Not even me," she muttered. For didn't she have her own secret? Wasn't there a moment in her life that she hadn't shared with Gary?
Her grandfather got to his feet with a stretch and a groan. "Lord, I'm getting old."
"No, you're not. You'll always be young."
He smiled. "Don't forget to call Dylan."
"I won't. Thanks -- for everything." After he left she stood up and went into the house. Picking up the phone on the hall table, she dialed Dylan's number, but it went to voice mail. Making an impulsive, probably foolish decision, she grabbed her sweater out of the hall closet and paused in the family room doorway. "I need to go out for a while," she told Carly. "Can you get Wesley into bed for me?"
"Where are you going?"
"I have to talk to Dylan about a few things."
"Why don't you call him?"
"I did; he didn't answer. But I could use a little air."
"Can I go, too?" Wesley asked as he looked up from his television program.
"No, honey. It's a school night and it's almost bedtime."
"But I want to ask him about the house."
"I'll find out how it's going."
Wesley sighed and turned his attention back to the television. Carly, however, still had her gaze fixed on Rachel. "Is something going on?" she asked, getting to her feet.
She shook her head. "Of course not."
Carly followed her to the front door. "Be careful, Rach."
"Why would I need to be careful?"
"Because I'm not certain you and Dylan want the same things."
"Dylan is just here to finish the house and help me find out what happened to Gary."
Carly didn't look convinced. "Is that why he's here?"
"What other reason would there be?"
"You – he doesn't look at you like you're his best friend's wife anymore."
She didn’t like the shrewd gleam in Carly's eyes. "But that's exactly what I am," she said firmly. "And you're imagining things. You have romance on your mind."
"I'm not imagining things. And you told me you were taking the blinders off."
"Dylan will be gone in a few weeks," she said. "And there's nothing going on."
"I hope not. I don't want to see you get hurt."
"Dylan wouldn't hurt me."
"Not intentionally," Carly agreed. "But like I said before, be careful."
It was good sisterly advice, she thought. But she wasn't sure she could take it. She'd been careful most of her life, but right now there was a reckless urge inside of her that was growing stronger with each passing minute.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan stared at his computer screen, disturbed by the information Beth had sent him earlier that day. Gary had received many incoming calls from Lake Tahoe, Nevada, on his cell phone, beginning almost six weeks before his death. Dylan had already called the number several times, but either it was busy or there was no answer and no voicemail. He didn't want to believe that Gary had been unfaithful, but the circumstantial evidence was piling up – a perfume bottle, a lace teddy, a necklace with a love letter, odd phone calls from a woman no one had ever heard of.
He hated the doubts running through his head. He wanted to believe what he'd always believed: Gary loved Rachel.
It was a fact he would have bet his life on. Actually, he had bet his life on it. He'd walked away from Rachel, kept their kiss a secret, stayed out of their marriage, because he'd wanted them to be happy together. He'd wanted Gary to have the storybook ending. Now he wondered if it had all been for nothing.
The knock at his door startled him. The voice that followed surprised him even more. He strode over to the door and flung it open. Rachel stood in the hallway wearing faded blue jeans and a peach-colored tank top, her blond hair flowing loose about her shoulders. For a second he wondered if he was dreaming; she was the last person he'd expected to see.
"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. Surely she wouldn't have come to his hotel room unless there was an emergency of some sort. "Is it Wesley?"
"Nothing's wrong. My grandfather said you called. I tried your phone earlier, but you didn't pick up."
"Right I was talking to someone."
"Can I come in?" she asked.
Could she come in? He flung a quick glance over his shoulder at the modest hotel bedroom, made even smaller by the king-size bed he'd requested. There was no reason that she couldn't come in. They were friends, partners. But he still wanted to say no. Self-preservation, he realized. No matter how many times Rachel told him she didn't want him, that didn't lessen his attraction to her.
"Dylan?" she questioned.
"Come in," he said gruffly, waving her into the room.
Rachel moved inside the room. "I heard you went to San Francisco."
"I needed some more clothes." He tipped his head toward the two suitcases he had yet to unpack. "It looks like I'll be staying a while."
"Was that the only reason you went to the city – to get clothes?"
"I had to stop in at my office, make sure my jobs are proceeding smoothly and on schedule."
"They must wonder what the heck you're doing up here."
"They're not paid to wonder."
She smiled. "Now, that sounds like a boss talking. You have a large company, don't you?"
"Over thirty full-time employees and a couple hundred independent contractors."
"I'm impressed."
"You should be," he said. He was proud of what he'd accomplished. And it was nice to finally share it with Rachel. In many ways she'd been the impetus for much of his success.
Rachel walked over to the desk and sat down in the chair he'd just vacated. "Looks like you brought your work with you." She glanced at his computer. "What's this?"
He wished he'd had the sense to close the screen before opening the door, but it was too late now. "I asked Gary's assistant for his cell phone records."
"I already did that."
"I know. I spoke to Beth yesterday."
"And she sent the records to you instead of to me? I don't understand."
"She said she was going to fax them to you, too."
Rachel shook her head in bewilderment. "I can't believe she went to you before me."
"We've been friends a long time."
"And she worked for my husband a long time. Her loyalty should be to me, not to you."
"Look, Rachel, we're in this together. What does it matter who she sent them to? I called you earlier so we could go over what they contain. I'm not holding out on you. We're partners."
She wanted to believe him, but there were so
many shadowy lies in her life right now. "All right. What did you find?"
"Numerous calls to a number in Lake Tahoe. I haven't managed to connect with anyone yet. It could be nothing."
"Or it could be something. It could be the clue we've been looking for. Let's call the number again now."
"It's late."
"It's not that late." She took out her phone, then hesitated.
He wondered if she could go through with it. Despite her brave words, he often sensed an ambivalence in her, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to learn the truth. "Want me to do it?" he asked.
"No. I have to do it. I just don't know what to say." She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "Do I ask her how she knows my husband? Why she called him? Whether or not she was sleeping with him? What do I say, Dylan? Tell me what to say."
He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't call tonight. Another day won't make a difference."
"It will to me. I won't be able to sleep. Not that I ever sleep anymore."
"Then make the call."
She stared at him, an odd gleam in her eyes. "That's the difference between you and Gary. He would have persuaded me to put down the phone. He would have laughed off the coincidence. He would have told me he'd take care of it. And I probably would have let him. I let him do a lot of things. He took care of me, and I didn't ask questions. Now look where I am."
"I think you can handle it, Rachel."
"Why on earth would you think that? What could have possibly given you the impression that I can handle anything?"
"Because you can," he said steadily. "You're a strong woman. Strong from the inside out."
"I have you fooled."
"No, you have yourself fooled."
"I don't know who I am anymore, what I want, what I need. It's all mixed up in my head. Part of me wants to know about Gary and this woman. Part of me doesn't."
"Which part is winning?"
She glanced down at her phone. "Give me the number," she said, squaring her shoulders.
Dylan read it off the screen as she dialed. He dug his hands into his pockets, feeling anxious, as if they were about to take the wrapper off something that could explode in their faces.
Love Will Find a Way Page 16
