“You should track his ass down and see him on your own terms. Make him talk.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to chase him. He has to want to work it out, too. But it’s like he wants me to make the final decision to end it.”
“Oh, Grace,” April sympathized, “I hate to hear you talk like this. You and Jack were different, meant to last. It could set the room on fire.”
She gave a watery half smile at her friend’s often-dramatic word usage. “I used to think so, too. But that’s just it. Maybe it was meant to burn out after three years. Marriage based on stolen weekends, good sex, and hardly anything in common? How unrealistic was that? I was kidding myself to think we had what it took. We met, we married, we failed.”
“It was real to you and to Jack. Just because you got hitched fast doesn’t make the vows any less real than others who wait years to commit. I never saw you happier than when you were together. And the way he looked at you….”
Grace gripped the balcony rail. “I can’t hang on to what used to be, April. I’ll fall apart.”
“You think it’s really over?”
She shrugged, despair washing over what was left of any hope. “I have to get used to the idea, I think. Start moving on. Somehow.”
“All right, look at me.” April snuffed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Take a few days and unplug. Don’t make any decisions right now. Then come back on Monday and reevaluate.”
Turning her wedding band around her finger, Grace found herself shaking as she realized her marriage could be coming to an end. She didn’t want to believe it. “It’s a good idea, but I think I’m only suspending reality.”
“Then suspend it for a few days and come back ready for it. And I mean get away, Grace. Get out of town.”
Maybe that was what she needed to clear her head. A day out of the city in some fresh air with some peace and quiet. “I will. I know just the place.”
Chapter Two
White walls, white furniture, gray carpet, gray countertops….Jack Crandall felt like he was living in neutral-toned hell as he walked in the front door. He could never quite unwind in the corporate apartment no matter how modern the amenities, efficient the staff, high the thread count.
It was not home.
His house with Grace had rich, deep red walls with stark white contrasts, big, overstuffed furniture, bright yellow roses on the fireplace mantle and shiny hardwood floors. It had color; it had life.
It had her.
Now it was like he was living in a black-and-white movie with no plot, no leading lady, and no happy ending in sight.
Without bothering to turn on the lights, he yanked at his tie before throwing himself into a leather chair in the living room. He stared at his cold, vacant fireplace.
Seeing Grace always killed him a little afterward. Touching her, breathing her, hearing her voice never ceased to shake the very core of his desire. As he had sauntered into the party without an invite, talking his way in, he’d spotted her immediately in the crowd, and he hadn’t been ready for his fierce, internal reaction.
Did she have to be even more beautiful than the last time he saw her? How was that fair? A stunning woman by any man’s standards, he’d taken in that long, wavy, chestnut hair, seizing every opportunity to see into those eyes, a mixture of azure and green. While every woman and their daughter showed off fake tans on their waiflike figures, she stood out with her fair skin and a statuesque, curvy body perfect for a million fantasies, and a smile that weakened his knees. Not that he’d received any smile of any kind when he approached her.
He turned over palms. They shook even now. He balled his hands into fists as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Time had done nothing. Distance had done even less.
He honestly thought once he’d been away long enough, she’d ask him to come back.
Wrong.
When he’d heard from a friend she was selling the sailboat, his initial reaction was not anger or shock.
It was sadness.
A deep weight of it sat and sagged in his chest even as he pretended it was no big deal. His first thought was to let it go. If that was what she wanted—whatever.
Soon, though, his forced indifference dissolved down to a small panic.
Was her selling the boat a beginning to the end?
While they’d been dating, he could barely manage to take her out where the silverware wasn’t wrapped in paper napkins. After he’d asked her to marry him, he could only afford a simple band with small, modest diamonds encircling it. Once the promotion happened, he’d finally been able to buy something with a wow factor. He would never forget the look on her face when he brought her on board, wrapped his arms around her, and told her it was hers.
She’d told him he shouldn’t have gone to such an expense, but she was thrilled nonetheless.
So if she was selling the sailboat that only meant one of two things: she needed the money, or she wanted to be rid of it.
Jack knew it was not the former; his makeup-artist wife earned more money an hour than some people made in a day. But even if she did earn a paltry salary, her family would help her if she needed it, especially with him out of the picture. Her parents were always quick to remind Grace what she was giving up by marrying a “nobody.”
It might not be true anymore, as he’d become more and more accomplished at Novacom, but her parents still regarded him with contempt, as if he was some villain who had stolen their daughter away to a private island, never to be seen again.
He raked his hands through his hair. The fact she was selling it didn’t matter—it was just a toy. But if she wanted to be rid of it, it was like she wanted to be rid of him, of their memories. After all, the days and nights they’d spent on it were unforgettable. He thought of those intimate moments often. Had to, had to hold on to something, if he was indeed losing her for good.
His recollections of cuddling on the deck, wrapping a big blanket around them, talking about adopting a puppy, laughing about whether to name it Skipper or Captain Sparrow. Memories of making love quietly in the dark on deck…or vigorously below decks.
Damn. If there was ever a time for a strong drink….
But Jack didn’t drink alone. He once told her doing so was never a good idea for a man. And it kept him from doing something stupid, like calling her in the middle of the night, begging to come home.
Pushing from the chair, he stalked to his bedroom and systematically took off his jacket, followed by the shirt and pants, carelessly tossing his designer suit on a chair.
He used to tease Grace about her sloppiness. Lace stockings over the shower rod, makeup samples in every available corner of their house, Hershey’s Kisses wrappers balled up on the nightstand, vintage fashion magazines haphazardly stuffed in the bookshelf.
It drove him nuts sometimes, as he was used to an orderly living space, especially when he was young. When his mother wasn’t fighting with his father, she was the taskmaster of household duties, complaining their middle-class home couldn’t be clean enough.
Grace had told him she was petrified all her life to get a spot on the carpet in her luxurious childhood home, lest her parents notice a single flaw on her behalf, so she’d breathed free when she got her own space.
It was one of the reasons he fell in love with her. She lived her life just as she pleased, under no one’s expectations but her own. Even her snobby parents couldn’t break her spirit, reform her to their own idea of who she should be.
He lay back on the mountain of pillows, sighing, and linked his hands behind his head.
It was her idea to separate and he’d walked out, leased an apartment, and given her space. Jack’s gut burned every time he thought of that night. Every time he recalled how suddenly lost and alone and detached he felt once she’d told him she wasn’t happy. The things she accused him of—choosing work over her, acting like an unemotional cyborg, ignoring her feelings—had hurt him more than he’d e
ver admit out loud. His pride wouldn’t let him call her these six months; he should never have to convince someone to be with him. Even his wife.
He had thought he was doing his best to take care of her, working day and night to give her the things she deserved, yet she was so miserable she couldn’t even stand living with him anymore.
Though, admittedly, he hadn’t been all that pleased with their life, either. How could he be when he spent more than twelve hours a day away from his wife? Getting up early, coming home late, flying here and there to manage branches and present to investors, giving his heart and soul to his dream, only to come back to an empty house time after time? Their marriage had become convenient. They made time for each other once or twice a month for a weekend, leaving their separate lives behind. Talk of how different their worlds were during the week—about unpleasant things—was practically taboo. He recognized it wasn’t perfect, but what marriage was?
He’d been going about it all wrong, thinking time was all she needed. That she’d apologize and beg him to come home. Now, it seemed, she wanted nothing to do with him, or anything that reminded her of him.
The next day, Saturday, Jack was in his office attempting to distract himself blind with work. But every time the phone rang, he expected his attorney to be on the other line, informing him Grace had submitted divorce papers.
Paranoia was a condition he seldom allowed himself to experience, but for some reason he felt it often where Grace was concerned. It was as if he could sense her coming to a decision about their marriage, and it wasn’t in his favor.
He dashed from the office around three o’clock, telling his fellow associates he’d be away the rest of the weekend, and not to bother him until Monday. They knew where to find him for emergencies, but they also knew it would have to be dire to bring him out of the cabin.
***
The drive to Big Bear Lake was easy and free of traffic. Grace only planned on staying one night. On the way there, she listened to her favorite road music on the mp3 player and sang along, enjoying how fresh the air became the farther away from Los Angeles she got. She turned off her cell phone, snacked on Hershey’s Kisses, and as she got to closer to the lake, the weight on her shoulders eased. She’d even picked up some fruit and vegetables from vendors at the side of the road.
A carefree feeling came over her.
But as she turned the gravel drive and the classic Sierra-style cabin came to her view, sentimentality clouded her cheerful disposition.
She couldn’t pretend her heart wasn’t broken when she was here.
She could at work; she was the master of disguise. Even at their house in the Marina, where they’d spent almost zero quality time together other than to sleep, she was able to get through her days and some of her nights without aching with loneliness.
The Big Bear cabin, however, was another story. She couldn’t ignore her heartache here.
She sighed, got out of the car, and dragged her feet up the steps. Glancing at the neglected lilac bushes, she plopped down on the front porch swing.
She smiled wistfully.
The first time she and Jack had come to the cabin after they’d bought it, her ankle had been sprained from a skiing accident, and he’d had to carry her from
the car to the door….
“What do you think?” he asked, rounding the car as she hopped out of the passenger side on one foot.
She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as he picked her up. “You painted it! Jack, it’s lovely. Flowers, too? When did you have time for all this?”
He kicked the car door closed, grinning as he carried her across the lawn. “Last Sunday when you were at the studio until one in the morning.”
“You’re amazing.”
“Now there’s something I don’t hear every day.” He smiled down at her. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it,” she said, stroking her fingers through the back of his hair.
He gave her a quick kiss, climbed the steps, and unlocked the door.
“You can just put me in the chair—where are you going?” she asked as he strode through the living room, past the kitchen, and into their bedroom.
Gently, he set her down on their bed, kissing her all the way before straightening to unbutton his shirt.
She laughed softly, swinging her legs over the edge, offering a beguiling smile as she looked up at him. “We just got here.”
“Its bad luck not to make love in a new cabin.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she ran her hands up the inside of his unbuttoned shirt, feeling the hardness, the heated muscle of his torso. “You’re making that up.” She pressed his shoulder as she eased him down. “But I like it.”
Cupping the back of her knee, he was careful to avoid bumping her cast. “In fact, it’s bad luck not to make love until the sun comes up….”
Tears threatening, she abandoned the swing, shoved her hand in the pocket of her shorts for the keys, and marched inside.
***
Hours later, the sun had just set behind the trees and she had finally begun to relax on the sofa with a best seller. Her first instinct when headlights beamed in the window was that someone was lost or had mistaken the cabin for their neighbors’, a half mile down the road. A car door slammed, and she figured she should come out to kindly point whoever it was in the right direction.
She opened the door and froze when she saw Jack with a bag on his shoulder, one leg up on the steps.
Twice in two days? Her heart in her throat, she choked out, “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” he said in a frankly surprised tone. “I thought you never come here anymore.”
“And I thought you rarely did. What a coincidence you pick this weekend.”
“When I saw your car, I called you, but it went straight to voice mail. I almost turned around, but I’m tired as hell from driving. All I wanted was to spend some time away from the city before you decided to sell this place, too.”
She put a hand on a hip. “I told you I’m not selling the cabin. Ever. Can’t you spend the night somewhere else? You can have it all to yourself next weekend.”
“I can barely get away for a haircut, let alone to the cabin, so no, I will not go somewhere else.” He gestured at her. “Why don’t you leave?”
“I was here first!”
He raised a sardonic brow. “Sorry, but that’s not a good enough argument for me to go.” He paused as he climbed to the top step. “Unless you’re not here alone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m alone.” That sounded way too pathetic. “Fine. I’ll go to a motel.” Empty statement. As if she would give him the satisfaction.
“I don’t care what you do, but I’m staying,” he said as he stalked past her and inside.
“Jack.”
He turned around with weary shoulders. “Come on, Grace. I’ve been driving for over two hours after working all day and I’m exhausted. I’ll stay out of your way; you can stay out of mine. Surely we can do it for one night.”
“Surely you can see how awkward this is.”
“And all I want to do is relax, sleep, and go for a good, long run in the morning.” He dropped his bag, studying her. “Why are you out here?”
“Same reason. To get away.”
He nodded softly, gazing into her eyes. “Looks like we’re both in need of some peace.”
Her heart slammed as her stomach dipped. Dear God. This man used to be her peace. She had just gotten used to living day to day without him, and now here he was, stirring up her emotions—old and new—all over again. “What are we going to do about the bed? Sleeping arrangements, I mean?”
He shrugged. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Easy as that.”
Easy? Maybe for him! Share their beloved cabin and not be close to him? Lord, give me strength to keep it together.
She closed the door, unable to tear her eyes away from his broad back, marveling at how the very presence o
f him charged the air. How was she ever going to get any rest with him so close? They had specifically chosen the five-hundred-square-foot cabin because of its coziness, the rock fireplace in the corner, big windows, and wraparound deck. She had a feeling no matter where she went—the bedroom, the deck, the kitchen, the back yard—she would be excruciatingly aware of Jack.
She silently scolded herself for watching him as he moved around, making himself comfortable, not looking nearly affected by her presence. Desperate to turn her attention elsewhere, she escaped to the kitchen.
He was putting logs in the fireplace, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from arguing against it. A crackling fire reminded her too much of those cooler nights in the past. However, she dared not give away her thoughts. She could live with it.
“I’m not selling the boat,” she told him absently as she rummaged around the kitchen to make something to eat.
There was a pause in the air and then he said, “Good.” He continued grabbing the stacks of wood with his strong hands and placing them in orderly fashion on the grate.
“I’m not keeping it just because you said so,” she went on, knowing she was baiting him.
“Why are you keeping it?” He looked over his shoulder.
She avoided his gaze as she turned on the gas stove. “You were right. It means something to me. Even if it just sits there bobbing in the water all day.”
She felt his steady gaze upon her as she opened up cans of creamy tomato.
“You’ve lost weight,” he remarked. “Still eating like a bird?”
She glared at him as she poured the tomato broth into a small pot. “I haven’t lost any weight since….” Her voice trailed off, and she choked back the rest of the sentence, not wanting to bring up the night he’d moved out. “I don’t eat like a bird. I just don’t swallow the barbarian portions you do.”
“Look what you’re making for dinner,” he said, rising from his knees. “I bet it’s something that wouldn’t satisfy a mouse.” He came up beside her, resting his hands on the edge of the counter while she stirred the mixture. “Case in point.”
All Said and Undone Page 2
