Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller

by Brenda Hill

  “Stay off the street!” his mother called after him. She appeared at the screen door, a woman in her thirties with ink black hair. The woman in the car.

  “You,” I managed to say.

  “I wondered when you’d figure it out,” she said softly, leaning against the door frame, her arms folded.

  “All those appointments you made and cancelled...” I suddenly remembered having seen her other places as well. “You used to follow me, when I went to the mall, or grocery shopping.”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she said simply, “to tell you what was happening. I thought you should know.”

  “How considerate of you.”

  “Do you have a gun on you?” she asked.

  “A gun? Are you crazy?”

  “Mac told me he kept several at home. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’ll do and I have to protect my child.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you went to bed with my husband.”

  “You don’t have to be crude.”

  “You have an affair with my husband, produce an illegitimate child and call me crude? Forget it, this isn’t going to work.” I spun on my heel to head down the porch stairs.

  “Wait. We need to talk.”

  Hesitating, I turned around, so furious I could barely stand.

  “But first, do you have a gun?”

  “No, I-do-not-have-Mac’s-gun, but I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

  She stared me a little longer, as if trying to decide, then she opened the screen door.

  “Come in. We might as well be civilized about this.”

  Civilized! I’d step inside, but I couldn’t promise anything.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the living room, two taupe overstuffed sofas loaded with fluffy throw pillows faced each other in front of a brick fireplace. One wing chair with a matching footstool stood at the end of the grouping, and another sat at an angle in front of the bookshelves lining the wall on either side of the fireplace. Wrought-iron stands held lush green plants and red-accented throw rugs added a splash of color to the wood floors.

  Taken aback, I gazed at the cozy room. I guess I was expecting purple veiled rooms with scented incense wafting to the ceiling. Instead, this room looked so inviting that if I hadn’t hated the occupants so much, I’d have been tempted to kick off my shoes and grab a book to read.

  I could’ve cried. Why couldn’t I ever achieve that same look of comfortable elegance in my own home?

  “Please, have a seat,” Jenna said, “and I’ll get some iced tea. You take yours with lemon, don’t you?”

  Staring after her as she hurried out of the room, I wondered just how much Mac told this woman about me. Had our entire marriage been an open book? I suddenly saw them in bed, all cozy after sex, laughing and talking about my foibles.

  How could Mac have done that to me? Never in my entire life had I felt so betrayed.

  Jenna returned, carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and glasses filled with ice. She’d even arranged a scrolled side dish with perfectly-wedged lemons.

  “Please, sit,” she said, placing the tray on the table between the two sofas. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time.”

  I didn’t want to sit and I didn’t want her tea. No way could I relax in her home—the home she and Mac had stolen from me.

  “I don’t plan on staying long enough for tea, uh...” Damn. I didn’t know what to call her. To say Jenna would imply a friendliness I didn’t feel or want to convey. Mrs. Yearwood sounded stiff. Stuffy. Please God, don’t let me sound stuffy, not in front of her.

  “Call me Jenna,” she said, placing a glass of tea on a coaster.

  “I can see why Mac was attracted to you,” I said, not calling her anything at all. “You’re very pretty.”

  She didn’t reply, but she smiled as if acknowledging an accepted fact. I wanted to slug her.

  “If you don’t mind telling me, when did your affair begin?”

  “It was more than an affair.” She held up her left hand and on her third finger was a gold band. “We were married.”

  “You were what?”

  “We were married.“ She pointed to a framed picture of Mac and her in formal clothes, laughing while cutting a wedding cake. “I know this is quite a shock, but I wanted everything to be done properly for Marsh’s sake.”

  A roar in my head drowned out her words. I knew she was speaking, but I could barely hear her voice. “Proper? You can’t be serious. Mac was already married to me.”

  “You know as well as I do that your marriage wasn’t a good one,” she said calmly. “I gave him some happiness.”

  The old rage surfaced. My throat felt tight and strained, but I forced myself to speak. “How dare you say my marriage wasn’t a good one. What do you know about it?”

  “Mac and I were close and he told me everything. I gave him what you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”

  Now I could see why people shot each other, although I didn’t want to shoot her. That would be too quick. I wanted to hurt her, to prolong her agony, but I was so angry I could barely speak.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard this expression,” I said, my voice trembling in outrage. “It was one of Mac’s favorites. It says, ‘A stiff prick has no conscience.’”

  “I keep telling you, it wasn’t like that. We were married.”

  “Which one of those words don’t you understand? You couldn’t be legally married because Mac was still married to me. Don’t you realize I could press charges?”

  “For what?”

  “Funny, you don’t appear to be dim-witted, but I’m not getting through to you. You committed bigamy.”

  She paid as much attention to those words as she had to my feelings.

  “When did this so-called marriage take place?” I managed.

  “When I became pregnant, eight years ago. Look. I didn’t want to hurt you. I only wanted to protect my son.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that the best way of protecting your son was to not get involved with a married man in the first place?”

  “I wanted him.”

  “Well, good God, there are a lot of things I want. I just saw a diamond ring on a woman’s finger. I can’t just yank it off and take it. There are rules. If you take what belongs to someone else, it’s called stealing. How can you condone that?”

  She had the grace to blush.

  “What a hypocrite you are,” I said. “Everything you have now, you stole from me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Everything you have now was supposed to have been mine.” I waved my hand around the room. “All of this was bought with my money.”

  “Mac gave me money to raise Marsh when he retired, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It wasn’t his to give. It was ours, his and mine, and when he died, it should have been entirely mine.”

  “I don’t know about that. I just know he wanted to provide for Marsh. That’s the right and proper thing for a father to do.”

  “There’s nothing right and proper about any of this,” I told her, wanting to scream. “If you’d had an ounce of decency, you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to get involved enough to love him. Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Mac was a married man, legally bound to me. How could you possibly buy this property under his name? You’re not entitled to use the name Montgomery, so this couldn’t possibly be legally yours. I could sue.”

  “It’s legal,” she said. “I changed my name to Montgomery after Mac’s and my marriage.”

  “Your farce of a marriage, you mean.”

  “Montgomery is my legal name,” she said, ignoring my words. “And it’s Marsh’s. You can’t take anything away from me.”

  “Oh yes I can. You’ve stolen everything from me—my marriage, my life with Mac. You can’t have my money, too. At least not without a fight.”

  “I was hoping to have a civilized discussion with you,” Jenna said. “But I think you
’d better leave. I don’t want Marsh to meet you under these circumstances.”

  “Meet me? Are you out of your mind?”

  “I was hoping you’d talk to him, tell him personal things about his father.”

  “You can’t be serious. The last thing I’d want to do is talk to your illegitimate son about my husband.” I paused, trying to get enough control so I wouldn’t scream at her. “Do you realize I was married to Mac for over twenty-five years? We’d raised a daughter and built a life together. We had years of memories. When he became so ill—” To my horror, my voice cracked and tears threatened. Furiously, I blinked them back. I wouldn’t weaken and cry, not in front of her.

  “I cared for him,” I said. “I did everything I could to keep him as comfortable as he could be. I watched him get worse and worse, until every day was a struggle to survive, and each breath was a miracle. I’d hold his hand and breathe along with him and panic when he struggled for each breath. When he died, I didn’t think I could survive, but my daughter convinced me he lived on in her son, Mac’s and my grandson. And I had my memories.”

  I paused before going on. “One of the worst things about your affair,” I said, “and it was an affair, no matter how long it lasted, is that, along with everything that should’ve been mine, you’ve stolen my memories. Now, when I think of my husband, I think of you.”

  I broke off when I heard a car pulling into the driveway. Someone was coming, and obviously I’d have to leave. But it didn’t matter. I had, after all, said everything I had come here to say.

  “That’ll be Marsh’s aunt and uncle,” Jenna said. “They’re going to take him for a few days.” She gazed steadily at me. “No matter what you think, Mac loved his son, just as I do. And whether it was right or wrong to have him, he’s here now and my first obligation is to him. I’m sorry you’ve been hurt.”

  “Sorry?” I couldn’t believe this woman. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  When I opened the door, I saw a Ford Expedition sitting in the drive. A man and woman were getting out, their arms loaded with packages. I suddenly had trouble catching my breath.

  When Stan and Maggie saw me, they froze.

  We all stood like statures, staring at each other in front of Stan’s car.

  Stan and Maggie were dressed in jeans and windbreakers and Stan wore a khaki hat covered with small silver fishing lures. Fishing poles stood in the back seat, and clothes hung from a pole across the back.

  “You knew,” I finally said.

  “Lisa—” Maggie began.

  “You knew all along,” I interrupted. “All that time I thought you were trying to help me, it was a lie.”

  Maggie looked ready to cry, and for once, Stan looked ill at ease.

  “No, Lisa,” he said. “I wanted to help. I tried to do everything I could for you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, walking toward me. I backed away and she looked crushed. “I wanted to tell you, but it was a confidentiality thing—with Mac and Stan.”

  “I trusted you,” I said, “and I loved you, both of you. Maggie, you were the sister I never had.”

  “Oh, God, Stan,” Maggie said, beginning to cry. “I can’t take this...”

  “You were my rock,” I told Stan, “the one true symbol of everything good in a man.” I closed my eyes.

  “But Lisa, what was I to do? Marsh is my nephew.”

  “Yes, well. Blood is thicker, and all that, I guess. I should’ve known Mac would confide in you.”

  “Mac begged me to mentor his son,” Stan said. “He was dying, Lisa. I couldn’t turn him down. I didn’t approve of what had happened, but I couldn’t turn my back on Marsh. God, Lisa, he looks just like a Montgomery.”

  “Uncle Stan!” The little boy ran toward Stan, jumped into his arms, and held him tight around the neck. Stan hauled him to his shoulders.

  “Hi, Aunt Maggie!” Marsh said, his voice excited. “We going fishing?”

  “You bet we are,” Stan answered, bouncing up and down until Marsh squealed with laughter. I couldn‘t see his face and I was glad. I couldn’t have stood seeing Mac’s face reflected in his. Not now, not ever.

  I made for my car, furiously swiping at my tears.

  “Lisa, please...” Holding out her arms, Maggie ran after me, but I brushed her arms away and kept walking. I couldn’t bear to look back at the happy family.

  Now Jenna truly had it all.

  ***

  The trip down the mountain on the two-lane highway was a blur, but I remember at one point coming up behind an old geezer who seemed to think he couldn’t go more than ten miles an hour. I followed for a few minutes, and then, mashing down the gas petal, swung alongside of him to pass on a hairpin curve. An angel must have been sitting on my shoulder when I pulled that idiot stunt because when I skirted the edge of the road, I realized I was on a cliff that dropped down several-thousand feet. I heard brakes squeal. I think they were mine.

  When I got home, I threw down my handbag and grabbed a bottle of Sangria from the cupboard. Normally I like it chilled, but today I didn’t care. Warm and fruity, it slid like nectar down my parched throat.

  One thing I was sure of. I was going to an attorney. Maybe I couldn’t change the past, but whatever material possessions Jenna had bought with my money were rightfully mine. I was going to get them back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sometime later, the wine bottle half-empty, I studied Mac’s sofa, thinking of all the times I’d longed so desperately for him that I’d take my coffee or tea and almost try to meld into the fabric, hoping to feel close to him just one more time. Surely something of him still lingered in the one place on which he’d slept and lived the last few weeks of his life. It had been sacred to me, a shrine.

  I jumped up, slipped on my shoes, and opened the door. Tugging, scooting, and pushing, I maneuvered that sofa out the door. Sweating, I pulled it down the sidewalk, the legs screeching on the cement, but I didn’t stop. I pulled and pushed until I got it to the curb. Then, back inside, I got a black marker and searched for some paper that would stand upright on the sofa. Not finding any, I grabbed a brown grocery bag and printed ‘Free’, and found a safety pin and pinned the bag to the sofa. Several cars passed while I was there, all slowing to look. It wouldn’t take long to get rid of it.

  I hadn’t even made it back inside when a young woman stopped, got out, and circled the sofa. She looked to be in her early twenties and had a baby in another one of those strappy things like Shanna wore to carry Kyle on her chest. While she was looking at the sofa, another car slowed. The woman sat on the sofa, clearly staking her claim, and flipped open a phone. Within twenty minutes, two Hispanic men pulled up in a pickup truck, loaded the sofa, and left.

  Good. Maybe they can get some use out of it. I thought about hauling the wing chair out there as well, but decided I wanted something to sit on until I replaced the furniture. Replace the furniture? Hell, I was going to replace the house. I’d move into an apartment that had no memories for me, nothing to remind me of an entire life that I’d lost. I’d pay Stan and Maggie what I owed and never have to see them again.

  I’d start all over with a new life and make my own memories.

  ***

  Someone inside my head was pounding on my brain. I opened an eye and discovered I was lying across my bed, my silk blouse twisted under me, shoes still on my feet. From the front door, the pounding continued, echoing in my temples. Now the doorbell rang and rang, accompanied by the persistent pounding.

  Needing the bathroom, I slid off the bed. My mouth tasted foul. The endless pounding continued. Soon after, the noise moved to my sliding doors in back and I heard Maggie’s voice.

  “Lisa, let me in. Lisa!”

  My cell phone rang. I ignored it all and entered the bathroom. A few moments later, I rinsed with mouthwash and made my way to the sliding door. I slid it open and made sure the screen was locked.

  Funny what you notice when your world has crumbled
. Maggie looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy and the tiny lines on her face stood out as if she’d aged twenty years since yesterday. Strange, though. Here was a woman I’d loved and she was obviously in pain, but I felt curiously detached, as if I were observing a painting in a museum.

  “Thank God,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Strange how the crying process worked. The tears formed in her eyes, then ran down in one stream. You’d think they’d plop over and make hundreds of little paths, but no, they seemed to pool in one place and spill over, each drop following the one before until they made one long stream.

  “...and we were so worried,” she was saying. “I have to talk to you, Lisa, and explain—”

  “I don’t know you,” I interrupted her, my voice expressionless. It was amazing how calm I felt. Or perhaps it was the Sangria. “You’re like a stranger to me, maybe even worse because I trusted you. Do you know how long it took me to trust someone?”

  “Lisa, don’t—”

  “I’m going to sell this place and pay you back all the money I owe. Then, I don’t want to see you or hear from you, or your husband, ever again.”

  “Please, Lisa, I love—”

  “You don’t understand. You no longer exist for me.”

  Maggie stared at me, her eyes stricken.

  “I want you to leave,” I told her. “If you don’t, I’ll call the police.” I shut and locked the door, pulled the drapes, and, tugging off my blouse and trousers, plodded back to bed.

  ***

  Birds chirping outside my window woke me. Damn birds. I didn’t know why I’d always loved their early morning singing. If I had a rock I’d throw it right through the window at them.

  Rolling over, I tried to shut out the dawn and go back to sleep, but as soon as I closed my eyes I saw my husband’s wedding photo with that woman. For the next hour I tried to shut out that picture and get back to sleep, but I couldn’t erase that picture and the smug look on Jenna’s face. Finally I kicked off the covers and decided I might as well go to the office.

  The hot, steaming shower eased the pounding in my neck and shoulders, and the hot coffee perked me right up. By the time I unlocked my car, I felt almost human.