by Francis Ray
“I knew from the first time I saw you that you were the one.”
Justine’s arms tightened. Andrew had told her that lie numerous times since the night he’d proposed—six weeks after they’d met. She’d never doubted him and had counted her blessings that she had such a wonderful, loving husband.
“Mrs. Crandall, the papers are ready for you to sign at the nurses’ station.”
Justine worked to get her anger under control, but at the same time she wondered if her decision would have been any easier before the day she’d tried to surprise her husband. She didn’t know; she just knew she had to find the answer.
If she made the decision for the wrong reasons, she didn’t want to live with the guilt for the rest of her life. Andrew had taken so much from her; he wouldn’t take her peace of mind.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she finally whispered softly.
The doctor grunted. “Prolonging signing the papers will only make it more difficult.”
“My daughter-in-law said perhaps tomorrow,” Beverly said pleasantly, but there was a hint of steel in her voice. Charleston-born and bred, she was a true Southern lady, soft, gracious, and charming on the surface, but underneath strong and determined.
Dr. Lane glanced at the diamond-encrusted Rolex on his wrist. “It’s almost eight. Visiting hours are over soon. What time do you plan to come in tomorrow?”
Justine hesitated. She’d like to have just one day that she didn’t have to come here and pretend. “I’m not sure.”
“Her best friend is moving back to Charleston from Dallas tomorrow,” Beverly told him. “But once Brianna’s settled, Justine will be here. Just as she has been every day that Andrew has been in the hospital. She’s devoted to my son. Aren’t you, dear?”
Justine wanted to scream “no.” She was so tired of the vigilance, the charade. “Yes.”
Beverly smiled as if she’d just been given a precious gift.
“Perhaps we’ll get a chance to talk in the morning. Think about what I’ve told you. Good night.” The door of the ICCU room swung shut behind the doctor.
“You go on home, Justine, and get some rest.” Beverly turned back to her son, a tender smile on her unlined face. “I’ll visit with Andrew a while longer. I wanted to tell him the azaleas he had the gardener plant for me are still in full bloom. My neighbor’s have withered. Mine are waiting for Andrew to see them.”
Justine’s hand clenched and unclenched on the strap of her shoulder bag. She was desperate to leave, yet she hesitated. She felt so sorry that Beverly had to go through this. No matter how unscrupulous Andrew was, Beverly loved him. Justine loved her mother-in-law, but if she had to pretend for another minute she might start screaming. “I think I will.”
Beverly glanced up at Justine. “When he wakes up he’ll be so proud that you’re seeing that his company is running smoothly along with all of the other plans you made together. He couldn’t have chosen a better wife.” Turning her attention back to her son, she brushed her hand across her son’s pale forehead. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you two begin making plans to start a family afterward.”
Unable to take any more, Justine gave Beverly a quick hug, then left. She nodded to the nurses at the nurses’ station on passing. She was almost running by the time she hit the heavy double doors of ICCU. She halted abruptly as Marcus Hayes and his wife, Nina, came to their feet in the small waiting room crammed with people and uncomfortable chairs.
Marcus had dark hair, narrow shoulders, and sad brown eyes. He was Andrew’s best friend and vice president of operations of Having It All. After Andrew’s accident, Marcus had quickly stepped in to take control. Dealing with Andrew’s deceit and his critical condition, Justine had been in no shape to make any decisions and had welcomed Marcus’s intervention. She still did.
Marcus, his dark-skinned face anxious, quickly came to her. His calloused hands settled on her shoulders. Unlike Andrew’s athletic build that topped six feet, Marcus was thin and of average height. “Has there been a change?”
She shook her head, the knot in her throat too large to get the words past.
His hands tightened for a fraction. Marcus and Andrew had gone to college together, but it had always been Andrew who had the charisma, the eloquence in speaking, the stylish appearance. Andrew had been the driving force behind the creation and success of Having It All.
Shamefully, on first meeting Marcus, Justine had thought how fortunate she was that she had a man who always looked perfect, was charismatic and at ease in any social gathering rather than one who was quiet, unassuming, and never appeared to care what he wore. Tonight, Marcus had on a dull brown off-the-rack suit with a white shirt and brown tie. All of Andrew’s clothes were tailor-made.
Foolish, foolish woman.
“We came by to make sure you were all right,” Marcus said. “We missed you at church today.”
Marcus was too down-to-earth and caring to censure her. He had come out of concern and love. Staring up into his troubled face, Justine wanted to ask if he’d known about Andrew’s affair. Had he been a part of Andrew’s deceit?
“Justine, would you like to go get something to eat?” Nina asked. “Or if you want to go on home, we could pick something up and drop it by your house.”
Justine switched her attention to his attractive wife, Nina, who wore a magenta-colored Carolina Herrera linen suit. The fitted skirt stopped at mid-thigh. Nina worked for Andrew’s company as well, in public relations. She and Marcus were opposites in dress and personalities. Like Andrew, she had an acknowledged affinity for life’s finer amenities. Had she become restless, and sought excitement and a wealthier man? Was she the one?
Justine caught herself and glanced away. She detested that she was so suspicious of all the women who came to visit Andrew, but she couldn’t help it. The other woman was usually someone the wife knew or who worked with the cheating husband. Nina fit both profiles. Or had it been a woman Andrew had picked up?
Nina was slender and attractive with the right height and same amber coloring of the woman at the cabin. Her short hairstyle was curly instead of in a flip, but it was the right length and color.
“Justine?” Nina frowned, her smile slipping. “What’s the matter?”
Was that guilt in her eyes? Justine thought, then quickly chastised herself. Putting her friends and herself through this continual scrutiny had to stop. She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re probably worn out,” Marcus said gently. “How long have you been here?”
Too long. Justine ran her hand through the limp strands of auburn shoulder-length hair. She’d missed her last two beauty appointments and had washed her hair herself. It was too taxing to repeat Andrew’s condition over and over. Often she thought of just making a sign and wearing it around her neck.
“Justine?” Marcus prompted
“Pretty much since around nine this morning,” she finally answered. Posted visiting hours were from 10:00 A.M. to 8:00 P.M., but Beverly knew the chief of staff, Dr. Thomas. At Beverly’s insistence, and against Dr. Lane’s wishes, Dr. Thomas had relaxed the visiting hours for them. They could pretty much come and go as they pleased. Justine felt guilty if she wasn’t there. Not about Andrew, but about his mother, who seldom left his side.
“You have to take care of yourself,” Nina said, sliding an arm around Justine’s waist. “Andrew would want you to.”
“He loves you so much,” Marcus said.
Justine wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such a statement, but felt tears clog her throat instead. “I . . . I need to go.”
Thankfully, Nina released her. “I’ll walk you to your car, then come back and see Andrew. Marcus, you go on in.”
Justine shook her head and took an unsteady step away. “I’m fine. Thanks for coming. Good night.” Turning, she increased her pace, not giving them a chance to stop her. Swallowing convulsively, she hurried to the elevator and jabbed the down button, once, twice. Please, her mind screamed.
&
nbsp; The door opened and she stepped on the empty elevator and punched G. As the door slid shut, she closed her eyes and prayed to keep it together long enough to reach her van. The moment the elevator stopped, her eyes snapped open.
Stepping off, she easily located the blue van parked next to a white pillar in the underground parking garage. Deactivating the lock, she climbed inside.
Her hand shook as she stuck the key in the ignition. With a flick of her wrist the motor roared to life. Justine reached for the gear shift, but couldn’t see it through the sheen of tears in her eyes. Trembling hands clenched the steering wheel. “Damn you, Andrew! Damn you to hell.”
The retro music of “Hungry Like the Wolf” had her jerking her head around and down. She dove for her handbag, then searched frantically through the jumbled assortment for the ringing phone among the paraphernalia she carried in her large handbag.
“Please don’t go to voice mail,” she desperately whispered, finally dumping the contents on the beige leather seat beside her. If Justine didn’t pick up, Brianna might think she was busy and turn her phone off.
Two rings later Justine located the phone beneath her checkbook and a notepad with her store’s logo. Snatching it up, she flipped it open. “Brianna, thank goodness!”
“Whatever it is, you can get through it,” came the calm, reassuring voice.
Eyes closed, Justine leaned her head back against the headrest and fought tears and misery. Brianna Ireland had been her best friend since they’d been in kindergarten. Brianna had been the outspoken one, Justine the shy one. Together they had gone through puberty, first date, first kiss, first breakup. They’d always been there to support each other.
“Did he . . .”
“No,” Justine answered Brianna’s unfinished question. “But his condition continues to deteriorate. The doctor wants me to sign the papers to disconnect life support if brain activity ceases. I . . . I can’t.”
“Then don’t until you’re ready. My plane gets in at eight tomorrow morning. If the doctor continues to hassle you, I’ll handle him.”
Justine almost laughed, something she seldom did anymore. No one messed with Brianna. She might look soft with her knockout figure, beautiful face, and elegant Southern manner, but she was the epitome of the steel magnolia. “You’ll scare him.”
“It’s what I do best,” Brianna said, a smile in her voice. Even when she cut a person off at the knees that smile remained as smooth as glass and as sweet as sugar. Southern women had it like that.
“That you do.” Laughter drifted through the receiver to Justine. “Your going-away party. You should be socializing with your friends instead of calling a hysterical woman.”
“Who calmed me when Daddy had his heart attack?” she asked quietly.
The unflappable, self-assured Brianna had almost lost it when her father was transferred to a hospital room after being in ICCU for five days and the staff nurse was lax about monitoring his vital signs, and then became flippant when Brianna’s mother asked about them. Brianna went off on the nurse, who’d hurriedly left the room. Justine had had to physically restrain Brianna from going after the woman. Eventually Justine got Brianna to see that there was a better way to handle the nurse.
Brianna had opened her BlackBerry and begun making calls. In less than fifteen minutes, the hospital administrator and the director of nursing service were in Brianna’s father’s hospital room, apologetic and nervous. Malpractice suits were nasty business. Brianna might be five foot four, but she had a presence about her that told you to tread carefully, and the intelligence and the connections to back up her threats. She walked softly and carried a very big stick.
“I’m so glad Mr. Ireland is doing better.”
“He’s raring to get back on the golf course.” Brianna chuckled. “Mama insists on going with him if he does. I bought her a cute outfit to wear, and a golf cart for them. After drilling me on how much it cost, they’ll get a kick out of it.”
Brianna and her parents had always been close. Justine and her mother had never shared that closeness. If was as if her mother were afraid Justine would make the same mistake of loving the wrong man, just as she had. Her mother had been right. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“No need. Daddy and Mama are coming. They’ll both feel better if they help. But I’ll expect you for dinner tomorrow night. No excuses. We’ll stuff ourselves on fresh baked bread and seafood gumbo. Mama can throw down with the best of them.”
Tomorrow might be the day Andrew—Justine pushed the thought away. She couldn’t keep scheduling her life around Andrew. “I’ll be there.”
“Brianna, excuse me. Jackson wants you.”
Justine frowned. There’d been impatience and censure in the female voice that was loud enough for Justine to hear clearly. Obviously the woman had cared more about Brianna returning to the party than courtesy. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”
“I’m the one who called you, remember? We can talk as long as you like.”
Justine’s frown didn’t clear. “You’re sure?”
“Jackson sent one of his lackeys for me,” Brianna explained, annoyance creeping into her voice. “I don’t heel for anyone. He should know that by now.”
Jackson Hewitt was Brianna’s former lover and a fellow lawyer at her firm. Brianna had told Justine that he hadn’t taken the breakup well and wanted her back. Of course, he was trying to spend every moment with her before she left for Charleston. He cared about her.
Perhaps all of Andrew’s out-of-town seminars without Justine should have been her first clue that their marriage was in trouble. People in love wanted to be together. “I should be going.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Just because her life was a mess was no reason to impose on Brianna’s. “Good night and safe travel. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Count on it.”
Two
Justine hung up the phone, her hand no longer trembling, the tears gone. Brianna might be returning to take over her father’s law practice, but she was also saving Justine’s sanity. She was the only person Justine could confide in, the only one who wouldn’t see Andrew’s infidelity as her fault. Her mother certainly wouldn’t understand and she could hardly tell Beverly. Starting the van, she backed up and drove away.
Justine pulled out of the parking garage and turned left, away from the direction of her house, which was in an exclusive gated community. She wasn’t ready to face the mocking house that was supposed to represent unity and instead was nothing more than a reminder that her husband preferred another woman.
On their third wedding anniversary, Andrew had surprised her by giving her the keys in an elongated white jewelry box while they were out celebrating. She had squealed, jumped up from the candlelit table in the posh restaurant, and kissed Andrew. People around them had applauded.
Too excited to stay, she’d asked him to take her to their new home. Seeing the house with lights blazing in welcome, the dancing fountain in front, she couldn’t believe it was theirs, that he could be so generous and loving. She’d considered a home the first step toward eventually starting a family. She’d stepped onto the Italian marble tile inside and felt as if she were the luckiest woman in the world.
“All I have is yours, just as my heart is” Andrew had said softly.
Hand in hand, they’d toured the house. In the master bedroom they’d made love on the thick white carpeting. Afterward, she’d gone to sleep, secure in the arms of the man she loved, a man she thought would love her forever.
Her hands flexed on the steering wheel. Had he been cheating even then, or had it begun later? Was it a lack in her or a flaw in him that caused him to stray? So many questions to which she might never have the answers.
Minutes later Justine pulled up in the driveway of her mother’s house, a traditional single-level house in an established neighborhood. It couldn’t have been easy for a single woman to keep things going or hold her head up afte
r her husband deserted her for another woman, leaving her with a ten-year-old daughter, but her mother had never complained. But neither had she given her confused, lonely daughter the hugs or touches she’d craved.
Letting down the windows, Justine killed the engine. Quietness settled around her except for the occasional passing car, crickets, and children trying to get in those last precious minutes of play before they were called inside for the night. Justine had been just like them, but she had another reason for wanting to remain outside. Her eyes closed.
Just as she had all those years ago, she prolonged the inevitable and leaned her head back. For some unknown reason she and her mother had never been close. As a teenager she had thought she was adopted, but her late grandmother, a no-nonsense woman, had disputed that story and called her silly. All Justine knew was that she had never been able to please Helen . . . except when it came to her marriage. To her mother, Andrew was the perfect son-in-law.
“Justine?”
Justine jerked her head around to see her mother standing beside the van. She sat upright. “Hi, Mama.”
“Did—did something happen?”
From the dim light of the porch lantern, Justine saw the fear in her mother’s beautiful caramel-colored face. She looked years younger than her fifty-one years. She still wore the size eight she had as a young bride. On those rare occasions when they were out together, people thought they were sisters.
“No, I just didn’t feel like going home.”
Her mother nodded once, an almost agitated movement. “You want to come in for a while?”
Justine hadn’t expected warmth. The problem was that she didn’t know what she had expected. It certainly wasn’t the bland tone her mother used as if they were strangers. Her mother was warm to everyone except her daughter. Brianna’s mother would have had her in her arms and in the house in seconds, then made her a cup of tea and probably tempted her with her favorite cake, comforting her, loving her.
