Christopher’s observation of her appearance yesterday had left an indelible mark on her, and she returned to their Brighton Street house to pick up the crisp, tailored gray pantsuit he’d suggested, along with a pair of black heels. Back at the guesthouse, she took extra care with her makeup and hair.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked the part. Dutiful, doting wife. Strong and put together, no matter how fragile she felt on the inside.
Fragile, yet angry. And anger wasn’t something she usually allowed herself to feel.
She made herself a cup of coffee, poured it into a travel mug, grabbed her purse, and headed out to the car, surprised to find Whit walking up the hill. Embarrassment washed over her. He must think she was such a pushover to even consider going back to Denver after the way Christopher had treated her. And in the exact clothes he’d ordered her to wear.
“You’re going,” he said when he reached her.
She steeled her jaw. “I am.”
She expected him to have an opinion on her decision—or to say something to make her question herself—but he didn’t. Instead, he pointed at the coffee mug she’d dug out from the back of one of the guesthouse’s kitchen cabinets. “You have enough to get you through?”
“I think so.” Gratitude overwhelmed her. He seemed intent on doing the opposite of what she’d expected. What a relief.
But as she studied him, she realized her relief was unfounded. Whit wore his standard pair of old jeans, work boots, and T-shirt underneath an unbuttoned plaid shirt, along with a pained expression.
“What is it?”
He looked past her, down the hill toward the greenhouse, where Lilian was in charge of the organic vegetables.
“You obviously have something on your mind, so just say it.”
“What if . . . ?” He sighed. “Do you have some medication or something? You know, in case . . . ?” His worried look finished the sentence for him.
Evelyn nodded. She’d dug out one of her old prescription bottles that still had a few pills in it. Was he actually concerned about her?
He toed his work boot into the gravel drive. “Let me know if you need anything.” He squeezed her arm and then walked away, toward one of the barns at the back of the farm.
The weight of his decision not to judge her lodged a lump squarely in the center of her throat. She wasn’t accustomed to being accepted without question. How had he managed to do that?
She supposed that’s what it was like to have a real friend. Not like those women she spent most of her time with, the ones who had stopped calling the day her husband was arrested.
Evelyn watched as Whit disappeared inside the white barn and, for the first time since she arrived at Whitney Farms, wondered what was in there. Probably more cows. Did her onetime friend share his secrets with them?
She began the drive to Denver, fighting off the barrage of unwanted what-ifs and whys and What am I going to do next? questions. She nearly turned around twice, certain that showing up in that courtroom would make her look like either she condoned Christopher’s behavior or she’d been a part of it.
But duty trumped everything else and she arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early, parked the car, and stared at the building, wondering how she’d make it to the courthouse door alone. She’d have to march her way through a throng of reporters, and Christopher hadn’t even arranged for his lawyer to meet her there.
She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and placed her oversize sunglasses on her face. As if that would hide her shame.
Evelyn stood outside the car for a long moment, visualizing her walk from the parking lot to the door. Years ago, her therapist had told her it would help to visualize uncomfortable situations before she walked right into them.
So she did. Over and over.
“It’s now or never,” she said, smoothing back her hair and forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. She inhaled. Exhaled. Kept her eye on the courthouse door.
“It’s her!” A throng of reporters shuffled their way toward her, shouting questions intended to garner a reaction.
She ignored them. The cameras clicked in her face as the small crowd circled around her and moved toward the steps of the building. She continued to focus on the door, breathing steadily, wondering why on earth no one had thought to send someone out here to escort her in. She was doing Christopher a favor—the least he could’ve done was provide a safe entrance to the building. She’d almost made it to the door when, without warning, her heel caught in the crack of the sidewalk and sent her tumbling forward.
She landed on the pavement, her knees taking the brunt of the fall, the contents of her purse spilling out onto the sidewalk. She reached out with her skinned hand and was grabbing a runaway lipstick when one of the reporters dropped to her knees beside Evelyn, raking other escaped items back into Evelyn’s purse for her.
Evelyn didn’t look up, concentrating instead on collecting her wallet, her phone, and her car keys. She zipped the purse closed, and before she stood, the woman handed her a small bottle of hand sanitizer.
Evelyn took it with a quiet thank-you and glanced toward the woman. She’d already turned her back and begun disappearing into the crowd, but there was something familiar about her. Evelyn couldn’t place it.
She tucked the hand sanitizer into her purse and pushed herself up, humiliated, forcing herself to move forward. She couldn’t wait to watch that replay over and over again on tonight’s news.
Her heart raced, the threat of panic lingering at her edges. She concentrated on the click-click-click of her heels on the pavement until she finally escaped inside the courthouse, drawing in a deep breath as the door behind her closed. She spotted the sign for the restroom and hurried in, locking the stall behind her and willing her pulse to slow, her breathing to steady.
When she was unsuccessful, she rummaged through her purse, searching for the medication she should’ve taken before she ever left Loves Park.
She took everything out but found no pills. She wouldn’t have left them behind, would she? An image of her fall outside rushed at her like the bulls of Pamplona.
Oh no.
What if one of those reporters had her medication? They would know she’d been to a therapist, and they’d learn from the date on the bottle that it wasn’t a result of Christopher’s arrest.
Quietly, she bowed her head in the stall and whispered a prayer, begging God to do for her what the missing medication would have done. “I don’t deserve it, Lord, but if you could give me a little help today, I would so appreciate it. Calm my nerves and give me strength.”
Her phone buzzed. A text from Christopher’s lawyer. Where are you?
She shoved everything back in her purse and opened the stall, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. On the outside, she looked like a wealthy politician’s wife. No one would ever guess that within, she was falling apart.
She found the courtroom where Christopher’s hearing was about to begin, rushed inside, and slid into a seat, taking a moment to survey the crowd.
Reporters, mostly, but also a few people who worked for Christopher. One unfamiliar woman sat across the aisle, glaring at her.
A wave of nausea skittered through her. What if this woman was one of Christopher’s mistresses? Or one of the people he’d cheated? He had amassed more than his share of enemies. Would they take their anger out on her?
She folded her hands in her lap and drew in a deep breath, praying for the second time that morning. A record for her these days.
Nothing elaborate, just a simple Help me, Lord. Please give me strength today.
Two police officers ushered Christopher into the courtroom. He was clean-shaven and wore a suit and tie.
Christopher met her eyes and smiled, warmth in his face. The clicking of cameras behind her pulled her attention from him, and she knew his greeting was only for show. How did he do that? Didn’t he tire of always being “on”?
Before
he sat, he gave her a barely noticeable nod as if to tell her to do everything she could to make him look better. In other words, don’t mess this up. She turned away.
After the judge entered through the door behind the bench, Evelyn listened as the two lawyers argued opposing sides of the case. The prosecutor wanted Christopher locked up. The defense attorney tenaciously maintained his client’s innocence.
The prosecutor let out an audible laugh. “Do I need to remind the court of the exploits of our good senator?” He held up what appeared to be photographs. Exhibits.
Evelyn’s gaze fell to her hands. She didn’t want to risk being accosted with another image of her husband in the arms of someone so very unlike the woman she’d become.
The arguing continued.
“Your Honor,” the defense attorney protested, “this man has expressed remorse for his extramarital indiscretions, but that doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Evelyn whispered. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. An upgrade from the original he’d bought her just after college graduation. This one would likely be repossessed, leaving her left hand naked, the way she felt with the contents of her personal life splashed across every news outlet in Colorado.
“You’ll notice Senator Brandt’s wife is here with us today,” Christopher’s lawyer continued. “The senator is anxious to get back home so the two can begin counseling and repair their marriage.”
He’s what?
Evelyn shot Christopher a look, but he was focused on his lawyer. Wasn’t it only yesterday she’d asked him to go to counseling? Wasn’t it only yesterday he’d rejected the idea as if he were above it?
The judge peered in her direction. “Is this so, Mrs. Brandt?”
She must have looked as startled as she felt when everyone, including Christopher, turned and looked at her. Was it customary for a judge to address someone sitting in his courtroom? She wasn’t there in an official capacity. In fact, she wished she weren’t there at all.
“Mrs. Brandt?”
Only then did she realize she’d been staring. “Yes, Your Honor?”
“Is what your husband’s lawyer said true? Will the two of you begin counseling?”
Evelyn stood because on television that’s what people did when they spoke to a judge. Never mind that those people were usually the ones on trial. She glanced at Christopher, the memory of their conversation, the way it had made her feel, still strong in her mind. Her sense of obligation had brought her here, her desire to give her marriage every fighting chance, but the reality was even clearer now. Christopher wasn’t going to change. He was still using her to make himself look good.
Their marriage was over.
“Mrs. Brandt?”
She lifted her chin, avoiding Christopher’s glare.
“I had hoped Christopher would attend counseling with me, Your Honor.”
“But . . . ?” The judge squinted at her over thin, wire-rimmed glasses.
“But he refused.” Evelyn swallowed, her throat dry, as chatter raced through the courtroom.
“Evelyn.” Christopher’s tone warned.
Evelyn dared a glance in her husband’s direction. He stood, wearing a dark and angry glare. How long had it been since she’d truly defied him? Had she ever?
The judge clapped his gavel. “Sit down, Mr. Brandt.”
Slowly Christopher sat, all the while steeling his eyes at her, his misbehaving wife.
Evelyn’s hands fisted at her sides as she continued to speak. “Furthermore, my husband has shown no remorse for his actions, and while I have no knowledge of any fraudulent activity, I can only hope he hasn’t treated his public office with the same lack of care that he’s treated our marriage.”
The judge raised a brow, and for a moment Evelyn wondered if he was angry or impressed.
“Mr. Nyquist?” He turned his attention to Christopher’s lawyer, who shot her a look and mumbled something about a woman scorned, then shuffled through some papers on the table in front of him.
Evelyn picked up her purse and stepped into the aisle, the room’s attention fully on her.
A deafening silence permeated the air as if everyone in the crowded courtroom was waiting to see what the senator’s dutiful wife would do after her uncharacteristic outburst.
She slid her ring from her finger and moved toward the small barrier separating the audience’s seats from the man to whom she’d wholly given herself. Without a word, she set her wedding ring on the banister between them, willing herself not to fall apart.
She heard the cameras clicking, a dull murmur breaking the silence as she walked out of the courtroom and into whatever new life she’d find waiting for her on the other side of the doors.
CHAPTER
17
“HOW DO YOU FEEL, MRS. BRANDT?”
Evelyn had avoided the questions the reporters fired at her as she rushed through the crowd, pretending—for the last time—that she carried with her an unmatched strength and elegance which she most certainly did not possess. But she could not avoid the realization that what she’d just done carried consequences.
She’d sent a message for the whole world to see that she was no longer going to be the wife who turned a blind eye to her husband’s crimes or indiscretions.
She sped out of the parking lot and toward the interstate, but once she saw Denver in her rearview mirror, she pulled onto the shoulder, turned her hazards on, and sobbed.
My marriage is over.
Another failure. Blindsided by a life that had chosen to be unkind.
Hadn’t she done everything right? Hadn’t she become the perfect wife? Hadn’t she set aside all her own dreams to help her husband achieve his?
She rested her head on the steering wheel as the tears came fast and furious. She gave herself over to them, allowing herself to feel, for the first time, the pain of her husband’s many betrayals, the pain of losing a man she had deeply loved.
The sobs overtook her body, her shoulders shook, and her tears rushed from the depths of her sorrow. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, anger welling up inside, too great to contain. Another slam, this one accompanied by a scream.
Another scream.
“This isn’t fair!” She got out of the car, unsteady on her heels. She took them off and threw them into the ditch. Cars on the interstate slowed to look at her, their drivers astounded, she was sure, at the sight of a perfectly coiffed woman unraveling on the side of the road.
She ripped the gold chain from her neck and threw it on the ground with a shout. “This isn’t fair!” Evelyn slammed her hands on the hood of the car with another shout. “Where were you, God? Where were you when he was cheating? Where were you when I was becoming a laughingstock for the entire world to see?”
She unclasped the bracelets dangling on her wrist and dropped them on the cement, then ripped her tailored gray jacket off and heaved it in the opposite direction.
“Ma’am?”
She spun around and saw a man approaching her. He’d pulled over to the side of the road, a do-gooder with a curious teenager in the backseat, taking a video of her on a cell phone.
Evelyn raised a hand. “Don’t.”
He held both hands up as if to surrender or calm her down. “Can I do anything for you?” The man inched closer.
Evelyn looked down at her bare feet, then met his eyes. “Yeah, don’t ever cheat on your wife.”
Small, sharp stones dug into the bottoms of her feet as she made her way around the car and got back inside. What was wrong with her? Was she going crazy? Was this what it felt like to have a mental breakdown?
She sped away from the man on the side of the road, back toward Loves Park to a home that was no longer hers and a life full of empty promises.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. Her little display in the courtroom must’ve hit the news. She turned the phone off without looking at it, knowing that while there were good people in her life, none of them could save
her from the mess she’d just made of things.
“How do you feel?”
The question rushed back at her. They’d asked with such exuberance, like excited fans at a rock concert. How did they think she felt? Angry. Hurt. Bitter. Sad. Scared. Alone. Exhausted.
She felt like a woman living in the land of “I don’t know,” and she was a stranger in this world.
She drove barefoot toward Loves Park, her thoughts spinning without her permission. She was a grown woman and she’d just had an all-out meltdown on the side of the road. A tantrum that would rival even the crankiest toddler’s.
Worse, she couldn’t blame anyone else for this humiliation. It was all her own doing.
Evelyn pulled into Loves Park two hours later and made the familiar turn toward the lake as she struggled to formulate some sort of plan in answer to the question that continued to prod her: What are you going to do now?
She would ask Whit if he was serious about letting her live in the guesthouse. Just until she got her bearings. She’d find a job. She’d pay him rent.
But as quickly as the thought entered her head, another one replaced it. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t worked in years. Her degree in art wouldn’t go far in Loves Park—the place was filled with artists already. Why hadn’t she thought this through before acting out like she did? Without Christopher, she was nothing.
Fear wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed tight like a blood pressure cuff.
She pulled into the driveway of the lake house on Brighton Street and begged her mind to be still. For the sake of her own sanity, she wished she could go on autopilot for a few months.
The house had sat untouched since the FBI agents had turned it inside out. She stood on the front porch for several long seconds, trying to work up the courage to open the door.
Finally, after a heavy moment of indecision, she pushed it open and walked inside.
Quiet, but not peace, assaulted her as soon as she closed the door. She supposed most of the media had stayed in Denver today on account of the hearing. Good. She could pack her things in solitude.
Change of Heart Page 12
