“Did you open your dad’s letters and read them?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, I did. He left them, so he must have wanted me to read them. They were heartrending pleas for her to come home.”
“What did she say in her farewell letter? Did she give a reason why she was leaving him?” Sophie asked.
“And Cordie,” Regan reminded her. “She left her baby, too.”
Cordie reached under the table for her purse and set it on her lap as she fished out a folded piece of paper. “I made a copy of her letter because I knew you both would want to read it.”
“What about your father’s letters?” Regan asked.
Cordie shook her head. “I don’t want you to read them.”
Sophie understood. “You think it might color our opinion of your dad?”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for him. I want you to remember him as a strong, loving father. Natalie was his weakness. Too late he realized he’d thrown his life away waiting for her.”
“Where did he send these letters?” Regan asked.
“The address on the envelopes was a post office box here in Chicago. He must have thought they would be sent on to her. Maybe that’s what she told him.”
Sophie read the letter first, and by the time she’d finished, her cheeks were bright pink. She was irate on Cordie’s behalf. “She’s going to pretend the marriage never happened and start over? Who does that?”
“Apparently Natalie Kane does,” Cordie said.
Regan finished reading the letter and handed it to Cordie, but before she could put it back in her purse, Regan grabbed it again and reread it.
“I can’t believe ‘You can have her.’ Shame on her. What kind of a mother . . .” She was sputtering and couldn’t finish her thought.
“I’m glad she didn’t stay around to raise you, Cordie. After reading this letter I have to say that Natalie Kane is a cold, unfeeling bitch.”
Regan agreed. “If she was going through some kind of mental issue, she had years to get her head straight and come back to her family.”
“No, she didn’t have mental issues. She just didn’t like being poor or being married to a mechanic. Remember what she wrote? If her family knew, they’d disown her.”
They continued to discuss the letter and Natalie’s motives all through dinner, though Cordie didn’t eat much because the topic made her stomach queasy.
“How does a mother walk away from her baby?” she asked.
“I wonder how she would feel if she knew your father left millions of dollars. From a humble mechanic to the owner of thousands of auto shops,” Sophie said.
“Money wasn’t important to my father, but getting Natalie back was all that mattered. That’s why he became so driven.”
“Even though he was worth a huge fortune, he lived like an ordinary man,” Regan said.
“On his deathbed he warned me not to follow in his footsteps. I guess he finally realized all the years he wasted pining away for her.” She sighed then and said, “He taught me a lesson. I don’t want to chase a dream anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not wasting another minute on any man.”
Sophie frowned. “When have you wasted a minute on a man? Men chase you, Cordie. It’s not the other way around.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I’m going to find her.” Cordie made the announcement and waited for a reaction.
“Why?” Regan asked. “What do you hope to gain?”
“I want to know how her life turned out. Did she find what she was looking for? Did the end justify the means?”
“She broke your father’s heart,” Sophie said. “I hope she’s miserable. And poor,” she added with a nod. “I really hope she’s poor.”
“When you find her, will you walk up to her and introduce yourself?” Regan asked.
Cordie pushed her chair back and stood. “No, I don’t want to meet her. I just want to see her with her family. I have no desire to interact with her.”
“Then hire an investigator to find her and get the information you want,” Sophie suggested.
“No, I have to go,” she said, and before Sophie could continue to argue, she asked, “Whose turn is it to pay?”
“Mine,” Regan said. “And I already took care of the bill, including gratuity.”
“Are you sure it was your turn?” Cordie asked. “I seem to remember—”
“I don’t want you to find your mother,” Sophie blurted.
“You wanted me to before you read the letter, and don’t call her my mother. She left when I was a baby. She doesn’t deserve to be called that.”
“I worry you’ll get hurt, Cordie. You just lost your father. You don’t need any more pain.”
“I have to do this, Sophie.”
Regan could detect an argument brewing and decided to deflect her friends’ attention. “Is that a new blouse, Cordie?”
“No, I just haven’t worn it in a while.”
“Oh, I forgot to ask, how did your meeting with Sister Delores go?”
“Not well at all. She likes to have her way.”
“That’s why she’s the principal,” Regan said. “She has to be tough.”
“I told her a long while ago that I wouldn’t be signing a new contract, but she’s determined to get me to change my mind. I’m not going to, though. I want to take some time off from teaching.”
“But you’re a wonderful teacher. The boys love you,” Regan protested.
“I’m determined to make some changes in my life,” Cordie explained.
“What kind of changes?” Sophie asked, frowning.
“I don’t know yet . . . just something . . . different.”
“Come on,” Sophie said. “We all ate healthy dinners, so let’s go in the bar, order cold beer and potato chips, and Regan and I will help you figure out what you want to change.”
Cordie followed Sophie out the door. “Since when do you drink beer?”
“Since I married Jack. I’m taking on all his bad habits.”
Cordie laughed. “Beer and chips. Best dessert ever.”
“Are you sure you want to go to the bar?” Regan asked. “If the guys from Vice are in there, they won’t leave Cordie alone. Both Woods and Zahner are smitten. Alec told me they think she looks like a sexy movie star.”
The hotel bar was filled with businessmen. There wasn’t a single woman in sight. Every eye was on the three of them as they made their way around the tables to get to the far side of the long mahogany bar. It was like walking a gauntlet of admiring stares, Cordie thought, but she didn’t mind. By the time she got to the end of the bar, her self-esteem had gotten quite a boost.
She could hear laughter coming from the poker room next to them. The door opened and Detective Zahner walked out carrying an empty bowl. To say he was scary looking was an understatement. He was the kind of man who made most intelligent people nervous and ready to bolt. He was big and muscular like a professional wrestler, and both his arms and neck were covered in faded tattoos. His hair was long and in desperate need of a comb, but it was the look in his eyes when he was angry that scared the bejesus out of his targets. The only man who rivaled Zahner in terror tactics was Regan’s husband, Alec, when he worked undercover. To Cordie, however, Zahner was a big teddy bear. He spotted her leaning against the bar and headed toward her, his wide grin making him appear a bit maniacal.
After kissing Sophie and Regan on the cheek, he turned his full attention to Cordie. He kissed her on her cheek before wrapping her in a bear hug.
“When are you going to realize how good we’d be together?” he asked, his voice crooning like a seventies blues singer’s.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” she told him, smiling. “You’re a tease, Zahner.”
He pressed in on her, leaned down, and whispered, “Let me take you home and show you—”
“What the hell? Get off her, Zahner.” Aiden gave the order from the doorway. He strode over, fully intending to pull Zahner away from Cordelia, but the detective was in the mood to cooperate. He stepped back, winked at her, then frowned at Aiden.
Aiden wasn’t through acting possessive. “Cordelia, don’t encourage him,” he snapped.
Regan and Sophie were looking at Aiden as though they thought he’d lost his mind.
“What’s the matter with you?” Regan asked.
Aiden didn’t answer. To be honest, he didn’t know why he’d gotten so angry when he’d seen Zahner draped all over Cordelia. Maybe he was being more protective of her because she was so vulnerable since her father’s death. She was all alone and needed someone to watch over her. Kissing her had absolutely nothing to do with his reaction. That’s what he told himself, anyway.
“You sound like a jealous husband,” Zahner remarked.
Ignoring the comment, Aiden said, “Are you playing the next hand, or are you out of money?”
“I’m playing,” Zahner replied. “My luck’s bound to change. I figure I’m due for a win.” He grabbed the bowl the bartender had refilled with cashews, turned to Cordie, said, “See you later, sweetheart,” and strolled back into the poker room. Aiden followed and pulled the door closed behind him.
“What was that all about?” Sophie asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Aiden was jealous.”
“No,” Regan said. “It’s just Aiden being Aiden.”
“He’s never going to change,” Cordie said.
“Who wants to go to the ladies’ room?” Sophie asked.
Regan raised her hand. “Me.”
“Go ahead, I’ll order the beers,” Cordie offered.
The second her friends were out of sight, Cordie sat down on a barstool and reached for her phone. She texted Alec and asked him for his brother Nick’s cell phone number. She could have gotten the number from Regan, but that would have led to twenty questions, and Cordie wasn’t ready to explain her plans for her future just yet.
The following morning she called Nick, negotiated the price, and purchased his town house in Boston.
SIX
Congressman Mitchell Ray Chambers’s poll numbers were abysmal, and it was all Aiden Madison’s fault. If he’d played ball and given the congressman what he wanted for the land, a Hamilton Hotel would be in the district’s future, but Madison got all bent out of shape because the congressman had given his word and then broken it. It was such a ridiculously stupid reason to walk away from a multimillion-dollar venture.
It was obvious that Spencer Madison was the one who really wanted the hotel. He was only following his brother’s lead when he walked out of the meeting, and Chambers was convinced that once Aiden was out of the picture, Spencer would be willing to negotiate and move forward on the project. It really was prime property, after all.
The hotel wouldn’t have been important to the congressman if it weren’t for the fact that the mayor of Fallsborough had gone after the Madisons and boasted to everyone in the district that the hotel would bring jobs and money. She’d also told them that their congressman, Chambers, had blown the deal and with it all their hopes and dreams for a better tomorrow. In public the mayor may have acted all distraught about the lost deal, but since she planned to run against him in the next primary, she privately had to be jumping for joy at the windfall that had just come her way.
Although he gave it his best shot, he couldn’t put a positive spin on what had happened. The only solution he could come up with to charm the voters back into his pocket was to find a way around Aiden Madison.
SEVEN
Cordie called Sophie and Regan and asked them to meet her at the Palms for lunch. She explained that she had something important to tell them.
Cordie was early, Regan was on time, and Sophie was fifteen minutes late as usual. Cordie had asked for a booth near the back so they would have a little privacy. The three friends met often at this restaurant, one of their favorites, especially when there was news to share. They knew the waitstaff by name and didn’t need to place their drink orders after they were seated. Adam, their waiter, immediately appeared with three iced teas and recited the specials. They all agreed on a spinach salad with chicken, strawberries, and feta.
The moment Adam stepped away, Sophie turned to Cordie. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“You look beat. Aren’t you sleeping?” Regan asked, her concern evident in her expression.
“I was up most of the night on the Internet doing research,” Cordie said. “I’ll explain why in a minute.” She was suddenly feeling tongue-tied as she stared across the table at the two dearest friends she could ever have.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” Sophie said. “You’re worrying me.”
“Regan, have you talked to your brother-in-law today?” Cordie asked.
“Which brother-in-law?”
“Nick.”
“No, why?”
“I called him and bought his town house. I’m going to move to Boston.”
There were at least twenty seconds of stunned silence, then an explosion of emotion.
“No way,” Sophie came close to shouting. “You can’t leave Chicago. We’re all staying here, remember?”
“No, you and your husbands are staying here. I need a change,” Cordie explained. “I need to shake up my life . . . try new things . . . take risks . . . and move.”
“You love Chicago,” Regan reminded her.
“Yes, I do. I love Boston, too.”
Regan became teary-eyed. “No, this is wrong,” she said. “After the death of a loved one, you shouldn’t be making any rash decisions for at least a year. I read that somewhere.”
“I think that might apply to widows,” Cordie said. “And this isn’t a rash decision. I’ve always loved your brother-in-law’s town house, and I’m ready for a change.”
A long minute passed. Regan was digging through her purse looking for a tissue.
“Please don’t cry,” Cordie begged.
“I’m trying not to,” Regan said. “Why not mull this over for a couple of months? Then decide on any changes.”
Cordie shook her head. “I need your support on this. Boston isn’t that far away. It’s a direct flight. You can come see me all the time.”
Sophie and Regan continued to argue with her for another fifteen minutes. When they finally realized their protests were getting nowhere, they relented. “I know you love Boston,” Regan said. “But what will you do for work?”
“Like she has to work. She’s a multi-multimillionaire,” Sophie reminded her.
“Yes, I do need to work,” Cordie said. “I’m going to put some feelers out. I’ll find something I like.”
“Teaching again?”
“Maybe . . . or maybe something different.”
“Alec’s family will help you get settled and introduce you to people. You won’t be all alone.”
“What about your brownstone here?” Sophie asked.
“I’m going to sell it.”
“But you just finished renovating it, and selling it makes it all seem so final,” Regan said.
Searching for any argument she could think of, Sophie rushed out, “What if you move and then realize you’ve made a mistake?”
“Then I’ll move back,” Cordie said, trying to sound cheerful even though the conversation was depressing her. What if she was making a mistake? What then? She couldn’t come back to Chicago. “I love Nick’s town house, and I love Boston. And both of you will come often, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course we will,” Regan promised. A tear slipped down her cheek.
“When is this going to happen?” Sophie asked.
“In a couple of mon
ths,” Cordie explained. “Depending on the work that needs to be done. I’m going to make a few minor changes and paint all the rooms. Maybe even refinish the hardwood floors. Nick thinks I should. I’m going to fly out next weekend and sign all the papers.”
“Are you going to stay at the Boston Hamilton?” Sophie asked.
“No, Nick and Laurant insisted I stay with them. It will be fun to see their kids.”
Cordie and Sophie knew all of Alec’s family and kept in touch with his five brothers and two sisters through Facebook. Alec’s parents, who lived on Nathan’s Bay, an island accessible by bridge north of Boston, were warm, hospitable people and always insisted that Cordie come for a visit when she was in the area. Cordie imagined she’d spend a lot of time on the island next summer.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. “I promise.”
She was doing her very best to sound enthused. She should be excited about the future, shouldn’t she? It was a brand-new beginning. Why, then, did she want to cry?
• • •
The next two weeks were crazy busy. Cordie flew to Boston, loaded down with presents for Nick and Laurant’s two young children, and ended up spending three nights with the family while all the papers were being prepared. She paid cash for the town house by simply transferring funds, and she didn’t feel quite as nervous about the move once she went through the house because she remembered why she loved it so much. All the wonderful architectural details gave the place a classic timelessness, which was exactly what appealed to her. By the time she left Boston she was convinced she would be happy in her new home.
Once back in Chicago she tackled the task of getting her house ready to sell. She finished going through all her father’s boxes, and when she was done, she was all the more frustrated because she couldn’t find any information about Natalie, especially since her father had been such a pack rat. He had kept all of Cordie’s grade school and high school papers and art projects in three boxes labeled Keepsakes, and she knew that if he kept every single one of her drawings and test papers, he certainly would have kept mementos of his marriage. And where were all the photos? Surely he would have kept those in a safe place, but where? Was there another safe-deposit box at the bank, or did the law firm that managed her father’s affairs have a folder with her dad’s personal items? Doubtful, but she would still ask.
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