by Edie Claire
NEVER KISSED GOODNIGHT
Copyright © 2001 by Edie Claire
Originally published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam, Inc.
Digital edition for Kindle published in 2010 by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Dedication
For Laura Rose, who was born in the middle of Chapter 14.
Chapter 1
It was cold, there was an annoying sound somewhere, and Leigh wanted both things to go away. It had been frigid the last few days—unfairly so for early November, even in Pittsburgh. And though her first few months of marriage had, for the most part, been delightedly blissful, the war over the thermostat remained contentious. Case in point: it was 5:00 AM, her warm-blooded husband was sound asleep, and she was freezing to death. Evidently her covert 11:00 PM adjustment had not been the last.
She pulled the covers up tight under her chin and muttered into her pillow. She could get out of bed and turn up the heat, of course, but that would mean getting colder before she got warmer. It would also require rousing to full consciousness, which was even less appealing. Instead she snuggled closer to Warren J. Harmon III, who wrapped his arm around her obligingly, despite the elbow that jabbed absently into his ribs. She was just getting comfortably warm again when the sound—long since forgotten—repeated itself.
Reluctantly, she disengaged the warm arm and sat up. Someone was knocking on the apartment door.
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. A knock on the door in the predawn hours—no preceding buzzer. There were two choices. It was either a neighbor from the complex, or a family member to whom she had foolishly entrusted the building key. The gentle rapping came again, this time in a uniquely modified rendition of "shave and a haircut."
Cara? Leigh swung her feet over the side of the bed with a shiver. Nobody but her cousin could recreate their childhood code so perfectly. And Cara did have a key to the building, though not to Warren's apartment. Only to Leigh's bachelorette pad cum storage unit upstairs, which she couldn't afford to part with until their house hunt was over.
So what was her cousin doing here?
Leigh grabbed a fuzzy bathrobe from her closet and went to open the door, adjusting the thermostat on the way. Cara March drifted in with an almost ethereal air, her long, strawberry-blond hair flowing unchecked around her china-doll face and petite shoulders. She looked at Leigh apologetically, then spoke in a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't wake Warren too, did I?"
"Not much does," Leigh answered groggily. Only after she had blinked a few more times did she notice her cousin's red-rimmed eyes and streaked cheeks. "Are you all right?" she asked quickly. She knew plenty of women who went half their lives with tear-stained faces, but her cousin wasn't one of them. She was more the type to blunder into a hornet's nest and insist she was having fun.
Cara nodded. "I'm fine, really. I know you must think I've lost my mind—coming here in the middle of the night like this, but I just wondered if…well, if we could talk."
Leigh gave her cousin a long, considered, look, then made a beeline for the coffeemaker. Warren had given her a nice one with a timer for her 31st birthday, but since waiting three more hours for caffeine wasn't an option, she shut off the autopilot and hit "brew" with a vengeance. "Sure," she said mildly. "What are cousins for? Just give me two swallows before I have to be coherent, okay?"
Cara laughed awkwardly and slipped into a kitchen chair. "It's the least I can do, isn't it? I am sorry. Barging in on newlyweds when they've barely had their six month anniversary—I should be shot." A smile spread over her face. "I still can't believe that whirlwind wedding of yours. No notice, no frills. If your Mom didn't like Warren so much, she'd have had a cow."
Leigh grinned. "You know I hate a fuss. Besides, Warren refused to live in sin, and I'm not a patient person."
Her cousin grinned back, no doubt still amused by how long Leigh had insisted she and her old college buddy were just friends. Though Cara had been quite vocal in her suspicions otherwise, she had so far managed to refrain from I-told-you-sos. Extreme niceness was just one of several traits that made Cara hard to hate, despite the fact that she was both smart and gorgeous.
The cover-girl face turned penitent again. "I don't intend to make a habit out of this again. Really, I don't."
Leigh waved a hand dismissively, remembering how, when growing up in brick row houses side by side, she and her cousin used to lean out over the alley in the middle of the night and tap on each other's second-story windows with fishing poles. They had shared all their dreams and nightmares; and in later years, detailed accounts of their dates. In the latter category, of course, only Cara had had much to talk about.
Their after-hours chats had eventually converted to phone calls, which Cara made first from the Rhode Island School of Design, then later from Manhattan, where her career as a graphic artist had blossomed. Leigh had stayed in Pittsburgh, graduating from the city university and enjoying a considerably less flourishing career as an advertising copywriter. Despite their separation, however, Leigh had remained her cousin's chief confidant up until a few years ago, when Cara had returned to Pittsburgh a happily married woman. Then the nighttime conferences had ceased.
Until now.
Leigh looked at her cousin worriedly. Flawless bone structure aside, there were rather ghastly looking bags under Cara's eyes, and her peaches and cream complexion was unusually sallow. What on earth had happened? "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked again. "Where are Gil and Mathias?"
Cara's eyes glimmered heavily with mother guilt, then fixed on her hands. "They're home together. Mathias is sleeping like an angel, I'm sure." Her face hardened. "As for Gil, he's probably pacing the floor, wondering when I'll come home."
Leigh's own eyes widened. Such reckless disregard on Cara's part for the feelings of her sainted husband was definitely a red flag. The world's most obnoxiously happy couple—having a lover's quarrel? She glanced desperately at the coffeemaker, which chugged along at a snail's pace, oblivious to her distress. Resisting the urge to position her mouth directly under the filter cup, she instead stuck a soup spoon into the stream and brought a few precious drops to her lips.
"It's just—" Cara began more weakly, her voice cracking. "It's just that—I can't talk to him anymore."
Leigh inhaled two more spoonfuls of coffee before settling down at the table. So Gil was in the doghouse. What on earth could he have done? Granted, his primitive machismo and total lack of humor has never endeared him to Leigh, but aside from that, he was pretty near perfect. Rich, gorgeous, successful, generous—and absolutely crazy about his wife and son. "What do you mean you can't talk to him?"
Cara shifted her gaze from her hands to the table top. "He's hiding something from me."
Leigh sat still, her mind performing a little psychological triage. Cara had always trusted Gil implicitly, and even Leigh had never doubted his integrity where his wife was concerned. Perhaps Cara was overreacting to something? It was no secret that all the women in Leigh's family—excluding herself, of course—were prone to melodrama. This could all be about something as innocent as a surprise party.
"Gil loves you very much," she assured her cousin confidently. "You must have just misunderstood something."
Cara's watery, sea-green eyes turned on her cousin resentfully.
"No, I didn't. He's been lying to me. You think I wouldn't know?"
Leigh didn't answer. Perhaps a simple misunderstanding couldn't explain it. That sort of thing happened to couples who passed in the night, but Cara and Gil had a rare marriage—they actually talked to each other. If she had a suspicion, she would confront him outright. And if he was still evasive…
She got up and quickly emptied the coffee pot into her cup, ignoring the thin stream of liquid that ran down onto the burner with a hiss. It would evaporate eventually. She sat back down and took a long swig.
"Tell me what happened," she said gently.
Cara rubbed her hands roughly over the corners of her eyes and cleared her throat. "It started a week or so ago. You know we have a post office box; since we bought Snow Creek Farm he's been very careful—almost paranoid—about keeping our address private. He usually picks up the mail on his way home from work, but I have a key too; and if I'm out in the morning, I'll go ahead and get it. But when I went in last Friday, he'd already been there. And he did the same thing Monday and Tuesday."
Cara paused, and Leigh took a few more drags of coffee, hoping it would help the story make more sense. Was she supposed to get something, here?
"Don't you see?" Cara continued, frustrated. "He leaves for work long before the mail is put out. But he's been making a point of doubling back to pick it up before I get there. Every day."
Leigh continued to stare at her dumbly. "So he was waiting for something he didn't want you to see. That could be anything. A present."
Cara shook her head. "Wednesday I planned to be there even before they put the mail out. I caught him in the act."
"And?"
"And I accused him point-blank of trying to hide something. I wasn't even upset then. I felt more like—well, you know, like I was playing detective."
Leigh did know, only too well. Her cousin had never seemed to grow out of the Nancy Drew phase, perhaps because they were both pretty redheads.
"I really thought it was a present of some sort," Cara continued. "He gives me such wonderful surprises all the time, you know."
Leigh nodded quickly. She had heard already—as had anyone else with whom her cousin had a passing acquaintance.
"But his reaction—it shocked me. He looked almost scared at first, then he got angry. Like I was doing something wrong. Then just as quickly, he got all apologetic, and said that I was right, that he was expecting a present for me. He told me not to check the box until he'd said it had come."
"Well then," Leigh said optimistically. "Problem solved, right?"
Cara looked at her sadly, but patiently. "He was lying. I could tell as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was nervous and uncomfortable—there was no present. Whatever he was hiding, it was something big. And bad."
Leigh gave her cousin another long, considered look, then slowly let out a breath. She hated to admit it, but it did sound like trouble. "Maybe he's protecting you from some unpleasant news," she said sensibly.
"I thought that, too," Cara continued, struggling to keep her voice from wavering. "And I questioned him about it. But if the IRS was after us, if his business was being sued, if we were suddenly broke, we could deal with it together. He knows perfectly well that I'm not breakable—I'm as good in a crisis as he is. But he wouldn't talk, no matter how hard I pressed him. And if it was just bad news, I'm telling you—he would have cracked."
Leigh looked away. It was clear to anyone else who breathed that Cara's husband, despite his professions of admiration for his wife's "independent streak," was overprotective as hell. But now wasn't the time to argue about it. "So what do you think he was doing?" she asked cautiously.
Cara's eyes fixed on the tabletop again. "I think it's something about him. He feels guilty about something he's done—or is doing. And he's afraid if I know, I'll hate him."
Leigh didn't care for the direction her cousin's thoughts were taking. Cara might be melodramatic, but paranoia was not in her nature. And even though the mail-snatching situation was disturbing, it hardly seemed drastic enough to justify a middle-of-the-night exodus. "There's more, isn't there?" she asked softly.
Cara swallowed, then nodded. "Wednesday night, after I confronted him, he was late getting home from work. He said he had important business to finish up, but I thought he was just avoiding me. So I packed up Matt and went to his office."
She paused a moment. "He wasn't there. No one was. It was locked up tight. He's never lied about where he was going before." Her eyes misted over again, and Leigh excused herself to get more coffee. She put on the tea kettle as well—a weepy guest had to be served something.
Cara blinked her eyes stubbornly and continued. "He didn't come home till almost eight. I should have asked him where he'd been, but I couldn't. I didn't want to admit I'd checked up on him. And he was so sweet that evening—he put Mathias to bed, then made popcorn and watched Sleepless in Seattle with me. He hates that movie. I just—I couldn't say anything."
Leigh's couldn't help but think of all the cheating husbands she had seen or read about who did nice things for their wives to assuage a guilty conscience. She shook her head in denial. No way. She would never believe Gil was seeing another woman. Why on earth would he, when his own wife was such a knockout? And even if she wasn't, he really did love her. Leigh was sure of it.
"Cara—" she began, but her cousin cut her off with a head shake.
"You haven't heard the rest. Earlier today—I mean yesterday, Friday—he called again from work, and said he'd be late. He apologized, but said that if I could wait till eight thirty to eat, he'd bring home something special. I couldn't stand it, Leigh. I had to know where he was going. So I took Matt out again and waited for him to leave the office. Then I followed him."
Leigh began to get a sick feeling in her stomach, but she finished off her coffee anyway.
"He drove to an apartment complex in Shadyside. An upscale one. It didn't have any businesses in it, just residences. He parked and started towards the front door. That’s when he saw me."
Leigh's eyebrows rose. Although anyone with an iota of feminine perception could tell Gil didn't have a violent bone in his body, he was hardly what you would call even-tempered. The fact that he was not above flexing his muscles for emphasis was something she could personally vouch for, and his righteous indignation routine was particularly tedious. "What happened?" she asked hesitantly.
"Nothing, really," Cara answered calmly. "He looked angry at first, but by the time he got to the car, he seemed more sad. He got in with me and we talked for a long time. He was very understanding."
It sounded like a happy ending, but clearly it couldn't have been. "What did he say?"
"He said that he was having legal problems, and that he was meeting with an old friend of his who was a lawyer. The last part at least was true—I've met the man, but I didn't know where he lived."
"Did he say what the problems were? Why he was hiding them from you?"
Cara grimaced. "He had a story prepared for me, yes. But it wasn't true. And don't ask me how I know—I just do. It was perfectly plausible in every way. But he was lying to me, Leigh. I'm sure of it."
The tea kettle whistled, and Leigh hastened to pour her cousin a cup of chamomile. Personally, she loathed the stuff, which was why she had a stockpile culled from variety packs. But it was supposed to be soothing, and that sounded appropriate. She brought the cup to the table and sat back down. "He must have a good reason for lying, then," she said helplessly.
"I'm sure he thinks he does. But that's not good enough. After our talk, he went into the apartment building anyway. I took Matt home and put him to bed. As soon as Gil got back, I told him I needed to think, and I left."
Leigh's eyes widened. "You've been out all night?"
Cara nodded. "I went to Mom's for a while. She's still on her trip, you know. I just sat on her couch, thinking. Gil called there right away—but I kept the phone off the hook until I was ready to leave. Then I came
here."
The shrill sound of her own telephone ringing interrupted Leigh's next comment, and she rose quickly to answer it. Warren was a deep sleeper, but he wasn't dead. "Yes?" she said, knowing full well whom she would be talking to.
A slightly shaky man's voice answered. "Leigh? It's Gil. Please tell me Cara is there." The heartfelt anxiety in the voice won Leigh's empathy, even if she wasn't entirely sure it was deserved. "She's here," she assured quickly.
The sigh of relief on the other end of the line was audible. "Thank God. Can I talk to her?"
Leigh glanced at Cara, who shook her head firmly. "Tell him I'll be home before Mathias wakes up," she said coolly.
"She's fine, Gil," Leigh answered, using a little license in translation. "She says for you not to worry and that she'll be home for Matt's breakfast. Okay?"
The pause on the other end of the line was long. "She still won't talk to me," he said miserably. "I see. Just tell her I love her, then, okay?"
"Will do."
"And Leigh," he continued as she started to hang up, "thanks for looking out for her."
She digested the comment with curiosity. Despite Cara's self-reliant air, her oblivious good nature and compulsive impulsiveness had always made for trouble. So much so that Leigh had spent most of her childhood trying to shield her cousin—who was not quite two years younger—from everything from stubbed toes to mono. It was a role she hadn't relinquished lightly, even after they had both grown up. But it was a role Cara's white knight of a husband had never appreciated. In fact, he often accused Leigh of getting his wife into trouble, which, of course, was entirely unjustified. So why was he thanking her now?
Guilty conscience. "No problem," Leigh answered carefully. She said goodbye and hung up. "He sounded very worried about you," she told Cara honestly. "I really think you should go home now."
Cara shook her head and took a sip of chamomile. "I need to ask a favor. Will you do it?"
