I smiled, hoping to steer the conversation onto more romantic ground. Lee wasn’t picking up on my cues.
“We should have played it safe,” he mused. “We should have stayed in Boston and let well enough alone instead of putting everything on the line for a crazy dream.”
“Don’t say that! I mean it, Lee! Don’t ever say that!”
Lee put down his cup and looked at me with surprise. I’m not generally given to emotional outbursts. “I just meant that . . .”
“I know what you meant, but you’re wrong. Moving to New Bern, finally working up the courage to start living our own dream instead of somebody else’s, is the best thing we’ve ever done. When I look back and think what our lives were like before we started talking about the farm and the shop and what we wanted out of life . . .”
I shook my head and smeared a piece of toast with strawberry jam. “It’s practically a miracle that we got to be married this long.”
Lee frowned. “What are you trying to say? You think we’d have ended up divorced if we’d stayed in Massachusetts? You never said anything about being unhappy. . . .”
“I’m saying I didn’t even know I was unhappy. And so were you. Admit it, you were.”
“Well,” he said slowly, “I don’t know if I’d have put it in those terms exactly.”
“How about bored? How about wondering if this was really all there was to life?”
Lee looked at me, a little smile of admission crossing his lips. “Well. Maybe sometimes. But I never thought of divorce.”
“Neither did I, but you’ve got to wonder if, eventually, we might have. It’s happened to so many people we know—Lena and John, Caroline and Stan, the Willises from across the street. They all said they’d ‘grown apart.’ I can’t help but think that the problem was that they stopped growing together.
“Maybe this is a crazy idea,” I said earnestly, “and maybe it won’t work out, but I’m proud of us for trying. And if we end up broke, I can honestly say that I’d rather be broke with you than anyone I know. . . .”
Lee laughed. “Aw, shucks.”
“I mean it, Lee Woodruff. I love you. More today than I ever have.”
“But only half as much as tomorrow?”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“I am. Is it working? Because I love you, too, Tessa. Now more than ever.”
Our kiss was interrupted by the lilt of Charlie Donnelly’s Irish brogue. “Ah, the lovebirds!” he called out as he approached our table, holding Evelyn’s hand. “Lee is so overcome that he hasn’t touched his pancakes. It’s true love, I tell you, true love.”
Evelyn laughed. “It would be for you, Charlie. I can’t imagine the day when you’d ever be too overcome with anything to miss a meal.”
Charlie is the owner of New Bern’s most elegant restaurant, the Grill on the Green. He’s a serious foodie, though you couldn’t tell it to look at him. Charlie is as skinny as a rail. Evelyn owns the Cobbled Court Quilt Shop. It’s located just a hop, skip, and a jump from For the Love of Lavender, my herbal gift shop. We know Charlie and Evelyn from various community and Chamber of Commerce gatherings, but not well, not enough so you could call us friends. After all these months, we still haven’t made any close friends in New Bern. We’ve got to make more of an effort in that regard.
Evelyn and Charlie have recently returned from their honeymoon in Ireland. Not that they told us this personally—but New Bern is a small town. News travels fast.
“The waitress says congratulations are in order,” Evelyn said. “How many years is it?”
“Thirty-four,” Lee replied.
Charlie whistled in admiration. “Good for you! I hope we’ll be able to say the same someday, and that when we do, we’re both still able to walk.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said. “You look young and healthy enough.”
“Being married to Evelyn is making me feel younger every day.” Charlie beamed as he turned to Evelyn and gave her a loud smack on the lips.
“Behave yourself,” Evelyn said, though not with any real conviction.
“Why? I never have before.”
The door to the café opened and Jake Kaminski, owner of Kaminski’s Hardware, came in. Jake is a big man, tall but trim, with broad shoulders and a long stride, the kind of guy people call a “man’s man,” though he’s pretty popular with the ladies. Jake was a year ahead of me in school. He did a tour in Vietnam and has a glass eye to prove it. Even so, Jake is considered the most eligible bachelor in New Bern.
Jake lifted his hand when he spotted our group and walked toward the table.
“You’re back! Can I get a kiss from the bride?” He gave Evelyn a big bear hug and a peck on the cheek. “How was the honeymoon?”
“Idyllic. Ireland is so beautiful. And Charlie’s family was just wonderful. His sisters are just the kindest, sweetest women in the world.”
Jake looked at Charlie and raised his left eyebrow. “Sweet? Really?” He winked at Evelyn. “You sure they’re Charlie’s sisters, related to him by blood and all?”
Charlie grinned. “Oh, yes. Grania, Maura, and I share the Donnelly DNA. The girls are carbon copies of my dear old dad, the kindest, most soft-spoken man in the county. Whereas I take after my mother, the woman who nagged him to an early grave.”
Jake slapped him on the back and laughed. “Ah, Charlie, I’ve missed you. Welcome home. You both look great. Marriage must agree with you.”
“I highly recommend it,” Evelyn said, looking lovingly at her groom. “You should give it a try, Jake. With Charlie off the market, you must be New Bern’s last bachelor standing. You’ll wear yourself out.”
“It’s a tough job, Evelyn, but somebody’s gotta do it. As far as marriage, the third time was the charm for me. Can’t see risking a fourth,” Jake said, then deftly changed the subject. “Lee, the water pump you ordered came in.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick it up later today.”
“So, what’s going on here?” Jake asked. “You having a secret meeting of the Chamber of Commerce or something? Between us, we own about half the businesses in New Bern. Speaking of business, how’s yours? Mine’s off.”
Lee tilted his head and sucked some air in through his teeth. “Could be better. Tessa and I were just talking about that. Seems like no one is buying.”
Charlie’s grin faded and he nodded understandingly. “Don’t worry too much. I’ve been in the restaurant business longer than you’ve been married. These things go in cycles, you know. Things will rebound.”
“I hope so,” I said. “And soon. If they don’t, I’m not sure my store will be around by our next anniversary.”
I felt Lee’s eyes on me and turned to see him staring at me, his mouth a thin line.
Charlie glanced at Lee and said quickly, “Lee, I hear you’re keeping chickens now. Have you got any eggs to sell to the restaurant? Or extra produce . . .”
“Eggs? Sure. We’ve got a lot of nice tomatoes and zucchini too. Of course,” Lee said, “this time of year, so does everybody else.”
“Yeah.” Charlie laughed. “If you forget to lock your car, you’ll come back and find your front seat filled with squash. What about cucumbers? Onions?”
“I’ve got plenty. Green beans too.”
“Good! Bring some over today, will you? After the lunch crowd thins out.”
“I’ll be there,” Lee promised.
“Tessa,” Evelyn said, “Margot said you were thinking about taking her lap quilt class. I hope so. It’s her first time teaching and she’s so excited.”
“I think I’m going to have to bow out,” I said apologetically. “Business is so slow that I’m going to let my part-time girl go. Soon there’ll be no one to run the shop but me. Anyway, it’s probably not a great time for me to take up an expensive hobby. . . .”
Lee interrupted me. “Don’t be silly. Take the class.”
I shifted slightly in my chair and lowered my voice so the others wouldn’t
hear. “The class is sixty dollars. Plus, I’ll need supplies and fabric. I don’t think it’s a good . . .”
Ignoring my whispered protests, Lee looked at Evelyn and said, “I can help out at the shop if need be. Don’t worry. You can count her in.”
I don’t like having people speak for me. Lee knows that. I’d have said something but I didn’t want to have an argument in public—especially on our anniversary. Evelyn and Charlie exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“Well. Good,” Evelyn said. “Come over when you get a chance and I’ll help you choose your fabric. You’re going to love quilting. It’s a great way to get to know people.”
We said our good-byes. Charlie and Evelyn left the café hand in hand. Jake went to the bakery counter and bought a coffee and muffin to go. We waved as he left.
The tension was thick between us. I was still miffed, but for the sake of the day, I decided to let it go.
“Well, that’s some good news, isn’t it? I bet Charlie can buy up a lot of our extra vegetables and eggs.”
Lee wasn’t listening. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Tell them business was bad, make out like we can’t afford for you to take a little quilting class. We hardly know them!”
“But,” I puffed, “you said it first. ‘Things could be better.’ You said so yourself. You’re right, they could. What’s so terrible about saying so? I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
“Because I don’t want you going around telling everybody our private business! Start saying things like that and next thing you know it’ll be all over town.”
“They wouldn’t do that. After all, they’re in the same boat. Every business in town is struggling.”
“Maybe, but I still don’t like everybody knowing about our troubles, okay?”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “Sorry.”
Lee cut into his stack of cold pancakes. “It’s not like we’re destitute, you know. It’s not like I can’t take care of my family.”
“Lee Woodruff, what are you talking about? I never said anything of the kind! I never even implied it. All I meant was—”
Eyes on his plate, he lifted his hand. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay?”
Where had this come from? Lee and I have always shared everything from housework and child rearing to bill paying and bread-winning. Now he was acting like the responsibility for bringing home the family bacon rested on his shoulders alone. I didn’t get it. Then again, Lee was the one with the accounting degree. If he was so concerned about our financial situation, maybe I should be too.
As if reading my thoughts, Lee looked up from his plate of pancakes and gave me an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll figure it out.”
“You think?”
“Sure.” He raised his mug and clinked it against mine. “Happy anniversary, babe.”
“Happy anniversary.”
He smiled and gave me a look—the look. As always, my heart gave a lurch and my pulse raced. How does he do that?
“So,” he said casually, “think you might consider closing a little early today?”
“Why should I? Got something special in mind?”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Meet me in our bedroom at six and I’ll explain it to you in detail. Better yet, I’ll show you. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours? Oh my. Sounds like we might need some provisions. Want me to pick up a bottle of champagne on my way home?”
He shook his head. “Already have one chilling in the refrigerator. Steaks too. I’m making dinner. That is, if you’ve got the energy to get out of bed and come to the table.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to serve you in bed.”
“Think that’s a good idea?” I asked. “Might lead to all kinds of things.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he reached for my hand, turned it palm up, and brushed his lips over the soft flesh of my wrist.
I blushed. Thirty-four years of marriage and he can still make me blush. It’s embarrassing. And wonderful.
I leaned my head down and whispered in Lee’s ear, “I wish it were six already.”
“Me too.”
The café was nearly empty. I sipped the last of my coffee and watched Lee finish his breakfast, wondering, not for the first time, how I’d managed to land such a handsome husband and how he managed to get even better looking as the years passed.
Behind the bakery counter, a waitress turned the radio to an AM news station.
“And in national news, Eugene Janders, attorney for Sterling Baron, requested his client’s sentencing be postponed. Baron, who was convicted of masterminding a decades-long Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of billions, could be sentenced to as many as one hundred years in prison. . . .”
“One hundred years,” Lee said as he sopped up a drizzle of syrup with a fork full of pancakes. “Two hundred would be better. Sterling Baron? He’s married to that friend of yours, right?”
“Former friend,” I corrected him. “I haven’t seen Madelyn since high school. I wonder how she’s faring in all this.”
Lee wiped his mouth with his napkin and got up from the table. “Fine, I’m sure. The rich get richer. They always do.”
“The news said that the government had seized all their assets and she had to move out of her apartment. Nobody seems to know where she went.”
Lee pulled out my chair for me. “She’s probably flown off to Switzerland or the Caymans to cash out her offshore accounts and live in style far from the reach of the feds, someplace a million miles from New Bern.”
3
Madelyn
The Realtor, Wendy Perkins, who apparently didn’t know that rhinestone eyeglasses went out of style in 1968, offered to give me a tour of Beecher Cottage.
“It’s got a few quirks,” she said. “And a lot of deferred maintenance. The back door sticks. You’ve got to kick it hard on the bottom before you can lock it. The powder room is tucked under the main staircase. You’d think it was a closet if you didn’t know better, and the hot and cold water is mixed up on the faucets.”
“I know. My grandfather made a mistake when he was connecting the pipes and never fixed it. Don’t worry,” I said, taking the house keys from her outstretched hand. “I know every inch of the place. I spent ten years of my life there.”
Wendy furrowed her brow, making her sparkly eyeglasses ride higher on the bridge of her nose. “That was before I came to town. But I knew your grandma. So funny that Edna never mentioned you.”
I murmured noncommittally. I wasn’t surprised in the least.
When I left New Bern, Edna said I was as good as dead to her. She was a woman of her word. From that day forward, I’m confident she never uttered my name again. In my current circumstances, it was for the best. Wendy didn’t recognize me, either as Edna Beecher’s granddaughter or as Sterling Baron’s wife. With luck, neither would anyone else—at least for a while.
I’d resigned myself to the necessity of returning to New Bern, but I didn’t plan to stay there one moment longer than I had to. At the first sign the housing market was improving, I’d sell the house and move somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t New Bern.
In the meantime, my plan was to lie low and avoid attracting any attention to myself. People were bound to discover my connection to Sterling eventually. But by the time they did, I hoped Beecher Cottage would have a new owner and I’d be long gone. By then, maybe I actually would be Madelyn Beecher again.
Had it been possible, I’d have severed my ties with Sterling and the Baron name legally, permanently, and immediately. I should have divorced Sterling years before; heaven knew I had every reason to. His womanizing was legendary.
Sterling wasn’t committed to the marriage, but the image it projected to the world suited his purposes and fed his ego. Sterling was having his cake and eating it
, too, taking me with him to Broadway premieres and charity galas, smiling as we posed for the cameras, then sneaking away after for a late-night rendezvous with his blonde of the moment. Why would he want a divorce?
Why would I? Until recently, Sterling had been too rich to divorce. Yes, his serial unfaithfulness humiliated me, but you’d be surprised what you can learn to put up with when the price of humiliation is a lifestyle that, once upon a time, I hardly dared dream of—vacations to Tahiti on private islands, beachfront property in the Hamptons, a penthouse, a maid, a cook, a personal secretary, trips to Paris to view the spring couture collections and a blank check to buy whatever caught my eye. Shoes, and bags, and furs, and jewels, and, and, and . . . Anything and everything I wanted was mine simply by signing those two little words, “Madelyn Baron,” on a check or credit card slip.
Did it make me happy? For a time. Sterling understood the arrangement and so did I. Yes, I had to turn a blind eye to his infidelities to maintain my lifestyle, but in my shoes, who wouldn’t have done the same?
And even if I’d suddenly woken up one morning and decided that I could not tolerate this shameful farce of a marriage anymore (and there were many mornings when I did), a brief reflection on the chain of events that would follow if I presented Sterling with divorce papers quickly convinced me to think about something else.
Sterling is vindictive, and he hates to lose. If I tried to divorce him, I had no doubt he’d sic the legal wolves on me, with Gene Janders leading the pack, and wouldn’t call them off until they’d ripped me to shreds financially and personally. And Sterling was not the only one who strayed during our marriage. The frequency and intensity of my assignations were minuscule compared to Sterling’s and in every case my infidelity was a direct response to his. I don’t believe in romance and I’m not interested in sex. I haven’t been for a long time, if I ever was at all. I took lovers not for love, but to exact revenge on Sterling and, I suppose, to prove to myself that I was still desirable—to someone.
If I had tried to divorce Sterling before the arrest, I had no doubts about the outcome. Sterling would come out smelling like a rose and I would be left with nothing but a shredded reputation and a pile of legal bills, and all at an age when the odds of staging a second act range from remote to impossible.
Threading the Needle Page 4
