CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE TRILOGY

by Patrice Wilton

  She told him the story of Mount Misery, and how she found a picture in the library and had a photocopy made. “A sign shop in town is making us up a couple of decals. They will be ready in the morning, and I’d like to put them on the tail of the boat.”

  “Maddi, you are something else.” Taking hold of her hand, he turned the palm upwards, planted a kiss, then lazily began to stroke his thumb over the pads of her fingers to the sweet center.

  He gave her fingers a final squeeze before letting them go. “You know, you don’t often see such fine craftsmanship on a boat as this one, and the electronics alone are worth a small fortune. You could buy a damn nice house for what you’d get for her.”

  “Don’t need it,” she said. “I have a nice house.”

  He gritted his teeth. “A better one then, or an apartment somewhere. One on Park Avenue, or right here. How about your own villa in St. Kitts?”

  She smiled. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

  “You sure you want to destroy her, Maddi?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m quite sure.” Her voice softened in spite of her resolve. “David will be devastated, of course. And that’s what I want. To hurt him the way he hurt me.”

  “I understand, but is this the way to go about it?”

  “He planned to live on it with his girlfriend, who is also pregnant with his child.” Her face grew hard. “This was his retirement plan.”

  Harry’s face sagged, and he looked ten years older. “So, Montserrat it is,” he said sadly.

  ***

  David hired a pilot with a Twin Otter to fly him to Montserrat. They were to leave at six AM. At four-thirty, he had a phone call.

  He recognized the whiskey laced voice of Jim Sanders, the pilot he’d hired, because no sane or sober pilot would go near the place. “Might as well stay in bed, my friend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re too late. When I filed a flight plan, I was given a report. It’s a disaster, man. The volcano is spewing.”

  “Spewing? How badly? I have to get there at once.”

  “I’m telling you, you can’t. It’s blown. Whatever reason you had for going there, it’s over.”

  “No fucking way.” David snapped. “We’re going.”

  Jim read him the report. “At 4:AM satellite imagery shows the lava dome erupting, spewing hot ash in the upper parts of Tuitt’s Ghaut and White’s Ghaut and traveling down toward the south.” He cleared his throat. “The lava dome’s erupting, and residents are being asked to evacuate.”

  David held his head in his hands. “No. No. This can’t be.”

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You got a loved one down there?”

  “It’s more important than a loved one. It’s my damn boat.”

  ***

  Maddi had rubber legs when they returned around midnight. Harry helped her on board and down the steps to the main cabin. She snuggled up to him, nibbling on his neck, and tried to remove his shirt. Laughing, he held her off, and pushed her gently down the small corridor.

  “You need to sleep it off, Maddi.”

  “I don’t want to. I want to make love, love, love.” She giggled, and bumped into a wall.

  “If you were sober, I’d take you up on that offer, but I don’t think it’s the wise or fair thing to do.”

  “You turning me down, Harry?”

  “I am. We have a lot to do in the morning if you want those decals put on, and to head out at a decent time.”

  “Why are you always so sensible? Why can’t we have fun?”

  “Goodnight, Maddi. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned and headed towards his own cabin.

  Disappointed, but not surprised, Maddi went to bed. She tossed and turned for awhile, unable to sleep. After a few minutes she decided to go see if Harry had the same problem. She tiptoed into his room, and slid into the bed beside him. Her hand slid under the covers and came into contact with his warm, solid flesh. He was snoring softly, and she wanted him awake.

  Her hand cupped him, and he awoke instantly.

  “Maddi? What are you doing?”

  “I want you.” She leaned over him, capturing his mouth. “Kiss me, please.”

  He kissed her thoroughly, and she could feel he was aroused. And Maddi was burning up. She wanted him to take her, this very instant, before she had a chance to change her mind.

  “God, I want you,” he mumbled against her mouth. His hand cupped her bare breast. “I want you so much, I can hardly think straight.” He pushed her away and sat up. “If you still feel this way in the morning, Maddi, I will take you up on this offer. But not tonight.”

  Maddi slid out of his bed, and looked down at him. She stood before him, naked and vulnerable, and aching inside.

  “You don’t want me because I’m too old.” Tears filled her eyes. “Why don’t you admit it?”

  “You’re the one who makes a big thing about our age difference. I don’t see it at all.” His voice was gentle. “You’re not ready for sex, Maddi. Not with me, not with any man.”

  ***

  Maddi drifted in and out of sleep. Visions of thick black tar, gooey, suffocating, flowed down from the ash-spewing dome of the mountaintop, burying everything in its wake. It swept down the streets, sweeping over houses and buildings and people, engulfing them forever. Forever lost, forever gone.

  In the morning she came to a decision. “Harry, come here.” He came out of the galley with two cups of coffee in his hand. “Stop looking so glum. I know what I want to do this morning.”

  “You do?” His voice rose with hope. “Do you mean what I hope you mean? You and me?”

  “No, not about that.” She smiled, and blew him a kiss.

  He eyed her closely. “Are we still going to Montserrat?”

  “No. I changed my mind.” She shivered in spite of the heat. “I don’t know why, but I can’t do it. It’s not what I want.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “True, I want to punish David, but not this way. I want him to think I took it there.” She shrugged. “He’ll go crazy thinking his boat is in danger. That’s good enough for me. But putting it in harm’s way and leaving it to be destroyed doesn’t make much sense. It would be a terrible thing to do.”

  “Thank God, Maddi. I was going to sail her to Nevis, and pretend the mechanics weren’t fixed correctly. Destroying such a fine craft would be tantamount to murder, in my books. Besides, I knew if I delayed it long enough, you’d eventually see reason.”

  She smiled. “Well, Harry dear, you must know me better than I do myself.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Barbara Jacobs paced the foyer, hoping to see her husband’s car turn up the drive. The more she paced, the more agitated she became.

  Late again, she muttered to herself. Not that she should be surprised. When was the man ever on time? He’d promised to be home before seven, and it was quarter past.

  She was dressed in evening attire, a stunning new Valentino gown that had cost a fortune, hair and make-up done, kids fed, dog walked. In her position as chairperson for this year’s American Red Cross ball, he understood how important it was for her to be early. But he’d waltz in late, making excuses as usual, and because what he did was always more important than what she did, she’d bite her tongue and accept his apology.

  Not this time, buddy!

  She would call for a cab, that’s what she’d do. If he wasn’t here in exactly five minutes he could make his way to the Waldorf Astoria in his own sweet time. Clutching the mobile phone, she hit redial, but still there was no answer.

  Her stomach jumped around like a tightly strung trapeze wire, and a pounding at the back of her skull warned a headache was ready to launch a full-out attack. She swallowed a couple of extra-strength Tylenol and sucked on some Tums for good measure.

  Forty-eight hours before the biggest event of the year, she’d had a dinner cancellation from a single gentleman. She’d had to move some people’s seating around, so the single lady ambassador at the tab
le would have someone to chat and dance with. That had been no easy feat. The seating arrangement was probably the biggest headache of all, as everyone had a special request, and it took a team of workers to accomplish this detail alone. The ball was a money game, the bigger the money, the better the table. She still had one lady not talking to her from last year’s event.

  She had inspected the ballroom earlier, decorated elaborately with seven-foot rose topiaries on each table for the guests to admire the moment they stepped through the door. She’d booked the entertainment nearly a year in advance. All this took months of elaborate planning, and dozens of volunteers to orchestrate this special evening. She had spent the day before picking up arriving ambassadors at the airport, then attending the pre-ball luncheon.

  This morning she had found out that the crystal napkin holders ordered for the goodie bags still had not shown up, and she’d had to come up with something else.

  Six months of forty-hour weeks, to arrive at this frantic crescendo, hours before the gala begins. But did the doctor do anything, anything at all, to make her life just a little bit easier? Of course not!

  Glancing at her diamond-faced Piaget didn’t make the time go any faster, but it sure kept track of it. It was too late to call a cab. She’d have to drive herself.

  Barbara ran upstairs to say goodbye to the boys. She looked in and waved, since they were deaf to anything but their head-banging rap music.

  She called Bill one more time on his cell phone before giving up. Dashing off a note to him, she plopped it on the kitchen table, grabbed her wrap and keys, and opened the electronic garage door.

  Her Mercedes purred to life. She backed out slowly, avoiding the Lexus four-by-four parked next to her car, and the mountain bikes hanging on the other side. She always found it a challenge to get out of the three-car garage intact, but once out, she gunned it.

  The sound of a horn coincided with a bump in the rear. Cursing under her breath, she looked in her rear-view mirror and saw Bill’s BMW fender resting on hers. Slowly, she stepped out.

  “Right on time as usual.”

  “Jesus, Barbara. Don’t you ever look where you’re going?”

  “Don’t you dare blame me. If you’d been on time, none of this would have happened.”

  “Okay, okay.” He threw his hands up. “I’m sorry. Get the car inside, and I’ll just take a quick shower. We still have plenty of time.”

  The lines on his face told their own story. Barbara gentled her voice. “So what happened? What was it this time?”

  “What does it matter?” He snapped. “We’ll be late for the ball.”

  “Tell me, Bill.”

  His sigh was weary. “We lost old Henry Winters tonight. His heart gave out for the last time, God rest his soul. His kids took it hard, even knowing the end was near.” He ran his hands over his face, and shook his head. “But enough of that. I’ve got to run and change, then escort my beautiful wife to the event of the season. And you do look beautiful. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Barbara felt her anger slip away. Of course it wasn’t his fault. It never was. But the same thing would happen tomorrow, and the next day, and it would go on and on, one disappointment after another. And sometimes, damn it, she hated him for it.

  ***

  A week after the ball, Barbara and her son, Brad, sat on the hard wooden bleacher seats in the high school gym. Fourteen-year-old Scott, would be playing basketball in his first varsity game of the season.

  The kid was so used to his father not turning up, he pretended not to care. But Barbara knew how much both boys hoped for some attention from their father. Scott wouldn’t say anything, but he’d be crushed if his dad didn’t make it to the game.

  Barbara sighed, her expectations low. Today would probably be no different than the birthdays he missed, and the numerous school functions, and all the other countless moments in a child’s life that only came once. They were slowly slipping away one by one, and she was keeping score.

  She’d heard him tell Scott that only brain surgery would keep him away. The remark was meant to be a joke, because as everyone knew Bill didn’t do brain surgery. He was Chief of Oncology at the Robert Wood Hospital, director of the cancer ward.

  The teams were already on the court, and Barbara saw Scott steal a worried glance at the empty bench next to her. Then he didn’t look again. The game started, and the action was fast. Within the first twenty minutes the score was 21-19, and then Scott had the ball. He dribbled, ducked, and twirled, hurling the ball toward the basket. A roar burst from the crowd as he scored.

  The first thing he did was glance over. Barbara shook her head sadly. Even from the distance between them, she could she the pain in her young son’s eyes. And she damned Bill for putting it there.

  Fifteen minutes later, Bill slid into the row beside Barbara and their younger son. He tapped the brim of Brad’s Rangers cap, and watched the boy’s eyes light up.

  Brad whispered, “You missed it, and Mom’s mad.”

  Without glancing his way, she hissed under her breath. “Your son scored his first basket, and of course you weren’t here to see it.” Bitterness spiked her words. “You know something, Bill? Scott might be able to forgive you, and Brad here, too. But I don’t think I can. I’m running out of forgiveness. The well is all but dry.”

  “Oh, come on, Barbara. You’re over-reacting. I’m sorry I’m late, but a doctor can’t simply walk out on a patient to see a basketball game. You know how it works.” He gave a thumbs-up to Scott when the boy glanced his way. “You enjoy the life it offers, but none of the hardships that come with it.”

  “That’s not true. I’m simply tired of excuses. If it were just me, I’d stick it out. But I can’t stand to see the kids hurt anymore.” Her voice cracked. “I just can’t.”

  “What are you saying, Barbara?” He kept his voice low so their son wouldn’t overhear, but Brad was focused on the game, screaming and jumping out of his seat every few seconds to follow the action on the court.

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “We’ll talk about this later at home. This is hardly the time or the place. But be careful what you wish for, Barbara. For once in your life, think it through.” Bill turned his attention to the game, and the subject wasn’t brought up until much later, when they were getting ready for bed.

  He sat in bed, reading a medical-thriller, but tonight even that couldn’t hold his interest. His eyes kept drifting over the pages to watch his wife perform her nightly ritual.

  She ignored him as she cleansed her face, then moisturized her neck and face with some costly cream, and dabbed at her eyes with another.

  “Damn.” Sharp little pin pricks behind her lids, caused her eyes to tear up. She swiped at the tears with a wet face cloth, and then had to start the whole process over again.

  He looked up. “What’s wrong? Barbara, are you crying?”

  “No, I’m not crying,” she retorted angrily. “If anyone should be shedding tears it should be you, letting your son down again.”

  “Come on. Cut me some slack.” Bill turned out the reading light next to his bed, and slid under the covers. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I know, Bill.” Barbara put down her moisturizer and turned to face him, but he had his back to her, his way of telling her he was going to sleep, and wasn’t interested in further conversation.

  She spoke to his back, knowing he might not answer, but he’d damn well hear her. “I just don’t know if it’s enough.” She saw him bury his head under the pillow, but she couldn’t give it up.

  “You know something? You weren’t there for me when I brought the children into the world, and you really haven’t been there for us since. Think of all the birthdays you’ve missed, the Christmas dinners that were interrupted, the holidays that never happened. You’ve never been there for us. Never.”

  Bill thumped his pillow, and sat up. “Damn you, Barbara. I’ve worked my ass off to give you everything you want.”<
br />
  “Everything?” She glanced around the room. “This is just monetary.” They had an elevated, four-poster bed with a sitting room adjoining it, and each had double-sized walk-in closets, and his-and-her separate sinks. But they were just things. They weren’t what mattered. Conversation mattered. Being there mattered. She had always thought marriage meant sharing joy and laughter, and disappointments along life’s way, not living as two separate entities under one roof.

  “We have a beautiful home, the kids have always gone to the best private schools, and we certainly lack for nothing. So I’m late once and awhile,” he grumbled, “so someone is dying and needs me. Should I not go? Should I tell them it’s not convenient right at the moment? Could they choose a better time?”

  She hated it when he was right. She really hated it, and it made her feel small. No matter how he painted the picture, what he did to the family couldn’t be right. She knew he had let her and the kids down. She just wasn’t sure how.

  She was too drained to fight anymore. “I’ve got some details to take care of with this flower show coming up,” she said wearily. “Go to sleep. I think I’ll stay up for awhile.”

  ***

  At 7:20 the following morning she was toasting blueberry bagels and drinking her first cup of coffee, when Bill came down the stairs. The boys were shoveling down their big bowls of cereal and arguing over the sports page.

  “Want some coffee and a bagel? Or a toasted egg muffin?” Barbara poured his coffee, and gave it to him black.

  “Just the coffee. I’m running late.” He eyed her for a moment. “Didn’t sleep too well. What time did you finally come to bed?”

  “Around midnight. The TV was still on, and you had the remote in your hand. You must have crashed watching the news.”

  “Look, Barbara, I’ll be home early tonight. We have to talk.”

  Funny, Barbara thought. Did all men mutter those words to fill a woman’s heart with dread? Well, it just wasn’t working. She wasn’t quaking in her boots, no alarm bells were going off in her head, and frankly she had plenty of things to say to him too.