BEYOND THE QUIET

By Brenda Hill

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Hill

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Praise for Brenda Hill

Beyond the Quiet is about a woman who loses everything - and finds her way back.

Michael Prescott, NY Times Bestselling Author, including, Comes the Dark, Stealing Faces, The Shadow Hunter, and Last Breath

"...sensual, emotional and beautiful."

M. Jean Pike

Award Winning author of Waiting For The Rain

...an incredible story of life, love, deception, and family connections. Great job!

Ghostwriter Reviews

Lisa deals with some tough issues that any woman can sympathize with: an alienated daughter, a friend’s betrayal, a husband’s deceit. The plot took many twists and turns as Lisa made her journey to self-discovery, learning how to love again, how to live again. I was right there in every scene, feeling her joy, her anguish, and her outrage.

Working Girl Reviews

A great read! Ms Hill is a cross between Iris Johansen and Nora Roberts. Then tension kept me spellbound until the end.

Claire M Teeters, editor

Yucaipa/Calimesa News Mirror

Acknowledgements

Even though writing a novel is a solitary experience, no novelist writes entirely alone. I’ve needed advice, encouragement, hand-holding, and a cheering squad to keep me going when I’d feel I simply couldn’t complete this monumental project.

To my personal cheering squad, thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without you:

Maxine Piotrowski, sister in law at one time, sister in heart now and always.

To fellow writers M. Jean Pike, Victoria Howard, and Candace Simar, all writers whose work I love, friends who cheered, and sometimes pushed, me on.

To Claire Teeters, newspaper editor extraordinaire and a cheering squad of one, who never failed to make me feel like a celebrity even when I was certain I was a failure.

To first readers Joyce Hunt and Ginny Lewon, whose critiques led to invaluable insights.

To Brandon G. Cole D.C., whose interest and support has been a bright light.

To John McCloud, a friend who took time out of his busy schedule to listen.

As always, to Roger and Debbie Bowman, who never fail to offer help and support, no matter the circumstances. And Amanda, Sean, and Kyle, all joys in my life.

Dedication

To all the women who’ve lost their husbands through death or divorce, I know it’s rough and I feel for you, but just know the old saying is true. Tomorrow is a new day.

Allow yourself to grieve, to rage at the heavens for allowing your loss to happen, even to rage at your husband for leaving you. You’ll grieve, you’ll feel lost, and no one can truly help you. The only true thing that can help is time and the realization that you are a special person, that the losses you feel may lead to something wonderful in your life. Rejoice in you and allow your spirit to explore what’s waiting for you. It may be a wonderful adventure.

BEYOND THE QUIET

Chapter One

The sharp buzz of the doorbell jarred me awake. Ignoring the intrusion, I rolled over to face the back of the sofa and tried to go back to sleep. I didn’t want to see anyone and I certainly didn’t want anyone to see me.

The grandfather clock struck three, and I knew from the glow of sunlight through the closed satin drapes that it was afternoon.

Someone jabbed the bell again and again in quick succession. Damn. Stan and Maggie must be back from their vacation, ready to pester me again about food. I’d assured them I’d eat and I had—if you could call nibbling on a stale slice of bread or a piece of cheese eating.

Closing my eyes, I willed them to go away.

Then the pounding began, loud, heavy, hammering pounds that would surely splinter the door. Annoyed, I sat up on the sofa, my robe bunched above my knees.

“Open up, Mom! It’s me!”

Shanna! What was she doing here? She wasn’t supposed to be here until...when? Oh God, I couldn’t remember. I didn’t even know what today was. Somehow the days seemed to slide into one another and I couldn’t keep up.

“I know you’re in there, Mom.” She kept pounding on the door and ringing the buzzer. “Open up or I’ll call the police!”

I bolted off the sofa and rushed to the door.

Even behind large amber sunglasses, my daughter looked exasperated. For her flight, she’d worn a short sleeve pullover with gabardine trousers and had Kyle, my nine-month-old grandson, in one of those harness things with wide blue straps secured over her shoulder and around her slender hips. A diaper bag and suitcase sat at her feet, and behind her, I could see a green and white taxi backing out of the drive.

“Don’t you ever answer your phone?” Shanna picked up her suitcase and barged past me, her straight blonde hair bouncing from her shoulders. “Why didn’t you meet me at the airport? I waited over an hour.”

Barefoot, I dragged the diaper bag into the living room, barely able to look at her. I knew I looked a mess. I was a mess.

“I’m sorry, honey. I just—”

“Never mind,” she said, “I got here.”

Putting Kyle on the floor, she handed him his purple dinosaur and took off the harness. Then her critical gaze turned to me, raking over my faded wrinkled robe and the greasy strings of graying hair hanging in my eyes.

I cringed, wondering how long it had been since I’d bathed, but my thoughts were as fuzzy as if I’d been on a month-long drunk.

“You look terrible.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “This isn’t like you. Are you sick? Maybe we should get you to a doctor.” That was Shanna, all efficiency. I longed for some comfort, for some glimmer of understanding.

“I’m okay,” I said, dropping to the floor beside Kyle. It had been a month since I’d seen him, a month since Mac’s funeral. Babies change so quickly at that age.

He smiled and jabbered to me, his big blue eyes watching every move I made. His hair, the same coppery shade as his father’s, shone like silk even after the long flight. I gathered him into my arms and held him close, breathing in the fresh scent of baby powder. He didn’t seem to mind that I looked like a bag lady and probably smelled like one as well.

“I miss Dad too, Mom,” Shanna said. Her eyes were a rich coppery brown, speckled with gold flecks like her father’s. I had my mother’s eyes, gray with thick black lashes. Waif’s eyes, I’ve been told, large and sad. The only thing Shanna inherited from me was my petite build.

“I can only stay a week,” she continued, dropping her purse beside the diaper bag. “Then I have to get back to work. You have to pull yourself together, you know.”

Pull myself together. Sure. As if I could do that at her command. I’d cared for her father day and night for over a year, helplessly watching him deteriorate a little more each day from the proud, self-sufficient man who’d routinely tracked elk over the Sierra Nevada mountains to someone who couldn’t take a breath without his oxygen tank. Didn’t she realize his illness and death had affected me as well? I felt drained of all energy, void of any feeling, overwhelmed with a lingering malaise that hadn’t eased.

But since she’d made the trip from Minneapolis to help me sort her father’s things, I’d better do something—at least get dressed. That would be a start—if only I could work up enough energy to get off the floor.

“It’s beautiful outside,” Shanna said brightly. Too brightly. “We’ll let some of that Southern California sunshine in.” She pulled the drapes open all the way, spotlighting the cluster of dirty glasses and cups on the coffee table, the layers of dust on the furniture. I wanted to sink into the floor just like the Wicked Witch of the West. She opened some windows.

“Some fresh air wouldn’t hurt,” she added, throwing open one of the windows.

Muttering something about putting on some clothes, I got to my feet and headed to the bathroom.

“Take a shower while you’re at it,” she called after me.

Stepping out of the shower minutes later, I heard the clink of dishes and silverware from the kitchen and knew my daughter was cleaning up. Shame rippled through me. All the time she was growing up I’d stressed cleanliness and efficiency, and now I could imagine how the kitchen looked. Except for making coffee, getting a Diet Coke or zapping a couple of frozen dinners in the microwave last week—at least I think it was last week—I hadn’t been in there long enough to do anything since the last person had left after the funeral reception. My fridge had been stuffed with covered dishes, but they hadn’t looked appetizing, so I think I opened a can of something, soup perhaps, and ate from the can. Had I thrown it away? I couldn’t remember.

I wished I felt differently, wished I could just put the last year into the past and go forward, wished I felt like dressing each day. But it was simply too much trouble. I hadn’t even been able to read, something I’d enjoyed since I was a child. A stack of novels leaned toward the sofa, still untouched. Oh I’d tried, but a book was too heavy to hold, so I sat in front of the TV, staring at the screen day after day and well into the next morning.

Perhaps I was sick, but I had to get it together, at least while Shanna was here. Maybe her visit would energize me enough to get some things done. I hadn’t even looked at my checkbook since paying the bills the month before Mac died. Thank God for Stan, Mac’s older brother and executor of his will. He’d taken care of all the funeral arrangements and made sure everything was running as it should before he and his wife, Maggie, left on a well-deserved vacation.

Just as I slipped into my comfortable cotton pants and pullover, Shanna cracked open the bathroom door.

“Mom, really. There’s no food except some moldy stuff in some casserole dishes. They can’t be from the funeral, can they?”

Why did she always sound so critical when she spoke to me? It had been the same for years, that brisk, detached tone that always seemed to hold a slightly patronizing edge. Shanna, my precious daughter, the one person on earth who, for a short time, had truly been mine. How I’d rejoiced when she was born. Finally I had someone who would love me unconditionally, as I would love her.

When, exactly, had it changed?

“Well, we have to get some groceries in here,” she said. “Can you watch Kyle long enough for me to run to the market?” She studied me, her gaze assessing, I was sure, whether or not I was capable of taking care of my grandson.

I thought of another time she’d watched me, a lifetime ago when she’d been a toddler. I’d get ready for work at the real estate office and she’d sit beside me on the bench in front of my antique dressing table, her legs dangling, eyes fixed on me as I applied makeup and selected my jewelry for the day. I’d always pat some powder on the tip of her upturned nose and sometimes place a string of sparkly, iridescent beads around her neck. She’d laugh in delight, then silently watch as I applied my lipstick, puckering her lips, waiting for me to dab the same color on her own. To look just like Mommy, she’d said. It was our ritual, something we’d both loved.

But gradually our relationship changed. Over the years she’d adopted a new attitude toward me, an air of amusement, slightly critical, very patronizing. I couldn’t point to a single incident and say that’s what happened, or that’s when I lost her. Instead, she’d abandoned my arms for her daddy’s, running to him on short, slender legs when she hurt herself. She’d sit contentedly on his lap, all cuts and scrapes forgotten as he’d soothe her with stories of long-ago castles peopled with brave knights and fairy princesses. I’d listen, thankful she had such a loving father, ashamed of the sting I felt because she no longer ran to me.

As she grew up, she’d say, “Oh Mother, really,” in that tone of hers whenever I tried to talk to her.

“She’ll grow out of it,” Mac had said, shrugging it off. “Be grateful she’s not out doing drugs.”

Of course I’d been grateful, but I longed for my daughter.

Even after she married Leif and moved to Minneapolis, her tone of voice hadn’t changed. I could hear the slightly condescending edge even on the phone.

I’d talked to her less and less, only calling when I could force myself to sound as if everything was just fine, pretending I didn’t notice the distance between us.

Why had I allowed it? Why hadn’t I demanded an explanation, an end to the reserve? I should have.

I had to admit I hadn’t known what to do—and I still didn’t. Having learned in childhood to avoid confrontations, to mask any emotions I’d felt, I was at a loss.

Now, watching me, she must have decided I was trustworthy, at least long enough to make a trip to the market, because she left Kyle with me and hurried off.

“How’s my little sweetheart?” I picked him up and hugged him, burrowing my nose in a soft spot on his neck right under his chin. I kissed him again and again and he giggled and drooled on my cheek, then wrapped his chubby arms around my neck. For the first time in months, I felt a ray of happiness.

I’d forgotten how liberating babies could be. They never criticized or judged, and with them, I could relax and free the other side of me, the lighter-spirited one that I carefully kept in check.

I wished I could be that free again with my daughter.

A couple of weeks after the funeral, after everyone had gone back to his or her own life, I must have been dozing because I opened my eyes and found myself on the sofa, the house dark and the TV tuned onto some inane comedy. My stomach was rumbling, so I padded to the kitchen and took a fork to one of the leftover dishes. I didn’t know what I was eating and didn’t care. After about three bites, I pushed the dish back into the fridge and dropped the fork into the sink along with other dirty silverware, saucers, and cups.

I desperately longed to talk to my daughter. She had to be hurting as well, and I thought we could comfort each other. But when I picked up the phone, I hesitated, too exhausted to brace myself for her patronizing tone of voice. When she called to let me know she could take some time from her job at the telephone company, I’d felt torn—happy at the chance to see her again, unsure if I could keep up the pretense of being the competent widow I knew she expected me to be. Now, after such a dreadful start, I just hoped we could get through the week without further discord.

* * *

Over the next few days I wore the invisible mask, bathing and dressing like a normal person, able to function by pretending I was the competent widow she expected me to be. When I felt as if I couldn’t continue one minute more, I’d play with Kyle. That always made me feel better. And to my surprise, each day became a little easier.

Shanna and I cooperated in a silent agreement as we sorted Mac’s possessions, getting along much better than we’d had in years. The sorting took longer than we’d expected, as so many items triggered fond memories. We laughed over a joke trophy for worst shot that Stan and Maggie gave Mac after an elk-hunting trip in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and cried at the collection of greeting cards he’d received over the years. I intended to go through them later, but for now, I couldn’t part with them. Clothes and other possessions I could let go, but the cards were special, small mementos of a lifetime that had passed away.

“Oh, Mom, it’ll be okay.” Shanna put her arms around me, something she hadn’t done in years. I was so surprised that it took me a moment to return the gesture. “I’ve been thinking,” she continued. “Why not move to Minnesota and live with us? You could take care of Kyle, and we’d pay you just like we’d pay daycare. You could even fly back with Kyle and me day after tomorrow.”

I blinked. Move to Minnesota? When Shanna and Leif had married three years ago, Leif had transferred to his hometown near Minneapolis. Hating the thought that my grandchildren would grow up so far away, I’d talked to Mac about moving there, but he’d said he didn’t want to live in such a cold climate. Now I had nothing but memories to keep me in California. Did I really want to cut all ties to our lifetime together?

Kyle woke from his nap, and, clutching the wooden rails in his playpen, he pulled himself up to peek at me.

“I’ll get him.” I put down the cards I’d been holding. When Kyle saw me coming, he squealed and jumped up and down.

“He’s got your number, Mom,” Shanna said with a wry smile.

When I picked him up, I thought about how wonderful it would be to live near him, to watch him grow. And I could get to know my daughter again and show her how much I loved her.

“Moving is a great idea, honey, but it’ll take some time.” So many things to think of, so many things to do before I could make such a major move.

“Why wait, Mom? Stan can handle everything. If you came home with me, it would really help.”

“I have to get things settled.” Settled...what a strange word. Burying the past and changing the future.

Something flashed in Shanna’s eyes. Her quick temper? Wounded feelings? I could no longer read my daughter’s moods; she’d grown too far away.

The rest of the day I thought of nothing but making the move. Sipping coffee, I got out my checkbook and went over my finances, forcing an attention to details that I’d neglected the past couple of months. The rest of the day I thought of nothing but making the move. Sipping coffee, I got out my checkbook and went over my finances, forcing an attention to details that I’d neglected the past couple of months. Mac’s insurance, should tide me over until I was able to obtain my real estate license in Minneapolis. If I were careful, I should even have enough to live on until the commissions came in.

But I had to make sure. With travel agencies on the downswing, Leif’s future was at risk, and I didn’t want to be a financial burden to my daughter and her family.

I contacted Ben, my boss at the real estate office in Redlands, and told him I wanted to come back to work as soon as possible. I might as well earn some money while I waited for things to get settled.

I scheduled an open house for tomorrow afternoon following Shanna’s flight. Ben thought it might be too soon, but I was afraid that, unless I went back to work, I’d come home from the airport, slip back into my robe, and wouldn’t get out of it again.

The next morning, after dressing and even applying makeup before the trip to the airport, I sorted the mail, dropping the sympathy cards into an unopened pile. If I were to get on with my life, I couldn’t handle one more flowery card.

An innocent-looking envelope addressed to Mac was stuck between a credit card solicitation and a weekend pizza special. Closing my eyes, I ran my fingers over his neatly-printed name, pretending, for just a moment, he was there to read it.

“You okay, Mom?” Shanna asked, packing Kyle’s diaper bag for their plane trip home.

Her voice snapped me out of the past. “Sure, honey. I’m fine."

Inside the envelope was a post office form, a reminder to Mac that his box number 1263 was due for a year’s renewal.

We didn’t have a post office box. Living in Yucaipa, a Southern California community in the foothills below Big Bear, our mail came directly to the house. It had to be a mistake, some sort of computer error. Since Mac’s death, I’d received tons of solicitations and official-looking documents that amounted to nothing.

Strange, though. Solicitations were always addressed to Ronald Montgomery, the legal name Mac had used for documents and purchases. He’d only scribbled his nickname, foisted on him as a child because of his love for Big Macs, for renting movies or personal things. Which made me consider that he must have, indeed, signed for the box.

But why? Why on earth would he need a mailbox away from home?

Chapter Two

“What’s wrong?” Shanna asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

I must not have sounded convincing because she set down the diaper bag and stepped carefully around Kyle, who was playing on the floor with his fuzzy dinosaur.

“Hmmm.” She peered over my shoulder at the note and I caught the soft scent of baby powder. “Why’d Dad have a box at the post office?”

“I can’t imagine. He never mentioned it to me.”

The notice came from the San Bernardino post office, out of our district, but near the engineering firm where Mac had worked for twenty-five years. The date for renewal was exactly a year from the day he had retired on disability.

“It’s probably some screw-up,” Shanna said, dismissing it. “I’m sure it’s for some other Montgomery.”

“But it’s Mac’s nickname.”

“Oh, Mom, this is the computer age. I bet I could find out anything about you or Dad in less than five minutes.” She snatched the note and read it closely. “Means nothing. You know Dad wouldn’t do anything for you to be concerned about.”

I tucked the notice into my purse. The post office was open until noon on Saturdays, but I had to get Shanna to the airport and go to the open house I was hosting.

Since spring could bring sudden gusty winds to the drier counties inland from Los Angeles, I grabbed my gray silk jacket and gathered Kyle into my arms, hugging him tightly and wishing I never had to let him go.

How was I going to get through the days and weeks until I could move near them?

***

At the Ontario airport, I held Kyle while Shanna checked their baggage. Before they entered the security check, I handed Kyle to her and hugged them both for the last time. Shanna strapped Kyle in the harness and returned the embrace, but her body was rigid and she kept looking at me as if she had something to say.

“What is it, honey? Is something wrong?”

She bit her lip, something she’d done as child when she needed time to form the proper words. Her eyes filled and she swiped the tears away. She hadn’t mentioned anything during her visit, but then she wouldn’t, not when I was so rattled.

“You don’t have to wait, Mom. You could come on out if you wanted to. I...I need you. For once in your life, take a chance on something you haven’t planned down to the last detail.”

I knew that harsh tone. I’d heard it too many times in the past not to recognize it now.

“I wish I could. You have no idea how much I want to,” I told her, “but I can’t. Too many things I have to take care of.”

“There’s always something, isn’t there? Always something that comes first.”

“That’s not fair.”

Shanna said nothing for a few moments. “Well, Mom, you go ahead and do what you have to do. I’ll take care of...things.”

“What things?”

“Nothing important, obviously.” She flashed that bright smile she always used when she covered something up.

“Honey—”

“Good luck on your open house.” She busied herself straightening Kyle’s jacket. “Not to worry, though. With your record of sales, you’ll make a killing.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Have to go now. I’ll call you.” With a small wave, she turned and walked to the security check, her stiff body loaded with a baby and two bags.

I wanted to run after her, demand that she tell me the problem, but they’d passed through the security gate and disappeared in the crowd. I kept seeing the look on her face. Was I doing the right thing?

Making my way to the car, I found each step longer than the last.

Where are you, Mac, and why aren’t you here to help me?

I brushed away sudden tears. Crying wasn’t going to help. I had learned that long ago. Somehow, I’d have to smooth things with Shanna. I had lost my husband; I couldn’t lose my daughter and grandson as well.

***

Twenty minutes later, I pulled in front of the frame ranch-style house in San Bernardino with its peeling white paint curling over the door and the foreclosure sign stuck in the window. Dandelions poked through cracks in the driveway.

The house looked as sad and abandoned as I felt. But underneath the signs of neglect, it was a sturdily built structure with an old-time charm of hardwood floors and built-in bookcases. Someone who cared could give this forlorn little house enough love and attention to bring it back to life.

I placed an Open House sign on the corner of the street and another one in front of the house, then strung multi-colored banners on the sidewalk leading to the front door. With my briefcase full of specs, contracts and business cards, I was ready.

Three hours later I wanted to scream.

A man and woman in their late forties or early fifties stopped by, and every time I turned around, there the man stood, ready with another of his endless questions.

Towering over me with the stocky build of someone used to working outdoors, he outweighed me by a hundred pounds. Yet every time I met his gaze, he flushed like an embarrassed boy.

“Mrs. Montgomery, uh, Lisa,” he began, running one hand through his silver hair, “do you know what cable company services this area?”

Pegging them as looky-loos, people who toured properties for a Saturday afternoon’s entertainment, I’d been polite as long as I could before escaping to the kitchen for a few moments of quiet. I was finding it more difficult than I had thought to get back to the routine, and I was exhausted and only wanted the day to end. But I’d advertised that the house would be open until five and I wouldn't go back on my word.

"I'm not sure, but I believe Inland Cablevision,” I told him, longing for a comfortable chair. “If you're interested in the house, I could find out Monday morning."

The woman accompanying him entered the kitchen and took his arm.

"No thanks," she said, barely glancing at me. Thin, with kinky gray hair, she was one of those nervous types who couldn’t stand still. Her fingers twitched and she shifted from foot to foot. "Too big for a woman alone,” she added, shooting an accusatory look at the man.

Was she his wife? Sister? Girlfriend? No matter who she was, it was clear she wasn’t happy.

“I'm Terry O'Neal and this is, uh....”

“Yeah, Terry,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes pulling his to hers, “just what am I?”

Even as a bystander, the intensity of her gaze held me captivated.

"You promised you wouldn't do that," he said, his own expression one of pain and something else I couldn’t identify. Guilt?

"Yeah, promises." Betty’s voice returned to that sharp edge she’d used before, and she dropped her gaze.

“This is Betty," he told me in a rush, his sapphire eyes sending a message I didn't even try to understand. "We’re house-hunting for her. I’d sure like to have your card. You know, to find something more suitable for her.”

I grabbed one from the counter. Anything to be rid of him.

Betty’s gaze settled on me for the first time. “I don’t even know if I want a house. Too much work."

I understood. Even though it meant giving up the site of so many memories, I was still glad Mac and I had sold the family home and moved into the condo.

“Come on,” Betty said, an impatient twang in her voice, “we gotta get going.” Tugging on Terry's arm, she led him to the entryway. When he shrugged out of her grasp, she disappeared out the door.

He turned and smiled—a shy smile, but one of interest.

Taken aback, I dropped my gaze.

No one had shown interest in me as a woman in a long time, and I couldn't imagine why this man was doing so now. Mac had thought I was pretty, but he’d loved me. I’d always been slim, but with the strain of the last couple of years, I barely ate and now my clothes hung on my thin body.

Something pulled my gaze back to Mr. O’Neal. He looked nice in his black trousers and pullover knit shirt, and he had a little tummy that he kept trying to suck in.

When our eyes met, he smiled. It was the strangest thing. While I had no interest in men and certainly not in Mr. O’Neal, something about his smile caused me to feel, for just an instant, like a carefree young girl.

“Lisa, may I talk to you?” he asked.

I gave myself a mental shake. “What is it, Mr. O’Neal? What do you want?”

“I know you must think I’m crazy, but I’d like you to know—”

“Terry?” Betty appeared back at the door. “You coming?” She threw a withering glance at me and stood waiting.

“Guess I’d better go,” he told me with a wry smile. “I’ll call you.”

He would call me? Lord, I hoped not. I wasn’t interested in the complications his eyes suggested.

For the rest of the afternoon, I shooed kids out of bathrooms, hauled them off counters, and strongly discouraged them from trying to use the hardwood floors as skating rinks.

Finally, at a quarter to five, feeling I couldn’t go another step, I retrieved the Open House signs and stuffed them in my trunk.

Just as I was locking the house, a green compact car pulled in the drive. The driver, a raven-haired woman in her thirties, sat talking to a boy about seven. Waiting for them by the door, I considered reopening the house to seem inviting, but if they were only looky-loos, I felt too tired to bother.

A few more minutes went by and still no one exited. I could see them talking, and I wondered what they could be discussing so animatedly in front of a vacant house. When neither moved to get out of the car, I braced myself to approach them. After all, a client is a client.

Just as I reached the driver’s window, the woman signaled the boy to be quiet. A folded newspaper page rested on the dash and I saw, circled in red, a classified ad that looked like mine.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Lisa Montgomery. I was just closing the house, but if you’d like to take a look—”

“No!” The woman started the engine. “We...were just coming back from shopping and thought we’d stop by—”

“Mommy,” the boy interrupted, frowning. A lock of tawny hair fell over his forehead. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “That’s not—”

“Shhh!” she hissed at him. When she turned to me, the expression in her aqua eyes, for just an instant, was one of familiarity. Then it was gone. But in that instant, we’d connected. Something about her seemed familiar as well. Had she been to other open houses I’d held? I didn’t think so; I’d remember someone with such striking features.

Before I could ask, she began to ease the car backward.

“Sorry,” she said, then turned to peer over her shoulder at the street traffic. “This isn’t the right house for us.”

“Okay.” Keeping pace with the moving car, I dug in my purse for my card. “I’d be happy to show you something else, if you’ll—”

“No thanks.” Reaching the street, she spun the car around and took off without another word.

I stared after the disappearing car. Some strange people in this world.

Chapter Three

By the time I pulled my white Toyota onto my driveway, I was so relieved I almost cried. No more nicey-nice faces, no more screaming children. Just a quiet evening with a good book and a nice soak in my oversized tub.

My condo was actually a two-story townhouse in Upper Yucaipa, and the back of the building faced the San Bernardino Mountains. My unit, the end one, had an unrestricted view. Oh, how Mac had loved it. When we first toured the property, he got as far as the patio and waited while I checked out the rest of the rooms. I think it could have been gutted and he wouldn’t have cared as long as he could see the mountains.

Today, they were spectacular.

In the growing dusk, a tinge of blue shaded the snow-capped peaks as they pushed their way through a layer of wispy clouds. Beautiful and mysterious, they rode the sky like a jagged island of bluish-white, standing miles above foothills lost in a sea of fog.

During his last months, Mac had often asked me to help him to the patio where he’d sit and gaze endlessly at the mountains. Savoring the beauty today, I took a deep breath and wished with all my heart that he could be there to share it with me. This has to be for you, Mac, I silently told him, hoping that from somewhere, he could still see the view that he had so loved.

Inside, I tossed my briefcase on the wing chair, kicked off my shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. I poured a tall glass of Diet Coke and looked at my watch. Shanna should be home by now. Talking to her so soon after that awkward scene at the airport would be tough, but I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d made sure she and Kyle had arrived in Minneapolis safely.

Downing a full glass of soda and wishing it gave courage, even false courage, I punched the numbers.

“Hi sweetheart. Get home okay?”

“Of course.” Her tone was stilted, her words clipped.

There was an awkward pause and I could hear the slight hum of the wires. I longed to beg her to understand, but something, pride, perhaps, kept me silent.

“How did Kyle like the trip?”

“He was wide awake,” she answered, her voice a little warmer, “but the woman in the seat next to me gave him all her attention. He loved it.” She asked me about the house, and I tried to sound natural as I told her about the afternoon, but we soon ended the call. I think we both wanted to avoid exchanging harsh words.

Was I doing the right thing? In trying not to be a burden, was I causing Shanna more pain? Thinking back to our conversation at the airport, she’d seemed to be pleading with me to make the move now. But why? Her marriage was secure, and since she’d given birth to Kyle, she had the complete family she had always wanted. An intruding widowed mother was something she didn’t need.

Slipping off my jacket, I hung it in the closet next to the others, arranged in blacks, grays, and navy blues. Off to the side, price tags intact, was the red blazer Mac had encouraged me to buy two years ago. After a year, he finally gave up trying to get me to wear it.

But jewelry was something else. How I loved artificial diamonds and rhinestones, and the bigger the stone, the better. Mac had teased me about my gaudy taste, but I loved watching the sparkling reds, blues and yellows, always reminding me of the magic of long-ago fairy tales where, no matter what had happened, the main character wound up living happily ever after.

I pulled the cotton shell over my head and shrugged out of my bra. My nipples puckered at the sudden change and I lightly massaged them, savoring the luxurious feel of freedom.

The last couple of years Mac had pestered me to leave off my bra. Finally one day when I had wanted to cheer him up, I’d pulled a bulky sweatshirt over my bare breasts. Whether it was the relaxing of my standards or just watching my small breasts bounce, I couldn’t say, but Mac got a kick out of it. I’d felt so silly that I never did it again.

I was the quiet one, an only child conditioned to fading into the woodwork. Mac was tall, blonde, and gregarious, with a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes. He’d loved to tease me, to make me blush. I’d adored him, and we had everything we needed to make it through together.

Until the cancer.

With an effort, I pushed the past away. I wouldn’t allow myself to spend another evening wallowing in misery. I was going to make some changes in my life and start over in Minneapolis; I might be a little late and a lot older, but I could do it. I would be there for my daughter and my grandson.

***

To my amazement, I slept well and woke about seven-thirty the next morning. I decided to get some housework done before returning the signs to the office.

But, like a magnet, I was drawn to the notice in my handbag. I studied the date. A year ago this month, Mac had finally admitted that he could no longer struggle to work every day and had retired on disability. Even his desk job as technical illustrator proved to be too strenuous. He was crushed, his ego deflated when he told me, as if my love depended on his masculinity.

I quit work to care for him. We were home together most of the time, so I couldn’t imagine why he’d need a private post office box. Folding the notice, I stuffed it back into my handbag. It was probably nothing, but I’d ask Stan. As Mac’s executor, he’d know if it was anything to be concerned about.

I vacuumed the living room and hallway and checked the small bath downstairs. It looked pristine, even after Shanna’s visit—the strawberry hand towels folded neatly on the rod, the dish of pink soaps placed just so, and the sparkling sink free of soap scum.

How I’d love to see Mac’s toiletries scattered on the marbled vanity. I wouldn’t even gripe at the little pile of whiskers he’d always left in the sink.

The last year of Mac’s illness, when he was too weak to climb the stairs, I’d made a bed for him in the living room.

One day, when we had felt especially disheartened, we looked around at all the drab furnishings and decided we needed some color in our lives. So we sold the white drapes and the beige sofa and chairs, pored over catalogs and ordered new furniture and drapes in a rich, burnished gold. The day everything was delivered, we were as excited as kids at Christmas and admired our new room like parents with a new offspring. Mac got out the wine, poured each of us a glass and held his high.

“To all of our years together, some of them good,” he teased.

“Some of them good?” I repeated, clicking glasses, loving him with every ounce of my being, terrified I was going to lose him.

“Always remember the good times, and forgive the bad,” he said as his eyes met mine. “Unlock that big heart of yours, Lisa, and let those who love you fill your tomorrows.”

Today, I took my coffee and sat on Mac’s sofa bed, desperately needing to feel something of him, his essence, his spirit for life.

During the long nights after he died, I’d try to remember the look in his eyes—the frustration, the hopelessness of living with so much pain. He had tried so hard to put on a brave front for me, but all I had to do was look at him and I knew. When it was especially bad, I prayed for his death. Other days I was more selfish because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

I took a sip of cold coffee and wished I’d been a better wife.

I had loved him more than anyone and tried to show him, by keeping his clothes immaculate and the house spotless. But something was missing. I just couldn’t let my emotions show. Mac talked to me about it many times, told me he had never felt passion from me. I desperately wanted to please him, so I read everything I could about relaxing, especially before lovemaking. I tried eating, not eating, soaking in warm water, sipping wine—one time I gulped three daiquiris one after another. But I was never one to hold liquor well. Instead of feeling happy and sexy like most people, I became sleepy and morose.

The phone rang. I didn’t recognize the ID or the man’s voice.

“This is Terry O’Neal. You know, from yesterday, at the open house.”

Oh no, I thought, wishing I’d let the machine answer. I tried to put a smile into my voice. “Mr. O’Neal. What can I do for you?”

He hesitated, laughed, and sounded embarrassed. “I don’t know quite how to put this, but I have to tell you I’ve been thinking about you and had to hear your voice again.”

I was so surprised that I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I know you probably think I’m a nut,” Terry went on, “and I guess I am. But I’d really like to see you again. As soon as possible.”

“Mr. O’Neal—”

“Call me Terry, please.”

“Mr. O’Neal, this conversation is completely inappropriate. I’m not interested.”

“Please, Lisa. I haven’t dated in over thirty years and I’m probably going about it in the wrong way. But when I saw you, something...magical happened to me just like in the old songs. I have to see you again.”

I had a sudden flash to the moment when he was leaving the house and our eyes met. I couldn’t deny I’d felt...something. Perhaps it was simply that knowledge women get when they knew a man was interested. But for that one instant, I’d felt alive.

Still, I had no interest in this man or anyone else. It took every ounce of strength I had to face each day, and there was no room for complications.

“Mr. O’Neal, are you even looking for a house?”

“Of course. It’s for Betty, my ex-wife. You met her yesterday.”

“You’re buying a house for your ex-wife?”

He sighed. “It’s a long story and I hope you’ll give me the chance to tell you about it.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but a client’s martial status was no concern of mine. Not that he was a client.

“While this is very flattering,” I finally said, “I’m going to hang up.”

“Wait!”

For some inexplicable reason, I held on.

“Please, Lisa. May I call you Lisa?”

“Mr. O’Neal, I’m really not up to this. Yesterday was my first day back to work. My husband passed away last month....” My eyes filled.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Terry said.

“Thank you, but please don’t call again.”

“Let’s start again. I’m serious about buying a house and you might as well get the commission.”

I hesitated. Our insurance had refused to pay after Mac’s treatments reached five–hundred thousand, so we’d spent all of our savings. Even after Mac’s insurance and small pension came through and I sold the condo, I’d still have to watch every penny.

“Well....”

“You think about it and I’ll call you tomorrow. Then you can do your thing—you know, get all the information you need to help me find Betty a house.”

Should I? He did have a nice voice, and he sounded sincere. But, it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“I’d be happy to give you the name of someone else in the office to help you,” I told him, thinking of Nina, the office receptionist and a single mother who was studying to be a realtor. She would love the referral.

“No, that won’t do. It’s you I want, and I intend to call you again to persuade you to change your mind.”

I punched the disconnect button. Of all the nerve.

Heading west on I-10 to the Redlands office, my cell phone rang again. I glanced at the ID, relieved it was my brother-in-law rather than that nut from the open house.

“Hey, babe,” Stan said, “how’s it going?”

I told him about my first day back and mentioned the O’Neals and the morning call.

“He bothering you?" he asked. "If he is, I’ll give him an attitude adjustment."

Dear, sweet, Stan. While Mac had been just over six feet, Stan was the bear in the family at six-five and two-hundred-fifty pounds, a man who looked so intimidating that no one would suspect he had the heart of a teddy bear. He was the one who taught me to fish at Big Bear Lake when Mac didn’t have the patience, laughing when I snagged his shirt or hat with my casting line. Not only was Stan my brother-in-law, but he was also our attorney and had been my right arm for the past year. I dearly loved him and his wife, Maggie, and didn’t know what I would have done without either one of them.

“Nothing like that,” I told him. “The man was just a nuisance, a guy on the make. You know the type.” I asked him about their trip.

“We fed the fish more than they fed us,” he said with a laugh, “but it was good to get away.” Then he asked about Shanna and the baby.

“She wants me to move there, Stan, and I want to.”

“That’s a big decision, Lisa. You sure you want to decide something like that now? Maybe you should wait a few months.”

“It’ll be a few months anyway, until everything’s settled. But is there any way to speed things up? For some reason, Shanna wants me out there as soon as possible, and I have to admit I like feeling wanted.”

Stan was silent a moment. Then, “I’ll see what I can do, doll, but you know how the system works. You doing anything later this afternoon?”

“I’m on my way to the office.”

“Tell you what. You come on over after you get loose and we’ll barbecue. Maggie’s about to have a conniption fit worrying about you.”

“Conniption fit? You’re sounding more and more like Maggie all the time.”

“I know. It was supposed to work the other way. Jesus, can’t you just see me in court, about to go for the jugular and something like that pops out? Kind of spoils the effect, doesn’t it?”

We laughed. I was going to ask about the postal notice, but decided to wait until I saw him later. If it were anything to worry about, he’d know. As Mac had said countless times, there was no one better.

***

When I pulled in front of the office, I scanned the cars to see who was working. I’d intended to stash the signs and beat a hasty retreat, but since there was only Ed Munson’s old Chevy sitting in the lot, I decided to check next week’s listings.

I still avoided certain friends and work associates. It was always so stilted and awkward with them trying to express their sympathy and me trying to be brave and accepting when all I wanted to do was scream my rage that my husband had been taken from me.

Even before Mac became ill, I’d avoided this place like the plague, showing up only for the required Monday morning meetings and an occasional shift of floor duty. My boss and broker, Ben Romero, made a rotating schedule for all the associates and the only excuse was death—yours, preferably—or showing a house to a client. I considered it a waste of time and got out of it as often as I could.

It was worse now. Picking up the signs yesterday had been the pits. With so many people expressing sympathy, I was a wreck.

Nina's reception desk was empty, but a half-filled coffee mug sat in the middle. Beyond a small waiting area, Ed sat at one of the eight sales desks talking on the phone.

Funny, even when it felt as if a hundred years had passed and your entire life was altered, the rest of the world continued as if the cataclysm you had survived were nothing but a passing observance. Somehow, it didn’t seem right.

Ed saw me and grinned so broadly that I couldn't help grinning back. Everything about that guy was dull, from his sandy-colored hair to the tan rumpled suits he always wore. But when he smiled, he sparkled with genuine warmth and good will. He hung up the phone.

"Well, hello again. You coming back full-time?"

"No way.” I set my briefcase on the desk behind his. “Just waiting for things to be...settled, before moving to Minneapolis."

"What's in Minnesota?"

"A whole new life." When he looked puzzled, I added, "My daughter and grandson."

"Hmmm." He raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to turn into a mother-in-law, are you?”

"God, I hope not. Mac and I had discussed moving out there before he...before the cancer..."

“I don't blame you,” Ed broke in. He had a wife and four children and was always showing pictures. Everyone tried to scatter or look busy when he came into the office with that look in his eye.

When his phone rang and he turned around to answer, I grabbed the current listings notebook from Nina’s desk and made a copy of the Yucaipa and Calimesa area as well as Redlands and the surrounding suburbs. Back at my desk, I marked the homes to preview and select for another open house.

The front door opened and Rick Lanyi sauntered in. I’d hoped he would have drifted to another agency long ago, or better yet, skipped town. About thirty, he was a smooth talker who acted as if the key to success lay in his handsome Italian looks. He was also the cause of many sleepless nights for me while I reviewed conversations with him in which I wished I’d made a witty, cutting answer to one of his snide remarks. Unfortunately, I was never able to spout them when it came time to say something brilliant. Instead, I usually humiliated myself by coming up with nothing but polite banalities.

“Well. The lady whiz at work again. What a sight to behold.” He dropped his sharkskin briefcase on his chair and perched on the edge of my desk. “I heard you were back.”

"Hello, Rick."

He smoothed the sooty black hair at his temples, more to reassure himself, I'm sure, that every perfectly cut hair was in place. "So, you doing your homework like a good little girl?"

I bristled. What was wrong with this guy? He’d hired on just about the time Mac became critically ill, when we'd been faced with catastrophic medical bills. I had worked all the time trying to make as much money as I could before I had to quit and take care of him. Most of the women in the office simpered at Rick like overgrown teenagers, but I'd been too preoccupied to pay him any attention.

"I just want to make a living like everyone else."

"Yeah, I heard about your husband. Too bad...."

"Yeah," I answered in the same flat tone, "it is too bad."

"Guess I'll have to work a little harder now. I liked riding at the top of the board and having a little extra in my pocket."

Once a month, Ben posted the names of the top two salesmen on the bulletin board, and whoever outsold the other was rewarded with an increase in their commission. I had been the top salesperson every month of the last year I'd worked.

“Everyone likes extra money,” I said. “Most of us need it.”

“I’m sure you’ll put us all to shame.” He lowered his voice and gave me a sly smile. “Just remember one thing: if you get overworked, I have a great remedy for stress.”

I’d hoped Rick, knowing I’d been recently widowed, would act like a gentleman. I was wrong. “I’ll find my own remedy, thank you. I certainly wouldn’t go for anything you have to offer.”

Two points of color reddened his cheeks and he glanced at Ed still on the phone. Placing both his hands on my desk, he leaned down until his face was inches from mine.

“Maybe you’d better take a look before you turn it down,” he whispered, flashing that stupid little grin. “Bet you never had anything this good.”

Everything in me itched to slap the smirk off his face. “What makes you think for one moment,” I whispered, carefully enunciating every word, “that I’d ever be satisfied with a boy after I’ve had a man?”

Rick stiffened. His eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists.

I’d done it! Finally, I said something I wanted to say when I wanted to say it.

He stared at me, his jaw muscles working frantically.

Had I gone too far? Probably. But I felt so damn proud of myself that I didn’t care.

“You think you’re such hot shit—”

“Back off, Rick. Haven’t you heard of harassment?”

“That doesn’t apply here. I’m not your boss.”

“Want to fight it out in court?”

He studied me as if trying to determine if I’d carry out my threat. I had always been quiet in the office, never feeling at ease around so many people. But I held his gaze, telling myself this was just like the times Shanna questioned my authority over something she’d wanted. I just hoped Rick wouldn’t put it to the test.

Finally he drew a deep breath and glanced around the room. When he looked back at me he wore that ridiculous grin. I felt a chill. Behind that smile was pure venom.

“Hey,” he said, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean any harm. Just trying to be friendly.” Flipping me a cocky little salute, he sauntered back to his desk.

No matter how proud I felt, my body still reacted to confrontations the same old way—my hands were shaking and bile rose in my throat. I wanted out of there but didn't want him to know he had rattled me.

Ben walked into the office and held the door open for Nina and a tall, slim woman, whose elegant gray pantsuit was the exact shade as her hair.

No matter the times, Ben remained the courtly gentleman, perhaps because he’d been raised in a different era. In his seventies, slightly rotund with a full head of white hair and freshly pressed suits, he presented an imposing, yet fatherly appearance. Few people realized that behind that benevolent face lurked the mind of a shrewd businessman. But he had always been fair with his employees and honest with his clients. I liked and respected him as a man, employer, and, as a friend.

"That's Andrea Prettenger, the new associate," Ed whispered, indicated the tall woman. "Ben’s showing her around."

I'd had enough for today. I grabbed the week's listing, stuffed it into my briefcase and headed for the door. Although I'd seen Nina yesterday, she hugged me.

"You leaving?" she asked, her chubby face pink from the sun.

"I have things to do, but we’ll talk later.”

Ben talked a few moments about Mac. I tried to escape before I started bawling. Nina's eyes teared.

"Well, got to go." I edged toward the door.

"Sorry you missed Friday," Ben said, "but I hope to see you tomorrow." Both he and Nina regularly teased me about missed meetings, but it was never an issue—as long as my sales record was good.

“Before you go, I’d like you to meet our new associate.” Ben made the introductions and then told Andrea, “Pay attention to this little lady.” He slid his arm possessively around my waist. “You can learn a lot from her. She’s the best. Should be, I trained her myself.”

Normally I basked in Ben’s praises, but I preferred them in private. Now I wanted to sink right through the floor.

Rick slammed his book shut, his scowling face indicating that he'd like to personally cut that hole in the floor for me, then cover it up and stomp on it.

I made my excuses and almost ran to my car. When I glanced back at the office window, I saw Rick gazing out with a cold hard stare.

I quickly slid into the seat, but I could feel his eyes burning a spot in the back of my head.

Chapter Four

Driving to Stan and Maggie’s, I felt edgy and irritated and wanted some time alone before facing them. They had nursed me through some terrible times, and I wanted them to think I was okay, that I wouldn’t fall apart at the least little thing. My independent soul struggled to be heard. Or perhaps it was my pride.

It had always been difficult for me to rely on other people. I didn’t know why, exactly, but I assumed it had something to do with my childhood.

As an only child, it had seemed I was always alone. Mom was either working or resting to go back to her physically demanding job as a nurse’s aide, and my step-father seldom stayed home. I’d been a loner in school as I never had much to say, so my social life with friends had been almost non-existent. Once I’d had a best friend, and when I’d been invited to her home, I’d watch how she interacted with her siblings, laughing and teasing, sharing secrets and even indulging in an occasional fight. Even when they exchanged heated words, their affection for each other had been obvious and I’d felt so envious of their lives. How I longed to be part of a loving family, wishing I had someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge and criticize every expression on my face.

But something within me kept me isolated, as if I existed in a world separate from everyone else.

When Mac and I first met, he’d wisely avoided pushing Stan and Maggie on me until we’d been dating for several months. Instead, he’d drop hints about Maggie and her Earth Mother ways. Curiosity finally got me. I agreed to dinner and had loved them both on sight. It took a while, but over the years I gradually relaxed and trusted them completely, finally feeling part of a family.

I drove around their neighborhood, finally winding up in front of my old house. I hadn’t been back since Mac became so ill, and I was glad to see that Mr. and Mrs. Woods were taking good care of the place. The shutters and front door gleamed with new white paint and the rock garden still featured the cactus I’d brought home from our trip to Tombstone. Slowly I cruised by, the longing pulling so strongly at me that I finally stopped.

Our home, Mac’s and mine, over twenty years of memories. I’d conceived Shanna there, raised her, seen her off on her first date, and then held her wedding in the back yard. No sickness there, no death in that house.

Just seeing it brought back so many memories. If I had worked late, Mac would welcome me home with a big hug.

“How was your day?” he'd ask, and I’d tell him all about my latest client. The times I told him about Rick, he’d offer to rearrange his face. He'd hold me, tell me everything was all right, that nothing bad could happen to me while he was there.

But soon I’d squirm out of his arms. I always had supper to fix, clothes to wash, something to scrub.

Now I wondered why I had thought a polished kitchen was so important.

***

When I got out of the car at Stan and Maggie’s, I stood listening to the soothing sounds of bubbling water from their fish pond.

After their two children left home, Stan installed a pond in the front and surrounded it by dwarf palms and a rock garden. I’d loved it so much that I went out and bought a huge aquarium, stocked it with fish, pretty rocks and plants. It was great—until time to clean it. I broke down and did it once, then kept putting it off until the fish, and even the plants, died. I finally pawned it off on a neighbor’s kid.

Maggie opened the door. Dressed in a white cotton pants outfit, she stood about five-ten, her figure matronly as a result of her love of cooking and new recipes. She had an open, friendly face and was so non-judgmental that you wanted to tell her all your secrets. Calm and caring, she was a perfect match for boisterous Stan.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “Come on in.”

As she led me through their airy living room to the kitchen in back, I caught the tangy aroma of barbecued chicken.

“Hope you're hungry,” she said, “Stan wanted to have everything you like. He worries about you, you know. We have chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob. I even put on a pot of black-eyed peas, and cornbread.“

“Good God, how many people have you invited?”

“Just the three of us. He wants to make sure you eat. Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat it all in one sitting. You can take some home. And, there's chocolate cake and ice cream.”

“I think I’ll escape now.”

“Oh no you don’t. I have strict orders to keep you here even if I have to hog-tie you to the floor. I warn you right now, if you don’t eat, he’ll be on you quicker than a bass on a June bug.”

“Where is the big ogre?”

“At the market,” she replied with a grin. “We ran out of milk. He can’t have chocolate cake without milk, you know.”

We laughed. God, I loved that man. If he weren’t already married, I’d have already dragged him home.

"Come on, gotta check dinner,” Maggie said. “I'll lose my happy home if I let it burn.”

“I'm sure. You have him wrapped up so tight he can’t even roll over.”

“Yeah.” She smiled dreamily as we stepped through the sliding doors to the patio in back.

How I loved their back yard. Stan said the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves helped him relax, so he’d planted two more willows close to the patio. Little flower and rock gardens sat between them.

Maggie lifted the lid on the grill, one of those black, domed things.

“Can I help?” I asked, hoping she'd say no.

“Just relax and tell me about your admirer.”

“Admirer?”

“Yeah. That guy at the open house.” With a pair of tongs, Maggie turned each piece of chicken.

“For heaven’s sake, it’s nothing,” I sputtered. Of all things....

“Oh, don't look that way, I was just teasing. So tell me about it.”

Recounting what had happened, I mentioned the strange woman with the boy.

“You know,” I said, “thinking back on it, I don’t think she was interested in the house or even talking about another one. I got the impression she was only making conversation. Wonder why.”

Maggie flushed and kept busy with the chicken. ”Never can tell about people.”

“Hey, there’s my girls!” Stan burst though the sliding doors, gave his wife a sloppy kiss and grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me right out of the chair.

“Put me down, you big gorilla,” I demanded, laughing.

"So, how're things?" he asked, mixing drinks from the portable bar and pouring ice into the crusher. The buzz drowned out conversation, so I waited while he speared chunks of kiwi, pineapple, and lime with cocktail toothpicks, poured the drinks in tall, frosted glasses and arranged the fruit at the top. When he offered a glass to me, I automatically thought to pass it up in favor of my iced tea.

Mac used to say I was a cheap date because one sip of booze and I was woozy. But today I thought, why the hell not? After all, I was with family. I took the cold glass and sipped. Damn, it was delicious—cold, frosty, and with just enough lime to give it a refreshing tartness.

We talked about the kids, theirs and mine, while I took a few more sips and mellowed out. I couldn’t remember when I’d had such a relaxing, pleasant time.

After setting my drink on the table, I dug in my handbag. “I have something to show you.” I handed the notice to Stan, and after he scanned it, he placed it on the table next to his drink.

“What do you make of it?”

“You pay the fee for another year,” he said, “or close it. I’ll take care of it.”

“But we didn’t have a post office box. We didn’t need one.”

He shrugged. “Well, in that case, it’s the wrong Montgomery. End of story.”

“But Stan, it’s addressed to Mac Montgomery. You know the only time anything had Mac’s nickname on it was when he’d used it himself.”

“You know all this computer marketing crap going around now. Who knows where businesses get their lists of names.”

True, I thought, but still....

“Ah, don’t spoil your dinner on some screw-up. Maggie’s been cooking all day.”

“Stan,” I began, then found myself unable to say the rest. I didn’t even want to acknowledge the thoughts that crept into the darker part of my subconscious, didn’t want to give my fears power by acknowledging them.

“If it would make you feel better,” Stan said, “I’ll check it out. I don’t have to be in court until ten-thirty tomorrow morning, so I could swing by the post office. For now, forget it. Your food will digest better that way.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll handle it.” Stan didn't look worried so I dropped it. Surely he’d know if Mac had a secret box. The two were closer than twins.

We sat at the picnic table, the red-striped umbrella open against the sun. After I stuffed myself, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and sat back. Actually, I sprawled. And wished with all my might I could unbutton my slacks.

“Did good, little girl,” Stan said, working on a second piece of cake.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” I groaned.

“Don't you dare,” Maggie said. “If you throw it all up, he’d just bully you into eating more.”

“He needs his kids back so he can boss them.” I spotted the notice next to Stan’s plate. “Give it back,” I told him, indicating the slip of paper. “I’ll handle it.”

“That’s okay. Just part of my duty as executor.” He made no move to return it to me.

I held out my hand. “You have enough to do.”

Stan glanced at Maggie. She flushed and became very busy clearing the dishes.

I stared them down. “Okay, you two. What’s wrong? Give me the friggin’ notice!”

“Ouch. Do you always talk like that?”

“Quit screwing around. I’m well fed, too well fed. The daiquiri’s practically got me floating, and I’m in no mood to argue. So give it back. And I want to know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, babe. Don’t worry about it” Stan handed the notice to me. “Just remember Mac never wanted to do anything to cause you harm.”

“Never wanted to cause me harm,” I echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aw, don’t take everything so seriously. You know Mac. He adored you.”

The next morning I called the post office about the notice and informed them of my husband’s death. They said I’d need identification and a copy of the death certificate to open the box.

When I swung into a space in front of the post office on California Street, a crawling unease clamped my stomach. I did not want to walk into that building.

I sat a few moments absently watching people enter and exit, some with smiles on this beautiful sunny day, others just ambling along.

My fingers began to tingle and I realized I was clutching the wheel. I’d been parked twenty minutes.

Okay, this was just plain silly. I knew Mac, so what was I so afraid of? But no matter how I’d tried to avoid thinking the worst, some part of me wondered if the box held secret flowery, perfumed envelopes, addressed to my husband, perhaps even decorated with those cheesy lipstick kisses like some used to send in high school. The image was ridiculous, and I had absolutely no reason for this sudden fright.

But I’d been uneasy ever since I received the notice. And no matter how I tried to believe it was addressed to the wrong Montgomery, I felt my husband had a secret mailing address. I had to find out why.

Gathering my things and the folder with the papers I’d need, I strode into the post office.

Twenty-eight minutes later, I carried a bundle of junk mail to the car. Hoping for a breeze to cool my flushed cheeks, I rolled down the window and sat for a moment, waiting for my pounding heart to calm.

After all the worrying, all the anxiety over a secret box, the mail consisted of nothing more than some fliers wanting the occupant’s business and a couple of envelopes from a popular California bank.

I felt like rejoicing, like shouting, I’m okay! My marriage is okay! Suddenly, the day appeared brighter. Relief fought with shame as I glanced at the envelopes lying on the passenger seat.

“Oh, Mac,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry for doubting you.”

Having spotted a trash bin by the post office door, I decided to get rid of the junk mail now instead of taking it home. Gathering the small pile, I tossed everything but four business envelopes from the bank, which, since we didn’t have an account with them, I almost tossed as well. But seeing an official-looking account number listed under Mac’s name, I decided to check it out before throwing them away. Perhaps Mac had opened a small account, a place to stash a dollar here or there, something all his own for holidays and special occasions. Wanting to surprise me would be just like him. When he’d become so ill, I’d taken over the household responsibilities, including the banking and bill paying, so there had been no other way for him to save some money.

I ripped the first one open, expecting to perhaps see evidence of a small deposit.

Instead, what I saw took my breath away.

It was a delinquent notice, a late payment reminder about a mortgage in Mac’s name on our condo.

But that was impossible. Three months after we’d moved, our house had sold and we’d paid off the condo. We’d been so happy that we invited Stan and Maggie to celebrate with us at a special burn our mortgage dinner. Even when Mac became so ill, we never borrowed against it. It was to be my safety net from all the medical bills.

It had to be some other Mac Montgomery. Still, as I ripped open the last three envelopes, I grew cold with dread.

Each envelope held a demand for payment notice, each statement progressively stronger until the last one, dated this month. In that letter, entire sentences were typed in bold capital letters.

According to the bank, since the property owner, Ronald Montgomery, had ignored their previous notices, they had no choice but to demand all four payments. If the account was not immediately brought current, the bank would begin foreclosure proceedings.

Waves of nausea caused my stomach to lurch and I swung the car door open, afraid I was going to be sick. I read all four notices again, trying to make sense of what I was reading. It had to be a mistake. Mac wouldn’t have mortgaged our condo without telling me. No way would he do that to me. Perhaps because he had been eleven years older than I, Mac had always been my mentor as well as the man I loved. I had never had any reason to distrust him and I was not about to begin now.

The first thing to do was to get to that bank and tell them it was a mistake. How long did I have to get this straightened out? I checked the date on the last notice; it was two weeks ago. Two weeks! The bank could, even now, be preparing to take my home from me.

Chapter Five

Backing out of the parking space, I didn’t even realizing my car door was still open until someone yelled at me. When I slammed on the brakes, everything on the passenger seat slid to the floor. Oh, God, I wasn’t fit to drive, not yet. I eased the car back into the space and shut off the ignition.

When I reached Stan on my cell phone, I blurted out what was happening.

“Now don’t get all shook,” he said in his normal, calm voice. “In the first place, since the condo was in both your names, a mortgage would have required your signature and–”

“But my name isn’t on these demand notices,” I told him, my voice growing shrill. “Just Mac’s.”

“Okay, then. It’s some sort of computer error, something we can straighten out in no time. You have all the papers on the condo?”

“Of course. Mac and I put them in our safety deposit box and I haven’t touched them since.”

“Give me the information and I’ll call and make an appointment with the loan officer. I’m sure it’s nothing but a computer glitch, but we need to take care of it. You don’t sound in any condition to drive, so stay put, and I’ll pick you up. We’ll stop at your bank and pick up the documents.”

Stan sounded confident enough that I began to breathe easier. If Mac had decided to take out a mortgage, surely he would have gone to Stan. This had to be a mistake. Of course it was, so why didn’t I feel any better about it?

I studied the demand notice. Mac’s full name with his middle initial, an eight-digit account number that looked so official, so correct. A knot of dread squeezed so tight I could hardly breathe.

Mac always said I worried too much, and he may have been right. But if it were not a mistake, if he’d taken out a loan and it was delinquent, I'd have to make it up. Immediately. I'd worked with too many foreclosures not to know the danger of non-payment.

With most of my funds still tied up, how would I make back payments? I had a hard enough time right now. I just prayed Stan was right, that it was all a mistake.

Once I got the safety deposit box open, I’d know.

When Stan pulled his Expedition alongside my car, I felt an incredible sense of relief. As usual, he looked great in a deep chocolate sports coat that complemented his blond hair and ruddy complexion.

“How are you?” he asked, opening the car door for me.

“About to throw up.”

He wrapped me in his arms and I smelled the comforting scents of coffee and aftershave. Just for a moment I relaxed and rested my head on his shoulder, loving the feeling of being held, wondering why I could never say that to my husband.

My husband...I pulled away. “What if Mac really took out this loan? Why would he do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, doll. Maybe he took a small loan, something easily repaid.”

“But how? I never signed anything. This can’t be happening.”

“Before we speculate further, let’s check the safety deposit box. Chances are, this is all a mistake, that he was confused with someone else with the same name. Errors like that don’t happen often, but it’s been known to occur.” He grinned. “That’s one reason I’m in business.”

By the time we pulled into my bank off I-10 and Newberry Avenue, I was feeling fairly relaxed. It would, after all, be straightened out soon. Inside, after the double-key ceremony of extracting the box, the young woman led us to a private room and left us alone.

Stan placed the metal box on a desk. I looked at that box and wondered how such a small container could hold my future.

“Want me to open it?” he asked.

I shook my head and raised the lid—to a file folder holding a sheaf of papers. I rummaged through.

Mortgage papers.

It was all there: a legal description of the property, including sketches by a surveyor; an appraisal report; a disclosure statement from a bank we’d never dealt with; payment coupons. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“My God.” Suddenly my legs went so weak that I had to sit down. “He did it. He actually did it.”

“Lisa, honey, are you all right?” He poured water from a pitcher on the desk, but I left it untouched.

“Why would Mac do this?” I asked. “And when? He seldom went out by himself the past couple of years, certainly not the last year. You know that. For the past few months he could barely get to the bathroom and back.”

Stan flipped through some pages. “This mortgage was initiated two years ago.”

“That was when he was first diagnosed. How much is it for?”

He picked up the disclosure statement, took out his pen, and jotted down some figures. “Looks like eighty-five percent of the condo’s value.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay. We need to talk to the loan officer as soon as possible. If I can get us in today, can you handle it?”

“Let’s get it over with.”

All I could think of now was how I could ever manage to pay it. Eighty-five percent of what the condo was worth was such a substantial sum that even with all the insurance money, I still wouldn’t be able to manage it.

Stan made a phone call, and I listened numbly to his attorney legalese as he made an appointment for that afternoon.

He drove me home and hovered over me until he began to get on my nerves. I just needed to be alone, to have some time to think—if I could get my numbed brain working, or my frozen limbs moving.

“Want something to drink?” Stan asked for the third time. “Some coffee? Tea?”

I finally shooed him out the door, promising to be ready at three-thirty.

I wrote a quick note to Shanna, keeping it light, but told her I might not get to Minnesota as soon as I’d hoped, that there was some sort of a legal problem having to do with the condo that had come up since her father’s death. No use telling her about the mortgage; I didn’t want to shatter the perfect memories she had of her father. I certainly didn’t want her to go through life with memories like the ones that tormented me.

“Get a good man, Lisa,” my mother had whispered from the hospital bed, her faded gray eyes pleading. I was seventeen. She gripped my hand with her own and, trying not to cry, I studied the red, work-roughened fingers. She’d worked constantly at anything she could get, trying to hold things together and keep a roof over our heads. Her skimpy paychecks never went far. We’d been evicted several times because of non-payment of rent. Where she got the money to move, I’ll never know. My step-father certainly never helped with bills.

“Find someone who’ll take care of you, provide for you,” Mom had said, her voice a struggle, “someone who’ll give you the home I never could. Promise you’ll find someone like that. Promise!”

I promised and she died later that day. The doctors couldn’t find a specific reason. I think she was too tired to keep living.

I had always wished she could have lived long enough to see my home and family, to know her hopes for me had been fulfilled.

Now I wasn’t so sure they had been.

* * *

At three, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dismayed by what I saw. My face was an unhealthy, ashen color and my eyes were glassy with fear. One thing for sure. I didn’t look like someone about to attend an important business meeting.

Once, when I was in high school, I was supposed to go to a special meeting for new students. We'd just moved, again, and I didn't want to go. I was sure I'd have poor stamped across my forehead. Mom tried to encourage me, finally taking me to her closet to dig out her one nice dress. She fit it to me and helped me with my hair and makeup.

“Lisa, honey,” she said, “when you walk into that auditorium tonight, hold your head high. No one will think you’re a nobody if you look like a million.”

Even today I believed that. I might feel like hell, but I didn't want anyone to know, so I washed my face, applied drops to my eyes and put light cover-cream around my eyes. I took my time with my cosmetics and hair, adding a fine mist of shine to the few strands of gray at the sides. Then I donned my gray silk pants, a black silk shell, and gray jacket. For the final touch, I added a sterling herringbone necklace and matching earrings.

When I walked into the bank with Stan, no one had to know that underneath, I just wanted to slink in and beg them not to take away my home.

Traffic on I-10 was the normal afternoon terror, and after some zigzagging off Redlands Boulevard, we pulled into the bank’s parking lot. It was a newer building, all reflective glass about thirty-five stories high. At the far end of the lot, sprinklers watered trees set in little squares in the concrete. Everything looked so modern, so pretty, yet I felt as if I were visiting a mortuary about to say the final goodbye to my illusions of a happy marriage.

When Stan shut off the engine, all I wanted to do was run.

He turned to me. “You okay?”

Nodding, I tried to smile.

“It could still be a mistake,” he said.

“Do you really believe it?”

Silently taking my arm, Stan ushered me into the lobby. We were shown to the vice president’s office by his secretary.

“Mr. Hunter will be with you shortly,” the Latino woman said, smiling and leaving the room.

His office looked inviting with a dark cherry executive desk in front of wall-to-wall matching bookcases. Books and family pictures filled the shelves, and more pictures sat on his desk next to a computer and telephone. Good, I thought. Maybe this guy would be human, someone I could talk to.

Mr. Hunter entered the room at a brisk pace. "Sorry to keep you waiting.” Younger than I expected, probably in his early forties, he was a rather severe looking man with thinning brown hair. He wore sturdy black-framed glasses.

Stan made the introductions and we all shook hands. I hoped mine weren’t wet. We did the polite chit-chat thing like the civilized people we were supposed to be, then Stan explained the problem and gave the paperwork to Mr. Hunter.

Silently checking the pages, Mr. Hunter then turned to his computer and entered some figures. He studied the screen, then opened a file on his desk, doing all of this without glancing at me. The air in the room was thick and my hands felt clammy.

Finally, after an eternity, Mr. Hunter looked at me.

“Mrs. Montgomery, if I interpret this correctly, your husband, or someone else by that name, took out an equity loan two years ago on the property listed on this purchase agreement. Your property.”

“Evidently so.”

“Without your knowledge.”

"Yes." I needed water for my dry throat.

"I’ll need a certified copy of the death certificate,” he said, rummaging through some papers. “But first let’s make sure we have the correct Mr. Montgomery.”

He pulled out some official-looking pages clipped together and asked me to verify Mac’s social security number. After I nodded, he checked off some other facts, including what I knew of Mac's military record. Finally he turned the computer monitor around so that I could see the screen.

"Would you please verify your husband's signature?"

I glanced at his face, seeing the mixture of confidence and, what? Pity? Oh God, please don't let me pass out right here in front of everyone.

I looked.

It was Mac's signature; I'd know it anywhere. Unable to speak, I simply nodded.

"You're sure?" Stan asked.

I couldn't look at him. I nodded again.

"Well." All efficiency now, Mr. Hunter turned the monitor around. "Mr. Montgomery stated he was divorced and that the property was his in the settlement. It's standard procedure to verify the information, but somehow, it must have slipped through the system." He shook his head. "It’s unfortunate and highly irregular—”

"In that case—” Stan interjected.

"But perfectly legal." Mr. Hunter turned back to the computer. "In November, two years ago, Mr. Montgomery applied for an equity loan for eighty-five percent of the condo's value. Payments were made regularly until four months ago." He turned to Stan. "Since they were legally married at that time, Mrs. Montgomery is responsible for the entire debt. While this situation is regrettable, foreclosure proceedings have already begun.”

Chapter Six

Sometime later, I found myself in the car with Stan, crawling east on I-10 in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The last few moments in the bank had been a blur and I hadn’t been able to focus on what the two men were saying. I’d felt wobbly, as if the very foundation of my life had suddenly been whisked away.

Now, in the car with Stan, I realized it had.

He must have made out a check as I vaguely remember protesting, but he’d said something about paying it back later, and so I had relented. I didn’t want to crumple in that nice, sterile bank.

Besides, what could I do? My thoughts were a confusing jumble, but two questions kept repeating over and over: when had my husband done this to me? And why?

I looked at Stan now, at his dear, sweet face. He was such a rock.

“Thank you so much,” I finally managed to say, swallowing the tears, the sheer panic, “for the money, for the moral support. For coming with me this morning. Most of all, for being my friend. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“It’s okay, doll. No sweat.”

“Keep an account of everything, and I’ll pay you back as soon—”

“Let’s worry about that later, okay? Maggie and I are all right financially. We can afford to help you.”

Pressure in my throat choked me. I couldn’t speak.

“I caught up the back payments and paid three months in advance,” he went on, “time enough to get everything settled and to decide what to do.”

What to do....

The mortgage changed everything. I certainly couldn’t move to Minnesota now, and it was doubtful I could at any time in the near future. There was only one solution. I’d have to go back to work full-time.

Later, when I could think rationally, I’d have Stan help me figure just how much was owed on the condo and see whether I should make payments or sell it. But if I sold it, I’d have so little equity that I’d just have to make payments someplace else. I might as well keep it—unless something else unforeseen slapped me in the face.

“Why would Mac do this? And if he mortgaged the condo, where’s the money?”

Stan’s mouth tightened but he said nothing, jamming on the brakes when some jerk cut in front of him.

I had the strangest feeing that something was very wrong, something besides the money, and that he knew more about it than he was telling me.

“Do you have any idea what he did with all that money?” I asked, watching his face closely.

Stan kept his eyes on the road. “Beats me. He never mentioned anything about it to me.”

He answered so quickly that I wasn’t sure I believed him. Would he lie to protect his brother?

I studied his profile, noting the familiar strong jaw and the firm, sure grip he had on the wheel. Those steady hands guided us safely through traffic in much the same way he’d guided his family and mine through the small and larger happenings in our lives. He’d always been so dependable, so supportive, that I’d grown to rely on him almost as much as I had Mac. Yet he had a soft side as well, a loving side such as when he’d picked me up and whirled me around on the day of the barbecue. He and Maggie had been my strength during Mac’s illness and death.

How could I doubt him how? How could I think that this man, my friend as well as my brother in law, would lie to me? But Mac had lied, another side of me reasoned. Not in so many words, but by not telling me something I had every right to know.

Maybe Mac had, but I refused to think that Stan, who knew what I had lived through, who supported me during the funeral and tenderly tucked me into bed afterward, would deliberately lie to me now.

“Before he got sick,” I said, shoving the doubts aside, “we always made the bills out together. We did everything together. Or so I thought.”

“Now don’t go jumping to conclusions. You know he must've had a good reason to do that.”

“What good reason? What would possibly justify something like this? And without telling me. I thought I knew him so well.” I stared out the window. We had passed the city outskirts and begun to climb Crafton Hills toward the Yucaipa exit. I gazed absently at the homes nestled on the hillside, shaded by a multitude of palm trees, each of them like a safe haven above the congested freeway. I wondered if I would ever feel safe or secure again.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” I said, “but could you check with David Greyfoot at the plant? He’s still office manager and Mac’s pension checks should be starting. That’ll help until I can get a few commissions going.”

When Stan pulled into my driveway, I sat unmoving, gazing at my home, at what I’d thought was my sanctuary. Even now, I still couldn’t quite comprehend that it wasn’t mine, that it belonged to the bank, and unless I made regular payments, it would be taken away from me.

Stan opened the car door. “Come on, doll. Let’s get you inside.”

When I stepped onto the pavement, my legs buckled. Stan grabbed me and walked me inside.

In the kitchen, he rummaged through the cupboards and pulled out an old bottle of wine. After pulling the cork, he took a whiff, then poured two glasses, one about half full. He took a sip from his, then offered the smaller one to me.

“Don’t want it.”

“Take a drink. It’ll settle your nerves.”

“My stomach’s already rolling. Besides, you know I don’t drink.”

“If anyone needs to start, it’s you. Now drink the damn wine.”

Reluctantly, I took a tiny sip, set the glass down, and pushed it away.

He pushed it back toward me. “Bottoms up. It’s only a few sips.”

I ignored it. “Thank you for today, but go home now. I’m exhausted and just want to lie down.”

“Finish the glass and I’ll go home.”

“You’re a bully, you know.” Ready to do battle, I looked up at the mountain that was Stan, but when he smiled at me with such compassion in his eyes, I caved. Had he deliberately baited me to get my mind working again? “You’re a bully, Stan Montgomery, but a loveable one,” I told him softly.

“The wine really will help,” he told me, his voice gentle. “And it’s much better than a tranquillizer.”

I picked up the glass and drained it.

A couple of hours later, I woke from a nap and felt better. At least I was steadier. After a light snack of cheese and crackers, I tore through the house, going through all the cupboards and drawers, looking for anything that would tell me why Mac had needed that much money.

When he’d become so ill, he’d talked about me moving near Shanna and her family, and I kept shushing him up because I couldn’t bear to think of a future without him. But he kept insisting I face the inevitable.

If he’d been so concerned about my future, why did he jeopardize it with a hidden loan? And where was the money? He knew I’d need it to move.

Could there be another safety deposit box somewhere? But that didn’t make sense. Why borrow money just to put it in a box in a bank? I pulled out all the kitchen drawers, looking for any kind of clue, all the time pushing down a very real sense of betrayal, betrayal by the only man I had ever loved.

***

Later that evening, Terry called.

“We going house hunting?” he asked.

“Good heavens. Don’t you understand plain English? I’m not going to work with you and that’s final.”

“I’m not going to let a little thing like that bother me,” he answered jovially. “I go after what I want. And I want you.”

I slammed down the phone.

When it rang again. I ignored it, hoping he’d get the hint. Finally, after several rings, I picked up. “Really, Mr. O’Neal—”

“Just wanted to tell you I think you’re special.” His voice was soft, and I suddenly thought of silky bed sheets on a hot night. Horrified, I stared at the phone. Where had that image come from? He hung up.

It rang again. This had gone far enough. I picked up so violently the base went flying. “I told you—”

“Hey doll, it’s Stan.”

“Oh.” I felt deflated. And embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Some jerk has been calling.”

His voice hardened. “Who? That same guy?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to sic Stan on Terry. He wasn’t dangerous; he was just a pest. “No,” I said. “Just kids.”

Stan was silent a moment. Then, “Lisa, I’d like to stop by.” His voice had a slight edge.

Something was wrong; he seldom called me by name. I gripped the phone, waiting for him to explain. “What is it?”

“Let’s talk when I get there.”

“Now? Is it Maggie? Is something wrong?”

“She’s okay.”

“It’s not Shanna, is it? Or the baby?” Please, God, please, God....

“It’s nothing like that.”

After we hung up, I noticed my hands were shaking and I couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath. Even though I prefer Diet Coke as a beverage, I headed for the kitchen, took out the wine, then bypassed it for Mac’s Scotch. I drained an entire shot glass in one gulp. If this kind of thing kept up, I’d turn into a drunk.

Then I unlocked the front door and sat down to wait.

***

Twenty-three minutes later, Maggie stood beside Stan at the door. “Thought I’d come along, too,” she said, giving me a brief hug.

I tried to read her face but she wouldn’t look at me.

Silently, Stan enveloped me in a hug. Then, with his arm around me, he led me into the living room. He looked tired. And troubled.

“What is it?” I said, bracing myself.

“Sit down, Lisa. We have to talk.” He perched on the edge of Mac’s wingback chair. Maggie took the other.

I stood frozen.

“Christ,” he sighed. “How about some of that wine. Or any booze will do.”

Now I was truly frightened. Normally Stan only had a couple of drinks before dinner.

“Mac’s Scotch is in the kitchen.” I searched his face then Maggie’s for some sort of reassurance, but neither of them would meet my eyes. My legs weak, I slid onto the sofa and clutched the arm.

“Oh, honey, are you all right?” Maggie rose to check on me. When I met her gaze, she paled.

“I’ll get the booze,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

As if from a great distance, I heard cabinets open and shut and the tinkle of ice hitting glass. She returned with a drink for each of us. Stan drained his and set the drink on the coffee table, taking great pains to place it precisely in the middle of the coaster. Dread emanated from him, thick as a blanket choking out the air. I found myself gasping and concentrated on one breath after the other.

“Enough,” I said, carefully setting my glass next to his. My movements felt labored, as if I were walking underwater. “What is it, Stan? You’d better tell me right now. I can’t take this much longer.”

“Lisa, honey, I’ve been going over final papers for the estate and checking into the pension.” He paused. “Everything’s in, the bills, the insurance, and....” His voice trailed off.

The silence hung thick in the room.

“You’d better get it over with,” Maggie finally said.

“Honey, you’re broke,” Stan said in a rush. “There’s no insurance left in Mac’s account, no pension.”

I couldn’t have heard him correctly. A great roaring started in my ears and my voice rose. “What do you mean, no pension? You mean a delay? Some reason I can’t draw it yet?”

“It’s gone, honey. At least the bulk of it. You’ll draw two, maybe two-fifty a month.”

“No, there has to be some kind of mistake.” My voice was so shrill that I barely recognized it. “Mac worked at that plant every day for twenty-six years. He never missed a day until his illness. Some of every paycheck went into his retirement. Every paycheck, Stan. There has to be over three-hundred thousand dollars.”

Stan was silent. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere on earth than here.

Then I knew.

And felt sick. “He took it, didn’t he?”

Stan’s gaze was level. “I’m afraid so. He borrowed against it as well as the insurance.”

“Is anything left?”

“You’ll have about three thousand.”

Three thousand dollars. I couldn’t get enough air. All my plans, all my hopes for the future, had just evaporated like a puff of smoke.

Chapter Seven

Stan and Maggie stayed until late that night. I think they were afraid to leave me alone. I felt numb. Dazed, actually. Nothing made sense but I went through the motions. I drank when Maggie handed me something and ordered me to swallow. I ate part of a sandwich that she made for me, although I tasted nothing. I remember staring through the glass door in the kitchen to the mountains beyond until it was too dark to see anything except a single twinkling light. It came from someone’s home in the foothills, no doubt. Maybe a young couple snuggling down to watch TV after putting their children to bed.

I turned away.

Sometime later, Maggie insisted on helping me to bed. I slept a dreamless sleep.

I woke the next morning to the sound of rain tapping against the windows. I had always loved to listen to the sound, especially when I was snuggled in bed. It made me feel safe and secure.

But now, of course, I knew that had been just an illusion. I wasn’t secure. My husband, the man who had always been so careful about finances, the man who had cautioned me over and over again about how important it was to have a savings account in case of emergencies, had left me in debt and almost penniless.

Why? the concern been a sham? Had our entire life together been a farce?

And what happened to the money? About the time Mac had taken out the loans, he’d been so ill he hardly went anywhere. When he did, it had been with me. So where had the money gone?

And what was I going to do?

I suddenly thought of that last good day and of his cryptic message, “Forgive the bad.” Now I knew what he meant. Couldn’t he have told me, prepared me in some way? “A toast to tomorrow,” he’d said. How could I look to tomorrow when he’d taken all my security away?

Most of all, how could he have done this to me? The question repeated itself in my mind, over and over, but I could never find an answer.

I could have stayed in bed all day, maybe the rest of my life, but pressure on my bladder forced me up. Afterward, I washed my hands and brushed my teeth, partly from habit, partly because my mouth tasted as if something had died in there. When I lifted my gown to take it off, I caught a reflection of myself and realized how haggard I looked. Why bother to get dressed? I dropped the hem and padded downstairs for some coffee.

While it was dripping, I poured a small glass of soda and gazed at the mountains through the glass doors. The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the clouds.

I closed the drapes.

***

The next couple of days I kept the drapes pulled and stared at the TV. I didn’t bother to dress. The phone rang and rang. According to the ID, Maggie called several times and so did Terry, but I didn’t answer. I resented the intrusion of their disembodied voices over the machine.

I wanted a cigarette, but unable to face the thought of putting on clothes and going out to get some, I went searching through all my handbags, hoping an old pack would magically appear. But I found nothing, no old, bent cigarettes, not even some loose tobacco.

I’d started smoking in my teens, and over the years had worked up to two packs a day. Mac had nagged me constantly about it, but I hadn’t listened. As far as I was concerned, I could get through anything if I had my Diet Coke and cigarettes.

Shanna had always hated it, dramatically waving her hand in front of her face when I lit up. When she became a teenager, she spouted statistics about second-hand smoke. I sympathized, but I didn’t put them down. Finally, one day, she looked at me with her big, brown eyes and asked, “How can you expect me to stay away from drugs when you smoke two packs of cigarettes a day?” That had done it. That had been over ten years ago and I hadn’t smoked since.

Finally, giving up the search, I went down to the pantry and dug around until I found an old package of Mac’s cherry licorice. The ropes were glued tightly together, but I pulled and tugged, ripping off a jagged strand and sticking it in my mouth.

***

The third day Stan called. I heard his voice on the answering machine, warning me that if I didn’t talk to him, he was going to break down the door.

Damn. Why couldn’t people leave me alone? Resenting the intrusion, I punched the answer button.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m okay. I didn’t stick my head in the oven or throw myself in front of a moving truck. It might hurt and I’m too much of a coward to risk it.”

“Thank God you’re all right. Unfortunately, I had to run down to San Diego day before yesterday, couldn’t get out of it, but I’m here now. So what gives? Maggie says you won’t talk to her.”

“Tell her I love her but to leave me alone. You too. Right now I just want to be by myself.”

“Maggie and I are going to bring something for you to eat. You’re skinny enough already. You can’t afford to skip meals, which I know you’re doing. You don’t have to do anything except eat.”

“For God’s sake, Stan, don’t you understand English? Leave me—”

“You might as well realize,” he interrupted, “we’re not going to leave you alone, at least not right now. We love you and we’re concerned.”

With my teeth clenched, I told him I needed some time alone, that growing up the way I had, I needed solitude to heal. I wasn’t so sure that was necessarily true, but I simply couldn’t face anyone, even them, right now.

Finally I convinced him but could only get rid of him by promising to heat a bowl of soup as soon as I got off the phone. It was easy to agree; I needed to take a couple of aspirins and didn’t want to swallow them on an empty stomach. While I felt so miserable I didn’t know if I wanted to face another day, I didn’t want an upset stomach. I had to smile at that one.

After shuffling to the kitchen, I stared at the closed cupboards. My fleeting light mood had suddenly vanished and I simply didn’t have enough energy to bother. I stuffed a piece of stale bread and the pills in my mouth and opened the fridge for some Diet Coke. Well, damn, damn, damn, no Coke. I’d forgotten to replace the empty liter, so I trudged into the garage for a warm bottle and drank my fill.

***

Later that afternoon someone knocked on the door. I ignored it, but the noise continued, the pounding becoming more and more insistent.

Then I heard someone tapping against the sliding glass door in the back. Goddammit! Why the hell couldn’t people leave me alone?

“Come on, Lisa, open up,” Maggie called through the glass. “I know you’re in there, I’m not going away until you let me in!”

I ignored it as long as I could.

The tapping grew louder. “I’m not leaving until you open this door! Want the neighbors to call the cops?”

“All right, all right!” I shouted. “I’m coming.”

I padded to the kitchen, unlocked the sliding door and pulled it open just enough for her to step in. She was wearing potholder gloves and carrying a brown glass casserole dish that she set on the counter.

“Well,” she said, “when Mohamed won’t come to the mountain....” She eyed me up and down. “You look like hell.”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” I said pointedly, “and I don’t want any.”

“My, my, aren’t we grouchy today. Look what Stan fixed you.” She lifted the casserole lid, and the pungent aroma of hot shrimp and spices drifted to me. “Your favorite, seafood casserole with rice. When did you eat last?”

I shrugged.

“Well, go wash up,” she said. “You’re going to have a decent dinner while it’s nice and hot.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m not—”

“Look.” Maggie drew herself up, feet spread and hands on her hips. “Stan and I have been worried sick about you, and I’ve had enough. I want to sleep tonight, so you’re going to eat whether you like it or not. And after that,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “you’re going to march your skinny little ass into the bathroom and take a shower. Understand?”

I scowled at her, giving her my most formidable look, but she didn’t flicker an eyelash. In fact, she was wearing the same expression she’d used with her children. She meant business, and I knew she was stubborn enough to stay right there until I did everything she said.

No matter how I tried to hold a scowl, my lips curved upward in a smile.

***

About an hour later, Maggie and I sat at the table. I’d had dinner, two helpings, actually, and a bath. I hated to admit it, but things didn’t look quite so black. Maybe a dark shade of gray.

Maggie was good for the soul. She listened, and no matter what popped out of my mouth, she understood.

My home phone rang, and, thinking it might possibly be Terry, I ignored it. Maggie arched a brow but said nothing. The phone rang three more times, then the machine picked it up.

“Hi, Mom,” Shanna said. “Just got your letter.”

I jumped up to take the call. “Hi, honey. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?”

I brought her up to date, glossing over the details. She’d always had such faith in her father. “So, it’s going to be a while yet,” I told her.

“Mom, you have to come soon. I wanted to surprise you, but I’m pregnant, and I want you to be here—”

“Honey! Congratulations!” I turned to tell Maggie the news. Then Shanna and I talked about seeing the doctor, about how Kyle was going to react, and just the normal things between mothers and daughters.

“I’d love to be there," I said, "but I’m not going to have as much money as I’d thought.”

“You don’t need money; you can stay with us. Oh, Mom, you weren’t here when Kyle was born and I understood because Daddy was so sick. But you could come now. Nothing’s keeping you there now.”

It wasn’t until then that I knew what I had to do. I didn’t like it and Shanna most certainly wouldn’t, but there it was.

“I can’t, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll fly out for the birth, but I can’t stay.”

“But Mom, I-I need you.”

I wanted to cry, to scream out my frustration.

“I just don’t understand.” Shanna’s voice took that edge that always preceded an argument. “What’s so damned important that you have to stay there?”

“I have...obligations, bills to pay. A moral obligation as well as a legal one.”

“You could pay them here. You were going to move anyway, so why not now? It’d work out for everyone.”

“Just think for a moment.” I tried to stay calm. “If I moved right now, I’d have to go to school, then find a job. Even if I sold something the first day, it takes time for commissions to come through.”

“But Mom, it’s the same there.”

“I wouldn’t have to wait so long here. I already have a license, a place to work, and I know the routine. Shanna, please try to understand, I—”

“All right! If a moral obligation is more important than your grandchildren and me, just stay there.” I heard a click, then the line went dead.

I must have stood with the phone in my hands, because Maggie put the receiver down for me. I felt stunned, unable to move. My daughter’s harsh words were the last straw.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I stood gasping until something within me fought back and I gulped air. My vision was blurred. I began to shake and I heard a terrible keening sound. I didn’t realize it came from me.

Chapter Eight

Maggie grabbed me. “Cry, Lisa, let it out. Dammit, cry!”

Through the haze, I could almost see her, but she was too far away to reach. I felt detached, as if I were in front of the TV, watching what was happening instead of being an active part of it.

“Oh, honey, honey, it’s all right.” Maggie got right in my face. “Cry it out, baby, let it go.”

Now I saw her, heard her words, felt her arms around me. Cry? I wished I could. Maybe it would help.

“I...can’t.”

Still holding me, she walked me to the living room sofa, and we sat down together. She guided my head to her shoulder and slightly rocking, crooned to me as if I were her child. I held on to her, grasping a lifeline, hurt to the very depths of my soul.

My eyes burned, but I couldn’t cry.

After what seemed like an eternity, I began to breathe easier. The fog cleared and I raised my head. Maggie’s face held the most gentle, compassionate expression I’d ever seen. No wonder everyone loved her.

“Feel better?” she asked, handing me a tissue.

Even though I hadn’t wept, I took it. “Better,” I said.

“Honey, I’m no psychiatrist, but I think you need to see someone. You need to learn to let go.”

Suddenly irritated, I sat up. “That’s what Mac used to say.”

“Perhaps he was right.”

“Why does everyone always assume everything’s always my fault?”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant we all have problems, and when we can talk them out, we feel better. I know I do.”

I hiccupped. God, what was wrong with me? Maggie had never been anything but kind and loving to me. Why did I feel that sudden irrational sense of betrayal? Maybe she was right. Maybe I did need a psychiatrist.

“Guess you’ll think twice about coming over here again,” I said, trying to laugh.

“How about some hot tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she rose and headed for the kitchen. I trailed after her, reluctant to let her out of my sight.

Until Maggie had entered my life, I’d never realized how lonely I’d been. With her, I could relax and be myself, a luxury I never allowed myself even with my husband and daughter. Oh, when Shanna was small, it had been different. We were truly close, and every day was a joy.

But as she grew older, our relationship changed. She adopted some of Mac’s teasing ways, always in fun, yet I gradually became aware that behind it all, she, like Mac, thought I was nice, but not very bright. After that I quietly doubled my efforts to be self-sufficient and strong.

“Lisa?” Maggie said.

“Sorry. I was wool-gathering.” My mother's favorite expression popped out.

Maggie laughed. “While you’re at it, gather some for me, too. I need a new sweater.”

I laughed, suddenly at ease again. God, this woman was good for me.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, taking tea bags from the canister.

I told her about Shanna’s call.

“She’s young,” Maggie said. “At that age, things are either black or white. Give her some time.”

“I just don’t know. I just don’t know anything anymore. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just go on out there instead of worrying about these bills.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“I could live with them until I got a paycheck, see Kyle. Make up my expenses by babysitting. It wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I’ll help you pack.” Maggie poured tea into white mugs and brought them to the table. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll help. I’ll miss you, but I want you happy. Both Stan and I do.”

“I know, and I’m grateful.” I sighed. “It sounds so good, just like a dream.”

“You can make it happen. We’ll help.”

I sipped my tea before meeting Maggie’s eyes.

“I know that expression,” she said. “Okay, why won’t you go?”

“I can’t live off Shanna. I’d feel like shit. I’d get defensive and grouchy, and pretty soon they’d be wishing I’d leave. No, I just can’t do it.”

“We can help you—”

“Forget it. I’m already in debt to you so I’m certainly not going to take more. Besides, I owe too much to leave.”

Maggie patted my hand. “Honey, sometimes you have to decide what’s more important. I know it’d be hard at first, especially with your independent streak a mile wide. But Shanna wants you there. Sounds like she needs you.”

“I can’t risk it.”

“Why? What are you so afraid of?”

I thought about it. “I’m not sure I really know. I just feel panic at the thought of her ever looking at me in that way.”

“What way? You’re not making sense.”

I thought back to something that had happened years ago, something I’d tried all of my life to forget. I was about five and my mother had remarried and gone back to work. She’d left me with my new stepfather and I was terrified. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but I could remember sobbing. I must have turned to him because he recoiled.

“Don’t come near me, you snotty-nosed kid.” His face was twisted with scorn. “Just look at you. Don’t you know how disgusting you are? Go clean yourself up, then I’ll see if I can stand to touch you.”

“No,” I said now to Maggie, “I can’t let her see me again in a weakened condition. I’ll wait until I’m strong.”

“But honey, she’s your daughter.”

“It doesn’t matter who it is. Shanna might be angry, but it’s better, in the long run, to wait. I have to stay here and get things under control.” I shook my head. “It’s just so damned ironic. And unfair.”

Maggie squeezed my hand. “What’s ironic?”

“All those years of budgeting, missing movies I really wanted to see, repairing my shoes yet again, just to help build our savings so I would never be in my mother’s situation. Now I’m a widow, and after working all my adult life, I don’t own a damn thing except for my car. Worse, I’m in debt—to the bank and to you.”

“You know Stan and I were glad to help.“

“I know and I appreciate it, but that’s not the point.” I rose and paced the floor. “I thought I’d had such a good marriage, but my husband wound up taking every cent we had. Just like my step-father did to my mother.”

A new determination propelled me toward the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. “I have things to do.”

“And what do you have to do that’s so important?”

“Find out what Mac did with the money.”

***

I hadn’t realized until I’d said it aloud that I was going to look for the money, but I was suddenly determined to find out what my husband thought so important that he’d mortgaged our home, taken all of our savings, and left me almost penniless.

That night I called Stan and talked to him about my plans, although I was sure Maggie had already told him.

Stan said nothing. The silence stretched on and I could hear a slight crackle on the line. Had we been disconnected?

“Are you there?”

“Doll, you know I’ll do anything I can for you,” he finally said, his voice sounding strained, “but you need to think this through. Sometimes it’s better to accept what’s happened and move on.”

Move on? I stared at the phone as if it would help me make sense of what he said.

“You can’t be serious,” I exclaimed. “You’d only say that if you did know something you’re not telling me.”

“Not true. I’m only thinking of you, the emotional chaos involved. How can you look to the future if you keep going over the past?”

“Stan—”

“Then there’s the expense. You’d have to hire a PI, which isn’t cheap, and even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to find out anything.” He sighed. “But if you’re determined to do this, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Taken aback by his attitude, I realized what a difficult position he was in. As Mac’s brother as well as his attorney, he couldn’t help but feel awkward. I resolved to do what I could on my own, without involving him any more than he already was.

But he was right about one thing. I needed money, an income. I had to get back to work.

***

I kept busy the next couple of days, being careful not to waste any more time moaning or groaning about my fate. I had to make plans. Maybe Stan was right. Maybe I couldn’t afford a formal investigation into the money, but I could make an appointment to find out.

But first, I had to secure my immediate future. The sooner I got back to work, the sooner I’d get things paid off so I could move.

If Shanna still wanted me.

I called the office and talked to Ben about coming back to work fulltime and was relieved when he sounded glad to have me. Then I called Stan. He said everything should be settled within the next month or two.

I worked out a budget, including a payment plan to him. I went through my clothes, pressing suits I hadn’t worn in a year. Finally, I cashed a hundred-dollar savings bond I’d stashed for emergencies and had my hair permed and styled, leaving the salon with a bag of cosmetics I was determined to learn to use. If I was going to be working with the public, my livelihood depending on the faith and trust from my clients, I needed to look successful. I’d learned years ago that wasn’t just a cliché—everyone seemed to have more faith in you if you looked the part.

I was going to look the part.

***

Early Thursday morning when I walked into the office for the new listings, Nina’s mouth dropped.

“Ben said you were coming back,” she said, her eyes wide, “but I didn’t expect to see you here, especially on a day you aren’t even scheduled.”

I smiled. Thank God she was back to her normal self, because I didn’t think I could stand another round of tears. “Thought I’d stop by. I might even do that once in awhile.”

Nina dramatically ran her hands across her forehead. “I don’t know if I can stand the shock!”

I made a face at her and walked on by.

“Better hide before Ben sees you,” she called to me. “Might be too much for him. He’s getting up in years, you know.”

“What a smartass,” I said to Ed, who, as usual, was sitting at his desk, wearing his faithful tan suit. He smiled, looking genuinely glad to see me.

Across from him Andrea was thumbing through some files, every silvered hair in place, looking cool and comfortable in her million-dollar lavender suit. I’d always tried for that casual elegance, but never quite achieved it. Besides, I loved the freedom of trousers.

“How’re you doing?” I asked, laying my purse and briefcase on my old desk behind Ed.

“A little slow, but I’m trying,” she said.

“Well, it takes time.” I dug through my purse for my pen, trying to ignore the pitiful helpless look on her face. After all, it wasn’t my job to train the world. Besides, she looked as if she could stand a dry period. My first concern was my own life.

Ed turned around. “Heard you were coming back. It’ll be nice to work with you again, although that must mean your plans for Minnesota didn’t work out.”

“No, they didn’t.” I avoided his eyes. Just talking about it made me weepy. “But, I haven’t given up.” I snapped open my briefcase and took out the brass nameplate Ben made for me six years ago. I’d taken it home last year and hadn’t expected to use it again so soon.

Glad to be busy, I retrieved the book of current foreclosure listings from Nina and asked her to switch any calls to voice mail. Not that I expected any.

Although some people thought it distasteful, I’d always loved working with government-acquired homes. By the time the real estate offices receive the listings, the property had already gone through the lengthy foreclosure proceedings and was empty and ready to be resold. Often great deals were made, both to the government’s advantage and to the buyer’s.

I glanced over the current listings for a house to preview and select for an open house.

“Lisa,” Andrea began, “I hate to bother you, but....”

I held in a sigh. “Yes?”

She flushed and asked something about the listings. But when I answered, she just kept looking at me. Obviously she wanted something else. I tried ignoring her, but I knew I couldn’t ignore that lost soul expression for long. I’d worn it myself.

“So how do you like working in real estate?” I asked. I couldn’t just snap, ‘What do you want?’ Sure enough, she started telling me about her change of careers.

“I’d really appreciate any help you could give,” she said. “I’ve been a school teacher all my working life and have no idea about selling. My husband...he left me for another woman, a younger woman. So I decided to start over in a job that would give me the chance to make some money. I need it.” She flushed and instantly I wanted to help—as if I were in a position to offer advice to anyone.

Finally, she got around to the question, the one everyone asks, although they seldom listen to the answer. “What advice would you give a newcomer?”

I gave it some thought. “The first thing I’d suggest is to get to know the properties. Make a list and go out and preview as many as you possibly can, and while you’re there, look carefully and make note of any special features. Keep a notebook and take pictures.” I paused. “The main thing, though, is to listen to your clients. I can’t stress that enough.

“Too many people lose sales,” I told her, “because they’re just interested in selling something. If you’ve listened to your clients when they talk about features important to them, and you’ve done your homework to know what’s available, chances are you can match them to a home right for them.”

“Darn good advice,” Nina said from her desk. “Something I’m trying to learn.

I smiled, but my head throbbed and I suddenly felt worn out. I wanted nothing more than to stretch out on my sofa.

“You leaving?” Nina asked.

“Have to catch up, you know,” I said briskly, trying to sound as efficient as possible. “I have a lot of homes to preview.”

“Did you get your call? I switched it to voicemail.”

I had a call already? Who, other than Stan and Maggie, could've known I was going back to work?

It was Terry O’Neal, asking me to meet him at a house in the Redlands suburbs at two. Betty would be with him, he said, and that if I couldn’t reach him by telephone, he’d be shopping and wouldn’t hear a cell phone. They’d wait at the house until two-thirty in case I didn’t get the message until late.

Well, damn. Just about the last thing I needed. And what a sneaky trick to pull, assuming I'd meet him. It would serve him right if I didn’t show. I was just about to offer the address to whoever wanted it when I hesitated.

I suddenly realized this aspect of my life had also changed.

Before Mac's illness, I’d worked because I wanted to add to our savings, and it was great for my ego to find perfect homes for my clients. I could afford to be selective, only choosing to work with those with whom I felt a rapport, thinking nothing of referring the rest to other agents.

But things were different now.

My very existence depended on how well I did my job. I now faced what thousands of women lived with every day—providing a roof over my head and groceries in the house. My major concern wasn’t moving to Minnesota, but the very necessities of life, all the things I’d taken for granted while married to Mac.

This realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. I felt a sense of panic, of desperation. What if I couldn’t provide well enough for myself? How would I live?

And why had this happened to me?

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to have been. I felt rage at Mac for putting me in this situation and bitterness that I had trusted someone with my life. Now here I was, a widow in her forties, broke and in debt.

“Are you all right?” Nina asked.

“Sure. Just tired, thanks.”

So okay. I’d show the house to Terry and his wife or whatever she was. If there was the slightest chance they’d buy, I might as well get the commission.

Nothing like trading your principles for cash.

Chapter Nine

“Want Andrea to go with you?” Nina asked when I signed out.

Ben had instituted a safety policy requiring female agents to show properties in pairs and to list the address of the property and the time you expect to be there. If you’re already in the field, you’re expected to call in and Nina jots down the address. When you leave the property, you call the office and Nina, or whoever is in the office, checks it off. Sometimes the female agents consider it a pain, but most of us feel better when someone knows where we can be located.

Ben had also made it a rule for us to carry pepper sprays, even holding a meeting once a month to familiarize the new agents with them and to go over state laws. Before Mac became so ill, I’d avoided buying one, but once back, I’d considered it. I just hadn’t gotten around to staying for the meeting and going through the rigmarole of getting one, even though Ben made it easy for us by purchasing them in bulk and offering them at a discount. I kept thinking I’d break down and get one. But not today.

Besides, I’d already met Terry, and while he might be a nuisance, he wasn’t frightening.

“I’d love to go with you,” Andrea piped up. “I could use the experience.”

“Uh, maybe next time,” I told her. “I have some errands to run afterward, so I won’t be coming back to the office.” I hoped my face didn’t reflect the lie. I just couldn’t handle an afternoon of boosting someone’s morale when my own had taken such a dive.

Avoiding her crestfallen face, I left the office. I grabbed a chicken sandwich at a drive-thru and ate while I drove. I wanted a chance to look around the property before the O’Neals arrived, and if I had enough time, I wanted to check out another house in the area.

Heading down Yucaipa Boulevard to the I-10 onramp, I got caught in heavy traffic, so I took Sand Canyon Road over the foothills into Redlands instead. Green brush covered the sandy hills, but in another month or two, the arid sun would scorch everything to a dry desert brown.

The house stood with four others on a forgotten side street in an old section of Redlands. The short block of two-story white frame homes was squeezed between a thrift store and an auto repair shop fashioned from an old gas station.

Spotting the foreclosure sign in the window of a crumbling Victorian, I pulled up to the curb, noting that the shiny red Corvette parked across the street seemed out of place among all the older cars.

The house, with overhanging gabled roofs, a rounded cupola, and ornate wooden gingerbread, reminded me of a magnificent flowering shrub that had gone to seed. Most of the windows were cracked or broken, and the flowerbeds sprouted weeds. Black shutters hung askew against dirty white siding, and sheets of plywood covered the panes in the double-door. I assumed the managing broker had done the spot repair since they were responsible for property maintenance during the selling process.

When I inserted the key to the security lock, the door fell open. I wasn’t alarmed; another agent, perhaps the owner of the sport car, could be previewing the house or showing it to a client.

The front door opened to a paneled entryway lit by an over-the-door fan-shaped transom window that had escaped the vandalism. I paused to admire the detailed scrollwork etched in the glass, beautifully elegant in its curlicue and leaf designs. Behind me, oak-trimmed stairs led up, I presumed, to the three bedrooms and bath.

Not wanting to intrude on someone’s showing, I hesitated, listening for voices. Hearing nothing after a few moments, I stepped through the arched opening into the parlor. And was struck by the beauty of the home.

A bank of windows accentuated the curve of the large room; combined with the oak flooring, even in its current scuffed condition, it made me think of dancing, of birthday parties and anniversaries, of times when the family gathered to celebrate important occasions. I had no idea why the room caused me to think of happy times, as there had been few in my own life, but somehow, the faded charm transported me, even for an instant, to dreams of what could be.

I toured the rest of the first floor. Off the surprisingly modern kitchen, a butler’s pantry led me to a sunroom, which led me back to the entryway.

From the floor above, I heard a slight creak in the floorboards.

Waiting quietly for whoever was upstairs to descend, I felt the house could be a wonderful find for someone interested in fixing it up, but I doubted Terry’s wife, or ex-wife, would want to bother. I almost left, but I reasoned that as long as I was already there, I might as well take a look at the rest.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I called out, climbing the stairs. Nothing greeted me but silence. Had an agent shown the house and failed to lock up when leaving? Forgetting to secure a home was a cardinal sin in the real estate business, so we all made sure the house we had shown was locked when we left. But what had made that squeaking sound?

At the top of the stairs, four closed doors stood off the landing. I headed for the closest one then hesitated. Something wasn’t right. If it were an agent previewing, at least one of the doors would be open. Feeling spooked, I turned to go back to the steps when the last far door opened. Rick grinned at me with that infuriating smirk of his and leaned in the doorway.

Oh no, not him. Not now.

“Don’t go now,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, baby. We have some unfinished business.”

“No, we don’t.” I tried to sound confident but his sudden appearance shook me. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his silk tie hung loose. And was that alcohol I smelled? He stared at me through half-closed lids, smiling that cocksure smile as if to suggest he knew something juicy that I couldn’t even guess.

“I have a showing scheduled,” I told him, my heart thumping, as I backed slowly toward the stairs. “They should be here any time.”

“Oh, I know.” Rick straightened and rocked back on his heels. He grabbed the doorjamb for support. “Ed told me.” He took a step toward me.

“Why would he do that?” I eased back another step, feeling like a field mouse stalked by a snake, afraid to attract attention by running.

“I asked. Told him I needed to give you something.” He started toward me. “And you know good ol’ Ed, he’ll tell you anything.”

I risked a quick look at the stairs. Could I manage to get down them without him catching me?

Rick grinned. “I got something for you,” he said, slowly advancing toward me, creeping like it was a game. “Something really good.”

Could I make it down the stairs, or should I make a dash for the first room and wait for Terry?

“Your husband was sick for so long,” Rick said, strolling toward me, that stupid grin plastered on his face, “you gotta be panting for it.”

I bolted for the door and slammed it behind me, pushing against it while searching for a lock. Nothing but an old-fashion keyhole and no key.

“Rick, please,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice, “my clients will be here any minute.”

He laughed. “We can have lots of fun before that.”

He twisted the knob and pushed on the door. It opened a crack and I put my shoulder to it, using my feet as leverage. He pushed again and I realized that, even drunk, he was stronger than I. Flinging the door open, he shoved me against the wall, his hands grabbing my breasts, my buttocks.

“Come on, Missy Prissy, you know the score.” His breath smelled sour. I felt his hardness pressing against me.

“You’re drunk,” I said. “Please don’t do this.” Frantically, I pushed against him, but he had me pinned so tight that I couldn’t get my knee up.

Where were Terry and Betty? Hurry, I begged silently.

“Pretty little widow, you need some lovin’,” Rick muttered and mashed his mouth against mine.

From outside I heard a car door slam. Terry? Oh please let it be him. I had to get Rick off of me and get to Terry. Clutching my heavy leather briefcase, I swung it with all my might at Rick’s head. He reeled back and I dashed for the door.

“Help!” I yelled. “Up here!”

“Bitch!” Rick shouted. “You goddamned cunt!”

Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I stumbled on the warped floorboard and lost my balance. My briefcase went tumbling down the stairs. Just before I followed, I felt a hard yank on my jacket and was jerked back and slammed against the wall. Before I could do anything but take a ragged breath, Rick plastered himself against me, smothering me with his body. I beat my fist on his head, his back, any place I could reach. It was as if I were fighting air as he didn’t even react. Clawing again, I went for his face. He grabbed my hands and held them over my head.

“You wanna play silly games? You go right ahead, sweetheart. I kinda like them.” He wiggled against me, pressing his groin into mine, and I could feel his erection through his trousers. I squirmed and kicked and tried to bite his lips, his face.

When I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway, I screamed. Terry burst into the room.

“What the hell?” Grabbing Rick by the shoulder, he pulled him away from me and drew a fist.

My trembling legs folded and I slid to the floor.

“No! Not my face!” Rick yelled just as Terry threw the punch. Rick’s head flew back, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Slowly, almost gracefully, he crumpled over and went down. Leaning over him, Terry pressed two fingers on his throat, then yanked off his tie, flipped him over, and bound his hands. Then, rubbing his knuckles, he stepped over him to me.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, offering a hand to help me to my feet.

“I’m okay.” I took his hand. But when I tried to stand, my legs gave way. Terry grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me. Suddenly, I started to shiver and my teeth clattered.

“Here,” he said, briskly running his hands up and down my arms. “Just a little reaction. You’ll be good as new.”

As I began to feel warm again, my teeth stopped clacking. Terry simply held me, offering the comfort and security of his body. I gradually relaxed and let the warmth of his arms calm me. It did feel good.

When my brain quit clattering, I realized I’d let more people hold me in the past month than I’d had in my entire life.

Horribly embarrassed, I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for your help,” I mumbled. “I was sure glad to see you come through that door.”

“That makes it all worth it.”

“I think I can manage now. You can let loose.”

“Well, darn. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice my arms around you. At least not right away.”

“I noticed.”

When he let me go I saw the amusement in his deep sapphire eyes. And he looked nice in a charcoal pullover and matching corduroy slacks. He was, I had to admit, an extremely handsome man. He reminded me of Kenny Rogers in his heyday. Just a few years older.

Terry smoothed back his silver hair, and I noticed his knuckles looked red and swollen. I hoped they weren’t broken.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. I boxed a little in the service.” He glanced at Rick. “Who is he?”

I told him what little I knew.

“Plenty of guys like him out there,” Terry said. “Too bad, though, makes it harder for the rest of us.”

“The rest of you?”

“Nice guys like me, I mean,” he added with a grin.

“Are you a nice guy?” I asked quietly.

“I’m hoping you’ll take the time to find out.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Before I could respond, he took my arm.

“Let’s get you out of here before that joker wakes up.”

“We’d better call the paramedics.”

“Don’t waste your time worrying about him. I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“But he’s out cold. Something might be wrong.”

“He’s just sleeping off a drunk, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call.” He took his cell phone from his shirt pocket and called 9-1-1, giving them the information. He tucked the phone back into his pocket. “We’re leaving.”

“We can’t just leave him tied up.”

“Sure we can. He can work himself free.”

I wasn’t as positive about that, but Terry hustled me out the door. As we descended the stairs, I observed that for a man around fifty, he moved easily.

He must have noticed my look. “My line of work was physically demanding. Kept me limber.”

Just as I was about to ask what he had done for a living, I realized the implications of what he said and my face flamed. Good God, I hoped he didn’t think I was admiring him.

About halfway down the stairs, I came to a halt. “Wait a minute. Where’s Betty? Wasn’t she supposed to be here?”

He looked chagrined. “As you probably guessed by now, I just said that to get you to meet me.”

“That was a shitty thing to do.”

He turned to me, his eyes capturing and holding mine with an intensity I’d never experienced before. “I had to see you and this seemed the only way.”

I should have been furious, but for some ungodly reason, my anger faded. My mouth went dry. I don’t know how long we stared into each other’s eyes, but some shred of sanity returned and I broke the gaze.

“I can’t do this,” I managed, my voice almost a croak. What was wrong with me? I’d never reacted like that in my entire life.

“Do what? Show a house to a client?”

“We both know you have more than that in mind.”

“I sure hope so.”

What was it about this man that he could leave me speechless? And I did feel a softening toward him, but that was only because of what he’d done for me. Of course it was, wasn’t it?

But no matter. I didn’t think I should work with him without Betty present. I didn’t want to give him any reason to think I was available for anything other than real estate.

At the bottom of the stairs, Terry suggested we go for a drink. “It’ll settle you down.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Nothing? No wine, no colas, nothing?”

“Well, perhaps an occasional glass of wine.”

“Wine sounds great.”

“Too early in the day for me.”

Terry smiled, a sort of a half-grin, and I suddenly felt like a ridiculous prude. And I was thirsty.

“Okay, perhaps some coffee, or iced tea would be nice.”

“Looks like I’m going to enjoy loosening you up,” Terry said, his eyes full of amusement.

I stopped abruptly. “You’re not going to do anything with me!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

The expression on his face reminded me of the way Shanna used to look when I caught her doing something she shouldn’t. I couldn’t help but feel a little softening toward him, especially after what he’d done for me. When he offered his arm again, I took it.

I had the strangest feeling that this man, who was practically a stranger, actually cared about me. I hadn’t had that feeling very often.

Stopping short, I blinked. Of all the silly notions. Of course people cared. I’d had a husband, still had a daughter, and there was Stan and Maggie. Where did I get such a ridiculous idea?

“Anything wrong?” Terry asked.

“No, I—” Suddenly, without knowing exactly how it had happened, I was in his arms, cradled so gently that for a moment, I didn’t move. A curious warmth begin in my toes, the tiniest tingle such as I hadn’t felt in years.

“God, you smell so good.” He buried his face in my neck.

Embarrassed, I pushed against him and he released me at once.

“Really,” I said, trying not to reveal how flustered I felt, “if that’s how you’re going to be, we can just forget the drink.”

He grinned and I wanted to slap him. “I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said.

“You’re a perfect something. I’m just not sure what that is.”

Terry laughed, a warm, hearty laugh that had I not been annoyed, I would have enjoyed hearing.

“How about that drink?” he asked.

I glanced at my rumpled pantsuit. “I shouldn’t go anywhere. I look a mess.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you look pretty in blue? But then, you’d be pretty in anything. Or without anything, for that matter.”

Jerking my arm from his grasp, I was ready to make a scathing remark until I saw the way he was looking at me, not as though he were a man on the make, but as someone who was just stating something they believed. Warmth flooded my face and slid all the way down to my toes.

Oh, God, what was happening here? And what was wrong with me?

“Since you’re still a little shaky,” he said, “why don’t I drive. Then afterwards, I’ll bring you back to your car. After some time away from here and something to drink, you’ll be in better condition to drive home. Or wherever you want to go.”

Without another word he guided me to his Lexus, supporting me as if I were the most delicate creature on earth.

For most of my life I’d made a conscious effort to always be sufficient and strong, and that meant I had to keep my emotions under constant control. I’d never been allowed to show anger, not with my stepfather, certainly not with Mac. The few times in my marriage I’d raised my voice, Mac hadn’t said much; he’d simply stared at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted two heads and then he’d disappear into his den and wouldn’t speak to me for several days. I’d feel so guilty and miserable that I always ended up apologizing and begging his forgiveness.

Now this man, this strange man who seemed to delight in the sassy, uninhibited woman I'd never allowed myself to be, suddenly made me feel acceptable, like something precious. And I wasn’t sure how to react.

Chapter Ten

After the server took our orders, Terry slid next to me in the booth, so close I could feel the heat from his body. I scooted to the edge.

“Perfect,” he said, again sliding next to me. “Now there’s no place for you to go.”

“If you don’t get up and sit across from me, I’m going to leave.”

“You can’t leave because I drove you.” He looked so pleased with himself that I wanted to slug him.

“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed that,” I told him, glancing around the room. “I can always call a taxi.” Since it was past the noon hour, the family restaurant had a few stragglers, but there were several vacant tables. One table for four sat right in front of our booth. I grabbed my handbag and moved to the table, taking the chair with my back to Terry.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Ignoring him, I glanced over the menu as if I intended to order something more.

“Look,” he called out, “I moved.”

Peeking over the top of the menu to see if anyone was looking, I saw that we had attracted the attention of two middle-aged women. Both were smiling.

“Returrrrnnn to meeee,” Terry sang to the tune of the old Dean Martin song.

Oh, my God. I twisted around. “Will you please shut up?”

“You don’t like my singing? I’m crushed. I thought I had a good voice. Maybe you didn’t hear enough.” He immediately went into another verse, only this time he sang louder.

Who could I call to pick me up? I didn’t want to bother Stan over this. Damn, how could I have been so stupid? Maggie. She’d come to get me. But then, she’d never let me forget it. Calling a taxi seemed to be my only alternative.

The server brought our drinks, briefly hesitating when she saw me sitting alone at the table. Placing Terry’s coffee in front of him, she turned to my table to serve my iced tea.

“Lover’s spat,” Terry told her in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

The heat rose in my face. Good God, what was wrong with the man? And what insane notion made me agree to this farce?

“We’re not lovers,” I corrected, ignoring Terry. “We haven’t been to bed together,” I blurted. Then, horrified at what I’d said, I sunk even lower in the chair.

She smiled and even had the effrontery to wink at me before making her way to a noisy family of five.

I pulled my cell phone from my handbag and punched in Maggie’s number. Nothing happened, so I tried again. The damn thing wasn’t working. Of all times....

“Lisa,” Terry said, his voice soft, “please join me.”

Once again I grabbed my handbag and stood, almost tripping over the chair in my haste to leave. I hurried to the cashier and asked for the pay phone. Following her pointing finger, I made my way to the phone, Terry at my heels.

“Please don't leave.” Terry covered the coin slot with his hand. “I apologize if I’m acting like an idiot, but you see, I don’t have much time. I have to make you understand.”

“I understand all right. You’re a newly-divorced man on the prowl. For some reason, perhaps because I’m a recent widow, you thought I’d be an easy mark. Well, think again. I may have been stupid enough to come here with you, but I’m not stupid enough to stay.” Rummaging in the bottom of my handbag, I found nothing but an old stick of gum wrapped in a lint ball.

“Damn!” Spinning around, I headed for the cashier.

“Lisa, please wait.” Something in Terry’s voice tugged at me. I don’t know why. Thank God no one was sitting in this section of the restaurant; I already felt like a fool.

“I’ll give you three minutes.”

He started toward me.

“Stay right there,” I told him.

He halted. The look on his face seemed so plaintive that I actually felt sorry for him.

“Lisa, please let me talk to you,” he said with a desperation I didn’t understand. “I’ll be a gentleman, I promise, and I’ll keep my distance. But I don’t have much time, and what’s left I want to spend with you.” He didn’t move, except to offer me his hand, silently imploring me to take it.

My heart melted and I took his hand. Perhaps I wanted to know what he meant about not much time. Or maybe it was the expression in his eyes when he looked at me. Whatever it was, I allowed him to lead me back to the booth.

Once seated, the server brought fresh drinks and I found myself doubting what I had done. What in God’s name was I doing there, sitting with a man who, no matter what he said, was clearly on the make? Why didn’t I just get up and leave? Getting home wasn’t an excuse; I could find a way if I truly wanted to leave.

I finally glanced at Terry. And oh my God, I wished I hadn’t. Even though I had never been a woman of much passion, I recognized the heat in Terry’s gaze.

Years ago on my twenty-first birthday, I’d wanted to do the coming of age tour, to walk into bars and clubs without worrying about being thrown out. Oh, I didn’t party like most people; I never liked drinking until my senses dulled and I stumbled over my own feet. Even today, I avoid people who can’t seem to stop. But I’d loved the idea of being recognized as an adult capable of making my own decisions. So, attracted by the bright neon lights and twangy country music, I’d march into a bar, look around, then go to another. Mac happily accompanied me, getting a kick out of the entire thing. Next I wanted to go to some nudie bars and an X-rated movie, to see what all the fuss was about. The first few minutes were fascinating; they actually showed, right on the screen, people in the sex act. It was remarkable and I watched, totally absorbed in seeing all the things I’d never even considered doing. But one time, while exiting the ladies’ room, I passed a man in the lobby whose heavy-lidded gaze raked over me with a hunger so profound that I made my way back to Mac and insisted we leave. Later, I realize that the passion wasn’t for me personally, but still, I never forgot it.

The hunger in Terry’s eyes was almost the same, and for some strange reason, I couldn’t look away. My breathing quickened and a trickle of sweat rolled under my bra. I swallowed, then realized how dry my throat felt.

How could my mouth be so dry when the rest of my body felt like liquid fire?

I stirred sweetener in my tea, embarrassed to discover my fingers were trembling.

When Terry took my hand and gently squeezed it, I forgot the tea. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and suddenly the sound of dishes clattering and the conversation at the next table evaporated into silence. All I could hear was my heart beating, and with each throb, my traitorous body responded. He raised my hand to his mouth, and holding my eyes with his, he gently brushed the top of my hand with his lips. The touch was so light I shouldn’t have felt much at all, but fire blazed all the way to my toes, melting everything in its path. My nipples hardened, scratching the lace in my bra. My panties flooded with desire.

Here I was, a forty-three-year-old woman and I’d never felt anything like that in my entire life. At that moment, if he’d suggested a motel room, I would have led the way.

Then, like a worm in an apple, I thought of his wife, or ex-wife, as he’d said. For a brief moment I wondered if I could believe him and then realized it didn’t matter. In no way did I want any kind of a relationship with a man, and I had no intentions of leading him or anyone else on. I jerked my hand from his. How could I have allowed myself to respond to this man? And in a public place? I couldn’t look at him.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” I muttered. “I’m newly widowed and you’re a divorced man. By the way, just how long have you been divorced?”

“I left her a year ago and took a small apartment in Redlands, but I didn’t file right away. I thought it would be easier for her that way. She’s still living in our house in Loma Linda, but it’s up for sale. I’m helping her find a smaller place.”

“I suppose she’s agreed to all this, and it’s also just fine that you’re here with me now.”

“Of course not.” For the first time he seemed uncomfortable. He poured more sugar into his coffee and stirred. I hoped it was cold.

“Betty doesn’t want the divorce,” he continued, not looking at me. He kept his eyes on his cup. “Never did. She fought it until I filed, hoping I’d change my mind. But I had to do it.”

“You had to divorce her? Why, Terry? Never mind, I know. ‘She didn’t understand me,’ or how about the classic, ‘She’s cold in bed?’” I glared at him, not understanding why I felt such rage. I’d made a life-study of how to appear cool and calm in every situation, how to not let things get to me. Yet here I was, sitting next to this man who brought out emotions I’d never dared to feel. And I didn’t like it, didn’t know how to handle this raging disquiet.

“The simple truth is, I never loved her.” He said it so quietly, so simply that I didn’t question him.

Picturing the nervous, wiry-haired woman and this passionate man, I could agree they were perhaps a mismatch. But I’d known of other marriages that had overcome more difficult obstacles and were perfectly happy.

“So why did you marry her?”

“We’d been married for almost thirty years, and I never strayed. I made a commitment and I stuck with it, no matter what. Then something happened to change everything. I woke up and couldn’t stand to spend another day in a stale, passionless existence. I moved out and kept asking for a divorce, finally filed the papers a couple of months ago. I was going to give her the house and anything else she wanted, but she said she didn’t want to live in our house by herself. So I started looking for a place for her.”

“It must have been difficult for her.”

“I’m sorry about that, but it was the right thing for me to do. She’s still young enough to have a life with someone who truly loves her and I hope she does. But right now, I want a life for myself.” He took my hand in both of his, holding it, cradling it as if it were precious. “As soon as I saw you, I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d been marking time, just existing, not dating, not seeing anyone. But seeing you proved that I was still alive, that I could still want something. You see, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

I believed him and suddenly, the anger disappeared. Perhaps it was the sincerity in his voice, perhaps it was pure body chemistry, but I found myself leaning toward him, drawn toward him with a yearning I didn’t understand. All I was certain of was that I wanted to hear more.

Then something he’d said made me pause.

“What do you mean, you’d been marking time?”

He sighed. “Let me give you some background, Lisa. I know it’s asking a lot, but I really want you to know.” He sipped his coffee. “It’s cold.”

Strange, but I didn’t feel the same satisfaction I would have felt just a few moments ago.

He signaled the server for coffee and asked her to refill my tea. After our drinks were served, he began again, talking about growing up after his father died in an automobile accident when he was three, and how his mother struggled to raise him. She’d worked in an office, making just over minimum wage.

“She wanted me to get involved in boy things,” he said, keeping his eyes on his coffee, “cub scouts and sports, but they always required extra money. We never had enough—for anything. I went to work as soon as I could, then joined the navy. Unlike most people, I loved it and would’ve stayed in—except I met Betty. Typical story. I was on leave in San Diego and my buddy fixed me up with a blind date. I was young, had too many beers, and next thing I knew, Betty was pregnant. I told her I’d take care of her, so I married her. I honor my commitments, and we’d been married ever since—until a few months ago. End of story.”

“But wait, it’s not the end of the story. If you didn’t love her, why didn’t you divorce later?”

He shrugged. “I’d never had much of a family. My grandparents were all dead, and my aunts, uncles, and cousins were spread over the country. I love kids, and she was going to have mine.”

“So you have children?”

He shook his head. “She had an accident. Some guy hit her car. She miscarried and had to have an emergency hysterectomy.”

“Yet you stayed married?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking all those questions. After all, we would never see one another again. And yet....

“She was really broken up about the miscarriage,” he told me, “so I didn’t want to add to her pain. At that time, it didn’t matter. I went to work, came home, did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

“Were you happy?”

“Happy?” He shrugged. “I didn’t allow myself to think about it, not until recently. If I felt something was missing, I ignored it. Too many things I wanted to do. I worked, got my education, saved money so we could travel. So many places I wanted to see in this world. Just not enough time.”

“You keep saying things like that. Why? What did you mean when you said you didn’t have much time?”

“That, as they say, is another story. Right now I want to talk about you.”

Having been so totally immersed in what he was saying, I found it difficult to break away, to return to my world. He’d managed to make me feel the loneliness he didn’t talk about, and the lack of courage or strong enough desire to make a change.

The flash of headlights outside the restaurant caught my eye and I realized it had grown dark. Glancing at my watch, I was astonished to see how late it was. We had, it seemed, spent hours together, hours that had passed like minutes.

“I have to go, Terry. So much is going on in my life right now that I don’t know if I can handle anything else.”

On the ride back to my car we didn’t talk, but I felt totally comfortable. Terry played a CD of instrumental New Age music I hadn’t heard, and while it was soothing, the haunting sound of the flutes brought tears. I had a hard time keeping them back.

When we pulled beside my car at the old house, the neighborhood appeared normal. No police tape, no crowds.

Terry turned off the engine. He didn’t try to kiss me; instead, he ran one finger down my arm and took my hand in his. I didn’t resist. How could I? There was something special about him that made me feel as if I were someone special.

Sitting quietly in the car, our hands clasped together, I realized Terry had touched me more today than anyone had in a very long time. Oh sure, there had been the customary pecks on the cheek from Shanna, the brief hugs from Stan and Maggie or from friends after the funeral, but nothing else in too long a time. I couldn’t even remember the last time Mac and I had made love. It had to be long before his illness progressed and took away his drive. While I hadn’t missed the sex, many times I desperately wanted someone who cared enough simply to put his arms around me and hold me.

“What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?” Terry asked. “Breakfast would be nice, although if I must, I can wait until lunch.”

Even though I was surprised at how much I’d enjoyed this evening, I couldn’t afford to spend time with him. Not only did I have to get my life in control as far as my finances were concerned, but there was no way I could live with myself if I started a new relationship with someone this soon after my husband’s death. Yet I didn’t want the evening to end. What kind of a woman was I?

I opened the car door. “I appreciate what you did for me today, but I don’t have time for a relationship now. I don’t even want one.”

“You can’t do this, Lisa. We have so much to talk about, a lifetime to catch up on. A future to share. Besides, you want to hear the rest of my story, don’t you? And I want to know everything about you—”

And so, instead of getting out of the car like I should have done, I sat wishing...what? That things were different? That I could’ve been different? But I couldn’t wish a lifetime away. After all, I’d been blessed with a beautiful daughter and grandson. So what did I wish for? The tragedy was that I didn’t know.

“What is it, Lisa? Tell me. I’ll help. I’ll do anything for you, you know that.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Sliding out of the seat, I hurried to my car before I could change my mind.

***

When I entered my home, I stopped abruptly. A sudden, chilling feeling washed over me that something was different. The atmosphere felt different I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so I stood by the door and snapped on all the lights. Nothing appeared out of place. The wing chair stood next to Mac’s sofa, and nothing looked disturbed.

Cautiously, my heart thumping in an unknown fear, I made my way through the lower level, flipping on lights as I went, but again, everything looked normal. I made my way up the stairs to my bedroom. Hesitating by the door, I snapped on the lights, aware that my heart was thumping so loud that I felt sure anyone near me could hear it. I took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the room. Everything looked okay. I checked the corners, the closet, and even looked under the bed like an old woman. I found nothing. I opened my jewelry box, but everything was in its place, even the one good diamond ring Mac had given me on our twentieth anniversary. Nothing was missing, so I breathed a little easier. Just to make sure, I checked the rest of the upstairs and found nothing amiss.

Getting ready for bed, I opened my underwear drawer for a clean pair of pajamas, but when I was changing, something nigged at me. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I went back to the drawer and inspected the contents: several stacks of pjs, bras, and panties, all neatly folded as usual. I kept looking them over and couldn’t figure out what bothered me. Then I noticed the top pair of panties. They looked just slightly out of place, the fold just a little different from the rest. I pulled them out and realized it was a pair I’d worn yesterday. How did they get into my clean drawer? Had I unthinkingly put them back with the clean underwear? But I was a creature of habit and I didn’t think I’d do such a thing.

Had someone broken in and gone through my personal things? Suddenly I felt sick. Checking both the front and back doors, I saw they were secure with no signs of a break-in. I picked up the phone to call the police, but just as I began to punch 9-1-1, I thought about what they’d ask: Has your home been burglarized? No. Is anyone in the house now? No. Is anything missing? No. So, lady, why are you calling? I found a pair of dirty panties in my drawer.

Feeling ridiculous, I replaced the phone, dropped the panties into the hamper and slid into bed. I’d been so unnerved the past few days that I could have put the panties back into the drawer without realizing what I was doing. One time when I was watching TV after an argument with Mac, I got up to get something from the fridge. Later, when I wanted to change channels, I couldn’t find the remote, and after tearing the house upside down, Mac found it in the fridge. So of course, that’s all it was. I turned out the light and settled down to get some rest.

But I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. With every creak of the house, my eyes popped open. Finally, when the dawn threw a pale light into the room, I slept.

Chapter Eleven

The next day Maggie called with an invitation. Stan had a sudden delay in a court date and they decided to take a trip to Lake Tahoe. Although she pretended that inviting me to join them had nothing to do with being hesitant to leave me alone, I knew better.

“Take your vacation and enjoy every moment,” I told her. “You and Stan have stayed close ever since Mac first received his diagnosis and you deserve some time to yourselves. I’m fine.” Maybe that wasn’t quite true, but I needed to work out things on my own.

I hadn’t told them about Terry, partly because I felt ashamed that I was even thinking about another man so soon after Mac’s death. And, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. I only knew I couldn’t allow myself to get involved.

But I didn’t understand why I kept thinking of him. At the oddest times, I’d picture the way his mouth curved in that wry smile of his, or I saw that little tummy he kept trying to hold in. Most of all, I’d remember the expression in his eyes when he looked at me, and I felt more alive, more wanted, than any time I’d spent in twenty-five years of lovemaking with Mac. I was horrified at that thought, but I couldn’t deny it. Perhaps one day I’d figure out why.

But not now. Now I had too much to do just to survive.

Over the next few days Terry called several times, sometimes twice a day, but this wasn’t the time for either of us. I had to get some money coming in, so I begged him to stop calling. Then, when he persisted, I let the machine pick up, and after about six times of not reaching me, he finally quit calling.

Feeling a restlessness that nothing seemed to ease, I explored most of the homes on the foreclosure list west of Yucaipa into Redlands and San Bernardino and east to Beaumont and Banning.

A former stagecoach stop, Banning had been a tiny desert community, a quick place for gas and fast food while on the way to Palm Springs or other desert communities further inland. Then, just past Banning, the Morongo Casino had undergone a major remodeling; now, their twenty-seven-story hotel and spa was a lighted monolith in the desert valley. Soaring real estate prices in the coastal cities forced commuters further inland and seniors flocked into the area. Upscale golf course retirement villages with floodlit palm trees and bubbling fountains opened, a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart sprang up seemingly overnight, and Banning’s forgotten downtown was dusted off and small Mom and Pop businesses moved into vacant storefronts. The town was alive and growing, but like everywhere else in the country, people spent more than they made. Foreclosures could be found almost everywhere. I held three impromptu open houses and wrote several contracts.

Most agents rank hosting an open house on the same level as a trip to the proctologist, but I had always enjoyed the entire process. I especially loved matching a home I’d toured to a client’s needs and often took prospective buyers to other listings after the open house. Keeping photos and descriptions helped and I kept my notebook within reach.

So far I’d written four contracts, and if even only one closed, I’d have some money coming in. Of course, most of it would go right back out, but at least some of the squeezing sensation around my chest had started to ease and I could take a deep breath.

Driving home on I-10, I passed Desert Lawn Cemetery and remembered an article in our local paper. A few years ago, a Yucaipa housewife heard about a duffel bag tossed from a car on a freeway. Inside was the body of a newborn baby boy. Horrified, the Yucaipa woman couldn’t forget the image of that abandoned baby’s body all alone in a coroner’s office, so she made inquiries, collected the body, and with her family’s approval, used her own savings to buy a plot at Desert Lawn. After learning about the discovery of two more dead infants, she contacted a local senator, and the Safe Arms for Newborns law was drawn up and passed, legislation that allowed mothers to turn over their newborns without recrimination within three days of birth.

And, with help from donations and volunteers, the special Garden of Angels section of the cemetery held several abandoned babies whose bodies could otherwise have remained in storage for several years.

It was a good thing freeway traffic was light because tears blurred my vision. I managed to blink most of them away, but a couple escaped to roll down my cheeks. Most of my life I’d been able to control my emotions, and I’d never been so threatened with tears. Why this sudden tendency to cry? I didn’t know if I felt for the babies who were denied a chance at life or I was selfishly concerned about my own fate. I’d had a chance at life and had worked hard to build a secure home and family, yet here I was, abandoned in my forties, my home threatened, my finances non-existent. Not all of it had gone for Mac’s medical bills. If he hadn’t taken everything, I would’ve had enough to make the move to Minnesota. Sure, I’d have to work, but I wouldn’t be frightened every minute, unsure of where I’d live. Or how.

Why had Mac taken the money? And what had he done with it? I asked those questions over and over again until they became a sort of mantra and I wished he were here so I could shake the answers out of him.

What was so damned important that he would have betrayed me like this?

I glanced at the time. The banks were still open, so, pressing down on the accelerator, I shot down the freeway. I was going to get some answers.

***

Walking across the lobby, I headed for the first desk and spoke to a Latino woman in her thirties. Lacy Figueras, the nameplate said. Her brown eyes reflected sympathy as she listened patiently to my story, but she ultimately told me she couldn’t help.

“I don’t understand. My husband and I had accounts here for at least twenty years. I’m just asking if he, before his death, opened a different account under his name.” I dug in my handbag, thankful I kept copies of his death certificate. I handed one to her. “This proves he passed away, and, here’s my driver’s license. I’m his widow, and I have a right know.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but we can’t give out that information. It’s protected by the Privacy Act.”

“But we were married and it’s my money, too. It’s not like I’m a stranger off the streets trying to commit grand theft.” My voice started to rise. “My husband didn’t spend that money on luxury vacations or sports cars; he was ill. He had to put it somewhere and I need it.”

“I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath trying to stem the exasperation. “I want to talk to your supervisor.”

“Certainly,” Ms Figueras said, rising. “I’ll be right back.”

Teeth clinched so tightly my temples began to throb, I waited alone on that hard chair in the bank lobby, fighting the urge to jump up and scream. Why were they so intent on protecting his rights and not mine? I was getting the shaft by everyone and I was damned tired of it.

Ms Figueras returned with a tall thin woman whose blonde French twist was streaked with gray. She looked crisp and efficient in her brown linen suit, but her eyes radiated warmth. I hadn’t expected someone like that, and for a moment it threw me. Mouth drawn in sympathy, the woman offered her hand.

“Mrs. Montgomery, I’m Carol Serquinia. So sorry to hear of your loss.”

Reluctantly, I took her hand. I didn’t want polite chit-chat; I wanted to hold onto my anger.

“Thank you,” I told her, “Mrs. uh....” Good God, did everyone’s name in that bank have five syllables?

“Carol, please.” The woman smiled. “Everyone has trouble with that name.”

Automatically, I smiled back. Then, realizing what I had done, I straighten myself—my posture, my face. I used to pride myself on my courtesy to other people, but what did that ever get me? If I played all nicey-nice, we’d smile politely at each other and I’d still walk out of here with no more information that I’d had walking in. Maybe, even if I held firm, I still wouldn’t get what I needed, but at least I was going to fight. After all, I wasn’t trying to get anything that didn’t belong to me.

“Carol, while I appreciate your sympathy, what I need is information.” I told her the story. “The fact is, my husband left me almost penniless and I don’t know what he did with the money. Surely you can tell me if he opened another account here. Or a safety deposit box.”

“I truly wish I could help you, but even if I’d known him and had personally opened a different account in his name, I still couldn’t tell you.”

The anger bubbled to the surface. “Why not?”

“Under the Privacy Policy Act, we’re not allowed to reveal information about anyone’s account to anyone not listed on the account.”

“His privacy doesn’t matter any more,” I told her through gritted teeth. “Don’t you understand? My husband is dead.”

“After no activity for two and a half years—”

“Two and a half years?” I almost screeched. “Are you serious?”

“After that time,” Carol continued, her voice calm and reasonable, “the contents are turned over to the state. Perhaps if you had an account number?”

“If I had an account number, I wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“Have you searched through all his papers? Even a crumpled deposit slip or evidence of a wire transfer would be helpful.”

“Of course I’ve been through his things. I’ve found nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Carol shook her head. “I wish I could help, but it doesn’t appear as if there’s anything I can do.”

“You mean,” I said, “that this bank will sell my name to the highest bidder, but you won’t tell a widow if her husband had an account here?” I rose, too angry to stay seated.

“Mrs. Montgomery, we don’t—”

“Skip it.” I cut her off and stormed out the door.

Two and a half years. Now what was I going to do?

***

When I pulled onto my street, I spotted a beige Lexus sitting in my driveway. Terry? But that couldn’t be. I’d been very careful to never give him my address. And it was Ben’s company policy to keep his employee’s personal information confidential, so he couldn’t have gotten the information from the office.

As I cruised closer, I saw Terry standing by the driver’s door, arms folded, his face raised to the clear spring sky. I couldn’t deny that a secret place in my heart, one that I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge, was happy to see him.

But he was a complication, and I felt so tired, so defeated, that I just couldn’t handle another one in my life right now.

I pulled alongside and rolled down the window.

“How did you find out where I live?”

“Beautiful view you have here,” he said smiling, his expression pure innocence. “I could enjoy living next to the mountains.”

“Live here? You’re out of your mind. You have to leave right now, you could be dangerous.” I pushed the accelerator and the car shot into the garage. Slamming on the brakes, I stopped within three inches of the back wall. For some strange reason, my equilibrium seemed to disappear when Terry was around. I clicked the button to lower the garage door, fully intending to leave him outside. But he was too fast. He managed to duck under the garage door before it closed.

“Now what kind of greeting is that? How about, ‘I’m so glad to see you, Terry.’ Anything like that would be nice, you know.”

“What’s the matter with you?” I asked, my voice rising. “It’s not polite just to show up unannounced at someone’s home.”

“Now that I’m here, you wouldn’t refuse to talk to me, would you? Not after all the trouble I had finding you.”

“How did you find me? If it was Nina at the office, I’ll—”

“Relax,” he said. “Trying to pry information out of her was worse than talking to a government agent.”

“Well?”

“You know, waiting for you dried me out. I’d be willing to trade information for a cup of coffee. How about it?” He held up a white paper bag. “I even brought the donuts.”

Part of me wondered why I didn’t march inside and slam the door in his smug face. The other was damn glad to see him.

I smiled. I honestly tried not to, but I couldn’t seem to stop. So I invited him in.

It was the donuts, of course.

Chapter Twelve

I showed Terry into the living room, but when I walked into the kitchen to make coffee, he trailed behind.

Instantly I tensed and regretted inviting him in.

Mac had loved sitting at the table on his days off, watching me, making helpful suggestions. No matter if I was chopping an onion or washing dishes, he always suggested a better way. And I actually tried. I thought him so wise, so mature, that’d I set about doing my task his way, usually taking three times as long, and, I realized now, resenting every minute.

Now, aware of Terry in the kitchen, I bustled around, making coffee, setting the table for donuts. I finally glanced at him. He was watching me, but the look in his eyes was far from critical. His message was one of appreciation, of desire. I almost dropped the plate.

He took a big bite of his caramel-nut roll, then drank about half of his coffee. “Delicious. I just knew you’d make great coffee.”

Simple words, but I suddenly felt glorious. Pulling up a chair next to him, I helped myself to a cinnamon roll.

“So how did you find me?”

“My best friend’s a cop. I badgered him until he found you.”

My mouth dropped open.

“I know, among other things,” he went on, looking quite pleased with himself, “how old you are, where you were born, and how old you were when you got married.”

I rose. “Are you out of your mind? Get out. Just leave—right now.”

Terry had risen with me, all joviality gone. “I’m sorry. I guess I do sound like a nut. But please, let me explain.”

“How dare you? What gave you the right—”

“I had to find you, Lisa. While I’d love to bring flowers and candy and wait until you decide to see me, I can’t afford the time.”

And then, before I could say another word, he cradled my face in his hands and kissed me.

I should have slapped him, I suppose, or pushed him away. But I’d never been kissed that way before. Instead of plunging his tongue into my mouth, he was so tender, caressing my lips with his so lightly, so delicately that I almost wasn’t sure he was touching me. Then he ran his tongue over my bottom lip and gently sucked it. Every nerve in my body ignited.

When he drew back, I learned toward him, almost panting, wanting more. But suddenly, I realized what I was doing and was horrified. How could I let myself get so out of control? Legs trembling, I pushed out of his arms and slid onto my chair.

Terry knelt beside me and slipped one arm around my waist, another around my shoulders, pulling my head to his chest.

“I have to be with you, Lisa,” he said. “I have to touch you. I don’t come alive until I’m with you.”

I didn’t resist. His arms felt so good that for once, I let my defenses down and rested my head on his chest, content to bask in the warmth of him, so close that I could hear his heart beating. I felt safe. Secure. His embrace was a sanctuary I’d never known before.

After all those years of marriage, why hadn’t I felt that way with Mac?

After a few quiet moments, I moved out of Terry’s embrace. “You keep saying something about the lack of time. Now I want to know everything.”

Hand in hand, we went into the living room and sat together on the sofa. Mac’s sofa. The one he’d insisted on buying even though it was far too large for the room.

“I don’t know a thing about you,” I told Terry. “I have no idea what you do for a living, if you have brothers or sisters, or even if you have a criminal record. I know nothing, yet I’ve invited you into my home, let you kiss me. That doesn’t say much for me.”

Terry smiled and stroked my cheek, gently, tenderly. “Those big gray eyes say everything I need to know, so I guess it’s only fair that you should know about me.” He settled back in the soft cushion. “When I was a kid,” he began, “I loved the big red fire trucks. Like a lot of boys, I’d run outside whenever I heard the sirens, just hoping I’d get to see one up close. It was only natural that I decided to be a fireman.”

“You? A fireman?”

“What? You don’t think I’d dash into a burning building to save a gerbil?” He placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’ll have you know I performed heroic feats every day. My peers were astounded.”

I laughed. “I bet they were astounded.”

“Oh, my lady, you laughed. My joy knows no bounds.”

What was it about this man, what special quality did he possess that made me feel so free? And happy? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like laughing.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “I retired as fire chief.”

“Actually, I do believe you. I think you’re capable of anything.”

He groaned and folded me into his arms. “Oh, Lisa, let me into your life, let me love you. I need you so....”

That was when Terry began to talk about his marriage, and I listened, but something was nagging at me. I felt myself drifting, growing more uncomfortable with each moment.

“And I was content to live the rest of my life with her,” he said, “resigned to knowing I’d never experience true love or desire. Until I saw you.”

I strained to hear every word, but I found myself squirming. What was wrong with me?

Terry clasped my hand in his and I suddenly realized the problem. We were sitting on the sofa on which Mac had lived out the last few months of his life, the one piece of furniture that, since his death I’d retreated to when I needed to feel his presence.

Sliding my hand from Terry’s, I got to my feet. “This isn’t right. I can’t do this here.”

“Is it something I did?” Terry asked, clearly puzzled.

I shook my head. “It’s not you. It’s the sofa.”

“What?”

“This sofa was Mac’s.” I explained my husband’s illness and the last few months of his life. “We can’t be together on this sofa. It sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m betraying him.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. And I can’t do anything to change his death. But the sofa? That I can fix. It’s simple. I’ll simply move to the chair.” He moved to the wing chair and sat down. “Better?”

I nodded, but I was still feeling miserable.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, “you’ve been through a lot in the past couple of years. Let yourself grieve for your husband, the life you had with him. I’m not trying to take that away.”

With those words, everything about Mac’s illness, Shanna’s attitude, and my lack of funds came pouring out.

“Oh, honey,” he said when I’d run out of words, “I wish I could help.” He crossed to me and lifted me to my feet and just held me close to him. He seemed in no hurry, made no demands. I rested against him, loving the pleasure of simply being held.

After a few moments I broke away and Terry took the chair again. “I know you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t want to take advantage or force you into something you’re not ready for, but let me just be with you. I’ll be happy with anything that’s left.”

“But I have so much to do. And I need to find out about the money,” I added, going on to tell him what had happened at the bank.

“Why not go to the cops? I bet my friend could help.”

I’d never considered the police because Stan had helped me to understand that technically, a crime had not been committed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure what I’ll do.” I rose. “Let’s have some coffee. I could do with a shot of caffeine right now.” After we were settled again at the table and I’d helped myself to another donut, I felt better.

“Now I want to hear why you keep saying you don’t have time.” I sat back, expecting him to tell me something about aging hormones, that he wanted a chance to sample wild, extramarital sex while he could still function—although the thought of wild sex with me was laughable.

“I have Huntington’s disease,” he said in a rush, “or Huntington’s Chorea, a muscle disease that will eventually rob me....” He choked up a moment. “Eventually it will rob me of every bodily function that makes me human.”

I was stunned. Not Terry, not this vibrant man so full of life. “Oh, no.”

“But I’m not dead yet, Lisa, and I intend to grab onto life like I never have before.”

The news took my breath away. No wonder he had acted in such an impetuous way. I understood it all now. But what a position for me to be in. If I warmed to him now, would he think it was just pity?

“I’m so sorry,” I said. It was inadequate, but it was all that I could think of to say. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? Science is always coming up with new cures.”

“The doctor didn’t think so, but I suppose there’s always hope. Even if the worst happens, you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I have five or six good years, maybe more, and now that I’ve found you, they’re going to be happy ones.” He took my hands in his. “I’d rather have a few good years with you than another lifetime of the half-life I’ve lived so far.”

The sincerity in his eyes held me, but how could I accept responsibility for someone else’s life when my own was filled with turmoil?

“God, Terry, you can’t depend on me. I don’t even know where I’ll be living in the next few months much less the next few years. I can’t commit to you or to anything else.”

“You don’t have to commit. I just want to see you, to be near you.”

“Surely, there are other things you want to do in the time you have left. You should find someone who can return all the love you have to give. I don’t think I’m capable of that. I never have been.”

“Then something was wrong, because I’ve never known anyone as warm as you.”

Me? Warm? So many times during lovemaking Mac had told me to loosen up, to relax, and I tried so hard to do everything right. But I just couldn’t feel. Frigid, Mac had said over and over again. Passionless.

“Your wife,” I asked. “Does she know?”

“I told her when I explained about leaving.”

“How terrible for her.”

“I’m sure it was. I wrestled with that for a long time, but how much of my life am I supposed to sacrifice for someone else? I’ve given her over thirty years. I never strayed, never did much of anything. I hadn’t planned on falling in love, but by some miracle, it happened, and I’m not about to waste the rest of my life. The way I figure it, I finally have a chance at happiness, and by God, I’m going to grab it and not look back.”

***

Grab at happiness? Yes, Terry, I thought after he’d left. Go for it. We don’t always have another chance to follow our heart’s desire, to enter a place in which each second is glorious and our spirit rejoices in the wonder of the moment.

Thinking back on my marriage, I wondered if we would have lived differently if we’d known Mac had only a few years left.

Everyone had always thought he was lighthearted and I was the dull, stodgy one. Perhaps so. But not in everything.

After Shanna had married and left home, I’d wanted to sell everything and live a vagabond life in a motor home, to spend time in the wonderful places I’d only heard about or visited in a rush. I longed for leisure time at the ocean, to stroll the wet sand at sunset and feel the water splash my feet. I wanted to listen to the roar of waves and watch them swell and crest, spilling over with white foam, to build a bonfire and roast hot dogs on a stick, and never worry about whether I had chopped onions the right way or had a clean enough kitchen. I wanted to smell the pine forests in Minnesota and feel the snow on my face, to ride on one of the lake pontoons at midnight and witness the glowing reds, blues, and greens of the Aurora Borealis as it swirled in the night sky. There were so many things I had wanted to do and see, but Mac had said it was impractical, that we had built a life in Yucaipa. We’d visit those places someday, he told me. So, we had stayed home and paid our bills to own our things.

What a joke on me. I hadn’t been able to do the things I’d wanted and I still didn’t own a damn thing other than my car and some personal possessions.

I felt cheated. And a growing resentment, one I had never before allowed myself to feel. It made me even more determined to discover what my husband thought so important that he’d steal all our savings.

The police might not be able to help, but perhaps a private investigator could. I’d make an appointment first thing in the morning.

After climbing into bed, I relived Terry’s kiss and found myself aroused again. I flushed as though there were something to be embarrassed about. But I’d never reacted this way in my entire life. What was wrong with me? Had I lost my ability to control my own body?

I wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone right now, and especially not with Terry. He needed someone he could depend on, and God knows, at the moment that wasn’t me.

And then there was his illness. How much of what he had told me could I believe? Was his illness truly as bad as he’d alleged, or had he embellished the facts so I’d feel more sympathy? I decided to check.

Slipping out of bed, I booted up the computer and searched for information; what I found was heartbreaking. Victims of Huntington’s lost all their motor functions and became totally helpless, usually succumbing within a few years. So far there was no cure, although, since science had discovered the gene that caused the disease, researchers were actively trying to find therapies to slow the progression.

Feeling sick at heart, I stumbled back to bed. What a horrible thing to have happened to him. I hoped he did grab onto life for the time he had left. I wished him happiness, but it couldn’t be with me. I might be a cold and terrible human being, but there was no way I could watch another man I loved suffer and die.

Chapter Thirteen

Over the next few days, Terry phoned several times. While I was glad to hear his voice, I let his calls go to the machine. At first, I think he assumed I was busy with work, but in the last call, he asked why I wasn’t answering. Even though I was standing by the phone as he talked, I didn’t pick up. I just couldn’t face telling him I was too cowardly to get involved.

Early one morning while I was surfing the net for local private investigators, Nina called and begged me to come in for floor duty. The scheduled agent called in sick, and she needed someone licensed to answer phone inquiries about Ben’s new ads.

I tried to beg off. Since the episode with Rick, I’d avoided the office even more, only dashing in after making sure his car wasn’t in the parking area. But trapped in the office for several hours, I was sure he’d drop in at one point or another and I’d be forced to see him.

“What about Ed?” I asked, hedging. I hadn’t told Ben what happened, hadn’t decided whether or not I even should. I’d never been one to carry tales, and I’d always considered a man/woman thing something I should handle. I just didn’t want to make myself a visible target by being chained to a desk all day.

“Ed can’t come in until later,” Nina said, “and everyone else has appointments. Please, Lisa, just for the morning.”

“Rick has a morning appointment?” I was surprised. According to the office gossip, he usually made his appointments at night.

“Oh, he’s disappeared. It’s the strangest thing. He didn’t answer his phone, and the other day I found a note on my desk telling me he’d quit. Must’ve come in the middle of the night and cleaned out his desk. No one’s heard anything since.”

Rick had quit work? Oh, thank God. Maybe he was embarrassed enough to never show his face to me again. But I could only hope, because, as arrogant as he had been, I couldn’t be sure.

***

From my desk at the office, I called an investigation firm near the casino in Highlands, and the investigator had a cancellation the next afternoon. Great. I’d take my jar of quarters and play a few dollars on the slots, treat myself to lunch at the buffet, and then make the appointment. I deserved to splurge a little.

While I knew I was making progress in my life, I still suffered though down times when I wondered what to do, times of panic when I felt I needed a smaller place with smaller payments. I’d feel less pressure about the monthly bills, and best of all, I’d be able to pay Stan and Maggie the money I owed them. No matter what anyone said or thought, borrowing money from family and friends was the fastest way to hard feelings. But, since I didn’t feel I could afford the time just yet to look for an apartment or the settling-in time, I hadn’t yet made a decision.

Maybe the problem was timing. Maybe I couldn’t make decisions about my future until I knew the truth about the past.

Later that morning a woman called about a new listing in Yucaipa, so I made a lunch-hour appointment to give her a tour. Various agents had come and gone, and luckily, right before lunch, old faithful Ed appeared. I knew Nina could talk him into staying, so I grabbed my briefcase and almost ran out the door.

***

Doris Matlock had requested that we meet at the house, and as soon as I saw her, I wanted to hug Nina for roping me into the office. A woman about my age, Doris had the look of someone who cared about her appearance, and I translated that into someone who also cared about her finances. Her white trousers, spotless white sandals, and a sleeveless linen blouse were complimented by her perfectly coifed blond hair. I’d bet a month’s salary she paid every bill ahead of time and had a perfect credit history. I almost did the happy dance, thanking the fates that I was fortunate enough to have been on the other end of the phone that morning. Selling a house to her meant another commission, and I could live as I had been doing for another couple of months. I prayed she’d like the house.

I hadn’t seen this particular home, but the three-bedroom blue stucco with white trim and two shade trees in the front appeared in good condition. The lawn had turned brown, but as Doris agreed, some water would help. I needed this commission so badly that I hoped the inside was nice.

Scuffed hardwood floors were the first thing we saw, but surprisingly enough, Doris didn’t seem to mind.

“My husband loves to tinker on his time off, so he and Bobby could take care of this,” she told me. Bobby was her son-in-law, and after talking to her a little more, I discovered she was buying a home for her daughter. They’d had some hard times near the east coast and she wanted to bring them to California.

“I’ve looked at a lot of homes in the area,” she said, as we strolled through the living and dining room, “and I really like this one.” The paint was chipped in places and someone had taken black markers to the walls, but new paint would easily cover that. I couldn’t believe my luck and decided right then to treat Nina to dinner.

But when we entered the kitchen, we came to an abrupt halt. My heart plunged to my toes. Except for one set of cupboards, the entire room had been gutted. There were no appliances, not even a sink, just big, gaping holes. No stove, no refrigerator, not even a floor. Someone had actually ripped up the linoleum, and scattered patches of the discolored linoleum littered the dirty wood floor.

I tried to keep it light. “How handy did you say your husband is?” I asked with a smile. “We could submit an offer low enough to pay for a new kitchen,” I told her, but I knew from the expression on her face that I’d lost her.

“Well, it was worth a look.” She spun around to leave.

I couldn’t let her go. No matter what you’re selling, once a hot prospect leaves your sight, you might as well kiss her goodbye. Thinking fast, I suggested we look through my laptop. We could browse in my car or I could take her to a restaurant where she could look them over in comfort.

“Perhaps later,” she hedged. “I have some errands I need to run.”

“It’ll just take a moment and you could see at a glance what’s available in the area.” I headed for my car, using the age-old technique that salespeople had been taught from year one, that of suggesting we show the prospect something and walking toward it immediately, before they have time to think it over. Most of the time, so as to not appear rude, the customer will follow. Normally I didn’t like to use sales techniques, preferring instead good, old-fashioned honesty, but I needed this sale. I didn’t hesitate as I headed for the car, hoping, praying she’d follow.

“This will just take a moment and it’ll save you a lot of time.” Watching her, I held the car door open, patiently waiting.

What would she do? I tried not to look desperate.

“Well, for just for a moment,” she said, and slipped into the passenger seat.

Thank you, God.

Inside the car, I pulled out my laptop and scrolled through the listings, showing her pictures and gauging her reactions. I asked what she’d like in a home, and her answers told me she and her daughter loved to cook.

Ah ha! I knew the one to show her, a listing that hadn’t sold because the price was competitive with the current market. But it was in excellent condition and had a gourmet kitchen.

The house sat on a quiet cul-de-sac off Bryant Street, near the back road to Big Bear. Along with its neighbors, it was Southwestern in style with arches and a covered entry. When we pulled in front of the house, I was thrilled to see the cacti in bloom. Little white flowers with yellow centers similar to daisies clustered on the top of the barrel as well as on the tips of the upward curving arms. An iridescent hummingbird hovering nearby streaked away as we approached the house. Flowering bougainvillea vines climbed the attached garage wall, adding a splash of brilliant red to the beige stucco. It was such a perfect first impression that I almost hugged myself with glee.

Doris liked the outside, loved the red ceramic tiled entry and the polished hardwood floors. My hopes shot skyward. She approved of the double sinks in the master bath and the walk-in closet, but again, it was the kitchen that would make or break the deal. As soon as we entered and I saw her face, I knew I had her.

Running the length of the house, the kitchen had been updated with granite counters, tiled floors and a walk-in pantry. A tiled center island held another sink, and when Doris saw an indoor grill surrounded by red brick, she was ready to write a contract on the spot. I had a hard time maintaining a professional demeanor as I wanted to jump up and down like a kid. The commission just from this house alone would get me through the next few months.

“Manny will love this,” she said, speaking of her husband. If fact, she knew Manny would love it so much that she decided they would take this property and let her daughter and family take over the one she currently owned.

We wrote a contract and I celebrated by treating her to my favorite Thai restaurant in Yucaipa near County Line Road. With one contract approved and hers a sure thing, I was beginning to think I could make it after all.

***

Maxine Piotrowski didn’t look like a private investigator. I think I expected a modern version of Morticia, but she was a mature woman with short blond hair casually styled for comfort and ease, and she wore an apple green pantsuit that matched the exact shade of her eyes. Simple gold earrings, a Black Hills gold ring, and a slim gold watch completed her outfit. As she welcomed me into her office, her calm, efficient manner put me instantly at ease.

After taking our seats at her desk, she smiled. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Checking the time to make sure I didn’t go over my allotted hour and incur another fee, I told her everything about Mac, his illness, and what had happened after he died.

Maxine listened quietly, interrupting occasionally to ask a question, jotting notes in a spiral notebook. I gave her copies of all the paperwork I could find, including Mac’s and my birth certificates, records of our marriage, his death, and anything else I thought might be relevant. She thumbed through the pages, then placed her pen carefully by the notebook.

“Lisa, it’s a terrible thing to have happen, but you should know you’re not the first spouse to be duped. A partner could make a bad investment and not tell his spouse, or, it could be a gambling problem. This area has several large casinos and more than one person has become hooked. Maybe it’s drug-related. Who knows? It happens.”

“None of those sound like my husband. But then again, if he was capable of taking all our money, I’m not so sure I really knew him at all.”

“At least you have a little to tide you over for a month or two.”

I told her about my frustration at the bank.

She nodded. “The Privacy Act has put a damper on some of our investigations. Congress originally passed it in the seventies to protect individuals’ information from federal agencies, and another chapter was added in the eighties. Sometimes we could work around it, but the latest additions have made that almost impossible.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

“One thing you should know,” she told me, “no matter how cagey a cheating spouse may think they are, they always leave clues. It doesn’t matter if it’s a police investigation, a securities breach, or a husband absconding with the marital monies, there are clues if you know where to look.”

“But I’ve searched everywhere. After he died, my daughter and I went through everything in that house and I did so again after I found out the money was gone.”

“Sometimes it’s a matter of interpretation. Perhaps you’ve seen something but it didn’t register. That’s where an experienced investigation firm comes in. Our job is to find the clue and solve the puzzle.”

“So you think you can find what he did with the money?”

Maxine pulled out a notepad from her drawer. “Everything in today’s society leaves a paper trail, Lisa, and I work with some great people. We have computer experts who can find what color baby blanket a hospital nursery used forty years ago and can track a transaction that’s changed hands so many times you’d think it never occurred. Our field experts can trace a deadbeat father or find his drug connections, all without anyone having any idea they’re around. But it takes time and effort. Time, as they say, is money. I’m not sure you can afford it.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“My firm charges one hundred dollars an hour. And we’d need a retainer, up to twenty-five hundred.”

Just like they say in the old melodramas, I gasped. No way could I afford that. Today’s seventy-five dollar consultation fee would be difficult enough to pay.

“We could start with a computer search of your husband’s name,” Maxine continued, “using his social security number and driver’s license. If he used another address to send bank statements, we could find it. That search could range from seventy-five dollars to three-hundred.”

“If you can get my money back,” I told Maxine, “it would be worth it.”

Maxine shook her head. “You must realize there’s no guarantees. While I’d love to earn a fee, this work isn’t a product like a new car. Some people search for hidden addresses or lost documents for years and never find them. Even if we could get around the Privacy Act and trace where he sent the money, there may be nothing left. Can you afford to chance it?”

She was right. Could I risk spending more money to chase after a possible illusion? If my situation were even a little better, or if I didn’t owe my best friends, I’d chance it. But now, I couldn’t risk getting more in debt.

My last hope dissolved with her words. I’d grasped at the possibility that she, or someone like her, could help me. Now, I realized there might be no hope.

Trying my damnedest not to break down in front of her, I rose. Keeping my head down I thanked her and gathered my folder. This sudden propensity to cry was getting to me.

“Lisa,” Maxine said, snapping me back to the present, “I’d like to help you, but I understand your financial situation.” She checked her watch. “We have a few more minutes. Please, sit down and let me think.”

While I waited, she turned to her computer and entered something, the clacking keys sounding like heavy construction equipment in the quiet room. Absently, I watched her long fingers with their beautifully manicured nails tap out a command. Instead of the popular French-tip craze, she wore a transparent rose shade. A moment passed, or it could have been an hour as I drifted, knowing I had no place else to go for help.

“Have you checked everything in your home and safety deposit box?” she asked, her eyes still on the screen. “All the scraps of paper that may have an account number? Sometimes, when a person has something to hide, they’ll jot down a series of numbers embedded in something else.”

I didn’t remember seeing anything like that, but I felt a renewed grain of hope. Perhaps I had missed something after all.

Maxine turned to me. “Did your husband like to read? Perhaps he left some type of code on a bookmark or in a sock drawer.” When I shook my head, she continued.

“How about his hobbies? Did he play golf? Cards? Belong to a gym where he could keep records in a locker?”

Everything she said seemed to eliminate one more possibility. “I’ve checked all that,” I told her. “There’s nothing.”

“Any other equipment at home?”

“He loved to fish and hunt. Stan, Mac’s brother, usually went with him, but we’ve looked through everything. Stan has the rods and guns now.”

I didn’t add that I had Mac’s Colt .45 handgun in the bookcase headboard where he’d always kept it. Not only did it offer me a sense of security, but it also held memories of trips to the desert, where, when we were newly married, using cans for targets, he had taught me to shoot. He’d always preferred Stan’s company when he wanted to hunt big game, but he said he thought it important for me to learn how to protect myself. But it was simply a gun, with no hidden chambers.

“Any other personal items your husband had access to?”

Unable to speak, I shook my head.

“Perhaps later you can think of something,” Maxine replied. “I hope so, for your sake. When you get home, search anything that may have been overlooked. The most unlikely place may hold a clue.”

“Thank you,” I said and pulled out my checkbook. “I appreciate your help.”

With a businesslike air, Maxine took a receipt book from the drawer. “The charge for consultation today is one dollar.”

I almost lost it then. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying.

***

At home, I changed from my pantsuit into my zippered robe so I could be comfortable while going through the house again. The only problem was, I’d already searched the house several times and I couldn’t think of a single place I hadn’t looked before. But I had to try.

Where could Mac have hidden a secret code or deposit slip? Lord, my life was beginning to sound like a spy novel.

Trying to think like an investigator from one of my favorite novels, I searched everything again, even taking each drawer out to see if something was taped on the bottom. I dismantled light fixtures and looked under furniture. Nothing. I even braved the cobwebs in the garage to paw through old jars and cans. Still nothing.

Just as I was ready to give up, I suddenly had an idea where to look.

Chapter Fourteen

After washing the grime from my hands, I carried the step stool to my closet and climbed to the back shelf where Shanna had placed her father’s greeting card collection. Two boxes sat next to each other, one holding cards from Shanna and me over the years and the other filled with mementos from his office. If there were any clues to Mac’s betrayal, I felt sure they would be in one of those boxes. I took them to the wing chair by the bed.

The first box, a Father’s Day present to Mac from Shanna, was just short of a foot square and made of polished mahogany. Although beautiful with the word Father inlaid with onyx on top, I felt the familiar tightening when I held it. Shanna had saved her allowance for months and insisted on picking out his gift by herself. Mac had loved it, of course, and I’d been proud of her, but things had changed that day and I became the outsider.

That Father’s Day celebration had begun like any other holiday, with a special dinner followed by Mac’s favorite, devil’s food cake and chocolate chip ice cream. Shanna climbed on his lap to sit while he opened his presents. I remember saying something to Shanna about being careful not to spill her milk on both of them, and Mac, carefully emphasizing each word in a sing-song voice, repeated the warning to Shanna. Then, pointing their fingers at me, they laughed together as if I’d just told the best joke in the universe. Mac said I was an ol’ fuddy-duddy and Shanna joined in by repeating it.

Funny how that could still sting. Shanna was supposed to have been the one person on earth I could love freely and who would love me in return, but after that day, nothing was ever the same. No matter what I did in the years following, her attitude toward me, especially when she was with her father, wavered between long-suffering tolerance and ridicule.

Oh, Shanna, what happened to us? Why did loving your father mean turning from me?

Was I really a shrew, an uptight stick-in-the-mud who insisted on order and control? I suppose I was, even though I’d always wanted to be able to relax, to allow any feelings I might still have to spring free. But it was too late for me. Even now I was stuck in my rigid mold. I might’ve had a chance with Terry, but I’d made a conscious decision to cut off anything that might be happening between us. And my relationship with my daughter was so deep in the pits I didn’t know if I’d ever climb out.

I hadn’t talked to Shanna since that last disastrous conversation, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Even before then, whenever I’d call, she’d used that impatient tone, making me feel as if I were intruding on her life. The only time she had treated me differently was during the last few months that Mac was ill. Then, she became the loving daughter I’d always wanted and needed. But after the funeral, and now, especially after I’d refused to drop everything and move to Minnesota, our relationship had really taken a dive and I didn’t know how to save it. I could only hope Shanna would call again.

When the phone rang I was so startled that I dropped the box. Thinking about fate, I picked up the cordless phone, but hesitated to answer. What if it were Terry?

“Lisa?” Terry’s voice spoke to the answering machine. Warmth flooded my chilled soul at his voice, and I wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to pour out everything I was feeling. But still, I held back.

“Are you there?” he asked. “I’m sorry I missed you again. Honey, what’s wrong? Is it my illness? If so, let’s get together and talk about it.”

For the first time, I heard uncertainty in his voice and knew the pain I was causing him. Oh, God, what should I do? My hand was on the phone, but I couldn’t make myself speak.

“Okay, Lisa,” he went on, his tone defeated, “you win. You know how I feel about you. If you can’t handle my illness, I’ll understand. But before you decide not to see me, know that you’re turning your back on a chance to be with someone who truly loves you, no matter what. We may only have a few short years, but isn’t that better than a lifetime of nothing?”

My heart ached for him, for us both, but I said nothing. I desperately longed to tell him to come and get me, to tell him that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, that I had tried hard to forget him and thought, until the moment that I heard his voice again, that I had succeeded. That I loved the tingles I’d felt when hearing his voice, and I wanted more. I wanted the chance to feel alive.

But I said nothing.

“I’ll wait to hear from you,” Terry continued, and now his voice was flat, expressionless, a voice I had never heard him use before. “It’s now up to you to decide how our lives are going to go. You can answer and we’ll live to the fullest in the time we have together, no matter how long or short that may be, or you can stay away, and for the rest of our lives, we’ll both wonder what we’d missed. I hope for my sake, you’ll choose me.”

Feeling an extreme sense of loss, I quietly set down the phone.

With Terry, I might’ve escaped my emotional prison and allowed myself to feel, to truly live and rejoice in the wonders of simply being alive. I’d read about such things in novels, had occasionally seen the evidence in other people and had desperately wanted it for myself. With Terry, I might have had the chance.

But his illness was too much for me. I simply couldn’t handle it, mot after what I had gone through with Mac. If only we had met in another time.

I must have dozed, because a short time later, I woke groggy and with a raging headache. This had to stop. How could I forge ahead in my life if I continued to feel sorry for myself? I had to get back to the box of cards and search through them, to look for something, anything, to tell me why my husband had betrayed me.

But first, I needed coffee. And aspirin.

Fifteen minutes later, fortified with aspirins, hot coffee, and dry toast, I felt ready.

Rummaging through the cards, I opened each one and inspected every envelope, even checking behind the box’s red velvet lining. But there was nothing. I don’t know why I was surprised. Surely Mac wouldn’t have kept a note about a secret bank account mixed in with mementos from his wife and daughter.

Instead of moving to the next box, I picked up some of the cards and glanced through them. Some dated back twenty years. As I read one after another and noticed Shanna’s signature change from uneven block print to a fine script, I thought, what a wonderful history of a life this was. Perhaps I’d scan the cards onto the computer and make a scrapbook of her changing signatures.

But reading them, I began to notice a subtle difference in the cards Shanna had given him and the ones from me. Hers featured flowery prose about how much she loved him and what a wonderful influence he was in her life. Mine were shorter. They mentioned love, of course, but never anything about his influence on my life. I couldn’t remember consciously picking cards with such limited verse, but now I thought it odd. Hadn’t I felt, as Shanna clearly had, that Mac was important to me? I’d always thought so. Certainly I had given him credit for everything.

During our marriage, he’d taught me everything I needed to know to survive in the world. Growing up as I had with an alcoholic stepfather and a mother who cowered before his abuse, I’d had no training for the simple things most everyone seemed to take for granted. I had never felt an attachment to a home. Even though Mom had worked all her adult life, there was never enough money for rent and we’d moved every few months. Certainly Mom never had a chance to save, so when we’d go to the grocery store, we could only buy a few staples—beans, potatoes, flour. Occasionally, she’d buy a roast with potatoes and carrots, and sometimes for Christmas, we had a small turkey. Oh, what a celebration that had been—until my stepfather weaved home from the bar.

When I left home at seventeen, I hated to leave my mother in that situation, but I had to get out. Even though I rented a studio apartment and managed to get an old car, I knew nothing about budgeting or thinking beyond a few weeks. Always worried I wouldn’t have enough money to pay rent the first of the month, I never filled the gas tank or bought good clothes. I always shopped at the near-new shops and I never thought it odd when things didn’t quite fit or when I wore winter clothes in the summer.

Mac had been my personal fairy-tale hero come to life. Because he had a steady job, we opened bank accounts and I learned how to write a check. I passed the state board for my real estate license, and each month I added to our savings account. We made a down payment on our own home; never again would I have to live with the constant threat of eviction. For the first time in my life, I bought dishes and pots and pans, real leather shoes, feeling so safe, so secure, like the luckiest woman in the world. I had adored him.

So why hadn’t I let that admiration show in the cards I gave him?

I picked up the box from the office—another lifetime of cards and memos—and it held the many letters of recognition Mac had earned over the years. Most of the signatures were familiar, but there were a few I hadn’t seen before. Several cards were from one woman in particular—Jenna Yearwood. She must have hired on right before Mac’s illness. Funny that Mac hadn’t mentioned her. But something flashed in my consciousness about that name, something just out of reach.

The next card was about his retirement, and everyone at the office signed. Except for Jenna Yearwood. Hadn’t she been there? Along with the card, the gang at the office had presented Mac with a figurine of a mountain man. He’d treasured it, and I’d given it to Shanna. But I wondered why Jenna’s name wasn’t on the card.

I kept digging through the pile, and, in the process, discovered nineteen cards from that woman. Nineteen! Some were dated as far back as ten years. At first she had signed her full name and then simply “Jenna.”

Trying to ignore a growing sense of unease, I read each card. While there were no declarations of love, each message, although brief, became progressively more risqué. The last one was entirely inappropriate to send a married man, picturing, as it did, a woman in a black bustier smiling seductively, the invitation clear. That one was signed with a huge, elaborately scrolled ‘J.’

Although I refused to acknowledge what my instincts were shouting, my hands trembled. No, not Mac, not my hero. I thumbed through them again, pausing to study each card, and I knew.

That woman and my husband had been lovers. And, if the cards were any indication, the affair had lasted for a very long time.

My heart raced and I couldn’t catch my breath. Trying not to panic, I inhaled to the count of seven, exhaled to the count of eight and repeated it until I could breath normally.

I dropped the cards.

My husband was a cheat. All those years I thought he was the wisest, the most honorable man I had ever known, and that the emptiness I’d felt inside was because something was lacking in me.

Then the questions started. How long did it last? Had his illness ended the affair? Or had it ended before Mac was diagnosed?

And now that he was dead, did it matter?

Yes, damn it, it did matter! I wanted to know. Tomorrow I’d call David at the plant and ask about Jenna, to see if she still worked there. I’d make it a casual thing so he wouldn’t get any ideas. I could even say she had loaned Mac a book and I wanted to return it.

That night in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d seen that name somewhere outside of Mac’s office. Giving up on sleep, I got up and checked our address book, and of course there was nothing under the Js or Ys. Where had I seen that name? Could she have been a client of mine? Impossible. Or was it?

Retrieving my appointment book from my briefcase, I took it to the sofa and browsed the pages, going all the way back to the beginning of the year. Sometime later, not finding the name, I closed the book.

But I knew that name. And somehow, finding out everything I could about her became almost as important as finding the missing money.

I had to know why my husband had abandoned our marriage for her.

Chapter Fifteen

“Jenna Yearwood? Of course I remember her,” David Greyfoot told me on the phone the next morning. Keeping my impatience in check long enough for him to fumble his way through condolences, I steered the conversation to Jenna, telling him I wanted to thank her for her beautiful sympathy card but couldn’t find her address.

“She was a dish,” he went on, “I’ll tell you that.”

“What do you mean, was?”

“She worked here about eleven years, but after her kid was born, she went on part-time. Then, can’t recall just when, she just up and quit.”

“She has a child?” A band was tightening around my chest. “How nice,” I managed, trying to sound casual. “How old?”

“Let’s see...her kid’s about my grandson’s age, seven. I remember ‘cause she and my daughter were expecting at the same time.”

“Was it a boy or girl?”

“Can’t remember.”

“Was she married?” I kept my voice as expressionless as possible.

“Na,” David said. “That’s the hell of it. Times have changed, I tell you that. Not always for the better.”

I gripped the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “Do you have her number?”

“Strangest thing...she lived in this apartment in Riverside all those years, but last year she suddenly up and quit work. I heard she moved. But she didn’t leave her new phone number or forwarding address, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

Last year. When Mac became so ill? Or last year when he took all our money?

After we hung up, I was trembling with rage, breathing so fast I wondered if I were hyperventilating. A mistress and a child. No wonder all our money disappeared. After all the years I’d spent thinking I didn’t live up to his standards. The sonofabitch.

If I had a shovel handy I’d personally dig Mac up and slap him.

I ran through the breathing exercises, and when the vise in my head eased a bit and I could think again, I wondered where Jenna lived now. It could be anywhere in the country or out. But, if I’d had a child by a married man, I’d stay around him—even if he were dead. That’s what women in love do. I know. I had been a woman in love once, and I had done all sorts of foolish things, like believing everything my husband had said, whether it hurt or not. Like never venturing out of my safe world, because the few times I forgot myself and did something entirely spontaneous, a single frown from him could crush me. But I had needed him—or thought I did, and I’d always wanted to be near him.

I’d bet Jenna felt the same, and if I were right, she’d still be in the area. I just had to find her. Maybe I couldn’t slap Mac, but I sure as hell could slap her.

Grabbing the Inland Empire phone book, I browsed through all the names like hers in the area and didn’t find a thing. Next I logged onto the computer and did an online search. Nothing came up. I even called information. Still nothing.

I dialed my office. When Nina answered, I asked if by any chance, Jenna’s name sounded familiar.

“Hmmm,” she said, thinking. “Jenna Yearwood. I’ve heard that name, but can’t think....”

I perked up. “You’ve heard—”

“Wait a minute! Isn’t that Jenna, The Jerk?”

Of course! How could I have forgotten? It had started over ten years ago, when a woman had made appointments with me and then failed to show. Sometimes we made the appointment for the office to browse other listings; other times we were to meet at an address. But she never turned up, and the call-back numbers she left were never valid. We dubbed her The Nutcase and I quit taking her calls. She stopped calling for a while, then she started again a few years later. Finally I decided I’d give her one more chance and arranged to meet her at an address in Redlands. But once again she hadn’t turned up. After that, I wouldn’t take another call from her, and if I happened to answer a random call and heard that husky voice, I hung up.

Could it have been seven years ago when she’d started calling again? Somehow I knew it was.

So Mac and this woman had a child together and she’d wanted to tell me. To gloat? To threaten me somehow? To tell me my life was a lie? All the times I had been trying my damnedest to please Mac, he was out screwing this woman, making a baby with her.

They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes in front of you. Well, I wasn’t about to die, but suddenly a review of Mac’s and my love life—if it could be called that, passed before my eyes. And it wasn’t pretty.

The first few times we had made love I’d wanted him so much that my entire body ached with desire. I hadn’t been frigid then. One look from his half-lidded bedroom eyes and I would be ready for him. Joyously I’d head for the bedroom, anticipating the feel of his body covering mine, loving his thoughtfulness in how he supported his weight on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush me.

Then I began to notice that as soon as sex was over, he’d rush to the bathroom and wash his hands. After that came the shower. But the hands had to be scrubbed as though I had contaminated him.

I’d loved him so much, was so grateful that he’d taken me in his protection and provided a home that I never wanted to offend him in any way. When he introduced me to oral sex, I’d never even imagined such exquisite pleasure—until he recommended a certain douche. After that I showered and douched every day just to make sure I wouldn’t offend him.

But I could never be certain. Some nights I felt too tired to keep up the routine so I avoided the bedroom, preferring to read in the living room and not climbing into bed until Mac was asleep.

Did Jenna smell nice and sweet? Mac must have thought so; he’d made a baby with her. I was more determined to find her, needed to see what my husband preferred to me.

I almost ran to the file cabinets where I kept old records, copies of the contracts I’d written, and old appointment books. Pulling them all out, some dating from fifteen years ago, I carried them to the kitchen table. Every instinct led me to believe that yes, the second series of calls had begun about seven years ago, about the time David said Jenna’s child was born.

Determined to go through every page, I fortified myself with some fruit and hot tea. Even if it took forever, I was going to find her.

***

At three in the morning, I found all the appointments I’d made with her and all the notations about her no-shows. The first flurry had begun just over ten years ago, and then I heard nothing from her for a few years until the calls started up again. I was correct about the timing as the calls began again around seven years ago. Seeing her name in my book made it even more real. I thought of the old expression about not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Well, Miss Jenna, you wanted to talk to me. Now it’s time for us to meet.

***

When I woke five hours later, I knew what to do. Bolting out of bed, I checked the computer, searching for her name but found nothing. Next I got out a southern California map and a marker. Over coffee, I made a large dot on the city of San Bernardino, then circled a twenty-five mile radius around that dot, ready to bet anything that she lived somewhere inside that circle. Not only had it been where Mac and Jenna had worked, but Mac was buried in the San Bernardino cemetery. If she were like most widows she’d take her child to visit Mac’s grave. I’d make a list of the cities and visit each library for that area’s phone directory to see if she was listed.

After I made the list of libraries, I took it to the computer where I looked up the addresses and directions.

Jenna, I’m getting closer.

Chapter Sixteen

Just as I grabbed the keys by the garage door, the phone rang. Was it Terry? I hesitated, wanting just to hear his voice. No matter how I tried to forget him, he was never far from my thoughts. I wondered what the coming years with him would have been like and mentally shook my fist at the fates for such shitty timing.

Waiting to hear who was on the line, I decided to let the machine pick it up. I had things to do today and I didn’t want to be distracted.

“Mom?” Shanna’s voice. Maybe she didn’t hate me after all. I almost ran to the phone, but damn, if I talked to her right now, I’d get all emotional and wouldn’t make it to all the libraries. I didn’t know why I felt such an urgency to find Jenna, but I did. Perhaps it was simply anger, but anger was okay. I didn’t want to lose that, not until I found out some answers.

Torn, I waited until Shanna began her message. If it were an emergency, she’d say so now and I could pick up.

“Sorry I missed you, Mom,” she said. “I won’t call on your cell since you’re probably working and it’s not important anyway. I’m just calling, well...I have a doctor’s appointment, just routine, and, I wanted to hear your voice.”

She sounded different. Wistful even, so much so that I wanted to grab the phone and talk. But she’d said it wasn’t important, and I could call her this evening.

Hurrying out the door, I slid into the seat, started the engine and sat for a moment, unable to back out. This was wrong, I thought. Would I do anything, even ignore my own child, to find the woman I considered responsible for my wrecked life?

Damn, damn, damn. I shut off the engine, raised the garage door so I wouldn’t asphyxiate myself and called Shanna.

When I punched in her number, she answered so quickly that she might have been waiting for it to ring.

“Hi honey,” I said. “I was just leaving the house. How are you? Is anything wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Her tone had changed. In the few moments between her call and now, her voice had taken on that same old inflection. Where, oh where was my daughter, and why the hell hadn’t I picked up when I had the chance?

“As I said,” she went on, “I’m on my way for my checkup. Everything’s fine. For a moment I reverted to childhood, I guess, and wanted my mommy. But I’m okay now.”

Damn, damn. “Honey, I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m here for you. Any time you need me.”

“Mom, can you...come out here? Just for a visit?”

“Is anything wrong? Is your pregnancy going okay?”

“I’m fine. I just get a little scared at times.”

“Oh, Shanna honey, I want to come out there, but I just can’t. Not right now.” I didn’t want to tell her the mess her father had left me in, and that I was worried I wouldn’t even be able to pay the mortgage, much less pay for a plane trip. She didn’t need the added stress during her pregnancy.

She said nothing for a moment. Finally, in a small, tired voice, she said, “I knew that. I don’t know why I bothered.”

I couldn’t handle her attitude today. Not today.

“Shanna,” I said, “ I know I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything. You mean the world to me, and I’m trying everything I know to do to make things better.”

“Well, don’t put yourself out too much, Mom. Just go on with your life and I’ll be fine.” And she hung up.

I wanted to throw the phone at the wall. Why the hell couldn’t she give me one ounce of credit, or try to understand that I might be going through my own crises? Damn, damn and double damn. If Mac hadn’t used her to gang up on me all those years ago, I might have had a better relationship with my daughter. But no, he had to make sure she knew he was the smart one, the one who kept the family together. Like hell.

I stomped to the gas pedal and shot on I-10 West, not yielding to oncoming traffic. Let someone else make way for me for a change.

***

The first city on my list was the Riverside-Corona area, selected not just because Jenna had lived there previously, but because it was on the outside perimeters of the circle and I thought I’d gradually work my way closer to San Bernardino. Just because The Galleria Mall also happened to be in Riverside, with Nordstrom’s and The May Company as lead stores, made no difference at all. Of course not.

Normally I would have made this trip into a fun day taking some time to drool over Nordstrom’s designer fashions while shopping to the background of live piano music. It always made me feel like one of the privileged. Then, after lunch, I’d head a few miles south to March Air Field and tour the museum. Over sixty historic aircraft were displayed there and I never tired of seeing what our country was capable of building. And March Field was the site of Bob Hope’s first USO tour in 1941. Even passing the base on the freeway filled me with pride and awe.

Returning north a couple of miles, I’d pass Riverside National Cemetery, sometimes stopping to stroll a small part of the eight-hundred acres, reading some of the memorials dedicated to our honored veterans.

Perhaps I should do something like that. Perhaps the gratitude I always felt toward the servicemen who gave their lives for me would prevail over the frustration I felt toward my daughter. Perhaps walking among the dead would help me rejoice in being alive and I could forgive my husband and his mistress.

But not today. The connecting 215 freeway was crowded and I wasn’t in the mood. Instead, I headed for Loma Linda, home of the twenty-three acre medical center, just a few miles west.

Maggie once said that I’m weird in many ways and I’m sure that’s true. I live on the edge of the desert and am terrified of all the venomous insects and reptiles that live there, yet I think it fascinating to watch them on TV.

One of the animal channels features a venom specialist from the Loma Linda University Medical Center who follows a victim, usually of snakebite, through transportation to the hospital, often by helicopter, then through the course of their treatment.

The white round towers of the complex stands as a landmark in the area, offering not only eleven stories of medical care, but facilities for training doctors, nurses, dentists and pharmacists. Surely their libraries would be well-stocked with directories from the surrounding cities.

A frustrating hour later, I was back in the car. The hospital’s library system had replaced the cumbersome directories and now used the Internet, offering three terminals for public use. Unfortunately I found no more information there than I had at home.

For three days I visited the libraries on my list and found nothing. Disappointment cooled my anger, which was a good thing. I couldn’t just show up at Jenna’s home spitting fire. I’m sure she’d slam the door in my face. I wished I weren’t feeling so hopeless. I needed to find her if for no other reason than I desperately needed some answers to the questions that were haunting me about my marriage.

The third day, feeling tired and discouraged, I was on my way home when my cell phone rang. It was Nina from the office.

“Hi, Stranger. We’ve missed you.”

“Well, a lot of things have been going on,” I told her cautiously. I didn’t want to be called into the office today. Ahead, the eastbound traffic was slowing. I crept past a couple of trucks, then swung into the right lane to make a quick exit.

“I have some good news,” she said.

“God, I need some. What is it?”

“Doris Matlock’s contact has been approved, but they rejected the other one. The credit wasn’t up to par and they couldn’t get around that.”

Damn. That meant I needed to put Jenna on hold after all and get back to work. The Matlock commission would be a good one, but with all my bills, and even if I lived like a miser, it would only last a few months, so tomorrow I’d get back on track and start previewing houses for another open house.

Brake lights flashed on Redlands Boulevard, so I thanked Nina for letting me know, then cut over to Lugonia, a side road through Mentone, a hillside community on the back road to Big Bear. The cutoff to Yucaipa was just before the highway heads up the mountain.

Even in late spring the mountain peaks were shrouded in mist, looking so beautiful, so mysterious that it was hard to imagine a thriving recreation community up there with fishing and water sports on a seven-mile lake.

Mac and I had loved Big Bear and often Stan and Maggie would join us, escaping for a couple of days to the clear, mountain air. We used to take the kids and we’d explore the pirate ship or spend a leisurely afternoon fishing for trout and bass, enjoying the sunset reflected on the lake. Sometimes we’d hike through the meadows, or bounce on horseback....

Oh my God, why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? Mac had loved the mountains.

Jenna was in Big Bear.

Chapter Seventeen

As much as I wanted to stay on Highway 38 and head for Big Bear, I was exhausted. Behind me, the setting sun was blazing, streaking the sky with orange, and it would soon be dark. During daylight hours the back way to the mountain resort was a scenic drive, but I wasn’t sure I felt alert enough to handle all the sharp switchbacks in the dark. And once there, I’d have a difficult time finding her house. Better to wait until morning. Reluctantly, I took the cutoff to Yucaipa.

After a sleepless night, I grabbed a handful of grapes from the fridge and was on the road by five in the morning. Sipping coffee from a drive-thru, I decided to go the longer way and avoid some of the hairpin turns up the mountain. I beat the rush hour freeway traffic and took the Mountain Resort cutoff from Redlands.

An hour later, I was on Big Bear Drive, the crisp mountain air a refreshing change from the dry climate below. Knowing the library and civic center wouldn’t be open this early, I headed for a parking place near the lake and pulled onto a concrete area in front of some condos. I could’ve stopped at one of my favorite breakfast places, but my stomach felt too tight to eat anything more and I wasn’t in the mood to make polite conversation—at least not yet.

Later, I started my search. While I usually never tired of browsing the shops in The Village, today I had tunnel vision, only wanting to find the library. If Jenna wasn’t listed there, I’d go to the civic center and browse the property owner records in city hall. I was sure that woman and her child would be living in their own home, a home bought with my money.

The librarian tried to be of help, but their local phone book had no more information than mine. Next, I headed for city hall and the property records. After searching the files for Jenna, Jennifer, or any other name she could possibly use, I left in defeat, wondering what to do next. I refused to consider that she had left the state.

I considered knocking on doors, but I nixed that idea pretty fast. Not only are the businesses scattered down the highway so that it would take forever, but someone might actually call the police on me.

I could ask some questions at the local restaurants. Maybe someone would know Jenna. After all, if I were right, she’d lived here at least a year, maybe even longer. Bypassing several resort lodges, I preferred some of the smaller places with a local flavor.

Mac and I had always loved the potato pancakes at The Log Cabin restaurant, but they closed at two, and I felt Jenna would frequent restaurants where she could take her child for dinner. The Grizzly Manor closed early as well. Just as I thought of Kujo’s BLT, I realized that woman might take her child to the Log Cabin on weekends. Might be a good place after all.

Just as I found a parking spot, I had a sudden idea where to look for Jenna. I checked my watch. If I hurried, I could make it.

Back at city hall, I checked for any real estate under Jenna Montgomery instead of Yearwood.

And found it.

Everything else in my vision faded as I zeroed in on that name. While I’d hoped it would be listed, I hadn’t counted on my reaction at actually seeing that name in print. Jenna Montgomery, Jenna MONTGOMERY. The words seemed to grow large enough to slap me in the face and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears.

How dare that woman! She actually had the audacity to use my husband’s name to buy her property. Son of a bitch! I wanted to kick the wall and scream. But while it might make me feel better, I’d look like an idiot.

So, back to my breathing exercises. In, out, in, out. I closed my eyes. When I could picture casting a fishing line from a boat on the lake, I knew I had begun to relax. I could do this. Then I saw Mac giving me instruction on how to reel in the damn fish, then turning to a faceless woman and laughing at my ineptitude. With a superhuman shove, I pushed Mac and Jenna into the lake and whacked them both with an oar.

Then I felt better. The rage wasn’t gone, but I’d pushed it down enough to concentrate on what I needed to do.

I pulled out a legal description of a two-bedroom chalet-style home, a home bought with my money.

After taking a copy of the property description, I showed it to the clerk asked for directions. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at masking my outrage as I thought, because the older woman looked at me, her eyes behind the glasses judging, speculating.

“I’m not sure I should do that,” she said, her voice tinged with doubt. Her tag said her name was Joyce. She wore stretch jeans with an elastic waist over a rounded tummy.

“Look, Joyce, it’s all public record. If you don’t tell me how to get there, someone else will.”

Her mouth tightened. “Then I think you need to find out from someone else.”

I stormed out of the office and headed for the ladies’ room, taking several minutes to get myself under control. Then I realized how I’d spoken to her and felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry,” I said, returning to Joyce’s desk. She’d developed a sudden interest in her desk drawer. “Today hasn’t been a good one for me,” I told her, “but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I apologize.”

Immediately she brightened. “That’s okay,” she said, her blue eyes crinkling in a smile. “We all have bad days. Now, how can I help you?”

What a lovely woman. I wanted to hug her simply for forgiving me so easily. I wished I had that quality.

***

A few minutes later I was driving down a short residential street, its homes surrounded by tall pines, looking for number 485. I knew it as soon as I spotted it—a wood A-frame with a scrolled red porch railing chalet-style, and a matching red wood balcony extending the width of the house. Mac would’ve loved it.

Hanging baskets held red geraniums, a huge spider plant stood on a redwood pedestal next to the front door, and several pots stationed along the wood porch floor held various other plants. Clearly, along with her other talents, Jenna had a green thumb. I supposed she could bake a perfect pie crust as well.

About ten feet down the long porch, a boy’s green bike with training wheels leaned against the house. A helmet lay beside it.

A boy. Something Mac had always wanted, something I couldn’t give him after Shanna was born. I’d had such a difficult delivery that the doctor warned against future pregnancies.

God, how I hated that woman.

Instead of a doorbell, a red wood door held a brass knocker. The Montgomery House was written in script. Oh, God, please don’t let me lose my cool. My teeth set, I opened the screen door and knocked.

“I’ll get it!” a child yelled from inside the house.

By now I was so tense I wasn’t certain I could go through with this. Would the boy look like Mac? Could I could bear it if he did?

“Hello.” A boy with a pirate’s hat perched cockily on his head and holding a silver plastic sword regarded me quizzically from the other side of screen.

Everything in me tightened. I knew that child. I’d seen him...where?

“It’s that woman,” he said, turning to someone inside the house.

That woman?

Through the screen, I heard a woman’s voice. “Go on out to play until your uncle gets here, Marsh. I want to talk to the lady.”

Marsh? As in Marshall, Mac’s father’s name?

Marsh glanced at me once more, then opened the screen door and brushed by. He led his bike down the stairs to the yard, the wheels thumping on each step.

Of course! He was the child in the car at the open house during my first day back to work. And I realized why he looked so familiar. Now that I knew who he was, I could see the resemblance to the childhood photos I’d seen of Mac.

“Stay off the street!” his mother called after him. She appeared at the screen door, a woman in her thirties with ink black hair. The woman in the car.

“You,” I managed to say.

“I wondered when you’d figure it out,” she said softly, leaning against the door frame, her arms folded.

“All those appointments you made and cancelled....” I suddenly remembered having seen her other places as well. “You used to follow me, when I went to the mall, or grocery shopping.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said simply, “to tell you what was happening. I thought you should know.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Do you have a gun on you?” she asked.

“A gun? Are you crazy?”

“Mac told me he kept several at home. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’ll do and I have to protect my child.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you went to bed with my husband.”

“You don’t have to be crude.”

“You have an affair with my husband, produce an illegitimate child and call me crude? Forget it, this isn’t going to work.” I spun on my heel to head down the porch stairs.

“Wait. We need to talk.”

Hesitating, I turned around, so furious I could barely stand.

“But first, do you have a gun?”

“No, I-do-not-have-Mac’s-gun, but I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

She stared me a little longer, as if trying to decide, then she opened the screen door.

“Come in. We might as well be civilized about this.”

Civilized! I’d step inside, but I couldn’t promise anything.

Chapter Eighteen

In the living room, two taupe overstuffed sofas loaded with fluffy throw pillows faced each other in front of a brick fireplace. One wing chair with a matching footstool stood at the end of the grouping, and another sat at an angle in front of the bookshelves lining the wall on either side of the fireplace. Wrought-iron stands held lush green plants and red-accented throw rugs added a splash of color to the wood floors.

Taken aback, I gazed at the cozy room. I guess I was expecting purple veiled rooms with scented incense wafting to the ceiling. Instead, this room looked so inviting that if I hadn’t hated the occupants so much, I’d have been tempted to kick off my shoes and grab a book to read.

I could’ve cried. Why couldn’t I ever achieve that same look of comfortable elegance in my own home?

“Please, have a seat,” Jenna said, “and I’ll get some iced tea. You take yours with lemon, don’t you?”

Staring after her as she hurried out of the room, I wondered just how much Mac told this woman about me. Had our entire marriage been an open book? I suddenly saw them in bed, all cozy after sex, laughing and talking about my foibles.

How could Mac have done that to me? Never in my entire life had I felt so betrayed.

Jenna returned, carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and glasses filled with ice. She’d even arranged a scrolled side dish with perfectly-wedged lemons.

“Please, sit,” she said, placing the tray on the table between the two sofas. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time.”

I didn’t want to sit and I didn’t want her tea. No way could I relax in her home—the home she and Mac had stolen from me.

“I don’t plan on staying long enough for tea, uh....” Damn. I didn’t know what to call her. To say Jenna would imply a friendliness I didn’t feel or want to convey. Mrs. Yearwood sounded stiff. Stuffy. Please God, don’t let me sound stuffy, not in front of her.

“Call me Jenna,” she said, placing a glass of tea on a coaster.

“I can see why Mac was attracted to you,” I said, not calling her anything at all. “You’re very pretty.”

She didn’t reply, but she smiled as if acknowledging an accepted fact. I wanted to slug her.

“If you don’t mind telling me, when did your affair begin?”

“It was more than an affair.” She held up her left hand and on her third finger was a gold band. “We were married.”

“You were what?”

“We were married.“ She pointed to a framed picture of Mac and her in formal clothes, laughing while cutting a wedding cake. “I know this is quite a shock, but I wanted everything to be done properly for Marsh’s sake.”

A roar in my head drowned out her words. I knew she was speaking, but I could barely hear her voice. “Proper? You can’t be serious. Mac was already married to me.”

“You know as well as I do that your marriage wasn’t a good one,” she said calmly. “I gave him some happiness.”

The old rage surfaced. My throat felt tight and strained, but I forced myself to speak. “How dare you say my marriage wasn’t a good one. What do you know about it?”

“Mac and I were close and he told me everything. I gave him what you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”

Now I could see why people shot each other, although I didn’t want to shoot her. That would be too quick. I wanted to hurt her, to prolong her agony, but I was so angry I could barely speak.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this expression,” I said, my voice trembling in outrage. “It was one of Mac’s favorites. It says, ‘A stiff prick has no conscience.’”

“I keep telling you, it wasn’t like that. We were married.”

“Which one of those words don’t you understand? You couldn’t be legally married because Mac was still married to me. Don’t you realize I could press charges?”

“For what?”

“Funny, you don’t appear to be dim-witted, but I’m not getting through to you. You committed bigamy.”

She paid as much attention to those words as she had to my feelings.

“When did this so-called marriage take place?” I managed.

“When I became pregnant, eight years ago. Look. I didn’t want to hurt you. I only wanted to protect my son.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the best way of protecting your son was to not get involved with a married man in the first place?”

“I wanted him.”

“Well, good God, there are a lot of things I want. I just saw a diamond ring on a woman’s finger. I can’t just yank it off and take it. There are rules. If you take what belongs to someone else, it’s called stealing. How can you condone that?”

She had the grace to blush.

“What a hypocrite you are,” I said. “Everything you have now, you stole from me.

“What are you talking about?”

“Everything you have now was supposed to have been mine.” I waved my hand around the room. “All of this was bought with my money.”

“Mac gave me money to raise Marsh when he retired, if that’s what you mean.”

“It wasn’t his to give. It was ours, his and mine, and when he died, it should have been entirely mine.”

“I don’t know about that. I just know he wanted to provide for Marsh. That’s the right and proper thing for a father to do.”

“There’s nothing right and proper about any of this,” I told her, wanting to scream. “If you’d had an ounce of decency, you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to get involved enough to love him. Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Mac was a married man, legally bound to me. How could you possibly buy this property under his name? You’re not entitled to use the name Montgomery, so this couldn’t possibly be legally yours. I could sue.”

“It’s legal,” she said. “I changed my name to Montgomery after Mac’s and my marriage.”

“Your farce of a marriage, you mean.”

“Montgomery is my legal name,” she said, ignoring my words. “And it’s Marsh’s. You can’t take anything away from me.”

“Oh yes I can. You’ve stolen everything from me—my marriage, my life with Mac. You can’t have my money, too. At least not without a fight.”

“I was hoping to have a civilized discussion with you,” Jenna said. “But I think you’d better leave. I don’t want Marsh to meet you under these circumstances.”

“Meet me? Are you out of your mind?”

“I was hoping you’d talk to him, tell him personal things about his father.”

“You can’t be serious. The last thing I’d want to do is talk to your illegitimate son about my husband.” I paused, trying to get enough control so I wouldn’t scream at her. “Do you realize I was married to Mac for over twenty-five years? We’d raised a daughter and built a life together. We had years of memories. When he became so ill—” To my horror, my voice cracked and tears threatened. Furiously, I blinked them back. I wouldn’t weaken and cry, not in front of her.

“I cared for him,” I said. “I did everything I could to keep him as comfortable as he could be. I watched him get worse and worse, until every day was a struggle to survive, and each breath was a miracle. I’d hold his hand and breathe along with him and panic when he struggled for each breath. When he died, I didn’t think I could survive, but my daughter convinced me he lived on in her son, Mac’s and my grandson. And I had my memories.”

I paused before going on. “One of the worst things about your affair,” I said, “and it was an affair, no matter how long it lasted, is that, along with everything that should’ve been mine, you’ve stolen my memories. Now, when I think of my husband, I think of you.”

I broke off when I heard a car pulling into the driveway. Someone was coming, and obviously I’d have to leave. But it didn’t matter. I had, after all, said everything I had come here to say.

“That’ll be Marsh’s aunt and uncle,” Jenna said. “They’re going to take him for a few days.” She gazed steadily at me. “No matter what you think, Mac loved his son, just as I do. And whether it was right or wrong to have him, he’s here now and my first obligation is to him. I’m sorry you’ve been hurt.”

“Sorry?” I couldn’t believe this woman. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

When I opened the door, I saw a Ford Expedition sitting in the drive. A man and woman were getting out, their arms loaded with packages. I suddenly had trouble catching my breath.

When Stan and Maggie saw me, they froze.

We all stood like statures, staring at each other in front of Stan’s car.

Stan and Maggie were dressed in jeans and windbreakers and Stan wore a khaki hat covered with small silver fishing lures. Fishing poles stood in the back seat, and clothes hung from a pole across the back.

“You knew,” I finally said.

“Lisa—” Maggie began.

“You knew all along,” I interrupted. “All that time I thought you were trying to help me, it was a lie.”

Maggie looked ready to cry, and for once, Stan looked ill at ease.

“No, Lisa,” he said. “I wanted to help. I tried to do everything I could for you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, walking toward me. I backed away and she looked crushed. “I wanted to tell you, but it was a confidentiality thing—with Mac and Stan.”

“I trusted you,” I said, “and I loved you, both of you. Maggie, you were the sister I never had.”

“Oh, God, Stan,” Maggie said, beginning to cry. “I can’t take this....”

“You were my rock,” I told Stan, “the one true symbol of everything good in a man.” I closed my eyes.

“But Lisa, what was I to do? Marsh is my nephew.”

“Yes, well. Blood is thicker, and all that, I guess. I should’ve known Mac would confide in you.”

“Mac begged me to mentor his son,” Stan said. “He was dying, Lisa. I couldn’t turn him down. I didn’t approve of what had happened, but I couldn’t turn my back on Marsh. God, Lisa, he looks just like a Montgomery.”

“Uncle Stan!” The little boy ran toward Stan, jumped into his arms, and held him tight around the neck. Stan hauled him to his shoulders.

“Hi, Aunt Maggie!” Marsh said, his voice excited. “We going fishing?”

“You bet we are,” Stan answered, bouncing up and down until Marsh squealed with laughter. I couldn‘t see his face and I was glad. I couldn’t have stood seeing Mac’s face reflected in his. Not now, not ever.

I made for my car, furiously swiping at my tears.

“Lisa, please....” Holding out her arms, Maggie ran after me, but I brushed her arms away and kept walking. I couldn’t bear to look back at the happy family.

Now Jenna truly had it all.

***

The trip down the mountain on the two-lane highway was a blur, but I remember at one point coming up behind an old geezer who seemed to think he couldn’t go more than ten miles an hour. I followed for a few minutes, and then, mashing down the gas petal, swung alongside of him to pass on a hairpin curve. An angel must have been sitting on my shoulder when I pulled that idiot stunt because when I skirted the edge of the road, I realized I was on a cliff that dropped down several-thousand feet. I heard brakes squeal. I think they were mine.

When I got home, I threw down my handbag and grabbed a bottle of Sangria from the cupboard. Normally I like it chilled, but today I didn’t care. Warm and fruity, it slid like nectar down my parched throat.

One thing I was sure of. I was going to an attorney. Maybe I couldn’t change the past, but whatever material possessions Jenna had bought with my money were rightfully mine. I was going to get them back.

Chapter Nineteen

Sometime later, the wine bottle half-empty, I studied Mac’s sofa, thinking of all the times I’d longed so desperately for him that I’d take my coffee or tea and almost try to meld into the fabric, hoping to feel close to him just one more time. Surely something of him still lingered in the one place on which he’d slept and lived the last few weeks of his life. It had been sacred to me, a shrine.

I jumped up, slipped on my shoes, and opened the door. Tugging, scooting, and pushing, I maneuvered that sofa out the door. Sweating, I pulled it down the sidewalk, the legs screeching on the cement, but I didn’t stop. I pulled and pushed until I got it to the curb. Then, back inside, I got a black marker and searched for some paper that would stand upright on the sofa. Not finding any, I grabbed a brown grocery bag and printed ‘Free’, and found a safety pin and pinned the bag to the sofa. Several cars passed while I was there, all slowing to look. It wouldn’t take long to get rid of it.

I hadn’t even made it back inside when a young woman stopped, got out, and circled the sofa. She looked to be in her early twenties and had a baby in another one of those strappy things like Shanna wore to carry Kyle on her chest. While she was looking at the sofa, another car slowed. The woman sat on the sofa, clearly staking her claim, and flipped open a phone. Within twenty minutes, two Hispanic men pulled up in a pickup truck, loaded the sofa, and left.

Good. Maybe they can get some use out of it. I thought about hauling the wing chair out there as well, but decided I wanted something to sit on until I replaced the furniture. Replace the furniture? Hell, I was going to replace the house. I’d move into an apartment that had no memories for me, nothing to remind me of an entire life that I’d lost. I’d pay Stan and Maggie what I owed and never have to see them again.

I’d start all over with a new life and make my own memories.

***

Someone inside my head was pounding on my brain. I opened an eye and discovered I was lying across my bed, my silk blouse twisted under me, shoes still on my feet. From the front door, the pounding continued, echoing in my temples. Now the doorbell rang and rang, accompanied by the persistent pounding.

Needing the bathroom, I slid off the bed. My mouth tasted foul. The endless pounding continued. Soon after, the noise moved to my sliding doors in back and I heard Maggie’s voice.

“Lisa, let me in. Lisa!”

My cell phone rang. I ignored it all and entered the bathroom. A few moments later, I rinsed with mouthwash and made my way to the sliding door. I slid it open and made sure the screen was locked.

Funny what you notice when your world has crumbled. Maggie looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy and the tiny lines on her face stood out as if she’d aged twenty years since yesterday. Strange, though. Here was a woman I’d loved and she was obviously in pain, but I felt curiously detached, as if I were observing a painting in a museum.

“Thank God,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Strange how the crying process worked. The tears formed in her eyes, then ran down in one stream. You’d think they’d plop over and make hundreds of little paths, but no, they seemed to pool in one place and spill over, each drop following the one before until they made one long stream.

“...and we were so worried,” she was saying. “I have to talk to you, Lisa, and explain—”

“I don’t know you,” I interrupted her, my voice expressionless. It was amazing how calm I felt. Or perhaps it was the Sangria. “You’re like a stranger to me, maybe even worse because I trusted you. Do you know how long it took me to trust someone?”

“Lisa, don’t—”

“I’m going to sell this place and pay you back all the money I owe. Then, I don’t want to see you or hear from you, or your husband, ever again.”

“Please, Lisa, I love—”

“You don’t understand. You no longer exist for me.”

Maggie stared at me, her eyes stricken.

“I want you to leave,” I told her. “If you don’t, I’ll call the police.” I shut and locked the door, pulled the drapes, and, tugging off my blouse and trousers, plodded back to bed.

***

Birds chirping outside my window woke me. Damn birds. I didn’t know why I’d always loved their early morning singing. If I had a rock I’d throw it right through the window at them.

Rolling over, I tried to shut out the dawn and go back to sleep, but as soon as I closed my eyes I saw my husband’s wedding photo with that woman. For the next hour I tried to shut out that picture and get back to sleep, but I couldn’t erase that picture and the smug look on Jenna’s face. Finally I kicked off the covers and decided I might as well go to the office.

The hot, steaming shower eased the pounding in my neck and shoulders, and the hot coffee perked me right up. By the time I unlocked my car, I felt almost human.

In the office, I kept to myself, going over new listings. Nina and Ed tried to talk to me, but I had nothing to say. I glanced up at one time and saw Nina give Ed a look; when she saw me looking at her, she flushed and became absorbed in paperwork.

My phone rang. I ignored it. It kept ringing and I kept ignoring it. “Just give it to Ed,” I said to Nina.

A little later, I was trying to close my briefcase. For some reason the lock wouldn’t click shut. I tried and tried, my impatience growing with each try. I broke a nail.

“Damn thing!”

“What’s wrong?” Ed asked.

“This... thing won’t close,” I said between gritted teeth.

“Here, let me help you.” He rose.

“I’ll get it!” I turned the briefcase over several times, trying from different angles to get the damned thing to lock. It still wouldn’t shut and I just knew if I picked it up, it would fall open and all my papers would spill out.

After trying a couple more times, I lugged it under my arm, grabbed my handbag and raced out the door.

Just as I hit the pavement, my heel turned and I went down, scraping my knee, and my handbag flew out of my arms. My briefcase hit the ground and burst open, and all my papers spilled out, scattering on the ground like huge white ashes.

“Damn, damn, damn!” My knee stung like hell and bled through the pant material. I pushed myself up and started picking up the scattered papers and couldn’t believe how much I hated that briefcase. I kicked it and kicked it again, would have kicked the damn thing into the street if Ed hadn’t grabbed me. He pulled me to him. I tried to push away, but he firmly held me. I caught a glimpse of Nina gathering my papers and I burst into tears.

“Let’s go inside and take a look at your knee.” Gently Ed guided me up the steps, then to a chair in the office. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he pushed up my pant leg to expose my bloody knee.

“Ouch, that must sting.”

“Here, I’ll get some bandages.” Nina said, dropping everything onto her desk. “Don’t worry,” she told me, her voice kind. “I know it hurts, but I think it looks worse than it is.”

I wept all over again, and this time, the sobs came so hard that I had to catch my breath.

Ed kept an arm around me and Nina pulled up a chair to stay close. “There, there,” they kept saying in that age-old comforting tone. “It’ll be okay.”

When I wound down, my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. My head felt stuffed and I was exhausted. And ashamed.

“I’m sorry I was so shitty,” I told them both. “Thanks for putting up with me, and thank you for helping.”

“We’re your friends,” Ed said, and I could have kissed him. “We all have bad days, and we know you must be going through a lot.”

“Care to talk about it?” Nina asked.

“I can’t,” I told her, “but I’ll need a few days off to get myself together.”

Driving home, the rage had dissipated, but I couldn’t wait to crawl into my bed. I felt so exhausted I almost pulled to the side of the road to sleep, but I wanted the comfort of my own bed.

Sometime later the doorbell woke me again. The house was dark, the nightstand clock glowed an amber 10:00pm. I rolled over and willed whoever was at the door, probably Maggie, or even Stan, to go away.

The doorbell rang again. Je-sus Christ. Pulling on my robe, I made my way to the living room and flung open the door.

“I told you—” I began, then saw it was Terry.

“I know it’s late,” he said, “but I had to see you, Lisa. I can’t take this any longer.”

Standing at the door, I realized how glad I was to see someone who loved me, someone who seemed to need me as much I needed him. Suddenly I had to hold him, needed to feel his arms around me, and that need was so great that I felt consumed with it. I unlocked the screen, grabbed his shirt and pulled him in. I didn’t even give him a chance to speak before I plastered myself against him and kissed him.

Terry slid his arms around me and pulled me tighter, enclosing me in a warm, safe cocoon. He smelled faintly of soap and hair tonic, and when he kissed me again, I tasted brandy. I licked his lips. He captured my lips with his, gently sucking on my bottom lip, then probing my mouth with his tongue. If I had been capable of thinking logically, I might have considered how absurd the entire thing was, but the pleasure tingled all the way to my toes and all I wanted to do was feel.

He trailed small kisses on my neck, then nibbled on my ear lobe, drawing it into his mouth, gently sucking until every nerve in my body tingled and I wanted more. He lowered the zipper on my gown and it fell in a bundle around my feet. He kissed the valley between my breasts, then unsnapped my bra and eased it off over my shoulders so he could run his hands over my naked breasts, stroking my nipples with his thumbs. When they stiffened into hard nubs, he lowered his head and took one nipple at a time into his warm mouth.

“Oh, God,” I groaned. I’d never known such exquisite pleasure and I arched against him. Each time his tongue touched me, shocks of pleasure flooded my body with moisture. My heart pounded; my pulse raced. I felt his erection through his slacks. Instead of freezing, I gloried in his need of me.

His breathing ragged, Terry raised his head. “Are you sure this is what you want? If it isn’t, you’d better say so right now.”

“Make love to me, Terry,” I gasped. “Make me forget everything but you.”

He slipped his arm under my knees, easily cradling me in his arms. After I pointed the way, he carried me upstairs to the bedroom.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long,” he said, laying me on the bed, his eyes devouring me.

Without thinking, I covered my breasts with my arms. While Mac had never said my small breasts were disappointing, he’d always admired the big breasts of other women, even suggesting once that I consider surgery.

“Honey, let me see every inch of you,” Terry said, taking my hands in his and pressing them above my head. “Let me love you.”

And with that, he began kissing me again, so softly, so leisurely, as if he delighted in each feather touch, until my body felt liquid. Pulling off my blouse, he pressed his chest against mine, and the slight tickling sensation from his soft hair rubbing against my skin added to my pleasure. His hunger for me, his gentle touch made me feel as if I were a delicacy he intended to savor. Never before had I felt so wanted, so needed, and I surrendered to every new delicious sensation.

When he let go of my hands, I cupped the back of his neck, pressing his head against me, wanting more. And when he moved from my lips, I moaned in frustration, until he kissed his way to my nipples, erect and begging for his touch. Covering one breast with his hand, he drew my left nipple into his wet mouth and sucked, gently kneading the other breast in rhythm, rubbing the nipple with his thumb. Pure sensation shot to my loins, and I was aware of a fierce hunger I’d never felt before.

I didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want the delicious feelings to end, and when he raised his head, I moaned, reaching for him, wanting to draw his warmth back to me.

“I love your body,” he whispered, running his hands over my shoulders and breasts as if he were a blind man, exploring something wonderful with his hands, feeling each inch of my skin through the palms of his hands. He stroked my breasts, my shoulders, even down my arms. I would never have thought that the feel of someone’s palm could be so sensuous.

“Your breasts are so beautiful,” he whispered, stroking my breasts along the outside and underneath. “Just enough to hold. And your nipples....” He bent down and ran his tongue over them, instantly puckering each one. “So pink and pretty.”

For the first time, I felt proud of my breasts.

When he drew away from me and stood, I cried out.

“I’ll just be a moment,” he said, removing his clothes. Before I could do anything but glimpse his large, muscular form, he was back on the bed with me, covering my body with his own. His hot erection pressed against my belly.

Settling his weight on his elbows alongside of me, he began kissing me again, slowly bringing pure sensation alive once more. I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his neck and broad shoulders.

When I melted from his kisses, he slid down and took a nipple in his mouth. I sighed, running my hands through his silver hair and down his back, eager for more of the pleasure he’d given me before. But instead of palming my other breast, he ran his hand over my ribcage and down to my belly, running his palm over my tummy, over my hips and down my thighs. Resting his hand on my moist center, he began a rocking motion outside my panties with the heel of his hand. An aching heat flushed my body and I strained upwards, almost panting, needing more.

“Sweet Lisa,” he murmured, his voice ragged, “that’s good, so good.”

He hooked my panties with his fingers and drew them down, kissing and tonguing as each inch of skin was exposed. I didn’t know if I could stand another moment of the exquisite torture and I lifted my hips to help him slide the panties off, desperate to feel every inch of him against me.

“So beautiful,” he said, his eyes running down the length of me. “Do you want me as much as I want you?”

In answer, I pulled him to me, kissing him with a fever I’d never before felt.

“Let me taste your tongue,” he said. “Let me feel it.”

I hesitantly entered his mouth, tasting, exploring. We kissed, the heat building, and he touched me between my legs. Parting me with his fingers, he slid a finger inside. I gasped, and when he worked his finger in and out, I cried out in sweet agony.

“Oh, please,” I gasped.

He slid down my body and stretched out between my legs. Fleetingly, I thought of stopping him to run in and cleanse myself, but I knew my trembling legs wouldn’t hold me. When he dipped his head and began licking, the pleasure was so intense that I couldn’t think about anything except the throbbing heat building inside me. His arms tightened and he cupped my buttocks, drawing me closer to his mouth. I moaned and clutched the sheet with both hands. When his warm, wet tongue opened me and probed inside, I almost screamed. He licked and sucked, caressing inside of me with his tongue. My hips rose, almost frantic against him, begging for release. When it came, it was so powerful I almost passed out.

Terry raised his head, his mouth and chin slick with my moisture. “You want me?” he said. “Tell me you do.”

“Please,” I gasped. “I want you.”

I reached for him and he rose to enter me. I was ready for him, and he thrust himself inside and waited for me to adjust to his size. I rocked against him and he began thrusting deep inside me, slowly at first, then building speed until he was pounding against me, bringing me to another release. Then, with one last thrust, he stiffened and collapsed on top of me.

Chapter Twenty

Breathing heavily, Terry stretched out on his back, pulled me to him and kissed me. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but one of affection, of love. He kept an arm around me, and it felt good, comforting. I thought it amazing how one person’s simple action could deeply affect the other. Even though our bodies were separate, I still felt connected to him, still wanted by him. My body still tingled and I should have been exhausted, but I felt wonderfully alive. I never imagined sex could be like that.

Best of all, I hadn’t once thought of Mac. It was as if my life with him had miraculously been delegated to the past, as if, for the first time, I’d been shown how it felt to be loved. And it felt glorious.

I studied the man next to me, his straight nose, the full lips that had given me such pleasure. His dark brows had strands of gray and I thought the combination sexy.

He grinned. “What’s so fascinating?”

“You.”

He laughed and I admired his straight, white teeth. Everything about him seemed perfect. His arms tightened, and I felt the beginnings of his erection brushing my thighs. But I needed a shower. I threw my legs over the side of the bed.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, propping his head on his hand.

That was strange, I thought. Mac had never touched anything, including his own body, until he’d washed after sex. I never fully realized until this moment how that had made me feel.

“To the shower,” I told him.

“Great. I’ll join you. I hope it’s big enough for two.”

Oh, no! Now I wished Mac hadn’t remodeled the master bath to include a separate shower stall. Even though Terry and I had just made glorious love and he’d seen every inch of my body, I didn’t think I could handle standing totally nude opposite him under the bright, harsh bathroom lights where he’d be able to see the droop of my breasts, the rounded tummy and stretch marks. I couldn’t let him be repelled just yet. Oh, please, not yet.

“I’ll go first,” I mumbled, sliding into my robe and dashing for the bathroom.

Usually I loved soaking in a tub of warm water, but a shower would be quicker, and maybe I could get through and slip into my robe before Terry came into the bathroom.

Quickly running the soap over my body, I was rinsing under the warm water spray when I glanced through the frosted glass door and saw Terry walking toward me. I grabbed the washcloth and covered my breasts, but realizing how ridiculous that was, I pulled it off and sucked in my tummy. He opened the door and stepped into the tiled stall.

“I hoped you’d need help,” he said, brushing against me.

My first instinct was to cover my breasts with my hands. He, in turn, appeared to have no such inhibitions as he faced me, lathering his large male body with soap, then stepping around me to rinse. I wanted to be that way—oh, how I’d love to feel so gloriously free, as I never had with Mac.

“Here, let me.” Terry lathered his hands with soap and began running them over my breasts, then down to my stomach and thighs. Instantly my nipples puckered, but I backed away.

He glanced up at me, his blue eyes questioning.

“What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t speak. I covered my breasts with my arms and began to cry.

“Did I hurt you?” He wiped away the tears and tried to hold me. I wanted him so desperately, yet, stiff and unyielding, I kept my arms folded over my breasts. What was the matter with me?

Terry was clearly puzzled. “Is something wrong? Do you want me to leave?”

Tears leaking down my face, I shook my head.

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” I managed. “I just...can’t....” He regarded me for a few, long, miserable minutes.

“Okay, honey,” he said, “I have an idea. Here. Let’s rinse off and get out.” He opened the door, stepped out, and offered his hand to help me. As if I were a child, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me, briskly drying my skin and placing the towel over my shoulders. He took another to use for himself. “If you need to pee, you’d better do so now. We’re going to be a while.”

I must have looked frightened, because he chuckled and held me.

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“I’m thirsty,” I told him, more because I didn’t know what else to say than for any other reason. But once we were in the kitchen, I discovered that I was starved. And so was he.

After a snack of hot tea, buttered English muffins with peanut butter and some fruit, I relaxed and enjoyed Terry’s chatter. We were still in towels and we didn’t talk about anything major, just the house, the view in the daylight and his apartment in Redlands. After Terry wiped his mouth with the napkin, he stood and took my hand.

“Now to the bedroom.”

I followed, intrigued and a little nervous, although not as bad as before. Once there, he turned on both bedside lights, the rose glass one on the vanity, and even flipped the bathroom switch. Bright light flooded the bedroom. Irrationally, I thought of the sheets and was glad I’d changed them yesterday to a lavender floral design.

He took his towel to the bathroom. I wasn’t ready to give him mine. Then, back by the bed, he held out his hand to me.

I eyed the well-lit bed. “I’m not sure...”

“Do you trust me?”

I nodded.

“Well, come to me. It’ll be okay.”

When we were standing together by the bed, my heart raced. I didn’t know why I felt so frightened.

“You remind me of a frightened little girl,” he said, brushing the hair away from my forehead. “What in God’s name did someone do to you?”

I could only shrug. I’d never been abused, so I couldn’t tell him why I felt so uneasy.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Do you believe that?”

“I believe you.” I wanted to tell him I wasn’t afraid he’d hurt me, but I couldn’t tell him why I was so apprehensive.

He sat on the bed, then lying back, he stretched out in the middle and opened his legs. “I want you to look at me.”

Surprised, I must have made a sound.

“Take your time and really look,” he said. “I want you to know every inch of me.”

I hesitated, but once on the bed, I made sure my towel was snug around me and got to my knees. Determined to overcome any embarrassment, I began my scrutiny, looking at Terry like I’d never done to Mac in our twenty-five years together.

Starting with his face and head, I worked my way down to his broad chest and his shoulders and arms, still muscular, I imagine from years of hauling equipment for the fire department. He didn’t have the form of a body-builder who pumped iron all day; instead, he looked natural, like a man who worked hard and enjoyed life. He smiled and ran his hand down my arm.

Feeling a little more at ease, I returned his smile, patted his tummy, then ran my fingers through the mat of hair on his chest. I played with his nipples, wondering if, as a man, he felt anything. Mac had said more than once that he didn’t like me touching his. A waste of time, he’d said.

“You’re torturing me.” Terry pulled me down on top of him and kissed me. “I think if you’re going to look,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’d better do it now.”

Quickly glancing at his erection, I smiled, suddenly aware I had power over his body. I liked that feeling. “Well, it’s your own fault. You pulled me down on top of you, remember? I was quite content—”

“Ah, there's my girl, sharp-tongued, as usual. I was wondering what happened to you.” As he relaxed, his erection softened, although it didn’t totally disappear.

“Tell me about your marriage,” Terry said. “Were you happy? Did your husband abuse you in any way?”

“Mac was very good to me. He wouldn’t dream of abusing me. I was the one who failed him.”

“In what way?”

Thinking about his questions, I continued exploring his body. His penis lay on a nest of hair, the white strands curling with the darker ones. His legs were long, his thighs thick and calves rounded. They reminded me of a dancer’s legs, long and well-shaped. It was strange how much I liked looking at him. I even thought his little belly was cute.

“Why do you think you failed your husband?” Terry gently prodded.

It was obvious he wasn’t going to let it slide, so, folding my legs under me, I sat back. I didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to tell him what a total failure I’d always been as a woman. But whether I’d wanted him to or not, he meant a lot to me and I wanted to be open about everything.

He propped himself against the headboard and pulled me up next to him, clearly prepared to let me tell everything in my own time. Hesitantly, I began talking.

I told him everything about my marriage, the dismal sex life, how I never could relax. I explained that we’d tried everything, including wine. And how, each time, I just wanted to get through it.

“I don’t understand,” Terry said. “You felt something with me just now. I know you responded.”

“I can’t explain that. I never liked sex.”

“You can’t say that now.” Terry turned to me and took my left nipple in his mouth. When he gently nipped my nipple with his teeth then sucked it into his warm mouth, I felt that same throbbing need zing straight to my toes. I flooded with moisture. Had I turned into a wanton? He was already hard and I clutched his shoulders. He slipped a warm finger inside me. “You’re so wet.”

He gentle slid me down the bed, then bent low to kiss my tummy. When he moved lower, I froze inside and drew my legs together.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay, honey,” he said, stretching out beside me. “But what happened? I know you were ready just then.”

Having been married all those years, I knew what an effort it must have been for Terry to stop so suddenly.

“I didn’t douche.” I couldn’t look at him.

“What? You didn’t douche, when?”

“When I took a shower, so you don’t want to...to do what you were going to do.”

“Why don’t I? Honey, look at me. Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

“But I smell,” I said, so humiliated I wanted to die.

“You just showered, didn’t you?”

“But it’s not the same—”

“Listen to me. You don’t smell.” He crouched down between my legs and tried to open them. I kept them tightly closed. “You were supposed to trust me. Remember?”

I didn’t want to do it, but I relaxed my legs. Terry dipped his head and licked and I felt nothing but terror. We weren’t locked in a passionate embrace in which we forgot everything. He was going to be turned off by me and I couldn’t bear it. Not after everything wonderful that had happened before.

He opened me with his fingers and licked again. I couldn’t help it—when I felt his warm, wet tongue, I moaned with pleasure. Then I felt a different sensation. I looked down and saw the strangest thing. Terry was rubbing his chin and face in my pubic hair. I propped myself on my elbows.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m loving you, every bit of you.” He opened me again with his fingers. I almost bolted off the bed, but he ignored me. “Your smell? Yes, you have a smell. We all do, and yours is all woman. I love it, and I wouldn’t want you to douche it away.”

I stared at him. “You like it?”

“Like it? Honey, I could get lost in your smell.”

I burst into tears.

Instantly he rose and took me in his arms. “What is it? What did I do?”

“My husband never liked to, to do that. He didn’t want to get near me unless I’d just douched. He even picked them out for me.” Then I told him how Mac would never touch anything until he washed after touching me.

Terry’s arms tightened around me. “And you said you weren’t abused.” He sounded angry. “I don’t think the question is why you didn’t enjoy sex; I think it’s what the hell was wrong with your husband. Honey,” he said, turning me to face him, “we’re human. We all smell at times, we won’t always brush our teeth before kissing, and we won’t always have the opportunity to bathe first. But remember this. I love you, I love your smell. It gives me an instant erection. Everything that’s womanly about you calls to the man in me.”

I suddenly felt so gloriously free. When his arms tightened around me, I joyously gave myself to him. We made love again, our juices mingling, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When I woke around noon, we were under the covers. Terry must have pulled them over us some time during the early morning. He was lying next to me, his mouth slightly open and softly snoring. Listening to his breathing, I smiled and felt as though my entire body was smiling. When I reached down and touched his penis, he stirred and woke.

“God, you wake fast,” I said.

“All those years of training at the station, I guess.” He pulled me to him and we kissed. I wiggled against him, pushing my breasts against his chest.

“And I thought I didn’t like sex,” I said, still smiling.

“Oh, I knew you’d come around.”

“Just how did you know that?”

“Men just have this natural radar.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“I can’t tell you anything right now,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I’m an old man, you know. I need food, some kind of nourishment if I’m going to keep a wanton like you satisfied.”

“Wanton?” I grinned, and threw my legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, old man.”

His arms tightened around me. “Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen to feed you. I might want to do this again.”

I slipped into my robe, so light-hearted I almost danced to the shower. I felt so gorgeously alive. Now I knew what I had missed for most of my life and I determined I wasn’t going to miss more. I might be a recent widow—although after learning about Jenna, I no longer felt married to Mac—and Terry might not be officially divorced, but I no longer cared. It was time I grabbed some happiness of my own. No matter what had happened, I was going to live.

Then I thought of Shanna. If I knew my daughter, she was going to be horrified.

Chapter Twenty-One

By the time I got out of the shower, Terry had left the bedroom. Strains of a light opera drifted in from the kitchen radio, so I threw on some slacks and a pullover and headed in his direction. He was rummaging through the refrigerator, the package of muffins on the counter behind him.

“No eggs, no jelly,” he grumbled, giving me a quick hug. “Not even any butter. No respectable household goes without butter.”

“Who says I’m respectable?” Brushing by him, I took the tub of margarine from the tray.

“Naaa, not that stuff. I’m a real man.” Making fists, he struck a muscle-builder’s pose. “I want real butter.” His towel loosened and slipped to the floor. “Ooops.” He bent to retrieve it.

Laughing, I snuggled against him. “Well, real man, I’ll just have to figure out a different way to feed you.”

“I’ll be glad to help you figure it out. But later. Right now this real man needs real food. We’re going to the market.”

***

Since we were both hungry, we stopped at Denny’s for one of their breakfast specials. After we devoured eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes, we relaxed over coffee and talked. He asked about my past, my childhood, and while I’d never discussed those years with anyone, even glossing over them with Mac, I found myself opening to Terry. I allowed myself to remember, to feel, my childhood. I told him exactly how I’d tried to fade into the woodwork when my step-father was around.

“It was strange,” I reflected. “He never beat me, but when he’d look at me that certain way, everything in me froze. I’d never felt such hatred from anyone.”

“What caused it? Did you resent it when your mother married him?”

“Of course, but I was only seven. I could’ve warmed to him if he’d been loving to me. Instead, he hated me and did everything he could to tear me down. When he was home, I wasn’t allowed to play my radio or make noise of any kind. I wasn’t allowed to take part in family discussions, which usually meant giving Mom hell for something or other. He didn’t allow me to express anything except complete obedience. I couldn’t show anger, and I certainly wasn’t allowed to defend myself if he accused me of anything. He considered that backtalk. The only way I could get through those years was to stay out of his way, and above everything else, stay quiet.”

Terry covered my hand with his. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that. Where was your mother? Why didn’t she intervene?”

“Mom had enough to handle. She worked all the time trying to hold us together. She never had anything, never did anything except work and come home. All her money went for bills, and there was never enough. We were always moving, only spending a few months in each apartment until they kicked us out. I never knew where I was going to be living next. That man kept us in poverty all the time by drinking up the money.” I shook my head. “But she loved him. No matter what he put us through, she loved him. I never could understand that. Even as she lay dying, I knew she was thinking of him.”

We said nothing for a few moments. I didn’t realize how tightly I was gripping Terry’s hand until he loosened it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping sudden tears. “I don’t know why I went into all that.” Cheeks burning, I glanced around to see if anyone was looking at us. I picked up my coffee, more to cover up the tears.

“Honey, don’t worry what anyone else thinks,” Terry told me. “It’s okay if you cry; it’s natural. It must have been horrible for such a sensitive little girl. I’m honored that you could talk about it to me.”

It was another kind of freedom that I now felt. Terry accepted my past, my feelings, and me, without judging, without telling me what I should have done. Years ago when I’d tried to talk to Mac, he hadn’t understood. “After all,” he’d said, “your step-father never beat you. You should’ve ignored it or gone to the authorities.”

Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have done a lot of things in my life, but that wasn’t the way it happened. I’d been so terrorized that going to the authorities never occurred to me. Instead, I stayed quiet and made plans to escape as soon as I was old enough to survive. Until I told Mac, I’d always felt a sense of pride that I’d made it on my own at seventeen, but he only made me feel more inadequate.

But Terry understood. I could see it in his eyes. Not caring what anyone thought, I leaned across the table to kiss him.

“Well, that’s a nice surprise.” His smile was so wicked it was almost a leer. “Could I have a little more?”

Just like in the old musicals on TV, I could’ve broken out in song. “Just wait until I get you home, big boy.”

When I heard a snicker behind me, I turned to a booth full of teenagers, lips and eyebrows pierced with silver hoops.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “I’m here to tell you that love isn’t only for the young.”

They laughed, and when they filed out of the booth to leave, the boy with the most metal attached to his face, smiled and gave Terry a thumbs up.

***

Grocery shopping had always been a chore, but today, strolling the aisles, loading the cart with anything that struck our fancy, was a treat. I picked out my normal staples—bread, eggs, cheese, and Terry tossed in real butter, along with ingredients for stir-fry, spaghetti and chili.

“I hope you’re going to cook all this,” I said, eyeing the cart. “Don’t forget, I’m a working woman and don’t have a lot of extra time.”

“I love to cook. We all took turns at the station. Which reminds me, I want to talk to you about that.”

“About what?” We stopped at the bin of watermelons and I started thumping them with my thumb and forefinger like I’d seen others do. I had no idea what to listen for, but I did it anyway, loving how efficient it made me feel.

“Your working.” Terry reached over and picked up a dark green melon. “How about this one?”

“Looks as good as any. You were saying?”

He placed the melon into the cart. “I was thinking about the two of us taking off and seeing the world.”

“Okay,” I said lightly, pushing the cart to the tomato bin. “And while you’re at it, how about a Caribbean cruise? Then perhaps we could hop a private jet and fly to Paris for dinner.”

“Well, the private jet may be a little out of my reach, but we can talk about the cruise.”

I came to a halt and looked at him. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Damned right I’m serious. We should do some things together while I can enjoy them. Travel, even. So many things I’d like to see—the Greek islands, Lock Ness, the pyramids. Hell, I love seafood and always wanted to go to one of those clambakes on the east coast.”

“I’d love to see those things with you,” I said, “but I have to support myself.” Suddenly aware of people trying to get around us in the aisle, I scooted my cart over. “We should talk about this later.”

“If that’s what you wish, but no matter when we talk about it, my feelings aren’t going to change.”

A white-haired woman in a lavender pantsuit walked by and smiled at us both, her smile suggesting she’d heard our entire conversation and approved.

“Later,” I whispered, my face flaming. Keeping my head down, I busied myself with the tomatoes. I picked out a beefsteak tomato. When I looked up, my heart nearly stopped. Rick stood in front of me. Dressed in jeans and a sport coat, his black hair as perfectly coifed as ever, he stood motionless at the end of the produce aisle, the expression on his face one of pure hatred. Gasping, I dropped the tomato. It split open, splattering juice and seeds on my feet and the floor.

When I looked back at Rick, he gave me that maddening little smirk of his, then disappeared around the aisle.

“Honey, what happened?” Terry asked.

“Rick.”

“That guy from your office?”

I nodded, pointing down the aisle.

Eyes narrowed, he dashed after Rick and disappeared around the aisle as well.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted Terry to catch Rick or not. This time, Rick would be prepared and Terry could be hurt.

But why was Rick in my local supermarket? I thought of a hundred different possibilities. Rick had been shopping and was as surprised to see us as we were to see him. But, if he were shopping, where was his cart? I hadn’t seen one. And he didn’t live in the area—at least he didn’t used to live here. Could he have moved? Somehow I didn’t think so. But I didn’t like the alternative—that he might have followed us to the grocery store. But he couldn’t have done that; it would mean he’d been watching us. For how long? Oh, that was preposterous. He wouldn’t waste time following Terry and me.

Would he?

I pushed the cart in the direction that Terry had gone but he was nowhere in sight. Finally, heart thudding, I went back to the produce section and waited. A few moments later, he appeared.

“Did he come back this way?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s left the store.”

“I’ll see.” Terry sprinted to the front of the store.

When I reached the front, he’d already been outside and was walking back through the sliding glass doors.

“No sign of him,” he said, breathing so hard that I knew he’d been running. “Are you sure it was him?”

“It was Rick. He was watching us.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Once out of the supermarket, we loaded the groceries into Terry’s Lexus, searched the parking lot, then cruised a couple of side streets looking for Rick’s red sports car. Not finding it, Terry made a u-turn on Oak Glen Canyon Road and headed for home.

“He’s gone, honey,” he said. “He could’ve been visiting someone in the area and just happened to stop in at Von’s. You might never see him again.”

“I hope you’re right.” Still, I scanned each street we passed for Rick’s car. “It makes me feel uneasy to think he might be lurking around.”

“Why would he be lurking? You two didn’t have a thing, did you?”

“Of course not! I’m probably the only woman who didn’t simper all over him.”

I told Terry about how Mac’s illness had begun to progress just about the time Rick started at the office. “Normally I like to welcome newcomers, but he started about the time Mac’s medical bills were piling up and I was too busy trying to make enough money to pay them. He wasn’t ignored, though. He was so good-looking that all the women simpered over him.”

I told him about that hateful day at the office when Rick and I’d had words.

“It’s his ego, then.” Terry was silent a few moments but the expression on his face told me he was deep in thought.

Ahead, crosswalk and sidewalk construction squeezed traffic into one lane on Yucaipa Boulevard near the newer city hall, and the line of cars stretched almost a city block, so Terry meandered over to Oak Glen Road.

Even with the economy’s downswing, Yucaipa was still growing, improving. Perhaps it was partially because of the altitude. At almost three-thousand feet, the city didn’t seem to smother under the blanket of smog that the rest of Southern California experienced. Or perhaps it’s because we could shop and do our errands along Yucaipa Boulevard and still have a view of the San Bernardino Mountains. Although some days, especially in the summer, the mountains were covered in haze, other times they stood gloriously magnificent; it made me feel good just to see them.

Seeing the new housing construction on Oak Glen Boulevard, I thought of the office and felt guilty because I hadn’t been in touch with Nina or Ben.

“I need to get back to work,” I said.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea with Romeo hanging around.”

“Terry, I have to work.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of you?”

“You have enough to handle right now.”

He pulled onto a side street, stopped the car and turned to me. “Marry me, Lisa. This is not the most romantic time or place, but I want you to know how much I love you.”

Looking into his gentle loving eyes, I felt thrilled at his proposal, even if we were parked on a side street in the middle of the day.

“I can take care of us both,” he said, lightly stroking my shoulder, my arm so that every cell in my body paid attention. There was no sexual meaning to his touch, and I almost wept with joy at someone wanting simply to touch me.

“Even with my divorce,” he went on, “I’ll have enough from my pension and investments for us to live comfortably. Don’t forget, I didn’t do much of anything my entire married life. I have a lot of living to catch up on.”

A part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and say yes without further thought. I knew I loved him as well, but another part of me held back. “What about my condo?”

“I can move in and take over the payments, or you can sell it and we’ll find our own. We can work that out later.”

It all made sense and sounded like a dream come true. I could sell the condo, pay back Stan and Maggie and live with Terry. The thought should have made me deliriously happy, but still, there was that nigging doubt, a reluctance to agree.

“We need to talk. I’ve told you a little about my marriage, the sex part,” I added in a whisper, making Terry grin. “But when we get home, I’ll tell you what happened after he died. Then, maybe later, we’ll talk about us. You should know, though, I’m not ready to marry anyone yet.”

“Oh, I’m not giving up,” he said, pulling into the driveway east of Bryant Street. He flashed that wicked grin that I loved. “My powers of persuasion are getting better all the time. One thing bothers me, though. I’m going to be worried every time you show a house.”

I told him about Ben’s pepper spray.

“Great idea. Let’s get some. How about this afternoon?”

Laughing, I told him tomorrow was soon enough, especially since I wasn’t planning to show a house anytime soon.

“Well, I don’t want to neglect this. It’s important.”

“Yes, dear,” I sing-songed, yet felt happy that someone cared about my well-being.

After we put the groceries away, I arranged a snack tray with assorted fruit and almond cookies, and made coffee. Terry carried it into the living room and placed it on the coffee table.

“What happened to your sofa?” he asked, eyeing the empty space that used to hold the sofa. “Having it recovered or something?”

“Got rid of it.” After getting comfortable in the wing chair closest to the coffee table, I poured coffee for both of us and filled our plates.

“But you loved that sofa.”

“I’ve loved a lot things.” Ignoring the sudden moisture in my eyes, I took my time selecting just the right strawberry. They were fascinating, such a rough texture to the touch and so sweet inside. I took a bite and sweet, pulpy juice flooded my mouth. I handed one to Terry.

He popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. Now, tell me about the sofa. Something’s bothering you and I don’t think it’s simply that idiot from your office. I know you were recently widowed, and that’s a terrible thing to have to adjust to. But there’s more, isn’t there.”

It was going to be difficult to get used to his sensitivity to my moods. Not that I minded. Mac never gave a passing thought to whatever I was feeling. And it had to be said sometime so it might as well be now.

“It’s a long, sordid story,” I told him, “so you might as well get comfortable.”

After he was settled with his coffee and snack plate, I told him about Jenna and her son, starting from when I first received the notice about Mac’s postal box. Then I told him about Stan & Maggie.

“Oh my God, honey,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t even say which was the worst. They all hurt like hell.”

Terry set his cup down and opened his arms. “Come here.” Without giving it a second thought, I settled on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and draping my legs over the chair’s arm. Terry held me, and, even though I wasn’t crying, he crooned to me.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he said in a quiet, almost whispering tone. “You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from any of them. That was so terrible for you. I wish I could have been there for you.” On and on he talked in that soft voice, loving me, supporting me with words, holding me close. I felt comforted by his arms, his voice.

“I lost everything,” I told him, burrowing my head in his neck, that nice warm spot between his shoulder and his chin. “Even my home is mortgaged. Jenna has everything that belonged to me...even my best friends.”

“She doesn’t have me.” Terry’s arms tightened and he rocked us on that chair. “It’s okay, honey, I love you and I’ll take care of you. Don’t even think about them. We’ll make a new life and have each other...that’s all that’s important....”

Lying back in his arms, I felt comforted and realized how cold my marriage had truly been. Was I the cause? If I had been, could I fault Mac for seeking some warmth?

Yet something just didn’t seem right. I might not have been the best wife, but hadn’t I deserved something more than total betrayal? Jenna was living comfortably while I struggled to pay, once again, for my home. I couldn’t even be sure I could buy groceries. Outrage still bubbled beneath the hurt. It just wasn’t fair.

“I wonder if I could get anything back.” I sat up. “Do you think it would be worth trying?”

“I can’t say, honey.” Terry kissed my forehead. “That’s something you have to decide. But you might have a chance. I think an investigation into bank accounts and transfers could prove your husband gave her the money, and you might be able to sue for the house title. Maybe even go after anything she has left in the bank.”

“She probably has some left for her son’s education.”

“It’s your husband’s son, too, you know.”

Everything in me tightened. I didn’t want to think about Jenna’s son, living proof that Mac had been unfaithful. If he’d been so unhappy, why hadn’t he asked for a divorce? While I would’ve been crushed, it would have been honest and open and I would have adjusted. I’d discovered the human body and psyche could adapt to a number of blows. Perhaps I could have found another life as well.

And Jenna. She had known Mac was married, so what did that make her? Having a child didn’t automatically elevate her to sainthood, deserving everything I’d worked for.

I sat up. “I’m not ready to talk about Marsh.”

“Honey, it’s not his fault his father was an adulterer. Like it or not, you’re connected to that child.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I still have to tell my daughter she has a half-brother and I’m not looking forward to that. She adored her father, so she’s just going to wind up blaming me.”

“Maybe you need to give her a little more credit.”

“I wish I could, but I’ve had too many years of feeling her resentment. Of what, exactly, I don’t even know, except she, along with her father, used to make fun of me. I guess it became a habit.”

“What are you saying? Your husband made fun of you in front of your daughter?”

I told him about the Father’s Day celebration and other times they teased me.

“If your husband did that, then that explains her attitude. She saw her father exhibit a lack of respect to you so she adopted the same way of thinking. She loves you, I’m sure, but probably didn’t learn to value you as a woman or mother.”

Of course! Open-mouthed, I stared at Terry. Now that he had said it aloud, it seemed so obvious, so simple. Mac had been unhappy with me, but instead of leaving me, he constantly jabbed at me with barbs and criticisms. Shanna took her cues from her father and adopted his feelings. If only I’d seen that years ago.

“Actually,” Terry continued, “I’m wondering why you married him. Or stayed married.”

I thought about it, and while I hated to admit I’d fallen for a concept rather than a man, I wanted to be honest, especially with myself.

“He came along at a difficult time in my life,” I said, “and offered a home, a steady paycheck, and a chance for my own family. It was like a fairy tale come true, and I thought I loved him. Now I’m not so sure. We had a good life, or so I thought, and a nice home.”

“You’re not the only young woman to have fallen for something other than the man. I did the same thing in reverse.” We both fell silent. After a few moments, still holding me, Terry asked if I’d decided whether or not I was going to try and get anything back from Jenna. “Actually, I’d much rather you forgot all that and just travel with me. Let’s talk about that Caribbean cruise.”

“I can’t go off traipsing around the country with you. My life is upside down, my finances are a mess, and besides, I’ve only been widowed a short time.”

“Does it matter how long you’ve been widowed? Isn’t it about time you started living?”

It sounded heavenly, but first, too many things had to be resolved. “My house....”

“You can sell it or better yet, rent it out. While we’re seeing the world, your house will grow in equity, then you can sell or refinance, pay off your bills and still have some left.”

“But Terry,” I said, sitting up, “I still have to make payments to Stan and Maggie.”

“Let me think on that one. We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m just not sure. After everything that’s happened, I need to feel I can take care of myself.”

“You already know you can support yourself. I’m just asking that you delay it a little so we can spend time together. If I had a lifetime, it would be different but you know I just have a few short years.”

I would love to just forget everything and go with Terry. What a marvelous life, traveling, seeing the world with him, making love whenever we wished. But I felt a reluctance to do so.

After marrying Mac, I slowly began to depend on him more and more, losing that part of myself that felt confident I could survive alone. I needed to get that back. It suddenly struck me that perhaps my mother had felt the same way. Perhaps my stepfather had slowly taken her self-worth away, but by the time she realized it, she had become so dependent on him that it was too late.

“Let me help you make up your mind.” He leaned down and kissed me. I kissed him back, and he tugged on my top, pulling it over my head. I raised my arms to help him. Then he slid his arms around me, and with a flick of his fingers, he unhooked my bra. Still holding me, he stood and carried me to the bedroom.

***

An hour later, Terry groaned and flopped onto his back. I curled up next to him, my head on his shoulder, my body tingling with satisfaction. Playfully, I leaned over and nipped Terry’s nipple with my teeth.

“Good God, woman, aren’t you ever satisfied? I’m gonna need vitamins.”

I laughed and played with his penis, lifting it up, then letting go and watching as it flopped back down. It was astounding, but after twenty-five years of marriage, I was just now learning about the male body.

Terry folded his arms behind his head and watched.

After a while, I curled my hand around his penis and it immediately hardened.

“Amazing,” I said. I squeezed, and it hardened even more.

Terry groaned. “I’m not sure I can go another round so soon.”

“Oh, you’re safe. I just want to see.” I concentrated on his penis, watching his reaction when I squeezed and let go. “Show me what feels good.”

“It all feels good.” His voice sounded strained. I glanced up and saw beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Show me. I want to learn what pleases you.”

He reached down, covered my hand with his, and began a slow pumping motion. His penis swelled and his thighs stiffened. He made little groaning sounds and I sped up the motion. With my other hand, I reached down and caressed his testicles. This time Terry clutched the sheet with both hands.

As I watched, a drop of fluid appeared on the head of his penis. Leaning down, I crouched over him and stuck out my tongue, tasting the salty liquid. Making a sound as if he were dying, Terry nearly jolted off the bed. I smiled again. If my tongue affected him so much, I wondered how he’d react to my mouth. My left hand still curled around him, I leaned down and took him in my mouth, a little at a time. He made so much noise I thought he was having a heart attack. But I didn’t stop. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, but I tried to mimic the x-rated movies I’d seen years ago, bobbing my head, and alternating a licking and sucking motion, similar to what he’d done for me.

It seemed like just a few seconds, but soon he whispered urgently that if I didn’t want him coming into my mouth, I’d better immediately pull away. But I wanted to taste him so I didn’t move. Soon, he flooded my mouth. I stayed with him until he quieted, then I used a tissue from the beside table. Maybe next time I’d try swallowing.

Lying beside Terry, I felt so smug that I’m sure I was grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Propping my head in my hand and watching, I calmly waited until he began to breathe a little more normally.

“I’m hungry,” I finally said. “Want a snack?”

“Lord above, woman. I need something. You’re gonna kill me.”

Laughing, I rolled out of bed. Always, in my married life, I kept my robe by my side of the bed so I could slip into it immediately after sex. I wasn’t exactly ashamed of my body, but since I knew I was lacking, I didn’t show it off. Now, I stood nude and leisurely made for the bathroom.

Feeling Terry’s heavy-lidded eyes watching me, I exaggerated my walk, swinging my hips like a sex kitten. When I glanced back at him, he winked at me like a lecherous old man.

I laughed and changed direction, strolling to his side of the bed. I leaned down to give him a kiss.

“Damn, I’m a lucky man,” he said with a grin.

Heading for the bathroom, I donned my robe, letting it hang open. In the kitchen, while gathering ingredients for soup and salad, I found myself smiling. I’d smiled more with Terry in the past couple of days than I had in my entire life. If I didn’t quit, the men in the white coats would be after me.

Then the phone rang.

“Mom?” It was Shanna’s voice.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Hi honey. I’m so glad to hear from you.” For some absurd reason, I tightened and belted my robe.

“Do you have some time? I just wanted to talk.”

Something was wrong. Shanna never called to just chat. “Are you okay? Kyle? And Leif?”

“We’re okay, Mom. I just needed to hear your voice.”

“What’s wrong, honey? How’s your pregnancy going?”

There was only silence on the other end. I gripped the phone. What on earth was wrong?

“Mom,” Shanna finally said, her voice a whisper, “can you come? I’m bleeding, and I’m scared.”

Oh no. “How bad?”

“It was just a little spotting, and it’s stopped now, but the doctor wants me to take it easy.” She laughed. “You can imagine trying to take it easy with Kyle around.”

I wanted to rush to my baby, but I couldn’t go now. My commission hadn’t come through yet and I’d cut up my credit cards. My bank account balance was almost zero and I didn’t have to money to pay for a plane ticket. Damn, everything was such a mess. If I didn’t get more sales coming in, I couldn’t even pay the mortgage, much less plane fare.

“I’m so sorry, honey. What does the doctor say? Is there any danger of miscarriage?”

“You know how doctors are. He says any bleeding in the first twenty-two weeks can be dangerous, but he also said many women experience spotting.”

“Are they doing anything else? How about putting you in the hospital?”

“He doesn’t think that’s necessary yet. They’re doing some hormone tests. I guess I’m just wanting my mommy.”

“Oh, honey, I wish I could be there.”

“Why can’t you? Surely you can get away now.”

How could I tell her what had happened? I didn’t want to risk upsetting her, not now when she was bleeding. Yet I didn’t want her to think I didn’t care. I suddenly remembered a new credit card that had been in the mail with one of those introductory offers. The only problem was that I’d tossed it in the garbage. Had I thrown the trash out? But even if I filled it out, it would take a few days to get approved. Oh Lord, what should I do? I felt helpless and even more angry at Mac for putting me in that position.

Terry entered the kitchen, and after a quick peck on my cheek, rinsed the coffee pot and refilled it. I waved, trying to get his attention so he’d keep quiet. The last thing I wanted was for Shanna to know about Terry. At least not yet. Since he was rummaging in the cupboards and didn’t see me, I went to him and made keep quiet gestures, pointing to the phone.

“What’s going on, Mom?”

“Just getting something to drink.”

Not realizing it was Shanna, Terry laughed.

“Is that a man? Mom, do you have a man there?”

“It’s the repairman, honey.” Repair for what? I went totally blank. I frantically gestured to Terry. Help! “The, uh, faucet, uh, plugged up.” Shit. That didn’t even make sense.

“How could you get something to drink if the faucet was plugged? Mom, something’s going on.” Her voice changed, became harder. “Are you seeing someone? Is that why you won’t come here?”

I had to tell her everything. But how? What was the best way to explain things so it wouldn’t endanger her or her baby? “That’s not the reason, Shanna. I need to talk—”

“Not the reason? So there is a man involved?”

“Honey, let me explain—”

“How could you? How could you have someone so quickly after Dad died? Well, forget coming here. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your new life.” Then she hung up.

Feeling breathless, I stared at the dead phone.

“Honey?” Terry said. “You okay?”

I know I looked in his direction, but I couldn’t get my voice to work. As if in slow motion, I looked at the phone, still clutched in my hands. Terry gently pried it out of my hands, placed it on the table, and folded me in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, honey. If I’d known, I would’ve stayed in the bedroom.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, and when my legs gave way, he picked me up and carried me to the bed.

The next couple of hours passed in a daze. I slept, woke, and slept again. Terry was always near, sitting on the chair next to the bed, and one time when I woke, he was lying next to me, his mouth slightly open in a gentle snore. I snuggled next to him and went back to sleep.

When I woke again, I heard the clink of pots and pans from the kitchen and caught the spicy tomatoey aroma of spaghetti sauce. My stomach rumbled and I realized it was around nine and I was hungry. After splashing my face with cold water and clearing the fuzz from my mouth, I made my way to the kitchen.

The table was set for two, and Terry stood at the sink rinsing the noodles. Squinting in the harsh overhead light, I filled a cup with cold coffee and stuck it in the microwave.

Terry put the noodles on the table and gave me a hug. “Feel better?”

I nodded. The microwave dinged, so I fixed my coffee and took a sip. “Need some help?” I asked, eyeing the table.

“Nope, about got it. Hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I think I fixed enough for four.” Besides spaghetti, he’d made a tossed salad, hot garlic bread and a fruit salad for dessert. We didn’t talk much over dinner, just kept it light. After dessert, we left the dishes and wandered into the living room.

He sprawled onto the wing chair. “Want to talk about it?” He opened his arms in invitation and I settled in my favorite place, on his lap with my head on his shoulder.

Over the next couple of hours, I told him about Shanna and me and finally, what she’d said in our last conversation.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t risk her pregnancy by telling her about her father, but I don’t want her to think I don’t care.”

“You’re going to have to tell her sooner or later.”

“I know. Just not now.”

“Honey, you have to go to her. She’s your daughter and there’s no other way.”

I knew he was right, but why did this have to happen now? And why couldn’t I ever seem to get things together?

“Don’t worry about the money,” Terry said. I’ll pay.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t let you do that.”

“Let’s don’t waste time arguing about it. Your daughter needs you, and, you may not realize it, but you need her.” Before I could say another thing, Terry went on. “How soon could you be ready?”

How soon? I sat up.

“I’d have to get clothes together, call the office, make reservations, and....”

Terry picked up the phone. “I’m going to get you on the next plane out of here. I suggest you go pack.”

“But I can’t just leave, not like this.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“I can’t take your money.”

“Sure you can. If it’s your conscience bothering you, marry me. That way I can take it out in trade.” He grinned in that lecherous way that melted my heart. “When you return, we can make our plans. As soon as my divorce is final, we’ll be married. We’ll travel and you won’t ever have to worry about money again.”

I was going to Shanna’s! I gave Terry a quick kiss, scrambled off his lap and ran to the bedroom closet to pull out my suitcase. What clothes should I take? I’d only be there a few days, just until I made sure Shanna was okay. And when I could see to my satisfaction that she was doing well, I’d tell her about her father and her half-brother. I wasn’t sure yet what I’d tell her about her aunt and uncle. Even though I’d love the satisfaction of ripping away any affection Shanna might feel for Stan and Maggie, I didn’t want her to lose her aunt and uncle. I’d just have to tell her the entire story and let her make her own decisions. What a relief to finally have it all in the open.

I heard Terry on the phone with the airlines and smiled. He took such good care of me. I couldn’t remember when I had felt this good. When I returned home, we’d move in together, and when his divorce was final, we’d...We’d what?

Just after I closed the suitcase and picked it up, I thought about what Terry had said. Marriage? Travel? He was going to take care of me? Wasn’t that how I’d felt when I married Mac? What about my new-found sense of independence? Was I ready to give that up before I even had time to fully experience it?

Still clutching my suitcase, I sank onto the bed, knowing I couldn’t do it. Not right now. Terry’s plans sounded wonderful, and I felt sure some time in the future I might want to do all those things. But now wasn’t the time. I was still learning about myself. If I ever married again, I had to feel I was a full partner, not someone who needed to be taken care of. And I had to know the timing was right.

After placing the suitcase back on the bed, I walked back into the kitchen and caught Terry’s eye.

“Just a moment, he said into the phone. “The next flight leaves in an hour, but we can’t make that one, so there’s a red-eye in four hours. That’ll give us time to—”

“Put down the phone, Terry. I can’t go.”

He stared at me, mumbled something into the phone, then hung up. “Why, Lisa? I don’t understand.”

“I’ll try to explain.” I slid onto a kitchen chair. “When I was a child, my mother and step-father governed my life and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Then, when Mac offered a stable life, I was grateful. When I started feeling dissatisfaction, Mac wouldn’t talk about it so I thought it was me. I didn’t want to upset everything so I reverted back to my childhood and stopped feeling, but the only way I could make life bearable was to make sure everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect, you see, because then I would be acceptable. And safe. But in trying to make everything perfect, I pushed my husband and daughter away.”

“Your husband was an ass.”

I leaned over to kiss Terry.

“Yes, in some ways,” I said. “But I allowed it by closing down instead of fighting back. With you, I’m learning, for the first time in my life, who I really am. I’m discovering that perhaps I am a different person.”

“Just don’t get too different. I happen to like you just the way you are.”

I settled on his lap. “That’s wonderful, but I’m still in the process of discovering me. I’m forty-four years old and just now discovering what I like, even what I really think. Until I get to know that person a little better, I don’t want to lean on you or anyone else.”

“Can I still be in your life while you’re discovering you?”

I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll gladly share my life with you, but I can’t let you govern it.”

“I’m not sure I understand what that has to do with lending you money, but I’ll go along.”

“Whatever it means, I need to be my own person and find my own way, emotionally and financially.”

“Okay, person. What are you going to do about your daughter?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I told him. “I just wish that being independent wasn’t so damn hard.”

***

At midnight, I was pacing the house. What could I do about Shanna? I hadn’t wanted to burden her about everything that had happened since Mac died. Losing her father had been terrible enough. And now, because of her medical condition, I didn’t want to risk a shouting match on the phone and upset her further.

But now she thought I was sleeping around after her father’s death, and worse, that I preferred being with a man rather than going to comfort her.

I had thought the exact same thing as a child.

The similarity hit me so violently that my legs gave way and I sank into the nearest chair, thoughts, scenes of the past whirling through my mind so fast that I felt dizzy. I saw Mom standing by as my stepfather made more of his cutting remarks, making sure I knew how lowly I was, how insignificant my life was in the important issues of the day, such as making sure his brand new suit was pressed just so, spending money on his suits and ties and French cufflinks when neither Mom nor I had a decent outfit to wear.

For years, Mom proudly kept a snapshot of my stepfather and me when I was fourteen, taken in front of the old sofa she and I had scrounged from Salvation Army. There he was, looking all dapper in new suit and tie, and I was dressed in cutoffs and a threadbare tee-shirt. It wasn’t threadbare because I’d wanted it that way. Couldn’t Mom see?

When I needed something for school, I had to work for it because there was never any extra money, but when my stepfather wanted new cufflinks, she always found money for him.

How many times had I longed for her to say something to my stepfather when he harangued me for something, and how many times had she avoided my eyes. Most of the time she simply looked away or left the room. I’d felt abandoned.

Was I doing the same thing to Shanna? Had I made her feel insignificant in my life? If so, I had a lot of correcting to do.

I’d call her first thing in the morning, but even now I knew it would be difficult. The last few times we’d talked had turned ugly, and what I needed to tell her was too important to chance her hanging up. Almost running to the computer, I logged on and began a letter, consumed by the need to set things right.

I knew my daughter, knew that if I could phrase the letter in the right way, she would take it in and, although she’d be surprised and perhaps a little shocked, she could absorb what I had to say without becoming overly upset. It was the verbal confrontation we had to avoid, a confrontation in which she was certain to listen only to part of what I had to say before yielding to the ever-present temptation to blame me for everything.

For once, I would be completely honest and tell her about the problems in my marriage, and though I dreaded telling her about her father’s secret life, she needed to know she had a half-brother. The words seemed to pour out, but I tried to temper them, to be as even handed as I could be. I didn’t want to alienate her by blaming her father or even her aunt and uncle. But I told her of my shock when I discovered Stan and Maggie had known all along. I wound up by telling her all of the ugly details of my finances, at the same time assuring her that there was nothing here that I couldn’t deal with. But that I had to deal with it now.

Why was it so easy to say on paper what I couldn't tell her face to face?

Now I needed to tell her about Terry.

How could I tell my daughter that I was in love for the first time in my life? I had loved her father as much as I could under the circumstances, but Terry’s love and acceptance had triggered an emotional journey into my self-discovery as a woman. And I was still learning.

I also wrote that because of my financial situation, I’d prefer to wait to visit until the birth of her child, but if she continued to bleed, or if it progressed, to let me know. I’d be there in a matter of hours. Most importantly, I told her how much I loved her, and how much she, Kyle and Leif, meant to me.

When I finished the letter, I almost sent it as an email attachment, but hesitated. If, by any chance the Internet server went down, the letter could be lost. No, I didn’t want to risk it. Even though it would take longer, I’d take it to the post office and send it priority mail.

After a sleepless night, I slipped out of the house while Terry was still asleep, made the trip to the post office and sent the letter. About three days, they said, then she’d have it.

Walking back to my car, I felt a curious sense of irony. It had been here where I’d discovered my husband had betrayed me and it was here where I was desperately trying to let my daughter know I wasn’t betraying her.

I could only hope she’d read it and understand.

Now I could only wait for her response.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Over the next few days, Terry brought clothes and some personal items to my condo and we were settling into a form of domesticity. While I loved having him there, I wasn’t ready to officially commit to another marriage. Not yet.

He stocked the house with groceries and wanted to shop and pay for a new sofa. I didn’t think it was fair for him to purchase a piece of furniture for my home, but he protested.

“After all, I’m here most of the time,” he said, “and I like to stretch out and relax.”

Knowing how cramped he felt in my small wing chairs, I relented, suggesting we compare prices at the discount stores. He had other ideas.

“How about Homestead House? Or who around here carries FlexSteel? Their furniture is comfortable and will last far longer than we will.”

I checked the computer, and after a short jaunt on the freeway, we were browsing the showroom. We picked out a soft material, similar to corduroy, with muted gold and maroon tones and a touch of green. I loved it. My hunter green wing chairs would match perfectly, and, it was entirely different from the one I’d had before. Terry paid for expedited delivery, so by that evening, the new three-cushion sofa sat in my living room.

While I’d loved playing house with Terry, I had to get back to work. The next morning I dressed in a pantsuit, but this time, instead of picking out my small realtor pin, I fastened one of my sparkly crystal brooches to my lapel, then stood back and admired the flash. There. If anyone didn’t like it, that was too bad. I liked it.

When I walked into the kitchen, Terry was taking an English muffin from the toaster.

“Wow!” he said, splitting his muffin and slathering each half with butter and peanut butter. “You look gorgeous. Going somewhere?”

“Work.” I poured cream into my coffee and eyed his muffin. When he went to the fridge to get the orange juice, I swiped half of his muffin, gobbling it down like a guilty child. I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, and when he saw his half-empty plate, I laughed at the expression on his face.

“Good God, I’m hooked up with a thief!”

Paying no attention to him, I licked my fingers. “Got any more?”

He sighed dramatically. “Guess I’m recruited to do double-duty in the muffin brigade.”

“You poor thing.” I glanced at my watch. “No time for more,” I said, rising, then I leaned down to give him a kiss.

“Honey, I don’t like you going to the office without that spray.”

“Relax. I’m just going to get some addresses to preview later. I’ll be home around noon.”

“I’m not comfortable with that, babe.”

“I’ll be okay.” Waving my arm, I headed for the door.

Most of the agents had already been in the office and left, except for Ed. As usual, he sat at his desk, steadfast in his dogged determination to answer phones and greet walk-ins. I was glad the office was quiet, which gave me the opportunity to make copies of the current listings and checking them with the Thomas Guide map book for exact locations. Then I made my own list for houses to preview for another open house.

Sometime later, my grumbling stomach told me it was nearly noon, so I punched in Terry’s cell number to let him know I’d be home soon. He didn’t answer, so I called the home number. Still no answer so I left a message. He was probably out shopping to surprise me with another fabulous dinner.

Heading to my car, I thought about Shanna. When would she get my letter? I mentally calculated the time: three days since I’d dropped it into the mailbox, which covered a day for the post office to do their processing, plus a couple more days for it to reach Minnesota. She could get it at any time. What would she think? And, would she call after reading it?

She had to. We had so much to talk about. I could only wait and pray that she would understand.

Just as I unlocked the door, something red caught my eye and I glanced up and saw a Corvette buzz by the office. Rick? I hustled into my car and locked the door, but the red sports car didn’t stop or even slow down.

If it were Rick, what could he be doing? I didn’t want to think he might be watching me, couldn’t imagine why he’d do so. Surely he knew I wasn’t a threat. If I had intended to turn him in for assault, I’d already have done so. But if he’d intended to visit the office, why hadn’t he stopped?

Checking both directions when I pulled onto the street, I felt uneasy and I didn’t like it. I certainly didn’t want to start glancing over my shoulder every time I left the house, but wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Since Mac had been a large man, I’d never overly worried about crime, but I knew I’d better give it serious thought. I’d always felt confident enough to disregard most of Ben’s guidelines, but I realized how naïve I’d been. Naïve? Now, idling at a red light and checking the rearview mirror for a red Corvette, I suddenly realized how utterly stupid I’d been to not have armed myself after the episode with Rick. What had I been thinking?

That was the problem. As if standing by and helplessly watching my husband weaken and die wasn’t emotionally draining enough, after his death I’d been slammed with one deplorable catastrophe after another, and I’d been too grief-stricken and preoccupied to think straight.

Then, of all things, I fell in love.

Thank God Terry had been there to come to my rescue with Rick, but what about the future? I needed to feel I that I didn’t have to rely on anyone, that I could take care of myself.

Terry was right. It was time, past time, actually, to investigate pepper sprays and other items of self-defense.

When I got home, Terry was waiting in his car.

“You coming or going?” I asked, walking over to the driver’s window.

“Hop in and I’ll show you what I’ve discovered.” Backing out of the driveway, he told me he’d been to several self-defense shops while I was at work. “We’re not waiting for your boss’s next meeting; we’re getting something today for you to carry. I’ve gone along on almost everything, but not this. Understand?”

“Yes, dear,” I meekly answered with a smile. I didn’t tell him about seeing Rick. Might as well let him think he talked me into it.

Yucaipa didn’t have a self-defense shop so we headed west on I-10 to San Bernardino. The Tippecanoe exit was just ahead and my stomach rumbled. Most of the good restaurants in the area were clustered on Hospitality Lane just off Tippecanoe and Waterman.

“You have to feed me first,” I told him. “My half-muffin this morning is gone.”

“My muffin, you mean. Serves you right if you’re hungry.”

“Now how can I shop for anything when I’m starved? All I’ll pay attention to is my stomach.”

“Lord, I’ve never met such a whiner.”

I’d thought we’d have a quick sandwich at Coco’s, but he had other ideas. He pulled into the parking lot at Mimi’s, an upscale café with beamed ceilings and Mardi Gras prints on brick walls. When ordering, I found out I wasn’t the only hungry one. I selected the pot roast sandwich, and Terry had the French onion soup followed by an appetizer plate with spinach and artichoke Dip. My sandwich and his entrée arrived, the garlic shrimp spaghettini, a pasta with large shrimp and marinara sauce. When I looked at our table loaded with food, he shrugged.

“Gotta keep up my strength, you know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

I laughed and dug in, helping him with the appetizers.

An hour later, we stood at the counter in Milo’s, a shop specializing in self-defense products. The wall behind the counter was covered with metal hooks holding plastic cartons of sprays in various sizes.

“Take a look at this.” Bruce, the owner, the sleeves in his white t-shirt rolled back to expose tanned muscles, placed a shiny red metal cylinder about the size of a lipstick, in my hand. “Perfect for a woman.”

“Looks like lipstick,” I said.

“That’s the idea, but inside you got a powerful pepper spray. Reaches up to six feet.”

During the next half hour he patiently showed us a variety of pepper and mace sprays, all which, according to him, swell mucus membranes and make breathing difficult. “And when the guy rubs his eyes, he rubs the pepper in.”

He took another black cylinder with orange wrapping from the cabinet. It was larger than the lipstick.

“Now this mace spray is great,” he told us. “It’s a thick foam and covers the guy’s face. But get this: the foam leaves a dye the cops can see. The asshole, pardon my French, wouldn’t be able to deny a thing.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

* * *

At seven that evening, I eyed the phone. Shanna should have received my letter by now, so why hadn’t she called? The stove clock told me it was seven here, so it would be nine at Shanna’s. She’ll call now, I kept thinking. She probably wanted to wait until after dinner and Kyle was asleep. I just needed to occupy myself for a few moments more.

Terry had gone to his apartment to pick up some odds and ends, so I tried to read one of his thriller novels. I sank onto the new sofa’s soft cushions, but it didn’t take long to realize I’d skimmed the same page several times and still didn’t know what I’d read. Glancing again at the phone’s handset, I picked up the TV remote.

I scrolled through the channels and settled on an old Mayberry episode, watching as Andy and Barney grimaced after sampling Aunt Bee’s newest batch of homemade pickles. She was anxiously waiting for their reactions and they were groping for something nice to say about something so sour. While it was comical, I thought that was the way families should be—loving and supporting each other, even when it hurt.

Just as I took a sip of tea, the phone rang and I almost dropped the cup. My heart pounded as though I was readying for battle. Or my execution. Grabbing the phone, I cleared my throat.

“Hello?” From the other end I heard nothing but silence. A crank call?

“Lisa? Is this Lisa Montgomery?” Jenna’s voice. I bristled. Just hearing her voice filled me with outrage. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me—”

“How dare you call me.”

“I’m sorry, but I want to talk, mother-to-mother.”

“What could you possibly want? You’ve already taken everything I have.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but—”

“You’re sorry I feel that way? You stole my life from me. How else could I feel?”

“I’m not calling to rehash the past. I want to talk about Marsh. Surely as a mother, you can understand.”

The door opened and Terry walked in. “Shanna?” he mouthed.

I shook my head. To Jenna, I said, “Yes, I’m a mother. I have a legitimate daughter, which is more than I can say about your son.” Feeling proud of myself for speaking up, I glanced at Terry.

He was frowning. I had not expected that and was slightly taken aback. While I tried to read his face, he carefully set down his stack of books and sat beside me.

“I have a favor to ask,” Jenna continued, ignoring my comment. “I’d like to have you meet with Marsh and—”

“Meet with Marsh?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You actually want me to meet my husband’s illegitimate son? You’re out of your mind.” I slammed down the phone.

“She wants you to meet her son?” Terry asked. “Why?”

Fuming, I paced the living room. “Of all the nerve . . .”

“So tell me. And stand still, honey, you’re making me dizzy.”

Halting, I faced him, my arms crossed over my chest. I was so angry I couldn’t keep still and my foot tapped a cadence on the floor.

“When I met her in Big Bear,” I said, making an effort to say each word without screaming, “she said something about her son wanting to know more about his father. If she thinks I’m going to sit that kid down and tell him about my husband, she’d better think again.” Losing the battle to stand still, I paced again. “I can’t believe that woman.”

“I can understand how you must feel,” Terry said, his tone level, “but you might think about talking to him.”

I stopped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Honey, growing up without a father can be a lonely existence for a boy. I know. You could talk to this child, tell him about his father. That might not be so bad.”

“I’m sorry if Marsh will suffer, but I’m not going to talk to him. No way.”

“Just remember,” Terry said, “what happened was not the child’s fault. He needs to know everything he can about his father.”

“He has Stan and Maggie. Let them talk to him.”

“It’s not the same and you know it. There are so many things you would know that they don’t, things that would delight a child. You must have photographs of Mac when he was young. Baby pictures, even.”

“I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”

“Ah, honey, don’t look at me like that. I just tend to look at everything a little differently now.”

His words reminded me about his illness, and how all of this must seem so petty. I sat beside him and put my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. “I wish I could look at it like you, but I’m not that noble. I can’t even think about Marsh without wanting to smash something. Preferably Jenna’s face.”

Terry chuckled. “I really can’t blame you. But, whether you like it or not, there’s a child’s future at stake here. You could help him.”

“I guess I’m a terrible human being, because I just can’t do it.”

“That’s okay. Right now you’re hurting, and you need some time to recover. When you do, I know you’ll do the right thing.”

***

That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the joy on Marsh’s face when Stan swung him to onto his shoulders. Terry was right—Marsh wasn’t at fault—but I still couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge him as Mac’s child. Especially when his very existence was an insult not only to me, but also to Shanna.

Rolling on my side, I thought about my daughter and imagined how shocked she’d be when she read my letter. Why hadn’t I thought to call Leif so he could stand by? I could only hope she’d be okay.

Snuggling next to Terry, I wondered if I’d ever forgive Mac and Jenna enough to make room for Mac’s son in my life.

***

The next two days I stayed by the phone, but Shanna didn’t call. Even though she and I had cell phones, we each preferred the stability of our home phone.

The third day I began to worry. Had anything happened? Had Shanna read the letter and gone into shock? After picturing her pale and bleeding in the emergency room, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I called her.

No one was home so I left a message on voice mail and called again later. Same thing. Where could they be? Then I tried her cell phone and got voice mail yet again. Trying not to panic, I checked the listings and called the local hospital. Thank God she wasn’t there.

Next, even though I dreaded it, I called Leif’s work. I’d heard the jokes about tiresome women who checked on their husbands and boyfriends, so I’d never called Mac at the plant unless it was an emergency. And I’d certainly never called my son in law at work.

After several transfers, the lead man, a Burt Larsen, after discovering who I was, told me Leif had left a few days ago to begin his vacation.

“I think the family was going to the North Country for some fishing,” he said. “Actually, Leif booked the company timeshare near Brainerd. Want that number?”

Even though I took the number, I decided not to call. No use ruining their vacation. If Shanna had a chance to rest, I wanted her to have it. There would be plenty of time later to sort out the mess. At least I knew she was okay—for now.

The Brainerd Lakes area was a lovely place, full of pine forests and huge lakes several hundred feet deep. Once, while visiting the kids after they moved to Minnesota, they took me on an overnight trip to do some fishing and to take me around the North Country, so different from California’s Inland Empire. I’d loved the small towns and the highways lined with pine trees. I’d even loved the evenings when the smell of wood smoke hung in the air.

Back home, when looking at Yucaipa’s scorched hills, I’d think of the cool, crisp Minnesota air and looked forward to someday living there.

Having been raised in Minnesota, Leif was an avid sportsman; as Kyle grew older, he’d teach him how to fish and hunt, how to survive in the wilderness. I had to admit Leif was a good man, someone with infinite patience, someone who always gave excellent advice. How fortunate Shanna had been not to have married someone like her father. I wondered if Leif had seen Mac as he really had been, if perhaps he had guessed the truth about our relationship. Perhaps that was why he’d never said much when he was around Mac and me. I just assumed he was shy. If he had sensed something amiss, perhaps he would help Shanna to understand.

***

Over the next few days I spent more time at the office than I’d had in several years, dutifully taking my turn answering phones and talking to walk-ins. Ed was always there, still plugging along, slowly building his list of clientele. While he didn’t dazzle Ben with his sales record, he managed to make enough sales to support his family. I’d always preferred the excitement of showing houses and talking to a constant stream of people, but watching Ed, I began to consider that the methodical drudgework of keeping records and follow-up calls to prospective clients had merit as well.

At home, Terry and I settled into an idyllic splendor that surpassed anything I’d ever dreamed of. Sometimes he had dinner ready when I came home from the office, and sometimes he’d take me out. On the days I felt tired, we’d order pizza and sprawl on the sofa and watch a movie.

He seldom talked about his illness and I didn’t want to intrude. I admired the way he seemed to be able to set his illness aside and live in the now.

A few times while watching TV, he’d become quiet, and I’d think he was absorbed in the program. One evening I spoke to him and finally had to touch him to get his attention. When he turned to me, his eyes had an unfocused, distant look, as if he were far away from my living room. Then he blinked and was himself again.

I wondered if he had been thinking about his disease. Men were supposed to be macho, but was he fearful of dying? One evening I asked.

“It’s not the dying I’m concerned about,” he said, his tone somber, “or even what happens afterward, if anything. What horrifies me is the progression of this disease and how it’ll affect me. Do you have any idea what it does?”

Having already read every reference I could find on the computer, I nodded.

“I’ll slowly become helpless,” he went on, “not able to eat, not even able to wipe myself in the bathroom.”

Keeping very quiet, I snuggled close to him. Whether to give, or receive comfort, I didn’t know. Or care.

He slipped an arm around me. “I’ve considered suicide—”

Alarmed, I sat up. “No! You can’t do that.”

“Well, I haven’t done it yet. I’m afraid of doing it too soon and missing something wonderful, like another day with you. But if I wait, I could become so helpless I couldn’t do it at all.”

“You can’t even think about that, Terry. What if you committed suicide and the next day they found a cure?”

“So far, the only thing that’s available is medication to help the symptoms. You know, this is an inherited disease, and I’ve thanked God so many times that I never had children. At least I can be grateful for that. I’ve wondered about Dad’s accident, wondered if perhaps that was his way out. I’d always cursed the fates that took my father away from me while I so young, but when you consider the alternative, maybe it was a good thing.”

I hugged him, not even wanting to think of a future without him, shutting out thoughts of this robust, vital man succumbing to such a horrible disease.

“Dammit,” he said, “it’s not fair, especially now that I’ve found you. If this had happened years ago, I don’t think I would’ve minded so much. But now? What a cruel fate.”

My heart breaking for him, I wished I knew of something to help him feel better, but what could anyone do when a loved one was facing such a catastrophe? I felt so helpless.

“Whatever happens,” I told him, snuggling even closer, “we’ll face it together.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Armed with my new pepper spray, I previewed houses in Redlands the next day, but feeling edgy and restless, I saw nothing that appealed to me.

As soon as I walked into my condo, I smelled something delicious cooking. Terry had set the table and had a rib roast in the oven, complete with mushrooms, carrots and potatoes. He gave me a quick kiss and instructed me to change into something comfortable.

“Unless you need help getting out of your clothes,” he said with a grin, placing a tossed salad, hot rolls and a real man’s butter on the table. If I hadn’t already been in love, I would have given him my heart right then.

I’d never before felt so pampered, so cared for, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have met someone like him.

In bed that evening, Terry talked about my future without him.

“Don’t spend the rest of your life grieving,” he said, arms wrapped around me. “I want you to get out there and live. Follow your own dreams. If we don’t have a motor home by then, go out and get one. Go to some of those places you want to see.”

“By myself? I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course you could. Get one of those smaller ones that you can handle. Nowadays, they come with all the electrical gadgets, and you could learn how to operate it.”

“I wouldn’t travel by myself.”

“You should. There are different travel clubs you could join. They go to different places as a group. Lots of women belong to them.”

“But I’ll probably be working.”

“You won’t have to. You’ll get my insurance once we’re married. But even if that independent streak shows up and you want to work, fine. You could live in the motor home and take off on weekends or days off. But whatever you do, get out and grab some life.”

“What if I grab you instead.” I didn’t want to think about a future without him, so I pulled him close and kissed him. His arms tightened and his lips became demanding. Soon our nude bodies were plastered together.

“Roll over,“ I told him, and he rolled onto his back. I sat up, then eased down on his penis. I’d heard so much about the female on top but in all the years of my marriage, I’d never cared enough to try it. Now, straddling his groin, his penis filling me, I couldn’t believe the sensations the new position created.

Losing myself in play, I wiggled and squirmed, delighting in Terry’s reactions. Then I tried rising as high as I could go without losing contact and slowly sliding back down. I rocked, I twisted, loving the way my body reacted, glorying in the power I felt when Terry groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. When his hands gripped mine and his entire body tightened, I knew he was about to explode. His impending climax encouraged my own and I rocked faster, the pleasure building until my entire being centered on my genitals. We peaked together, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Breathless, I collapsed on his chest.

For several minutes, neither of us moved. Finally I dragged in enough air to utter one word: “Wow.”

“Good God,” Terry said, still panting, “I’ve created a sex fiend.”

I laughed and scooted up his body to nip his ear lobe.

“Forget it.” He glanced over my body to his groin. “There’s no life left. You got it all.”

“Well, that’ll teach you to date a younger woman.”

“Younger woman? Ha! I can outdo you any time.”

“Oh yeah?” I reached down and lifted his limp penis, laughing when I let go and it folded like a cooked spaghetti noodle.

“See what you did? I’m going to need a transfusion before I can function again.”

“Okay, old man, I’m going to take another shower. I can’t do floor duty tomorrow smelling like sex.”

“Why not? You’d have all the men after you.”

“Well, I’ve got all the man I want right here.” Sliding off him, I wiggled so my nipples brushed his chest. Locking his arms around me, he pulled me back on top of him and kissed me.

“Just where I want you,” he said, kissing me again. I felt his erection growing.

“Guess you’re not as old as you thought.”

“With you, I’m a tiger.” He growled, the low rumble in his throat sounding astonishing like a wild animal. I laughed. He nipped at my throat, then licked the same spot. The tingle zinged all the way to my toes, and that quickly, I was ready for him.

A half hour later, I stood in the shower, exhausted but happy. I used the almond liquid soap, alive to the sensuous feel of the silken lather on my skin, my breasts. Never in my life had I felt so free, or so gloriously alive. For the first time, I began to dream of the possibilities life had to offer. Like Terry, I wanted to grab what I could.

***

While previewing houses the next day, I still couldn’t drum up interest. Maybe it was the heat. In the last few days, the thermometer had soared and I wilted in hot weather.

Terry had some personal errands to run so I drove aimlessly, not wanting to head home yet. I wound up on California Highway 38, the back road to Big Bear. While I had no interest in going all the way to the mountain community, I loved the back way to Yucaipa and the winding road that steadily climbed the hills past the populated area. And when I got to the turn-off to Yucaipa, I stayed on the highway. Perhaps I’d drive on up to Forest Falls, a community nestled in the San Bernardino forest about ten miles further up the road.

I loved the drive because the scenery changed so quickly along that stretch. One minute I was in an open valley with scrub brush on each side of the highway and the next, in a canyon with the foothills around me. Scrub brush gave way to trees, and a sign announced the beginning of the San Bernardino National Forest. A dry riverbed paralleled the highway; it might’ve had a trickle or two but I couldn’t see. I was constantly climbing and the outside temperature dropped so I rolled down my window and turned off my air conditioner.

A few miles further, I spotted a sign saying Forest Falls was six miles further. Taking the cutoff, I drove another mile down a two-lane curving road and stopped at the bridge. The riverbed still had more rocks than water, but it was actual running water and I loved it.

I continued on the serene tree-lined road to a scattering of mountain cabins, then past the fire station and wood and stone post office. Just being in the midst of all the trees with the mountain peaks showing in the distance relaxed every muscle. I’d always loved the thought of living there. It suddenly occurred to me—why couldn’t I live there now?

On a whim, I kept driving, and right before the park area with picnic benches, I saw realtor signs standing in front of a few properties. Some were older cabins, but I also saw newer homes as well.

One white frame house sat on an incline off a side road, the back yard opening to the forest. On the front lawn, two pines sat next to mature hibiscus trees in flower. One was a purplish-pink and the other a yellow. Not familiar with the different breeds, I examined the yellow five-petal flower, struck by the orangey-red center. It all looked beautiful, and I could picture family barbeques or quiet evenings sitting on the shaded porch.

Inside, I found hardwood floors, high ceilings and crown moldings. The out-dated wooden kitchen cabinets desperately needed attention, but someone had remodeled the two bathrooms, installing new tile as well as pedestal sinks and a claw-foot bathtub.

Walking from room to room, I pictured how I’d decorate if it were mine. A loft area outside the upstairs bedrooms would be a perfect reading area, and I imagined lining the walls with bookcases and sitting on a comfortable chair in the evenings, Kyle selecting toys from a nearby chest.

Even though the house had been built in the early nineteen-hundreds and needed some repair work, I adored it and wondered if Terry would like it as well. We hadn’t even discussed living arrangements beyond the brief discussion in the beginning of our relationship, but I considered the possibilities. I could sell the condo, and even if the new place was mortgaged to the ceiling, Terry and I could start all over in our own home, with no hidden or hostile memories to mar our life together.

Excited by the thought, I rushed down the hillside to Redlands to run the specs on my condo and the new neighborhood before calling Terry. I discovered that while prices were down, the condo had appreciated just enough in price in the year since Mac had mortgaged it that I could sell it and pay off Stan and Maggie. That alone was the deciding factor. If I could pay them off entirely and have enough left over to make a down payment on something else, I’d do it. I couldn’t wait to get home and talk to Terry.

Too excited to wait, I punched in Terry’s cell number. When he answered, I told him about finding the house and running the specs on my condo.

“Whoa, honey. Isn’t this a little sudden? Maybe you should give this a little more thought. You don’t want to make a mistake by selling too soon.”

“You’re right. I’ll think about it.” I held the phone and glanced at Nina at her desk, at Ed at his, and finally, out the window at the sunny day. “Okay,” I said to Terry. “I’ve thought about it. Shall I pick you up?”

***

Terry loved the house as much as I did, and after doing his thing, like jumping on the floors and examining the foundation, he eyed the two pine trees in front.

“Perfect spacing for a hammock,” he said.

“Good heavens, I haven’t seen a hammock since I was a child.”

“Can’t think of a better way to spend a lazy summer afternoon. Afterwards, that is.” He grinned. “I think they have hammocks big enough for two.” He gave me a kiss. “If we’re going to buy a house together, how about marrying me?”

“Sorry. Not ready yet. What’s the matter? Don’t you want to live in sin?”

“Living in sin has its advantages, but we might shock the neighbors.”

“I doubt our living in sin will bother them,” I said, bantering back. “It’s the swinging parties they might not like.”

He smiled, then was quiet a moment. “Honey,” he finally said, “I love the house, but before you go further, you better take some time to give this some serious thought.”

“Serious thought about what?”

“I’m thinking about Shanna. I’m sure she associates the condo with her father. It might be hard for her to think about you in a different house, especially with me. Perhaps you should take one step at a time. For her sake.”

I had to admit he had a point. But I wanted a new start in a new house. I wanted a new life.

“I hope she can come to accept everything that’s happened,” I told him, “but I can’t wait to live my life until she approves.” I took a deep breath. “Ready to go to the office? We can fill out the contract.”

***

We spent the next couple of hours with Ben filling out forms on the condo as well as the new house. While Terry would move in and help with the house, he insisted on presenting the contract in my name only.

“It’s better this way,” he said. “You’ll have your own home and I won’t have any legal complications.”

When we left the building, he slipped his arm around me. “It’s official now,” he said. “Any regrets?”

“Absolutely not.” I took a deep breath. “Now, if the contract’s accepted, we can truly start fresh.”

Just as we reached our cars, the loud sound of a revving engine caught our attention. Burning rubber, Rick’s Corvette sped into the street and passed us.

“Look!” I pointed. This time Terry saw it.

“What the hell,” he said, staring after the car. His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw worked.

“That tears it. Come on.” He led me into his car, and after we were seated, he punched in a number on his cell phone. He turned to me. “I’m calling Jack. He’s a cop.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack Morales lived in Sun Lakes, an upscale retirement community in Banning, an oasis for seniors with shade trees, man-made waterfalls, and golf courses. Once through the manned security gate, we passed blocks of condos as well as free-standing homes, all with manicured lawns and pruned shrubs. Not one errant scrap of paper survived on the grass or in the street. As always, everything was impressive, including the palm-lined entrance to the country club.

“A cop’s salary must be pretty damn good,” I said.

“It’s not his salary; it’s the private investigating he does on the side. Rich widows pay well to check out boyfriends.”

If I were a movie producer, I would never have selected Jack to play a cop. With his graying red hair, freckles and tall, slim build, he looked harmless. And friendly. Perhaps that was why he was so successful as an investigator.

“Damn, you look good,” he said, wrapping Terry in a bear hug. “About time. And Lisa.” He grabbed my hand. “You must be the reason he looks so happy. I can see why.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, but his warmth quickly drew me in.

“I owe this man everything,” Jack went on. “Fifteen years ago he saved my daughter in a freak house fire, went in for her when the ceiling collapsed and she couldn’t get out. Thanks to him I have two grandchildren now.”

“Jack . . .” Terry’s face flushed, actually turned red. I couldn’t believe it.

Jack clapped him on the back. “Come on, buddy, let’s get sinful.”

In the center of the patio table, a Boston cream pie sat, just lopsided enough to look homemade.

Terry eyed the pie. “Don’t tell me you made that.”

“You kidding? I have widows and divorcees all around me and they all think I need fattening up. They try to outdo each other and I get the results. Love it.”

We demolished the entire thing. If I didn’t quit eating so much, I’d have to start wearing stretch pants.

When we sprawled back in our chairs with coffee, the rugged San Gorgonio mountain peaks as a backdrop, Jack took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down.

“So what’s going on?”

Terry brought him up to speed about Rick, and when Jack asked what had started it, I told him, in detail, about the conversation at the office.

“The son of a bitch,” Terry said, his hands tightening on the chair. “You didn’t tell me all that.”

“Cool it, bud,” Jack said. He asked me about running into Rick at the market.

“When he grinned at me in that smirky little way of his,” I said, “I knew he wanted me to know he was watching.”

“But he didn’t confront either of you?”

When I told him no, he asked Terry, “Did you see him?”

“Not then, but later, when he drove by the real estate office.”

“Did he slow down or make any kind of a threatening gesture?”

“No. Just goes to show he wasn’t there for any real estate business.”

“But still, it could be argued that since he’s an agent, he had a legitimate purpose in being there, that perhaps when he saw you, he felt threatened so he drove on by.”

With each word Jack spoke, and from the tone of his voice, it became more and more apparent that we had no case.

“He’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?”

“If he’d made verbal threats, we could get him. Even if he’s too smart for that, we could still have a chance. Since the stalking laws were amended in ‘02, a person can be arrested for seriously alarming someone, but I’m not sure what you’ve described would even qualify for that.”

“He’s doing it on purpose,” I said quietly. “I just know.”

“You’re probably right,” Jack said. “NVAW sponsored a survey—”

“Who?” I asked.

“National Violence Against Women. According to them, one out of twelve women will be stalked in her lifetime, and over a million are stalked annually. Some stalkers progress to violence, and I’d like to get this joker before he has a chance to do something nasty. Unfortunately, until he does something illegal, my hands are tied—officially, that is. Off the record, I suggest you protect yourself.

“Meanwhile, I’ll pay him a nice, friendly visit.”

***

Heading home, the I-10 traffic was light except for a line of eighteen-wheelers. Terry put the car on cruise control. “You have to get a gun,” he said.

“I have one.”

He glanced at me, his expression incredulous. “You have a gun? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged, staring out the side window at the shrubs and cactuses in the sparsely vegetated desert between towns. We were heading west and the setting sun washed the dried scrub with an orange glare. In the distance, the San Gorgonio mountain range faded in the late afternoon haze.

“I wouldn’t use it except in an emergency,” I said.

“What do you think this is?”

“A nuisance. A spoiled kid wanting something he can’t have.”

“Well, that spoiled kid is very capable of taking what he wants and no one knows that better than you.” Terry merged into far right lane. “You need some protection when you go out alone.”

“I’m not going to walk around with that gun in my hands, and it won’t do me any good in my purse. If someone grabs me they’re not going to stand around while I dig for a weapon.

“You’d better start thinking of something to help you. You’re such a tiny thing that you need something to balance the power.”

“Well, not that gun. It’s a .45, too big and heavy for me. Mac always kept it in the headboard, and that’s where it’s going to stay. Besides, I could never actually shoot anyone.”

Terry rolled his eyes. “Heaven save me from bull-headed women.”

“You didn’t think I was so bad when we were on the sofa.”

“You had me at a disadvantage. You know how we men are when our pants are down.”

“I seem to remember you were the one who pulled them down and mine as well.”

Taking the exit to Yucaipa, Terry wiggled his eyebrows at me. “We’re almost home. Shall we pull them down again?”

***

Over waffles the next morning Terry kept studying me.

“Okay, what is it?” I asked.

“Honey, let’s make a trip back to Milo’s. They had all kinds of weapons.”

“I told you—”

“How about a stun gun? That might be the perfect solution for you.”

“What about my pepper spray?” Gathering the dishes, I stacked them in the sink.

“It’s okay in some instances, but I think you need something more powerful, something that would drop a two-hundred pound man. At least take a look. If you don’t, I’ll worry myself sick about you.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Talk about coercion at its best. Or worst.”

He shrugged and pulled me onto his lap. “You know what they say about love and war.”

A half hour later, we were back at Milo’s.

“What do you have in stun guns,” I asked.

“Didn’t like the pepper spray?”

“We’d feel better—” Terry broke off at my look. “Okay, I’d feel better if she had something stronger, something I know will do the trick.”

Bruce took several items from the showcase and placed them on the counter. While most were black and varied from a smaller rectangle about five inches long to a large flashlight-shape of about twenty inches, two looked exactly like cell phones. I picked up the silver one.

“This is a stun gun?”

“Thought you’d like that. See this?” He pointed to the silver nodule on the end, to what I thought at first glance was the antenna. “This shoots 180,000 volts into your attacker. It’s also an alarm. You can carry that around and everyone will assume it’s your phone.”

Terry asked, “But is 180,000 volts enough to stop a two-hundred pound man?”

“The higher the voltage, the more damage it’s going to do.” Bruce selected a three-inch rectangle with two little silver or chrome nodules on the end. “This little baby shoots a million volts. It also comes with a holster.”

“A million volts? I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Stun guns don’t kill. You have to have high amperage as well as voltage. Lightning’s amperage is high; that’s what fries the body. This plays on the attacker’s nervous system. A half-second zap will double him in pain, two seconds and you got spasms and disorientation. Over three will put him down. And, the higher voltage will travel easier through thick layers of clothing. Just remember, though, no matter the shape or price, the difference in voltage is the difference in how long it takes to put him down. So the question is, how long do you want to struggle with an attacker?”

We walked out with the million-volt gun.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Armed with my new stun gun, I previewed homes in San Bernardino early the next day. The first one was a three-bedroom ranch, but I didn’t get far. As soon as I opened the door, a musty, moldy smell hit me. I thought it might be water damage, and the bulging kitchen and dining room walls and warped floors confirmed my guess. Without venturing into the rest of the house, I turned around and left.

The next one on my list, a small three-bedroom ranch-style home, looked presentable from the street, but the weeds and loose trash scattered in the neighborhood caused me to pause. A group of teenage boys next door watched with sullen faces as I drove up, their baggy pants hanging to their knees and their caps on backward. The loud bass of their rap music throbbed in my ears, so I pressed the gas and drove on.

By three in the afternoon, I was so discouraged I headed east, thinking I’d stop first in Calimesa, then, if I didn’t find anything, continue on to Beaumont and Banning. I almost took the exit home, but if I wanted to have an open house that weekend, I needed to get the details to Ben for the newspaper.

On the freeway, I allowed myself to think about Shanna and her reaction to my letter, counting off the days until she returned from vacation. If they stayed the full two weeks, they wouldn’t return home for another four or five days. Then, depending on how late they got home, they could pick up the mail that day or the next. Maybe five, possibly six days until she called. Assuming she’d call after reading my letter. Of course she’d call. Wouldn’t she?

And when she did, what would she say? One part of me wanted desperately to know and the other was terrified at the thought of what she might decide to tell me.

That afternoon I previewed four more homes, determined to find something. Finally I checked a small two bedroom, one bath, in Banning. While it was tiny, the neighborhood showed well with mowed lawns, and the houses, while small, were all in good repair. Outside, young families worked on their lawns and washed cars. I liked the feeling of the neighborhood and the location was convenient to the market and drugstore. It would make a nice starter home, so I decided to book it. When I called the office, Nina said Ben wanted to talk to me.

“Can you drop by the office?” Ben asked.

“Anything wrong?”

“Just the contrary. I might have a buyer for your condo.”

I hustled back on the freeway, back to the office. A buyer? It couldn’t be; my condo wasn’t even in the system yet. And I wasn’t ready. I’d have to go through everything once again, sort what to keep, what to give to Shanna. Most of all, I didn’t know if I was going to get the new house. There hadn’t been enough time to even process the bids. Holy shit, where would I move?

Yet I couldn’t help but marvel at how fast my life was moving. And changing. After so many years of the same routine of working, coming home, preparing a family dinner on Sunday, then back to work on Monday and starting the process all over again, I felt a new excitement in life, something I’d never felt even before Mac became so ill.

I punched in Terry’s cell number and swung by the house to pick him up. As my significant other, I wanted him with me.

***

“I’m the buyer,” Ben told me, “and I’ll pay cash if you can vacate the condo in two weeks.”

I’m sure my mouth hung open. “You want my home? What on earth for?”

“I want to bring my aunt out from Ohio,” he said, his silver hair glistening under the high-density lamp he used to fill out contracts. “She’s my mother’s last living relative, and she’s too old to have to worry about the cold and the house’s upkeep.”

“That’s wonderful, for all of us, but two weeks? That’s impossible, Ben. I don’t have the new house yet, and besides, there’s the time involved. How can I possibly get packed and moved when I have to work every day? I’d need at least a month.”

“My aunt has a buyer for her house and she needs to move quickly. I don’t want to put the old girl through the stress of having her things in storage while we find her something. Your condo would be perfect, but I need your answer now.”

Oh, damn. I must have looked panicked because Terry took my hand.

“It’s up to you, honey. If you want to take the offer, I’ll help you move.”

“But we don’t have a place to move to.” I swallowed hard. Damn, what a decision. But cash? This deal was a sure thing and I wouldn’t have to sit out the time wondering if my house would sell. My mind whirled with possibilities, the image of sending a check to Stan and Maggie standing out as the brightest. But how could I possibly try to work and move in less than two weeks?

“How about if I sweeten the deal,” Ben said, as relaxed as if we were simply in a friendly conversation. If I hadn’t known he was such a consummate salesman, I would’ve sworn he didn’t really care if he made the deal or not. And, just like the typical client, I sweated, worried about making the right decision.

“What if I upped the offer by another three-thousand?” Ben said. “Say, in cash, to help with the inconvenience of moving so quickly. That would bring the total up to your asking price. Now what do you say?” He sat back in his desk chair, tipping it back so far I worried it would flip over, but he patiently waited for my response, effectively using the age-old salesman’s technique of making the offer sound great, then keeping silent. The adage used to be, “The first one who speaks, loses,” and even knowing the game, it was working on me. I reacted just like a novice—fearful of committing so soon, yet afraid of losing the cash.

“Damn, Ben. No wonder you’re so successful,” I told him. “But I need some time to think straight.”

“Don’t take too much time. I want your answer by tomorrow or the deal’s off.”

***

On the way home, Terry and I discussed the pros and cons of Ben’s offer.

“If I take it, we wouldn’t have to bother about showings,” I said, driving east on Yucaipa Boulevard. “I hate trying to keep the house straight for people tromping through all the time. But the biggest consideration is the opportunity to pay off Stan and Maggie. Oh, how I want them out of my life, and the sooner the better.”

“I know that’s what you want, but are you sure that’s the wisest thing? Don’t forget, they’re your daughter’s aunt and uncle, and it’s going to be difficult for her if her mother and her father’s family are at odds.”

Caught by the red light at Oak Glen Canyon Road, I thought about his words, but exhaust from the city bus in front filled the car and my stomach rolled.

“I know you’re right,” I said, my hands tightening on the wheel, “but I’m not sure I’m that noble.” Damn, wouldn’t the light ever change? I felt a tightening of my neck and shoulder muscles and the beginning of a headache. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to forgive them. But not now.”

I rotated my head left and right to ease the pressure, but my temples were throbbing. I couldn’t wait to get home and out of my clothes. A nap would be heaven. I didn’t want to think about packing and moving, and I certainly didn’t want to think about forgiveness.

***

At home my stomach felt knotted so I fixed a light supper of scrambled eggs, toast and sliced tomatoes. Terry zapped some bacon in the microwave, but I didn’t think my stomach could take anything greasy.

“I still don’t know what to do,” I told him, munching on dry toast and taking a big drink of a diet cola, hoping the fizz would settle my stomach.

“Honey,” he said, helping himself to the bacon, “I’ll support your decision whatever it is, and you know I’ll help.”

Leaning over the table, I gave him a light kiss. “I appreciate it, but how can I work and get packed and moved at the same time?”

“I’m a great packer,” he said. “Don’t worry. You do your thing at work and I’ll do the packing. It won’t be so bad. At least you don’t have an attic full of stuff and your garage is pretty clean.”

While Terry cleared the table, I wandered the condo, assessing my belongings. After Mac’s death, Shanna had helped me sort Mac’s things, and about the only items I kept were family pictures, the boxes of cards, and a few personal items such as his wallet and cufflinks. Now, I just wanted rid of it all. After everything that had happened, I wanted to dump Mac’s things into the garbage, but there was Shanna to consider. And Kyle. Perhaps one day he’d like his grandfather’s jewelry, and Shanna, I’m sure, would want the pictures and cards. I made a mental note to ask when she called. If she called. I was beginning to wonder if the letter had been a good idea after all.

Terry came up from behind me and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I leaned back against him.

“So many decisions to make, so much to do,” I said. “I just want to run away from home.”

“You can’t run without me, you know.” He nibbled my neck, and while I felt a delicious tingle, the strain of the past few days kept me from enjoying the kisses. I couldn’t relax.

“You need a massage.” Arm around me, Terry led me to the bed. “Strip down to your underwear and lie on your back. Or, you can take it all off, but you’re liable to get more than a massage.”

I’d never had a massage. In all my years of marriage, Mac had never offered to rub my feet or back. Sometimes, after standing all day at an open house, I’d feel achy all over and I’d ask him to rub my feet. I made sure I took a shower before asking, but even then he’d make it so clear he found the chore distasteful that I quit asking and rubbed my own feet.

Now, the prospect of a foot rub was more tempting than the best sex in the world. In just my bra and panties, I lay across the bed.

“Scoot down to the end so I can reach you,” Terry told me, returning from the bathroom with my body lotion.

I did so and waited, not knowing what to expect. He started with the fingers on one hand, gently working every inch to my shoulder, then moved to the other hand. After he massaged each hand and arm, he started on my feet, rubbing my heels, my ankles and even between my toes. He had me to turn over, and he concentrated on my shoulders, working his way to the base of my skull. His warm, slippery hands massaged and kneaded the tightened muscles until I moaned in pleasure. I couldn’t believe what I’d been missing all my life.

“You should make an appointment with Dr. Cole in Redlands,” he said. “He’s my chiropractor, and he’s the best.”

“Ummm,” I answered. When he stretched out beside me, I felt liquid all over. “Want the favor returned?”

“Later. I want you to relax and feel better. You have some decisions to make and you need to make them tonight. I’ll heat some hot cocoa and we can talk.”

Damn, I loved that man. No wonder his wife hadn’t wanted to let him go.

I jerked upright. Where had that thought come from? I didn’t want to think of Terry’s wife. She was a shadowy figure in the background, an unwanted presence I didn’t want to acknowledge. When I heard Terry approaching the bedroom, I slipped on my robe and shoved all thoughts of her aside.

***

We sat in bed and sipped cocoa. “Okay,” Terry said, “let’s settle this so you can relax and get some sleep. What do you want to do? Without worrying about anything else, what does your first instinct tell you to do?”

I snuggled against him and sighed. “Take the offer and run.”

“Then that settles it. All the rest we’ll figure out as we go.”

“But all this stuff . . .”

“You let me worry about it. I’m more than a pretty face, you know. I’ll get it packed.”

“But where would we stay until the house is ready?”

“There’s my apartment,” Terry said. It’s a small one-bedroom, but it’ll do for now.”

“Funny, but I’d forgotten about your apartment. But what if we don’t get the house?”

Terry shrugged. “Then we’ll find another. Or, if you don’t get the house, you might consider following through on your original plan to move to Minnesota. I’d be willing to make the move. Hell, I’d go anywhere with you.”

I set the cup on the nightstand. “I’m not sure I want to do that now, not while things are so tense between Shanna and me. Besides, I have a job here.”

“You could get a job there.”

“But I know everyone here, the lenders, the mortgage brokers—”

“You could get to know them in Minnesota.”

“But I’d have to start from scratch there, and we’d have to find a place to live . . .”

“Honey, you’re talking about details. Where you live isn’t nearly as important as how you live. I’d like you to remember that.”

“But there are so many things to consider.”

“Of course there are, but nothing we can’t handle. What’s more important? Staying in one place because you’re worried about what could happen, or grabbing onto what you want and working out the details as they come? If Shanna were a baby, or even still living with you, then yes, you’d need to be concerned about everything affecting her.

“But honey,” he went on, “that’s not the case, and isn’t it about time you grabbed some happiness for yourself? As for Shanna and the baby, how can you make them happy if you’re not happy yourself? Live life. Don’t be afraid of it.”

What he was saying sounded good, but since it was foreign to everything I had ever done, I wondered if I could do it. But I suddenly realized I wanted to. Very badly.

“I don’t think I’m ready to move to Minnesota now,” I said. “I just want our house in Forest Falls, a house where you and I could start fresh, without anything from the past hanging on. We’ll make it into our home.”

Sitting up, I looked around the bedroom, at the bed Mac and I had slept on for years, at the special dresser he bought because it had the small top drawers for his jewelry and personal items.

“I’d love to get rid of everything, except our new sofa, and start fresh. Just buy what we want for the new house.”

“Sure would make my packing job much easier,” Terry teased.

Now I was getting excited. “We could have a moving sale this weekend and what we’ll make from that should help toward the new furniture. We could . . . I suddenly remembered the open house I’d scheduled. “Damn. I have to work this weekend.”

“You just called it in today, didn’t you?”

I looked at him. “Of course! Maybe Ben hasn’t notified the paper yet.” I’d call him first thing tomorrow morning. I still had some questions, but I could handle them as they came. For the first time in my life, I was going to grab what I wanted and worry about the details later.

I was moving to Forest Falls.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next morning I called Ben to reschedule the open house in Banning for the following weekend.

“How soon will you know if I won the bid?” I asked, knowing I sounded like an excited rookie buyer. In a way, I was. This would be my first purchase as a single woman.

The HUD house I wanted was still in the bidding process, but would close in three more days. Since I would be an owner/occupant, my contract would take priority over investors, but as nice as the house was, I felt sure I would have a lot of competition.

“Relax, Lisa,” Ben said. “I have a friend at the HUD office and he’ll call as soon as they open the bids and declare a winner. Give it four days, max.”

“Four days?” I exclaimed. “Now I know how our clients feel.”

I couldn’t believe how badly I wanted the house. It was amazing: I’d had such doubts, but now it was all I could think of. After talking to Terry last, I’d grabbed him and we drove by the house. It was too dark to see much, so it was like having your Christmas present all wrapped up with a pretty bow under the tree, but being unable to open it until that special day. And now I couldn’t wait.

“Don’t worry,” Ben told me. “Your contract is solid.”

“I’m concerned, Ben. You know the bank started foreclosure proceedings on my condo and I’m not sure HUD will like that on my record.”

“I’ve talked to my friend about it, so don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything. I have a stake in this as well. I’d say about a month, six weeks at the most, and you’ll be ready to move in. Then tell your friend you need a vacation.”

***

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. We filled the house with boxes of various sizes and labeled them, “Keep,” “Donate,” and “Shanna,” and went from room to room, filling boxes or separating items for the moving sale. I decided to get rid of everything except for the dishes, pots, pans, and linens I bought while watching the home shopping channels during sleepless nights after Mac died. While they may have been impulse buys, I still liked them.

While sorting and packing was a lot of work, it kept me too busy to think of anything else. It was only when I took a break that I allowed myself to wonder why Shanna hadn’t called. Surely they must be back from their vacation by now and had picked up the mail. She must know that I was eager to hear from her.

“If she doesn’t call in the next couple of days, I’m flying out there,” I told Terry. Now that Shanna knew the truth about her father, it was important that she knew how much I loved her. I’d made it clear in the letter, but I had to make sure she knew how I felt.

The next day when the phone rang, I ran to answer, almost tripping over a roll of wrapping paper, hoping to hear her voice. But it was Ben.

“The house is yours, kiddo. Congratulations! The closing will be in one month, but don’t forget, you have to be out of the condo in nine days.” To help with the inconvenience, he offered the three-thousand dollars he’d promised a little early.

“Not only will I fork over the three-thousand,” he continued, “but if you want to come on in, I can advance your commission for selling the HUD house.”

I was out the door before he could hang up and change his mind.

Terry and I celebrated with dinner at Red Lobster, then we came home and had our own celebration. We took a bath together, complete with candles set around the edge of the tub just like in the movies.

***

Even though we put the moving sale together in a hurry, it went even better than I’d hoped. Most of the furniture sold in the first three hours, and the smaller items trickled out over the weekend. I sold the china that I had stored in the cupboard for years, stemware, although pretty enough, that I’d seldom used, and household accessories and decorations that had been given to Mac and me during our marriage.

Terry contributed some things he’d had in storage, including two metal detectors and a baby grand piano. When he told me he’d always wanted to learn but never got around to it, I talked him out of selling it, telling him he could learn now. I’d always loved to listen to piano music and I didn’t care if it was someone practicing or if it was a concerto.

Sunday evening we gleefully counted the money. Eying the neat stack of bills, I felt as proud of myself as if I’d personally printed the money. We made enough to buy appliances for the new house, and with the expense money Ben had given me, we could have it painted. Smaller things we could pick up later.

Now that the clock was ticking, we decided to stay at Terry’s apartment after vacating the condo, so the next two days we made several trips, loading both cars with boxes to place in his storage space. The only items I wanted to keep handy were clothes and personal things, including a couple of hardback novels I’d always kept on my bedside table for when I had trouble sleeping, and my favorite twenty-pound marbled geode bookends. Terry also insisted I bring my .45 pistol, especially since Rick might still be around.

When I pulled onto my street for one last trip, Terry was a half a block behind me. While the past few days had been exciting, I was exhausted and looked forward to getting the last few things moved.

As I approached my driveway, I saw a Ford Expedition sitting outside the garage. Stan’s car. I could see Maggie through the passenger window.

How dare they just show up without any notice. With the rush of moving, I’d almost managed to forget about Jenna, but now it all came back. Pulling to the side of the street, I called Terry on my cell.

“I’m too tired to deal with them now,” I told him. “I’ll just drive on by.”

“Honey, what’s that going to accomplish? You might as well hear what they have to say.”

“I heard enough that day at Jenna’s.”

“You have to face them eventually,” he said. “Might as well get it over with.”

We sat in the street while I decided what I wanted to do, Terry’s Lexus behind my Toyota, both engines idling. Stan and Maggie must have spotted me because they got out of their car and stood waiting.

Flashes of the wonderful times we’d all shared ran through my mind and I felt like crying. They had been more than in-laws to me; I had truly loved them. I’d shared my life with them and they’d shared theirs with me. For the first time in my life, I had felt part of a family.

Which made their betrayal even more bitter.

Terry was right—I might as well talk to them. I pulled up alongside of their car.

My cell phone rang. “Honey,” Terry said, “want me to disappear for a bit?”

“I have nothing to hide. Besides, I want you with me.” Without another word he pulled up behind me.

Getting out of my car, I could see Stan and Maggie watching Terry, their eyes curious. I didn’t owe them an explanation, so I didn’t introduce him.

“So it’s true,” Stan said. That was all he said, but his disapproval was clear.

“So what’s true?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

“You’re involved with a man.”

“I don’t think either of you is in any position to make judgments about anything I do.” The anger bubbled, but I tried to stay as calm as I could. I just couldn’t lose my composure in front of them.

“You could have waited a decent time after Mac’s death.”

“A decent time? ” I echoed. “You’re a fine one to talk about decency. At least I didn’t have an affair while I was married.”

Maggie flushed, but my words didn’t seem to faze Stan.

“You have Shanna to consider,” he went on. “She’s pregnant and having a difficult time coping with her father’s death.”

This was the gentle bear-like man I’d loved? And who I’d thought had loved me?

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me about consideration for Shanna,” I said, so angry I trembled. “Just where was the concern for her all those years when you knew her father was making babies another woman?”

Neither spoke. Cheeks red, Maggie kept her head down. Watching her, I couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times she’d held and comforted me. Suddenly I wearied of the entire thing and just wanted it to end.

“I’d like you both to leave. And please, don’t come back.”

“Shanna called,” Maggie said, her voice low. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Shanna called you? ” I looked at her in disbelief, feeling as if I’d been struck in the stomach with a club.

“She wanted to know if the things you said in your letter were true.”

Shanna called Maggie instead of me. Tears welled and my legs went weak. I’d truly lost her. Terry slid his arm around my waist.

“Look,” Stan said. “Why don’t we go inside like civil people and talk this out.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Terry said.

Stan, several inches taller than Terry’s six feet, eyed him as if he were a bug. “I don’t believe I was talking to you.”

“It’s immaterial whether or not you were speaking to me,” Terry told him. “You’re talking to my fiancée, and I’ll do what I think necessary to protect her. Now if you want to continue to talk to her, I suggest you speak a little nicer or you won’t speak at all.”

Stan gaped at Terry in disbelief. Maggie gasped. And I almost howled in glee. If I hadn’t been in love with Terry before, I was now. In front of Stan and Maggie, I laid my head on his shoulder to let him know how much I appreciated his words and how much I loved him. Then I straightened.

“Well, you’ve both said what you came here to say, and now you’ll have to excuse us. As you can see, we’re busy. Oh. I’ll be sending you a check as soon as I close on the condo.”

“That’s not necessary, Lisa,” Maggie said. It was clear how difficult this meeting was for her as well as for me. She’d known me for too long not to realize how it would make me feel. “Please, can’t we just talk?”

“Terry and I’ve had a long weekend,” I said, “and now we’d like some rest. I’d appreciate if you’d leave.” I tugged Terry’s arm and without looking back, headed for the door.

***

I couldn’t relax. No matter how Terry tried to excuse Shanna, I couldn’t forget that she’d called Stan and Maggie instead of me. I ached with the hurt and even a backrub didn’t help. I couldn’t even cry.

All evening I thought about the past, remembering Shanna as a grade-schooler, sitting quietly beside me at the dressing table and watching as I applied makeup or fixed my hair. I remembered how eager she’d been to imitate me, to dust or make cookies with me. Covered in flour, she’d wanted to help.

But along with the good memories, I also remembered the other times, times I was too busy and didn’t want to have to clean the extra mess her help always caused, too busy to see the hurt in her eyes when I sent her away, too involved in my own pain to see my daughter’s.

How many times had I crushed her, made her feel as though she wasn’t important to me?

Now that it was too late, I could look back and see her eyes. I wanted to run to her, throw my arms around her and tell her how much I loved her and how sorry I was for hurting her.

But was it too late? Maybe so, but I had to try.

I had to go to Minnesota, and I had to go now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The flight was long but uneventful with one changeover in Salt Lake. I was spending a chunk of money I couldn’t afford, but it was necessary. And I was only going to stay three days, long enough to talk to my daughter, to make her understand.

I’d called Shanna before picking up my ticket to make sure she was going to be home, but I didn’t tell her what flight I’d be on or suggest I stay with her and Leif. I had some things I wanted to say to her and wanted to feel I was on my own turf, even if that turf was a hotel room.

Terry had preferred to stay home and finish moving, but I think he also wanted to give me time alone with my daughter.

During the flight I stared out the window, planning what to say, praying I could win back my daughter's affection. We were in a terrible situation, so alienated from each other. I could only pray this visit would bridge the gulf between us.

After landing in Minneapolis, I boarded the complimentary shuttle to the hotel, enjoying the feel of the cool, moist, evening air on my skin. The hotel was next to the Mall of America, about ten minutes from the airport. When booking the trip, I’d hoped that after working things out, Shanna and I would have some time to spend together strolling the mall, shopping, having our hair done, perhaps even have one of those glamour makeovers. I’d be happy doing anything she’d like, as long as we could spend the time without all the strain that had divided us like an invisible wall.

Was I hoping for too much too soon? Perhaps. But I loved her too much not to try.

After unpacking my bags, I wandered down to the hotel restaurant and found it had closed at nine. But the sports bar was still open. An older man and woman occupied a small booth, and a thirty-ish man in a business suit sat at a small table, his eyes on one of the two TVs. I thought about ordering a sandwich, but I’d never felt comfortable in a bar, whether alone or even with someone.

Instead, I decided to have pizza delivered to my room. Changing into my robe and relaxing in front of the TV sounded wonderful, and, since my room had a small fridge and a microwave, I could zap the leftovers tomorrow. I loved cold pizza for breakfast.

I checked my watch. It was just after ten and I wondered if Shanna was in bed. If things weren’t so strained between us, I’d invite her to come on over and share the pizza. Oh, what the hell, I’d do it anyway.

I dialed her number, feeling as apprehensive as if I were an encyclopedia salesperson calling on my first client. Keep it casual, I thought. No strain, at least not tonight.

When she answered, all I said was, “I’m here.”

“Where?”

“At the Marriott by the mall. Want to come over? I’ve ordered pizza.”

I heard nothing but silence. Oh Lord, this wasn’t going to be good.

Finally she said, “Mom, I want to talk to you, but not tonight. Since I didn’t know when you’d be in, I couldn’t make arrangements. Kyle picked up a slight cold and he’s been cranky. I finally got him in bed and I’m exhausted. How about tomorrow?”

“Fine,” I said, keeping it light.

“How long are you going to stay?”

“Three days.”

“You don’t have to stay at the hotel, especially since you’re so broke.” She didn’t sound sarcastic when she said that, thank God. “Leif could come and get you.”

Oh sure, I thought. I’d be about as welcome as a tax collector. “Honey, the arrangements are all made, and I’ll be fine. Besides, we can have lunch or dinner here and you won’t have to cook. Can you spend the day?”

“Really, Mom. I can’t spend all day away from home. That’s why you should come here.”

“What about Leif’s mother? Could she keep Kyle for the day? We have so much to talk about. I want to visit with him, of course. In fact, I can’t wait to see how he’s grown. But I really want to talk to you first.”

“Well,” Shanna said, drawing out the word. “I suppose I could call her.”

“If she’s busy and you need to get a sitter, I’ll pay for it.”

“I thought you were broke.”

I remembered that she didn’t know about my selling the condo, or even that I’d decided to sell. “Things have been happening.”

“He’s not with you, is he?”

“Terry wanted to give us some time alone,” I told her, giving him a name.

“That’s nice of him.” Now her words were clipped, sarcastic.

Sudden irritation flared, but I ignored it and went ahead with making our plans. Terry would’ve been proud of my self-control. And when we talked on the phone later, he said he was.

“You both can settle the business about me later,” he said. “Right now, it’s important that she understand about her father. And about your marriage.”

He was right. I knew that. Yet later, while trying to sleep, I thought about the strain that was still apparent between Shanna and me, and I dreaded what might happen when we tried to talk.

Please, please, I prayed to the fates, let us work this out.

***

After a slice of pizza in front of the TV the next morning, I dressed and waited to hear from Shanna. I expected her to call around nine, after Kyle was up and fed and she had a chance to call her mother-in-law.

I didn’t know Leif’s mother, Sigrid, or Sid, as everyone called her, very well, but the couple of times I’d talked with her, at the wedding, then during my short visit before Mac had become so ill, I’d liked her. She was a true Norwegian, a tall, large-boned strawberry blond. She’d been a widow for a number of years, and her two sons lived within an hour’s drive. According to Shanna, Sid loved to fill her home with family and home-cooking, and when Shanna would tell me about one of Sid’s family gatherings, I’d feel happy that Shanna had such a close relationship with her. But I couldn’t help but feel empty. And alone.

I still hoped that one day in the not-too-distant future, I could move there and be part of their family. But now, watching the hours pass with no word from Shanna, I wondered if I’d ever be part of anything with her.

Ten came and went, then eleven.

I paced the room, stood watching at the window, paced some more, punched the TV remote and watched the local news, switched it off and paced again. Finally I sat by the phone and stared at it, willing it to ring.

Why didn’t she call? She knew I was waiting to hear from her. Wanting to end the maddening suspense, I picked up the phone to call a taxi, but I hesitated. In her home, a thousand things could demand her attention and make it difficult for us to talk. Surely, talking here in the quiet hotel room would be better.

By one, I knew she was trying my patience, perhaps making me wait as a sort of punishment. Perhaps she was upset because I couldn’t come when she’d first asked, or maybe it was because I preferred not to stay with them during this visit. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to me. Whatever the reason, I’d had enough.

I called the concierge desk to inquire about babysitting, but they didn’t have that service. Just as I was wondering what to do next, my phone rang. It was Shanna, and she was on her way.

“Have you had lunch?” I asked, careful to keep my voice unruffled.

“I haven’t had time for anything,” she said, her voice curt, agitated. “Of all days Sid wasn’t home, so I called Lacy and had to wait for her.”

Lacy was Shanna’s sister-in-law who attended the University of Minnesota and had varied hours.

“Are you all right?” I asked, instantly ashamed that I’d added more stress. Damn, I should’ve been more thoughtful. Why did life have to be so damned complicated at times?

“I’m fine, Mom. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

I called room service and ordered two spinach and feta cheese quiches, salads, and a pitcher of iced tea, all things I knew Shanna loved. I wanted her to sit back, relax with her feet propped up, and have something to eat before we talked.

***

When Shanna arrived, I was alarmed by the dark circles under her eyes, accentuated by her pale skin.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad to see you.” I embraced her, then, arm still around her, walked her to the chair, refusing to acknowledge she wasn’t hugging me back.

She shrugged out of my embrace. “Really, Mother, I’m not an invalid.” Nevertheless, when I helped her sit on the chair and slid the other chair over so she could prop up her feet, she didn’t protest. I lifted her feet to sit down, then placed her feet in my lap.

“If you’d only have let me know you were coming,” she said, “I could’ve made arrangements. Then you could’ve seen Kyle and Leif.”

I wouldn’t allow her to put me on the defensive. Not this time. “I hope to see both of them before I leave,” I told her. “Maybe tomorrow. But right now, we need to talk.”

“I don’t know what we have to talk about. You said it all in your letter, didn’t you? At least I hope there aren’t going to be any more revelations.”

“Judging from your attitude, I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“What did you expect?”

“I didn’t expect you to call Stan and Maggie instead of me.”

“I knew they would tell me the truth.”

“The truth! They’re the same two people who lied to you and me by keeping your father’s life with another woman and their son hidden for ten years. Listen to me, Shanna. Have I ever lied to you?”

“That’s the problem! You never tell me much of anything!” She swiped away her tears. “You wouldn’t come when I asked because you said you don’t have any money. And then I find out you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend, for God’s sake, and Dad hasn’t been dead six months.”

“I realize it’s soon, but Shanna, honey, I’ve been lonely a long time. Won’t you try to understand?”

“I understand more than you think,” she told me. “You were always so cold to both of us. No wonder Dad turned to someone else. But he was always there for me, and now you’re trying to take away the good memories I have, to turn them into something ugly.”

Sitting across from Shanna, I saw her face portray the emotions behind her words, and I heard the hurt behind the anger. I began to wonder if, perhaps deep inside, she were still a wounded child, needing her mother’s attention.

“You were always so cold,” she said again, her voice accusing. “Why not admit it, Mom. I understand why Dad wanted someone else, but who could I turn to? You wouldn’t even look at me unless I was perfect, just the way you wanted everything around you to be.”

Her words stunned me just as if she’d thrown ice water in my face. I stared at her, replaying our lives in my mind, but this time looking at it from her perspective, and what I saw horrified me. She was right. Oh God, forgive me, but that’s how it must have looked to her. I’d allowed the hurt I’d felt from Mac to turn me into something less than what a caring mother should be.

I wanted to hold my daughter and croon to her, to tell her how much I loved her. I wanted to make up for all the years I didn’t. Or couldn’t.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“And after Dad died,” she went on, “when I was scared about my pregnancy and I broke down and asked if you’d come, begged, even, you still wouldn’t do it. You didn’t have the money. You were busy. There was always something else you had to take care of first and you had to wait until everything was perfect. Well I’m not perfect, but I needed you.” Tears welled in her beautiful eyes and spilled over. “Damn tears. I’m crying all the time, now. Sometimes pregnancy sucks.”

I went to her then and kneeled beside her chair, wrapping my arms around her, just like Terry had done with me.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. I did it all wrong.” She was stiff, resistant, but she didn’t move. “I love you so much and I never wanted to hurt you. Can you ever forgive me?” On and on I crooned, until I felt her relax. Only then did I allow myself to look at her and do the simple little things I’d always longed to do, like brushing her hair back from her face and kissing her forehead. I hugged her again as if I couldn’t get enough. And I couldn’t. This was my daughter, my only child, whom I’d neglected as surely as if I’d physically abandoned her. Perhaps what I had done was worse: I’d made her feel unloved.

“I made so many mistakes,” I told her, my heart breaking for her and for me, “but will you give me another chance? Please, honey, I love you and want to be part of your life.” I searched her eyes for some glimmer of understanding, of forgiveness, of some possibility that I might have another chance with her. When her eyes softened, I knew something good was happening. I could feel it, sense it in the way she looked at me.

“I’ll try, Mom,” she finally said, but there was still a hint of reserve, of caution in her eyes. “Maybe if we both try, because I want you in my life, and I want you to be a part of Kyle’s life as well.”

She’d give me another chance! My heart sang.

Room service knocked on the door. I pulled myself together enough to open the door while Shanna made a dash for the bathroom. A young Asian man placed the trays on the table and made sure we had everything we needed. After he left, Shanna lifted the chrome lids as eagerly as a child.

“Oh, Mom, this looks great!”

We dug in, devouring everything until even the crumbs were gone.

“Now tell me about your pregnancy,” I said, as we both leaned back in our chairs.

“Dr. Peterson doesn’t seem to be concerned beyond checking with me each week, so I’m not so worried now. She smiled at me, the first genuine smile I’d seen from her in years. “Actually, I’m doing fine. Leif and Kyle are great. I miss you, Mom. I’d like Kyle to have you around as well as Grandma Sid. Now that you have someone in your life, are you still going to move here?”

That was the question I dreaded answering, but I had to be honest. No more lies or half-truths.

I told her about selling the condo and buying the HUD house. Surprisingly, she wasn’t upset about my selling the condo, but buying a house in Forest Falls was another matter.

“You mean you had the chance to move here, but you chose to stay in California?”

Her voice had that tone again, disbelieving and critical, and my heart sank. After all the progress we’d made, the wall was back.

“Honey, there’s still the issue of money.”

“But now you have this man, Terry. Can’t he help?”

“He could, but Shanna, please try to understand. I’d love to live close to you, but I want to be my own woman, making my own way. I have a job in California, contacts at lending institutions that I’ve built over the years, and I’m not secure enough to give all that up. Perhaps sometime in the future, I’ll feel brave enough to make all those changes. I hope so. There’s a lot of things I want to do.” I told her my dreams of making enough to buy a motor home and traveling the country, of seeing all the sights I’d only read about. “Terry wants to do that as well. So you never know.”

Shanna sighed. “You still want everything all sorted out and planned to the last detail. I just can’t see you living a vagabond life, either with this man or by yourself, and I don’t think you’ll ever change.”

Chapter Thirty

The next morning I rented a car for the half-hour’s drive to Shanna’s home in Maple Grove, a bustling Minneapolis suburb. She had offered to pick me up, but I didn’t want to cause her more stress. And I needed the quiet time to brace myself before seeing Leif again.

I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel about me. Although quiet, he had always seemed friendly, but now I wondered. I’d heard Norwegian men were very protective of their families, and after all the misunderstandings between Shanna and me, I was concerned that he might not view me as someone he’d welcome in his home. And no matter how Shanna and I worked toward a different relationship, it would never be totally right if her husband and I were at odds. I only hoped he’d realize that no matter what mistakes I’d made, I only wanted the chance to show my daughter and grandson how much I loved them.

After driving a couple of city blocks to get used to the rental car, I hopped onto the freeway and headed northwest. The little red Suzuki was easy to drive, so I tried to relax and enjoy the scenery, so different from the scorched brown in my own area of Southern California.

Even from the freeway in a metropolitan area, I saw trees everywhere. Maples, elms, and others I didn’t recognize shared space with office buildings, strip malls and residential areas. Just seeing them had a calming effect. I took a deep breath and was glad I’d made the trip, thankful I was going to spend the day with my daughter and her family.

Traffic zipped right along. The twin cities, Minneapolis-St Paul, had a combined population of around three-million people, and at nine in the morning the I-494 freeway was crowded but not congested as I’d expected.

But what astonished me was the lack of pollution. No brown clouds, no low-lying brown haze, just a clear blue sky with masses of white clouds. Directly overhead they were huge and puffy, and in the distance, long and streaky. After the scrub vegetation and hazy skies of home, this looked like paradise.

The only thing missing was Terry. When I’d talked to him earlier that morning, he’d sounded busy but glad I was going to Shanna’s.

“Don’t worry about anything here,” he’d told me. “Just relax and have a good time with your daughter. You deserve it.” No wonder I adored that man.

As Shanna and I had prearranged, she met me in the parking lot at Baker’s Square, a family-style restaurant right off the freeway, and led me to her home a few blocks away. With a population of over fifty-thousand and still booming, Maple Grove, or the part I saw of it, looked like newer construction, filled with condos, newer homes, restaurants and shopping. But I still saw plenty of trees and shrubs.

When I pulled in after Shanna in her driveway, the anxiety came back, and I felt glued to my seat. What if I came all this way only to discover Leif wouldn’t forgive me for the harm I’d caused? No matter how strong I felt in my new life, I didn’t know if I was courageous enough to face another rejection, especially from family.

Just as I decided I might as well face him and get it over with, he stepped out of the garage. Ready for work in slacks and an umber sports coat that complemented his red hair, he opened the car door for Shanna, took Kyle from his car seat, then with his son in his arms, walked to my car. He wasn’t smiling.

I braced myself.

“Hi Lisa,” he said, his hair shining like bronze in the morning sun. He opened my door, and with a smile that lit his entire face, he extended a hand to help me out. “Glad to see you.”

I almost cried.

The morning passed quickly. While Shanna attended to Kyle and started lunch, Leif took me on a tour of the house, showing me the changes they’d made since my last visit, pointing out all the trees they’d planted in the back yard so they’d have plenty of shade. He’d even built a patio and screened it in, his pride evident as he explained how he’d done the work himself—with his wife’s help, of course. And his mother’s, and uncle’s, and . . . He went on to name every member in his family who lived within an hour’s drive. “I coaxed, cajoled, and bribed them with favors,” he admitted, laughing. “I’m not the handiest person around, but I try.”

He pointed out new raspberry and blueberries bushes and asparagus plants. “If I don’t manage to kill them, they should produce next year. Shanna’s already rescued the two apple trees, so they should be okay. The maple and flowering crabapple were already here.”

“Don’t feel too bad, Leif. The only time my thumbs are green is when I’m wearing garden gloves.” We both laughed and I loved the new sense of camaraderie we shared.

Gazing at the yard, he grew silent, and I didn’t break the stillness, content to simply be there. But when the silence stretched on, the old insecurities crept up and I hoped he wasn’t working up courage to say something I didn’t want to hear.

“Family’s important to me,” he finally said, his voice thoughtful, “and I want a nice home for my kids and a place where my family can gather. Even though my father died when I was young and it was a struggle for my mother, she managed to fill my childhood with many good memories. I loved my home, and I want my kids to feel the same way.” He turned to me. “I’m so sorry you had to go through what you did, but now that it’s over, at least the worst part, I hope you and Shanna can work out the problems between the two of you and come to a better understanding. I have family near, but you’re Shanna’s mother and she needs you. So does Kyle and the new one, and I want you to be an important part of our lives.”

I felt like hugging him, but still felt a little restraint. “I want that too, Leif, more than anything. I have so much to make up for that I wonder if I’ll ever do it right. I love her so much, but I’ve made so many mistakes, and even on this trip I caused her more stress.”

“Lisa, I may not have that much experience as a parent yet, but I do know we’re all human and we make mistakes. My mother made them with me and I’ll make them with my own children. But if we love each other and we try, it’s never too late to show someone you love them. Some times that simple thing works miracles.”

Listening to his words, I choked up and couldn’t speak. What a wonderful understanding man, and his love for Shanna was evident in everything he said. I felt sure his quiet strength had helped to calm her in times of stress and probably helped soothe her irritation with me during this trip. I’d already made mistakes, but now I knew Leif would support me in my efforts with my daughter. This time I did hug him and was surprised to discover how much easier it was to embrace someone.

Walking into the house for lunch, I wondered if he’d known about Mac, but decided not to ask. One hurdle was enough for now.

* * *

We had a lunch of homemade chicken and wild rice soup with a side of hot rolls. Leif, Shanna explained, traveled north with his siblings to purchase large bags of wild rice that had been harvested from the lakes in the area. He offered to send some to me as well and I knew Terry would love it in his dishes.

I’d always liked Leif, but that morning I grew to appreciate him even more. With his patience and good cheer, he was a contrast to the red-hair myth and a perfect match for Shanna, always seeing to her comfort, patiently waiting out the moods of irritability that her overworked hormones triggered. She, in turn, doted on him.

After he left for the office, she and I spent the rest of the day doing routine household chores and taking care of Kyle.

I loved being in her home, loved feeling part of the family, and I gloried in the time I spent with Kyle. I crawled on the floor with him, blew bubbles, played hide-and-seek and made funny faces, doing anything silly just to make him laugh. Shanna watched me carefully, saying nothing, but my instincts told me she wasn’t being judgmental, but instead was thoughtful, even puzzled, so I relaxed my guard and let my playful nature spring free.

Most of us do not remember when we were Kyle’s age, so she couldn’t remember that I’d acted much the same with her. It was only after she was older and Mac started his critical jabs at me that I’d retreated inside my wall. And of course, that was what stood out in her memory.

Oh, if only I’d been stronger. All the years I’d wasted, existing inside my protective cold shell, pretending his barbs didn’t matter, feeling I was the failure and not knowing how to overcome my imagined inefficiencies. I should have fought back, should have demanded that he show respect for me, especially in front of Shanna. And if he couldn’t or wouldn’t, I should’ve thrown him out. Never again would I allow anyone to ridicule me for whatever reason.

The rest of the afternoon Shanna and I grew more at ease with each other. For dinner, she suggested a tater tot casserole, a recipe Lacy, her sister-in-law, had picked up from her college roommates. Kyle loved it too, so Shanna browned hamburger and onions and I started a salad, then finished the casserole when Kyle needed her attention.

“I’ll try this recipe at home,” I told her, pouring cream of mushroom soup over her browned hamburger and onions in the casserole dish. I glanced at the recipe, then added the frozen tater tots to the top and stuck it in the oven. “It’s an easy meal to prepare after work when Terry and I want to stay in”

Shanna said nothing, but she visibly stiffened and put Kyle on the floor.

“We’ll need vegetables,” she finally said, taking out a package of corn cobblets from the fridge.

Feeling the tension, I knew we had to talk.

After dinner, I urged Shanna to rest, so I cleaned up the kitchen and put Kyle to bed. The family room opened off the kitchen, and Shanna and Leif sat together on the sofa, his arm around her. I made some coffee for Leif and me, tea for Shanna, and told her I wanted to talk.

Leif clicked the mute button. “Shall I give the two of you some privacy?”

“This involves all of us as a family, so please stay.”

Shanna’s sat up. “I don’t want to talk, Mother. We’re getting along just fine. Let’s not spoil it.”

“Don’t look so glum. I just want to tell both of you my plans.” I got out some shortbread with almond cookies I’d found in the cupboards, poured the drinks, and spooned ice cream into dishes. When everything was ready, I carried it all to the coffee table and sat down across from them.

“Thank you both for today. It’s been wonderful, and I intend on visiting as often as I can. And you know I’ll be here for the birth.”

Shanna said nothing, but she took a sip of her tea.

“I won’t go into your father’s and my marriage, Shanna, except to say you must have known I wasn’t happy—”

“I didn’t know any such thing,” she said. “All I knew was that you were so prim and proper to Daddy and me. And now I find out you have a boyfriend.” She shook her head.

“Shanna, I never looked at another man the entire time I was married to your father, and I certainly never imagined I’d meet someone else. I don’t know why these things happen, but Terry and I fell in love, and he showed me what it was like to truly love someone—and to be loved.”

“Dad loved you,” she said.

“Shanna,” Leif began, “maybe you ought to give your mother—”

“But Dad did everything,” she said to Leif, her voice rising. “He was warm and loving.” She turned to me. “I just don’t understand why you say you were unhappy.”

“I’m sure your mother had her reasons,” Leif said, and I could’ve kissed him. But I needed to make my daughter understand without doing further damage to the image she had of her father.

“As Kyle gets older,” I began, hoping I would say the right thing, “you’ll discover that sometimes parents have problems with each other that the children do not see. That’s a good thing because children aren’t supposed to know. And I doubt you’ll have the kind of problems your father and I had. But I made a lot of mistakes—with you and in my marriage. Instead of facing the problems and working them out, I thought that if I kept everything perfect, I could make them go away. I was wrong, and all I can do is try to go forward from here.”

“Okay,” Shanna said. “I can understand that, but now, after selling the condo, why won’t you move here? It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

“Honey, his name is Terry O’Neal.” I’d told them a little about him in the letter, but didn’t tell them about his illness. When they met him, I wanted them to accept—or reject him, if it happened—on what they thought of him as a man rather than feel pity because of his illness. “He’s willing to move here when I feel ready—”

“So it is you!” Shanna interrupted again. “How can you say you want to be with us when there’s nothing keeping you in California?”

I sighed, almost ready to give up trying to explain. But if I left before we resolved the issues, I doubt I’d ever have another chance with her. Above all, I had to remember that behind it all, my daughter was still feeling rejected.

“Honey, what I want isn’t the issue. It’s all about finances. If you’ll remember from the letter, I received very little from Mac’s insurance, and I lost all my equity in the condo. There’s nothing left in savings, and I had to pay a large sum of money to Stan and Maggie. I still want to move here, but I need the chance to save a little and build some savings before starting all over in a new state.“

“But we’ve offered—” Shanna began, and Leif, bless his heart, interrupted her.

“I know you want your mother here,” he said, taking her hand, “and I do too. But I understand how she feels about her independence, and frankly, I respect her for her decision.”

Shanna stared at him, then finally, her entire body sagged. She turned to me. “But you still plan to move here?”

“Yes, sweetheart, just as soon as I can,” I told her, wanting to jump and shout with joy. My daughter may not be happy about my decision, but at least she was willing to accept it. She was accepting me.

* * *

The next day, she and I, along with Kyle in a rented stroller, wandered the Mall of America, resting often so Shanna wouldn’t get overly tired. What a treat to browse through Nordstrom’s with piano music from the baby grand playing in the background. I felt so elegant. While I couldn’t afford their merchandise, I loved wandering the aisles. Shanna and I tried on lipsticks and jewelry and had a wonderful time. We lunched at the mall’s food court overlooking the amusement park, and then, because the carousel music called to me, I had to get closer. We took Kyle for a ride but I think I enjoyed it more than either of them. I loved the miniature park, the lights twinkling in the trees, the roar of the roller coaster passing by, the delicious aromas of pop corn mixing with the food court above. It was like a fairy tale world where nothing bad ever happened.

Then Shanna brought up her half-brother.

We were in my room at the hotel that night, and Shanna had been giving me the look that told me she had something on her mind.

“What is it, honey?”

“You know I talked to Uncle Stan and Aunt Maggie. When I asked about my half-brother, they told me all about him and they said his mother wants you to talk to him about Dad. Will you?”

I didn’t want this conversation, didn’t want to even think about Jenna or Marsh right now. This time was for my daughter.

But Marsh was her brother, and if I wanted a new start with her, I had to give her an answer, an honest one.

“I don’t know, honey. I can’t see it happening right now, but life is funny. Who would have thought things would’ve happened as they have?”

She shook her head. “It’s all so unbelievable.” She was silent a moment. “I’m going to have to meet him one day.”

“Perhaps your aunt and uncle can arrange that for you.”

“Mom, I know you’re angry at Uncle Stan and Aunt Maggie, and I really can’t blame you, but try to see it from their side. It was hard for them to keep the secret. They may have made a mistake, but they love you.”

For a moment, I felt as though I were listening to Terry. But after their betrayal, how could I feel any other way? If I were wrong, then I’d just have to be wrong. At least for now.

“I understand, sweetheart, but I can’t do that. At least not now.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Terry met me at the Ontario airport, and as soon as I saw him, I flew into his arms. He lifted me straight up, kissing me until we heard snickers around us.

“I’m home,” I said, touching my cheek to his. “Finally, I’m home.”

On the freeway, we headed east to his apartment in Redlands. It was ten at night and the freeway traffic had thinned. After the stale air on the plane, it felt great to open the car windows to the eighty-degree night and let the warm air blow on my face and through my hair.

Although I had called Terry each night to tell him about the day, I explained again that Shanna and I had finally reached a new understanding, at least one without so much animosity. We still had a long way to go, but after this visit, I felt we were learning. Perhaps she was right that I’d never completely change, but I was trying and felt proud of what the trip had accomplished. At least, if nothing else, I felt she now knew how much I loved her.

“I enjoyed the trip,” I told Terry, “but I’m glad to be home.”

Looking at his strong, capable hands on the wheel, I realized even more how fortunate I was to have found him. Who could have imagined, that after twenty-five years of marriage, I’d finally fall in love.

He merged to the exit lane in Redlands. “I finished up at the condo. You no longer live there.”

No longer live there, four words that summed up my life. I couldn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Thanks for everything you’ve done. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ll get some rest, then go do a little cleaning. And tomorrow—”

“It’s all being done as we speak,” he told me, his grin reminding me of a little boy who held a surprise behind his back. “And, I made arrangements with some friends to have it painted tomorrow. It’ll be all nice and fresh for Ben’s aunt. Bet she’ll like that.”

I was so touched, and grateful, that tears came. “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!”

“I figured no matter how your visit with Shanna went, you’d be tired. I wanted you to come home and relax. You’ve had a lot going on.”

I’d never felt so loved, so considered and nurtured. He was everything I’d longed for all my life, and I reached for his hand, holding it for a moment, then it wasn’t enough. I drew it to my cheek in a soft caress, adoring him with my eyes.

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice raspy, “I can’t drive when you look at me like that. Just wait till I get you home.”

My entire body flooded with desire and I couldn’t wait to get home. But I suddenly thought of something to make my homecoming special.

“Stop at the grocery store,” I said, fighting a smile. “I’ll just run in and get something we need.”

***

As soon as Terry closed the front door, I wrapped my arms around him as if I were desperate for his touch. I tasted his lips, his tongue, and unbuttoned his shirt and dribbled kisses on his earlobe, down his neck and chest. His erection pressed against my belly.

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice husky, his fingers working the buttons on my blouse. “I’m not going to be able to wait.”

Dropping clothes, we made a trail to the bedroom. When we hit the bed, we didn’t waste time with anything except the joy of lovemaking, and when he slid into me, I cried out in pleasure. His release came swiftly and mine followed.

He lay on top of me, his weight plastered against my body. When he slid to my side, I wrapped my arms and legs around him to pull him back.

“Aren’t I too heavy?” he asked, settling back on top of me. He laid his head on my chest, just under my chin.

“I love your bare skin against mine,” I told him, running my hands down his back, kissing his neck just under his ear. I pushed my breasts to his chest. “I love how my nipples feel when they’re pressed against your skin, but most of all, I love how you feel on my thighs.” I closed my eyes, reveling in all the delicious sensations running through my body.

“Your thighs?” Terry repeated, his voice teasing. “That’s a new one.”

“You wouldn’t believe how incredibly erotic you feel to me, even lying calmly with your bare skin next to mine.”

“Oh yes, I would.” His penis stirred and he raised himself on his elbows and kissed me.

“Let’s continue this in the shower,” I suggested, giving him a quick kiss. “I feel grimy after the long flight.”

“I don’t care how grimy you are, you feel wonderful.”

“Come on.” I scooted out from under him and he let me go. Just as I reached the edge of the bed, he lunged and grabbed me, pulling me back on the bed, making those growling sounds I loved.

“Animal,” I said, wrestling to get away. I scrambled to the edge of the bed and he grabbed my ankle, gently pulling me back.

“Damn right.” He stood on his knees and, holding me down, blew raspberries on my stomach. I giggled and scrambled to get away. I made it to my feet, standing in the middle of the bed.

“Want a ride?” he asked, scooting to the edge of the bed.

“Are you serious?”

“Climb on,” he said.

Good God, I would never have believed it, but I climbed on, my pubic hairs mashing against his back, and wrapped my arms around his neck. When he stood, I shrieked like Kyle had done on the carousel. Terry trotted around the room, dipping and rising just like a carousel horse and slowly made his way to the bathroom, and I was squealing and laughing like I hadn’t done since I was a small child.

Perhaps not even then.

In the shower, we washed each other and made soap circles around body parts and rinsed them off. We dried each other, then ran for the bed where I climbed on top of Terry, playfully nuzzling first his top lip and then the lower. I sucked his tongue.

“I’ll be right back,” I told him. A few moments later, I straddled Terry and reached into the sack.

“What do you have in there?” he asked, folding his hands beneath his head.

“Oh, I was a little hungry and thought we’d have a snack.” I pulled out the spray can of cheddar cheese.

“Did you get some crackers?”

“We don’t need crackers,” I said, spraying cheese around his right nipple. He laughed, then I leaned down and delicately nibbled, then licked the rest off. He quit laughing and wrapped his arms around me. I shrugged out of them. “I’m not through,” I told him. Then I sprayed his other nipple and did the same thing.

Growing very quiet, he watched me. When I had licked every drop from his left nipple, I sprayed a string down the middle of his chest, and, taking my time, licked off every drop, savoring the mixture of the salty flavor with the cheese.

“Delicious,” I said. His erection stood high, but I ignored it. For now. “You hungry?” I asked.

“Ravenous.”

Slowly, sensuously, I sprayed the cheese around my left nipple, then leaned down to his mouth. He greedily licked and sucked, and when he pulled my nipple into his mouth, the sensation went right to my genitals. As much as I wanted to climb onto his penis, I wasn’t ready for this to end.

“Now for the other one,” I said, sitting up. I was so aroused that I could barely speak, but I sprayed the cheese and leaned down to his mouth. When he nibbled and licked, I could barely keep still. Squirming on his chest, I rubbed my crotch against his erection.

Holding onto me, he sat up and rolled me onto my back and picked up the can. He sprayed down my chest, then into my navel. By the time he licked the cheese out of my navel, my body throbbed with need. He kept licking, taking his time, working lower on my tummy, and I opened my legs, brazenly inviting him to continue.

He parted me with his fingers. As if he’d never tasted me, he slowly brushed my swollen clit with his tongue, gently stroking, teasing.

“Oh, please....”

Kneading my fingers in his hair, I pulled him closer. He drew my clitoris into his warm mouth and sucked, gently at first, then harder until my entire being centered on the aching need building with each flick of his tongue. And then he slipped a finger inside me and stroked. I lost control and made sounds as he increased the suction and his finger moved faster and faster, bringing me to such frenzied need that I gasped air. When I climaxed, the sensations seemed to come from so deep inside that the release went on and on until I was left feeling boneless.

With a smug grin, Terry stretched out alongside of me. He held me while I recovered.

“I could almost come just listening to you,” he said.

“Lucky for you, I have something different in mind.” I reached for the other can.

“Whipped cream?” he asked.

“Any objections?”

He grinned. “Not me. This should be interesting.”

“I hope it’s more than interesting.” Pushing him on to his back, I straddled him once again, scooted down between his legs, and spread them wide apart.

“You can watch if you’d like, or lie back and relax while I play.” I sprayed his testicles, and when I had a nice layer, I began to lick them. I’d attend to his penis later.

“Ummm, good,” I murmured, not stopping. I took my time, caressing with my fingers and hands after I’d licked every speck of skin free of cream. Terry began to moan. Totally unconcerned, I continued. After I’d spent a great amount of time on each testicle, I sprayed the shaft of his erect penis, up to the little ridge on the head. Then I started licking the sides as if it were a giant popsicle or ice cream cone. Terry clutched the sheet with both hands. A sheen of sweat covered his body, and still, I licked. Then, like he’d demonstrated before, I placed my hand at the bottom of his shaft while I worked my way to the head. I no longer used the whipped cream; instead, I licked the area just below the head all the way around, gently nipping with my teeth, then sucking and licking. When I moved to the head, I licked slowly, gliding my tongue over the silky skin, then I broke contact. He made a sound of agony. I bent to stroke the head again with my tongue, this time licking faster, then breaking contact in a teasing manner. I kept doing that until Terry started begging, just as I had done. Then I mercifully took the head into my mouth, licking and sucking while pumping with my hand. Terry squirmed and thrust and made sounds I’d never heard, and when he came, he shot into my mouth, filling me with his cum.

This time I swallowed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Terry’s apartment was a one-bedroom box on the top floor of a five-story building, but for me that little box was closer to heaven than any place I’d ever been. We loved and we played, and I felt a glorious freedom I’d never imagined. We strolled the downtown street fair, bought fresh fruit from local vendors and listened to the live band. On Tuesday and Friday evenings we attended concerts at the Redlands Bowl and sat under the stars at the outdoor amphitheater.

The days drifted into summer, and the temperatures climbed into the triple digits, scorching the hills, turning them a barren brown. When I’d drag home, exhausted by the heat, Terry would turn up the air conditioner and fix a light supper, perhaps some fruit and salad. Other evenings we’d head for one of the local casino buffets, where I’d blow my allotted five dollars on the slots.

Finally the closing day on my condo arrived. Before meeting Ben at the title company, Terry drove me for a final walk-through.

When we pulled into the driveway, I thought about my two years in that condo. So much had happened in that short time, so many things to change my life, from the gaiety of moving in to the terror I had lived with every day after Mac was diagnosed. Then losing him. Discovering Jenna....

“You know,” I told Terry, “I don’t think I want to go in. Would you mind doing the honors?”

As always, he understood, and simply squeezed my hand.

While he was gone, I looked up at the sky, bright blue with scattered cloud puffs. Even though the condo had held a lot of sadness for me, it had also held joy. I fell in love while living there, and because of the love and understanding I’d learned from Terry, I now had a new relationship with my daughter.

Life was good.

***

Terry and I met Ben at the title company, and after all the paperwork was signed, I paid off the mortgage Mac had taken and then sold the condo to Ben. Because of the real estate boom in the area, I had enough left for the minimum down payment on the new house and I could finally repay Stan and Maggie, which I did, writing a cashier’s check for the full amount and sending it Federal Express. Now I was truly free of the past.

Or so I thought.

One evening Terry and I were cleaning the kitchen after a light dinner when my cell phone rang. It was Jenna.

“Please don’t hang up.”

“What do you want?” My tone of voice must have alerted Terry. He glanced sharply at me.

“Want some privacy?” he whispered. When I shook my head, he sat down across the table from me.

“Please hear me out,” Jenna was saying. “I know this has been difficult for you—”

“Difficult? ”

“Okay,” Jenna said, “perhaps difficult isn’t the right word. All else aside, though, could you possibly take just a moment and think what it’s been like for me? Loving a married man, having his child—”

“Do I need to remind you that you chose that life? You knew Mac was married from the beginning.”

“I know, Lisa. I’m not entirely blameless.”

“You’re not entirely blameless? I can’t believe you. I’m hanging up now.” Before I checked the off button, I heard her voice through the phone.

“Lisa! Wait!”

For some unknown reason, I put the phone to my ear.

“Think of Marsh,” Jenna began.

“Why on earth would I want to give your illegitimate son any thought at all?”

“Because he’s your daughter’s half-brother, after all, and someday she may want to meet him. It’ll be awkward for her if you’re hostile.”

Now I wanted to slam down the phone. “How wonderful that you’re so concerned about my daughter. I’m touched.” I rolled my eyes at Terry, but he didn’t respond except to give me a poignant smile. Instantly, I recalled his earlier comments about how lonely it had been for him without his father and how he wished I would consider talking to Marsh.

I wasn’t ready for that. But as much as I hated to admit Jenna was right about anything, she did have a point about Shanna.

“Jenna, I’m not ready to talk to your son and I can’t promise that I ever will. But....” My throat closed and I couldn’t continue. “Wait.” Still holding the cordless, I paced, talked to myself, paced some more.

“Lisa! You still there?” Jenna yelled through the phone.

I ignored her and paced again. Damn, I didn’t want to do this.

“Lisa, talk to me!”

Finally, I sat on Terry’s lap and raised the phone.

“I’m here,” I told Jenna. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll think about it.”

When Terry smiled, I knew I’d said the right thing.

***

Two weeks before we were supposed to close on the house I pestered Ben to make some calls to check the progress. I wanted to hurry the process and get all the paperwork done as soon as possible, but he couldn’t find out anything new. Agencies, especially government agencies, work at their own pace and delays were normal.

“Just be patient, Lisa,” he told me. “It’ll happen.”

To pass the time, I did more office work. One morning I answered phones and tried to work up enough energy to preview houses in the ungodly heat. Even the fronds on palm trees hung limp.

The office door opened, and Andrea walked in. I didn’t know how she did it, but even in the summer heat she looked as elegant as ever in a cream-colored linen pantsuit.

“I took your advice, and I’m building my listings notebook,” she told me. “You were right. It helps.”

“Have you made your first sale?”

She shook her head. “I’ve written two contracts, but they both fell through. If I don’t do something quick, I’m going to have to go to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Move in with my kids.”

“Oh, no! That’s a fate worse than death!” We both laughed.

“I’m supposed to give you a message,” Andrea said.

“Oh? From who?”

“Rick something. He said to tell you that your cop friend plays rough.”

My smile faded and my mouth went dry. “Where did you see him?”

“He was standing by your car when I drove up. He said he was an agent here and that you’d know what he meant. Poor guy. Had he been in an accident?”

Dropping the papers in my hand, I ran to the front window. My car sat between a truck and a Blazer, but I didn’t see Rick’s car. Opening the front door, I checked the parking lot, then ran to the street. Still no sign of Rick. Back in the office, I headed for my desk.

“What’s the matter, Lisa?” Andrea asked. “Who was that guy? Did I do something wrong?”

“You said he looked like he’d been in an accident. Why did you think that?”

“He had bandages on his face and one eye was swollen shut.”

Jack had found him then. If I knew Rick at all, he’d really want revenge now.

“Get Ben, Andrea. Please,” I said, gathering papers to stuff in my briefcase. By the time Ben came hurrying out of his office, I was standing by the door, looking out.

“What’s the trouble, Lisa?” Ben asked me. “Andrea said something about Rick.”

“I can’t explain right now. Just walk me to my car. Please, Ben. I’ll explain everything later.”

“I hope you’ll tell me what this is about,” he said before I got into the car. “If you’re having a problem with Rick, I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you about it later, Ben. I promise.” And then, locking the doors, I backed out of the parking space.

Was Rick watching? Would he follow me home?

Three blocks from the office, just before the freeway on-ramp, traffic began to slow on Redlands Boulevard and I realized there was a huge jam ahead. Everything in my two lanes slowed to a stop; we were packed so tightly together that I couldn’t even see what the problem was.

Of all times for this to happen. I felt like a target, exposed and vulnerable. After sitting through two lights, I eased forward just enough to see the construction trucks blocking the right lane. From all indications it looked as if I’d be sitting through a few more lights, so, concerned with my car overheating, I shut off the air conditioner and lowered the window. Exhaust filled the air and my head throbbed. I felt sick. When Rick appeared outside my window, I was so startled I didn’t react except to stare.

“I’m watching,” he calmly said, as if it were perfectly natural to stand in the middle of stalled traffic on a busy California street and have a conversation with me.

His words propelled me into action. I reached into my handbag for my stun gun and pulled it out.

Lazily he glanced at the gun and grinned. “You think something like that will stop me? We’re not finished, you know.”

“Finished with what, Rick? Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t like cops visiting me at home,” he said, touching his swollen nose. “It hurts.”

“Leave me alone,” I told him, rolling up the window. The vehicles ahead started moving so I eased forward enough to cut through a car lot to a back road. My hands shaking, I punched in Terry’s number on my cell phone, but he didn’t answer. Leaving word for him to call, I headed for his apartment, but when I came to another on-ramp for I-10 east, I took it, watching out the windows and rearview mirror for Rick’s car.

Did he know I had moved? If not, I didn’t want to lead him to Terry’s apartment. If he were following me, he’d soon figure it out, but maybe not for a couple of days, long enough for me to decide what to do.

Taking the Yucaipa exit, I headed for the condo, wondering how I could lose him. I still hadn’t seen his car so I wasn’t certain he was following, but I didn’t want to take chances. I made a couple of quick turns onto side streets and took the back way to Terry’s apartment.

When I finally pulled into the parking lot, I saw Terry’s Lexus in his regular spot. That was strange. If he was home, why hadn’t he returned my call?

Just as I got out of the car, I saw Terry and Betty leaving the building together. She had never visited his apartment, refusing to believe the reality of the divorce, so I wondered what had brought her there today.

Terry spotted me and headed my way but Betty lagged behind. She looked terrible. Her slacks and plaid blouse were wrinkled as if she’d slept in them and her frizzy hair was corkscrewed in all directions. Her blotchy complexion told me she had been crying.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Terry whispered. “I couldn’t stop her from coming.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We received an offer on the house today, a good one and I accepted it. I guess the divorce is real to her now.”

Her steps dragging as if it were an effort to put one foot in front of the other, she walked up to me and regarded me with a hopeless expression. In a voice so soft I could barely hear, she said, “I could’ve gotten him back if it hadn’t been for you.”

Her haunted eyes pierced me, and I sat, unable to speak.

“Betty,” Terry said, gently taking her arm, trying to pull her away, “you know that’s not true.”

She turned back to me. “You did this to me.”

“I’m so sorry, Lisa,” Terry said, his eyes flashing a helpless look. “I never wanted this to happen.” He managed to pull Betty away from my car. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive.”

“Home? Yes,” she said, her voice listless, “I want to go home.”

“Will you follow us?” he asked me. When I hesitated, he added, “Please?”

Over the next half hour, I kept the blue Honda in sight as it traveled to Loma Linda, blindly turning when it did and automatically stopping at red lights.

I felt like an adulterer. No matter that they were divorcing, she still loved him and had obviously hoped they would reconcile. When they pulled into the driveway, I sat, my senses numb, and waited until Terry led her to the front door. I could see them talking; rather, she looked like she was pleading. Terry kept shaking his head. Finally, he turned and made his way to my car.

“Jesus,” he said, sliding onto the passenger seat. “I’m sorry you were subjected to that.”

I said nothing, couldn’t even look at him.

“Honey? You all right?”

“This is not going to work.”

He leaned forward to study me. “You’re shaking. Let me drive.” We changed seats. He kept staring at me as I moved like a zombie.

On the way home, he kept apologizing, telling me that he was doing everything for Betty that he could, but I couldn’t forget her stricken face. No matter how I tried to sort the situation, it just didn’t seem right.

When he opened his apartment door, I stood looking at what I had thought was my piece of heaven. But now I felt remote, as if I were looking at an old picture of something I had once treasured, but that was no longer part of my life. Standing there, with Terry hovering behind me, I could feel Betty’s anguish, could hear the echo of her tears.

How could I possibly be happy when my very existence made another woman miserable? I couldn’t help but be affected. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t meet Terry’s eyes.

“Lisa, you’re scaring me.” He shook me.

I wanted him to shake me, wanted him to shake away the terrible emptiness I felt. I wanted him to take away the memory of Betty’s eyes.

“Oh, honey, please, please,” he said, taking me in his arms.

He held me close to him, but I felt nothing. I only knew that I had to leave these few rooms where I now felt a trespasser on someone else’s life.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Shrugging out of Terry’s arms, I stumbled to the closet for my suitcase and stuffed clothes from my dresser drawers into it.

“Lisa, honey, what are you doing?” Terry blocked my way.

When I turned around to go to the bathroom for my toiletries, he hurried to step in front of me. I pushed past him.

“Please,” he said, “stop and talk to me.”

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t listen to his voice. I forced myself to concentrate on my clothes, had get my clothes together.

And then he watched, silent, as I piled clothes on the bed and threw them in the suitcase. When there was no more room, I still had shoes to pack. Standing in the middle of the bedroom floor, I held one pair of black pumps and glanced at the full suitcase, then to clothes still piled on the bed. I couldn’t think what to do. Standing in the middle of the bedroom floor, I held those damn shoes, immobilized, trying to figure out a solution. We had broken the moving boxes down to store them in the apartment garage for our move to the house. Oh, God, the house....

Suddenly my mind was racing. I couldn’t live in that house, not now. But what was I to do? To try to back out now would put everyone in a mess. HUD had approved my contract and had removed the house from their list. The mortgage company had begun the process of a new FHA loan. Fees were involved. Even if I could legally back out now, I’d lose my deposit. Perhaps I could continue the process until closing, and then sign it over to Ben. But then, I would be an investor instead of an owner/occupant. Would HUD penalize me as a fraud?

“For God’s sake, Lisa.”

Terry took the shoes from my hands and pulled me down on the bed.

“Honey, let’s talk about this,” he said. “I’m so sorry this happened—”

At last I was able to face him. “Did you see her eyes?” I asked.

“Of course I did. That house was the last hold she had on me and now that it’s selling, she now realizes the marriage is truly over. She’s upset and that’s understandable, but you can’t let that stop us from living our own lives.”

“But you don’t understand,” I told him. “I’m the other woman.” I laughed, an agony-filled sound. “Of all people, I’m the other woman.”

“This is crazy, Lisa. You’re no such thing. It wouldn’t matter if we’d been divorced for day or a lifetime. She’d still live with the hope that I’d come back to her.” He tried to pull me into his arms, but I was unyielding. No amount of hugs could fix this.

“I can’t do it, Terry. I can’t build my happiness on someone else’s tragedy.”

“Tragedy? Something’s not right here.” He rose and paced back and forth. “You’re saying I should go back to Betty, throw away all chance of happiness in my own life and live with her because it makes her happy?”

He was right. Something was off but my numbed brain couldn’t figure it out.

“What about all those years I spent doing the right thing?” he continued when I didn’t respond. “How much of my life am I supposed to sacrifice for someone else? Aren’t I entitled to a life?”

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Well then, stop this craziness and let’s forget this ever happened.”

“But it did happen, Terry. That’s the point and I can’t forget.” Picking up the dropped shoes, I stood. “I don’t know the answer. I just know I can’t be the cause of another woman’s heartbreak.”

Leaving the shoes abandoned on the bedroom floor, I picked up the suitcase and went to the front door.

“You’re determined to leave?” he said, putting his hand over mine as I reached for the knob.

“I have to,” I said. “I think you know that I have to,”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Lisa.” Terry took the suitcase from me. “But I can’t stop you if you’re determined. But remember this. If you go, you’re throwing away the rest of our lives. Certainly the rest of mine.” He disappeared out the door.

Placing my key on the end table, I crossed the threshold, leaving behind the one place on earth I had truly loved, the only home where I had ever felt truly loved.

Terry was silent as he put my suitcase in the back seat of my car. When I said something about sending for the rest of my things, he asked me where I was going to go.

“A hotel, perhaps,” I told him numbly. “I don’t know.”

“Will you at least call me when you get there? Let me know where you are?”

“What good would it do?” I asked, turning the key in the ignition. After I eased out of the driveway and turned the car around, I couldn’t look back.

***

It wasn’t until I had checked into the hotel that I remembered Rick. As much as I dreaded making the call, I had to let Terry know.

Gripping the phone, I waited for him to answer, eager to hear his voice one more time, knowing it would just prolong the agony.

Why did this have to happen? Why did I have to see Betty’s pain? I should have been able to guess what she must have been feeling after so many years of marriage, even if they had divorced. But I had been so wrapped up in loving a man completely for the first time in my life that I had refused to think of her as an actual person.

Was that how Jenna had felt?

No, that was different, wasn’t it? Mac and I had been married and were living together. Terry and Betty were divorced. But could I live happily with Terry knowing how Betty felt?

The phone was ringing now but there was no answer. Where was he? I felt desperate to hear his voice just one more time, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

But I had to tell him about Rick. And then we had to talk about the new house.

When he answered, I blurted out, “If you hadn’t met me at the open house, do you think you would have eventually gone back to Betty?”

He said nothing. The silence stretched and I heard the faint static on the line.

“Lisa,” he finally said, his voice sounding resigned, hopeless. My heart ached for him, for both of us. “I’ve told you in as many ways as I possibly can that I don’t love Betty, but right now, I don’t know that it would make any difference. I can understand why you feel the way you do but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“But she—”

“Honey, I love you more than I thought possible to love anyone, and I wanted nothing more than to spend what I have left of my life with you.”

“Terry—”

“I want to say this, Lisa, I want you to understand.” He paused. “I had been condemned to die, but because of you, I had hope for the future. Some of my dreams were finally coming true. I dreamed of talking you into a motor home and traveling together, seeing and doing some of the things I’d always wanted. When you left tonight, you took away my dreams.”

The pressure in my chest was too much. I tried to hold back the tears but I must have made a sound.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad, Lisa,” Terry said, “but right now I can’t help you because I can’t even help myself.”

And then he hung up.

The tears came, deep, unstoppable, wrenching sobs that left me breathless. I fell across the bed and lay in the dark, neither awake nor asleep. From the corridor, I heard a man and woman talking, their laughter alive with love for each other.

I turned my face to the wall and closed my eyes.

***

Over toast and coffee at Denny’s the next morning, I braced myself for another call to Terry. I didn’t want to make the call, didn’t want to put him or myself through more anguish, but he needed to know about Rick. At least in a public place, I would be certain to hold myself together.

Waiting for him to answer, I could barely draw a breath. Was I having an anxiety attack? Breathe in to the count of seven, out to the count of eight. It was so strange...I was desperate to hear his voice, yet didn’t know if I could stand hearing it.

I heard a click, then his voice mail. Was he standing by, silently listening as I had once done? Disappointed yet relieved, I left a brief message about Andrea seeing Rick.

“Andrea thought he had been in an accident, but I think Jack must have visited him.” Then, after a pause, “Whatever happened, I think Rick is even more angry and may do something stupid. So please, watch out for him. And Terry, I’m going to talk to Ben about the house. With things the way they are, I can’t buy it. No way could I live there without you.” Tears choking me, I clicked off the phone and rushed to the car.

About fifteen minutes later, still sitting in my car at the restaurant parking lot, I called Ben and asked if he was going to be in the office this morning.

“Come on in,” he said. “I have some good news about the house.”

Oh no. From his cheerful tone of voice, he must have heard from the lender with a closing date.

And if he had, could I tell him I couldn’t buy the house?

Chapter Thirty-Four

On my way down the corridor to Ben’s office, I felt like a condemned person walking that last long mile. Ben was liable to be so upset he’d fire me. And even if he didn’t go to that extreme, he’d certainly have to go to a lot of trouble to get one of his realtors out of a mess.

“We have a closing date, two weeks from today,” he said, giving me a fatherly hug. He certainly looked the part with his neatly combed white hair and twinkling blue eyes. “But before we talk about that, I want to know about the problem you’re having with Rick.”

At Ben’s concern, I slumped into my chair. Where should I begin? Feeling overwhelmed, I glanced around Ben’s cozy office, gathering strength from the familiar surroundings—his long cherry wood desk, the sheen from its polished surface reflecting the glow from his green desk lamp. The ivy plant that wound its tendrils around the gold-framed picture of his wife and grandchildren. How terrible it would be if this were the last time I sat there with my old friend. And yet I knew that it was a distinct possibility.

“What’s the matter, Lisa?” Ben said. “I’ve never known you to be so silent for so long. You aren’t having second thoughts, I hope.”

He’d given me the opening I needed, but still, I couldn’t begin. I looked behind him at the wall, covered with family pictures and the certificates he had earned over his long career. Then it hit me. I was acting as nervous as Betty had been at our first meeting.

Betty....

The minute I thought of how she had looked at me, I began to cry.

Ben took a box of tissues from his drawer and moved around his desk to sit in the chair next to me.

“What is it, Lisa?” His voice was gentle. “Can I help?”

When I had calmed down enough to speak, I told him everything, from the post office notice in the mail and Jenna, to meeting Terry, and my complete happiness since. I told him about the friction that had always existed between Rick and me, and what had happened when Rick had been waiting for me at the vacant house.

“Why that dirty sonofabitch,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve made sure he spent the night in jail.”

“I thought about it, but too many other things were happening. Now I know I should have said something.” I brought him up to date by telling him about Andrea’s message from Rick.

“I checked into a hotel,” I said, “but I think Rick might be following me.”

“You should consider a restraining order. I have friends in the department and I’ll help you. And I can certainly make sure he doesn’t step foot in this office again.” Ben sat back, his hands folded on his stomach, fingers tented. “I hate that you’re having to go through all this, especially with a former employee of mine. I feel responsible.”

“Oh, Ben, you’re not. I didn’t even tell you what was happening. But what should I do about the house?”

“That’s the easy part. You let me take care of that. I haven’t been in business for fifty years without knowing some people in power. But Lisa, be sure this is what you want to do. I can’t cancel the deal now, and then later go back and say, well, fellows, it was a mistake. So think hard. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?”

“I can’t live in that house without Terry.”

“Are you sure it’s over? From what you say, he seems like a perfect match for you.”

“He is a perfect match. Perhaps more so because we didn’t have that much time.” I told him about Terry’s disease.

“Jesus, what a ball buster. Excuse the word.”

“Oh, Ben, it is a ball buster. It’s worse. He divorced his wife of thirty years and she’s a wreck. I don’t know if I can live with that. It was different before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I saw her.” I couldn’t speak for a moment. “What should I do? I can’t even think logically anymore.”

“It depends. Can you live with yourself if you deny him the gift of your love?”

“Gift?”

“One thing I’ve learned in all my years of living, is that love, true love is rare. It’s a gift to the right person, something to be treasured, cherished. And Lisa, I may not know Terry very well, but it didn’t take long to see that he loves you.”

“But that’s not the issue. His former wife is suffering because of me.”

“Ah, but were you the cause of their martial problems? It sounds to me as if his desire to live life to the fullest in the short time he has left was the cause. And yes, his ex-wife is suffering, but would she suffer any less if he hadn’t met you?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, and when I did, it was as if the clouds had opened and I could see the sun again.

I wasn’t the cause of Betty’s suffering!

What a revelation. The joy was immediate and overwhelming. I jumped up and gave Ben a hug.

“I love you, old friend. Thank you!” I dashed for the door. I had to get to Terry.

“What about the house?” Ben called after me.

“Later!” I called back over my shoulder, in too much of a hurry to stop.

In the car, I punched Terry’s number, impatiently counting the rings.

“Come on, answer the damn phone,” I said. But it rang again and again, and then went to voice mail. “If you’re there, pick up,” I said. “I love you and I’m coming home.”

A patch of clouds covered the sky and traffic was heavy. Feeling an urgency to get home, I barreled through yellow lights. Needing to make a right at the red light, I cut through a strip-mall parking lot instead of waiting behind a line of cars. Anything to keep moving. I couldn’t lose a second.

Pulling in front of his apartment, I scanned the parking area for his car, but it wasn’t there. No, I thought, my heart lunging to my toes, he couldn’t be gone. I punched in his number again. This time he answered.

“Yes?”

“I’m home!” I told him. “Where are you?”

“Lisa, I love you more than I could ever say, but I can’t take this kind of agony.“

“There won’t be any more agony. Not for us.” I was babbling, but I didn’t care. “I love you and I’ll never leave you again. Come home, sweetheart, I’m waiting.”

***

Standing outside the apartment building, I felt as though it were an eternity before I spotted Terry’s car. When I saw that Lexus turning in, a beige car like thousands of others, a curious thing happened. The sun broke through the clouds, sending a brilliant ray to caress the car with sparkling gold. Squinting at the sudden glare, I saw, for a nanosecond in time, the car bathed in golden radiance as if it were a celestial coach floating in an aura of light. It was beautiful. And frightening. I shivered with a sudden chill.

Clouds covered the sun again and with one final flash, the sparkle disappeared and Terry’s car appeared normal. When he saw me, he stopped the car and got out. I took off running and threw myself into his arms, knowing he would catch me. Holding him close, I showered his face and neck with kisses, not caring who saw us. All I cared about was this wonderful man and showing him how much I loved him.

“I’m so sorry, Terry,” I said between kisses, drinking in his clean soap smell. “Can you forgive me?”

He took me into his arms. “Please don’t ever do anything like that again,” he said fiercely. “I’d rather face an inferno than life without you.” When he kissed me, my knees turned to jelly. Locking arms, we took the elevator to his apartment.

When he opened the door, I gave him one more kiss, then we crossed the threshold into the living room. That stark little apartment, its white walls barren of pictures and the coffee and end tables empty of all the little items that gave a room color and interest, was the center of joy for me. Dropping my handbag, I closed my eyes, held out my arms, hummed “The Blue Danube” and danced in circles as if embracing the very air.

“Want to dance with me?” I asked. “We’ve never danced together.”

Terry had just taken me into his arms when the door opened.

“What a touching scene,” Rick said. His lips curled, but his eyes held something more than his usual arrogance. Something cold and terrifying and empty that could only be described as madness.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Rick!” I said. He couldn’t be real, couldn’t be standing in our apartment in the middle of the day.

Terry stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his.

“Run for the door when you can,” he told me under his breath. Then, as if it were not in the least bit extraordinary for a madman to burst into his living room, he said quite calmly, “What can I do for you, Rick?”

Rick kicked the door shut.

“You’ve already done enough, old man.” Slurring his words, he went on. “You cost me my job, and you sent that punk to kill me. Now I’m going to return the favor.” Pushing back the right side of his jacket, he took a gun from a black leather holster.

I recognized it from the self-defense shop, an Advanced Taser with so much power that it incapacitated faster than a 9mm hand gun.

“If you’re going to show that off,” Terry said, his voice still perfectly composed. “I certainly hope for your sake that you’re prepared to use it.”

Rick flushed. “I’m fully prepared, old man.”

Terry folded his arms across his chest. “I kicked your ass once. Don’t think for a moment I won’t do it again.”

Rick stared at him, as if his alcohol-muddled mind were trying to process the words. "You cocky old bastard," he finally said. "I oughta make you eat your fucking teeth."

"If you think you're man enough to try, let’s take it outside and settle it the old-fashioned way."

There was absolute silence for a moment. Then Rick’s eyes connected with mine and he grinned that stupid smirk of his. "Nah. I think I'd rather settle it right here.”

Desperately wishing I had Mac’s pistol, I thought of running for the door, but that left Terry. He might be my hero, but no one can argue with a gun. My stun gun! Where was my handbag? There, by the end table where I had dropped it. Could I get to it in time?

“Lisa,” Terry said, his eyes still on Rick, “go outside. Now.”

Rick turned the gun to me. “Don’t you fuckin’ move.” Then everything seemed to happen at once: Terry, with reflexes honed from years of hauling equipment with the fire department, made a lunge and tackled Rick around his legs, knocking him off balance. They crashed to the floor and the gun flew out of Rick’s hands. I made a dash to grab it, but in that tiny living room, they rolled over it. For one split second I waited, watching for a chance to grab the weapon. Terry struggled to keep Rick’s hands away from the gun, but even in his drunken condition, Rick had years on Terry. They struck sickening blows upon each other, and I could tell Terry was weakening.

“Go!” he yelled at me, struggling to subdue Rick’s hands. “Get out of here!”

Instead of running outside, I ran for my handbag and my Taser and stood, frustrated, trying to get a clear shot at Rick. In just an instant, Rick managed to close his hand around his gun, and before I could react, he pulled the trigger. As if time had slowed, I watched the two darts, connected with a wire to the Taser, hit Terry directly in the chest and stomach, discharging a massive amount of electricity into his body. Stiffening, he collapsed. Rick pushed him off and Terry lay on his back, still as death.

“Noooo!” I cried. I pulled the trigger at Rick and saw him crumple. Dropping beside Terry, I cradled his head in my arms. He struggled to stay conscious, but his gaze was unfocused, his breathing shallow. He couldn’t die; I would let him!

“Look at me, sweetheart, keep your eyes on me. I’ll get help.” Caressing his face, I placed my cheek next to his. He had to know I was there.

“Isn’t that touching,” Rick said, the sneer evident in his voice.

Moaning, his face so pale I could see the blue veins under his skin, Terry clutched his chest and stiffened as if a giant spasm were coursing through his body. Then he went slack.

Oh God, oh God! What could I do? Why hadn’t I learned CPR? I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Please God, please God. Finally, I felt a beat, very faint, but he was alive!

Gently placing his head on the carpet, I ran for the phone to call the paramedics. Suddenly, I was jerked to an abrupt halt when Rick grabbed a handful of hair. Burning pain in my scalp took me to my knees. I tried to pull my hair from his hand, but he had too firm a grasp.

“Now let’s see if you can ignore me.” He yanked harder and tears sprang. I kept trying to work free.

“I want some of what you’re giving that asshole.” He yanked my head into his crotch and I caught the smell of his unwashed body.

No, no, no! I had to think of something. I had to get Terry to the hospital. What could I do? My Taser was across the room, no longer an option. Besides, without steady pressure on the trigger, it had only dropped Rick for a few minutes. Think, Lisa! My only hope was Mac’s .45 in the bedroom. Thank God I’d checked the clip when I moved in with Terry. Now I just had to get to it. But how?

“I can make it nice for you, Rick. Let go of my hair and I’ll do anything you want.”

“You little bitch, you’ll do what I want anyway.” Brown eyes wild, he yanked my hair and pushed me forward.

I moaned. I tried not to, but the pain was too great. “Will I?” I said, wincing. “You know me well enough to know I won’t give in easily. Would you really chance my sharp teeth?”

He lessened his grip. While my scalp still burned, he was no longer pulling.

“I can make it nice for you,” I pressed.

“What’s this shit? What’re you trying to pull?”

“I’ll make a bargain with you,” I said, praying he’d listen, desperate to make it sound convincing through his alcoholic fog. I had to get him into the bedroom. “You let me get help for Terry and I’ll make it good for you.”

Ripping open my blouse, I fondled my breasts and looked at him seductively. Please, please, let it work. His eyes were glued to me.

“Oh yeah? What’ll you do?”

Licking my lips, my eyes on his, I told him in as much detail as I could. “I can do it really good for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Wondering how much time had elapsed since Terry had collapsed, I smiled at Rick. Was Terry still breathing?

Gathering my breasts in my hands, I pushed them to my mouth and stuck out my tongue as if to lick them.

Rick’s erection tented his slacks. “Get your pants off,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I wanna smell your pussy again.”

What? Smell my pussy? What was he talking about? Then I remembered. “My panties. It was you, that time in my house.”

He smirked. “Yeah, it was me. I liked being in your house, touching all your things. You might’ve been out with dickhead there,” he indicated Terry with a nod, “but I was having my own fun. Just like I’m gonna have fun now.” He grabbed my hair and pulled me to him.

“I can’t do it here, Rick. Let’s go into the bedroom. You can lie back and let me do all the work. I have a good tongue, and you won’t have to do a thing.” I reached up to fondle the bulge, then unzipped his fly. His erection sprang free. He smelled of dried urine and I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn’t gag, but I took a teasing, quick swipe with my tongue. I tasted unwashed flesh but I kept licking. Moaning, he closed his eyes and tilted his head.

I pulled back. “I can’t do a good job here, Rick. Let’s get on the nice, comfortable bed.”

He yanked me to my feet. Thank God!

As we stumbled down the hall, his fingers still pulling my hair, I told him again exactly what I’d do to make it good for him. By the time we reached the bedroom, he was panting. He threw me on the bed and dropped his hands to unbuckle his belt. Immediately I rolled off the other side of the bed, yanked open the drawer of the bedside table, grasped the .45 and pulled it out of the drawer. Sliding the action backwards, I released it to chamber a round. The heavy click was loud. And unmistakable.

Hands on his belt, Rick froze.

Aiming at his chest, I assumed the police stance with legs spread and both hands gripping the handle.

“Now, you sonofabitch,” I said, “get back into the living room.”

“That thing loaded?”

Not wanting to waste more time trying to convince him, I shot into the bed next to him. The boom was deafening in the small room and my arms jerked back from the kick, almost throwing me off-balance. The bedspread puffed up as if from an inward explosion, and when it settled, we could see a blackened hole about the size of a quarter.

“Holy Jesus!” He backed away from the bed.

“Hold it!” I yelled at him.

Someone was shouting from the apartment on the other side of the bedroom wall and I heard running. To make sure they called the police, I fired again.

“Are you crazy?” Rick yelled.

I pointed the gun at him, but then I heard Terry’s voice, weakly calling for me.

In the split second that I faltered, Rick lunged at me and we both sprawled to the floor. The gun flew out of my hands. Rick crawled over me to get the gun and I scooted to the nightstand for one of the twenty-pound geode bookends. Rick was just turning around to point the gun at me when I struck. With every bit of strength I had left, I smashed the geode against the side of his head. For just an instant, he looked at me with shock, then he sagged to the floor. I didn’t stop to look at him. Instead, I ran for the living room.

Terry’s eyes were closed and I couldn’t hear him breathing. Oh no, oh no, please God. Placing my fingers on his throat, I felt his carotid artery for a pulse and felt a faint, erratic beat. Grabbing the phone, I punched in 9-1-1 and tried to keep my voice calm enough to tell them what happened. They said neighbors had already called it in and they were on their way.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” I told Terry. He was barely conscious. “I’m getting help. Just hang on.”

I ran to the bedroom, grabbed a blanket to cover Terry, then ran to open the front door and peer out. Where were they?

Finally, in the distance, a wailing siren grew louder; it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

Cradling Terry’s head in my lap, I told him he was going to be all right, that the police were here. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

The police pounded on the door and yelled for us to open up. Rick staggered into the living room, his hands bloody from the gash on the back of his head, a dazed look in his eyes. He was carrying my gun. I leaned over to protect Terry’s head and didn’t move. Several uniformed police burst through the door and Rick raised his hand. Someone shouted for Rick to drop the gun, but he just stood blinking at them. They shouted again then fired. Hit several times, Rick crumpled to the floor.

It was over.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Rick was dead.

Since shots had been fired, two uniformed officers separated me from Terry and led me into the kitchen. Four more officers, weapons drawn, secured the apartment. A young Hispanic officer questioned me.

“Please,” I begged him, after telling him what had happened, “let me go to Terry. I won’t do anything, just let me stay with him. He needs to know I’m here, please....”

“Just stay calm, Ma’am,” he said. “Is there anyone you’d like to call?”

“Let me go!” Jumping up, I ran into the living room, the officer running after me, but I didn’t care. I had to get to Terry. “Call Jack Morales. He knows what’s been happening.”

“Sergeant Morales?” The officer eyed me warily.

Paying no attention, I took Terry’s hand. “I’m here, sweetheart,” I said, “everything’s going to be all right.”

“Please, Ma’am,” the Hispanic officer said. “I don’t want to cuff you.”

Just then several men and women from the fire department poured through the door, followed by the paramedics and more cops. Two detectives questioned me, taking careful notes about everything that had happened. Neighbors gathered outside the door and two teenage boys and an elderly woman in a robe eased into the living room before they were stopped. Within minutes, the entire apartment was filled with police officers and paramedics. One female paramedic with a ponytail crouched by Terry and examined him while another set up the equipment. I recognized a defibrillator. Backing away, I gave them room.

“My God, it’s Chief O’Neal!” I heard one of the fireman say.

“Yes,” I whispered, “it’s Terry O’Neal. That man,” I nodded in Rick’s direction, “tried to kill him.”

An older cop kneeled next to Terry. “Hey, Chief, we’re going to take care of you. You’re going to be fine.” When Terry managed a weak smile, the cop stood.

“I’m glad the son of a bitch who did this is dead,” he told me. “Chief O’Neal’s put his life on the line more than I can count. A hell of a man.”

“Why, I remember back in ’92,” another one added, “I’d just joined the force and we got this call about a warehouse fire....” He told about the building collapsing and Terry’s heroics. Then a fireman joined in, adding his experiences with ‘The Chief.’

Just then I heard the heavy thumping of the Flight for Life helicopter approaching.

“We can’t waste time. Let’s get him out there,” the female paramedic said, working frantically, making sure the oxygen was securely attached.

Then, it seemed every officer, whether it was a fireman or a member of the police, assisted in loading Terry onto the gurney and fought for the privilege of carrying him down the stairs.

***

In the intensive care unit, the lighting was soft, the voices hushed. I sat by Terry’s side while he drifted in and out of consciousness. An IV ran from the top of his hand to the tall T-pole standing next to the bed, and the slim oxygen tube attached to his nose helped him to breathe. A monitor beeped with each heartbeat, and the green-numbered readings changed with constant updates on his blood pressure and heart rate.

A heart attack, the doctors had diagnosed in the emergency room, perhaps due to a combination of the Taser and the drugs he was taking for his disease, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it through. Time, they said. If he lived through the next forty-eight hours, he had a chance.

Betty was on her way to the hospital. In honor of their thirty years together, I felt it was only right that she be notified. I was prepared to leave the room when she arrived, but I hoped she wouldn’t get here for a while yet. Not yet. I didn’t want to leave him.

“Hello, honey,” Terry said suddenly in a voice that was so faint I could barely hear him. But he had spoken!

I jumped up to caress his face with mine, careful not to disturb the tubes.

“Oh, honey, don’t worry so,” he said. “It takes more than that punk to put me down. Could I have some water?”

I held the straw to his lips so he could drink.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a little stronger.

“Now that you’re awake I am.”

“Sorry I wasn’t the big hero for you.”

“Sweetheart, you’ll always be my hero, but you need to rest and conserve your strength.”

“Lisa, I want you to listen to me. If I don’t make it—”

I squeezed his hand. “You’ll make it. I’m not ready to let you go.“

He grinned, briefly reminding me of the man I loved. “There are some things even you can’t control. If I don’t make it, I want you to go to your daughter. You need your family, and you won’t have anything here to hold you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that now.”

“Well I do, and since I’m the sick one, you have to cater to me. At least you’re supposed to. It’s a rule, you know.”

“I thought you didn’t like rules.”

“For you, I’ll make an exception. I always have, you know.”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

“That’s better,” he said.

“But nothing’s changed, Terry. I’m still not financially secure enough to risk—”

“Honey, don’t argue with me. Not now. But I want you to think about this. It’s all well and good to be strong, but when you never let your loved ones help, not only does it keep them at a distance, but it diminishes their own feelings of importance in your life. Give your daughter a chance to help you and you’ll help her as well.” He closed his eyes. “So sleepy....”

Watching the monitor, I held my breath until I could see the numbers changing. He was okay, just sleeping. Needing reassurance, I watched his chest rise and fall. Only then did I sit back and think about what he’d said.

Had I pushed Shanna further away by always trying to be independent?

The door opened and Betty crept into the room, her thin face drawn and pale.

“How is he?” Her eyes were wide, frightened.

“Holding his own.”

“Thank you for calling me,” she whispered.

“The detective did that. I only gave him your name.”

She nodded. “May I sit with him for a few moments? I won’t be long,” she said, her voice soft.

“Of course.”

“Thank you. You rightfully belong here more than I do.”

I couldn’t believe she said that.

“I’m sorry I said what I did to you,” she told me, easing down onto a chair. “I’m sorry for many things. I lied, you see. All those years ago, I knew he didn’t love me, but I wanted him.” She looked at his sleeping form and her eyes softened. “He was so handsome,” she went on, “all decked out in his uniform.”

For a moment I could glimpse the young girl in love.

“I knew he was a good man so I lied.”

“Lied about what, Betty?” I had to know.

“About being pregnant.” She took his hand. “That’s the only reason he married me. He was a good man,” she said again, “but he never loved me.”

What a waste, I thought. All those empty years spent in lies and obligation when they each could have found someone to truly love them.

I insisted on leaving the room. No matter how things stood between them now, she should have her chance to be alone with him. Perhaps he would awake again and she could tell him she was all right now.

Standing by a window in the waiting room, I thought about empty lives. Until Terry had come along, mine had been just as empty as theirs had been, but now I had a choice as to how I lived the rest of my life. And I prayed that I could spend it with Terry.

When Betty left, she paused for a moment. “Stay with him,” she told me. “You belong with him.”

As I watched her walk down the corridor, I couldn’t help but admire her selflessness, and right now it didn’t matter if it came from guilt or genuine love. All that mattered was that I stay with Terry.

I sat by his side the rest of the day and the next, keeping watch on the monitor, watching as his breathing grew more and more shallow.

Please God, don’t take him. Not yet.

***

Over the next couple of days his room filled with cards and flowers from friends as well as city and county employees. I had no idea Terry was so well-loved and respected. I only knew how much I loved him.

It was three days before he regained consciousness again. He could barely speak, but his eyes held mine with all the love I could ever want. Wanting to be strong, I smiled confidently and squeezed his hand, determined to let some of my life force pass to him.

Digging in my handbag, I took out a manila envelope of pictures I’d cut out from magazines and held up one for him to see, a picture of a modern motor home.

“Thirty-three feet of luxury living,” I told him. “Why I could even drive it. You could sit back and watch the world go by.” When he smiled I felt elated. Oh God, please don’t let me cry.

Next I held up a picture of a clam fry on a New England beach.

“Lisa....” His voice was weak. “I want to tell you....” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Terry! Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me....”

“It’s all right, honey,” he whispered.

I leaned down, my ear next to his mouth to hear every word.

“I’d hoped for a lifetime with you,” he said, his voice barely audible, “and that’s what I got. My lifetime may have only been a couple of months, but it was glorious. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He rested again and I kept silent, not wanting to miss anything he wished to say.

“Perhaps this way is better,” he said finally. “I couldn’t stand living through the disease, knowing you had to witness what I would become.”

I gripped his hand even tighter, desperate to be his life force.

“I want you to think about your daughter now,” he said. “Go to her, if that’s what you want. To hell with furniture or worrying about the unimportant things. Just remember, honey. Happiness is loving other people and letting them love you.” He closed his eyes and his breathing became labored.

No! Don’t leave me. I climbed onto the bed, lay down next to him and held him in my arms.

“Find your heart’s desire and follow it,” he whispered. “Let your daughter and grandson know...what an adventurous spirit you have. Go out...and live.” He took one more breath, then his breathing stilled. The monitor screamed.

Holding him tightly, I watched as his face relaxed. I felt a slight stirring of air, heard just the slightest whisper of love.

“Good-bye, my darling,” I said, then kissed him for the last time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A month later, I closed and locked the door to Terry’s apartment for the last time. I’d already notified the managers that I’d be vacating the apartment and given them Shanna’s address for any final paperwork.

After turning in the keys to the office, I exited and saw Stan and Maggie waiting outside.

Maggie hesitantly approached me. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. If I could change things...”

I made no move toward her. Observing both of them, I saw the pain in Maggie’s eyes and felt pity for her as I would toward anyone who was suffering. But it was as if I were looking at a stranger. I no longer held any animosity toward either of them, but neither did I feel anything else.

“You’ve certainly made some drastic decisions,” Stan said. “I wish you well, you know.”

I heard a muffled sob from Maggie.

“I used to love you, you know,” I said dispassionately to her.

“Please, Lisa....”

“I know you were in an awkward situation—”

“Oh, Lisa,” she broke in, “if you knew how many times I wanted to tell you....“

Listening to her, hearing all the unspoken words she wanted to say, I suddenly realized I no longer wanted to live in the past. But could I shut it out completely? Did I even want to? While the past may have been painful, it also held great joy—my time with Terry and discovering how to reconnect with my daughter. I still had a lot to learn, but at least I was on my way.

“Perhaps one day we can talk,” I told Maggie. “Perhaps one day. But not now.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“I’m not sure what I feel, but I no longer hate you.”

When she gave me a brief hug, I felt a momentary pang of regret, but I didn’t stop them when they walked to their car.

Perhaps one day. ...

Before leaving, I turned and gazed at the apartment building. It was just an ordinary building in the middle of a busy city, but for me it had been a fairy-tale place of fireworks and magic, a place of never-ending love that I had always wanted to find.

Ten minutes later, heading west on I-10, I ran into a traffic jam and meandered over to State Highway 60, staying on it until I arrived in Santa Monica. I’d always loved the excitement of the pier, the Ferris wheel lights, the music, but today it was crowded with people and I didn’t want to bother. Then I thought of a small beach tucked away in San Pedro that I’d enjoyed a few years before. Perfect. Just right for today.

Forty minutes later, after easily pulling into the ample parking area, I strolled the beach, carrying my shoes and feeling the moist sand between my toes. The sky was a hazy light blue and the water was a choppy slate-gray. Past a few sand dunes ahead, I could just make out the Long Beach city lights.

Walking next to the water, the soothing sounds of waves rolling onto the shore helped to ease some of the crushing pain. When a wave washed over my feet, I squealed like a child, delighting in the feel of the foamy water, desperately wishing Terry could be there to share it with me.

The funeral had been a city affair with photographers and TV cameras. Out of respect for the length of time he and Betty had been married, I remained in the background and out of sight. That night she’d called.

When I picked up the phone and realized it was Betty, I thought about hanging up. We’d been cordial at the hospital, but I couldn’t see us as having anything to talk about now.

“Could you stop by the house, Lisa? Or perhaps it would be better if we met somewhere, perhaps Coco’s on Tennessee in Redlands.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you want to see me?”

“A couple of things. I saw you at the funeral today, and I want to thank you for honoring my marriage to Terry.”

I didn’t want to think about the funeral, yet I could think of little else.

“Lisa?”

I nodded since I couldn’t speak.

“Hello?” she asked.

I swallowed. “I’m here.”

“There’s something I have to give to you,” she said.

“If it’s one of those keepsake memorials, I appreciate the thought, but can you just mail it?” I didn’t want to see her. I knew she must be suffering, but my own grief was too great to share with someone else.

“It’s an insurance policy, Lisa. Terry signed one of his smaller policies over to you.”

“An insurance policy?” He’d never mentioned it and I was stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. He took it out three weeks before he died, and it’s perfectly legal. It even paid triple since his....” Her voice faltered. “...death...was caused by an act of violence and not his illness. You won’t be rich, but you’ll have a nice little sum.”

“How much?”

“A little over three hundred thousand.”

Three hundred thousand. I almost dropped the phone. “But Betty, shouldn’t that be yours since Terry and I weren’t legally married?”

“Terry was more than generous to me, Lisa, and I have enough with the sale of the house and his insurances. I know it probably sounds strange, but I really don’t mind. I’m glad he found some happiness at the end. It helps to wipe away my guilt over deceiving him for so long.”

After a brief meeting over iced tea at Denny’s, I was overwhelmed—by the policy and by Betty. If she could show such generosity and forgiveness toward me, how could I not forgive?

I called Jenna and consented to talk to Marsh. His mother brought him by and I told him the good things about his father and gave him some of the photos I had. At that moment, I wished I had another piece of Mac’s jewelry to give to him, but it all belonged to Shanna and Kyle now. If she wanted to share with Marsh, that would be her decision.

A gust of wind blew my hair and I turned to gaze out over the water. The setting sun threw a reddish cast in the western sky, and in the distance, I could see the faint outline of Santa Catalina, an island on the horizon. While Catalina might be a normal island where tourists swarm daily, I’d always thought of it as a place of beauty and mystery, one of the sites I’d always longed to visit.

Perhaps one day when I returned to the area, I’d take the boat ride and explore.

A gentle breeze caressed my cheek.

Good-bye, my darling. I’ll always love you.

Shoes back on, I was ready to leave for Minnesota. I’d learned how precious life really was and I didn’t want to waste the rest of mine. I was going to show my daughter how much I loved her and try to make up for my past mistakes. I couldn’t wait to hug Kyle and cradle that new baby of hers next to my heart.

Sitting with the motor idling, I looked out over the ocean again, at the island sitting on the horizon.

Why wait until someday? Maybe I’d just take that boat ride to Catalina now.

I called Shanna.

“A change of plans, honey. I’m going to make a trip to Catalina. I might stay for a few days, then I’ll head out. But don’t look for me any time soon. I have a lot of country to see.”

Then, using the mirrors, I carefully backed up my new Itasca motor home and swung around. At twenty-four-feet, the RV was large enough to have all the modern conveniences, yet small enough for me to handle. I’d sold all my possessions, even my car, and even though I owned nothing but the motor home, I felt gloriously alive.

With the passenger seat full of maps and a list of the RV parks across the country, I clicked on my Yanni CD and headed out of the parking lot and into my new life, ready to face the future, whatever it might bring.

* * *

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven