Truth and Consequences, page 18
Craig clicked to the next picture. Half the tall pines that served as a windbreak for the lawn sprawled, uprooted, broken, dying in the barely greening grass. “Oh,” she gasped. “They must have been fifty years old…”
“Seventy,” he said in a low voice. “My great-grandmother planted them when she was a newlywed.” He paused. “We can build a new porch. We can plant new trees. Here’s a picture of the whole outside from the front.”
He clicked to show the house with its patched roof, boarded windows, collapsed front porch and the piles of debris and ruined furniture.
“Oh, Craig,” she said, truly pained. “That’s going to cost a fortune.”
“I know. I’m waiting for Dena to mail the insurance numbers. But what your brothers’ friends did, that’s going to make a difference. A big one.”
“The inside of the house?” she asked hesitantly.
“This is the front room,” he said, clicking on the next picture. “The light’s not good, but you can get the general idea.”
Penny stared, feeling sick. The murky picture showed the toppled furniture, the shattered glass, the ruined rug. Mold streaked the once-lovely wallpaper.
Without thinking, she put her hand on his upper arm. His muscles stiffened beneath her touch as if she’d jolted him with an electric shock. That, and the familiar warmth and hardness of his bicep, made her draw back sharply.
They both tried to pretend nothing had happened. He searched her face, sadness in his eyes. “You don’t need to see any more. You get the idea.”
“Yes, I do. Has your family recovered from the shock yet?”
He shook his head. “No. Things are better than they were. I’m most worried about Lilly. She seems like she’s in another world. This hit her before she’d recovered from the deaths of those two boys. She wouldn’t let me take her picture. She says she doesn’t want anybody seeing her until her surgeries are over. That’ll be months.”
“Any girl would be crushed,” Penny said. “Her life must seem like one disaster after another.” She took a sip to calm herself. “She’s only sixteen. Time will help. And I’ve seen what plastic surgery can do, and she should be fine.”
He shrugged wide shoulders and only seemed more worried. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Sending her away—it’ll be hard, but it has to be done.”
“When the operations are over, she’ll be back to her old self,” Penny said, trying to buoy his spirits. “It’ll be like a bad dream, and like a dream, it’ll fade.”
But he gave her such an odd, unhappy look that she wished she hadn’t said it. In frustration, she picked up the bottle of champagne and split the remainder between their two glasses. “No,” he said, trying to wave her off. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve had a hard weekend, and so have I. Come with me to the kitchen. I’ll show you something that’ll give you a smile. If you like twisted humor.”
She rose with more cheeriness than she felt and led him to the breakfast nook. “Sit down,” she offered. “And I’ll show you the book Rose Alice sent. I hid it so Mom wouldn’t see.”
He sat. She went to the counter beneath the sink and drew out Rose Alice’s unwrapped book. Penny showed him a volume with a shiny white jacket with a picture of a dark red heart breaking in two. The title blared When He Leaves You: A Survival Guide for Failed Wives.
Penny read the blurb from the back, “He’s left you. You’re helpless, filled with anguish and robbed of every shred of self-esteem. You will never suffer greater humiliation and pain than you feel now.
“But there’s hope! Chapter by chapter, Dr. Brittany Clabber leads you through the grieving process. You’ll learn how not to feel miserable, worthless and a failure as a woman…”
Craig put his elbow on the table and massaged his forehead. “Unbelievable. She’d give this insulting garbage to her own cousin? What’s she want Maeve to do? Slit her wrists?”
“Who knows? I think she may have always been jealous of Mom and she was mad that Mom didn’t like all her carrying on when we were at Bristol. This is her none-too-subtle revenge. And it’s inscribed.”
She opened the book. On the title page was a message in Rose Alice’s crabbed handwriting. “Dearest Maeve, perhaps Penny will also want to peruse this. It has many insights on how women who fail at marriage can begin the recovery process. Love and kisses, Rose Alice.”
She paused and regarded the book thoughtfully. “Actually,” she murmured, “Maybe I should read this.”
“No!” Craig said emphatically. “Rose Alice is a self-righteous sadist. Get rid of this dreck.” He shoved the book away so roughly that it thumped onto the opposite bench and bounced to the floor.
She said, “I thought I’d just mail it back to her and tell her that I know she means well, but—”
“No!” Craig insisted, angry. “Get rid of it. Throw it out. Give it away. And if you write to her, write her the truth. Her behavior’s completely inappropriate. Don’t let her near your mother until she can act like a rational person.”
“Don’t worry, I already left her a nasty voice mail.” She smiled at him. “Y-you’re very passionate about this,” Penny stammered.
“I’m very passionate about your family,” he said, pushing the empty book packaging onto the floor and sliding closer. “And I’m passionate about you.”
Then his arms were around her, his lips were on hers, and everything between them changed. For a moment all the barriers she’d raised against him fell. She was his again. Completely.
His mouth was warm and commanding. Her lips parted in pleasure, and she felt the moist rough-silk texture of his tongue against hers. His arms pulled her close, so close it was almost painful, but made her feel secure and wanted as nothing else could.
Then one of his hands stroked her long hair, fingers tangling in it possessively, so she couldn’t escape the kiss if she wanted. But she wanted no escape. This was what she’d needed during the long, empty months without him.
His other hand began moving with firm sensuality, exploring the planes of her back, the ridge of her spine, the intricate curves of her shoulders.
She sighed with pleasure and could barely get her breath.
Against her lips he whispered, “Let’s go upstairs. Let’s go to your room. Now.”
“Oh,” she panted. “Oh. No. We can’t.”
His hands went still. He pulled farther back from her. “You want to. I can tell. And I want it. And need it. I need you. With every fiber of my being.”
The sense of the insanity of what they were doing struck her like a lightning bolt. “What we want isn’t the same as what’s good for us. Or smart for us.”
“Then I’m going. Oh, you’ve puzzled me. But I never thought you were a tease.”
“A tease?” she repeated, hurt and disbelieving. “I only brought you out here to show you the book. Maybe we had too much champagne.”
“Right,” he said in disgust. “Blame it on the champagne. Get up, will you? I’m leaving.”
She slid from the bench and stood, taking a step back. He rose and didn’t look at her. “I’ll call here tomorrow. Forget what just happened. I’ve got too much on my mind, too damned much. So just—forget it.” He stalked off toward the entryway.
“Gladly,” she called after him.
He let himself out the front door. He didn’t say goodbye, nor did she.
“Gladly!” she repeated as the door slammed shut. But she knew she would not forget.
She could not.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING IN THE breakfast nook, Penny sat with Maeve, having coffee. She remembered what had happened here and felt vile and guilty.
Last night, on this very bench, she’d been too friendly to Craig—and too dangerously drawn to him. When he kissed her, she’d responded like a woman so love hungry she was wild.
No wonder he’d asked her to go to bed; she’d sent all the signals: sitting too close to him, touching him, sympathizing with him, inviting him into the kitchen, topping his drink.
“You look glum, Penny,” said Maeve. “Did you and Craig have a disagreement after I went to bed?”
“You could say that,” Penny muttered. “Nothing serious. Just…uncomfortable. He was tired, and we both were tense.”
“I’m sorry,” Maeve said, tilting her head in sympathy.
But I was not drunk, Penny insisted to herself. And neither was he. Our defenses were down, that’s all.
After all, they hadn’t gone to bed. After he’d left, she was thinking clearly, not dizzy or muddled. She didn’t sway or stagger or hiccup. She’d been in perfect control of herself until she lay down and fought back tears about how foolishly she’d acted with Craig.
Now Maeve asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” She refilled both their cups.
“No,” Penny stated and changed the subject. “I have some good news, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t turn on the waterworks.”
“I promise,” vowed Maeve with a smile.
But when Penny told her about the twins’ friends and colleagues making the contribution to Craig’s family, Maeve immediately forgot her promise. She became sniffly, and tears welled in her eyes. “What good men they are,” she said in a quavering voice. “I’ll have to call them and thank them.”
“Not yet,” Penny said firmly. “All they’ll tell you is that they didn’t do it. They didn’t start it, they didn’t organize it. They’ll insist that they did nothing. They’ll tell you NASCAR is a family, too, and you’d cry. They get upset when you cry.”
“They do?” Maeve seemed truly surprised.
“Of course they do,” said Penny, putting her hand over Maeve’s. “Nobody—especially a man—likes to see a parent cry. It makes them feel futile and helpless.”
“It does?” Maeve asked.
“Yes, it does. They’re trying to stay strong for you, so you need to do the same for them. Stiff upper lip and all that.”
“You’re right,” Maeve mused. “I am the parent. I should set an example.”
“Exactly,” said Penny with more conviction than she felt.
Sometime this week The National Star would come out. She didn’t know exactly when because she never read it. The family lawyer had told Penny that the tabloid had an army of cunning attorneys and that even celebrities with seemingly infinite money couldn’t stop its presses. Maeve couldn’t play in the paper’s league, and the paper would hit Maeve like a sledgehammer. The woman had already suffered so many blows, Penny wasn’t sure how many more she could take and stay standing.
“Craig’s been a great help to me,” Maeve said. “I hope you don’t resent that, Penny. But he has. He’s a strong, dependable and caring man. I know I shouldn’t say it, but I wish you two—”
“Please, Mom, don’t,” Penny said. “Just don’t. I know he’s a good man. But not for me. I chose wrong. The same as you did.”
Maeve looked wounded. “It’s not the same. Not at all. Hilton deceived everyone. Craig’s not like that at all. He never twists the truth or hides it.”
“It’s the same this way—I chose wrong. He and I want different things from life. And that’s the end of it.”
“He’s helped me a great deal, Penny. I’ve come to rely on him. I like seeing him, talking to him.”
“Then do it,” Penny said. “He’s very fond of you. He and I can get along. But as a couple, we’re over.”
Maeve said, “He said you’d agreed to go to Martinsville with him. You promised.”
“I’ll keep that promise,” Penny told her. “But it’s our farewell tour. After that, I’ll be working out of town more often. I might even see if I can share an apartment in New York with somebody. Not full-time. But it’d be cheaper than hotel bills.”
“Leave?” Maeve said, clearly horrified.
“I started thinking about it last night,” Penny said. “A lot of the best jobs come out of NewYork. I need more assignments—”
“Are you doing it for me?” Maeve demanded. “Because if you are, don’t. I know you’re sick and tired of the work. You said you were glad to be back home. So stay home. I love having you here. Don’t rush back into a job that you hate because of me.”
“I don’t hate it. I was just tired of it. Now I’m rested,” Penny countered.
Her phone jingled. Saved by the bell, she thought.
Then she saw the caller was Craig. Okay. Not saved by the bell.
She answered. “Hello?”
“Penny?” he said. “It’s Craig. Can you talk? Are you alone?”
“Give me a second,” she murmured. To Maeve, she said, “Excuse me. I should take this in the other room.”
“Oh,” Maeve said, her expression wary. “Certainly. I’ll heat up some of Gerty’s pecan rolls for us.”
Penny nodded absently, rose and made her way to the living room, shutting the kitchen door behind her. She sat down on the stairway leading to the second floor, then regretted it. This was where she and Craig—it seemed a lifetime ago—had their first conversation.
“All right,” she told him, her throat tight. “I’m alone.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “Not for wanting to take you to bed. But for calling you a tease. That was wrong, and I apologize.”
“I’m sorry, too. I—I really was getting too friendly.”
“It was champagne-friendly,” he said softly. “I should have known better.”
It wasn’t the champagne. It was me, she thought. But she didn’t want to admit it.
“Will you still meet me at Martinsville?” he asked in his husky baritone. “So we can give it one more try. At talking it out, I mean.”
She nipped her lower lip. “Certainly. I said I would. But Craig?”
“Yes?”
“I still want you to sign the divorce papers.” She winced, feeling like a coward and a hypocrite.
“I figured that,” he said tonelessly. “But as a gesture of ceasefire, could I take you and your mother out for lunch today?”
There it was again. He was trying to reduce her to putty by being Mr. Nice Guy. Yet there was something more than niceness in him. There was strength and tenacity, a sureness that he knew what he wanted and intended to get it.
“I seriously doubt if she’ll go,” Penny returned. “She went to the pet shelter with you and to the alterations place with me. I think it took all her stamina. She shouldn’t be pushed too fast. She’s not really ready to face people yet.”
“I didn’t intend to take her anywhere she’d be recognized. Someplace offbeat. There’s a new little Mexican restaurant that’s outstanding. Besides, I have news about the bank that might cheer up both of you.”
That was, of course, irresistible. Penny couldn’t refuse anything that could lighten Maeve’s mood. “Okay. I’ll try to talk her into it. Can you give me a hint about the bank?”
“No hints. I need all my leverage to get you two out and about. Maeve’s been treating that house like it’s a bomb shelter and the world is radioactive. Besides, I’ve got some other information she could find interesting.”
Penny reflected wryly that he was not only tall, blond, handsome, brilliant and sexy. He was ingeniously sly. “I’ll do my best to get her to come,” she said.
“Then it’ll happen,” Craig said, his voice suddenly intimate again. “I know you, babe. Pick you up at noon.”
She said goodbye, her heart beating too hard. Her mouth tingled when she remembered last night and the feeling of his lips on hers.
THE RESTAURANT WAS TINY, colorful and cheerful. It smelled of fresh paint, taco meat, refried beans, chili and pico de gallo. Bright-hued rugs hung from the wall, as well as small paintings of Mexican street scenes.
A lovely young woman with a name tag that said Estrellita greeted them at the door. “Senor Lockhart,” she said with a wide, white smile and led them to a booth and gave them menus.
Maeve ordered the gazpacho. Penny asked for the chicken salad in avocado halves, and Craig went for the shredded beef Zitacuaro. They all ordered Mexican lime sodas.
Penny sighed. “All right, Craig. You said you had news about the bank. What?”
“All right,” he said. “It’s technical, and it’s complicated and it’s boring. The simplest way to explain it is that, with luck, a bridge bank can be established. A bridge bank is a temporary bank created to mind assets and take on the liabilities. I say ‘temporary’ because it functions only until a final resolution is reached.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. “So Branch Mutual won’t have to fail?”
“There’s a good chance it won’t—in a technical sense. But it can’t be a Branch institution. It’ll have to be renamed. Investors may get at least a percentage of their money back. That includes you two, the twins and Sawyer.”
Maeve looked as if she would faint with relief. “How much of this is your doing, Craig?” she asked.
“I’m a very small cog in a huge process. But the U.S. has policies in place to help, and the FDIC, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, has international implementation issues.”
“I don’t understand a word of that,” Penny said.
“It’s not your job to understand it. But you can sit back and relax a little. The bank isn’t going to crash into hell, and it shouldn’t poison its affiliated banks.”
“M-my great grandfather started that bank,” Maeve said, her voice shaking.
“It’ll endure,” Craig told her. “It’ll change—but endure.”
Maeve would have wept, but her lunch came and Craig warned her not to cry into her soup. She’d make it too salty and ruin the seasoning. Miraculously, she gave him a small smile.
“And what’s your other news?” Penny demanded. “You said there was more.”
“After you eat,” Craig said firmly. Estrellita went hurrying by, carrying a tray of drinks. She smiled sweetly at Craig, and he smiled back.
Penny was shamed and angered to feel a sharp sting of jealousy.
