Truth and Consequences, page 8
“A great name,” Penny said.
“And a great dis-po-si-tion,” April contributed.
Penny didn’t talk down to them or treat them with patronization or pity. She treated them like perfectly normal and articulate little girls, and they loved her for it. Back at the house, she suffered through their ministrations to her hair, including double ponytails, and piling it atop her head so she looked like an unkempt Cinderella.
She taught Dena how to make a fancy “fish tail” braid, and they did both twins’ hair, and Lilly’s, too. She looked at Lilly’s sketchbook of costume designs with true interest, and Craig could see Penny was impressed, that she thought the girl had real talent. And Lilly surprised even him by eagerly asking Penny about European art museums, theaters and operas. How did the kid know so much? And how patient and cheerful Penny was with her.
Each time Craig saw Penny with them, he was more convinced of how good she’d be with her own children, their children.
But when he’d mention it, even jokingly, she’d say, “Not while I’m still working,” and she didn’t want to go beyond that. Her attitude became more and more puzzling to him. She was hardly ever closemouthed or refused to discuss any topic—except this one.
SHE’D SLOWLY CUT BACK on work, but then a few weeks last November, something wonderful happened. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to quit except for a few jobs around here.”
The announcement delighted him. Between them, they’d saved plenty of money for the future, and his prospects, as well as his salary, kept rising at Branch Mutual. They lived in Penny’s three-bedroom condo, which he believed was one of her wisest investments.
It was big enough for their first child, he thought, but by the time the second was on the way, he wanted to be in their own house, with maybe a few acres and room for a couple of horses—Penny was an excellent rider—and eventually ponies for the kids.
He wanted to discuss these plans that were, to him, as sunny as a field of sunflowers in full bloom. When he did mention something, she acted wounded, even insulted. “I need time to think about this, Craig,” she said, and she seemed close to tears.
For two years, she’d said they’d talk about it when she quit modeling. Now she’d quit. When had the rules changed?
What she said next had shocked him. “I’m just not ready yet. Craig, a child is a huge responsibility. I’ve been working almost full-time since I was twelve years old. Twelve! The first time I modeled I was six years old. I didn’t have a regular childhood. I didn’t get to have normal teenage years. I didn’t go to high school—I had tutors. I never got to go to college at all. Daddy told me there was a lot of money to be made for my future, and I’d better make it while I could.
“And I realize that I’m not ready for children. I want to taste a bit of freedom for a while. Is that so wrong?”
He’d worked hard himself from an early age. He understood her position. And yet he didn’t. He’d worked on the family farm since he was Little Gary’s age. He’d manage to farm and still finish two college degrees. He’d devoted himself to helping his family ever since.
But he wanted a family of his own. Badly. He’d give her a little time.
He waited a week to mention children again.
“I’m not ready!” she repeated with surprising passion. “I told you that.”
“Because you want a taste of freedom?” he asked. “For how long? Six months? A year?”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a mother,” she said, astounding him. “And I certainly don’t want to talk about it now.”
“If not now, when?” he demanded, irked by her refusal to explain herself. “And what do you mean, you’re not cut out to be a mother? You’re great with kids.”
“I’m fine with older kids,” she retorted. “Babies make me nervous. I’m not one of those people who beg to hold babies and coo at them. I’m just not.”
With a jolt, he realized she spoke the truth. He’d hardly ever seen her with a baby in her arms. When a neighbor had brought her new baby to the farm to show her off, everybody in the family had to have a turn holding her. Penny had seemed reluctant. She would beg off, saying she thought she had a cold coming on, or she’d managed to have Angie or April on her lap already.
“It’s different when it’s your own,” he said.
“How would you know?” she challenged.
“Instinct kicks in. Besides, your mother’d help you. She tended four babies. She’d love it. Didn’t you ever help her with the twins and Sawyer?”
“I was only two when the twins were born. And Sawyer didn’t like it when I held him. He’d scream until he turned red as a beet.”
“We’ll get a nanny for a while,” Craig said. “We can afford it.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, then turned away from him.
It made no sense. He’d vow to himself not to bring it up for a few months, but he couldn’t leave the subject alone. He wanted children, he yearned for them, and he’d bring it up at least once a week.
Each time, she became more intractable, less willing to talk about it at all. Once she held up her hand like an angry traffic cop. “Stop it!” she ordered. “You’re treating me like a baby-making machine. I’m a person, too. I have a say in this.”
Another time, he asked her if she was secretly worried about losing her figure—after all, it was exceptional. He didn’t think of her as vain, but perhaps her self-confidence, her very identity, was threatened in ways that she herself didn’t understand. He asked if she wanted to talk to a counselor.
She glared at him, picked up her purse, walked out the front door and slammed it as hard as she could. She didn’t come home for hours, and when she did, she went into the bedroom and locked him out.
It was ridiculous. Later, he reminded her that her biological clock was ticking fast. She said no, it wasn’t. They had plenty of time. He asked her how much. She told him again that she didn’t really know if she wanted children. Lots of couples decided not to have babies.
Next he asked her if she would come with him to see a marriage counselor. If he could just understand her reluctance—if they could both talk things out with a third party
She said that it was becoming clear that they had irreconcilable differences. She’d told him that she didn’t really want babies. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? She said she needed time alone. She said that they should separate for a while.
He loved her, but she was changing. And he was starting to wonder if he’d ever really known her at all.
Now she sat in a roomful of orchids, only picking at her dinner, not looking at him.
A pianist in the tuxedo was playing “Always on My Mind,” which seemed too damned ironic for Craig. In fact, all love songs struck him as too damned ironic.
He wished he’d never met her. He wished he could sweep her up in his arms as if he were Rhett Butler, carry her into his room and make love to her all night long. She’d wake up pregnant, love the baby, and their troubles would be over.
Ha.
IN THE ORCHID ROOM, PENNY couldn’t bear the silence between them any longer. “Did I tell you I’m going to take up modeling full-time again?”
“Soon?” he asked.
She shrugged, then raised her face and met his eyes. His gaze still had the power to shake her to the core. He blinked and his jaw tightened. “I thought you were sick of it. Burned out.”
She shrugged again. “I need money to help out my mother. She may have to sell the house—if she can. My father’s put her in such a financial tangle, she worries that she may have to declare bankruptcy. The thought practically kills her. She’s humiliated enough already.”
He set aside his fork. “Penny, I owe you all an apology. If I’d just caught on sooner to what Hilton was doing, I might have saved you at least part of this grief. He wouldn’t have been able to harm so many others—you, the investors, customers, the employees. I’m sorry that I had to break it to you the way I did. And I’m sorry for anything and everything I’ve done that’s injured you. You’re the last person in the world I’d want to hurt.”
Pain and confusion filled her. And to her shock, she felt a surge of affection for him that was so strong it was frightening.
“No,” she managed to say. “I owe you the apology. He’s the one who wronged everyone. You only did your job. And I acted like that old proverb. I didn’t like the message, so I punished the messenger—you.”
She paused and swallowed hard. “I knew my father could be a blowhard. We all knew it. We knew that he loved display, showing off his money. But he supported us in whatever we wanted to do. Mom adored him. We did, too. We didn’t realize what we loved was only…only an illusion. He worked hard to create that illusion. And he cheated and stole and defrauded to maintain it.”
She felt as if she were getting lost in his eyes. “We were the people closest to him. And we never suspected what he was really like. Or how much he would hurt us. It’s him that I should—and do—resent. Not you. I’ve treated you shabbily. And it’s inexcusable.”
She shook her head, put her elbow on the table and covered her eyes with her hand.
“Penny,” he asked with concern, “are you crying?”
She shook her head no, which, of course was just one more way of lying to him.
“Yes, you are,” he said, so low it was almost a whisper. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“No,” she answered in a choked voice. “Finish your dinner. It’s a sin to waste it. The world is full of people who are hungry.”
“My eating this isn’t going to feed them,” he countered.
“You stole that line from Little Gary,” she said. “I’m going to the restroom to wash my face. Eat up.”
She made her way to the restroom, which, of course, was all lavender and gilt and had a basket of orchids hanging above the sink. She splashed water on her face, dried it with a paper towel and stared into the mirror.
You’re too much your father’s daughter, she wanted to say to her image. You, too, created an illusion. You, too, hid the truth. You hid it because you wanted Craig so badly, you pretended the truth didn’t exist. But it does. And like your father, you’re too guilty and ashamed to come out with it.
She took deep breaths until she thought she’d regained control of herself. Then she went back to Craig. He sat with a cleaned plate in front of him and such a look of mock obedience on his face that she had to smile.
“Now it’s your turn,” he told her as she sat down. “Finish up your food, little missy. You’re getting thinner, know that? And you don’t need to.”
She did her duty, eating her pasta primavera.
He said, “I’m sorry there’s no strawberry dessert.”
“So am I,” she said.
“I’ll write them a letter of complaint.”
“Make it stern,” she said, nodding solemnly. “Very stern.”
“Stern enough to give a grizzly bear a heart attack,” he said with a smile.
And she thought how easy it was to slip back into the old fond and playful mode. Too easy.
“There are people dancing out on the balcony,” he said. “Want to join them?”
Yes, she thought. And it might be just like the first time they met, when they discovered how perfectly their bodies fit together, how naturally they moved together, how right it seemed to lay her head against his strong and solid chest or to raise her face until their lips almost touched.
“No,” she said, a bit too briskly. “It’s been a long day, and I have to get up early to start home. I know Rose Alice is fond of Mom, but she also gets on her nerves. She flutters and hovers and, oh, how she talks. And talks. And talks. She’s a bit wacky, actually.”
“Would you have time for breakfast?” he asked. “An early one?”
She’d like to, but she couldn’t allow herself to weaken any more. “I’ll grab something on the way to the airport,” she said, pushing back her chair.
“Don’t run off yet,” he said, signing the bill and adding the tip. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
She knew it would be rude to refuse, and she also knew it would be an awkward goodbye.
IT WAS EVEN MORE AWKWARD than she feared. They descended in the elevator, talking about a neutral topic, Will and Bart. “They’re hanging in there,” Craig observed. “They’re showing grace under pressure.”
“They’ve always been resilient,” she said. “And they’re not quitters. Tell them that something can’t be done, and they’ll go out and do it. Just to show you.”
He raised a brow appreciatively. “They may just have the stuff of champions in them.”
“I’d love it if they do,” she said. “And most people seem to be rooting for them. Every once in a while they used to get taunted that they were driving only because Hilton sponsored them. People would yell, ‘Daddy’s money!’ Or ‘The moneybag boys.’”
“I remember,” said Craig, conjuring memories of dozens of races they’d been to together, watching the twins.
She nodded. “Now I think the fans respect them because they’re facing the scandal straight on. They don’t feel sorry for themselves, and they’re still one hundred percent professional.”
The elevator reached Penny’s floor and the doors slid open. Craig took her arm, and she didn’t want to jerk away rudely. But the touch of him, the hardness of his bicep under his suit coat made her feel as if she had dizzying bubbles in her blood.
They reached her door. She started to give him a stilted, “Thank you,” but he turned her to face him and he stared at her lips. “Kiss me good-night?” he asked.
She shook her head, although she yearned for the feeling of his mouth on hers, just once more. “I don’t think it’d be wise,” she said. “I’ve asked you to sign the divorce papers, remember?”
“I remember, all right.” His face grew taut with emotion. “But we need to talk more. Why don’t we do this again? We could meet at Martinsville. Next month. Just like this time. How about it?”
“No,” she countered. “We can talk in Dallas if we have to. We shouldn’t be going off together. It sends the wrong signal.”
“I can’t talk in Dallas. I’ve got meetings to attend. I’ve got to testify before two committees and videotape a deposition for Washington, D.C. I’m buried in paperwork, and I’ve got job interviews.”
Her eyes widened. “Job interviews? Where?”
“Austin. Miami. L.A. Chicago. And even in Dallas, with Whittaker Security.”
She felt betrayed. Whittaker Security had always been Branch Mutual’s biggest competitor.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Craig said, his hands gripping her shoulders harder. “I can’t stay with Branch Mutual much longer. It’s not right. I’m going to have to be a chief witness about what went on there. It’s like a madhouse. So meet me in Martinsville. Away from all that.”
“I don’t think—” she began.
“You need to support the twins. They need to know you’re there for them.”
“I didn’t even get to talk to them face-to-face this time,” she protested.
“Every race is as hectic as hell for them. But you did talk to them. They know you’re here. And you know you’re still a family.”
Family. The word had become dangerously loaded for her. She thought of his family, so united, so tightly bound. She thought of hers, still reeling from the ruin Hilton had brought crashing down on them. She thought of herself and Craig, once a family of two, soon not to be a family at all.
“Please,” he said, his face nearer to hers. Unwanted desire shuddered through her body, making her tingle with wanting him. “Just a little more talking this through. To say we’ve tried. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll sign the papers.”
Desire fled, replaced by a chill of emptiness. “You promise?” she asked.
He frowned in frustration. “I promise. And I won’t bother you in Dallas. I want you to have time to think. And for me to think, too.”
He gave her the briefest, most perfunctory of kisses on her cheek, then he released her and strode away. “Martinsville,” he tossed back, over his shoulder. “Will you be there?”
The emptiness within her seemed to grow, swallowing all but her outer shell. “I’ll…I’ll think about it,” she called back to him.
But in her heart, she knew she’d be there.
WHEN PENNY GOT BACK TO DALLAS, she thanked E.A. profusely, kissed his cheek and tried to give him money that he wouldn’t take. She called Maeve and then drove straight home.
She remembered pulling up in their long drive on that day in February, the morning she thought of as the day our world ended.
Maeve had been happy, trusting and feeling secure.
Penny thought of her mom’s sugar cookies with pink frosting, and it struck her that they had tasted as sweet as innocence. Images of frosting on Maeve’s pearls and on the telephone. The same telephone she’d answered only to hear Craig’s voice telling her of Hilton’s disappearance. It seemed Maeve’s innocence—and what little innocence Penny had left—died that day.
Now the spring gardens drooped and ran ragged, and weeds had invaded like barbarian hoards. The potted plants on the porch were dying from neglect. Maeve had had to let the gardener go—which made her teary for a full week. His name was Alonzo, and he’d tended the lawn and garden for twenty-one years.
Maeve had to let Gerty go, as well. She virtually shut off the upstairs of the house. She lived entirely on the first floor, using the kitchen and the den, where she’d fall asleep on the couch to the drone of the late-night television.
But this morning, Maeve met her at the door, smiling and hugging Penny in relief. “Thank heaven you called,” she said, pressing her cheek to Penny’s. “I sent Rose Alice home. Arrgh. I practically had to kick her out the door.”
Penny looped her arm around her mother’s shoulders, and they headed, as usual, for the sunporch. “I’m sorry I haven’t got anything decent made for you. Rose Alice made some brownies out of a mix—and overbaked them. Yuck. I’ve brewed some tea.”
