by Mary Campisi
“I don’t have a big need for a secretary, and I’ve already got an assistant.”
“I’m not looking for a secretarial or assistant position. I want to work in the factory.”
Camille placed a navy jacket with cream piping on a hanger and reached for a mint and fuchsia scarf. Accessorizing was the key to taking a plain outfit and putting zip into it. There were so many ways to accomplish the task: cinched belts, colorful bangles, necklaces, earrings, scarves—she loved the idea of utilizing a scarf to make a statement—even adding buckles to shoes or faux-pearl clips to buttons. And watches. People underestimated the power of an attractive watch to give an outfit the right look.
Nicki Price knew all about fashion sense and style. That’s why she and Camille made such a great team. Plus, they’d both admitted to past obsessions with finding the perfect pair of shoes or clutch to match an outfit. Few women would confess to the amount of time spent scouring department stores and online catalogs for just the right find, but they’d both done it and owned up to it. Nicki claimed it was all part of her past life, and now, her world was filled with her husband, two children, a dog, and the boutique. Camille believed that was about 98 percent accurate, but there were those rare times when she’d seen the gleam in the younger woman’s eye that said she wasn’t quite over her former obsession.
“Camille?” Nicki glanced up from the pile of sweaters she’d been folding. “I have something I want to tell you, but I’m not sure how to say it.”
Camille laughed, waved a hand in the air, and said, “I’ve always been a straight shooter, and I prefer the no-nonsense approach. We’ve known each other long enough to say what’s on our minds. Just go ahead and tell me.” What could Nicki have to tell her that made her hesitate? They’d talked about so many things since they began working together; how Nicki met her husband, how they’d almost fallen apart, the moment she’d learned she was pregnant. And there’d been more, too… Camille’s discovery that her husband really was cheating on her, the ultimatums, the counseling sessions…
Nicki held her gaze, said in a voice filled with sadness, “It’s about Carter.”
Carter. Camille’s brain pinched, her temples pulsing with what she knew would end in a migraine. She’d had enough of those over the years, most of them related to her husband and his philandering ways. “Carter?”
Her friend nodded. “And the girl from the Cherry Top Diner.”
Mindy. Camille never referred to her by name, and out of respect, neither did Nicki. Oh, they did use names like sex bunny, tramp, under-twenty-five sex toy. But never Mindy. “What’s she doing? Is she smearing my name all over town? Telling people I’m responsible for the downturn in the restaurant’s business?” There could be a speck of truth in the comment about the restaurant’s sagging customer base. Camille had made no attempt to stay quiet about the waitress and her wily ways with other women’s husbands. If there was an opportunity to mention it at the country club, Camille did. In the grocery store? Absolutely. Even church was not off-limits to issue warnings about the woman who could steal a husband and not care one bit. So what? Was any of it a lie? Indeed not.
“She came in here yesterday.” Nicki’s blue eyes filled with tears, her voice a mix of pain and sadness… And anger. “I didn’t know what to do. I almost asked her to leave, but I wanted to find out why she’d come, and if it had anything to do with you. I wish I’d given her the boot.” She swiped at a tear, clasped Camille’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Just tell me what happened.” Camille leaned closer, waited. The look on her friend’s face told her the news would be horrible, but when she spoke, it was so much worse.
“Carter’s still seeing her. I don’t think he’s ever stopped, no matter what he told you, or how many counseling sessions he’s attended.”
The room started spinning, the oxygen in the air shrinking, stealing Camille’s ability to draw a clean breath. She sank into a chair, tried to suck in air as the dizziness overwhelmed her. Carter and that tramp were still seeing each other? Still sleeping together? Had never stopped? And all the while Camille had believed she’d finally gained the upper hand, earned his love and commitment. All those nights together… All those times she’d given in and done things in the name of an attempt to repair the relationship? In hopes of rebuilding trust, keeping his interest, being enough for him? And it had all been a lie?
Damn that man to everlasting hell!
The whispers swirled with the snow that blanketed the town, leaving eight inches by morning, and more than one comment that this year Reunion Gap would see another White Christmas. At the moment, the whispers were more powerful and interesting to contemplate than the snow.
Did you hear what happened to Carter Alexander?
Ha, who hasn’t heard?
It’s about time.
It’s past time. I didn’t think Camille had it in her.
Ha ha. I would’ve loved to see his face when he tried to get in the house.
Yeah, she should have changed the locks the first time he cheated on her.
Maybe now he can shack up with his little girlfriend in her apartment.
With her five cats.
Ha ha ha. How the mighty Dr. Carter Alexander did fall.
Mighty, arrogant, egotistical Dr. Carter Alexander.
See how mighty he is now.
What’s going on with the nephew and the Donovan girl?
No idea. Bad business there.
Nobody’s talking. Not a peep.
Nope. Thought they were going to be the couple to break the curse.
Sure doesn’t look like it. She’s looking awful serious, and he hasn’t cracked a smile in a while.
Like I said, not good.
Camille breathed in, lifted her arms in the air, spread them wide. It felt good to draw in a clean breath that wasn’t saturated with worry and discontent. Freedom. Inhale…stretch…exhale. Freedom.
The man who had tormented her existence with lies and empty promises had been gone five days, and while she’d like to say she missed him, that would be a lie. And Camille was done lying, especially to herself. She’d met with the attorney and he’d filed divorce papers. Carter had already called her six times, begging for one more chance. I promise you, it will never happen again. I’ll go into extensive therapy. Take medication. Move away from here. Whatever you want. Please, don’t leave me, Cammie. I need you.
He sounded so pitiful, so unlike the Carter Alexander who acted like the whole world revolved around his every whim and every woman existed for him. Well, not this one. Not anymore. Why was it that cheaters only grew repentant and wanted to change their ways once they’d been caught and the injured party was no longer interested in repairing the relationship? Why did they wait until there was less than a breath left in the marriage and then believe they could resuscitate it with a few apologies and a bouquet of flowers?
Not this time.
Carter could have Mindy with her timid smiles and silly comments. She could tell him he was the king of her world and maybe, for her, that was true. Finally, Camille didn’t care. She truly did not care.
The staff had scurried about the day the locksmith arrived, casting furtive glances at the doors, no doubt wondering what was happening. No doubt wondering what would happen to them. They were loyal to Camille, committed to protecting her, even if it meant pretending not to know about her husband’s extracurricular activities with other women. They didn’t need to worry about that any longer; they could just do their jobs without Carter’s shenanigans going on in the house. She called a meeting that day, told them Mr. Alexander had left the premises and would not be admitted under any circumstances. She’d eyed each one of them, making sure they understood what that meant. Do not open the door. Do not answer his phone calls. Do not engage in any manner. It might sound difficult and cruel, but it was necessary. Carter had a way of making her doubt herself and what she knew to be true, and he did it with such finesse and calculation, it felt real. She would not let him
manipulate her again, and the best way to avoid that was to avoid him. When she’d finished speaking to the staff, she told them they were free to leave if they could not agree to her requests, and if they chose to depart, they’d leave with a letter of recommendation. Everyone stayed.
That was the day life began without Carter Alexander.
Camille showered, dressed in a knit top and slacks, and headed to the dining room to wait for Oliver. Her brother had agreed to stop by the house for lunch, something he’d rarely done when Carter lived here. Camille had made the chowder and the roasted red pepper hummus. Her estranged husband had never wanted her in the kitchen, said Alexanders did not belong around food preparation. But she enjoyed the kitchen, enjoyed the chatter with staff, the smells, the touch, the creation. No man would ever tell her what she could and could not do again. And more, she would listen to herself, and she would find her joy again.
When Oliver arrived, she squared her shoulders and offered him a smile. They hadn’t seen each other since Carter’s forced departure, and they hadn’t spoken other than the cryptic phone call she’d made to tell him that change was coming and it did not include a husband. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? Maybe hot chocolate?”
Her brother ignored her questions, opened his long arms to her, and said, “How about a hug from my brave sister?”
She stepped into his embrace, thrust her arms around his middle, and held tight. Tears threatened, but she pushed them back. This was the time to be strong and push forward. “Thank you for always believing in me.”
He kissed the top of her head, eased back and said in a gentle voice, “I have always believed in you. It was you who didn’t believe in yourself.” Pause, a smile. “Jonathan would be proud. He never could stand how the guy treated you.”
She nodded, thought of the brother they’d lost. “I won’t let him down.”
“I know you won’t.” He hugged her once more. “Now how about a bowl of that Manhattan clam chowder you promised me?”
“Yes, how about it?” Camille leaned on tiptoe and kissed her brother on the cheek. “Thank you, Ollie.” Then she grabbed his hand and led him to the dining room. “I hope you’re hungry because I made you a batch of roasted red pepper hummus.” She raised a brow. “Enough to take home and probably feed half the town.”
His laughter filled her heart, made her join in. As they lunched on chowder, hummus, and veggies, Camille began to relax. Family was what got a person through the difficult times, and the Donovans were a tough lot. She was a Donovan, and while it might take time, she’d find her way back to herself. The kids were the real worry. What parent didn’t want to spare their child pain and disappointment? If she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit Simon and Victoria had seen their share of both growing up in this house. At least, divorce would stop the pretending.
Wasn’t that worth the upheaval in their lives and hearts?
Oliver must have known what she was thinking because he set a broccoli floret on his plate next to a scoop of hummus, and said, “Have you told the kids yet?”
Knowing it was the right thing to do and doing it were quite different. “Not yet.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, caught the pale strip of naked skin on her ring finger. In almost thirty years of marriage, she’d only removed her rings for manicures, cleaning, and an outpatient surgery years ago that required her to remove all jewelry. Other than that, they may as well have been soldered to her finger.
But that was all over now.
She slid her hand to her lap, made a fist. Despite the relief that she’d finally made the decision to divorce him, there was another part of her that was furious. How dare he leave her to navigate a world filled with couples? She was no longer part of a marriage, or a couple, or a set…she was on her own. Middle-aged. Uncertain. Afraid.
Damn that man.
Camille opened her left hand, took a deep breath. Better to be alone than with someone who made her feel alone. Indeed. When she met her brother’s gaze, she didn’t try to hide the worry in her voice.
“I need to tell them, but there’s never going to be a good time. Got any advice on how to break the news and save them from the embarrassment of the breakup?” That’s what kept her up at night—protecting the children. It didn’t matter how old they were, or where they lived, or what they knew in their hearts might be a bad match. When it came down to talking about divorce, it would be painful for them. She’d once read that if the children were young, they adapted better because life without the other parent in the same household felt normal. But the older the children grew, the more difficult the separation became, and adult children dealing with their parents’ divorce often had their own difficulties…maybe even therapy-producing difficulties. She didn’t know if any of this was true or not, but either way, she couldn’t pretend any longer.
“You think they don’t know how things were with you and Carter? Didn’t figure it out a long time ago?” Oliver rubbed his jaw, studied her, those blue eyes piercing. “Give them more credit than that, Cammie. Your kids are smart and have a good sense of what’s going on around them.”
“But they’ll be dragged into it, and their father will try to win them over…” She shook her head, sniffed. Oh, but she had not wanted the tears to come. Of course, her brain refused to cooperate, and the tears slipped onto her cheeks, fell to her chin. She snatched her napkin, swiped at them. “Darn emotions.” Oliver reached for her hand, squeezed. “It’s the emotions that keep us going. Let yourself feel the fear, the anger, the hurt, all of it. This has been years coming, and I’m surprised you haven’t filled a rain barrel of tears by now.”
A smile slipped across her face.” Have you looked in my backyard? Where do you think all the snow came from?”
That made him laugh. “I wondered who brought the white stuff. Figured it was either you or those other two relatives who are causing their own share of grief.”
He meant Tate and Charlotte. Now that was a true tragedy. “You think they’ll be able to work things out?” From the little she’d heard, the breakup had to do with trust. Didn’t it always? Tate had spat out stingy responses, coupled with a don’t-ask look, while Charlotte had refused to say anything. It was a real mess, maybe worse than the one Rogan and Elizabeth went through a while back.
“I’d like to think those two can get through the rough patches, because life’s full of them. The way I see it, it’s all going to come down to choice.” Oliver picked up a broccoli floret, dipped it in hummus. “How bad do they want to be together?”
Chapter 14
Tate glanced up to find Elizabeth Donovan standing in the doorway of his office. “Do you have a minute?”
Elizabeth? Crossing enemy lines? Did her husband know? He nodded, watched as she moved toward him, a vision of grace and wedded bliss. If the whispers about town were correct, she’d be wearing maternity clothes soon. Tate stood, motioned toward the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Please, have a seat.” He waited for her to settle before he eased into his chair. “I must say, this is a surprise.”
She licked her lips, folded her hands in her lap, and said in a voice filled with conviction, “I had to come, if for nothing else as repayment for what you did for me.”
He raised a brow. “What I did for you? I didn’t quite think you’d be thanking me for that.” He remembered exactly what he’d done: the strong-arm insistence that she not reveal her true identity to Rogan until the factory opened.
Certainly, she did not consider that a thank-you. Pink colored her cheeks, spread to her neck. Yup, looked like she remembered it, too.
Elizabeth cleared her throat, leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not talking about that conversation. I mean the one you had with Rogan that led him back to me.” Her voice wobbled and for a second, he thought she might cry. “I can never thank you enough for what you said to him. You opened his eyes and made him see that people sometimes do the wrong thing for the right reason. They can love someone, de
spite actions that say otherwise. I’m not sure how long it would have taken him to search me out, or if he would have let hurt and battered pride take over.”
“He would have found you, no doubt about it. The guy can be stubborn, but he’s not stupid.” More truths spilled out. “He wasn’t going to let the best thing that ever happened to him just walk away for good.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She sniffed, swiped at her eyes. “I hurt him, and I lied to him, and for a man like Rogan, that’s almost unforgivable.” Another sniff and a soft “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”
A woman’s tears always got to him, maybe because he’d seen so many from his mother. Tate reached into his pocket, pulled out a starched handkerchief and handed it to her. As she dabbed her eyes, he waited for the rest of story—the comments about how he was responsible for pulling Elizabeth and Rogan apart in the first place. When they didn’t come, he decided to help her out. “You’re not going to lambaste me with accusations about how I should have minded my own business and not threatened you?”
Rogan Donovan’s wife shook her head, her next words stuffed with enough emotion to suck the oxygen from the room. “How can I blame you for trying to protect a man you considered a friend? Rogan didn’t see it that way at first, but I made sure he knew that’s exactly why you did what you did, and while I didn’t like it, I understood.” Her lips pulled into a half smile. “Thank you for caring about him so much.”
“Yeah, I guess I do care about the jerk, even though he’s threatened to break my nose if I ever pull anything like that again.” Her smile spread, lit up her face. She was beautiful, in love, and Rogan Donovan was one lucky man.
“I’m here to repay the favor, to thank you the only way I know how.” Pause. “I want to talk about Charlotte.”
Charlotte? He had not expected that. Tate winced. “Charlotte, huh? That’s pretty much a closed subject, and definitely not like what happened between you and Rogan.” No way, not even a fraction. She’d lied and broken his heart, probably used him, and maybe never really loved him, though she had no problem throwing around words like I love you and want to be together forever.