Addicted to Love

by Addicted to Love (lit)

  “Rachael’s got a lot on her mind. She’s divided the town and it’s eating her alive. She wants what she wants but she doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt in the process.”

  “I know how she feels,” Michael murmured.

  He looked so pale beneath his tan. Selina knotted her fingers together, dropped her hands into her lap, and stared down at her interlaced digits as if they belonged to someone else.

  Then he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. She lifted her head.

  He gazed at her and the steady light in his eyes stirred up memories of how gentle he’d been with her on the first night they’d slept together. The night she’d given him her virginity on a pallet under a carpet of stars at Lake Valentine. She thought about how his eyes had sparked with happiness when she’d told him she was pregnant with Rachael. She hadn’t imagined it. He had wanted that child. What she’d never been certain of was if he’d really wanted her.

  As he squeezed her elbow and his eyes darkened with sadness, Selina realized how quick she’d been to assume the worst, to doubt his love. She’d needed far too much proof. Why had she been so insecure? Could her insecurity be the very thing that had pushed him away?

  He took her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and gently kissed her knuckles. His lips were cool against her skin. His expression was serious.

  “I’m so glad you came, Selina.”

  “You’re my husband,” she said. “You had a heart attack. Why wouldn’t I come?”

  “Because you won’t speak to me. Because you signed the divorce papers. Because . . . I hurt you.”

  “No more than I hurt you,” she admitted.

  He looked at her and the expression in his eyes was so intensely remorseful she felt as if she’d been struck across the face. “I want . . . ” He swallowed.

  “Yes?” She leaned in close, breath bated. The hope was back, stronger than ever.

  He frowned, but didn’t continue.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Michael,” she said at the same time he said, “Selina.”

  Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer. A shiver went through her, stark and anxious.

  “Don’t die on me,” she whispered. “We need to get this worked out. Need to get beyond this.”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  “You promise?” She could no longer contain the tears pressing against the back of her eyes. They seeped out, rolling down her cheeks.

  “Aw, sweetheart.” He reached up to flick away her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’ve been so stupid.”

  “No,” he said. “I was the stupid one. Looking back to the past, trying to recapture my youth.”

  “You don’t”—Selina hesitated, gulped back the tears— “want Vivian?”

  Michael’s harsh laugh sounded hollow inside the room. “I never wanted Vivian. It was foolish. I just wanted the way she made me feel. Like a young, virile stud.”

  “And I don’t make you feel like that,” she said flatly. “Marriage ruins the fantasy.”

  “It’s a ridiculous fantasy,” he said. “And I was looking like exactly what I was, a silly old fart trying to hang on to his youth. What I didn’t realize was how selfish I’d been. All these years I kept holding on to the thought of what I might have been if you hadn’t gotten pregnant. If I’d married Vivian. If I’d gone to Harvard.”

  Selina sucked in her breath, knotted her hands into fists. She’d known it. For twenty-seven years Michael had wondered what it would have been like to have a different life, a different wife. All the time he was sending her flowers and cards and showering her with gifts, he’d just been trying to convince himself he’d done the right thing. Married the right woman.

  “You’re free to go to her now,” Selina said. “I won’t hold you back. I’m sorry you’ve felt chained to me for so long.” She tried to pull away from his grasp but Michael wouldn’t let go.

  “No, no; you made me see the light. It wasn’t until you left me that I finally understood. I belong here in Valentine. I would never have been happy on the East Coast. Texas is in my blood. And I’m sure if I’d married Vivian we wouldn’t have lasted a year.”

  The depth of emotion in his voice touched Selina profoundly. Finally, he was letting go of the past and getting in touch with the part of himself he’d let get pushed aside while he chased a fantasy.

  “I’m sorry for the hurt I put you through.”

  “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

  “It’s not. I’m to blame for what went wrong between us.”

  “No one is one hundred percent wrong,” she said, finally realizing she had been laying one hundred percent of the blame on him. “I was too ready to imagine the worst of you.”

  Was it her imagination? Was it his near death experience? Or was that a deeply compassionate look in his eyes she’d never seen before?

  “Why was that, Selina?” He stroked the back of her knuckles with his thumb. “Why couldn’t you believe I really loved you?”

  Selina swallowed. “I never felt good enough for you. A Mexican girl whose family owned the local taco restaurant. You a hilltop Henderson. Everyone knew you were marrying me because I was pregnant.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “I’d been carrying your engagement ring around in my pocket for weeks before you told me about the baby, trying to work up the courage to ask you to be my wife. Ask Kelvin. He knew how nervous I was that you’d turn me down flat.”

  Selina sat up straight. “How come you never told me that?”

  A sheepish expression crossed his face, making him appear incredibly boyish for his forty-six years. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it. He was right. She wouldn’t have believed him.

  For a long moment, she just sat there studying him, thinking about the past and all they’d been through together. The ups and the downs. The highs and the lows. How far they’d come together. How much farther they had to go.

  Michael toyed with her engagement ring and wedding band. “You’re still wearing my rings.”

  She met his gaze. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Selina,” he said, his voice choked with husky emotion. “It was never my intention to hurt you. Since you’ve been gone I’ve realized how much I need you. How much a part of my life you are. Ever since you walked out, it’s like my right arm has been amputated. Selina, I love you more now than the day we got married. I’ve never stopped loving you in spite of having acted like a damned fool. Please come home. I . . . ”

  His words trailed off. She was shocked to see a mist of tears in his eyes. She’d never seen her husband cry. Not even when he lost his parents. Not even when their children were born.

  He held his arms out to her and she came to him, gingerly resting her head on his chest as he held her. Emotions fluttered inside her. Such a mix of feelings, misting her own eyes, filling her heart. He wrapped both arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Selina,” he murmured. “My sweet, sweet Selina.”

  She tilted her face up to look at him. He brushed his lips against hers. “I wish,” he said, “I wasn’t hooked up to all this tomfoolery. I’d show you exactly how happy I am to have you in my arms again.”

  “Shh.” She placed an index finger against his lips. “There will be time enough for that as soon as you get well.”

  “Sexual healing is the best medicine,” he said.

  “That’s all going to have to wait until I get you home.”

  Home.

  It sounded so good.

  IN THE DAYS leading up to the election, Brody tried his best to stick to his plan of not romancing Rachael, no matter how much he longed to do exactly that. Instead, he treated her like his oldest and dearest friend, and when he thought about it, that was precisely what she was.

  They’d been kids in the sandbox together, living side by side until his family had moved away when he was twelve. He wen
t through old scrapbooks and family photo albums and found pictures of them at backyard barbecues, swimming pool get-togethers, and neighborhood block parties. When he’d first started the project, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe some inkling of a spark between them, even back then.

  What he discovered was the magical childhood they’d both had until life had intervened and taken him from the gentle cocoon of Valentine, Texas.

  And then he found it.

  What he hadn’t really known he was looking for.

  A Valentine card. Dulled with age, but made by hand from construction paper and dime-store lace. Intended for the girl next door, whose birthday just happened to fall on Valentine’s Day. The edges had curled, the lace yellowed, the block-letter printing faded, but the sentiment was still there — young and so heartfelt.

  When he lifted the card from the keepsake box he found among his mother’s things, his chest tightened and his pulse quickened. Gingerly, he thumbed the card open.

  Dear Rachael, I made ya this Valentine card for your birthday. Hope you like it. Your friend, Brody.

  He remembered sitting in his room, cutting out the red construction paper, gluing on the lace, setting it aside to dry when his friends had come to the front door bouncing a basketball. He’d been twelve and easily distracted. He’d gone outside to play basketball and that’s when Rachael had come over.

  He still remembered the stark terror that had gripped him when she’d given him a slick, store-bought card and his friends had starting chanting, “Brody and Rachael sitting in a tree . . . ”

  Humiliated in front of the guys, he hadn’t even thought of her feelings, he’d just ripped the card up and shoved it back at her. Memories came rushing back as he recalled how her cute little heart-shaped face had instantly dissolved into tears. How he’d hardened his heart, desperate to look tough around his friends.

  What a jerk he’d been.

  Okay, he’d been an embarrassed teenager, stuck with feelings he hadn’t known how to deal with, but he shouldn’t have treated her so callously. You’d think his behavior would have been enough to sour her on love right there. But no, Rachael, the eternal optimist, had kept searching and getting hurt until she’d finally had enough of romance, just at the time he was learning to open up his heart and take a chance on love.

  Ironic as hell.

  Bide your time. Hold out. Give her a chance to break down.

  Good advice, but could he do it?

  Brody glanced out his bedroom window toward the house across the street. Rachael now lived alone in Mrs. Potter’s old house since Selina had moved back in with Michael following his heart attack and their reconciliation.

  The jaunty pink VW Bug, repainted after the graffiti incident, had just pulled into the driveway. Rachael got out with a handful of plastic grocery bags and headed toward the front door.

  Mesmerized, he watched her hip-swaying walk and his heart reeled drunkenly in his chest.

  I love you.

  It took every ounce of control he possessed not to streak across the street after her. He stood breathing heavily, curtains parted, eyes fixed on her house long after she went inside. And if Maisy hadn’t come upstairs to tell him Zeke was on the phone, Brody couldn’t say how long he would have waited there for another fleeting but soul-sustaining glimpse of her.

  “Vandal struck last night,” Zeke said when Brody picked up the receiver. “Your trap worked. He smashed Kelvin’s tiny Valentine Land to smithereens. What now?”

  Brody smiled. Gotcha. “You and I get busy hooking black lights up to the voting booths.”

  BY ELECTION DAY the black lights had been installed in all the voting booths in town and volunteers had been first tested, then given instructions to call Brody as soon as they’d identified the suspect.

  The polls hadn’t been open an hour when Enid Pope, who was volunteering at precinct three, located in the First Methodist Church across the street from the courthouse, called Brody. “Omigoodness, Sheriff,” Enid said, excitement causing her voice to come out high and reedy. “It’s just like you said. Purdy Maculroy is glowing green.”

  “CARE TO TELL me why you smashed Kelvin’s replica to smithereens?” Brody asked Purdy as he led him to the jail cell.

  “I have the right to remain silent,” Purdy said.

  “True, true.” Brody nodded.

  “These charges aren’t going to stick, you know.” The lawyer glared. “It’s entrapment.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten phosphorescent paint sprayed all over you if you hadn’t been vandalizing mini Valentine Land.”

  “How’d you know I’d vote?” Purdy asked, as good as admitting he was the culprit.

  “I didn’t.” Brody shrugged. “I just took a chance that whoever was behind the vandalism had a political agenda.”

  Purdy scowled.

  “You went one step too far when you graffitied Rachael’s car and peeped in her window. That made it personal for me.”

  At that moment Kelvin came bursting through the door of the sheriff’s office. “I heard you caught the bastard.” He skipped to a halt in the hallway outside the jail. “Purdy?”

  Kelvin jerked his head toward Brody. “It’s Purdy?”

  “He’s the one glowing green.” Brody waved a black light in front of Purdy and he lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “I thought we were friends,” Kelvin said. “We play golf together.”

  “And I always have to let you win,” Purdy spit out.

  “You cut the heads off the parking meters.”

  Purdy didn’t answer.

  “You cut those bicycles-built-for-two in two.”

  Purdy made a face.

  “But why?”

  “He’s not talking,” Brody said.

  “I know why.” Jamie popped out from behind the dispatcher desk. “I just got the rundown on Purdy’s finances.”

  “Hey,” Purdy said. “You have no right . . . ”

  “You’ve been charged with felony criminal mischief,” Brody said. “Your records are up for grabs. I had Jamie contact the bank.”

  Jamie passed him the documents she held in her hand.

  “What’s this?” Brody asked. “Fifty thousand dollars was deposited into your account the morning after Rachael vandalized the billboard. And the deposit came from the town of Tyler.”

  “Tyler’s in the running against us with Amusement Corp. You traitor!” Kelvin lunged at the bars.

  Purdy backed up.

  “You sold out your hometown for fifty grand.” Kelvin raised a fist.

  “Calm down.” Brody slung an arm around Kelvin’s shoulders. “The vandal’s behind bars and it’s election day. You’ve got other things to worry about.”

  IT WAS THE biggest election in the town’s history. Main Street was lined with red, white, and blue banners. Voters packed the polling locations, many waiting in line as long as an hour to cast their ballot. A first for Valentine.

  The high school gymnasium was Giada’s campaign headquarters, while Kelvin’s supporters collected at the courthouse. The air hummed with conversation and controversy as people argued, weighing the pros and cons of the theme park bond, the mayoral candidates, and the scandal of Purdy Maculroy.

  A festive atmosphere prevailed. Higgy’s Diner offered an election day–themed blue plate special menu including Pork Barrel barbecued spare ribs, Hanging Chad coleslaw, Polling Place potato salad, and Ballot baked beans. The high school marching band took several laps around the town square, tooting out a heartfelt rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever.” The two retirement homes in town made a party out of it, bringing in their voter-eligible residents in shuttle vans, most of them hopped up on Geritol, wearing slogan buttons, waving palm-sized Texas flags, and talking about back in the day when Kelvin’s grandpappy had been mayor.

  By the time the polls closed at seven, Giada was so nervous she briefly considered taking the Xanax that Lila Smerny, the high school librarian and her campaign manager, offe
red her. In the end, she waved it away. If she lost, she lost. She didn’t need pharmaceuticals to cushion the blow.

  The first results that came in were mixed. While Giada was excited to learn she was leading Kelvin with a two percent margin, a large majority of the voters were saying yes to the theme park bond.

  “They’re so misguided,” she moaned to Lila. “They have no idea what this thing is going to do to our lovely little town.”

  “And if you win, you’re going to have to handle the fallout.”

  Giada blew out her breath. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  By eight o’clock, three-quarters of the votes had been counted. Giada was leading Kelvin 564 votes to 523. There were 854 votes for Valentine Land versus 233 against. Amusement Corp had obtained the seventy-five percent approval they needed to proceed with the project.

  A camera crew from Del Rio was there, covering the story on a town divided, rehashing details about Rachael and Romanceaholics Anonymous. The media presence only served to escalate Giada’s anxiety.

  “The Xanax is in my pocket with your name on it,” Lila whispered as the reporter headed Giada’s way.

  “Thanks, but I can handle it.”

  “Ms. Vito,” the reporter said. “We’ve just confirmed Mayor Wentworth is throwing in the towel. He’s on his way over here to concede the election.”

  “What?” Giada hadn’t expected this. Kelvin was the type to go down swinging.

  At that moment, the mayor, surrounded by hangers-on, strode through the door of the gymnasium. A camera crew was trying to get to him, but Brody Carlton and his deputy Zeke were acting as bodyguards.

  Giada gulped.

  Kelvin stopped in front of her. “Ms. Vito.”

  “Mayor Wentworth.”

  “I concede the election.” He held out his hand. “You ran a good, clean campaign. Congratulations.”

  She took his hand and looked into his eyes but she could not read what he was feeling. He wasn’t acting like himself. No grandstanding. No “look at me” behavior. He nodded, said a few words to the reporter, and then strode out of the building as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Giada stood openmouthed, watching him go, her hand still tingling from his touch. He’s hurting and he’s trying to salvage his pride.