by Donna Hill
It was Sharlene’s fifth birthday. Celeste was eight. Their parents had gone all out to celebrate Sharlene’s birthday.
The huge backyard was filled with brilliant colored balloons and matching streamers. There was a clown performing tricks for the innumerable neighborhood children and the brood of relatives. There was even a riding pony complete with a cowboy.
Sharlene wore a pink dress with a full skirt lifted by a crinoline slip and decorated with white satin ribbons, which matched those in her hair.
“My dress is so pretty,” Sharlene announced, looking up at Celeste for confirmation. Her large dark eyes trailed up and down Celeste’s body. “It’s prettier than yours,” she taunted.
“So what,” Celeste snapped, pursing her slim pink lips and fluffing her Shirley Temple curls.
“My dress is prettier because I’m the princess. Daddy said so.”
“You are not. I’m Daddy’s princess. You’re just a little black nothing,” she spat. “I have the long straight hair and pretty skin. Everybody loves me the most.”
Sharlene glared at her. Her large amber eyes shimmering with burning tears. “You don’t even look like us,” she tossed back, her voice wobbly with emotion.
“Sharlene, sweetheart,” April Winston, her mother called.
“Come on over here, baby. There’s someone I want you to meet,” her father Paul added.
Her spirit buoyed by her father’s endearment, Sharlene sniffed back her tears and skipped over to where her parents stood beneath the tree. Celeste followed close behind her.
The two girls positioned themselves on either side of their father. Celeste slipped her hand in his and grinned up at him.
Then suddenly Celeste felt as if the world had begun to move in slow motion and she was witnessing the entire scene through a clouded lens. The moment would be etched forever in her head.
She felt her father release her hand as he turned and picked up Sharlene, holding her proudly in his arms. The man, woman, and little boy who stood across from them smiled effusively while Paul made the introductions.
“This is her,” Paul announced with pride. “Our little princess.” He placed a kiss on Sharlene’s cheek while April tightened the ribbons on Sharlene’s two thick ponytails.
Sharlene grinned, unabashed at the love pouring from her parents, directed only at her.
Celeste felt herself slowly disappearing, separated from everyone by a thin mist of indifference. They were all talking and laughing at once. All the attention was directed at Sharlene. The noise was becoming deafening to Celeste. Her heart began to race erratically. Her skin grew clammy with perspiration. She tugged on her father’s arm to gain his attention. When he looked down, she smiled up at him.
“Not now, Celeste. Why don’t you go on over there and play with the children,” he added, pointing to a cluster of frolicking, squealing boys and girls. “Go on now and be a good girl.” Paul turned his attention back to the couple.
In her chest a rock settled, stifling her breathing. It seemed to push the air in her lungs upward, filling her throat and her eyes with a burning sensation. Through tear-filled eyes she looked up at her sister who was beaming in the adoration. It was at that moment that the seed of jealousy was firmly planted.
Over the years it grew, drawing in strength, threading its way through every fiber of Celeste’s being. She dedicated herself to besting Sharlene at everything. In Celeste’s mind, Sharlene had taken away and captured the love of the two most important people in her life. Celeste vowed to take away everything that would ever be important to Sharlene. Celeste had no intention of ever losing anything ever again. No matter what it took. And when opportunity presented itself she took it and the lie took root. How ironic it was, Celeste thought, that even the memory of Sharlene was lost to her own daughter.
Celeste opened her eyes, casting the memories backward into her subconscious. For a moment, twinges of guilt pricked at her heart. Perhaps there were innocent victims in all this: Victoria and Reese and even Frank. And at odd, melancholy moments she had flashes when she wanted to exorcise herself of her guilt. Like this morning with Victoria. The truth had hung on the corners of her mouth like cookie crumbs, but she swallowed them back and repeated the tale she’d told for so many years. It was all that she had left.
She knew she could never face Victoria with the truth. She realized that the moment the words of accusation spewed from Victoria’s lips. She would never forgive her. Not now. Not after all of this time.
If there was anyone left in her life whom she was capable of loving and having it returned, it was Victoria. And when faced with the crucial possibility of losing that, she knew she could not bear it. She knew at the moment that their eyes met that whatever thoughts she’d had about finally revealing the truth about what she’d done, they were eradicated. She wouldn’t lose Victoria’s love.
As James descended the stairs, myriad thoughts raced through his head. Larry and Claudia. He didn’t want to believe it. But they sounded so intimate, so personal, even though their conversation seemed innocent. It wasn’t the chit-chatty tone of conversation shared between friends—especially friends of your husband. Rather it was the tone of two people who knew each other well.
How could this have happened? But even as he formulated the question, he knew the answer. He’d been responsible for opening the doorway long ago. For a moment he halted on the staircase and shut his eyes. He gripped the banister with all of his strength. Anger and outrage coursed through his solid body. He wanted to blame her somehow, to make it be her fault—Larry’s fault.
He opened his eyes, his heart laden with remorse and acceptance. He had no one to blame but himself.
James entered the kitchen, just as Claudia was hanging up the phone, unaware of his presence. He took this moment to quietly observe his wife; the flutter of her hands as she patted a stray strand of hair in place; her thoughtful movements around the kitchen fixing, straightening, wiping down the counters making sure everything was just so. Perfect. The perfect illusion to what lay beneath.
He took a long, thoughtful breath and stepped into the kitchen. Claudia turned at his approach, the dolorous look that brimmed in her eyes told him all that he needed to know and suddenly, his heart lifted with hope.
His gaze held hers as he crossed the room. Claudia looked at him with wonder, almost an awakening.
James took her hand in his, before he spoke. “Sometimes we find ourselves in situations that prompt us to make life-altering decisions,” he began in deliberate, measured tones. “Some of us without thinking of the consequences, or the people that we may hurt as a result, make those decisions and take those chances.” His voice broke with raw emotion as he continued. “Unfortunately, I was one who made a wrong decision a lifetime ago.” He swallowed hard, his eyes running over her perfect, unlined face. “You had a choice, too.”
Claudia shielded her eyes behind her long lashes, her heart racing in trepidation with each word that he spoke; afraid of what he would say, and more so of what he would only imply.
“When I picked up the phone a few minutes ago and heard you talking with Larry, I thought my world had finally come crashing down around me. I heard the same joy and lightness in your voice that at one time was reserved for only me.”
“James, please, it’s not…”
“Shh, please let me finish.” He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “In those moments, I realized that I deserved whatever you and Larry had done. I gave you every reason and opportunity to find comfort in another man’s arms.”
With the pad of his thumb he wiped away the lone tear that trickled down Claudia’s cheek. “I came down here to tell you that I didn’t blame you, that I couldn’t blame you, and that even though it would devastate me—” he swallowed back the knot of emotion that welled in his throat “—I would let you go.”
The tears rolled freely down her face, her vision of James clouded by them. She clamped her lips together to imprison the sob that s
truggled to burst free.
James tenderly caressed her face, cupping her damp cheek in his palm. “But when I saw you just now, and you turned to me with a look that spoke acceptance, I knew in that instance that you would have never gone to Larry. What I saw in your eyes was the look of a woman who has accepted and lived within the foundation of her wedding vows for better or for worst, no matter what it may have cost her.”
Claudia blinked back her tears and swallowed hard. She moved away from him and turned toward the sink, gripping the edge for support. “So many times I wanted to hurt you for what you’d done,” she began, her voice trembling with emotion. “When you stayed in Japan and Larry was stationed here…we became close. He was the only one I could talk to.” She turned to face him. “My family had cut me off. I had no real friends.” She choked back a sob. “But Larry was always there and I think we grew to love each other in a way I’ll always appreciate. He gave me strength, James, on those days when I thought I would go out of my mind with bitterness and hurt. On those days when Max would cry or need me, or the walls seemed to close in around me, he was there for me.” She wiped away the fresh flow of tears and took a shaky breath.
“But we never crossed the line.” She stared at her husband, searching for the entry to the depths of his soul. “And I’ve never regretted my decision.”
Claudia stretched her arm to touch him, smoothing his hair with her hand and loving him with her eyes. She managed a small, quivering smile and a surge of relief like one he’d never known filled him with an exquisite joy.
Their hearts beat together in perfect synchronization as James pulled his wife into his arms.
Victoria pushed herself up from her seat and crossed the room to her night table. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out her business phone book and flipped to the W’s.
The phone was answered on the second ring. “Washington Post, Stan Tilden speaking.”
“Hi, Stan, this is Victoria Davenport.”
Stan beamed, the story she’d fed him years ago had made his career. “Vikki, how are you? Long time. How’s the computer business?”
“That’s what I want to talk with you about, Stan,” she replied in a soft Southern drawl. “I have some information I believe you’ll be interested in.”
Stan opened his appointment book. “I’m free this evening. Where can we meet?”
Chapter 26
Reese pulled herself up from the grip of sleep. She blinked several times to clear her vision. By the angle of the sun streaming in through the window, she surmised it must be close to 7:00 p.m.
She turned her head to peer at the digital clock on the bedside table. Her conclusion was confirmed: seven-fifteen. She yawned and stretched her long limbs. She’d been asleep for close to three hours. And thankfully her headache was gone. She yawned again.
With effort she sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side, her toes tickled by the copper-colored rug. Stretching her arms over her head, she drew in a deep breath and her nostrils were instantly filled with the aromas of something delicious. Her stomach growled in response.
Smiling, she ambled into the adjoining bathroom, splashed cool water on her face, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. Finished, she reentered the bedroom and selected a white T-shirt and a pair of salmon-colored shorts to change into.
Moments later she descended the spiral staircase and entered the kitchen to be greeted by the magnificent spectacle of Maxwell’s bare chest.
“Hello, sleepyhead.” He smiled in greeting. “How’s that headache?”
“All gone, doc.” She crossed the room and slipped her arms around his waist. “I feel like new.” She pressed her head against his chest. “And I’m starved, I might add.”
Maxwell’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and she snuggled closer. “Now how did I know that?” he teased. “Well, m’lady, dinner will be served as soon as you set the table.”
“Great,” she enthused. “Inside or outside?” She moved toward the cupboard, removing dishes and glasses.
“It’s still really nice out, and I’d love to share the sunset with you.”
“Then outside it is.” She placed the dishes, cups, silverware and serving bowls on a large tray and took everything out to the deck.
The warm evening breeze blew gently through the screening that encircled the deck. The sounds of Earl Klugh’s “Balladina” filtered through the air.
Reese took another mouthwatering forkful of Max’s creation of sautéed shrimp and diced chicken over a bed of herb-drenched pasta topped with the creamiest sauce she’d ever tasted. She closed her eyes in contentment. “Absolutely delicious,” she cooed.
Maxwell leaned back in the redwood chair and crossed his hands over his taut stomach. For several moments, he simply stared at her, relishing the moment of peace and tranquillity. He wasn’t sure what he would do if anything happened to her because of him. If only he could just take her away from all of this treachery and lies and betrayals, he would. But he also realized that Reese would fight him tooth and nail and then resent him for it in the end. As infuriating as she could be when she’d made up her mind, it was one of the many attributes that he admired in her. Maybe even loved, his conscience whispered, the now formalized thought jolting him.
He shook his head, scattering his thoughts, when the ringing of the phone intruded. “Be right back.” He pushed open the sliding glass doors and stepped inside.
Hearing the phone ring reminded Reese that she still had not heard from Lynnette. That was so unlike her, Reese thought, her initial concern mounting. Perhaps she’d called Max’s office after they’d left. But even so, she was certain that Carmen would have told Lynnette where she was.
“That was Carmen,” Max said, stepping through the sliding doors. “Our flight is scheduled for tomorrow evening at six o’clock.”
“Did she say anything about Lynnette?”
Maxwell shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”
Reese got up. “I’m going to call and see if I can reach her. I may be able to catch her at the office.” She brushed past him and into the house.
Reese tapped her foot with impatience and growing anxiety listening to the phone ring. Lynnette’s voice mail finally triggered. Immediately she bypassed the message by pressing 0 and was switched to the main line.
“Visions Magazine. May I help you?”
“Hi. This is Reese Delaware. I’m trying to reach Lynnette.”
“Oh, Reese, I’m so glad you called. This is Diane,” the receptionist said.
Reese’s pulse raced as a wave of apprehension swept through her, “What is it, Diane?” she insisted.
“There’s been an accident,” Diane said as calmly as she could. “Lynnette’s in the hospital. She was hit by a car.”
A tiny gasp sputtered from Reese’s lips. “Oh my God,” she cried, fear of the worst rioting through her. “How bad—when?”
“It was earlier this morning around eleven. She’d gone out…”
Reese began to shake as the frightening image of Lynnette lying in the street took shape in her head. With a pang she realized that it must have happened when she’d gone out to call her. Guilt snatched her by the throat cutting off her air.
“…the doctors said she’s stable and awake.”
“Did they get the driver?” Reese asked in a tremulous voice.
“That’s the worst part,” Diane replied. “It was a hit-and-run.”
Reese clenched her hand until her nails bit into her palm. “Give me the name of the hospital and the number,” she said in a thick unsteady voice. “Please,” she whispered as an afterthought.
“Hold on. I have it right here.”
Reese took down the name and phone number fighting to steady her shaky hand. “Thank you, Diane.” She hung up before Diane could reply.
“Everything okay?” Maxwell asked from behind her.
Reese spun around, an unspoken pain alive and glowing in her amber eyes. She seemed to be staring ri
ght through him Max thought, anxiety steadily winding its way through him.
“Reese, what is it?” He swiftly crossed the room and she flung herself into his arms.
“It’s Lynn…” she cried, the tears now beginning to flow. She began to shake and Max held her tighter. “She’s been in a…car accident. A hit-and-run.”
“Oh, Reese, I’m so sorry. How is she?”
Reese retold what Diane had said and all the while that she spoke, Maxwell knew without a doubt that it was no accident. The chilling words of the note he’d received earlier by the unidentified messenger played back in his mind.
“I’ve got to get to Chicago,” Reese said suddenly, pulling away from his embrace. She swiped the back of her hand across her face streaking tears and mascara over her cheeks.
“No, Reese, you can’t,” Max said definitively, grabbing her upper arm to halt her progress.
But the steely tone of his voice would have been enough to stop her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “W-what is it Max? Tell me.”
“Sit down, Reese.” Her movements seemed to be guided by the sheer strength of his voice as she found her way to the nearest chair.
Maxwell stooped down in front of her until he was at eye level. He took both of her hands in his. “It was no accident, Reese,” he began and tightened his grip when he felt her recoil. Holding on to her with his right hand, he removed the note with the other. “I got this earlier today.” He handed her the note. “I’m pretty sure the messenger was sent by Frank Murphy.”
He gently stroked her thigh as her eyes glided over the neatly typed words—Your girlfriend is next—which seemed to blur and dance before her eyes. Reese swallowed hard and crushed the thin sheet of paper in her fist. A sensation of intense sickness and desolation swept over her. She took several deep breaths until she felt strong enough to raise her head and meet Maxwell’s gentle gaze. “What are we going to do, Max?” she asked over her choking, beating heart.