The door swung open, and she let it go, barely noticing when it hit the back wall.
The room was empty, absolutely and completely empty, not one piece of furniture, nothing on the walls, not even a carpet on the floor, it was stark, cold and dark. There was nothing left to remind her of their baby.
It suddenly hurt again, the pain as fresh as it was the night she'd discovered...
Lisa couldn't finish the thought. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She felt dizzy, nauseated, and completely overwhelmed. Turning quickly, she ran out of the room down the hall to the bathroom. She slammed the door and promptly threw up.
"Lisa?" Nick pounded on the door. "Are you all right?"
She sat back on her heels and wiped her face with a towel. No, she wasn't all right. Why had she ever come back here?
"Lisa, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."
She couldn't let him see her like this. She couldn't let him know. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute." She stood up and let cool water pour over her face, then dried her skin with a rough terry-cloth towel until her cheeks stung. Finally, she opened the door.
He looked at her with worried eyes, obviously concerned but still wary. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"You're still lying to me? After all these years, you can't admit that you hurt, that you ache inside, that you miss the love we had, the child we made."
"Stop!" She put up her hand in protest. "I don't hurt anymore. I've moved on. I've put the past in the past where it belongs. I don't want to go back. I don't want to cry. I don't want to feel any of it ever again. Don't you understand?"
"I understand why you're afraid of the pain. I don't understand why you can't share it with me. I was your husband, your lover, your best friend." His voice caught and grew rough. "And you were all those things to me. I thought I could tell you anything until you shut down, until you closed me out. Why the hell do you think I started drinking? I couldn't stand how cold you were around me. You blamed me for everything. For wanting you to come to bed, for desiring you that night, for taking you away from our daughter."
"No."
"It's true!"
Lisa closed her eyes against the sudden rush of memories.
The emergency room was full that night with victims of a multiple car accident. She could still remember sitting on the hard chair, staring at a man with blood running down his face and feeling -- nothing.
"Lisa, it will be all right. She'll be okay." Nick touched her hand.
She felt as if she'd been stung by a bee, and she yanked her hand away from him. It was his fault. All his fault. "You -- you did this."
Nick jerked back as if she had hit him in the face. "Lisa, please. Don't say that.''
"You made me come to bed. Don't keep checking on her, you said. Let her sleep. Let her cry. She needs to learn how to go to sleep on her own," Lisa sobbed. "Well, now she knows how to go to sleep on her own. In fact, she knows how to die--"
"Don't say that. She's not dead.''
"Yes, she is. While we were making love our baby was dying. Oh, God. I can't stand it.'' The pain ripped through her body until she felt as if she were bleeding in a thousand different places. She hugged her arms around her chest, feeling impossibly cold.
"Lisa.'' Nick reached for her, but she moved away.
"Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again.''
Her eyes flew open, and Lisa looked into Nick's face, suddenly aware of the truth. "You're right. I did blame you."
"I'm surprised you're willing to admit it."
She shrugged, feeling helpless to change what had gone on before. "We were young, Nick, so impossibly young, so unable to handle what happened." Lisa let out a sigh. "What am I doing? I told you I wouldn't relive that night with you." She turned on her heel and walked down the hall to the living room. Nick followed her.
"Don't you think it's time we talked about what happened? We never have."
She paused, her hand on the front door knob. "We talked about it with the doctors."
"No, you talked about it with the doctors, and I talked about it with them, but we weren't together when we did it, and we never once spoke of it to each other, except to assign blame. Maybe we should talk now."
Lisa immediately shook her head. Walking down that street would be like entering an alley filled with street thugs. She'd never make it out alive. She turned her head to look at Nick. "Let it alone, please. If you want an apology, I'll give you one."
His jaw dropped open. "You will?"
"Yes, I am sorry for what I said to you that night. You couldn't have known what would happen."
"You're apologizing?"
"Don't make me say it again."
"I think I deserve to hear it again."
"Okay. Eight years has given me perspective. I know now that I took everything out on you. I didn't know how to deal with my emotions, my anger. I wanted to break something, to hit someone, and you were the closest one."
"And you figured that out just now?"
"No, I figured it out about five years ago. I realized it the night Mary Bea was born, when I saw you standing in front of the nursery window. You looked at her with so much love in your eyes, and it reminded me of the way you used to look at -- at our baby. You wouldn't have done anything to hurt our child." Her eyes watered, but she blinked the tears away.
"Why didn't you tell me that night?"
"You looked angry, Nick. I figured you hated me and nothing would change that, certainly not an overdue apology."
She wanted him to say that he didn't hate her, that he could never hate her, but he remained silent. She walked out to the porch. He shut the door behind them.
Lisa glanced at the oak tree, not sure she was pleased or disturbed to see that the robin had once again taken flight. "He's gone," she murmured.
"He probably realized he had the wrong house, the wrong tree, the wrong yard."
"Probably," Lisa agreed, deciding that the robins were another topic better left alone.
"So what happens now?" Nick asked.
"Now?" She thought for a moment. "Now, we pick up Maggie's kids and deal with the rest of the day and tomorrow."
"That's it?"
"That's it. I'm going back to L.A. as soon as Maggie gets home."
"To get married."
"Among other things. I have a job, an apartment, friends."
He crossed his arms as he leaned against one of the pillars of the porch. "Yeah, me too."
"That's good. Are you still doing construction?"
Nick hesitated. "Of a sort. You wouldn't be interested."
Lisa felt as if he'd shut a door between them, and it felt strange because it was the first time he'd closed the door. She'd always been the one to draw the line of privacy, of what was personal, of what could be shared. Nick had always been an open book -- until now. He had changed. The thought made her feel sad.
Nick had always been an optimist, expecting the best, living his life in the clouds of idealism and hope. When the bad news had struck, she'd been prepared, because she always expected the worst. Nick had fallen much further and much harder. If she'd wanted to, she might have been able to catch him, or at least try to break his fall. Instead she'd let him crash and burn, wanting company in her misery, wanting to punish him, because he was the one who'd convinced her to believe in happily ever after. As Lisa turned toward the car, she vowed she would never make that mistake again.
* * *
"Is it really possible to lose weight by hanging upside down?" Maggie asked, jogging to keep up with Rocco as he moved briskly through what he referred to as the Cardiovascular Club. Gauging the amount of sweat pouring off the bodies of the men and women using the machines, Maggie wasn't sure it was a club she wanted to join.
A stunning woman walked past her in a bright purple bra and bicycle shorts, and Maggie realized the club results were impressive. For a moment, she wondered if the woman was Serena, but a man called out "Lucy", and the woman waved. Ma
ggie felt enormous relief that the gorgeous blond was not Serena.
"Every machine works on a specific part of your body," Rocco said. "That particular one improves circulation. We have machines to trim and tighten your calves, thighs, abs, quads, biceps, breasts. You name it, we can do it."
"How about my big toe? It sort of curves to the left. Can you do anything about that?"
Rocco didn't find her question the least bit amusing. "We're going to start you on the treadmill. Warm up with a slow walk for two minutes, a faster walk for five minutes, then jog for ten minutes and cool down for three." He checked his watch, inserted the key into the treadmill and turned it on.
Maggie looked down at the fast-moving belt and wondered what he considered a slow walk.
"Let's go," he said impatiently.
"How do I get on it?"
"You straddle the belt, like so," he demonstrated, "then hop on."
Maggie eyed him doubtfully but figured he knew what he was talking about. She jumped on, feeling the belt take off without her. It took her a full minute to realize she was in fact only walking. She felt better. She could do this. Five minutes later, she realized it would not be that easy.
Rocco kept turning up the speed until she wasn't jogging -- she was running the fifty-yard dash with the other Olympic hopefuls, only the finish line kept moving farther away. With her breath coming in deep, clutching gasps, Rocco finally slowed down the machine until she could walk.
"Let's see," Rocco said, checking the stats on the machine. "If you'd continued at that speed, you would have done a mile in twelve minutes. Is that your usual pace?"
Twelve minutes? Hardly world record time, she realized. "I think I run faster outside."
Rocco sent her a skeptical look. "Now that you're warmed up, let's try the Elliptical."
Elliptical? She was ready for the Jacuzzi. Before Maggie could protest, Rocco had moved over to the next machine.
"Hop on, I'll show you how it works." He punched several buttons on a computer monitor at the top of the machine. "This will measure your heart rate and how many calories you're burning per hour."
"Great," Maggie said faintly, realizing she better start asking questions before she had no breath left. "Rocco, do you know Serena Hollingsworth?"
He smiled, a big toothy grin. "Sure, everyone knows Serena."
"Is she here? I'd like to see her."
"She's around. Why? Are you a friend?" He laughed. "Or the other woman?"
"What do you mean by that?" Maggie asked sharply.
"Nothing. It's just that the last woman who asked for Serena wanted to blacken both of her eyes."
"Why?"
Rocco shrugged. "I mind my own business. It's healthier."
"Well, I'm not interested in beating up Serena. I just want to talk to her. We have a mutual friend. If you see her, could you point her out to me?"
"Sure. Now let's get going."
Within ten minutes her leg muscles were burning, but Rocco continued to check her vital signs, telling her she was okay and to "work it, baby, work it." She would have told him not to call her baby, but oxygen was too precious to waste.
Finally, Rocco signaled that she could slow down and get off. While he was making notes on his clipboard, she leaned against the wall and prayed that she could make it through the day without having a heart attack or throwing up all over Rocco's very expensive tennis shoes.
"Crystal? Crystal?"
Maggie heard the man calling out to Crystal but didn't realize he was speaking to her until his hand came down on her shoulder.
Her bead bounced up at his touch, and she was shocked to find herself looking into the amused eyes of Jeremy Hunt. "Crystal?"
"Oh, hi," she said. "I didn't hear you."
"Because that's not your name." He grinned.
She licked her lips. "Of course, it is."
"Ms. Scott, are you ready to continue?" Rocco asked. "I don't want you to cool down."
"God forbid," she replied, turning back to Jeremy. "I'm doing the one-day makeover special."
"Have you caught up with Serena?" Jeremy asked. "I just saw her in the weight room. I told her you were looking for her. She didn't seem to remember you from the description I gave her."
"It's been a while since we've seen each other."
"Really?"
He knew she was lying; she didn't know how he'd figured it out, except that she was a terrible liar. "I better keep moving," she said. "I don't want to cool down, right Rocky? I mean Rocco," she said as the brute next to her scowled.
"Stallone's a wimp. Don't make that mistake again."
"I won't," she hurriedly promised.
"Good. Let's move on to the weights."
Maggie saw Jeremy studying her with the same interest, the same intensity she'd noted before. A tingle ran down her spine, as his regard once again made her feel feminine. It probably had something to do with the spandex she had on. She hadn't worn anything so sexy or revealing in a long time, and although she had more curves than most of the women in the spa, she didn't look as bad as she'd expected to look. All the anxiety and stress of the past few weeks had actually helped her take off a few pounds.
Maggie cleared her throat, realizing she and Jeremy were still staring at each other. "Well, good-bye."
"I have a feeling we'll see each other again."
"You do?" she asked, feeling flattered and nervous. She could handle a few one-liners of flirtatious chitchat, but anything more and she'd be way out of her depth.
"I do." He grabbed her hand as she turned to follow Rocco into the next room. His fingers twisted around her small half-carat diamond ring, the one Keith had bought for her when they were young and poor and madly in love. "Is this still good?"
"You mean is it past its expiration date?" Maggie quipped, trying not to take his question too seriously.
"In a manner of speaking."
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't ask married women to have coffee with me after their workout."
"Are you going to ask me?"
"That depends? Does the ring still fit?"
Maggie hesitated. She had a feeling she would regret her answer.
Chapter Seven
Raymond knew he would regret bringing Beverly to the party. He just hadn't expected to feel so stupid quite so soon. Since walking through the front doors of the large, elegant mansion in Beverly Hills, Raymond had felt like he was following Beverly's breadcrumbs. In every room he encountered people who had just been charmed by Beverly. He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to let her walk into the party first. What had he been thinking?
Shaking his head in disgust, Raymond grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter in the sunroom and walked out onto the redwood deck, which overlooked the gardens and pool area. A live band played mariachi music, Monty's favorite. Raymond made a mental note to ask Elisabeth how they could tie Monty's love of mariachi music into the campaign.
Funny, he rarely thought of Elisabeth's Mexican heritage. She never mentioned it. In fact, she often seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing. He didn't know why. He supposed he could ask.
His thoughts changed direction as he paused by the fountain to watch the interplay between Beverly and Monty Friedman. Monty was a short, somewhat balding man in his mid fifties. He had risen from nothing to run a very big company, but despite his obvious trappings of success there was still a bit of street toughness about Monty. At the moment, though, he was smiling broadly, charmed or at least intrigued by Beverly's conversation.
Raymond frowned. If only he'd brought Elisabeth. She would have stolen Monty right out from under Beverly. Youth and looks always beat out age and experience. He'd learned that lesson years ago when he'd managed to snatch the vice presidency from the hands of a man thirty years his senior.
The president of his company had told him that fresh blood and burning ambition had gotten Raymond the job. At the time, Raymond had felt nothing for the man he'd beaten, the o
ne who'd spent twenty years of his life plodding his way slowly up the ladder only to have it snatched out from under him by a young hotshot.
Raymond wouldn't let some kid take anything from him, now that the positions were reversed. No, he could still compete with the best of them. He had the same drive, the same hunger, the same thirst as any young stud. In fact, he was damn thirsty. Raymond moved over to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.
As he reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, Raymond suddenly realized his hands looked old, weathered, wrinkled. There were even a few sun spots. The thought, the fear that he was getting old, made his hand tremble, and the bill dropped to the ground.
"I'll get that for you, sir," the waiter said with impressive eagerness, hustling out from behind the bar before Raymond could bend over. "There you go, sir," he said, obviously hoping for a big tip.
Raymond scowled at the man's young face, his flat stomach, his long, gangly limbs, the compassion in his eyes. Damn that kid for treating him like a sick old man who couldn't even bend over. He was in peak condition, and if Elisabeth had been on his arm, the kid would have been looking at him with admiration, not treating him like someone's father.
The waiter handed him his drink, and he moved to the edge of the terrace. He paused by one of the many buffet tables that were being set up and helped himself to fresh shrimp and cocktail sauce. Then he took his place and headed for Monty. Beverly had had him on her own long enough.
"Raymond, hello. I was wondering where you were," Monty said. "Beverly tells me you're getting married in a few weeks. Congratulations."
Raymond smiled, feeling as if he'd been sucker-punched. Not that his wedding was a secret. In fact, he'd planned on inviting Monty, but he had a feeling Beverly had presented the upcoming nuptials in a light that wouldn't be advantageous to him. In fact, a quick glance in her direction revealed a pair of sparkling eyes. Beverly looked quite pleased with herself.
"I hope you won't be too busy to put together your proposal, I know how weddings are," Monty said.
One True Love Page 9