Ken stepped away and Duncan approached Sophie.
“Bern,” she whispered. “Give us a minute alone.”
She nodded and disappeared.
He moved close enough to be appropriate and quietly said, “I had fun yesterday.”
“Me too.”
“I have to catch a flight tonight after we’re done here. I’ll be on the West Coast for business until Friday, but we’re still on for Saturday, right?”
“Of course. I can’t wait.” She’d already decided Saturday she’d tell him about losing Henry, especially since that was the day her son would have turned twenty-five and spending the anniversary with Duncan meant a great deal. “Listen, some—”
“Duncan,” Ken interrupted. “I’d like you to meet Alex Fitch, Sophie’s co-host.”
Argh! Sophie nearly screamed. The clock ticked. She’d thought men didn’t like to chat, but when Alex said he’d seen Duncan leave the tackle store one afternoon, they cackled more than two hens in a pen. Her nerve endings stung with impatience.
“Two minutes ’til airtime.” Bart positioned his camera toward the stage. “Let’s get seated, everyone.”
Sophie’s window of opportunity to warn Duncan slammed shut.
Alex and she sat side-by-side, at a slight angle to view the panel of guests to their left. Sophie concentrated on her host duties, hoping Ken forgot about the recent discovery.
While the guests got settled, Ken faced his hosts with his back to the others. He lowered his voice. “Sophie, delicately raise the issue Marcus brought us. Wait until the end, though, in case the question backfires.”
Delicately? Even if she asked with the delicacy of a surgeon removing a vital organ, there was no diplomatic way to phrase the issue. Her relationship with Duncan had ventured into new territory yesterday. This would surely cause a war.
Sophie crossed her legs and started to jiggle her foot. Bart gave the “we’re on” sign. She didn’t dare glance at Duncan, afraid a combination of craving and culpability would create some odd on-camera facial twitch.
The first fifty minutes flew. She liked the panel, who all handled themselves with polite discourse when taking opposing viewpoints. Even Bernadette, who owned stronger opinions behind the façade, controlled herself. Duncan answered each question with confidence. He outlined his explanations with squared hands and the pointed fingers of a politician, listened as if statements were a test question, and threw in an occasional line of good humor. He also publically apologized to Bernadette for the Courant’s damaging article, noting he’d been trying to find out who in his firm was behind the false allegation.
Alex asked Tony Renzo a question. Sophie glanced toward the camera. Ken stood behind Bart and offered her a subtle lift of his brow, his sign to toss the zinger. The stout, bushy-browed Massachusetts board member answered Alex’s question, but she didn’t hear a word. Her mind scrambled for ways to phrase the pending accusation, hoping the right words might lessen the blow. No matter how she phrased it, though, every single word made her a traitor.
Tony finished. Instead of following Ken’s instructions, she asked the Goshen Zoning Board member an unnecessary follow-up question. Ken’s stare burned through her. Tony chattered away. There was no place left to hide, unless she pretended to faint or stood up and screamed fire. For a fleeting second, both received serious consideration.
Tony wrapped up his answer so she caught her breath and turned to Duncan. “Mr. Jamieson, at the public hearing in November, the subject of bribery allegations related to this project surfaced.”
He nodded calmly which meant he couldn’t hear the stampede of her heartbeat as she formed the next comments. “Our local officials denied any such deals are taking place. However, we recently discovered information about a past project your firm worked on.”
Duncan tilted his head and raised his brows as if interested in the question, but she perceived a slight dip in his usual confident posture.
“We’ve found information suggesting someone at RGI was accused of bribing Ontario public officials on a controversial project on Lake Simcoe.” She left out that the employee was Trent and caught Ken’s scowl.
Her air supply stalled, cut off by the glimpse of a dark front moving across Duncan’s face. He folded his hands and stared at them, maybe to stop from strangling her.
Sophie swallowed hard. “The records also show all charges were later dropped. Would you care to comment?”
Duncan finally looked up, every facial muscle stoic and controlled. “Certainly. An employee acted in a manner not condoned by the company. The matter has been dealt with and the charges were dropped by the parties involved. There is no bribery taking place from RGI here in Northbridge.” His icy stare sent a chill along Sophie’s neck.
“Thank you.” Sick over what she’d done, she did her best to wrap up.
As soon as the cameras were off, the guests stood and removed their microphones. Tony Renzo cornered her with a question. Before she finished her answer, Duncan said good-bye to Ken. For a nanosecond, his eyes cut over to her, and then he grabbed his coat from the rack and stormed out.
The weight of the pendant pressed to her chest, a reminder of the flower’s symbolic meaning. Yes, tonight she’d exhibited bravery and courage. When it came to loyalty, however, she’d failed miserably.
* * * *
As he left the studio building, a gust of cold night air hit Duncan’s face, the frosty nip as hurtful as the blow Sophie had just delivered.
He threw his briefcase into the backseat of his car, got in, and turned on the engine, revving it louder than necessary. Had she known this yesterday?
Thanks to his mother, he’d learned early on any expectations of warmth could lead to hurt. A safe emotional distance from women allowed him to avoid pain, a prescription that had worked, at least until now. He’d been played for a fool. An ache settled in the dead center of his chest, more painful than he’d have ever dreamed.
Tap, tap, tap. Sophie stood at the window. One side of her face glowed from a tall parking lot light, but a dark shadow rested on the other cheek, like a mask with two faces.
“Duncan, can we talk?” The glass barrier muffled her voice. “Please.”
He lowered the window. “What?”
“You have every right to be mad.”
“Yes, I do. Please step away so I can leave. Besides, you’re not wearing a coat. It’s cold. Go inside.”
“Give me one minute to explain.”
“One minute?” The mental wound he’d nurtured for years throbbed. “That’s all the time you needed to warn me.”
“I tried.”
“We spent the day together yesterday! You had all afternoon.”
“I only found out minutes before the show.”
He threw the car into park and crossed his arms. “Listen, I can handle being ambushed on an interview. You’re not the first and won’t be the last reporter to do that to me. But never, never, would I have dreamed someone I’ve opened up to about my personal life…someone I trusted….would take advantage of me.”
“You can trust me.”
He grunted, his disagreement clear.
Sophie’s lips parted, but no words came out.
He grabbed the gearshift. “I need to leave. Now.”
She wrapped her fingers around his forearm. “Duncan. Please let me explain.”
The weight of her hand dissipated his anger and stopped him as if she possessed the energy of a shaman, capable of healing his deep emotional wounds. He studied the determined tenseness in her lips, ready to launch into an explanation, and the way her worried expression begged for his forgiveness.
“Go ahead.” He didn’t care if he sounded pointed and cold. It didn’t come close to the torture inside his chest. “Explain.”
“This Lake Simcoe thing landed on my lap right before the show was about to start.” Her hand slipped off his arm and rested on the open window. “Ken wanted me to ask you, but I wa
nted to wait.”
“How does something like that sail in and land on your lap on its own?”
Her chin dropped and she stared at the ground. “A friend of mine who works at the Hartford Courant uncovered the story.”
“Why would he bring this to you?”
She slowly lifted her chin and exhaled. Her arm fell to her side as she stood upright, brave as if she faced a firing squad. “After I met Trent…before you and I talked about his problems… I thought he might have something to do with the leak in your firm. I called Marcus, from the Courant, to help find information about Trent.”
“You initiated the search?” He clenched his jaw and gripped the steering wheel so tight the laces holding the leather cover in place cut into his fingers. “Why?”
Sophie paused for several long seconds. “It’s my job, Duncan.”
For a split second, he got lost in her beautiful chestnut eyes, which yesterday had toppled the wall guarding his heart. Her last comment, however, quickly resurrected his barrier. He’d not simply opened himself up to a woman he liked but exposed himself to a reporter who could take him down with a single paragraph. The red lights of caution flashed in his mind. He’d been a complete idiot!
She chewed her lower lip and studied him. “I’d never abuse the things we discussed yesterday. This is different. Marcus found the story late this afternoon. He happened to be nearby doing an interview so he stopped at the studio. If I’d heard the news alone, I’d have spoken to you first.”
A part of him wanted to believe her, yet he struggled in a match with his old cynical self. “Couldn’t you have told them to wait until you confirmed the find with me?”
“Oh, right. That wouldn’t look suspicious? While I was at it, I could tell them how you left me enchanted yesterday and my emotions blinded me from doing my job.” She shook her head. “Don’t you see? If it wasn’t you, I’d have been thrilled when Marcus brought the information to me. I would not have hesitated to throw the question at our guest.” Shame crossed her face.
“Well, it was me,” he said softly.
“Give me some credit. I left out Trent’s name.”
“Thanks for nothing.”
She shifted, showing the first signs of impatience, but he hurt too much to care. “Do you think I should let a personal bias interfere with my job?”
“Not if work matters that much. Hey, I understand. I’m devoted to my job too.”
Another dose of hurt made the ache in his chest swell. Her work mattered more than him. Poetic justice. Payback for all the times he’d ignored his wife’s needs.
He pushed aside his past mistakes. “I shared some deep parts of myself with you. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
Her voice rose. “Do you have any idea how much I agonized over this?”
“No. Oh, and for the record, Trent did commit the bribery on the Canadian project. Six months after I hired him. His addiction problem contributed to what went down.”
He kept to himself how Trent’s salary at RGI couldn’t pay for his cocaine habit. How a manipulative contractor promised Trent plenty of the drug if he convinced the board to use their firm for the RGI project. Or how Trent had railroaded money from RGI’s accounting department to bribe the official.
“Your brother’s drug problem. Of course.” Her voice sounded weak, as if subdued by the truth. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.” Disappointment nestled into the space he’d opened in his heart.
“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Ken insisted I deal with this tonight.”
“So you’ve said.” Duncan glanced at his dashboard clock. “I need to go.”
Sophie moved her face nearer, so near he caught the floral scent he’d enjoyed during yesterday’s kiss. Overhead lights in the lot reflected the glistening in her eyes, the start of tears. She touched his arm again, but immunity from old bruises of his childhood kicked in and prevented him from reacting to the power of her contact.
“Please, Duncan. I’m so sorry.” Her voice begged for understanding.
An awareness of the steady beat of his pulse drew him to the place inside himself capable of heartless actions. “I need some space right now.”
Sadness veiled her face and almost crumbled his emotional barriers, but his anguish won out. She finally took a step back. Duncan rolled up his window and drove away.
Chapter 23
Sophie tossed a second suitcase from the attic and it thumped on the floor. “Kids!” She climbed down the steps. “Come get your luggage.”
Tia came out of her room and grabbed one. “Thanks, Mom.”
She hit the bottom rung. “Where’s your brother?”
“I think he’s on the computer.” Tia ducked into her bedroom and shut the door. Always a closed door these days.
Sophie double-checked Matt’s room. Next to his unmade bed hung a new picture of some super model in a bikini pinned near a towering poster of a Patriot quarterback. Not one stitch of clothing had been laid out for packing. His dad would arrive at six a.m. to catch their Thursday morning flight out of Bradley Airport. There’d be no time that early for Matt’s usual puttering.
She marched to the downstairs family room, already edgy over what happened two days ago with Duncan, certain their upcoming Saturday night date was a goner. Matt had picked the wrong day to mess with her. She stomped past the large sectional and stepped over the game controls, toward her son, who hunched over the computer. Facebook stared back from the monitor.
“Get off there, please. Start packing.”
He didn’t even glance back. “Jeesh, relax. It won’t take me long.”
“Packing takes longer than you think. Come on. I asked you to do this after school. Your father blames me when you’re not ready.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Matt looked over his shoulder and cast a subtle eye-roll in her direction then returned to the screen and started to type.
Matt’s dismissal, coupled with some wrongful insights into his father’s behavior, zapped the remains of her patience. “Get. Off. The. Damn. Computer.”
Matt shut off the machine and shot up from his seat. “You’re always so grouchy this time of year.” He stormed past her toward the stairs
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind.”
“Stop!”
He turned around.
“What do you mean?”
His fair skin took on the tint of beets. “You’re always bitchy near Henry’s birthday. The day he died too.”
His honesty stunned her like an unexpected slap. Bitchy? Sad, maybe, but had her mourning come out in other ways? She wanted to reprimand him for talking back and for swearing, but her dropped jaw failed to operate.
“Dad won’t tell you, but he picked this week to leave on purpose.” Matt’s toxic tone seared her skin. “He said this trip is to celebrate life, not dwell on the past. He thinks Henry would have loved a trip to Disney on his birthday. Instead of us sitting around while you make us all sad, he’ll be with us in spirit.”
Her throat grew thick, as if a clamp bottlenecked all her pain in that one spot. The idea that every year she’d caused Tia and Matt pain loomed above her like a dark shadow. How many times had she hurt them while the despair of losing Henry owned her soul?
Matt studied her closely. She wanted to grab him, hug him, and say sorry a thousand times, however, sadness numbed her body.
The angry clamp of his jaw relaxed and he frowned. “I know you’re sad, Mom. We all miss him.”
Matt’s faced blurred behind Sophie’s tears.
He moved close and, taller than her now, wrapped his long arms around her shoulders in a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She tightened her arms around his waist. “Don’t be sorry. I needed to hear that. I’m sorry too.” She sniffled. “I never wanted to hurt you. Or Tia.”
“I don’t think Henry would want you this upset, Mom.
”
She leaned back, brushed away some tears, and looked at her son. A glossy sheen in his eyes betrayed his tough stance. When had he become so wise?
“You could be right.” She tousled his hair. “The teacher learns from the student, huh?”
“What?” Matt scrunched his face, returning to his norm.
“Nothing. Thank you for your honesty.”
“Sure.” He gave her his trademark grin, the one she had no doubt would get him far in life. “I’ll go pack now.”
* * * *
After two days in a quiet house, with Bella her only companion, chatter now bounced off the cathedral ceilings of Sophie’s great room as the monthly ladies’ night gathering met at her long pine table.
“I thought you sounded nice when you asked Duncan that question.” Meg’s voice raised an octave with disbelief. “I’m not sure what he got so mad about. I mean, you guys kissed at the bowling alley. He must still like you.”
Sophie lowered a plate of grilled chicken to the center of her dining room table and sighed. Meg’s selective listening often tested Sophie’s patience. Twice already she’d explained to her why Duncan got angry. “It wasn’t about how I asked,” she tried to say nicely. “Rather I didn’t warn him the question was out there.”
“Ooh.” Meg nodded, as if she’d really listened this time.
Tonight’s gathering, dubbed “Rom-Com Night,” was a perfect distraction from her problems. They’d selected the romantic comedy When Harry Met Sally for their entertainment. Sally’s fussy meal ordering at the diner set the tone for their food selections, a make-your-own chef’s salad spread, heated apple pie with the ice cream—on the side—and real whipped cream, nothing out of the can.
“So wait,” Veronica stopped loading mixed greens on her plate and looked at Sophie. “Even after you explained everything, he drove off?”
“He had a plane to catch.” She speared a grilled chicken breast from the platter and laid it on top of a bowl of shredded lettuce. “Plus, he said he needed his space, or something along those lines.”
Meg took the handed-off platter. “Did you try to call him?”
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