A Family Affair: The Promise; Truth in Lies, Book 7
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Heartache. Betrayal. Forgiveness. Redemption... It's time to head back to Magdalena, New York, and spend a little time with the people we love to love and even a few we love to hate.
Bree Kinkaid is dealing with heartache and betrayal the only way she can—denial. Her friends can’t help her, she won’t listen to her parents, and she rejects offerings of support and sympathy from the town as she attempts to hold onto that magical life she wanted. But when a stranger shows up at Bree’s doorstep with information about her husband, she can’t pretend any longer.
And in case you were wondering what happened to Gloria Blacksworth’s notebook, it’s still resting in Nate Desantro’s desk drawer…but not for long. Gloria might be dead, but the notebook continues to leak distrust and ill will into the community, and someone’s got to stop it! There might only be one person in town equipped for the job—any guesses?
We’ve also got a new man in Magdalena, one badly in need of a second chance…
Grant Richot sprinted through life, a boy wonder with talent, intelligence, confidence, and charm. He never doubted the world awaited him, just as he never doubted the right woman would come into his life—but only when he was ready for her. Anyone before that was simply preparation for the one.
How wrong he was.
Years and a tragedy later, Grant arrives in Maggie Finnegan’s hometown of Magdalena, New York—broken, uncertain, and searching for that second chance with the woman he cast aside. But Maggie’s no longer naïve and impressionable; she’s a confident, competent widow with a child, who has more at risk than another broken heart…
Truth In Lies Series:
Book One: A Family Affair
Book Two: A Family Affair: Spring
Book Three: A Family Affair: Summer
Book Four: A Family Affair: Fall
Book Five: A Family Affair: Christmas, a novella
Book Six: A Family Affair: Winter
Book Seven: A Family Affair: The Promise
Book Eight: A Family Affair: The Secret (TBA)
Book Nine: A Family Affair: The Wish (TBA)
If you love to read about second chances, don’t miss:
That Second Chance Series:
Book One: Pulling Home – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Promise)
Book Two: The Way They Were – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Secret)
Book Three: Simple Riches – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: Winter)
Book Four: Paradise Found (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Wish)
Book Five: Not Your Everyday Housewife
Book Six: The Butterfly Garden
Bonus Material: Also included in this eBook are the first two chapters of The Way They Were, prequel to the next book in this series, A Family Affair: The Secret.
Note: Grant Richot and Leslie (Richot) Maurice are secondary characters in Pulling Home, Book One of That Second Chance Series. If you haven’t read Pulling Home, you won’t want to miss getting to know them and their story before they head to Magdalena! Click here to find the link for your device.
A Family Affair: The Promise
Truth in Lies, Book Seven
by
Mary Campisi
Table of Contents
Dedication:
Who’s Who in A Family Affair: The Promise
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
The End
Bonus Material: Excerpt from The Way They Were
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
Other Books by Mary Campisi:
Dedication:
To my children and stepchildren—for all you are today, and all you will become…
Who’s Who in A Family Affair: The Promise
Grant Richot: Leslie’s brother
Leslie Maurice: Grant’s sister
Pastor August Richot: Grant & Leslie’s father
Jack Wheyton: Leslie’s ex-fiancé
Audra Valentine Wheyton: Jack’s wife
Maggie Finnegan Cartwright: Jack Finnegan’s niece
William Cartwright: Maggie’s son
David Cartwright: Maggie’s deceased husband
Lorraine Finnegan: Maggie’s mother
Jack Finnegan: Maggie’s uncle & Lorraine’s brother
Dolly Finnegan: Maggie’s aunt & Jack’s wife
Herb Carey: Lorraine Finnegan’s longtime boyfriend
Bree Kinkaid: Brody’s wife
Brody Kinkaid: Bree’s husband
Rex & Kathleen MacGregor: Bree Kinkaid’s parents
Georgia Kinkaid: Brody’s mother
Pop Benito: Beloved “Godfather of Magdalena”
Lucinda (Lucy) Benito: Pop’s deceased wife
Lucy Benito: Pop’s granddaughter
Nate Desantro: Christine Blacksworth’s husband
Christine Desantro: Charles & Gloria Blacksworth’s daughter
Lily Desantro: Charles Blacksworth & Miriam Desantro’s daughter
Miriam Desantro: Nate & Lily’s mother
Harry Blacksworth: Christine’s uncle
Gloria Blacksworth: Charles Blacksworth’s deceased widow
Daniel “Cash” Casherdon: Ramona Casherdon’s nephew
Tess Casherdon: Cash’s wife
Ramona Casherdon: Premier cook in Magdalena
Ben Reed: Gina Servetti’s husband
Gina Reed: Carmen & Marie Servetti’s daughter
Cynthia Carlisle: Daughter of wealthy car dealership owner
Juliette Shaw: Cynthia’s friend
Mimi Pendergrass: B&B Owner, Mayor of Magdalena
Jeremy Ross Dean: Chef at Harry’s Folly
Phyllis: Waitress at Lina’s Café
Chapter 1
Bree Kinkaid knelt beside the freshly dug grave smothered with red roses and laid a hand on a velvet petal. “I miss you, baby. Oh dear Lord, but I miss you.” She stroked the softness of the rose, thought of her husband’s strong body and the weak heart that had failed him. A few weeks ago, they had years of plans and dreams ahead of them; they had a future—together. Now it was all gone, snuffed out by what the coroner called a massive heart attack, the same ailment that had claimed his father years before. “My soul is empty without you.” She rested her head on the blanket of roses at about the spot where she pictured his heart would be if she could see six feet beneath the dirt, into the satin folds of the bronze casket. The sun beat on her, zeroing in on the exposed parts of her body—face, neck, arms—promising the year’s first burn. Brody had always been after her to protect her fair skin, and when she’d forgotten and turned lobster-red, he’d coated her with aloe, his big hands gentle, his gruff voice soothing. Who would take care of her now? Who would share her dreams? Who would care if she didn’t use sunscreen?
No one.
“I wish I’d never gone to work at Daddy’s, wish I’d stayed home and baked you cherry pie and fried up pork chops coated in that special mix your mother gave me.” Her voice drifted, fell. “I should have convinced Daddy that you were a better choice for president of his dang company than I was. Then you wouldn’t have been so agitated.” She paused, put sound to the horrible possibility that had lurked in her brain since Rudy Dean visited her with news of her husba
nd’s death. “Did I make you have that heart attack? Oh, Brody, did I kill you?” Bree swiped a hand across her right cheek, tried to stop the tears, but it was no use. Would she never stop crying? Would the ache in her heart never ease? And the guilt and fear that she might have caused Brody’s death? What about that? Would it live on years from now, sucking away whatever bits of happiness she might find? She knew her husband wanted a stay-at-home wife, knew too he needed tending like a prized rose bush, spoiled and treated as if Brody Kinkaid ruled the world. Why could she not have declined her father’s offer to take over the business and given her husband what he needed? What had all of her independence gotten her? A dead husband. An empty bed.
Nothing.
“The girls miss you,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the sun’s brightness. “Ella Blue said nobody gives piggy back rides like Daddy, and the other afternoon I found Lindsey sitting in your truck. She said it smelled like you.” What would happen when the numbness faded? Would it fade? What would come in its place? Anger because her husband up and died on her? More guilt that she might have been the cause? Or would her body and soul drain like a ketchup bottle turned upside down, transformed into a cavity of nothingness where there had once been feelings?
Bree flung her arm wide over the clusters of roses, pretended she was holding her husband. There would be a lot of pretending these next weeks and months; it was the only way to get through the days and nights. She would go to work and dive into the business, care for the girls with her parents’ help, sleep, wake, smile, pretend she was moving on. Christine, Gina, and Tess would want to help her, but what could they do? How could they make things better when they had no idea what she was suffering? They had husbands who loved them, lives with a future. They still had their dreams, even Tess, who might never birth her own child but could still share one with the man she loved.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whimpered. “Sorry for my part in all of this.” The tears came until her nose clogged and her vision blurred. “If we hadn’t had that disagreement, you might have been home instead of driving around and ending up in Renova. Of course, you did the right thing by staying overnight; you always promised you wouldn’t drink and drive, and we both know you were drinking.” She heaved a big sigh. “Still, I wish you’d called me. I might have been able to send somebody to pick you up. Ben or Cash would have done it. At least you would have breathed your last breath among family and loved ones, not in a hotel bed.” Pause. “Alone. How tragically sad is that?” She hesitated, thought of the woman who’d called 9-1-1. “I feel like I should thank the poor woman who made the emergency call, but Rudy Dean never gave me her name. Do you think I should ask him? I don’t know what to do.” Another whimper and then, “I am so lost.”
She needed sleep, and quiet, and protection from questions—too many questions about everything and nothing. Daddy wanted to quarantine her from well-meaning visitors who made casual inquiries as they delivered condolences and homemade goodies and deli trays to her doorstep. But he couldn’t protect her for the rest of her life, and while his intentions were pure, it was his inquiries that caused her the greatest distress. Were things okay between you and Brody? Why would he head nineteen miles down the road for a beer? And, was this the first time he drank too much and had to get a hotel room? Casual questions, asked in a quiet voice and a gaze fixed on something other than her. Why would he ask such things, as if he were investigating a situation that was deep and dark and not the truth?
“Why did people doubt us? I knew they did, even if they never said a word about it. I could tell from Mama’s expression, and Daddy’s frown. Sometimes even Gina, Tess, and Christine slid each other looks when I mentioned you or what you’d done or not done. Did they think I didn’t see? Doesn’t matter, does it? They didn’t know about us and how deep a love we shared, the kind of love you wrote about in ‘The Promise.’” She smiled, thought of the poem her husband had written her a lifetime ago, one that spoke of honor, commitment, and unending love.
No, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought they knew about them because Brody and Bree Kinkaid had shared a love that would never die. She opened her mouth and let the pledge slip out, vowing to make it her mission to let the world know how much Brody Kinkaid had loved his wife. “The promise I make this day. Means my love is here to stay. In all the months, even May. Nothing will stand in the way. Of the promise I make today.”
***
“Well, Lucy, what do you think about this mess? Things are more mixed up around here than a bowl of minestrone.” Pop Benito shook his head, picked up a pizzelle, and thought of the latest conversation he’d had with Christine Desantro. That girl was plumping out like a Cornish hen, and dang if she didn’t glisten with happiness. Nothing sweeter-looking than a pregnant woman, all soft and curvy, smile bright, eyes shiny. His granddaughter had that look about her, too, but less curves. Baby Girl Benito would be here soon and if Lucy didn’t attach a name to the child soon, preferably one from Pop’s list, then he would begin the nagging process. Nobody could do a nag like Pop: slow, steady, continuous, like a dripping faucet. At some point, you didn’t care what you had to do to stop the drip; you just wanted it stopped. And that’s what he was counting on.
Something else in this town needed to stop, too, and that was Bree Kinkaid’s pretend story about her dead husband and how he ended up in a hotel room, buck naked. Not alone either, but Bree didn’t want to see what was staring back at her—cheating with a capital C. No, that girl wanted to string the story out like a fairy tale, telling everybody, including herself, that the mystery woman who called 9-1-1 was an angel who just so happened to land at Brody’s door when she heard a big thud. The woman heard a big thud, all right, probably Brody Kinkaid’s over-muscled body hitting the headboard of the bed they shared.
Pop nibbled on his pizzelle, stared at the portrait of his beloved Lucy. “When Ben came to me that night, I thought we needed to protect Bree from a truth that could destroy her life and those of her little girls, but what I’m seeing and hearing now is that she’s created a fantasy of a man and a marriage that didn’t exist, and that—” he pointed his pizzelle at his wife’s portrait “—is going to be the destruction of all of them. Rex told me his daughter’s blaming herself for Brody’s death, some foolishness about not being there for him. To do what, butter his bread? Pick up his socks and underwear? Turn over Rex’s company to that egghead? Maybe she thinks she should have tried for that boy he kept pestering her about? Hah, as if that would have made a difference. A cheat is a cheater, and we both know Brody Kinkaid was a cheater. I got a notion to set Bree straight about what that husband of hers was up to while she was trying to be Mrs. Perfect. The boy never did have sense or reasoning skills bigger than a pea. You know the problem? I saw it straight up, years ago, and I think Bree saw it, too, but she buried it under the smiles and the kindness she doled out like candied apples. Brody Kinkaid didn’t want to grow up and he never did. He liked being taken care of and catered to, first by his mother, then Bree. Comes a time when you got to be responsible and do what you got to do for your family, and Bree saw that, saw that Brody was a half cup shy of a full measure.” He nodded, sipped his iced tea, and sighed. “I hear she goes to the cemetery every day, curls up next to the grave like she’s wishing she could crawl in there with him. Rex said she came home two days ago and didn’t even remember driving down the hill to her house. How’s that for not good and in need of fixing? I’m not one to question true love or heartache, but that poor girl is keeping a memory alive of a man that didn’t exist.” He removed his glasses, swiped at his eyes. “I feel responsible for this, Lucy. I vowed to keep the real story safe, but maybe that was the wrong way to go. Maybe sometimes a heartache is the only way to heal.”
***
“Uncle Jack, can I go to the shop with you on Saturday? I want to see the big press that makes the tractor wheels.”
Jack Finnegan looked up from the lawn mower he’d torn apart, wiped his hands
on a grease-stained rag, and threw Maggie a look. When she nodded, he scratched his jaw and said, “I reckon you can help me if you think you can get that behind out of bed by 7:00 a.m.”
William grinned, the dimples on either side of his cheeks, deepening. “I’ll set my alarm clock for 6:00 a.m. I have a new kind that wakes you up by shining a light on the ceiling. It’s really cool.”
“Hmm. Cool, huh? This creaky old body tells me what time to wake up; no bells, whistles, or light, except for what’s in the sky. When you can do that, you know you’re a real Finnegan.” Uncle Jack nodded at the boy and said, “I’ll have Aunt Dolly slice us up some of that banana bread you like.”
“Thank you.” William glanced at Maggie. “Mom, can I pull Grandma’s weeds after I get home on Saturday?”
“As long as you call Grandma and tell her so she’s not waiting for you with a plate of peanut butter cookies.” Maggie wasn’t going to let her son miss an opportunity to spend time with his great-uncle and the machines that fascinated him. Nate Desantro had been gracious enough to offer William a tour of ND Manufacturing and an open-ended visit as long as her son abided by the safety rules: protective eyewear and steel-toed shoes. William kept both in his uncle’s work area and told his mother she wouldn’t like the steel-toed shoes because they added an extra four pounds to a person’s weight. When she’d asked him how in the world he knew that, he’d grinned and told her the shop had a big floor scale where they weighed boxes of product—out in the open, for everyone to read the digital display. She’d bet no woman ever stepped on that scale.
Uncle Jack turned back to the lawn mower, sighed when his great-nephew continued with his string of questions about the motor, the cutting blades, how the clippings got into the bag. Maggie was used to her ten-year-old son’s inquisitiveness, the brain that never quite slept, and when it did, only to reenergize with more questions for the next day. William exhausted most people, including his great-uncle, Jack Finnegan, who preferred to keep his thoughts in his head and dole them out only when necessary. He’d been like a father to Maggie, watched over her and her mother, repaired leaky faucets, broken switches, and anything else that refused to work the way it should. But he could not mend his baby sister’s broken heart when the man she gave herself to refused to marry her. Finnegans did not disgrace the family name with a pregnancy that did not accompany a wedding, and yet, Lorraine Finnegan arrived home for Christmas break her sophomore year of college with a swollen belly and no man. No prospects of a man either. Uncle Jack had demanded a name, said he’d make the “jerk” do the right thing, but his sister had refused.