A Family Affair: The Promise; Truth in Lies, Book 7

by Mary Campisi

  That’s what happened with Leslie Maurice and her stories. All stuck together with tears and remorse. What was a lie and what was the truth? The possible adoption was a lie, because by then, there was no baby. Had Brody been a lie, too? For a heartbeat, Bree clutched onto that possibility, let her heart fill with hope and renewed love for her husband, but then she remembered the 9-1-1 Mystery Woman, the hotel room, Brody’s odd behavior, and the hope and love teetered, slipped back into that black hole of betrayal and he-done-me-wrong. But what told the truth of that tale was “The Promise.” No woman would know about that poem or be able to recite it from memory if Brody Kinkaid hadn’t showered her with it. Showered, repeated, and pledged she was his “one and only.” That’s what told Bree her husband was no innocent with this woman. He’d slept with Leslie Maurice, had no doubt done and said pretty much everything Leslie described. And that was way more visual than any wife wanted or needed to know about her husband’s sexual escapades.

  Bree didn’t know how long it would take, or even if the town would start swirling with rumors about Leslie and Brody and the baby that no longer existed. Would they shake their heads with sympathy when they learned that Tess Casherdon had grown hopeful she’d finally hold a newborn baby in her arms, even if it weren’t from her womb? And what would they say about Bree and her friendship with Leslie? Would they think Bree had been played, or worse, that she’d played the mentally unstable mistress to gain the dirty details of her husband’s activities? That sounded gross, even to Bree, and she’d done it.

  Leslie sat on the couch in her condo, tears streaming down her cheeks, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Bree. I’m so sorry.” Sniff, sniff. “Can you forgive me? Please? I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

  Friendship? This woman had a strange idea of what that meant. Bree had driven to Renova to confront Leslie about the lies and she’d done that, but the woman wouldn’t stop crying and begging for another chance. At what? A friendship built on a two-timing husband? And a dead one at that? The whole notion made Bree’s stomach jump and gurgle like she’d eaten a sausage and pepper sub. “Leslie.” Bree borrowed the same tone her mother used when she wanted to scold her and follow up with a lesson. Of course, she hadn’t used that tone on Bree since she was seventeen, but still…

  “Yes?”

  “What you did was wrong.” Bree zeroed in on Leslie’s wet face, the swollen eyes, the red nose. “Bad enough you slept with my husband. You don’t do that, even if the rat tells you his wife married him for his money and doesn’t want to have his babies. If a guy ever tells you anything close to that again, you’d better run. You hear me?” When Leslie nodded, Bree continued. “But pretending you were still pregnant after you miscarried and letting a woman who wants a child so bad she can’t think straight believe she might get one? Well, that is pure mean.”

  “I really might have given Tess my baby,” Leslie murmured.

  Bree cut her the eye. “That is not the point. You lost the baby before you offered to think about it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  More tears, more sniffing. Well, Bree did not want to hear it, not when her friend’s heart was about to break once again. “That is just about the cruelest thing I can imagine. I know you have issues, and I know you’re sorry, but you can’t go around manipulating people like Play Doh and not think about what you’re doing.” Leslie bent her head and once again, Bree imagined her dead husband’s big hands sifting through those shiny locks, pulling her toward him, on top of him… Would it ever end?

  “Could you tell her I lost the baby yesterday?” Pause. “That would mean I was pregnant when I talked to her about the baby and it doesn’t seem as painful as if she knew I’d already miscarried.”

  “Oh, so you want me to lie to my friend, too?” That’s exactly what Bree planned to do because she couldn’t stand to torment Tess with knowing her hopes for a baby had never had a chance. Friends did not do that to friends.

  Leslie shrugged. “If it helps her deal with things, is it really so bad?”

  Bree wanted to ask how that had worked out for her because she was sure Leslie lived in her own world, protected and oblivious. But maybe she wasn’t capable of handling the harshness of life, maybe she needed to rework things, smooth the edges, make them more palatable. Hadn’t Bree done that a time or two? She’d shut out reality when Brody died, made up her own story, one that included a faithful husband and a solid relationship. Hadn’t she known deep down that maybe that wasn’t the truth, at least not all of it?

  “Bree? Is it so bad to keep the truth hidden if it’s going to hurt somebody?” Leslie’s blue eyes glittered. “Sometimes I wish I had never told you about me and Brody.” Her voice cracked, split open with rawness. “When I first came to see you, I just wanted to meet the woman Brody said had done him wrong. But from the second you opened the door, I knew he lied, knew you were a good woman, and I wanted to be your friend, help you get through your pain.” She paused, swallowed hard. “And if the only way to do that was to share what happened between me and Brody, I figured I owed it to you.” Her voice drifted, cracked. “And I am so sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused everyone. Tell me what to do, anything, and I will.”

  Leslie Maurice wasn’t the only one who had to look in the mirror and toss in a regret or two. Bree had her own share of missteps, beginning with her obsessive requests for the details of Brody and Leslie’s affair, and ending in her part in the brokering of Leslie’s unborn baby to Cash and Tess. Maybe she hadn’t come right out and suggested Leslie give them her baby, but she’d let the woman know how much they wanted one. That attempt would end in tears and sorrow, but Bree vowed she’d make it up to them. One day, one way or another, Cash and Tess would get their baby.

  “I know you’re sorry.” She could see it in the woman’s eyes, the way her lips quivered when she spoke. “I’m sorry, too. I have a lot to answer for, and I’ll be asking my own kind of forgiveness. My friends didn’t know who you were or how we were connected, but they were willing to let you into their lives, meet their families, because of me.” She shook her head, thought of Gina, Christine, and Tess. “I was obsessed with knowing about you and Brody in such a way it ate at my heart, spit out the common sense. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know; were there others, did he ever really love me, were we real or was he too selfish to go all-in? The questions wouldn’t stop, spun me around so fast I couldn’t think. That’s never good.” Bree shrugged, heaved a big sigh. “All I wanted to do was rework my life with Brody so I could understand it. But it’s too new and too painful to understand right now. Maybe I never will, but it’s time to let it go.” She turned to Leslie, placed a hand on hers. “And that means letting you go, too.”

  “No.” Brody’s mistress clasped Bree’s hand with both of hers, eyes wet, voice desperate. “No,” she said again. “You’re my friend. I can’t lose you. I don’t have anybody else.”

  Nobody else? How sad was that? “We’re reminders to each other of the man who betrayed us. If we’re going to move on, we have to let that go, have to let each other go.” Bree offered a gentle smile. “Right?”

  Leslie’s face crumpled. “I just want to belong somewhere.” She paused, whispered, “Belong to someone.”

  “Someone isn’t just anyone. I wanted to belong, too, and I never realized how much I gave up to do that. Back then, I didn’t care because I wanted to be a wife, a mother, have a nice life. And then I grew up and Brody didn’t. A person shouldn’t have to sacrifice who she is to be loved. That’s just pure wrong, and if there’s one thing I learned from all of this, it’s that we should be loved for who we are, warts and all.” She’d learned something else, too: no man was ever going to do this to her again. But that bit of enlightenment was a revelation she kept to herself. “You need to go on with your life, Leslie. Forget about Brody and Magdalena and me.”

  “But…”

  “You can do this; build a new life, a better one, but get help so you don’t en
d up like this again. How many men are going to destroy you before you fight back?” One man had tried to destroy Bree, and he’d almost succeeded. But no more. She would move past Brody Kinkaid, grow stronger, fiercer.

  Leslie nodded, swiped at her face. “I need my brother. He’ll know what to do. Grant always knows what to do.”

  “Grant?” Bree narrowed her gaze on Leslie. Grant Richot? What were the odds that the newest arrival in Magdalena just so happened to have the same first name as Leslie’s brother? Unless he was Leslie’s brother.

  The guessing ended seconds later with a whisper that jolted Bree’s insides. “Grant Richot’s my brother.”

  ***

  Maggie:

  If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I thought of giving you this letter as soon as I finished it, but I didn’t want you to dispute what I’d written or, even worse, feel guilty about any of it. That was not my intent, and if the waiting is selfish, then forgive me, but I could not add one more burden to your already overburdened soul.

  So. Here goes. I’ve never been one for fancy words or over-the-top shows of affection. No trip to a five-star hotel for the weekend, no two-carat diamond ring, no luxury car for your birthday. It’s not in me, but sometimes I wish it were. Every once in a while, I used to wonder what it would be like if I had a little less analytical DNA and a little more emotional DNA. I guess it doesn’t matter, because we are who we are—idiosyncrasies, character traits, and genes. Thank you for forgiving my occasional absent-mindedness, for providing a safe haven for William and me, for teaching me how to laugh at myself. But most of all, thank you for loving me.

  I want you to be happy, Maggie. Laugh. Find joy. Take a trip somewhere. New Mexico? California? Colorado? You always did want to see the Grand Canyon. Do it. I do not want you to spend the rest of your life alone. Open your heart again, not now, but eventually. Find someone who does not mind that the food on his plate touches. Someone who actually enjoys going barefoot, indoors and out. Most of all, do not feel guilty that you are alive and I am not. Please, do not do that.

  I love you, Maggie Rae Cartwright, and I will love you until I draw my last breath. Our son has brought me greater joy than I ever could have imagined. Thank you.

  Love Always,

  David

  Maggie folded the letter and placed it in the top compartment of her jewelry case. She’d loved David with a gentle calmness that gave her balance and direction. They’d been good together, and if Grant had never walked back into her life, she would have continued to believe it was enough to carry her through. But Grant had returned, bolder and more vibrant than before—more compelling. Darn it, more irresistible. Maybe because the scars he carried made him more human, maybe because he was more human now, more vulnerable. Or maybe because the time they had together was stamped with an expiration date. Whatever the reason, he’d slipped into Maggie’s heart and claimed it. Again. She would lose him again, but this time, the loss would be permanent.

  Why had she seen no signs of illness? No behavioral indicators, no physical changes, nothing? Tonight she would ask him about it, but not until after she told him what filled her heart: she loved him, loved him with a fierceness that consumed her. And she would not leave him—not until he drew his last breath.

  Chapter 15

  People said you didn’t get to pick your family; they were thrust at you like a double helping of your least favorite vegetable. And while family members might harbor a similar trait or three, they did not necessarily share personalities or values.

  Grant loved his sister, wanted to protect her and help her, but the woman made it awfully difficult sometimes. Like now.

  “I know what happened to Dad.” Leslie’s face contorted with a mix of anxiety and sadness. “I figured it out.” Pause, a lick of lips. “I know who Audra Valentine’s father is, too. It all makes sense once you step back and think about it.”

  Grant nodded, squeezed his sister’s hand. Leslie loved her fantasies, spent more time imagining what wasn’t or what she wanted things to be rather than living in the real world. She said it helped her get by, helped her come to terms with things she couldn’t change. But how was their father involved? And why was she still obsessed with Audra? “Leslie. Try to let this go. I thought you and your therapist were going to talk about other issues.” Like the affair with a married man, and the friendship with his wife, and the baby you lost but pretended you didn’t. “It’s time to get your life back on track, and thinking about Dad and Audra isn’t going to help.”

  “I’m not thinking about them, not like that.” She paused, clarified. “Not obsessively. I promise. It all came to me the other day and the answers have been there all along.” A tiny smile crept over her lips, settled into place. “For years.”

  “Leslie.” Grant sighed, rubbed his jaw. She’d attended two therapy sessions, had joined a support group, and had signed up for a creative writing class. All good ideas, especially the first and third. In the first, she could focus on staying in the real world, but in the third, she could be anybody she wanted, do anything, go anywhere.

  “Grant.” The smile spread, revealed both dimples. “The answer is in the African violets; it always has been. I just never saw it before. And no, they haven’t started talking, not in the way you think. But they have said a lot, and I’ve been listening. Do you want to know what they’ve said?”

  No, not really. “Sure.”

  His sister leaned on tiptoe, whispered in his ear. Her words swept through him, squeezed his brain. No. “No,” he said, trying to suffocate the meaning behind her words.

  “Yes.” She threw her arms around his middle, clung to him. “It all makes sense. The whole sad story is right there, waiting to be told. You just have to listen to the violets.”

  They stood in the middle of her living room, the horrible, impossible words she’d whispered in his ear threatening to crush him. But Leslie wasn’t done destroying his world. Not yet.

  “I have to tell you something.” She sniffed against his chest. “Please don’t be mad. I only did it to help you, and now I think I shouldn’t have.”

  What was she talking about? Leslie’s world spun with emotion and she often left out critical parts—like the story behind the emotion. “What do you mean?”

  “Maggie,” she breathed.

  Grant tensed, released her hold on him, and took a step back so he could see her face. “What about Maggie?”

  She met his gaze, eyes glistening with tears. “I went to visit her a few weeks ago.”

  Stay calm. “Why would you do that?”

  “I only want what’s best for you, Grant. You’re my brother and I owe you so much. I wanted to help, that’s all.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I promise, I only wanted to help.”

  “Leslie, what did you do?” Bad enough she’d figured out Grant was William’s father, but what if she’d confronted Maggie? Why would she do that? And why hadn’t Maggie told him?

  His sister bit her bottom lip, sniffed. “I told her I knew about William.” Pause. “And that I wanted her to give you a chance, see if she couldn’t care about you again like I figured she had before.”

  “That’s all?” Something in her expression said there was more, even if her words did not.

  She shook her head. “I told her I’d spill the news about William if she didn’t agree.”

  Was she serious? “You mean you’d blackmail her?”

  “No. I wasn’t asking for money; just a commitment to do something.”

  “And if she didn’t, you’d expose information about her.” Grant narrowed his gaze. “That’s blackmail, Leslie.”

  More tears, followed by a whimper. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to help you.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” He had to find Maggie, apologize for his sister’s behavior.

  “There’s more.”

  “More?” How could there be more? Wasn’t this bad enough?

  “I told her you were dying.”

  **
*

  “Grant?” Maggie offered him a shy smile, ushered him into the house and closed the door. The smile grew. “This is a nice surprise.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, leaned on tiptoe, and kissed him. A soft kiss, tentative and sweet, filled with so many possibilities and a passion that grew deeper each time he touched her. And now, it was all over. Grant eased her hands from his shoulders, stepped back, out of reach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  That voice, those eyes, the expression, all said she cared, really cared, but what did that mean? Anything? Nothing? Were the emotions all bundled up, some real, some not, most impossible to separate? “I came to tell you I’m not dying.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not dying,” he repeated. “I’m alive and well.”

  “But…”

  “Are you disappointed?” Anger and disbelief surged through him, spewed from his mouth. “Was I a pity party, someone you forced yourself to tolerate because you thought I’d be short-term?” He’d finally started to believe she cared about him, maybe even loved him, but it hadn’t been that at all. It hadn’t been anything but paying a ransom debt to his sister and a pity party.

  The voice, the eyes, the expression shifted to shock. That was real. “No.” Maggie shook her head, the hair he loved to touch spilling about her shoulders. “That’s not true.”

  She looked so innocent, so sincere. “Not true? Now we’re going to talk about truth?” He narrowed his gaze on her, thought of all the moments they’d been together, in and out of bed, and wondered if they’d all been built around her belief that he was only a short-term commitment. A relationship she could throw herself into, no worries about the future or planning because she’d never thought there would be a future. Not with him anyway.

  “Grant. Please.” Maggie moved toward him, said in a soft voice, “When your sister came to me, she didn’t leave me much choice. She said if I didn’t do what she asked, she’d tell everyone that you were William’s real father. I couldn’t let that happen.”