by Desiree Holt
The first afternoon when Andy and Beth came home from school, Miranda swept them into the kitchen where Julia explained over cookies and milk what their routine was now going to be and the importance of being quiet. She thanked God for the size of the house, the distance of the family room from the den where Charles was set up, and the intelligence of her seven-year-olds who seemed to absorb everything without too many questions. She also blessed Dr. Grenfeld, the therapist working with Julia to help the children adjust to this drastic alteration in their lives.
One week dragged heavily into the next and now it was April. She and Claire sat in the family room, the late afternoon sunlight slanting in through the big picture window. Julia’s pregnancy bump was growing, although certainly not as much as with the twins. She insisted on at least doing desk work from home, so for weeks Claire brought her projects to work on. It kept her mind occupied, distracting her from the disaster of her situation.
“You’re exhausted,” Claire said.
“I’m fine.” Julia pushed her hair back from her face. She’d cut it shorter, something else for Charles to express his displeasure about, but it made it much easier to care for.
“No, you’re not.” Claire grimaced. “You’ve got to let Miranda take up more of the slack.”
“She’s already doing a lot. Anyway, Charles won’t even let her in the room.”
“What a total shit he is.” Claire twisted her lips in an expression of distaste. If you’d come to me about this Brad and I would have helped you. We’d never have let you agree to this.”
Tears burned in Julia’s eyes. “I could never ask you to do that. We’re talking about a fortune here. Money they all have and we don’t.”
“Honey, Brad’s a well-paid engineer and we have resources. We’d gladly do whatever it takes. Then or now.”
Julia reached over and grasped her friend’s hand. “Thank you. Knowing that helps more than I can tell you, but this is my mess and I have to live with it.”
“I want you to promise me that once Charles is gone we’ll reevaluate the situation. Please.”
Would she have the courage to do it then? Right now she just wanted to get past her two immediate crises—Charles and the baby.
“We’ll see.” She lifted her tea and took a sip.
“He’s determined to make your life as much of a living hell as possible,” Claire pointed out in a caustic voice.
“The weaker he gets, the more fearful of death he becomes. This is just his way of expressing it.”
“You’re making excuses for him.”
Julia knew that, but it helped her deal with his demands and unreasoning rages. The months were dragging interminably, a leaden weight stretching every minute into hours.
Claire leaned forward, an earnest look on her face. “Just remember, it won’t do either the twins or this new baby any good if you’re out of the picture too.”
“I know, I know. I wish he’d leave Miranda alone. That woman is a saint.”
“No sainthood here.” Miranda walked out onto the patio carrying a fresh pitcher of iced tea. “Only the devil has thoughts like the ones running around in my head.”
“He must be in mine, too,” Claire laughed.
“I’m sorry he yells at you.” She took Miranda’s hand and squeezed it. “Maybe you should just stay out of the den.”
“And let him yell at you?” Miranda sniffed. “Don’t make no never mind to me.” Miranda waved a hand. “I just close my ears and my mouth when I walk into that room. You just need to keep the twins away from him.”
“If only his rages didn’t carry through the house.”
Just last night the children, frightened by Charles’s latest outburst, had huddled against Julia, bravely swallowing tears.
“Let’s close the family room door when they’re in there,” Miranda suggested. “They can have supper in there, too. They’ll like playing picnic. Then you can take them upstairs, supervise their baths, and read to them.”
“That ought to work,” Claire agreed. “Do it, Julia. Whatever you have to in order to get them—and yourself—through this.”
* * * *
April turned into May. The twins celebrated their eighth birthday, a subdued celebration, under the circumstances. Charles still clung to life, well past the doctor’s predictions, although it was obvious any day could be his last. Julia was barely hanging on to her sanity.
“He’s stopped calling.” Claire made the announcement when she dropped by the house one afternoon.
“Who?” Julia wrinkled her forehead. She sat in the family room with her feet up, fanning herself. She’d gone to the store and the heat of the Texas summer had undone her in the few moments she was exposed to it.
“Who do you think? Mr. Sexy Voice.”
“Luke?” The thought of him was like the painful stabbing of a sword. She’d lost track of the nights she’d lain awake in her bed, longing to feel his hands on her just one more time. His mouth on hers. His cock inside her. As his child grew within her, the longings became even more acute. “I thought he stopped ages ago.”
“He’s persistent, the asshole. But I think he finally got the message.”
“He’s not an asshole,” Julia protested.
Claire just smiled.
“He needs to get on with his life.” She felt such sadness at the thought of him in a solitary existence, waiting for something that could never happen. “All I’d bring him is a mess.”
“Don’t you think that’s his choice to make?” She leaned closer to Julia. “You know, despite Charles’s diabolical plan, there’s nothing to prevent you from calling him when this is finally over. With Luke beside you, anything is possible. And at least then it’s his choice to make.”
Julia shook her head vehemently. “No, I can’t. And please don’t ask me about it anymore. If you’re my good, good friend, you’ll leave it alone.”
“Well, I also stopped by to tell you that Brad’s done a little discreet digging and we know why Rod McGuire is so willing to take up the sword for Charles.”
“Please tell me he didn’t put himself in a vulnerable position to do it. I’d hate it if this mess spilled over into your lives and damaged it some way.”
“Trust me. He was the soul of discretion. But he has some clients who were in college with Charles and Rod. He casually brought up the names while they were all at dinner the other night.” She grinned. “And maybe he led them to believe he was a lot closer to him.”
Julia sat up straight, nerves vibrating. “And? Don’t keep me in suspense here.”
“It seems in his younger days Rod had a gambling habit. A bad one he acquired in prep school.”
Julia waved a dismissive hand. “Some of Charles’s friends used to joke about it. They all did it.”
“But I’m sure none of them became addicted to it the way Rod did.”
“And?”
“He loved to bet. Horses. Race cars. Sports events. Anything. In college he got in pretty deep with the wrong people. His father had already threatened to cut him off after paying off two huge debts, so he couldn’t go to him for money. Whoever these guys were, they beat him up pretty bad. He managed to call Charles, who picked him up and wanted to take him to the hospital.”
“That bad?”
“Oh, yeah. Rod refused to go so Charles booked them into a cheap motel, went to the drugstore for supplies, and nursed him back to decent condition. He also took his own money and paid off the bookies, told them they better not ever take a bet from Rod again. Then, until they graduated from college and law school and even when they joined their fathers’ law firm, he made it his business to keep Rod out of trouble.”
“Damn!” Julia sucked in a breath. “That’s why he feels so loyal to him.”
“Yeah. He owes the guy his life. Literally.”
“No wonder it’s such a blood vendetta.” She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead.
&nb
sp; “Honey, don’t make yourself sick over this. We’ll figure out how to handle this.”
Wouldn’t that be nice. Unlikely, but nice.
That night when she crawled into bed, for the first time in months she allowed herself the luxury of tears. The enormity of what Charles had set in motion made her physically ill. Stuffing the pillow against her face so her sobs would be silent, she wondered if the rip in her own heart would ever heal. How cruel life was to offer her the golden ring and then snatch it away with such violent abruptness.
During the following week, Charles began sleeping most of the time. By the weekend, he quietly slipped into a coma and then he was gone. The funeral home picked up what was left of the man she’d once thought she loved. A crew from the medical supply company disconnected machines, packed up supplies, and returned the den to its original state. Claire, as always, came in response to her call and supervised the process. Miranda had taken the children upstairs and was absorbing their sorrow with her usual kindness and unflappability. Although, as Julia sat in the kitchen numb in every extremity, she wondered how they could mourn for a man who had treated them so coldly.
One hour later, it was as if none of it happened, except for the wreckage of her life strewn in its wake.
“Here, drink this.” Claire set a fresh mug of tea in front of Julia.
“I think I’m turning into a tea bag.”
“It’s herbal and decaffeinated. Dr. Berlin said there’s nothing in it to harm the baby, and maybe it will do you some good.” She waited a heartbeat. “I hate to bring this up, but have you thought about funeral arrangements?”
“I didn’t even have to give them a moment’s consideration.” Julia snorted. “Charles was thoughtful enough to take care of the preparations with his parents and his partners. The service will be at the funeral home, and he’ll be buried in the family plot at the cemetery. I don’t have to do anything but show up.”
“I’d take that as a relief, rather than an offense. You don’t need to be entangling yourself in those details right now. The baby’s due in a month.”
“I know, I know. I just feel like I’m on the outside looking in on everything.”
“Sometimes it’s a good way to be,” Claire told her in a soft voice.
The day of the funeral was blazing hot. She was sure everyone in the crowd of mourners was conscious of her advanced pregnancy. She sat at the graveside clutching the hands of her children. Her face was shadowed by an enormous black hat that barely protected her from the broiling sun. She chalked up the lack of sympathy for her to the obvious shunning by Elise and Howard. And Charles’s partners, especially Rod McGuire, who always made his hatred and distaste for her blatantly evident. Both at the funeral home and the cemetery he’d kept as far from her as possible. The expression on his face, however, left no doubt about his feelings.
Most of the people at the funeral were clients or friends of the elder Pattersons or the partners. Without Claire, she’d never have gotten through the day. The service itself seemed endless, and at the cemetery, the minister droned on interminably, unaware that everyone surreptitiously blotted at their perspiration. Julia felt as if she’d been stuffed into an oven in a tight corset. By the end of the graveside service, she could barely breathe.
With Andy and Beth beside her, she took one white rose and placed it on the casket. Then she gladly let Claire lead them away to an air-conditioned car and home. All the mourners were invited back to the senior Pattersons’ after the service. Howard and Elise gave her a token invitation but she begged off, using her condition as an excuse. She certainly had no intention of subjecting the children to such a depressing environment. It was time for them as a family to move on with their lives. It wasn’t as if either Charles or his parents had a warm, affectionate relationship with the twins.
“They should be coming to your house.” Claire’s anger was sharp as the car pulled away from the graveside.
“Forget it.” Julia removed the uncomfortable hat and brushed her hair away from her face. “Let Howard and Elise play the grieving parents. These are their people anyway. I just want to be done with it.”
She spent most of August secluded at home. She never asked about the agency, never ventured outside. Every moment of her time was devoted to the twins and the child about to be born.
Her seclusion was interrupted, however, by one unpleasant call from Rod McGuire.
“Per Charles’s instructions, I’ve deposited a significant sum in your checking account,” he told her. “But we do have some important things regarding the estate to handle.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to wait but Charles was quite specific with his instructions.”
“Yes, I’m sure he was.” She sat in the big chair in the family room, her swollen feet propped up on a footstool. “Just tell me when you’d like to do this. I’d rather you came to the house, if you don’t mind. Going out is not as easy for me these days.”
“Yes. I understand.” The censure in his voice was hard to miss. “Then it’s important we meet. I’ll have my secretary call and schedule it.”
“Fine. Thank you.” What else could she say?
He clicked off, without a goodbye.
She dreaded the meeting, knowing every one of their secrets along with his anger was now in his hands. However unpleasant, she couldn’t avoid it.
A week later, McGuire sat facing her in the den, the scene of Charles’s final days. The acrid odors of medicine and illness were gone, banished through Miranda’s elbow grease, but the miasma of death still hovered. Julia seldom came into the room now, but she’d determined it to be the most fitting place for this discussion. She sat at the desk, McGuire across from her.
“I find this somewhat uncomfortable, Julia.” He opened his briefcase and extracted a file.
“I’m not too happy myself,” she said.
“You must admit, considering your…um…situation, Charles was more than magnanimous.”
Julia gritted her teeth. “My pregnancy…” she stressed the word, not caring if it embarrassed Rod, “is something that happened. We can at least call it what it is.”
“Nevertheless, Charles was disturbed about it. I’m sure you were aware of his feelings.”
“Rod, can we stop tap dancing?” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Lately she couldn’t seem to find any place to put herself. “I don’t have time to listen to a lecture. You and I both know why I brought Charles into the house for those last months. My pregnancy was an unexpected turn of events, and Charles chose the path he did so he could save face. My feelings were never part of the equation.”
“I admired him for the way he handled it.” He eyed her swollen body with evident condemnation. “I’d have just tossed you out into the street.”
Yes, and now Julia knew why.
She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Let’s just get to the heart of the matter here. I’m well aware of the terms of the will and of the letters you hold, so what else is there to discuss?”
Rod’s mouth thinned in disapproval. Julia knew full well being Charles’s executor was a distasteful problem for him but only because it meant dealing with her. He extracted a sheaf of papers from a folder and placed them on the desk.
“This is the deed to the house. It and all of its contents are left specifically to you. Charles wanted to insure a proper home for Andrew and Elizabeth to be raised in. I’ve arranged for the name on the deed to be changed.”
The house was larger and more ostentatious than she’d ever been comfortable with, more a symbol of Charles’s image than anything else. But it was the only one the twins had known and she knew what it was like to have that stability ripped away from you.
“I’ll be sure to cancel the rental on the mobile home.” Acid dripped from her voice but she didn’t care.
McGuire ignored her remarks. “There was substantial life insurance, payable to the estate, as well as Charles’s investments.” His smile w
as cold. “He was blessed with an incredible mind when it came to those details.”
“Yes.” What was she supposed to say?
“At his direction, I set up a fund to provide monthly income for the care of Andrew and Elizabeth. Individual trust funds have been set up for them, which they will receive when they’re twenty-five, as well as separate trusts to pay for their education expenses.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “He was far more generous than I felt he was obligated to be.”
“Obligated to?” she nearly shouted. “You can bet he was obligated, whatever you think. Those are his children and he damn well better have provided for them.”
“Julia.” Rod frowned at her. “There’s no need to curse.”
She took a deep breath, aware she was rocketing out of control. “And the baby? That was part of the deal from hell.”
“I’m getting to it.” He frowned. “I must tell you I advised Charles against this but he was determined to honor the agreement he made with you.” His disgust was obvious. “So yes, you’ll be interested to know he established a substantial enough sum to include support for this bastard child as well.”
Julia ground her teeth. She’d get through this. She had to.
“Would I be assuming too much to think he made some kind of arrangements for me? I was technically still his wife.”
“Technically being the operative word.” Rod glared at her.
“So am I the pariah who gets left out in the cold?” She’d find a way to make things work if such turned out to be the case. She hadn’t expected to be taken care of, anyway.
Rod sneered, the only word for his expression. “I’d say you’re a lucky woman, Julia. Charles was far more generous with you than he should have been and again I advised him against it. The twins are taken care of. You and your bastard child deserved no more than a pittance. However, he wanted his children to retain a good memory of him. He thought doing what I advised him would taint that image when they were old enough to understand it.”
“Suddenly he was worried about what his children thought?” Julia barely held on to her temper. “Too bad he didn’t care about it when he was alive.”