Grace clamped her lips together. “You have no right to comment on my actions.” She glared at Tom resentfully. “We’re not married anymore.”
Tom stared right back at her. “But you felt compelled to flaunt your affair with that guy in my face anyway,” Tom noted bitterly as he ran his hand across his jaw, which was scraggly with a beard. His gut twisting with jealousy, Tom took another sip then set his bottle down beside him and turned his attention back to his reel.
“I didn’t ask you to show up at my place at the crack of dawn,” Grace continued, defending herself.
Not buying her excuse, Tom stopped rethreading the reel and regarded Grace steadily. “After what had happened the night before, you knew I would come to see you as soon as I could, to talk about Daisy and our four kids. Not that the other morning was the first time. You’ve been with that overrated, overpriced gigolo for weeks now!” And it killed Tom because he had thought—hoped—the relationship was just a flirtation, that at heart it was platonic. How foolish had that fantasy been?
Grace turned her face to the breeze.
Tom watched the soft blond layers of Grace’s hair get whipped around sexily by the salt-scented wind. “Being with him that way is wrong,” he snapped grimly. And you know it.
A mixture of shock and fury widened her eyes as she turned back to him. “Says who?” Grace advanced on him emotionally, looking as though she was tempted to haul off and hit him. “You?” She poked her index finger against his bare chest. “The arbiter of extramarital sex? Please.” Grace threw up both hands in aggravation. “You’ve squired your share of young and beautiful women around since we split. And for all I know, even before we separated.”
That was unfair but typical, Tom thought. He stood, and really pissed off now, squared off with her. “I was only unfaithful to you once,” he said.
“And since?” Grace queried, arching her delicate blond eyebrows at him.
It was Tom’s turn to move his glance away. A muscle working convulsively in his jaw, he shifted to the harbor beyond. “You left me, remember?”
“For good reason, if you recall,” she reminded him.
Tom shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, because you put a wall between us.”
“We had children, a home together…” She spoke as if she didn’t believe he was turning the tables on her.
But Tom knew it was the truth. And he knew, whether she liked it or not, it was past time his wife faced just how cold and unaffectionate she had been prior to his interlude with Iris. “Yes, Grace, you distanced yourself from me.”
“I was depressed! Finding out I was sterile was a devastating blow.”
Or an excuse. Tom tread nearer, trying not to recall how much he had wanted to make love to her then, how much—despite everything—he still did. “We already had four children, Grace.”
“Five,” Grace countered miserably, “if you count the baby we lost when I miscarried, the year after Amy was born.”
“But you wanted more, didn’t you?” Tom remembered bleakly. And when she couldn’t have them, she had completely turned away from him, in her heart and in their marriage.
“We both wanted more kids. Half a dozen, remember?” Grace’s voice became a strangled sob as she forged on. “Only I couldn’t because of the complications I had after the miscarriage. But that didn’t stop you, did it?” Her eyes gleamed with hurt as she reminded, “Because you went right on to have another child without me—you had Daisy.”
Tom saw it all—the jealousy, envy, resentment—that another woman had given him what Grace no longer could. “That was never meant to be more than one night,” he told her with gut-wrenching honesty.
Grace stared at him and slowly shook her head, appearing as if she could hardly believe his naiveté. “That night created a child, Tom. It destroyed our family.” Tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “But you can’t admit that to yourself even now, can you? You persist in saying and feeling I should just get over it.”
Tom swallowed hard. “Why can’t you?” he demanded, feeling more frustrated than ever.
Grace threw her hands up. “You know why I can’t! Because you betrayed me.”
Tom clamped down on his own hurt. Jaw set, he said, “I made a mistake.” It had been a bad one, yes. But it should not have ended their marriage.
“You ripped my heart in two,” Grace accused with insurmountable bitterness.
And, Tom thought sadly, she had never allowed him to put it back together again.
Grace turned away from him and walked over to the edge of the deck. Her back to the marina, she stared out at the harbor, and the coming together of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said in a low, defeated voice.
Tom crossed to her side. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her resisting body to face him. “How can you say that?” he asked hoarsely. Didn’t she understand—would she never understand—his heart had been ripped into pieces, too?
“Because—” Grace turned her sad eyes up to his and continued dejectedly “—it would’ve happened eventually anyway.” She paused, shook her head in silent remonstration. “My grief and depression were just an excuse to do what you already wanted to do in your heart, Tom, what you had probably always wanted to do, which was forget the wife you had at home and bed down with some young, rich and sexy society girl.”
“That’s not true. It was you, Grace, who didn’t want me.”
Anger flared at the corners of her mouth. “Will you stop blaming me for what you did that night?” She balled her hands into fists. “You walked out on me, Tom. You answered Iris’s distress call and went to her apartment. You unzipped your pants, took off your trousers, and you were with her. And you probably would’ve kept right on seeing her if I hadn’t found you two.”
Tom knew it had been an ugly time. All because he’d had too much pride to go to Grace and tell her how lonely—how bereft and shut out—he felt. He should have gotten down on his knees and begged her to love him again. Instead, he had allowed himself to become angry, vengeful. And looked to another woman, who was just as needy and unhappy in her own way, for comfort. And for that, Tom would always blame himself. Just as virulently as Grace blamed him.
Mustering what little patience he had left, Tom explained, “You know I regret what happened that night with all my heart and soul. As for the rest…I stayed with you because I wanted to work it out.”
“No,” Grace corrected. “You stayed with me because you didn’t want to lose custody of your kids or hurt your business or let your infidelity become public knowledge!”
What could Tom say to that? It was true. He hadn’t wanted any of those things to happen. He hadn’t wanted their life to fall apart, any more than it already had. And a divorce would have ensured even more misery than they had already suffered.
“So now you’re blaming me for wanting to stay married to you, is that it?”
“I am blaming you for destroying our family!” She advanced on him, voice breaking, looking if possible even more dejected and disillusioned with the situation they had found themselves in years ago. “You never should have cheated on me—on us—no matter how rejected you felt or what the situation was with us at the time. You should have done whatever we had to do to work it out and make our marriage strong and enduring instead of turning to someone else to warm your bed. And most of all—” she began to cry “—you should have honored the vows that we took, the promises we made to love each other and only each other for as long as we both live. Because if you had—if you had acted less selfishly—we would still be together now. And somewhere deep inside, Tom, you have to know that.”
Tom’s heart exploded with anger. He was tired of being painted the only wrong-doer here, tired of making apologies that fell on deaf ears. Tired of not being given the opportunity to make it up to her. “You know I’d do anything if I could take back what happened,” he said huskily, near breaking down himself. “But I can’t.”
Grace withdrew into herself, into the place where he had no hope of reaching her. “No,” she said before assuming her on-air television personality, “you can’t.”
“And that pleases you,” Tom accused.
Grace stared at him as if she couldn’t possibly have heard right. “What?”
“Let’s be honest here, Grace.” Tom decided to cut the courtesy and lay all their cards on the table. “This wasn’t all bad news to you. You wanted an excuse to lock me out of your heart and keep me out of your bed. Because all you ever wanted me for was the big house and the cushy lifestyle and the kids.”
Grace gasped in indignation. “That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it?” Tom lifted his eyebrow. As much as he loathed to admit it, he knew the truth. “You were never happy being my wife, Grace, even before Iris.”
Grace looked at him then as if she had never known him at all. “Maybe because back then that’s all I was. I needed a career. I needed—”
“Self-esteem?”
Grace reeled backward, as if he had slapped her. “You knew a career was important to me when you married me!”
“And I also knew it shouldn’t have mattered that you grew up in a small town, the daughter of parents who owned and ran a dry-cleaning store,” Tom said bitterly. He looked at his ex-wife, his heart aching. “You were everything to me, Grace. Everything. But you never let yourself believe it.”
“WELL?” Chase said when Grace met her son and his new wife for dinner at a popular downtown-Charleston restaurant.
Chase had come straight from the offices of Modern Man magazine, and was dressed, as usual, in pleated khaki trousers and a short-sleeve linen shirt perfect for the balmy September weather. Bridgett, a financial advisor, and noted author in her own right, was wearing a trim black skirt and silky black-and-white cardigan set. Grace smiled. The two of them looked so strikingly handsome together. Chase, with his wavy dark-brown hair, lively slate-blue eyes and tanned athletic presence. Bridgett, with her auburn hair, deep chocolate eyes and slender feminine frame. And more important, Grace thought, they were happy. And so much in love with each other, it filled her heart with joy.
Grace sat down and spread her napkin across her lap. “I didn’t get anywhere with him, either.”
“So he’s still on the yacht.” Chase returned to his own seat after helping Grace with her chair.
Grace nodded at both Bridgett and Chase, marveling again at how happy—how very much in love—they looked. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But you’ll be relieved to know that your father’s not drinking so much as brooding.” Feeling sorry for himself, angry at the world, at her.
Chase scowled as he opened the menu. “I’d go try and talk to him myself but I want to slug him.”
Having already decided what she wanted—the crab soup and a salad—Grace closed her menu wearily. Chase was her strongest defender, as well as her first-born and oldest son, but in this case he was also dead wrong. She regarded her son steadily and said, “This isn’t your fight, Chase. It’s mine.”
Chase clenched his jaw, at that moment looking very much like his incredibly strong-willed and stubborn father. “Wrong, Mom.” Fierce resentment gleamed in Chase’s slate-blue eyes. “When Dad betrayed you, he betrayed the whole family.”
Grace sighed and shook her head. “You still have to forgive him,” she advised calmly.
“Why?” Chase challenged. “You obviously haven’t, and it’s been what—more than twenty years now?”
What could Grace say to that? It was true. All these years and she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind, hadn’t been able to believe Tom’s stepping out on her was merely a cry for help. But what if she’d been wrong? What if Tom’s lovemaking with Iris was as emotionally unsatisfying as her tryst with Paulo had been? Had she thrown it all away, refused to ever trust Tom again, for nothing?
CHARLOTTE WAS in the library, updating her social calendar on the computer Iris had given her and taught her how to use, when Richard walked in. He’d spent the afternoon playing tennis at the club, but was now dressed in his customary suit and tie. Knowing now was as good a time as any, Charlotte broached the subject that had been on her mind constantly for days, before he could leave for that evening’s dinner-meeting with their accountant.
“I want to hire a private detective to locate Daisy.”
The look in his eyes becoming pure resentment, Richard’s jaw clenched. “It’s out of the question.”
“Why?” Gearing up for battle, Charlotte saved the data she had just entered and watched as Richard opened the wall safe in the library. “We can afford it.” The growing success of the family antiques business, and their financial stake in it, had seen to that.
Richard released a long breath and turned to Charlotte in exasperation, “Daisy will come home when she’s ready.”
Would she? Charlotte wondered. “She’s been gone for days now,” Charlotte pointed out, unwilling and unable to suppress her worry. “We haven’t heard a word from her.”
“Which, given her likely mood, is probably just as well.” Richard moved the handgun and box of ammunition he insisted they keep for their personal safety to one side and withdrew a fat envelope of cash. He took out a number of bills and returned the envelope to the safe, setting it on top of Charlotte’s jewelry case and copies of their insurance papers, wills and real estate deeds. “Right now, Daisy is behaving like a temperamental child.” Richard shut the door to the safe, covered it with the painting and slid the money into his wallet before looking at Charlotte once again. “And I for one am glad Daisy is not here misbehaving for all our friends to see.”
“I still want to find her,” Charlotte retorted steadily.
“And I still say no.”
Richard gave Charlotte a look to let her know the conversation was closed, then exited the room. Seconds later, the front door shut behind him. The big house was cloaked in silence.
Charlotte stared at the photos of family that decorated the shelves to the right of the heavy antique desk. She didn’t know when or why or even how it happened, but the truth was indisputable now. Somewhere along the way, she had failed both her daughters. Perhaps even their son, Connor, too. During the crisis of Iris’s pregnancy, Charlotte had been so certain she and Richard were doing the right thing, keeping the affair and pregnancy from ten-year-old Connor, and sending Iris to that austere convent in Switzerland to have her baby in secret. Iris hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to give Daisy up, but Charlotte and Richard had worked together to convince Iris that her life—indeed, all their lives—would be ruined if she didn’t do as they said.
In return, Charlotte had promised Iris that she and Richard would love Daisy and bring her up as their own. Iris would never have to worry or wonder what had happened to her baby—she would be able to see Daisy every day because they would grow up as sisters. And Charlotte had kept her promise. She had loved Daisy every bit as much as she had loved her own two children, if not more. But she had also known in her heart of hearts that Daisy was her first—maybe her only—grandchild. And consequently, she had tended to be too lenient with Daisy, as grandparents were wont to do. Whereas Richard had gone the other way and been too strict. Poor Daisy had been caught in the middle from day one, as their adopted daughter. No wonder she’d floundered around and felt there was something amiss. Because, Charlotte thought fiercely, there had been.
Now, Daisy knew the truth.
She knew they had all lied to her.
And she couldn’t forget and she couldn’t forgive.
Was Daisy ever going to come home? Charlotte wondered.
And what would she do when she did?
CHAPTER FIVE
IT TOOK JACK ONE MONTH, two days and sixteen hours to find out where Daisy had run off to, and another half day to travel to Nevada. When he finally made it to the crummy studio apartment she had rented at the edge of town, he was mad as hell, and exhausted to boot. And she didn’t look much better when she open
ed her door to him. Her fair skin held the golden glow of desert sun and she was dressed as sexily as ever, in snug, worn, navel-baring jeans, tangerine tank top and western boots. Her wavy hair was as clean and silky-looking as always and caught up in a clasp on the back of her head. But there were shadows beneath her eyes and a weariness in her body language that hadn’t been there before.
Not that she was about to let him know that, however, Jack noted as their eyes clashed. “I was wondering when you would show up.”
Jack took the open door for invitation and followed her inside. The place was a mess. Although it was nearly noon, what looked like a breakfast of a glass of milk and a sweet roll sat on the table. The sofa bed was still pulled out and unmade. There were clothes, shoes and toiletry items scattered all over the place. He shut the door behind them, noting the laptop computer, printer and digital camera that were hooked up together. Even as they spoke, what looked like color tourist photos were spitting out of the printer one after another. Which explained how she had been getting by once her cash ran out. “It would have been sooner if you’d let me know where you were,” he said.
“What? And take all the fun out of it?” Daisy plucked her glass off the table and took a sip of milk. Expression sobering slightly, she continued, “I was going to contact you soon anyway.”
Jack had expected as much—when Daisy was ready. She was too confrontational to let what had happened between them that night go by without being addressed. Not that he was taking the blame for everything. She was at fault here, too. Figuring she would want him to give as good as he got, he said back, just as dryly, “To return my car, repay the cash you stole and reimburse me for the $2358.29 in credit card charges you racked up the last two days?”
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