Naturally. Having Dexter be the one to file for divorce would support any future claims Barry planned to make through his legal counsel that he’d taken the tuition money she offered and dumped her once graduation was a certainty. She became more suspicious than ever. Was Barry’s resentment of Dexter so strong that even if Dexter did go along with the divorce, that he would have him prosecuted anyway?
“I know that,” she said dully. “I’ll tell him this week, I promise.”
“I’m looking forward to next weekend.” Barry’s voice became low and seductive. “You, me, a crackling fireplace, and a bearskin rug.”
She thought she was going to be sick. How could she have actually considered entering into marriage with a man she wasn’t remotely attracted to?
Because she’d been desperate. She could never allow herself to forget just how wretched she’d felt just a few months ago. Thank God she’d met Dexter. He’d enriched her life with his exuberance, his playfulness, his plain folks common sense...and he thrilled her with his skills as a lover. How ironic that it had been Barry who’d led her to Dexter in the first place.
Genevieve hated leading Barry on, making him believe she’d go away with him, but she saw no other way. Dexter was so busy, and their conversations were so rushed. He kept assuring her they’d have time to spend together when they left for Poughkeepsie, but she had to tell Barry she wasn’t going with him before that.
She and Dexter planned to catch a train to Poughkeepsie late Wednesday afternoon, while Barry said he wanted to drive out of the city early Thursday morning. Genevieve decided to write Barry a letter telling him she couldn’t go through with it and have it hand-delivered to his home via messenger service early Wednesday evening, after she and Dexter had already left. In it she would tell Barry that she felt the best thing he could do was forget her, and she’d cross her fingers that Barry would accept her decision and not try to see her after her return to New York. In the meantime, she couldn’t risk his finding out she was with Dexter.
And she certainly hoped that Dexter meant it when he said they had nothing to worry about.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Genevieve, Barry,” Brenda Smith said. “But we’re glad you could join us for the holiday.”
“Thanks for making room for me at your table,” he replied. They’d finished dinner about ten minutes earlier. The Smith’s college-age son and daughter had moved to relax in the more comfortable living room chairs, along with Brenda’s parents. Barry and his hosts remained at the dining room table to chat amongst themselves. “I’m still going to the mountains for the rest of the weekend, though. I booked the room until Monday. I might as well use it.”
Stan gave Barry’s shoulder a hearty slap. “There you go. Don’t let this get you down. Genevieve’s a nice young lady, but the key word there is young. There’s a ton of single women out there closer to your age. As the word spreads that you’re single again, you’ll have to fight the ladies off with a stick.” He laughed. “I should have such problems.”
Brenda grunted. “Hmph. You’d better stop envying Barry’s single status and get to work trying to line up a tenant,” she told her husband.
“You guys down a tenant again?” Barry asked. It felt good to ask about their problems instead of having them discuss his. It was humiliating to have been dumped. He only wished he knew where Genevieve had gone. He suspected she was right here in the city, with the old friend from high school she’d hooked up with, having dinner with the friend’s family. Or perhaps she really had left town and was holed up in a hotel room somewhere. Thanksgiving had little meaning for Genevieve, since she wasn’t American.
As long as she wasn’t with Dexter. Barry had already casually asked Brenda about her tenant’s whereabouts, and Brenda told him that Dexter had gone up to Poughkeepsie to spend the weekend with his grandparents.
Since witnessing Dexter kissing Genevieve, Barry retained suspicions about Dexter trying to seduce her. Unlike the marital entanglement that had complicated Barry’s life until recently, no such barrier existed to stop Genevieve from sleeping with Dexter. And while he understood that Genevieve’s self-imposed exile had left her starved for affection, he couldn’t get the picture of that dazed look on her face after she and Dexter broke apart. She’d never looked like that when he kissed her...
To Stan and Brenda he said, “Didn’t you rent—” it hurt to say her name aloud—“Genevieve’s old room?”
“Oh, yes, but now that Dexter’s finishing law school, he’ll probably be moving out. He’s already got a job with an old, established firm in lower Manhattan,” Stan explained.
“He’s had some rough times over the past year,” Brenda added, “but it’s about to pay off. You know, if he were five or six years younger I’d want to fix him up with Kirsten.”
“She’s too young for him, Brenda!” Stan objected.
Barry sipped his coffee. How different things could have been if Stan and Brenda’s daughter had hit it off with Dexter. He couldn’t help thinking that Dexter somehow played a role in Genevieve’s decision to bolt.
“Stan, your baby girl is twenty-one years old. There’s fewer years between her and Dexter than there were between Barry and Genevieve,” Brenda pointed out. “And Dexter’s quite the catch. He’s going to have a lucrative career handling medical malpractice cases. Plus, he comes from a good family. His grandmother called this morning. Dexter got there last night, but she wanted to wish us a happy holiday and to thank us for watching out for him all these years.”
“If anything, that proves he’s about to move out,” Stan said before taking a generous bit of pound cake.
“I thought it was nice of Mrs. Gray to call,” Brenda noted. To Barry she said, “We only met she and her husband once, when they came to the city to attend Dexter’s graduation from medical school.”
“Nice people,” Stan remarked. Then he chuckled. “It’s the craziest thing, Barry. “Mr. Gray’s name is Sears, and he told me he had a twin brother named Roebuck. Their parents named them after the old catalog.”
Barry laughed at the choice of names. “That is pretty funny.”
Brenda drew in her breath. “I just remembered something else his grandmother told me this morning. Dexter brought a girlfriend home with him. Mrs. Gray said he’s never done that before. She says the girl is lovely, and that she and Mr. Gray are thrilled. So Stan, you don’t have to worry about Kirsten and Dexter. It sounds like he’s about to go off the market.”
“Good. It’s a bad idea to try to set her up with him. Let our baby girl meet a nice man closer to her own age.”
Barry listened to the exchange, and suddenly with sick certainty he knew Genevieve was the woman Dexter’s grandparents were so happy about. Somehow Dexter had talked her into going up to Poughkeepsie with him. Maybe he’d threatened her with exposure to the INS if she didn’t accompany him. White-hot fury engulfed Barry. He didn’t know what that scrub was up to, and he didn’t care. He was going up there and bring Genevieve back to the city. He hadn’t minded hinting to her that he’d ruin Dexter if she didn’t get rid of him, but that’s all it had been...a vague insinuation to get her to do what he wanted.
It had been a major mistake to share his feelings with Genevieve. Ever since he told her he loved her she’d been slipping away from him. He couldn’t let her get away. All that talk about not being able to love him was ridiculous. He’d been a fine husband to that unappreciative ex-wife of his, and he’d be the same with Genevieve. She was perfect for him. Not only was she gorgeous, but she had money of her own and wouldn’t be attracted by his, the way Candy had. Genevieve might be temporarily smitten with Dexter, but Barry was determined to get her back.
It might involve being a little sneaky, but he’d do it. After this stunt Dexter just pulled, though, he might just go ahead and report him for participating in a fraud, as long as it could be done in such a way so that Genevieve would be spared. It should be easy to portray her as a victim, a beaut
iful young immigrant all alone in the world, whom Dexter had heartlessly taken advantage of and extorted.
His brain made note of all he’d learned during the brief exchange between Stan and Brenda. Dexter’s grandparents lived in Poughkeepsie. Their family name was Gray, and the grandfather’s name was Roebuck...or Sears, one of those. That should be enough for him to be able to track them down. All he needed was a Poughkeepsie phone book, which he could get on-line.
“Mom, Dad, are you ready to watch this DVD?” Kirsten Smith called from the living room.
“Yes, I guess so,” Brenda said, rising.
“Guys, I think, I’m going to head out,” Barry said. “I’ve got a long drive in front of me. But would you mind if I used your computer first?”
Chapter 25
Genevieve awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. One look at the double canopied bed and daisy print wallpaper and she wondered if she’d somehow she’d gone back in time to her adolescent years in Paris, when her mother was alive.
It came to her when her still-sleepy eyes focused on the crib in the corner. That crib had belonged to Dexter when he’d been an infant, or maybe his twin Lexi; no one could be sure. She was at the home of Dexter’s grandparents, Sears and Edna Gray, in Poughkeepsie.
She stretched lazily in the comfortable bed and let out a yawn. They’d gotten in just before six last night, and it was already dark out. An exhausted Dexter had slept the whole trip. The senior Grays had come to meet their train, and she’d been struck by the difference in their heights. Sears was tall, no more than an inch or two shorter than Dexter’s six-three. Like Dexter, he was lean. There was even a little bit of a resemblance between grandfather and grandson. Edna Gray, on the other hand, stood over a foot shorter than her husband. When Genevieve commented on the older woman’s petite size, Edna proudly informed her that in her younger days she used to stand five feet, one-and-a-half inches before her height diminished with age to just under five feet.
There’d been an unexpected moment of amusement when Dexter introduced her to his grandparents. Sears looked puzzled and said, “Jon who?” She and Dexter had looked at each other and burst out laughing, prompting the senior Grays to exchange bewildered looks, not understanding what was so funny. Dexter quickly explained that he’d reacted the exact same way the first time he’d heard her name. “I just call her Jenny,” he said. “I’m sure she won’t mind if you do the same.”
She nodded agreement. As far as she was concerned ownership of that nickname belonged to Dexter, but anything to make it easy for these nice elderly people.
“Genevieve is a pretty name,” Edna said. “It sounds French.”
“It is.”
“Are you from France?” Sears asked, his interest obviously piqued. “I was there during the war, you know.”
“Oh, Sears,” his wife said wearily. To Genevieve she said, “The war was just about over by the time he got into it in late ‘Forty-Four. Of course, to hear him tell it, he was the hero of D-Day.”
Dexter jumped in as Sears gave his wife an indignant stare. “No, Grandpa. Jenny’s not from France. She’s from a tiny Caribbean island that used to be owned by France.” Dexter named the country.
“Oh, that was in the paper today,” Sears said.
Genevieve clutched Dexter’s arm. “It was?”
“Yeah. Something about a humanitarian investigation into corruption.”
Her throat suddenly felt dry. “Do you still have the paper?”
“I never throw them out until the next morning,” Edna said. “I’ll show it to you as soon as we get home.”
Genevieve only had a dim awareness of what went on in the Gray’s Chevrolet during the ride to their home. Her thoughts were on the newspaper article Sears had seen. She had a dim consciousness of Dexter insisting that he take the wheel, saying that at eighty-four his grandfather’s vision wasn’t what it used to be, and of Sears protesting even as he got into the passenger seat. The octogenarian launched into reminiscing about his time in France while riding shotgun, while Edna, sitting in the back seat with Genevieve, seemed to be sulking about something. Genevieve paid attention to the conversation long enough to figure out that sixty years later Edna still resented a young Frenchwoman Sears had romanced over there. Sears clearly enjoyed his wife’s jealousy.
Genevieve managed to put her thoughts of the article away long enough to respond when Sears informed her that Edna was being unreasonable—he hadn’t even met his future wife until he returned home months after the war ended—in her resentment of his old love, who was nothing now but the most distant of memories for him. “Edna knows she’s the one I married and shared my life with,” he said pointedly.
“Love doesn’t always make sense,” she’d said, her eyes glued to Dexter’s reflection in the rear view mirror.
“Well, Grandma, I think after all this time you can let it rest,” Dexter said, his voice tinged with affection.
His next words were the only part of the ride that Genevieve could vividly recall.
“But I do think it’s natural for either party to feel a little threatened by a third party.” His eyes went to the rearview mirror, where he looked at her for a prolonged moment.
She knew he referred to Barry, but when they pulled up in front of the modest, narrow A-frame house with pointy roof and a generous front porch, eagerness to see the newspaper article took precedence.
She had just sat down on the solid navy upholstered couch when Edna handed her the newspaper. Genevieve anxiously scanned the front page, conscious of Dexter moving closer to her on the sofa. Her index finger went across each line of text of the article, which had been picked up from the Associated Press. Her heart pounded, and she could barely breathe when she came across her father's name.
“...looking into the disappearance of the noted chemist Julien L'Esperance, who was topping off his brilliant career by serving as Interior Secretary for the country of his birth.”
“Look, Dexter! They mention Papa!” She let out her breath. “So he did contact a reporter. I always wondered why he didn’t tell someone else besides me what he knew. What do you suppose took the man nearly two years to write about it?”
“Hard to tell.” Dexter shrugged. “It might have taken him this long to do his research. Or maybe it was a slow news day. Your father might have even asked him to wait, to give you time to assimilate and become harder to trace. You can always contact the reporter and tell him who you are. I’m sure he’ll answer any questions you might have.”
She turned her face heavenward for a moment, then said, “Wouldn't it be great if things really changed down there as a result of this? It would mean that something good came out of Papa being killed.”
“I don’t want to come off like a spoilsport, Jenny, but try not to get too excited about this,” Dexter said gently. “People aren’t just going to walk away from million-dollar vacation homes. As far as they’re concerned, they’re doing their part by providing employment for the residents.” He grunted. “I’m sure the people who own those estates don’t even raise their own kids, much less do their own dusting and vacuuming.”
“Yes, but it says that a deal to build beachfront condos may fall through. And that a humanitarian group is dispatching medical staff to provide basic health care for the residents,” she said excitedly. “If that real estate deal falls through it’ll cost them millions. Maybe if they’re hit where it hurts, the government will take better care of their citizens.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I really hope they do, Jenny.”
Genevieve decided she would contact the reporter when she got back to the city. She saw a connection between the publication of the article and her being here at the Gray’s. Dexter’s grandparents had made her feel so welcome. As she helped his grandmother make the homemade biscuits she said were Dexter’s favorite, Edna confided that he had never brought a girl home with him before. “You must be very special to him, Jenny.”
“I think Dexter’s prett
y special, too,” she admitted.
“I’m glad.” Edna’s eyes dropped to the biscuit dough she was rolling out. “Ooh, Jenny, you’re making the dough too thin. Dexter likes his biscuits thick. Here, I’ll show you.”
With a last stretch, Genevieve pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Yesterday had been relegated to history. It was time to see what this new day would bring. It was, after all, Thanksgiving.
She had much to be thankful for. At last the world would learn what happened to her father, and there was a chance that the plight of the people of her birthplace would improve.
Best of all, she was in love.
Genevieve quickly slipped into her bathrobe and tied it around her waist. She’d take a shower and go downstairs. She could hardly wait to see Dexter. She had to tell him how she felt...and about how she’d handled not going away with Barry.
“Grandma, one of these days we really have to get you a dishwasher,” Dexter’s sister, Lexi, said. “I’m scared to death that I’ll chip one of your good china plates or break your crystal glasses in the sink washing them by hand.”
“Now, a dishwasher would be a waste of good money,” Edna Gray declared. “This one day a year is the only time we have so many dishes, and I already have a dishwasher...you.”
“I’d be happy to help with the dishes,” Genevieve offered.
“I’m going to take you up on that.” Lexi giggled. “So I hope you really meant it.”
They all laughed as Genevieve reached for a dish towel. She had always enjoyed the tradition of Thanksgiving, which she and her father had observed during their years in New York. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been around a family. For nearly half her life it had been just her and her father. If she had felt warmth last night, she felt downright toasty this afternoon being in the midst of all this love.
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