Marcus chuckled, a warm rumble beneath her ear. “People have always talked about us, Lis. They can’t figure out why I prefer to spend my free time with you rather than out hitting a little white ball around a bunch of manicured grass.”
“Hey! I take my share of it, too. I’m always the odd one out when the girls get together in the cafeteria to complain about picking up their husband’s dirty socks.”
He pulled her closer. “I guess we’re luckier than we think sometimes, huh?” he asked, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“We sure are,” Lisa said, believing the words, but knowing full well that luck, like their love, may not be enough to save their marriage.
She lay awake in his arms long after he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. She continued to be besieged with moments of sheer panic, when she imagined the disgust, the breach of trust she’d see in Marcus’s eyes once he knew what she’d done. She prayed over and over, in those moments, that the seed hadn’t taken, that Marcus would never know how she’d betrayed him.
But as her mind grew weary, her thoughts drifted to her old dream, the one where Marcus was holding their baby in his big strong arms, cradling it against him, protecting it. And always in the dream, Marcus’s eyes were filled with love, his voice echoing with laughter.
The dream vanished suddenly when, out of the darkness, it finally came to her what had been different about Marcus’s lovemaking that second time. He hadn’t held her as if he was protecting her, but more as if he was letting her go.
As if he’d been saying goodbye.
CHAPTER FIVE
RON CAMPBELL stuck his head into Marcus’s office one afternoon almost two weeks later. “The house is yours, Mr. Cartwright.”
“Thanks, Ron.” Marcus hated the place already.
The young man came into his office and sat down in one of the huge maroon chairs in front of Marcus’s desk, handing Marcus a fax with the final figures on it, along with a copy of the deed.
“They’re overnighting the keys. You should have them sometime tomorrow.”
“Fine. As soon as they arrive, I’d like you to fly out and get it furnished for me.” He’d live with whatever choices Ron made, though judging from the ponytail hanging down the young man’s back, Marcus had a feeling their tastes were very different.
“Of course. I can do it this week if you’d like. Should I consult Mrs. Cartwright on her preferences?”
Marcus shook his head, already feeling the overwhelming loss that was going to leave him incomplete for the rest of his life. “She’s got a lot on her mind right now. Just go ahead and use your own judgment.”
Oh, Lisa. How am I ever going to live without you?
MARCUS LEFT WORK early that Friday. He’d just received a telephone call from Ron telling him the house would be ready the following day. He couldn’t stall any longer. He waited only until he knew the housekeeper would be gone for the day and then packed up his briefcase. He wasn’t sure how soon he’d be back.
“You okay?” Marge asked, a concerned frown marking her matronly brow as Marcus told her he was leaving and wouldn’t be back before Monday.
“Fine.” Truth was he’d never felt worse in his life. But he was finally doing something. It beat these past months of procrastinating.
Marge couldn’t seem to let it go, and her words stopped him as he was about to step through the door. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong, Marcus?”
He sighed. “Nothing a day or two of rest won’t fix.”
“So why the new house in Chicago?”
He opened his mouth to tell her. She’d know soon enough, anyway. But the words just wouldn’t come. “We’ve doubled our Midwest holdings in the past two years. It’s time to have a base there.”
“You haven’t kept me here all these years for being stupid, Marcus. I just want you to know that I’m here if there’s anything I can do.”
Warmed by his secretary’s words, he nodded and left. There wasn’t anything Marge could do. There wasn’t anything anybody could do.
Meaning to go straight home and get it over with, Marcus found himself heading toward Yale, instead. With Oliver Webster only a couple of blocks away, it wouldn’t be right if he left without saying goodbye.
Walking across the sixteen-acre village green, bordered on three sides by churches as old as New Haven, and by Yale on the fourth, Marcus was surrounded by monuments of his ancestors. Straight in front of him was Center Congregational, the church his great-greatgreat grandfather had helped build with his own hands.
And when Marcus turned, Yale yawned before him, a huge testimony to the few men, Harvard graduates, a Cartwright among them, who’d had a dream, and the determination to see it through. Not only had they founded a new university, they’d fought the battle to see Yale permanently settled in New Haven, rather than one of the larger towns in the new Connecticut territory.
That was the stock from which Marcus had come, doers all. They’d passed on their determination from generation to generation, producing heirs to carry on the tradition of excellence. Each generation of Cartwrights had fulfilled that responsibility. Until now. Until Marcus. The Cartwright line was going to end with him.
Striding across campus as if he could outdistance the voices of his disappointed ancestors, Marcus hardly noticed the bustling students around him, the comfort of the warm late-summer day, the beauty that the coming fall promised to be with the abundance of huge maple trees surrounding him. He reached his father-in-law’s office in record time.
Oliver’s door was windowed, and looking in, Marcus couldn’t help but smile, though it was a smile tinged with sadness. Oliver was sitting behind his huge oak desk surrounded by books of every shape and size—on the floor around him, lining the shelves along the walls, even on the chairs across from him. With his spectacles on, his brow furrowed, Oliver looked like every student’s worst nightmare of an intimidating college professor. Few people knew just what a softy Oliver Webster really was.
Marcus knocked on the door.
“Come in,” the older man called gruffly, not looking up from the volume in front of him.
“You got a minute?” Marcus asked.
“Marcus! Of course, son, come in. Have a seat.”
Oliver was dressed as usual in a tweed sport coat, slacks and a skinny tie that had been out of fashion for more years than it had been in. Marcus felt a rush of affection for his father-in-law, unlike any feeling he’d ever had for his own father.
“This is difficult,” Marcus said, seated in front of Oliver’s desk, his elbows on his knees. He looked up at his father-in-law, at the understanding in Oliver’s eyes, and suddenly felt a dam burst inside him. “I’m making your daughter miserable, Oliver. I can’t remember the last time I saw joy in her eyes. These days they’re either unhappy or attempting to mask unhappiness.”
“Give her time, son. She’ll come around.”
Marcus shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to buy into false hopes any longer. “Time isn’t going to change our problem. It only seems to be making it worse. These past couple of weeks Lisa hasn’t just been unhappy. She’s been edgy, nervous. She’s hiding her thoughts from me.” That was what had finally convinced Marcus to give Lisa her freedom. He couldn’t bear it that his wife no longer felt she could confide in him, that he was losing her friendship along with everything else.
“Come to think of it, she’s been that way the few times I’ve seen her, too,” Oliver said, frowning. “Maybe we should have a talk with that girl, huh?”
“She and I have done all the talking we can do.” Marcus shook his head a second time. “Talk can’t change what’s ailing us, Oliver. You know that as well I do. Lisa was meant to be a mother, and she’s not going to feel fulfilled and happy until she is one.”
“Have you two talked more about adoption, then?”
“Again, there’s no point. I have no intention of forcing Lisa to settle for someone else’s child when she’s perfectly capable of having her
own. I won’t rob her of the experience of feeling her baby kick inside her, of having him nestled at her breast or seeing herself when she looks in his eyes.”
“The way my daughter feels about you would more than compensate her for missing those things.”
“I’m not so sure about that. But even if it does now, for how long? What if we find out, too late, that it doesn’t compensate at all?”
Oliver spread his hands wide. “Do we ever have such guarantees?”
“It’s a moot point, regardless,” Marcus said, standing. “Because while Lisa needs to be a mother, I am not meant to be a father.”
“What nonsense is this?” Oliver stood, too, facing Marcus. “You’d make a wonderful father.”
“Apparently the good Lord doesn’t agree with you.” Marcus held up his hand, warding off Oliver’s next words. “Say what you will, Oliver, but I’ve thought about this long and hard. Hell, sometimes it feels as though I think of nothing else. And the only conclusion I come to is that I’m not meant to be a father. It’s the only thing that makes my sterility bearable—the thought that maybe I’m sparing some poor kid a bad life.”
“I’d be more willing to bet that any child you fathered, by any means, would live a blessed life,” Oliver said softly.
Marcus forced himself to look the older man straight in the eye. “I’ve failed Lisa. Our plans together have become impossible dreams. I do not intend to go on failing her.”
“What are you saying, son?” Oliver asked, his brow furrowed.
“I’ve bought a house in Chicago. I plan to stay there until the divorce is final—maybe forever if Lisa wants our house. I certainly have no need for it.”
Oliver fell back into his chair, stunned. “You’re walking out on her?”
“Of course not,” Marcus said quickly. “I’ll be there for her until the day I die, if she needs me to be. I’m simply giving her the freedom to find another man to build her dreams around. I hope, in the long run, I’ll be making her happy again.”
“And this is what you want? For another man to father Lisa’s children? You trust another man to teach them, to provide for them, to love them?”
Marcus sat back down, knowing he’d lost, even while.Oliver was still fighting for him. The thought of Lisa in another man’s arms made him want to kill. But what kind of man would he be to deny her the chance? Didn’t loving her mean making her happy? And if that meant freeing her to find the dreams he couldn’t give her, what choice did he have?
“I trust Lisa to choose a man who would be worthy of her children,” he said, the words cutting a wound clear to his soul.
“You’re determined to do this?”
“I am.”
“What about your own happiness, son?”
“I’ll be a lot happier than I am now just knowing she’s happy again.”
Who the hell am I kidding? he thought. If I get through the next twenty-four hours, it’ll be a miracle.
FEELING LIKE A MAN convicted for a crime he didn’t commit, Marcus walked slowly up the front steps of the house he’d grown up in. The late-August heat was sapping his strength, but he wouldn’t take off his jacket. He couldn’t afford to get comfortable. Just a little bit longer, and he could crawl away and begin the long arduous chore of healing his wounds. One thing was for sure. He was going to be healing them alone.
The house was silent when he let himself in. He was glad he’d waited until Hannah was gone before confronting Lisa. He couldn’t stand to think of someone else overhearing the demise of his marriage.
“Lis? You home?” he called, dropping his keys into the little brass tray on the side table.
“In here,” Lisa called from the living room.
She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up under the skirt of her pale blue suit, hugging one of his mother’s brocade throw pillows to her chest. She avoided his eyes when he walked in, killing his last hope that there was another way. His decision was right. It was necessary.
“Our time’s up, isn’t it, Lis?” he asked, forcing himself to sit down and handle this calmly.
Her gaze flew to his face, stricken, but she looked away again immediately, still hiding from him. He wondered if it was relief she was hiding. She’d probably been ready to do this weeks ago, but knowing Lisa, she’d never be the one to leave him. She’d stand beside him until the end if he asked her to. And as soul destroying as Marcus knew that would be, he was tempted, even now, to ask. If she’d just look at him.
“I bought a house in Chicago,” he said. “I can move in anytime.”
“What?” she cried, her expression shocked. He had her full attention now. “You’re moving? You can’t move.”
“I thought you’d want this house, but if not, we’ll get you another. You can have whatever you want, Lis. What’s mine will always be yours. The divorce won’t change that.” Even as he said the words he wondered if he was trying to hold her with the one thing he’d always known people wanted from him—his money. “Unless you want it to, that is,” he added. Smooth, Cartwright, real smooth.
“Divorce?” The blood drained from her face. “You’re asking for a divorce?”
She wasn’t supposed to take it so hard. He wanted her to be thankful for her freedom, to make this just a little bit easy on him. “It’s the only answer, Lis.”
She jumped up from the couch. “It’s no answer at all! You can’t divorce me now. I’m pregnant!” she hollered, throwing the pillow she’d been holding at him.
The pillow hit Marcus in the face and dropped into his lap. Did she say pregnant? Lisa was pregnant? He saw the confirmation in the still way she held herself, the strained look in her face. Relief rushed through him. Profound relief, leaving him weak. He didn’t have to leave.
And then it hit him. The baby wasn’t his. Couldn’t possibly be his. Nor could it be some anonymous donor’s; he knew he had to sign a waiver for that to happen, and he hadn’t, had he? Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d make it to the bathroom in time to be sick. He’d known Lisa wasn’t happy. And he’d have bet his life on her fidelity. Who the hell is this man who’d laid his hands on my wife? He’d not only lost Lisa’s friendship, he’d lost her loyalty. And suddenly nothing mattered. Nothing.
“Who’s the father?” he asked, because it seemed like something he should say, not because he ever wanted to know. The deed was done. The whos and whys no longer mattered.
The part of him that was outside the entire scene, watching dispassionately as his life crumbled around him, saw Lisa fall to her knees in front of him. And that same part felt her clutch desperately at his hand with both of hers. It saw the pain in her eyes and wanted to reach out to her, make her pain go away.
But he sat frozen. His love for Lisa, his marriage of ten years, had been a mockery. He’d thought these last couple of weeks of living with Lisa and knowing he was losing her had cost him more emotionally than anything else in his entire life. He’d been wrong.
“Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry,” Lisa was saying. She was crying, too. His slacks were becoming damp with her tears.
He watched her silently, saw her wrenching display of emotion, afraid of how much he was going to feel if he allowed himself to feel.
“I…I didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” she said brokenly. “I had everything all planned. Oh, Marcus, I did it for you. I love you so much. Please believe me—the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt,” Marcus said. It was true. He wasn’t feeling anything at all.
“When you said that about a divorce, the news just came tumbling out. I’m so sorry, honey. There is no father other than you. I haven’t been with anybody but you.” She looked up, and her big brown eyes, so full of love, implored him to understand. “I was artificially inseminated, Marcus.”
He didn’t react. All he felt was confusion. She did this without his knowledge or agreement? Or had he…Numb, Marcus just stared at her.
“After my birthd
ay and that horrible conversation we had about knowing when it was over,” Lisa went on, “I knew it was only a matter of time before you convinced yourself I’d be happier without you. But you’re wrong, Marcus. You’re the other half of myself, and no other man, and no baby, either, is ever going to complete me the way you do.”
She paused, still gazing up at him, as if waiting for his reaction. When Marcus continued to stare at her silently, she started to speak again, but had to pause when fresh tears choked her. Marcus watched as she blinked them away, swallowed and began again. “I also know that if you left, you’d never be happy again, either.”
Marcus flinched, almost overwhelmed by a pain that was frightening in its split-second intensity. And then it was gone. His happiness wasn’t her problem.
“I know you, Marcus,” she said, her voice firm for the first time since he’d walked in the door. “You’d have lived out the rest of your life alone, never knowing the greatest of joys, only the greatest of sorrows. And I love you too much to see that happen. So I went to see Beth.”
He said nothing.
“I chose a specimen that matched you completely—brown hair, blue eyes, six-one, 186 pounds—”
“I weigh 180,” Marcus said. It mattered somehow.
“—even the same blood type,” she continued, as if he hadn’t interrupted. “It was just one little vial in a bank, Marcus, sort of like blood in a blood bank…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes still pleading with him to understand.
Rage consumed Marcus, blurring the sight of his wife on her knees in front of his chair. She had another man’s seed in her womb. She was his wife, but she had another man’s child growing inside of her. He clenched every muscle in his body, willing himself to remain controlled, to keep a hold on the violence shuddering inside of him.
“Say something, Marcus. Please say something.” She was crying again. And begging. And no matter what she’d done, he couldn’t bear to see her like that.
“You went to Beth,” he said, concentrating on that piece of information. His wife had betrayed him, but he was apparently still the only one who knew the delights of her body. At the moment, that small victory hardly seemed to matter.
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