Tilly nudged Alice. “He’s talking about her.”
Alice nodded. “Audra,” she whispered, clutching her rosary beads.
Father Benedict raised his head and swept his arms toward the crowd. “There is a way to correct these sins,” he said in a voice which didn’t quite reach the microphone. “There is a way to repent. Stop the damage now, as you would a bleeding wound. No more gossip. No more insinuations or accusations. No speaking to newspapers or radio talk show hosts or any other individuals bent on damage and destruction. It’s time to rebuild our faith, our spirit, our souls. It’s time to show one damaged woman we are indeed Christians, with hearts and consciences who care for our fellow sister. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he said, raising his hand in the sign of the cross.
“Amen.”
Tilly shook her head and pulled a church envelope from her purse. “I never thought I’d see the day Father Benedict talked about repentance as though he’s the sinner.”
“Shhh.”
“Oh, Marion, shhhh yourself. Is he crying? I think he is,” Tilly said, squinting.
Alice sat very still, staring at the gold chalice on the altar and wondering if God had punished her for judging the Valentines, wondering also, if her soul were too charred to forgive and be forgiven.
Chapter 27
“Was he a good husband?”—Jack Wheyton
Until ten minutes ago, he hadn’t obsessed about Audra in four whole hours. That was a first. Of course, there’d been an occasional pinch of lust but he’d squelched it before it consumed him. The only time he didn’t think about her was when he was in surgery but he wasn’t Superman, so he couldn’t spend his life in the operating room.
“Jack. Baby, come on. Relax.”
Damn. Leslie and her quick hands and quicker tongue were after him again. What used to be exciting and adventurous had become an obligatory struggle which he could master only if he imagined Audra on top of him. Or under him. It wasn’t as if Leslie were a moose. But she wasn’t Audra. What the hell was wrong with him? Lusting after a woman who had recently proven once again she was a liar.
“I know what you need,” Leslie purred in his ear as she trailed her fingers down his belly. “A little massage, front and back. How’s that sound?”
Like work. “Great.”
“I just bought some new oils. Jasmine, bayberry.” The stroking inched toward his crotch. “And cinnamon-clove. Your personal favorite.”
Actually, it was Leslie’s personal favorite. She liked to spread it on her breasts and rub herself against him while she nipped his neck and told him he tasted just like pumpkin pie. When had the sex become a series of acrobatics which required such effort to get through the act? It wasn’t that way with Audra. It had never been that way with her.
Whap. Leslie threw a pillow at his head and sat up. “I could get more response from a cadaver right now than what I’m getting from you.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “You used to be able to do three surgeries back to back, pleasure me until my head exploded and still wake up in the middle of the night, wanting it again.”
What could he tell her? Even cotton candy gets too sweet after a while? That wouldn’t be true. The sex was great, and would still be great if he could just get that damn woman out of his head.
Leslie tossed a chunk of hair behind her ear and waited. “Say something, damn you.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Tell me I’ve gotten flabby, or you don’t like the massage oils, or I talk too much. Anything. Just say anything.”
He reached up and stroked her arm. “It’s not you, Leslie. It’s me.” That much was true. “I’m having a rough time right now. I need to get a few things straight, that’s all.”
She held out her left hand. “You gave me a ring that should mean you want to be with me for the rest of your life.” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “All you’ve done since you put this on my finger is avoid me. What’s going on?”
“Leslie—”
“Is it someone else?”
Yes! Her name is Audra and she’s haunted me since the first time I laid eyes on her. She’s like a fever that won’t let go and I don’t know what to do. “There’s no one else,” he said. If he mouthed the words long enough maybe they’d come true.
Leslie’s full lips pulled into a sad, soft smile. “She’s yours, isn’t she?”
“What?” Panic stole through him in tiny jolts but he forced himself to remain calm.
“Kara. The tabloids were right. She’s yours.”
This time it wasn’t even a question, but a mere acknowledgement. “Leslie, it’s more complicated—”
“Don’t! I just want the truth, Jack. Can you at least give me that?”
He owed her that much. He’d asked her to be his wife though a psychologist might say it was an attempt to barricade his true feelings with a diamond wall. Well, it hadn’t worked, had it? “She’s mine.”
“God.” She drew in three sharp breaths and let out a garbled cry.
“I’m sorry.” He tried to touch her but she scooted out of reach.
“She stole Christian from me but she was already pregnant with your child?”
“I never knew.” At least that was the truth.
“What about Christian?”
When he didn’t answer, she bit her lower lip and pressed her fingers to her temples. “He knew, didn’t he?” she whispered. “That’s why she never came back, isn’t it? She couldn’t face you.”
“Maybe.”
“You never even wanted a child.”
“That seems a moot point now, doesn’t it?”
“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?”
“No. This has got to stay between us. You understand that, don’t you, Leslie?”
She sniffed and her smile brightened. “Of course, I do. I understand perfectly.”
***
News of Father Benedict’s sermon traveled up and down Main Street and reached Audra by way of Doris, whose cleaning lady had attended Sunday Mass. The cleaning lady said Father Benedict had been possessed of the Holy Spirit and when he spoke his simple white vestments actually glowed. Some claimed his voice transformed into a power befitting the Holy Father. Others said he appeared more humble than Mary Magdalene. And still others compared him to St. Peter. No matter the presentation, the most shocking of all was the subject matter. Oh, the priest might not have spoken the name but every person in those pews knew he was talking about Audra Valentine, knew too Father Benedict had taken a stand to protect her from the newspaper and television reports, and he expected them to do the same.
The whole town enveloped Audra in a cocoon of silence. When The Sentinel contacted the Mayor’s office for a statement, he replied, no comment. When Cindy Kay of WXBG stuck a microphone in the postmaster’s face, he puffed out his chest and sang The National Anthem. On and on it went, from the cashier at Kroger’s to the accountant at H&R block, to the mailman delivering across town. As the questions rolled in, the reply remained the same.
Who is the real father of Audra Valentine Wheyton’s child? No comment.
Why do you think Audra Valentine Wheyton wanted to keep her identity a secret? No comment.
Do you think Jack and Audra were having an affair all these years? No comment
Do you think Audra and Peter Andellieu are more than friends? No comment.
Audra had no idea why a priest who had spent years perfecting his superiority would suddenly cast aside such aspirations and embrace someone who had been labeled whore and evil. It made no sense.
Unless he wanted cleansing for the sin of lusting after Corrine Valentine. Audra hadn’t seen Father Benedict since his confession and had no desire to see him now, though she was grateful for his intervention. The man’s words clamped the mouths of the whole town, a sign of just how powerful religion could be.
She half expected a similar sermon from Pastor Richot, but it didn’t
happen. Surprising, considering he was clearly the town favorite. Perhaps he didn’t believe in preaching for modern day causes. Since he’d given her tidbits about her real father, she’d been scouring the streets, pumping Doris for married men with families her mother might have known. Doris tried to come up with a few names but ended up with nothing, which left Audra praying Kara’s illness was healed.
Jack said little about Kara’s condition letting Bernie handle most of the visits, which had dwindled to one every other week. Since Jack discovered he was Kara’s real father, he’d only visited once and that was a brief encounter in which he’d flopped on his words and tried unsuccessfully to teach Kara to throw a Frisbee. If Kara were in the hospital hooked to tubes and monitors he’d have no problem opening up to her, but a flesh and blood, almost healthy child, now that seemed to make Jack very uncomfortable.
It was late afternoon and Alice and Kara had coerced Joe into going to the market with them to buy Cortland apples for pie. Fall hugged the trees, shifting colors from green to yellow and orange. Kara would start school in two weeks, either here or on the west coast. Peter called every night and often during the day, patient yet subtly persistent in his desire to have them back in San Diego. Christian would want it this way, he said.
Would you, Christian? The sudden need to escape the Wheyton household and the memories haunting her in Jack’s bedroom smothered her. She snatched the car keys and headed for the outskirts of town, up the winding hill toward St. Peter’s cemetery. When her mother first died, Mrs. Mertigan drove Grandma Lenore here every Sunday to water the geraniums and pray the Our Father. Most times, Grandma Lenore dragged Audra too. Corrine’s grave was on the far side of the cemetery, a tiny plot with a tinier headstone which read Beloved Daughter, Loving Mother Who Left This World Too Soon.
Once Grandma Lenore died, Audra stopped coming to the cemetery, preferring to savor memories of her grandmother in the kitchen baking bread and making pasta or in her rocking chair praying to her saints. Audra didn’t have to pretend to want to visit her mother anymore.
She found Corrine’s headstone, faded and plain. How disappointed her mother would be to have been relegated to such a drab spot. Beside her rested Grandma Lenore and Grandpa Carmine, a man Audra never knew, in equally small, equally nondescript headstones with identical inscriptions. “Who were you really, Corrine?” The breeze carried her whispered words spinning and swirling through the cemetery.
She tried to conjure happy memories with her mother but they were punctured with bad ones. How could she forget her thirteenth birthday? It started out with a Wake up, Birthday Girl, from Corrine, which in itself was a present, followed by thirteen pink balloons, and poached eggs on toast, another present since her mother didn’t cook. She had the whole day planned for her birthday girl. You’re a woman now, she’d said and in keeping with that newly elevated status, she’d chosen an array of womanly activities—a lavender bubble bath, painted nails, lessons on makeup application, and a pluck by pluck demonstration on tweezing eyebrows. They’d made it through the bath and nails and Corrine had tweezed one of Audra’s eyebrows when the call came. Audra heard the deep voice on the other end of the line, saw her mother’s face pink up, her full lips curve in a slow smile as she played with the string of fake pearls around her neck. When the call ended, so did the birthday celebration. Corrine checked her makeup in the oval mirror, patted her hair and grabbed a cashmere jacket. Then she was gone, leaving Audra with a tray of Maybelline and one plucked eyebrow.
That’s when she realized the disappointments would never end. There would always be another man, another more important engagement. She stopped expecting anything from Corrine Valentine, a woman who might have birthed her but was not a mother, a fact Corrine must have realized long before the rest of them did.
But Audra was a mother and she’d do anything for her daughter, including exposing a married man with children who could be the lost father she never knew. If only Pastor Richot would tell her more.
She said a quick prayer and began the search for Christian’s grave. He would have loved the location, if one could love a burial site. It sat on a grassy knoll surrounded by brilliant clusters of potted geraniums and alyssum. Even in death, the Wheytons claimed superiority over the Valentines. The long rectangle of new grass covered the earth in a thick carpet of green velvet, so alluring Audra was tempted to curl up on this soft bed and let her worries flow into the earth.
The sparkling white granite stone fit Christian. Loving son, father, husband. You left us too soon. “Oh, Christian, what have we done?” What had seemed so logical, so right nine years ago, now teetered under the deceit and hurt they’d caused in the name of self-preservation.
“Audra.”
At first, she thought she’d imagined Jack’s voice, carried to her heart by longing and memory. She could tell him she didn’t care, pretend she didn’t want to see him again, but he lived in a corner of her heart, breathed her breath, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Audra. Are you all right?”
She turned then. He stood several feet from her, sunglasses shielding his eyes, dark hair lifted by the late afternoon breeze.
“Jack.” Was that a breathy voice? Could he tell?
He stepped closer. “Do you need time alone? I can come back later.”
The gentleness of his tone smothered her. “No. No, that’s fine. You can stay.”
Three more steps and he was beside her, the scent of his cologne filling her, his presence both calming and exhilarating. She turned away and settled her gaze on the headstone, particularly the word husband.
“He was a great man.”
“Yes, he was,” she murmured, remembering his easy smile, his steady temperament, his rich laugh.
“And a great brother.”
“He said the same about you.” On the less than ten occasions when I actually permitted him to talk about you.
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“He always looked forward to coming back here.” Maybe each time he’d hoped the trip would mend the unspoken rift between himself and Jack.
“Not you though, right?” He was staring at his brother’s headstone, his expression fierce.
“No. Not me.”
“Was he a good husband?”
The question threatened to rupture her composure. “Yes. He was a very good husband.”
“Good. I’m glad you were happy.”
“Were you really coming back for me?” Dear God, where had that come from?
He didn’t speak for such a long time she hoped he’d chosen to ignore the question. “Yes. I really was.”
A deep, slow pain seared her chest, spread to her brain. Their lives might have been so different if only he’d made it back sooner. If only she’d had the courage to tell him the truth.
“I’d like to start seeing Kara.”
He hadn’t attempted to see their daughter since learning he was her father. She’d just begun to relax and now, bam, he struck. Stay cool. Don’t let him know you’re upset. “How do you see this playing out?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. I just want to get to know her.”
“And Leslie? How does she feel about it?”
“Leslie’s got nothing to do with this. Kara’s my daughter and I want to spend time with her.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He faced her and yanked off his sunglasses. “Because she’s my daughter.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Why couldn’t they spend ten minutes together, at a cemetery no less, without sparring? “Of course you’ll want to see her but at some point, we both have to resume our lives.”
“I thought we’d done that.”
“This?” She gestured at Christian’s headstone. “Living at your parents’ house, sleeping in your old bed? That’s not my life, Jack.”
“So, make a few modifications. Rent a condo if you don’t want to buy right away. The Sentinel is always looking for writers, and you ca
n—”
“Jack, stop. We’re not staying here.”
“It’s that damn doctor, isn’t it?”
A pinch of guilt spread over her face. “No,” she said but he saw through her.
“You’ve got a thing for him, don’t you?” His voice grew louder, angrier. “You and Dr. Perfection.”
“Peter’s a friend.”
“Right.” He threw her a look of disgust. “Friends with benefits.”
“Stop it.”
“What is it with you? Do you screw every guy you meet or just the ones your husband trusts?” She raised a hand to slap him but he caught her wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”
“You’re hurting me.” She tried to wrench her hand free, but Jack only clamped harder.
“Did you cheat on my brother?” He moved closer, his face inches from hers.
Did he really think her capable of such a thing? Obviously, he did. “I never cheated on Christian.”
He studied her for several more seconds, his silver gaze flitting over every feature, landing on her lips before he flung her away and spat out, “I think you’re lying.”
She’d had enough of Jack Wheyton and his opinions. “How dare you? I’ve never been unfaithful to Christian and I was never unfaithful to you. You left me. Remember?” She ignored the hard set of his jaw, the flaring nostrils that spoke of anger and disgust.
“That has nothing to do with Peter Andellieu.”
“Doesn’t it?” To hell with him. “Maybe you feel guilty because you can’t say the same, can you? You had a girlfriend and you slept with me, didn’t you? You know what I think?” She jabbed her finger in his chest, anger burning through her. “I think if you could, you’d do it again, even with a fiancé who’s wearing a rock the size of your parents’ kitchen table.” He opened his mouth to speak but only silence fell out. “That’s what I thought.” She jammed her sunglasses on her face and marched down the path toward her mother’s grave.
Pulling Home (That Second Chance) Page 19