Snow Baby

by Brenda Novak

  Chantel took a deep breath. “I am scared. I have to believe I’ve changed. That I’d never hurt my sister again, disappoint my family the way I did when I was nineteen.”

  “We all make mistakes, Chantel.”

  “Not this kind of mistake.”

  “Were you that much in love with Wade?”

  Chantel let her rigid control slip a little, felt the support of Dillon’s body next to her. “I’m not sure what I felt at first.”

  “Then what was the attraction?”

  “I was awed by him, I guess. Stacy had brought home other boyfriends who sometimes came on to me. But none of them were like Wade. When he was around, the sun shone a little brighter, you know?” She chuckled bitterly. “He was charismatic and charming…and persistent. Even though I’d been teased as a child and still felt quite insecure, I’d been thinking about modeling, and Wade encouraged me, shared that ambition with me. He was always so certain of everything—who we were, where we were going, what we should do next. I let him lead me, and I shouldn’t have.”

  “What about Stacy?”

  “He insisted he was going to call the wedding off, anyway, that it had nothing to do with me. But I shouldn’t have let him wear me down.”

  “Did you ever tell Stacy about the things he was saying to you?”

  Chantel remembered trying to approach her sister. She’d hinted at it along the way, hoping Stacy would give her the opportunity to be completely honest. But every time she broached the subject of Wade, her sister clammed up and brushed her off. “A few times,” she admitted. “But Stacy didn’t want to hear it.”

  “So deep down she knew.”

  “Probably. I don’t know how she could have missed his interest in me, but she wanted the wedding so badly she ignored it. She seemed to care more about catching someone like him, someone other women found attractive, than in marrying the man he truly was. I knew he was too ambitious and spoiled and even selfish, but I was stupid enough to think I could change him.”

  Dillon put an arm around her and pulled her head down on his shoulder. Chantel tried to resist, but the quiet ticking of the clock in the background and the low hum of the television had a hypnotic effect. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to enjoy Dillon’s presence.

  “Did you tell your family what you were going to do?”

  Chantel shook her head. “Wade insisted it would be less painful for everyone if we simply left.” She closed her eyes against the overwhelming regret. “How could I have done such a thing?” she whispered. “When I finally called home, my father told me I wasn’t the person he thought I was. He told me never to contact him again.”

  Chantel felt Dillon gently rubbing her arm, but she was cold inside. So cold she feared she’d never be warm again. She’d betrayed her sister, her father. And now her father was gone. She could never apologize or make it up to him. She often visited his grave on Sundays to say the things she wished she’d said, but she knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

  “And when you and Wade started having problems? What did your father say then?” Dillon asked.

  “Are you kidding? My family never knew. I’d made my bed—I was determined to lie in it. They didn’t want anything to do with me. And I didn’t deserve their love and support.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Except nearly starve yourself to death. A self-inflicted punishment.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That sounds pathetic.”

  “My father’s a psychiatrist. There was a time I wanted to be one, too.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “A friend who was interested in architecture. He’s my partner now. That, and the fact that my father never seems to practice what he preaches. Once he and Mom split, he paid child support, but that was it. I hardly ever saw him. When I did, it felt uncomfortable. And after all these years we’re still strangers. Fortunately he lives in Washington D.C. with his second wife and their grown kids, so I only hear from him at Christmastime.”

  “Are you glad you’re an architect, instead of a psychiatrist?”

  “Yeah.” He smoothed the hair out of her eyes. “Have you ever seen anyone for counseling, Chantel?”

  She laughed weakly. “Are you suggesting I’m crazy?”

  “No. I just think it might be a good idea to talk to someone who could help you come to terms with all this.”

  “I’ve never wanted to tell anyone. I don’t know why I told you now.”

  “Could it be that you were hoping I’d decide you were a bad person, someone I couldn’t possibly love?”

  The way he tilted her chin to look into her eyes made Chantel fear he was going to kiss her. But he didn’t. He just stroked her jaw with the pad of his thumb until she wished she could feel his lips on hers again, feel the completeness they’d experienced once.

  “Let’s get some sleep,” he said. Standing, he turned off the television and the lights. Then he pulled her down beside him on the couch, her body cradled by his, and covered them both with the blanket.

  STACY STOOD in front of the mirror wearing her black lace bra and garter belt. What had gone wrong? The meal had been perfect, the wine superb, the music and lighting soft and relaxing. So why had Dillon rushed off?

  Taking another sip of wine, the last of the bottle, she sank to the floor. If she looked as good as Chantel did, he wouldn’t have left without so much as a peck on the cheek, she thought dejectedly. It was just that she reminded men of their sister or their mother. As a result, they were always friendly but practical. Uninterested in romance.

  The telephone rang, and Stacy gulped the rest of her wine before she crossed to the nightstand to answer it. “Hello?”

  “You sound odd. Were you asleep?”

  Wade. Stacy glanced at her empty glass and wished for more. “No.”

  “Good. Then you don’t mind talking?”

  “For a minute.” She knew she should tell him to go to hell, but the sound of his voice still stirred something in her. She hadn’t been able to hang up on him when he’d called her yesterday, either.

  “Did you speak to Chantel?”

  “Yeah. She’s not going back to you.”

  There was a long pause. “Why not? Is it that other guy?”

  “What other guy?”

  “I don’t know. Some guy came to the house while I was there.”

  Stacy considered that for a minute. Chantel had only been in town for a few weeks. Stacy was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing anyone yet. “Must be her neighbor or something. She hasn’t been dating that I know of.”

  “He seemed pretty damn possessive for a neighbor.”

  She couldn’t picture Chantel’s neighbors. Had she met any of them? She wasn’t sure. She’d have to think about it again in the morning. “I don’t know who he is. I’ll ask her later.”

  “You do that.”

  “How long are you in town?”

  She heard him sigh. “As long as it takes.”

  “I don’t think hanging around will do you any good. You’re not going to change Chantel’s mind.”

  “She’s always come back to me in the past.”

  “She’s left you before?”

  “Just for a day or two, here and there. No relationship is perfect.”

  Something else suddenly occurred to Stacy. “She said she was sick while she was in New York.”

  “Naw, she had it good in New York. She’s a fool to walk away.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence fell between them, and Stacy fiddled with the ribbons on her corset, wondering what her life would have been like if she’d married Wade. Had he changed much? Did he still have any feelings for her? “Are you staying with your parents?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you comfortable there?”

  Another long pause. “You offering to let me stay at your place?”

  “Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’ doesn’t tell me whether or
not to make the drive.”

  Stacy wavered for a minute, indecisive. Part of her was thrilled at the thought of being with Wade again, at the prospect of possibly stealing him back. Maybe then she could finally assuage her wounded ego and forgive Chantel.

  She moved close to the mirror again and stared at her reflection. Maybe her new lingerie would come in handy, after all.

  “Do you want me to come over or not?” he persisted.

  Stacy sucked in her stomach and turned sideways to see her profile. She looked great, she decided. Maybe he’d be sorry he left her.

  His regret would feel wonderful. She knew it would. “If you want to,” she said, and hung up.

  “IT’S LATE. Where are you going?” Wade’s father asked, looking away from the television long enough to frown at him.

  “A friend’s,” Wade answered indifferently, searching the keys dangling from a rack of little brass hooks on the wall.

  “Chantel’s? She taking you back?”

  “That’s not where I’m going, but she’ll take me back. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Henry mumbled something about Chantel and good sense, but Wade wasn’t listening. His parents’ disapproval of him and his life-style wasn’t anything new. “Can I take the Cadillac?”

  “You gonna fill it up?”

  “Come on, Henry, you know I don’t have any money.”

  His father shook his head, his face revealing disgust.

  “I’m not likely to forget, not when it’s me who paid the rent on your fancy New York apartment for three months before you lost it. But I’ll tell ya, I’m getting mighty sick of helping out. You’re thirty-three years old, Wade, too old to be depending on us. You said you wanted to come out here and look for a job, so I bought you a plane ticket, but I haven’t seen any job search going on.”

  “My agent called. He thinks he has something lined up for me, something that’ll pay me more for one shoot than you’ve ever made in a year.”

  “Great!” his father exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his recliner. “Then make more money than me, get another apartment and pay your own damn bills! That’s exactly what I want you to do!”

  “Henry.” Wade’s mother’s quiet rebuke came from the kitchen, where she was busy cleaning the refrigerator or dishing out ice cream or doing something domestic, as always. “Let’s not have words. Wade’s just had a run of hard luck lately. Ever since Chantel left, he’s been too upset to work—”

  “And when she was around, he was doing too well to bother with us. We heard from him maybe once a year.”

  “They were busy, dear. You know how it must have been with all those photo shoots. You’ve seen the covers.”

  “I’ve seen Chantel on the covers.”

  Wade’s restraint nearly snapped. Who was his father, Mr. Middle America, to criticize him? The sum total of his father’s working career had given his parents nothing more than twenty-year-old tract house, a modest pension, a 1988 Cadillac and a 1996 Buick.

  “If he’d stayed home and gotten an education like his brothers, he’d have a steady income,” his father was saying, but Wade had finally spotted the keys to the Cadillac. Scooping them off the kitchen table, he strode from the house, leaving his parents to argue without him. He’d heard everything he wanted to hear from them. The story was always the same. They didn’t understand that he was destined for bigger things, that he’d settle for nothing short of the fast-track life he’d enjoyed for the past ten years. He’d had it all until Chantel left him. Then things had gone downhill. But as soon as he got her back, they’d take New York by storm.

  Fortunately for him, Stacy had just provided him with the perfect way to get her attention. And possibly a little revenge.

  WHERE WAS HE?

  Still wearing the lingerie she’d purchased at the mall, Stacy pulled on a silky robe, belted it and poured herself another glass of scotch. Maybe he wasn’t coming. She was probably crazy for even inviting him. After Dillon left, she should have gone straight to bed. Instead, she’d gotten herself drunk.

  For a moment she considered calling Wade back and telling him not to come. But it was probably too late. He’d be here any second. Besides, she wasn’t sure she didn’t want to see him. She wasn’t sure of anything.

  Crossing her legs, she admired the way her high heels accentuated the muscles in her calves, then rested her head back on the couch, feeling the gentle burn of the liquor. At first she’d been nervous, almost panicky, at the thought of seeing Wade again. But the more she drank the less she worried. Ten years ago she’d worn his ring, planned to become his wife, warmed his bed, and he’d run off with her sister. Why hold it against him?

  Giggling at that, she took another sip of her drink. No big deal, she told herself. She just wanted to see him again. He hadn’t been the most giving lover she’d ever had, but he’d possessed the kind of charisma that made whoever he was with feel special. Unless that had changed, along with everything else.

  If it had, maybe she didn’t want to see him again. She couldn’t decide. But even that didn’t seem to make much difference, not in her current frame of mind.

  The doorbell rang and Stacy got up to answer it. “Knock, knock…who’s there?” she chirped, suppressing another giggle.

  When she opened the door, she found Wade leaning against the railing, wearing a pair of blue jeans, a short-sleeved shirt and a maroon sweater vest. Except for the bleach in his hair and the short cropped cut, he looked very much the way she remembered him, as handsome as ever. Golden skin, well-defined arm muscles, a knowing grin. The earring he wore in one ear glinted in the porch light. She remembered the night she’d met him at a dance club. He’d dazzled her at first sight, made her feel breathless—and he did the same to her now.

  Or maybe that was the liquor.

  “Come in,” she said, holding the door open and trying not to sway on her feet.

  He moved past, smelling like expensive hair products and too much cologne, and surveyed her living room. “You own this place?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Can I get you a drink?”

  His gaze cut to the bottle of scotch on the coffee table, then to the glass she still held in her hand, and his smile widened. “Sure. Looks like you’ve got a head start on me, though.”

  “I’ve had a few.” Stacy had already brought an extra glass from the kitchen. She bent to pour him a liberal amount, but he took the bottle from her unsteady hands and filled the glass himself.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said, watching her. “I like the changes.”

  “Yeah?” She smiled and struck what she hoped was an appealing pose.

  “You look good.”

  “But not as good as Chantel?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not many women look as good as Chantel,” he said simply.

  “Is that why you left me for her?”

  Downing his scotch in one gulp, he set the glass on the coffee table. “Did you invite me over so you can bitch and moan about what happened ten years ago?”

  Stacy chuckled softly. He had no idea what he’d put her through and he didn’t care. Well, neither did she, not right now, anyway. “Don’t you think you deserve it?”

  “Let’s just say that’s not why I came here. We could have talked on the phone.” Reaching out, he loosened the top of her robe and gazed inside it. “And I doubt you wear that little number to bed on a regular basis. I wouldn’t want to waste it.”

  She laughed, feeling attractive, wanton in her sexy lingerie. “Aren’t you even going to ask me how I’ve been before you start taking off my clothes?”

  He shrugged, letting his fingers glide back and forth over the curve of one breast. “Okay, how’ve you been?”

  She watched the movement of his hand. “Busy. I’m a nurse, you know.”

  “Great,” he said, pulling her roughly to him. “Let’s play doctor.”

  “DADDY, I’M HUNGRY.”

  Dillon opened his eyes, and Sydney’s face came slo
wly into focus. He still held Chantel, could smell the scent of her shampoo and feel her arms over his own, as if she was afraid he might let go. He wanted to nuzzle the soft skin beneath her ear, but he didn’t. There was no need to confuse Sydney. Or chase Chantel farther away from him.

  “You up already, sweetheart?” he asked his daughter, disentangling himself.

  Chantel stirred, and he eased out from behind her. As anticipated, he had a splitting headache, and his mouth felt like cotton.

  “Can we have sugar cereal today, Daddy?”

  Sydney’s words seemed to stomp through his head. He winced at the noise, then wondered where Chantel stored her aspirin. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Time to get up,” she replied.

  He chuckled, but that hurt his head even more. If ever he’d longed for a box of Fruity Pebbles, it was now. He wanted to pour Sydney a bowl of it, then sink into a chair where he could sit quietly until the pain lessened.

  “Dillon?” Chantel was awake now, gazing up at him with her long hair mussed and one side of her face imprinted with the pattern of the couch pillows.

  And still she looked beautiful to him.

  “Sydney’s up and she’s hungry. Mind if I look for some cereal?”

  “There’s some Wheaties and All-Bran above the stove.”

  Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Yuck.”

  Dillon didn’t bother to chastise his daughter for her poor manners; his head hurt too badly. “I don’t suppose you have any Fruity Pebbles, do you?”

  “You let your girls eat that stuff?”

  He would have chuckled again, but didn’t dare. “Oatmeal didn’t go over too well yesterday. And today I just want to keep the racket down.”

  She stretched and smiled. “Oh, yeah. Last night.” She eyed Sydney without saying more, and Dillon appreciated her discretion. He hadn’t had a hangover in years, not since he’d quit partying with the college crowd—except for that first Christmas without Amanda and the kids.

  “What happened last night, Daddy?” Sydney asked.

  “I had to work late,” he replied. “How ’bout we fix up that All-Bran with some honey?”

  “Or strawberries,” Chantel suggested. “There’s some in the fridge.”