by Brenda Novak
“Nothing, nothing could keep us apart,” he promised. But then his cellular phone chirped and when he heard the caller’s voice, he realized he might have spoken too soon. There was one thing that could stand in their way. One person.
Amanda.
THE COOL NIGHT WIND came in short gusts, carrying a spattering of rain. Folding her arms across her uniform, Stacy ducked her head and hurried from beneath the hospital’s portico to her car. She hoped to climb inside before the light sprinkle turned into a real shower, but Wade rolled down the window of his brown Cadillac idling in another row and waved to get her attention.
“Stacy!”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, leaving her own car to approach his window. Just the fact that he was there made her wary, but her unease grew when she saw the look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m supposed to head over to Chantel’s. Why don’t you follow me?”
He grimaced. “I’d rather talk here if you can spare a minute.”
Stacy hesitated. What on earth could he want? He seemed so serious. “Okay.”
“Get in.”
The power door locks clicked as she rounded the old Cadillac. She got inside to the sweltering blast of the heater, then leaned her back against the door. “Your hair’s a mess. That means something catastrophic has happened. What is it?”
“Cute,” he said, but her glib remark did nothing to ease the tension of his jaw. Evidently something serious had happened.
“Did you get bad news from your agent?” she asked.
“That bad news came a long time ago,” he admitted. “I’m not going back to New York. I no longer have a career there.”
Stacy had suspected as much. “Is that really so bad? You already knew you couldn’t model forever. And New York’s a long way from California. Your whole family lives out here—”
“I don’t care where my family lives,” he interrupted. “We’ve never been close, and I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”
“Well, your folks did lend you this car, didn’t they? They can’t be all bad.”
“I’m not here to talk about my family.” He pinned her with an unswerving gaze. “Chantel is seeing Dillon Broderick.”
Stacy blinked, then swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hear this,” she said, and started to open the door, but his hand shot out to stop her.
“You may not want to hear it, but it’s true. I saw them together in the parking lot at the doctor’s office this morning, acting like lovebirds.”
“You’re just trying to hurt me. You’re vicious and mean, and I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I’m going over to Chantel’s,” she said.
“Then you might want to call first.”
Stacy turned back, letting her door gape open despite the rain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s there now. I saw his car. And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t think she’s sick.”
“What?”
“I think she’s pregnant.”
Four words. Only four small words, but they hit Stacy like an ax slamming into a tree. “That can’t be true,” she whispered. “Chantel can’t have kids. The doctors told her—”
“The doctors could be wrong. Why else would Dillon be taking her to an obstetrician? You were puzzled by that yourself, remember? Think about it.”
“Then it’s your baby,” she insisted. “Or someone else’s. Dillon and Chantel barely met at the cabin. I introduced them.”
“I guess lover boy didn’t waste any time, because the baby can’t be mine. I haven’t had sex with Chantel in almost a year.”
Stacy stared at the wet shiny blacktop without seeing anything. “It can’t be,” she said to herself more than Wade. “She’s just sick. It’s the anorexia.”
“I don’t think so, Stacy.” Suddenly Wade looked tired, like a two-year-old who’s spent himself on a tantrum and had no energy left. “What I saw made certain things apparent.”
Stacy shook her head, refusing to believe. Dillon. She’d been trying to forget him, get over him, but the thought that he’d been sleeping with Chantel brought back all her old feelings—along with a few new ones, the most prominent of which were jealousy and rage.
She got out, heedless of the rain that now fell in great fat drops. “I can’t believe it. She’s my sister!”
“Yeah.” Wade laughed. “Well, I guess now we know what kind of sister she is, huh?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT WAS GETTING LATE. Chantel frowned at the clock on her living-room wall and picked up the phone to call Stacy again. Her sister should have arrived more than an hour ago. A nurse at the hospital had confirmed that she’d left at eight, and no one answered at Stacy’s house, so where was she?
The answering machine came on again, but Chantel didn’t leave a message. She’d already left two. Fearing that her sister might have had an accident, she tried the highway patrol. Was her number anywhere in Stacy’s purse? Would anyone think to call her?
In a distant professional voice, the police dispatcher informed her that there’d been no accident involving a blue Honda.
Thank God! Chantel released her breath and sank onto the couch. Maureen had stopped by, but it had been difficult to concentrate when her mind whirred with what needed to be said to Stacy. After Maureen had left, she’d vacuumed, just to keep busy. But she’d forced herself to quit after doing the living room. This was the longest she’d been up since getting sick and the first day she’d felt anywhere close to human. She didn’t want to end up back in bed tomorrow because she’d done too much too fast.
Outside, the storm worsened. Rain beat a steady rhythm as the wind manipulated the trees like marionettes, making their branches sway, clacking them against the windows. Except for the pink azaleas blooming profusely along the fence of her side yard, it felt more like December than May.
Dropping her head in her hands, she rubbed her face. Stacy would get here, she promised herself. But she found it strange that she hadn’t seen Wade. Had he left for good? She hoped he had, but she couldn’t believe that. Not when his stuff was still at her house.
Had he come home to find Dillon’s car in the lot, somehow recognized it and gone to tell Stacy?
That was a stretch, but possible. Even if he’d recognized Dillon’s car, though, wouldn’t he have confronted her?
For the next fifteen minutes she put her faith in the belief that he would have. Then she dialed his parents’ number.
Wade’s father answered the phone.
“Henry, it’s Chantel.” This man used to be “Dad” to her. She’d visited his house every year at Christmas and felt a moment’s awkwardness at reverting to his given name but didn’t know what else to call him now that she and Wade had broken up. “I’m sorry to bother you at bedtime, but I was hoping to catch Wade.”
“You can call here anytime, Chantel. You’ll always be part of the family, even though Wade was fool enough to lose you. You know, Ronnie still hasn’t married. You should go for him.”
Chantel chuckled. Ronnie was one of Wade’s younger brothers and the apple of his father’s eye. “Ron’s only twenty-three.”
“But he’s got his head on straight. No wild ideas about runnin’ off to New York. He stayed home like he should and now he’s nearly finished school. Going to be an engineer.”
“Wade mentioned it. I’m happy for him. But I’m sure he has enough women knocking down his door.”
“None who can compare with you.”
Tears stung Chantel’s eyes. She missed Wade’s family. They’d never been very close, mostly because Wade and his parents disagreed about everything and argued all the time. But it felt good to know they’d approved of her, if not her decision to become a model. “You were always nice to me.”
“As nice as our no-account son would let us be. I tell you, I don’t know what’s gonna become of him. I wish he was here so the two of y
ou could talk, but I don’t know where he is. He took the Caddy a couple weeks ago, and we haven’t seen him since.”
So they hadn’t kicked him out. Wade had lied to her again. She should have known. “I’m sure he’ll show up sometime,” she said.
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Well, don’t be a stranger. Come see us once in a while now that you’re living in the area.”
“I will,” she promised, then hung up. She tried to picture herself knocking on their door several months pregnant. Somehow she couldn’t imagine it.
Tapping her fingernail on the lamp table, Chantel tried to decide what to do next. Should she drive over to Stacy’s? What good would that do if Stacy wasn’t home? Maybe her sister had simply forgotten their appointment and gone out with a friend.
She picked up the phone and called Dillon, just because she needed to talk.
“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked when his deep voice came on the line.
“Just The New Adventures of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.”
“Is that a movie?”
“A book.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Not the third time around. At this point I think I’d prefer to read the labels on vitamin bottles.”
Chantel smiled, picturing his girls all snug in their beds with Dillon sitting next to them, reading. “It’s one of the girls’ favorites, huh?”
“Yeah, they love it. I need to go out and buy them some more books.” He lowered his voice. “How’d it go with Stacy?”
“She never came over here.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
“Only a dozen times.” The telephone beeped, indicating that she had an incoming call. Chantel’s stomach tensed. “Someone’s trying to get through,” she said. “I’d better go.”
“Chantel?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to talk to you. Call me later, okay?”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s about Amanda. Just something we should discuss…in addition to everything else.”
Chantel bit her lip, wondering if she was ever going to pull out of the emotional tailspin that had started when she realized Dillon was her sister’s boyfriend. “Okay,” she agreed.
DRIPPING WET, Stacy propped her head against the cool metal of the pay phone and listened to her sister’s voice. “Hello? Hello? Wade, is that you?”
The pain that radiated through her heart grew more severe, despite the hour she’d just spent walking in the rain, trying to get some control of her emotions. “What Wade says—is it true?” she finally asked without preamble.
“Stacy, thank heaven it’s you. I’ve been so worried. Please come over so we can talk—”
“Just tell me if you’re seeing Dillon.”
“I haven’t been seeing him.”
“Then you’re not pregnant.”
There was a brief pause, as if Chantel didn’t know what to say, then, “Wade had no right to do this to us, Stacy. Don’t let him. He’s just trying to hurt me.”
“Well, he’s done a pretty good job of hurting me, too. He came to the hospital tonight to tell me you’re pregnant with Dillon’s child. I don’t want to believe it, but deep down I know even Wade wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“Don’t underestimate him. I’ve made that mistake one too many times myself.” Chantel sounded tired, defeated.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Please come over. I hate this, Stacy. I don’t want to lose you again.”
Stacy could hear the sincerity in her sister’s voice, but it did little to combat the vision of Dillon and Chantel meeting secretly while she stupidly trusted her sister’s word. Remembering the candlelight dinner she’d made him and the black teddy she’d bought to wear for him—and what had happened afterward—she flinched, feeling utterly humiliated. They’d both probably laughed at her pathetic attempts to interest Dillon, then laughed again at her stupidity for letting Wade come over. “Tell me it’s not true.”
Silence.
“Chantel, tell me it isn’t true!”
“I can’t.”
Stacy squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. “You promised me,” she whispered, feeling the warmth of tears on her face. “I cared about him. Why do you have to have them all?”
“It’s not like that—” Chantel started, but Stacy had heard enough excuses ten years ago, when the same thing had happened with Wade. Dashing a hand across her wet cheeks, she hung up the phone, saying a silent goodbye to her sister—forever.
CHANTEL SCOOPED her keys off the counter and hurried outside. The air was damp and chilly, but she didn’t care about the wet or the cold and didn’t bother to go back for a jacket. She needed to talk to Stacy. She couldn’t leave things as they were—not after the way their telephone conversation had gone.
Wade wasn’t going to win this round, she vowed.
She got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot. Somehow she had to convince Stacy that what had happened with Dillon was an accident.
The drive to Stacy’s house seemed more like forty minutes than the usual fifteen, but according to the digital clock glowing in her car, Chantel made good time. She turned into the driveway shortly before eleven, cut the engine and headed up the walk.
“Stacy, it’s me!” The door was locked, but she banged on it, then looked under the mat for the spare key her sister kept there. It was gone. Using one hand to cut the glare of the moon, she peered through the living-room window to see that the entire house was dark. She could make out the shadows of Stacy’s furniture, but no sound or movement.
“Stacy? Are you there?” She knocked again before going to the garage, where she stood on tiptoe, trying to see if Stacy’s car was parked inside.
No luck. She was tall, but not tall enough. She walked around the side yard and through the gate to check the back door, but it was locked, too. And all the rooms were as dark as those in front, including Stacy’s bedroom.
Where was she? Chantel folded her arms against the wind and rain and made her way back to her car. She figured her sister had to come home sooner or later. And when she did, Chantel would be waiting for her.
Climbing into her car, which still had a crumpled front bumper because she couldn’t afford the insurance deductible, she shivered. She was wet to the skin after walking around the house. She could only pray that Stacy would be home soon.
The minutes ticked away, turning into an hour, then almost two. Chantel’s teeth chattered as she rubbed her arms for warmth, wishing she’d brought a coat. She should go home, she told herself, and wait until Stacy was ready to talk to her. But somehow she feared that day would never come. She had to see Stacy tonight…
If only she wasn’t so darn tired. She started the car and cranked up the heater, which quickly dispelled the chill. But the warmth did little to ease the aching of her head and back, and slowly, she became aware of another kind of discomfort—cramps.
DAMMIT, WHERE WAS SHE? Dillon slammed down the phone after his tenth attempt to reach Chantel. She’d told him she’d call. Why hadn’t he heard from her? What had happened with Stacy?
He could only guess things hadn’t gone well. When his worry escalated as the minutes passed, he risked calling Stacy’s house, but there was no answer there, either. He had to drive over to Chantel’s and see what was going on.
Running an impatient hand through his hair, he walked down the hall and peeked in at his girls. They were sound asleep, but they were too young to leave alone, and it was after midnight. Who could he call to come sit with them?
He went into the living room and stared at the phone. His mother. Hadn’t she just told him he needed to find himself another wife? Well, he wasn’t sure he’d found a wife, but he knew he was having another baby. Not that he thought that situation would please her.
“Hello?”
Dillon felt a twinge of remorse for waking her this late.
He knew she went to bed early. Now that she was older, her life had finally settled into a routine. She and her new husband had dinner, watched Jeopardy, played a board game and retired.
“Dillon? What is it? Are the girls okay?”
“They’re fine, Mom.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“But it’s the middle of the night.” He could hear her moving in bed, trying to wake up. “Why else would you be calling?”
“I’ve got a personal emergency. I need you to come over and sit with the girls.”
“A personal emergency? What’s that supposed to mean? You said you weren’t hurt.”
“I’m not.” Dillon swallowed his pride and braced himself for a response that would be full of irritation, at best, and a flat refusal, at worst. “I’m worried about a friend. I need to check on her.”
“A friend?”
“She’s been sick and I can’t get hold of her.”
“She’s probably sleeping!”
“I don’t think so. Look, Mom, I know this is putting you out and I’m sorry, but it’s not like I’ve ever bothered you in the middle of the night before.”
“When you were in high school, I could never get you to come home on time. You woke me up plenty of—”
“Mom, can we discuss my past sins later? I’m dying to get out of here.”
She sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks.” He hung up and dialed Chantel’s again, then Stacy’s. Still no answer at either place.
DILLON GRABBED his keys from the top of the refrigerator as soon as his mother arrived. “I owe you one, Mom,” he said, pausing long enough to kiss her cheek.
To his surprise, she smiled and embraced him, smelling of rain and the perfume she always wore. “You have a good heart, Dillon. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that.”
She hadn’t. She’d been too immersed in her own rocky love life, but he didn’t hold it against her. He knew she’d be there if he really needed her. She’d grumble, but she’d come through, the way she had tonight. That was more than he could say for his father, who’d always done just the opposite.