“That means so much to me, Sweetheart.”
“That man must have been very bad. You were so upset—and Eduardo. Are they giving you a medal for shooting him?”
“That’s what it’s for. He was considered the most dangerous assassin in the world. And I admit—I was terrified when I realized he could easily have killed you. I can’t lose you, Sweetheart. I can’t lose you—and live. You’re my life.”
Her eyes filled, and she kissed him. “You’re my life, David, and you always will be.” She wiped her face. “And now you’re the most dangerous assassin in the world.”
“Hmm.”
“Well I do feel very safe when you’re around, David.”
He had to laugh. “Thank you.”
“And Cat does a lot of praying for the peace of Israel. So I bet that helped, too.”
“I bet it did.”
“And Nita and Eduardo are having a party for you after the ceremony.”
“So I hear.”
“I think it was really Cupid that wanted all those women.”
“What?” Where did this come from?
“I know you don’t want them anymore. I know you love me.” There were clouds drifting across her face.
He’d be completely honest if it killed him. He had to make her understand—though he never really understood it himself. “I want to be truthful with you, Debbie. In the past I did sleep with other women, but that’s in the past. We’re married now, and I’m completely in love with you. You. Only you.”
“David, does it bother you when you have to kill people?”
He didn’t quite get the train of thought, but he wasn’t surprised to get the question. He’d prepared an answer he hoped would sound “completely honest” enough. Honest enough to protect them both. “It’s just part of my job. It’s not fun—I certainly don’t enjoy it, but it’s a necessary part of what I do. The people I’ve killed were all criminals who deserved what they got. Many of them were trying to kill me or a colleague of mine. I suppose I’ve buried all the feelings so I’m effective at my job. A second’s hesitation could cost me my life. And now I have so much to live for.” He kissed her. “Besides, you don’t need to worry. My new job is mostly training people. It’s much safer.”
“Yes, I’m glad about that, David.” She fumbled with the silk tie of her robe. “Do you remember the first time you killed someone? Were you scared? Did you feel sick afterward?”
He considered for a moment. “It was someone who was responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. So I didn’t feel badly about doing it. Before I pulled the trigger, I guess there was an adrenaline rush. After it was over, I just felt relief. That was it.” He searched her face for a reaction, hoping she wouldn’t think less of him. Her skin was so white against the pale pink of her robe.
She put her fingers to her lips as though she were unsure of herself. “David, I still think about that night before our wedding when you caught that drug dealer, Mr. Santoro—and—and you shot all those men that worked for him. And I still get sick to my stomach from it sometimes, David.”
“I understand. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
“That’s okay, David. I know the world is much better off because you—because you—catch—all those criminals.” She shivered. “Well, I guess when you were all alone out there trying to—infiltrate—all those drug dealers and terrorists and criminals—well I guess that must have been a very lonely time for you.”
“It was.”
“Well, I guess that’s why you probably needed so many girlfriends? Because that—that takes your mind off all those things, huh?”
He smirked. “That it does.”
Her voice was small and strained. “Well, I guess that’s why they called you Cupid, huh?”
He winced and quickly controlled himself.
Her fingers trembled as they gripped the sash of her robe. “I mean, I know General Pearson said it’s because you are a—a marksman, and you could shoot everyone through the heart and never ever miss—but—but it’s funny because it has a double meaning, huh?”
“Tony Cooke started that—” He realized he needed to be honest with his wife and himself. He coughed into his sleeve. “I suppose it was funny because it had a double meaning.”
“But now you have me, David.”
“Now I have you, and I’m so grateful.” He kissed her lips. “I’m so grateful.”
“And I know you’re really happy about the babies, even if we do have six.”
“Even if we do have six.” He lifted his eyes skyward.
“You know all Cat’s predictions come true, David.”
“I do.” He let out a heavy breath.
“David, thank you for being honest with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have a journal I keep since I started with Dr. Raich—and some paintings. But I didn’t show her my paintings. You never know if something bad could be happening in them.”
He chuckled. “You never know.”
“It really helps me. I want to—to be completely honest with you, too, and I think if you want to read my journal and look at my paintings, you can understand everything. I—I guess I’m taking the easy way out to give it to you to read. I get—tongue-tied—sometimes when I try to talk about it, David.”
“That’s fine, Sweetheart.”
He helped her back in to the bedroom where she retrieved her journal. He sat with her at his side and read the particulars of her life before she met him, her relationship with her parents, the tumult of feelings that poured onto the pages, the details of her anorexia and bulimia, and the harsh voice that criticized her every thought, word or move.
He saw her struggle with perfectionism. Pages filled with shame over the secrets of her disease—the starvation, constant weighing, compulsive exercise, stealing and using laxatives, diet pills, blood pressure medication and sleeping pills. She wrote about her father’s rage and strict punishments. He noted her setbacks and struggles to recover, even since she had met him.
She wrote about her art. She’d used it as a crutch to cope with life. It was the only way she could express herself until recently. Praise for her work always brought with it embarrassment and discomfort. She carried with her a terrible internal critic. Yet she’d hoped to be able to make a living with her art.
With Cindy, then David’s, encouragement she began to treasure her talent and enjoy it as a gift from God. She related Paulo’s need to create music to her need to create art.
David’s breath caught in his chest as he read her thoughts on the trauma and loss he’d suffered as a seven year old. He became a hero one Christmastime when a plane crashed in the foothills of the Alps. She wondered through the pages how his life would have been different if his older brother and Cat’s family had survived. She worried she would never have met him. Does God let bad things happen for a reason?
She knew he would have traded seats, traded his life for his brother’s if that were possible. If he knew what would happen. She wrote about his heroism, his lack of fear that day and from then on. Did he feel guilty that he had survived? Was he really trying to kill himself?
His heart sank as he read about her fear when he was almost killed in the jungle of South America. She remembered each day in the hospital in a rollercoaster of emotion as he fought his way back from the brink of death. She recounted her feelings of fear and deep-seated anger at her father for trying to thwart their marriage. She made a point of forgiving him.
She wrote about her best friend Cindy and her gratitude that she met Raphael. She was thrilled that two such kind people had found each other, and that they both shared a love of family and a desire for their own children. She worried they may never have met, had it not been for David’s critical condition. Does God let bad things happen for a reason?
He smiled as he read about her feelings when they first spent time alone together in Carmel, the joy they had on their wedding day, and the love that cre
ated three new lives.
He turned to Debbie. “Why haven’t you mentioned your experience with your Grammy, and that time we were almost shot in Carmel?”
Debbie looked at him as though it were a trick question. “I wouldn’t tell Dr. Raich anything about that, David. I told you I can be a good secret agent when I have to be.”
“I see.” He remembered the confusion and consternation he felt when she’d told him that recently.
Then he noticed the puckering of the paper and tremulous scrawl as she wrote about Sylvie and Darla, then Gwen, and the emotions they created—a permanent memorial of her tears, of the grief he had caused her. He could feel her fear rise up from the page. He could see she wanted to deny his relationships with other women, until finally she had to face it on the paper.
She barely dared to use the word: anger. David had saved her life—she loved him more than words could say. How could she be angry? But she was. She couldn’t deny it any more. At least not in her journal.
She wondered what their future would hold. Would he want to keep her and the babies? Should she stay with him, despite the pain? Would she have to raise the children on her own? How could she prepare for such a possibility? Could she give them enough love and guidance?
He read about her feelings as she realized her husband shot people for a living, the fear that gripped her as he went off to work each day, the black and white thinking that finally gave way to shades of gray.
She struggled on the paper to work out her feelings on “Cupid,” and to accept her husband’s past. She realized he did the job he did, not just for adventure, but because deep down inside he believed it was right. He believed he was making the world a better place.
And it was that ability to believe, to have faith, which was probably the reason why he committed himself to a girl like her.
All David’s experiences had made him who he is today, and she knew he loved her with all his heart. She knew she had made a difference in his life, too.
David silently pondered his wife’s revelations. With all the sadness, there was hope. He drew her to him, softly kissing her face. It wasn’t just a line for the media, lyrics for a song—they had truly saved each other’s lives.
“Debbie, I want you to know, I love you, and you can tell me anything. I promise I’ll listen, and I’ll try to understand. Nothing you can say would make me think less of you—would make me love you any less.”
“I know, David.” She brushed her fingertips across his lips, and he kissed them. “Now it’s time to forgive—each other—and even Agent Gwen Munroe.”
There was nothing to forgive his wife for. Gwen was another matter. He didn’t think it possible to forgive her.
Debbie must have seen the gears turning.
“God’s forgiven us. We have to forgive, too. Just trust, David. It’s going to be okay now.”
***
He settled her on the terrace at her easel, and headed to her studio to update himself on her paintings. He flipped through a stack on the workbench, shaking his head. Gwen had him so turned around: he’d gotten out of the habit of checking Debbie’s paintings on a daily basis. He gasped aloud as he picked up the canvas with the base and the truck Debbie crashed into.
Voices caught his attention, and he stepped into the hallway to greet Raphael and Cindy.
“You’re changing up the artwork again?” Raphael teased. Then he saw the truck. “Ah. Cat was out for hours when she saw that one.”
Cindy cringed. “Debbie seems to have a way of working through her feelings with her paintings.”
“Maybe you can help me decipher some of them?” David asked.
Cindy led them into the studio and pointed to a painting he’d been examining on the workbench. “She was telling me something about a lamp and a stand. Well the lamp is pretty, and she really knows how to make the light look incredible. It really sucks you in. But all these smashed-up hearts all over the place. Yuck! I don’t know what all that’s about, but it worries me. Especially after this one of the rainy garden.”
Cindy went to a storage area and pulled out another painting. “She told me, ‘Sometimes the most beautiful flowers just get pelted with rain, and all their petals fall off.’ Then she said something about being divinely led. It freaked me out.”
They both looked down at the same time, and David pulled out the last painting. Gray eyes gagged him, and the painting almost fell.
Cindy grabbed it. “Oh wow! What’s this?”
He couldn’t admit they were looking at Gwen’s eyes and her lipstick smeared on his face. He gritted his teeth and tore out of the room.
***
David returned to the terrace to find Debbie had yet another lamp on a stand. A shiver went through him. He’d hoped she was done with the frightening paintings of her wilting under the pain of his debauchery.
Under this lamp was a fancy heart-shaped box marked “Love Letters.” A stack of these letters poured out over the desk, and around the base of the lamp. Brilliant light highlighted the one letter that had fallen onto a cushioned chair.
He was at a loss. They’d never written each other love letters. He’d never written anyone love letters.
“It’s quite beautiful, Sweetheart.” He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. “I thought you’d do a landscape today.”
“I did too, David, but this just came out. It is a pretty desk. I hope nothing bad is happening with all those letters. Do you think this couple is going through a difficult time, too?”
“I don’t know, Sweetheart.” As he examined the canvas, he knew there had to be some significance. This was obviously the second in “The Lamp on a Stand” series. But he was out of ideas.
“I can do a landscape for you now.” Debbie handed him the canvas and got up to prepare for her next project.
Glori
Monday afternoon Cindy tucked Debbie in for her nap and then arrived in my room to chat. “It sounds like Debbie’s made a lot of progress, but she’s totally exhausted,” Cin said.
“Yeah, I’d say it was a nervous breakdown if you asked me. But she does seem better today than she has been. Anyway—about that bridesmaid’s dress—” I disappeared into the walk-in closet and rifled through my dresser. “I know I put that strapless bra in this underwear drawer.” I froze as my hand brushed the large brown envelope.
Cin knew something was wrong. “Are you okay, Glori? Did you cut yourself?”
“Yeah, Cin, I need to talk to you.” I walked from the closet to my bed like I was walking my last mile holding an envelope full of deadly pestilence.
Perplexed, Cindy took a seat on the bed beside me and waited for me to speak.
“I know this isn’t exactly the best time to bring this up, Cin. But I really need to talk to you about this, and before ya know it, your wedding day’s gonna be here. I know I need to talk to Alain about this—but I’m so afraid he’ll hate me, Cin. I don’t want to lose him.” Despite all my efforts to remain calm, my eyes watered.
Cindy put her arm around me. “What is it?”
My shaky hands released a pile of photos from the envelope.
“Nooo!” Cindy was losing it, too. “I—I thought Mom burned all those. The negatives, everything. What? What happened?”
My tears dripped onto the top one. “Dom never did give her all the pictures, Cin. I—I knew he didn’t.”
“What are you talking about? Mom asked you. You told her that she got all the pictures—all the—the negatives—everything.” Cindy was shaking almost as much as me.
“I lied to her. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. But I was just barely fourteen, Cin. My mother was shacked up with her boy-toy in Hawaii. I don’t know where in hell my father was. Off on location somewhere. I was scared, Cin. I had nowhere else to go. If your parents didn’t take me in, I’d’ve been all alone at my mother’s place. And I wanted a family.” I started to cry.
“I know I always looked cool, but I was scared underneath it all. And you and
your parents really seemed to like me. Your Mom really cared about me. I didn’t want to do anything to make her change her mind. It was bad enough, she found out he took those nude photos. So when she had it out with Dom about it, and she threatened to have him arrested, well I just wanted the whole thing over with. I wasn’t gonna quibble about how many pictures there were.”
Cindy hugged me, and we both had a good cry.
“How is it you have these pictures now?” Cin looked scared.
“When Henry took over Dom’s business, he got everything. I didn’t even know why he bought him out. I mean, Henry Korn is the photographer to the stars. But anyway, I found out later Henry’s got a little gambling problem. So I guess he needs all the money he can get his grubby hands on.”
I rubbed my eyes and realized I must’ve smeared makeup everywhere. “Anyway, I got a call from him right after our first concert in L.A. I’ve been payin’ him ever since.”
“How much?” Cindy furrowed her brow.
I sucked in the tears. “Everything.”
“Everything? What?”
“Every cent I’ve made since that day’s gone into his pocket.”
“Glori! How? What do you live on?”
“Alain gave me his credit card and told me I could use it whenever I want. I’ve been using that for expenses. He’s never said anything, but I try to keep the spending down.”
“Oh, wow!”
I practically heaved. “Well Cin, it’s either that or have him see me spread-eagle all over the internet!”
Cin shook her head. “You have to tell him. You have no choice. It’s going to come out sooner or later.”
“I know, Cin.” More tears ran down my cheeks, turning black in all the mascara. “But even if Alain doesn’t dump me, it’s still gonna cause a scandal. Joe’s gonna toss me out of this band. He won’t want Paulo and the others tainted by me.”
I could see Cindy deliberately calming herself with deep breaths. “Honey, you know as well as I do, this group is not new to scandals. I mean, look what David and Debbie have been through. And the media’s been going on about Ellen’s mother being an alcoholic prostitute, now that she’s Paulo’s girlfriend. And the incredible thing—the great thing about these people—they stick together. They support each other. They really are a family—in the very best sense of the word.”
Fame, Fortune & Secrets (The Redemption Series: Book 2) Page 20