'Til Death Us Do Part

by Annie Oortman

  “Yeah.” Christiaan laughed. “That should make Victoria one very happy clam.” And him too poor to pay attention.

  “Who gives a fuck what Victoria thinks!” Baz raised his glass and aimed for the fireplace.

  Duff caught his hand mid-throw. “Calm down, Dutchie. No need to fly off thet ‘andle like ye do. All ‘tis well.”

  Christiaan laughed harder. “For someone who only met Baz a few weeks ago, you sure seem to know him well.”

  The Irishman just laughed and emptied his glass. Leaning forward to retrieve his next drink, Christiaan felt the room shift slightly. Hmm… maybe it was time to reconsider his self-medication. At this rate, he wouldn’t be in any shape to get home. And he certainly wasn’t going to stay another hour in the same country as Vicky. Christiaan slapped his hands against his thighs.

  “That’s it, boys. I’m done. As much as I’d love to have another…” He slowly pushed himself to standing. “One more, and I won’t be able to climb the airstairs. Which reminds me… Baz, where’s my phone? I need to call the flight crew.”

  “It’s a… It’s a…” Baz fidgeted then leaned over to the small garbage can next to the couch and retrieved Christiaan’s phone. “Um… here.” Pulling off a candy wrapper stuck to the back, Baz handed the device to his boss.

  Christiaan peered down at it. Something sticky coated the screen. Frowning, he rubbed the front of the phone against his pant leg to clean it. Hitting the on button, the device started its boot-up cycle.

  “Where’s tha’ leave ye, Dutchie, thet boss headin’ back an’ all?” Duff poured himself and Baz another drink.

  “Looking for a buyer.” Baz downed the Scotch in one swig. “ASAP.”

  “Really? Ye’re sellin’ thet place, Baron Boy?”

  “Yes.” Christiaan paged through his contact list for the pilot’s number. “Know anybody who’d want to buy it?”

  “Me? No.” The Irishman laughed. “Nice piece of property an’ all. Lots of potential thar, right, Dutchie?”

  Baz didn’t seem to enjoy the lighthearted banter. “Baron Boy is headed home to take a closer look at the corporate financials.”

  “Really?” Duff laughed.

  “Yes, and the sooner the better.” Christiaan touched the number and waited for his pilot to answer. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve got to contact my flight crew about getting me home as well as a taxi operator about getting me to the airport.” He headed toward his bedroom.

  “I’d be ‘appy to get ye on yer way,” Duff offered.

  Christiaan stopped and turned around. “I thought you were grounded.”

  “From flying, but not driving. Wadda ye say you let me get ye to thet airport. Me way of sayin’ I’m sorry for all thet trouble I’ve put ye thou’. Besides, it will give me a chance to see tha’ fine air chariot ye people love to gallivant ‘round thet world in.”

  Ahh, hatred of the rich. That must be the common thread Baz and Duff had bonded over. But, hey, a ride’s a ride.

  Christiaan nodded. “Okay, Irishman. Let me just finish packing, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Don’t ye worry, Baron Boy. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Your life would be so much better if I were dead, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  The words reverberated inside Vicky’s head like an echo on Everest.

  Staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace, she sat curled up in her favorite chair, hands encircling a cup of Chamomile. The tea had long since gone cold as she replayed those awful words—and their emotional impact—again and again.

  “Your life would be so much better if I were dead, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Another crashing wave of regret washed over her. She tried to shrug it off, but the emotion clung to her like a shroud. Tears threatened to spill. She shook them away. Christiaan’s life would be better without her.

  This time.

  Her chest tightened. Now that she’d spent time with him again… connected with him again… fell in love with him again… the thought of him living without her again was almost too much to bear.

  An ironic chuckle escaped her lips. Only a week ago, she’d relished the fact that her husband was living his life without her.

  Today, she was dying inside because he would continue to do exactly that.

  Vicky glanced at the highback he’d sat in last night, then at the sofa table where they’d shared the meal he’d cooked. Right after he’d spied her masturbating in the shower. Her face flushed at the memory of both their embarrassment.

  She burrowed deeper into her chair. The same position she’d assumed last night after realizing the horrible mistake she’d made eight years ago. Christiaan professing his undying love for his late wife… wearing both their wedding rings… expressing excitement then profound anguish regarding their baby… displaying devastating grief at the accident that took her life… showing sheer disgust at idea of marrying Astrid… The telling moments replayed in her head and her heart.

  Hmm. Maybe she should have taken Rainbow up on that offer to stay at her place. Sitting here, alone with her thoughts, wasn’t doing Vicky any good. She bit her lip until it throbbed like her pulse. Good thing there wasn’t any alcohol within twenty miles because her chances of blowing off eight years of sobriety were significant. She’d already flushed the Vicodin down the toilet to eliminate all chemical mind-altering temptation.

  Suddenly, Christiaan’s face as he realized who she really was seized her thoughts. “Welterusten, mijn liefste. Spreek je morgen.” What had compelled her to say that? What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t.

  She’d just made love to her husband, rolling in emotions she hadn’t felt since the early part of their marriage. Caught in a blissful after-sex haze and what was left of the Demerol shot, she’d forgotten who she was, where she was, and what she was supposed to be doing.

  You were Bri once again. You said exactly what Bri would have said.

  What Bri did say. No, what Vicky said.

  Damn! Now she was forgetting who she was!

  Face it. You haven’t been Bri for a very long time.

  Placing the teacup on the coffee table, Vicky stood and tightened the belt on her fuzzy robe before stepping over to the fireplace. She sat down on the warm raised hearth and wiggled her fingers through shower-damp hair. Too bad she couldn’t as easily manipulate her thoughts.

  “You failed our love.”

  Christiaan was right. She had. Instead of believing in the bond they’d forged, she’d allowed her doubts, insecurities, and fears to creep into her mind, to cloud her judgment, and—worst of all—harden her heart. To keep her from seeing the truth. To poison their relationship.

  To fail our love.

  Vicky shivered despite the blazing fire. The emotional chaos raging inside of her because of all the pain she’d caused him refused to ease.

  And like trying to unscramble eggs. Couldn’t be done.

  But she could do something… anything… to avoid feeling this way.

  Like brewing fresh tea. Vicky grabbed the pot from the table and padded into the kitchen. Filling the kettle from the sink, she then put it on the stove to boil. She’d just settled against the counter to wait when the phone rang. Leaning back, she read the Caller ID on the back of the handset.

  “Rainbow Cell.”

  Although she didn’t feel like talking to anybody, Vicky couldn’t ignore her best friend. Both she and Christiaan would still be stuck in that cave if it weren’t for Rainbow and her tenacity. Besides, Vicky had promised her friend that she’d call as soon as she’d gotten out of the shower and, of course, with current life as tranquil as a cyclone, Vicky had forgotten.

  Steeling herself to sound perky, she answered after the next ring. “I’m sorry, girl. I totally forgot to call.”

  Rainbow laughed. “Yeah, I knew you would. No prob. You doing okay, sweetie?”

  No. But how could Vicky ever explain that
to Rainbow?

  “Yes,” Vicky answered instead.

  “Okay,” Rainbow crooned. “Now, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about what happened. But, sweetie, you looked so upset, and Baron von Rat Face was so pissed that I can’t help but be worried about you. Are you sure you’re okay? Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  Only one person existed that Vicky could talk to about this, and he wasn’t about to listen to anything more from her.

  “Really, Rainbow. I’m okay. I promise.”

  “O…k…a…y…” Her friend didn’t sound convinced. “Do me a favor anyway. Got any dried Chamomile flowers?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’m getting ready to brew a fresh pot of tea as we speak.”

  “Great! Chamomile is just the ticket to calm your nerves, relieve your stress, and help you sleep. Before you drink your next cup, take some deep breaths and let the soothing aroma fill your nose and relax your body and soul.”

  Vicky snickered. Easier said than done. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll be by later with some dinner, sweetie.”

  “Let me guess… beetroot soup with spinach/lentil balls.”

  “Nope.” Rainbow laughed. “After your adventure, I’d say you’re entitled to some pizza.”

  After this adventure, I’m entitled to some eighteen-year-old, single-malt Scotch. “Large thick crust with pepperoni and extra cheese?”

  “Large thick cauliflower crust with artichokes, spinach, polenta, and extra goat cheese.”

  Of course. Vicky chuckled. “I’m looking forward to it. See you then. And Rainbow?”

  “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “Thanks…” She cleared her throat, suddenly tight with emotion. “Thanks for finding me… finding us.”

  When Vicky didn’t show up for the regular Thursday morning ShastaWatch breakfast, Rainbow and the crew had gone on a tear looking for her, even enlisting Dean to help. When Vicky didn’t turn up anywhere, they decided on a lark to check the Mineral Springs property. Spying her truck, her business partner then recognized her boot prints leading to the cave. Fresh sand and scratch marks meant a recent cave-in. With their bare hands and a hot-wired Bobcat, the ShastaWatch crew dug them out.

  “Hey, what are friends for, right?” Rainbow answered. “Ciao!”

  Vicky put the handset back onto the holder. Staring at the phone, she fought the sudden and ridiculous urge to call Christiaan. And say what? That she’s sorry? So very sorry? So. Very. Very. Sorry?

  So very, very sorry for what?

  For becoming an alcoholic?

  For running away?

  For losing their baby?

  For letting him think she was dead?

  For not trusting their love?

  Her hand came to rest on the handset. That’s a lot of sorrys, sister.

  The hot kettle singing pulled Vicky out of her thoughts. For the next several minutes, she occupied herself and her mind with the calming ritual of tea making. Then she headed back into the living room with the fresh pot. Filling her cup, she returned to her spot on the hearth.

  Rainbow was right. Take some relaxing breaths and put all this crap behind you. Let the soothing aroma stop your thinking.

  Especially about him.

  Wrapping both hands around the teacup, she closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. The soothing Chamomile aroma filled her, draping her worried mind in a calming haze. For a few blissful minutes, there was nothing in the world except her, her tea, and the soft crackling of the fire next to her. No Christiaan. No Bri. No Vicky.

  No nothing. Hmm… nice.

  Taking another deep breath, Vicky opened her eyes. She spied the blue pullover Christiaan had worn earlier, draped on the highback. Once freed from the cave, he’d stomped away from her so fast he didn’t notice or care that he’d left it. She’d scooped it up before anyone else had.

  He’d looked so damn sexy in the garment. A flush of arousal rushed through her body. He’d looked so damn sexy out of it, too.

  Before she could stop herself, she put down the teacup, picked up the pullover, and held it to her nose. It smelled of his distinctive male scent. The ache between her legs intensified. With one hand, she untied the belt to her robe and let it fall to the floor. Pulling his garment on, she savored the sensual feel of the soft material brushing over her bare body. Hugging herself and breathing in Christiaan’s erotic smell was almost like being with the man himself.

  Almost. But not quite.

  But the closest she was ever going to get again.

  Vicky unzipped the chest pocket on the pullover and reached in to retrieve that other item Christiaan had left behind in the cave… her wedding band. Slipping the gold chain around her neck, the ring came to rest between her breasts. With one hand, she pressed the ring against her chest and then took a deep breath. The idea that he had worn this since her death was touching. A tear ticked one eye. The memory of his bitterness as he stormed out of the cave was heartbreaking.

  They had once been so happy. Once.

  Before she realized it, Vicky retrieved that worn manila envelope from behind the books on the mantel and dumped everything—photos, marriage license, articles—onto the hearth beside her. Their wedding portrait landed on top. She traced the image with her finger. Fifteen years ago, they’d joined together to take on the world as a couple.

  For better… for worse… ‘til death us do part…

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. He’d fulfilled his end of the bargain. He’d loved her. Not perfectly, but honestly and completely.

  What a fool she’d been. From the moment the honeymoon had ended, she’d allowed her anxieties about herself and her vulnerabilities about her marriage take control of her life. She’d bought into his family’s lies about her suitability and Astrid’s deceit about her relationship with Christiaan.

  “You failed our love.”

  Yes I did. Horribly.

  She’d lost her marriage because she refused to believe Christiaan loved her.

  She’d lost her son because she refused to stop drinking the pain away.

  She’d lost her “life” because she refused to gut it out and make her marriage work.

  And because of all that, she’d lost the only man she ever loved.

  Christiaan.

  And now she’d lost him… for the last time.

  Vicky tried tossing the picture into the fire, but her fingers wouldn’t let go. The flames blurred as her tears flowed freely. Rocking back and forth, she waited for the anguish to somehow ease.

  The phone ringing from the kitchen pulled her out of her lament.

  Nope. Not answering it.

  Three more rings, then the machine picked up. After a short pause, her business partner’s voice played through the speaker.

  “Yo, Vic. It’s Dean. Just wanted to let you know I just dropped your truck off.”

  Her truck. Vicky laughed despite her mood, remembering Christiaan killing her clutch on the way to Mineral Springs. Pick a gear. Any gear.

  “I figured you were probably sleeping considering everything that happened, so I slipped the keys under the back door mat.”

  Her keys! Her heart lifted. She could drive into town, find Christiaan, and try to explain everything. Try to make him understand why she did what she did.

  “I’m glad we found you. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d have wound up dead, Vic.” Dean stopped to clear his throat.

  Dead. Brianna was dead. Not Vicky. Brianna.

  “But you didn’t die… so… yeah! Well, can’t wait to hear how the hell you ended up stuck in a cave. In the meantime, take care. Bye!”

  And, with Brianna “dead”, Christiaan would be better off.

  Just like he said. Then and now.

  Closing her eyes, Vicky gave herself into the moment. Resistance melted away as clarity regarding her situation evolved. Nothing she could say and nothing she could do could ever make up for eight years of lying… eight years of be
lieving your husband capable of murder… eight years of letting a man that clearly loved you believe you were dead.

  Vicky dropped her head to stare at the picture.

  For better… for worse… ‘til death us do part…

  Christiaan was better off without her.

  For several minutes, Vicky sat, absorbing her decision, then calmly tossed the wedding photo into the fire. Brianna Stokman, Lady van Laere. No, Brianna Stokman, Baroness van Laere, was gone. Forever.

  Watching the image burn into nothingness, Vicky suddenly felt very tired. Great, the Chamomile is working. She went to close the fireplace screen and head up to bed when a color graphic from one of her old articles on the pile still lying on the hearth caught her eye. The small visual was with the expose she’d written on power companies developing alternative energy sources on Federal lands. When she was a reporter, she rarely paid attention to ancillary items added to her pieces by her editor. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever really seeing this one.

  The graphic showed a gridded map of the United States with red and green plus signs dotted throughout the country.

  Like I saw in the trailer!

  The caption read “Current existing microearthquake (MEQ) data sites of proposed geothermal sites show seismic evidence of potential cataclysmic, tectonic chain reactions affecting fault lines throughout North America. Energy proponents—both in government and the private sector—vow the risk is infinitesimal.” Vicky snickered. Definitely not a reader-friendly explanation she’d have written.

  She’d just poured herself another cup of tea and settled down to study the map closer when the phone rang again.

  Let the machine get it. She focused on the high number of red plus signs in the western section of the United States, especially in California, Nevada, and Arizona.

  A familiar Dutch accent coming from the answering machine speaker wound its way into her brain.

  Christiaan?

  Vicky dropped everything, her earlier decision to let things well enough alone forgotten at the sound of his voice. Rushing across the slate floor, she grabbed the handset and answered, “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Baz.”

  “Oh.” She frowned in disappointment.

  “Wow. You sound down in the dumps. You were expecting Christiaan perhaps?”