by Ginna Gray
He scrambled out the front door, took the porch steps in one leap and jumped into his car.
"And don't you ever come back again," Talitha shouted, shaking her cane at him as he took off down the driveway, tires spinning.
The ladies shut the door and exchanged a triumphant look, but their victory was forgotten at the sound of a moan from the parlor.
As fast as they could, they hurried back into the room and found Elizabeth sitting up on the sofa, clutching the tattered remains of her blouse together with one hand and the other over the side of her face.
"Oh, my poor, sweet child, are you all right?" Talitha said, hovering over her. "There, there. Don't cry, sweetheart. He's gone. He won't hurt you anymore."
"If … if you and Iona, ha-hadn't been here—"
"Shush now," her aunt ordered, lovingly stroking the top of her head. "Don't think about that. We were here, thank the Lord. And we gave him what for. Didn't we, Iona?"
"We certainly did. That monster. Who is he, anyway?"
"His name is Wyatt Lassiter, the scion of an old Houston family," Talitha said with a sniff. "And they're all no damned good. The men, at least. Like the worthless cur he is, Wyatt's been sniffing around after Elizabeth ever since her first husband ran off with another woman. I guess you could say he's a sore loser. Humph! I almost wish he'd come back so we could give him the thrashing he deserves."
"Me, too," Iona agreed. "Just you wait until my son hears about this. I wouldn't want to be in that young man's shoes when he does."
"Oh, no. I don't want Max to know," Elizabeth said.
"Nonsense. He's your husband. He should be told," her aunt declared. "I think we should call him right now and tell him to come home. You need his support, shaken as you are."
After their argument Sunday night, Elizabeth doubted that Max would care. He believed that she'd betrayed him. Why would he care what happened to her? In any case, they didn't have the close, supportive type of marriage that Talitha and Iona assumed. For the two dear old ladies to know that would hurt worse than any hurt Wyatt had dealt her.
"Talitha is right," her mother-in-law said. "Besides, how are you going to hide your injury from Max? Your face is already swelling. In a few hours you're going to have one beauty of a shiner."
"Here, let me have a look," her aunt ordered. Peering at the injury, she shook her head and tut-tutted. "I think you're right, Iona."
"Oh, dear." Elizabeth gingerly touched the area with her fingertips and winced. "I don't think anything is broken," she managed to say. "But my cheek hurts like the very devil."
Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I expected Wyatt to be upset that I chose Max over him, but I didn't expect this. He was like a madman. And some of the things he said didn't make sense. Twice he mentioned something to the effect that Mimosa Landing should have been in his family's hands long ago."
"Did he, now?" Aunt Talitha sighed. "I can answer that for you. I never told you before because I wanted to put the unpleasant episode behind me. Also because I was embarrassed that I'd let myself be hoodwinked in the first place. The reason for Wyatt's claim is, forty-something years ago I was engaged to his father, Henry, for a short time."
"What?" Stunned did not come close to what Elizabeth felt. She thought she knew all the family history.
"It was after my Martin was killed. I was fond of Henry Lassiter, but I didn't love him. Martin was lost to me, so I figured, what the heck. Possibly Henry could give me children to love.
"Lucky for me, I found out in time that Henry, like his father, was an abusive man, physically and emotionally."
"Really? Who told you?"
"Henry's own mother, Mary Beth Lassiter. She was a timid, cowed woman, almost ghostlike, the way she fluttered around in the shadows, as though she were trying to make herself invisible. You hardly ever saw her without some sort of injury—a bruise or a cut lip or broken bone.
"Poor soul. She lived her entire married life in fear of Clive Lassiter, Henry's father and Wyatt's grandfather. Mostly she tried to stay out of his way. When that wasn't possible, she tried desperately to please the man so he wouldn't strike her, but there's no pleasing a man like that, so she lived out a miserable life enduring beating after beating.
"Back in those days there weren't women's shelters like there are today, mind you, nor would the police get involved in domestic situations. Women were on their own."
Which explained why her aunt donated so heavily to women's shelters, Elizabeth realized. "Poor thing," Iona said.
"Yes. But thank the Lord, she worked up enough gumption to pull me aside one day and warn me that her son's main reason for wanting to marry me was so that he could get his hands on Mimosa Landing, which, as you know, abuts property the Lassiters own. She told me that Clive Lassiter had married her for her property, and now her son was planning to do the same with me. She also said she didn't want me to suffer the life that she had.
"Naturally I broke off the engagement that very day," Aunt Talitha said. "Henry threw a walleyed fit. If your father hadn't been with me at the time, I'm sure he would have struck me. Ever since I've avoided him whenever I could, but he still blames me for denying him possession of Mimosa Landing. Evidently, he has infected his son with the same misguided notion."
"I see," Elizabeth murmured. The story explained a lot. For a long time she'd been aware that her aunt wasn't fond of any of the Lassiters, particularly Henry. Whenever they bumped into each other her aunt looked right through the man as though he didn't exist and refused to speak to him. Elizabeth had asked her aunt about it several times, but the only explanation she got was that Talitha couldn't abide the man. Now Elizabeth knew why.
She also now realized that the only reason her aunt had consented to having Henry's law partner handle the family's legal affairs was because, when it came to the law, John Fossbinder was the best.
Iona peered at Elizabeth's cheek. "Oh, dear. That's going to need some ice. Can you walk, dearest?"
"Maybe you should go to the hospital ER," her aunt suggested.
"No. No hospital," Elizabeth insisted. If she went to the hospital the doctor on call would question how she got the injury, and she was almost certain that by law he would be required to call the police. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of the publicity that would cause.
"All right, then, let's get you into the kitchen. Gladys keeps a first aid kit under the sink."
On wobbly legs, flanked by the two older ladies, Elizabeth made her way into the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table while her aunt and Iona quibbled about the correct way to treat the injury, when Gladys and Dooley came in through the mudroom, carrying sacks of groceries.
"What in the world has happened?" Gladys exclaimed when she saw Elizabeth's face. She quickly put the sacks down on the table and lifted Elizabeth's chin for a closer inspection.
"Wyatt Lassiter, that's what happened," Aunt Talitha said.
Gladys looked up, her face slack with shock. "Mr. Lassiter hit her?"
"He not only hit her, he tried to rape her. Right here in her own house," Elizabeth's aunt added with an indignant huff.
"That's right," Iona confirmed. "Talitha and I had to beat him off her."
"Oh, my. Dooley, come here and look at this," Gladys ordered, and her husband obeyed, frowning as he inspected the angry red, swollen flesh. "That ain't no slap. To make a mark like that a man would have to deliver a hard blow." He gave Elizabeth a stern look from under his bushy eyebrows. "You called the police yet?"
"I—"
"She won't let us," Iona explained.
"What's this?" Dooley gave her another stern look. "Now, that's just plain foolish, little girl. The man assaulted you and attempted to rape you. Those are both serious crimes."
"I just want to forget that it ever happened. I don't want the police or anyone else involved. Okay?"
"Hello? Anybody home?" Mimi called, and Elizabeth moaned. Here came one more person who would demand to know the whole story.
As always, Mimi had let herself in through the French doors in the study. "Where is everyone?" The tap-tap of her high heels sounded in the central hallway as she checked out the parlor, dining room, then the den. Finally the swinging door into the kitchen opened. "Oh, here you all are. What're you— Great balls of fire! What happened?" she gasped, staring at Elizabeth's face.
Before anyone could answer Mimi's shock turned to a scowl. "Did Max hit you?"
"No! It wasn't—"
"He most certainly did not!" Iona declared.
"Oops. Sorry, Mrs. Riordan. I didn't see you standing there."
Iona narrowed her eyes at Mimi. "I remember you. You were at the wedding. Mona … Minnie … Mamie?"
"It's Mimi. I was the matron of honor."
"Yes, well, I'll have you know, my son would never raise his hand to a woman. I brought him up better than that."
"Of course he wouldn't. I'm so sorry."
Iona sniffed. "As well you should be."
"It was Wyatt Lassiter who hit her," Aunt Talitha informed Mimi.
"What? That sorry, no-good son of a—"
Aunt Talitha cleared her throat and the two elderly women again launched into their story while Gladys cleaned Elizabeth's wound.
"Looks like there's a cut at the corner of your eye and the rest is abraded pretty bad," Gladys murmured, dabbing alcohol over the area and blowing when Elizabeth winced.
While all the women around him chattered, Dooley calmly pulled a camera from a cabinet and took a picture of Elizabeth.
"Dooley! What on earth are you doing?" she complained.
"Evidence." He took two more shots for good measure. "I got me a hunch that man of yours isn't going to be so quick to forgive and forget as you are."
"Good thinking, Dooley," Mimi said. "Max is going to wipe up the floor with Wyatt. I just hope he lets me come along to watch."
"He's going to do nothing of the kind. I want all of you to solemnly promise that you won't say a word to Max about what happened."
"Aw, c'mon, sugar. Wyatt needs to be horsewhipped, and you know it."
"And what good would that do? Max would just wind up in jail, charged with assault. Please. All of you. Promise you won't say anything to him about this."
"How're you going to keep it from him?" Gladys asked. "You're not going to be able to hide that shiner and bruised cheek with makeup."
"Not necessarily. Max is busy handling a crisis with one of his projects. I don't expect him back for at least a week." If then, she added to herself.
"Humph. You ask me, it's gonna take that cheek more than a week to heal," Dooley said. "But if you want us to keep quiet, so be it."
The others muttered their agreement, but it was clear they weren't happy about it.
"Okay, now that that's settled, I think Elizabeth should take some aspirin and lie down with this ice pack on her cheek," Gladys announced.
"I agree," Mimi said. "Better yet, let's give you one of the painkillers that doc in New York prescribed for you. You still have some, don't you?"
"Yes. I only took a few."
"There you go. C'mon, sugar," Mimi said, taking the ice pack from the housekeeper. "Let's get you upstairs and settled in bed."
In the master bedroom Elizabeth had barely kicked off her shoes when she had to run to the bathroom and be sick. Mimi held back her hair while she bent over the toilet and emptied her stomach of its contents.
"I was waiting for this," Mimi said as she wet a washcloth with cold water and handed it to Elizabeth. "Ever since I've known you, you've reacted to emotional trauma by losing your cookies."
"I know," Elizabeth said wearily. She took the washcloth and patted it over her hot face and neck, then rinsed her mouth with water. For good measure she gave her teeth a quick brushing as well.
"Now, where are those pain pills?" Mimi asked, already opening and closing drawers.
"Just give me a couple of aspirin. I … I don't think I should be taking anything stronger right now."
Mimi's head came up. "Why not?" She tipped her head to one side and gave her a keen look. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Her eyes narrowed more, then widened. "Oh, my Lord, are you pregnant?"
"No, uh … maybe … I don't know. That's just it. Until I know for certain, I don't want to take any chances."
"Are you late?"
"Yes, but you know how irregular I am. Being late this time could just be a reaction to all the changes in my life lately."
"Mmm. You mean like having a delicious stud in your bed most nights?"
"Mimi Whittington! You've got sex on the brain."
Mimi wrinkled her nose. "I know. Isn't it fun?"
Elizabeth chuckled, as she was sure was Mimi's aim, but the sound was weak at best.
"Okay, to err on the safe side, here's the aspirin." Mimi handed her the bottle, and when Elizabeth had taken two they traipsed back into the bedroom.
"I don't need that," Elizabeth protested weakly when Mimi retrieved a clean nightgown from the dresser drawer. "I'll just curl up on top of the bedspread with a chenille throw."
"Nonsense," Mimi insisted. "Trust me, you'll sleep better this way." She helped Elizabeth out of what remained of her blouse and her slacks. Too weary to argue, Elizabeth allowed her friend to unhook her bra and drop the plum-colored silk nightgown over her head.
"I don't see how I'm going to sleep at all, the way my face is throbbing."
"Don't worry, the aspirin will kick in pretty quick. They aren't potent enough to stop the pain, but they'll ease it."
Elizabeth held herself together until she was in bed. Mimi sat down on the mattress beside her and took her hand. "Do you want to talk about it, sugar?"
The tenderness in Mimi's voice and expression was her undoing. "Oh, Mimi. It was so awful," Elizabeth wailed. The floodgates opened and she began to weep uncontrollably.
"I know, sugar. I know." Mimi gathered her into her arms and rocked her, much as she had more than twenty years ago, when Elizabeth had been a bereft child. "Let it all out," she encouraged, rubbing her hand over Elizabeth's back in slow circles. "You have a right to cry. And you have a right to be angry. Just go with it. You'll feel better when you do."
Elizabeth wept until she could weep no more, great racking sobs from deep in her soul. They shook her entire body and hurt as they tore from her throat. Tears streamed from her eyes and dropped like warm rain on her friend's shoulder. Neither woman noticed nor cared.
If Mimi realized that Elizabeth's tears were not over just the attack by Wyatt, but Max's distrust and all the other things that had happened to her over the past year or so, particularly the past month, she didn't let on. She simply rocked her gently and let her cry it out.
After a while, Elizabeth's sobs turned to watery sniffles, then hitching breaths. When at last she quieted she pulled away. Silently, Mimi picked up the box of tissue from the bedside table and handed it to her.
"Thanks," Elizabeth murmured, and blew her nose. "I guess I needed that," she said, snuggling back down beneath the covers.
"I know you did." Mimi smoothed the heavy fall of hair away from Elizabeth's face. "You've been needing that for a long time."
"Tha-thanks for be-being here, Mimi," she said between sniffles.
"Now, where else would I be?"
Smiling, Mimi watched her friend's eyelids droop. She sat there for a few minutes longer, rubbing Elizabeth's arm in a slow, hypnotic up-and-down movement. When Elizabeth's breathing became deep and rhythmic, Mimi carefully stood, pulled the covers up to Elizabeth's chin and tiptoed out of the room.
* * *
Fourteen
« ^ »
Max stepped inside his hotel suite and tossed his briefcase and overcoat on the first chair he passed. "I think we made progress today," he said. He shed his suit coat and added it to the pile before plopping down on the sofa, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, both arms resting along the sofa back on either side of him.
Behind him, Troy cl
osed and bolted the door to the two-bedroom suite they were sharing. He looked at his boss's pleased expression and grinned. "Yeah, we did good. There's only one more property owner to bring into line, and we'll be all systems go on this deal."
After unloading his own personal belongings, Troy went to the bar and poured himself a drink. "You want one?" he asked Max.
"No, thanks."
"You know, I feel like doing a little celebrating," Troy said. "How about I phone a couple of lovely ladies, and we go out for an evening of dinner and dancing, and … well … we'll see where it leads? I happen to know a certain little blonde by the name of Monique who would drop everything for a chance to see you again."
Max gave him a long, under-the-brow look. "Aren't you forgetting something? I'm married now."
"Ah, c'mon. You're kidding, right? It's not as though your marriage to Elizabeth is the real thing. It's just a legal contract. A convenience."
"As I recall, we got blood tests, a license, we stood before witnesses and an ordained minister and exchanged vows and rings. In my book that's a real marriage."
"You know what I mean. It's not as though she means anything to you, or vice versa. I assumed you two would tie the knot, then pretty much go your own ways."
"Hmm." Max studied the mirror-polish shine on his black dress shoes. That's what he, himself, had assumed in the beginning. Even so, he still would not have cheated. An act like that went against everything in which he believed—honor, commitment and doing the right thing.
Still, he could hardly fault his friend for assuming otherwise. On the surface, his and Elizabeth's marriage did seem more of a matter of convenience than anything else.
But somehow, somewhere along the way, things had shifted and changed. He'd tried, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly how or why or when that had happened. And if he couldn't explain the whole thing to himself, he sure as hell couldn't explain it to Troy.
"Well, you're wrong," Max said. "Even if our marriage were nothing more than a formality, I'd still be a faithful husband. I don't break vows. Besides, in today's world, you're smart to limit your sexual contact to one person." He grinned at Troy. "Maybe you should give it a try."