by Morgan James
A stack of mail lay on the corner of the table, and Abel tipped his chin toward it. “That came for you. Figured I’d keep it here rather than forward it on. God knows it woulda just ended up back here anyway.”
“No doubt.” As often as I’d been moved around, it took the mail awhile to catch up to me sometimes. Picking up the dozen envelopes, I flicked through them until a familiar name caught my eyes. Walker & Raines. And just like that, any hope I’d harbored for getting back together with Lydia sputtered out, leaving my heart feeling empty and cold. My thumb traced the return address of the envelope from the attorney. It was over. Here in my hands, I held the proof that she’d never wanted me after all.
A myriad of emotions welled within me: anger, humiliation, rejection. But one reigned supreme—disappointment. Damn. I wished... I wished a lot of things. But none of it mattered now. I was holding the paperwork that separated me from Lydia, severing any last tie I may have had to her. It was over. I tossed down the unopened envelope. I didn’t need to read what was inside. Maybe one day... but not yet.
Pasting on a smile and steeling my spine, I flicked a glance at Abel, whose intense eyes were focused on me. My brother never missed a thing, and I’d surely have to explain later. But now wasn’t the time. I slid into my seat—funny how I still thought of it as “my” seat after all these years—and turned my attention to my brother and sister-in-law.
We chatted amiably over dinner, and I finally retired to my room as the sun began to set. After being awake for damn near three days, I was ready to crash out for the foreseeable future. I showered and fell into bed, asleep minutes after my head hit the pillow, gray eyes filling my dreams.
Chapter Seven
Lydia
The front door slammed, and I jumped at the resounding bang. I clenched my eyes closed and ground my back teeth together, instantly regretting ever giving my mother a key to my place. The tap-tap-tap of expensive heels drew closer to the living room, and I pasted on a smile. I pushed to my feet just as my mother breezed into the room, looking elegant as ever.
“Hi, darling.” Jolene Lowell-Dawson-Carrick-Ronstadt graced me with her signature aloof smile.
“Hello, Jolene.”
I couldn’t remember a single time when she hasn’t been Jolene to me. Never mother, definitely not mom or mama. Just... Jolene. She brought to mind the old Dolly Parton song—beautiful Jolene, who always got what she wanted, whenever she wanted it. I loved my mother, I really did, but Jolene was a force to be reckoned with. She operated under the policy that everything was her way or the highway. The only things that mattered to her were image and money—and lots of it. She’d cultivated both over the past several decades, moving up the ranks from husband to husband.
For a brief period of time when she was younger, Jolene had been a nurse. It was at the hospital where she’d worked that she met my father, Lyle Dawson, an esteemed surgeon. Their marriage had fallen apart when I was only six, and Jolene had immediately moved on to investment banker David Carrick. She’d put in a whole twelve years with him before things began to decline. I had a feeling she’d met someone else, but I never said as much. When I was twenty, Jolene married Roy Ronstadt, the lawyer who’d presided over her divorce from husband number two. That had lasted barely two years, bringing the grand total up to three marriages.
For the past year and a half she’d been dating someone new—a man whose name I couldn’t remember—and I assumed wedding bells wouldn’t be far away. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I cringed. My mother wasn’t a bad person, exactly. She just... wasn’t good at being alone. Ironically, she wasn’t good at relationships either—not with any of her husbands, and not with her only child. Personally, I thought she needed the security of money and social status more than she needed someone who cared about her.
Jolene was always far more interested in herself than anyone else, and I thought a huge part of her regretted having me. Hence me calling her Jolene—she never wanted to acknowledge that she was actually old enough to be a mother. She’d resisted any real involvement in my life, instead hiring a nanny to look after me during my early years. It had been a point of contention between my father and her, and it was a huge part of why he’d left her. Not that he’d had time for me, either. My father spent every waking moment of my youth trying to establish his practice, and he had little time for a child or wife. But we rounded out the image he desired, and my mother reaped the benefits while she could.
Unfortunately, the fighting over my mother spending money unnecessarily still rang in my ears to this day. Why would my mother hire someone to look after me when she herself didn’t work? She’d quit nursing the moment they’d tied the knot. After having me, she’d pawned me off on a caretaker, gotten back into shape and, consequently, the dating pool.
Jolene was all about image. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. But that didn’t stop her from seeking constant reinforcement from anyone and everyone who would give it to her. She was a shameless flirt, but her husbands had allowed it because she made the ideal trophy wife. She looked pretty on their arms and, after cultivating relationships with the upper crust for years, she had plenty of connections.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken with my father. Last I’d heard, he was also on wife number three, who was just a year older than me, and they were having the time of their lives traveling Europe. Both of my parents were self-absorbed serial daters, concerned with only themselves. Was it really any wonder I was so jaded?
Yeah, I sold women the gowns of their dreams, but I didn’t really envision that for myself. I’d had a good dose of the realities of marriage. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to settle down and marry and be happy. I hadn’t exactly had the best role models. If I ever did marry again, for real this time—and that was a big if—then it would be only for love. I couldn’t stand the thought of jumping from partner to partner in search of the biggest bank account. Alexia was the only bright spot in my life, despite the grief Jolene had given me when she’d found out about my botched Vegas wedding and fatherless child.
In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of having unprotected sex, something I’d always been incredibly diligent about. I’d scheduled a test once I’d arrived home to make sure I hadn’t contracted anything, but it had come with a huge surprise. My hormones must have still been in flux, because it was evident I was pregnant just a few weeks after I returned home from Vegas. I’d stopped taking birth control when Shawn and I became engaged, then resumed as soon as we’d split. Regardless of Jolene’s feelings on the subject, I couldn’t bring myself to regret getting pregnant. I loved that little girl with all my heart.
I waited a beat, irritation pulling at me. Figured that my mother would show up now, just before bedtime. It was her MO, after all. She’d stay for ten minutes, just long enough to take a handful of pictures of Alexia, deliver some passive aggressive insults my way, then escape. God forbid should she actually spend some quality time with her granddaughter, I thought bitterly.
I bit my tongue, trying desperately to tamp down my incredibly uncharitable thoughts, and pasted on a smile. “What brings you here, Jolene?”
Jolene waved airily. “I hadn’t talked to you for a while. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
A tight smile lifted the corners of my lips. “We’re fine. Just getting ready for bed in a minute.”
“I figured. I just wanted to bring a few things by for Alexia.” She turned to the little girl, her voice several octaves higher. “Look what Mimi brought.”
Only by the strictest measure of control did I manage to not roll my eyes at the ridiculous nickname. At least she hadn’t insisted on being called Aunt Jolene. She opened the large bag slung over her forearm and produced several toys and frilly dresses.
“She’s not even one, Jolene. She doesn’t need all that stuff.”
“Come now,” my mother chided as she held a ruffled pink dress up to Alexia’s tiny bo
dy. “I like to spoil her.”
I refrained from saying anything, because refuting the statement would be pointless. Jolene only knew how to buy happiness and love. It was a shame, really, that my mother was too blind to see what was right in front of her. Children didn’t need to be bought. They offered love and affection unconditionally. But I knew better. After fifty years on this earth, my mother wasn’t likely to change anytime soon—or ever.
I shook off my irritation and tried to swallow my bad attitude. I hated feeling indebted to anyone, even if it was just my mother—especially if it was my mother. Because Jolene never did anything out of the goodness of her heart. No, there had to be an ulterior motive. I just needed to find out what it was. “How have you been, Mother?”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Wonderful. How’s your little shop?”
Whether she meant it or not, I heard the thread of condescension in my mother’s voice, and it set my teeth on edge. Nothing was ever good enough for Jolene. It was the exact same reason she’d tried to pawn me off on Shawn several years ago. He’d been exceptionally good-looking, not to mention the fact that he was now partner at a prestigious law firm.
I was proud of what I’d accomplished all by myself, regardless of the fact that my mother constantly made her wishes known that I should hand the reins over to someone else. It baffled me sometimes, my mother’s attitude toward the workforce. She herself had been a nurse—but that had only been a means to an end.
Jolene should really have never reproduced. She wasn’t maternal in the least, and I sometimes wondered how I’d managed to turn out as normal as I had. Not that I was catch of the year—far from it. But I at least wanted more... attainable things out of life. I wanted to be happy and healthy. If I made a little money along the way, great. My bridal salon would never bring in millions of dollars, but it made me happy to help women find the dress of their dreams, and that was enough for me.
Jolene still scorned the situation and offered her opinions freely. I, for the most part, gritted my teeth and bore it. I wanted Alexia to know her only close relative, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn my mother away. If Jolene had her way, I would be married off already to give the impression of a happy little family, regardless of my feelings on the matter. To my mother, everything was for show. She had to have the best clothes, drive the nicest cars, and she had to project the image of the perfect family—even if what lay beneath the surface was more than murky.
I never questioned it, but I knew my father—and stepfathers—probably hadn’t been faithful to Jolene. She was a difficult person to get along with, critical and overbearing, and I could understand from their perspectives why the marriages hadn’t lasted. But Jolene seemed to get whatever she wanted for whatever amount of time they were married, and I assumed she didn’t ask too many questions. As long as she was given the lifestyle she desired, it didn’t matter what—or who—they did in their free time, so long as it was done discreetly.
I wanted more for myself. Being a single mother had never been on the agenda. It was far from a perfect situation, but seeing my little girl every day, holding that bundle of perfection in my arms, made my worries disappear. I was confident everything would work out the way it was meant to. I just needed to be patient.
“Business is doing well. In fact, we secured a pretty high-end client a few weeks ago.” Knowing that it would raise Jolene’s esteem, I let it hang in the air for a moment until my mother’s head swiveled toward me. “You’ve heard of Caryn Andersen?”
Her mother’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
I nodded, a smile cracking my face. It would give my mother something to gossip about over seventeen-dollar salads with her friends at the country club next week.
“Well, that’s very impressive.” My mother paused, and unease settled in my gut. Somehow, I predicted the words before they even left her lips. “You know, you should really consider getting married.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Jolene cut me off. “Being a single mother is hard work. I did it for years.”
I bit the inside of my lip and just barely managed to refrain from voicing that Jolene had endured motherhood with more help than most people had, even between marriages. And by most people, I meant everyone. I’d had a nanny until I was out of middle school, and after that I’d spent so much time between ballet and junior league charity events that I’d never had a moment to myself. It wasn’t like Jolene had really been overwhelmed by the whole parenting thing. It was the same reason she refused to be called anything as crass as “grandma.” The best part of having a grandchild, in her eyes, was being able to brag to all of her friends about how cute Alexia was, how precocious, how smart.
My mother’s fakeness irked me to no end, but I’d learned over the past twenty-six years to just ignore it. Sometimes it was just easier to let my mother say her piece and move on. She would head out soon, leaving us in peace for another week or two before she descended again like a virus one couldn’t quite fight off. All I had to do was get through the next few minutes without killing her.
I turned to my mother. “I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”
Jolene rolled her eyes. “It never should have happened in the first place, but I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. Wouldn’t it be so much easier? You could spend your days with Alexia, hire a few more people to help out in the salon.”
I shook my head. “I can afford to hire someone else if I wanted to. I like being involved. I enjoy what I do.”
Jolene’s lips turned down for a moment as if gathering ammunition for her parting shot. “Well, if nothing else, think of Alexia. It would be good for her to have a father figure in her life.” She studied Alexia for a moment. “She didn’t get a single drop of your genes.”
I gritted my teeth. “She’s perfect.”
“Of course, of course,” Jolene soothed. “It’s just a shame she doesn’t look anything like you.”
It was true, of course. Alexia was her father’s daughter through and through. The only thing she’d inherited from me was her steely gray eyes. She had Xander’s flaxen locks, so pale they were almost white. She had an innate ability to sense distress or change of emotions, and I felt a stab in my heart.
I drew a deep breath. “If anyone ever asks, I just tell them she looks like her father.”
Most everyone knew he was a military man, but few knew the whole story. As far as anyone knew, we’d married after a brief affair—understatement of the year—and he was serving overseas. I wouldn’t trade Alexia for the world, but I couldn’t help but wish the circumstances had been different.
“Do you remember Roy’s partner, Albert?” Jolene suddenly spoke up.
My eyebrows drew together. “I think so. I know the name.”
“Well, he has a son about your age.”
Oh, God. Now I knew where this was going. Before I could even open my mouth to protest, Jolene kept going.
“He asked about you, was hoping to take you on a date.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Jolene waved her concern away. “He knows all about Alexia, of course. I took the liberty of accepting for you.”
“What?”
Jolene speared me with a withering look. “It’s one date, Lydia. I’m sure you can pry yourself away from your precious business for a few hours.”
I ground my teeth as she rolled her eyes, my ire with her growing. “Most everyone believes I’m still married.”
“Oh, I took care of that.”
I froze. “What does that mean?”
Jolene lifted a shoulder. “I told him you were a widow.”
“What?! Oh, my God. You can’t lie to someone like that!”
“It’s better than the truth,” my mother shot back. I dropped my gaze, tears gathering in my eyes. Once more, I felt like the little girl I’d been all those years ago, never quite good enough. My mother pressed her lips into a firm line and stared me down. �
�It’s really the least you can do.”
Of course. She never hesitated to throw that in my face, did she? It seemed I had a lifetime of favors to make up for. I never should have asked my mother for help when I’d opened the salon; it was like making a deal with the devil. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Anyway.” Jolene patted Alexia on the head and stood, brushing her skirt into place. “Reservations are for seven o’clock this Saturday.” She breezed out just as quickly as she came in, leaving a wake of distress behind her as usual. I heaved a sigh.
“Come on, missy.” I scooped Alexia into my arms. “Bedtime.”
Despite my attempt to push my mother’s words from my mind, I couldn’t quite dispel the nagging inadequacy. I’d tried to contact Xander to let him know, but he’d washed his hands of me—of us—a year ago. I didn’t ever want to put myself—and especially not Alexia—through that again. I’d go on this date, certain nothing would come of it. It’d been a long time since I’d been with a man. Twenty months, in fact. I missed the intimacy, missed the calming contact. Most of all, I missed being a desirable woman. If nothing else, this date would give that back to me for just a few brief moments until I had to return to reality—and loneliness.
Chapter Eight
Xander
I broke down the cardboard box and set it beside the back door to put out with the recyclables, then swiped the back of my wrist across my forehead. Damn, I hated moving. I should be used to it by now, but it never seemed to get easier. I’d learned after the first two or three times to keep only what I needed, so I’d downsized considerably over the past ten years. Still, I’d brought all my childhood mementos that Abel and Emily had packed away. I’d have to go through that stuff at some point, but for now I shoved the boxes in the spare bedroom.