A Woman of Fortune (24 page)

And Tuck had not forgotten.

Claire had received her first letter. He'd called since the new charges and revised plea agreement, but she could never bring herself to answer. Now he had reached out again. On her birthday.

With trembling hands, she'd opened the single sheet of lined notebook paper.

My dear sweet Claire,

I know you are hurting. My heart breaks each time I think of how my actions have caused you pain. I love you so much. Never did I mean for any of this to get so out of hand. I hope to explain these recent developments to you face-to-face. Will you come? I desperately need to talk to you.

Oh, Claire. I miss you so much. I lay in this bunk at night and ache for you. If I close my eyes, I smell your hair and the sweetness of your skin.

You are, and always will be, the love of my life.

T.

Claire slowed the engine as the entrance leading to Legacy Ranch came into view. This time next week, she'd exit that gate a final time.

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed and thought of Tuck, and the letter.

For all that had transpired and the wrongs Tuck had committed, she knew he'd placed his heart on that paper. Claire believed he loved her, which made what she had to do so difficult.

She decided she had to go to him.

33

A
woman dressed in an official prison uniform led Claire through a heavy metal door into a cramped room. A barrier cut the room in half, the upper portion made of glass grimy with handprints.

Claire turned to thank the officer, but she was now alone. Nervous, she slid into the empty chair on her side of the barrier.

And waited.

It had been two weeks since her birthday and Tuck's letter. So much had happened in that short time, and often she'd pondered the future, wondering whether she was making the right decision. But in the end, she had no choice, really. She had to move on.

She'd taken Margarita to the airport and said goodbye, promising to visit her in El Paso. Before she left, Claire's mother helped Margarita open a profile page on Facebook so she could share photos of her grandchildren with Claire.

“I don't know, Mrs. Wyden. I'm an old woman. Hard to learn new things.”

But when Claire's mother showed Margarita how to check her daughters' Facebook walls, her housekeeper's eyes lit up. “Ooo-eeee! Now, tell me. How do I hit ‘Like' again?”

Ellie Wyden grinned. “Wait until I show you Pinterest, Margarita. That'll blow the ties right off that apron of yours.”

Last Tuesday, the movers had arrived. In less than a day, everything Claire now owned was crammed into a van the size of the motorhome she and Tuck used to park out at the Texas Motor Speedway for tailgating at the NASCAR races. Everything had been placed in storage, waiting until she decided her next move.

Not so unlike her life in general.

Both Claire and her mother had moved in with Max temporarily. Only until Claire located an apartment, which was next on her list. Right after this visit to Tuck.

A distant noise from beyond the Plexiglas window pulled Claire's thoughts back to the present surroundings, and why she was here.

Even though she told herself to breathe, her heart pounded wildly. By the time the door on the other side of the barrier creaked open, every nerve fiber in her body was charged. Claire trained her eyes on the doorway and vowed not to cry. Not here.

Then he entered, appearing older, more tired than the last time she'd seen him. Perhaps resigned to his circumstances. But he still looked at her with the same eyes—the ones she'd gazed into that night all those years ago at the Burger Hut. And so many times since.

Tuck quickly moved to the window and took his seat. With a guard standing nearby, he placed his shackled palm against the glass and mouthed, “I love you.”

Claire blinked several times before picking up the telephone receiver and motioning for him to do the same.

He scrambled for the phone at his side, as though it were a line to the life he'd left behind . . . to her. He quickly nestled the black handset against his ear.

“Claire.” He said her name with a kind of reverence, a tone you'd use with someone you cherished.

Claire swallowed against the dryness of her throat. She couldn't
waffle. This had to be done. She looked into her husband's eyes and steeled herself.

“I want a divorce.”

Claire leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes as Max pulled onto TX-95 and headed back to Dallas. She appreciated the coolness of the air-conditioning blowing from the vent, a stark contrast to the sweltering August sun and the different kind of heat she'd felt inside that prison.

No matter how she tried, she couldn't erase the memory of the look on Tuck's face. He'd visibly winced at her words. He understood her decision, he'd said. But she'd caught the quiver in his chin and knew she'd thrown him a harsh blow, wounding him with those four words far more than anything physical could have.

Even as he stood before being led away, he'd looked at her and whispered, “I love you.”

A knot formed in Claire's gut. He had no right to put her through any of this.
His
decisions and choices had poisoned all of their well-being. He'd left her with no other viable option.

Claire had never pictured herself ending her marriage. But she was making the only decision that made sense, given these circumstances. Tuck was a criminal, incarcerated for twenty years. He'd betrayed her trust. Lied even. She was doing the right thing.

Wasn't she?

“You okay, Mom?” Max flashed the blinker and changed lanes.

She opened her eyes and gave her son a weak smile. “I will be.”

Max's hand left the steering wheel and he lightly patted her hand. “You're welcome to stay with me for as long as you need. Gram too.”

“Don't worry. Jana Rae and I start apartment hunting tomorrow. But I appreciate your hospitality, Son.” Claire smoothed her hair. “Let's stop at a grocery store, huh? I've peeked in your fridge, and
I don't think we can cook dinner with only milk and a couple of sticks of margarine.”

“Margarita could,” he said, grinning. “That ol' gal could make mud taste good.”

“Yes, she sure could,” Claire said. “But now you're stuck with your mother. And despite the fact I have a culinary arts degree, I need a bit more to work with.”

Early September in Texas was normally bright and sunny and served as a nice transition from blistering summer to what often was the nicest time of the year. Unfortunately, the weatherman played a cruel joke this year and predicted a warm front from the gulf would meet up with an early line of cold air mass, creating potential for severe weather in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex.

Despite the warnings, Jana Rae pushed Claire to follow through on their plans to find a suitable apartment. “Honey,” she said, “Max has been more than patient. You need to get off that boy's couch and give him his life back.”

“Max likes having us there,” Claire said.

“Sure he does.” Jana Rae tossed her purse in the backseat of the car and slid behind the wheel. “And he loves strawberry jam on his ham sandwich.” She handed Claire a spiral-bound notebook. “I've made a list of possibilities. I think we should focus on Dallas first. Even though prices are higher over here than in Fort Worth, you'd be closer to restaurants that might be hiring.”

Claire gave her friend an odd look and moved to the passenger side. “Glad my life is in good hands.”

“What are friends for?” Jana Rae buckled up and inserted the key into the ignition.

The first place they looked at was in uptown Dallas, a wonderful three bedroom with a study overlooking a stunning garden with landscaping that reminded Claire of a naturalized riverbed. She loved it, but the lease price was far over what she could afford.

Jana Rae followed her back to where they'd parked the car. “I wish you'd reconsider and let me and Clark help you. I mean, the Urologist might be opposed to sharing our funds, but I have a tiny nest egg of my own that I could use to help you out temporarily, until you get on your feet.”

Claire shook her head. “Absolutely not. Like you said, I need to get off Max's couch. And I need to move on . . . learn to live within my means. When I get a job, I still don't want my entire paycheck going toward rent.”

She let that thought settle.
Get a
job.

She didn't let on to Jana Rae, but the prospect of finding employment skyrocketed her anxiety level higher than Reunion Tower, especially since she'd never had a job—ever.

As usual, Jana Rae zeroed in on what Claire was thinking. “Look, I know things are tighter than Spandex on a fat girl right now, but you can do this. We'll find you a place to live, one with reasonable rent. And then you'll land a job.” A sly grin formed on Jana Rae's face. “You could always be a buyer for Neiman Marcus. Or a sales clerk!” She pounded her hand on the steering wheel. “With your good taste and sense of style, you could sell nearly anything. Even nail polish to an armadillo.”

“Ha, Tuck was the salesman in the family.” Claire smirked. “And look how all that turned out.”

They looked at three more places before she settled on a condominium within walking distance of White Rock Lake and a Whole Foods grocery. The kitchen featured stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The carpets showed a little wear here and there, but Claire felt good that she and her mother would be living in a safe area and within her current budget. Still, the check for the six-month lease severely depleted her checkbook, a fact that worried her.

“When do you want to move in?” the resident manager asked.

“The moving company needs three days' notice.” Claire looked around at her new place, trying not to think about Legacy Ranch and all she'd lost. “I think Wednesday afternoon would be ideal.”

She thanked the lady, took a deep breath, and gazed out the bare window at the darkening sky. Perhaps when she got her own things moved in and hung family portraits on the wall, she might even convince herself this tiny condo located on a street filled with traffic . . . was home.