A Woman of Fortune (34 page)

48

L
ainie had lived life fairly sure of herself. She had the ability to evaluate life and formulate a plan to get what she wanted. Lately, though, her resolute nature seemed to be pulled into a riptide of conflicting emotions.

She'd been so convinced moving in with Sidney would restore what her daddy had ripped away and get her out from under the shadow of losing her role as senator's wife to Miss Perky.

Now she knew differently.

She pulled herself from the rumpled sheets and glanced at her watch, a Cartier she'd bought at the mall the other day to console herself. Sadly, not even a Patek Philippe, at a price tag well over six figures, could have raised her spirits these past weeks.

She would tear up over the silliest things. Election night, of course. But she'd also choked with emotion when she pulled a sweater from the closet. Daddy had said that shade of blue reminded him of the sky.

She'd picked up the phone to call her mother, then remembered their explosive exchange and the haunting disappointment in her mother's eyes, and she'd changed her mind.

Lainie slipped into her robe and headed for the bathroom. She
turned the water on to fill the tub, then moved to the sink and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

Since that day in the mall, she knew what had to be done. Problem was, she'd burned a lot of bridges, so to speak. Where would she go when she left Sidney?

How could she face her family now?

Despite her bruised pride, she had to find a way out of this mess she'd made.

Lainie hated to admit it, but the person looking back at her in the mirror with the dark circles under her eyes was not so different from most women who'd bartered their self-worth.

She longed to be cherished.

And because of that need, she was quietly coming undone.

49

T
hanksgiving came and went, with only Max and Claire's mother staring at her from across her tiny kitchen table—a far cry from the elaborate family events of prior years. She no longer wrestled with her changed lifestyle—well, at least not as often—but there had never been a holiday without her entire family present. That, she'd never get used to.

Claire tried, as the weeks passed, to bury her mind in the busy Christmas season. There was a Christmas tea for a woman she'd met in the beverage aisle at Whole Foods. She catered several office parties, and when she wasn't preparing for an event, Margarita helped her bake and deliver Christmas cookies, homemade peanut brittle, and fluffy pink divinity.

On the evening that was to have been Lainie's wedding night, she tried to call her daughter. Sidney McAlvain answered. “Yes, hello, Claire. I hope you enjoyed Thanksgiving.”

His voice grated on Claire's nerves. “Is Lainie there, please?” she asked with as much patience as possible.

“No, I'm afraid she's gone shopping and left her phone behind. I wouldn't have picked up except that I saw it was you. Would you like to leave a message?”

Claire couldn't stand Sidney's pretense, his phony disregard for their nasty encounter. “No. Just that I called.”

Max complained he'd been unable to reach Lainie as well. He'd wanted to talk some sense into her after learning about Sidney McAlvain, and Claire wanted him to succeed where she'd failed.

Now it was a week before Christmas, and still nothing. No doubt her daughter was still smarting over Claire showing up, and perhaps that had been a bad move. Lainie was never one to be told what to do. Even when she was a child, her temperament required molding and rebelled at being pushed.

Claire's mother urged her to quit worrying. “Lainie is young and free-spirited. Like I was at that age.” She clicked the channel to
The
Price Is Right
. Over the years, she'd admitted to watching every morning because she had a secret crush on Bob Barker. Now she likely watched out of habit. “Perhaps Lainie and that man of hers plan to go to Paris for Christmas. Don't impose a guilt trip on the poor girl.”

Never had Claire wanted so badly to take her mother down a peg or two.

“Mama, why did you divorce my father?”

Her mother's eyes darted from the television to Claire. “What kind of question is that?”

“Did it ever give you pause to dump me off in San Angelo and spend the holidays apart?” she challenged. “I was only eight.”

Her mother waved her off. “Of course not. You were with your father. He loved you.”

“Then why did you keep us apart?”

“Why, Claire, I'm surprised at you. I did no such thing.”

Claire huffed. “You didn't make it easy for us to spend time together.” She felt her eyes fill with sadness. “It nearly killed him, you know.”

“Don't blame me for wanting a good life. I simply don't know what's gotten into you lately.” She lifted from the couch and shook her head. “I made my choices. Lainie is making hers. I suggest, for your sake, you get on with yours.”

“Give me some advice, Brian. I keep thinking I've stuffed my life back into a box labeled ‘happiness,' but no matter what, I see something or something is said that pulls me right back out and lands me on the table.” Claire looked at Brian sitting on the floor in front of his fireplace, a smile playing at his lips. “Oh, don't look at me that way. You don't know what this feels like.”

“Yes, I do,” he assured her. “There were days in my early sobriety I thought I'd never stand on solid ground.”

“What did you do?”

He grinned, then leaned back and wrapped his arms behind his head. “I just kept running toward what I wanted.”

Claire sat up straight, her legs crossed beneath her. She studied him wistfully. “Maybe that's my problem. I don't know what I want.”

“Sure you do,” he said, popping up and heading into the kitchen. “You just won't let yourself have it.”

She watched him open a bottle of chilled LaCroix water and pour it over two glasses filled with chipped ice. “Need some help?”

“Nah,” he said as he delivered the drinks. “Tonight I'm serving you.” He returned to the kitchen and from the counter pulled a tray filled with cheeses, olives, and delicate crackers. “The guy in the deli told me the Havarti was aged to perfection, said the cheese tastes like butter.”

They ate in front of a crackling fire, talking very little, just enjoying each other's company. Their friendship had grown quickly over the past months, and Claire realized somewhere along the way they'd developed the ability to be silent with one another.

Brian was a good man. She was lucky to have his friendship. At times, she even expected she'd let the relationship take its natural course and move into something deeper. After the divorce.

Her mother would be pleased, do doubt.

Ellie Wyden believed a stellar husband was defined by his balance
sheet. As her daughter, perhaps Claire had unwittingly embraced that kind of thinking.

Tuck claimed he felt pressure to provide a certain lifestyle. Had she contributed in some way to his awful choices? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be so sure she hadn't. She'd certainly enjoyed the wealth too.

Sadly, she was now left wondering if she'd passed along that illusionary attitude to her own daughter.

Amazing what women will
grasp and label as happiness.

Brian reached out and tucked a strand of Claire's hair behind her ear. “You look sad all of a sudden.”

“Not sad, really. Just mulling a lot over these days.”

Brian placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, making her feel warm and safe. He was not as tall as Tuck. Tuck used to rest his chin on top of Claire's head when he held her.

“In AA, we're taught we can't do anything about the past and we can't control the future. We need to focus on the present.”

She smiled. Yes, he'd said that before. She needed to remember his sage words and apply them.

Brian slowly traced the side of her face with his calloused finger. His eyes bore into her own. Claire thought she should pull back.

She didn't.

In a bold move, he leaned forward and she felt his hands go to her waist. Claire's heart pounded as she felt herself melting into him, folding into the comfort of his embrace more eagerly than she would have liked.

“Now would be the time to ask me to stop,” he whispered in a husky voice.

She swallowed, then brought her fingertips to his jaw just as their lips met for the first time. Soft and gentle.

She felt his fingers in her hair, heard him gasp for breath when he pulled back slightly and whispered, “Claire.”

His voice, soft and reverent, shook her to the core.

Before she could respond, he pressed into her mouth again, this
time with an urgency she too felt. She'd forgotten what it was like, and Claire found herself unable to stop trembling, unable to pull back, even though a part of her mind flashed a yellow warning light.

Her heart thundered against her chest. For a moment she let herself forget she was married. She'd been alone too long. She missed him.

His fingers grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against his body. She felt his beating heart. His hot breath on her neck. Heard him groan.

“Oh, Tuck . . .”

Suddenly everything stopped. Brian gripped Claire's wrists and gently moved her back. His face clouded and his breath came in gasps, as though he'd been running.

Claire's eyes scoured his face. “What . . . why did you stop?”

“I'm Brian.”

Confused, she brushed her cheek with the palm of her hand. “I know that.” She leaned into him, but he stopped her.

“I'm Brian,” he repeated.

Then Claire realized. She dropped her head, sick at her slip. “Brian . . . please, I'm so sorry.” This was her friend, someone she cared deeply about. She hated what she'd done to him.

“Claire, you are a beautiful woman,” he whispered.

She sat frozen as he smoothed her hair. For one heart-stopping second, his hands lingered, then he dropped them. “There,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

She couldn't speak, could hardly breathe.

In the distance, she heard her cell phone. Disoriented, she glanced around to locate where the ring was coming from. Then she remembered she'd left her phone in her coat pocket.

Jolted from the surreal, she stood and scurried for the coat closet. After opening the door, she pawed through the pocket until her fingers scooped around the ringing phone. Without looking at the face, she pulled it to her ear, never moving her gaze from Brian. “Hello?”

Too late. She'd missed the call.

Frustrated, she moved her fingers across the face and scrolled to missed calls—Max. Her phone dinged, alerting that he'd left a voice mail.

“Mom, where are you?” Max's voice sounded frantic. “Something's happened and I need you to call me. It's Garrett and Marcy's baby.”