Another Woman's Man (17 page)

“Do you get it now? Do you get why I can't do this again? I'm not a cheater!”

“Why are you acting like it's my fault?” she asked, pointing at her chest. “I haven't done anything to you! I wasn't trying to make you cheat! All I've done is—”

“You don't have to try! That's my point! You're
way
too tempting.” He shook his head ruefully. “And if you keep working here, if I keep being around you, I know this shit is gonna happen again and I can't afford that. I can't let that happen!”

He was shoving her away, both emotionally and mentally. Part of her understood why he was doing it, but the knowledge still hurt. “So is that why you want me to leave? That's why you're replacing me?”

“I
have
to. I'm marrying Constance in less than three months. I don't need any complications.”

“I'm a ‘complication'?” She chuckled and crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, depressing her even more. “Well, I've been called many things, but that's a first.”

“Yeah, go ahead and laugh,” he spat. “This all may be fun and games to you, but this is my life! Constance is important to me. Herb and the respect he has for me is important to me! I'm not going to toss that aside because—”

“Xavier, you kissed me! It wasn't the other way around! I'm not playing games with you! I've tried my best to respect your relationship with Constance! I haven't . . .”

Enough
, she thought.
Enough! I'm so tired of this shit.

She threw up her hands in surrender. “Don't worry. I won't ‘complicate' things for you any longer. I quit.”

In more ways than one,
she wanted to add, but didn't.

She leaned down and grabbed her coat and purse. She turned around, walked across the room, opened the classroom door, and let it slam shut behind her.

X
avier was out of sorts as he sat at Herb's bedside. He felt odd in a business suit, looking so formal, while his mentor lay in a navy blue bathrobe and striped pajamas, being held up by several down pillows. A nurse stood at Herb's side, checking his IV bag before checking his vitals with a pressure cuff and thermometer, catering to him like he was an infant with a fever.

Lying there in bed, Herb seemed so vulnerable. It didn't seem right to see him this way.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Allen?” his nurse asked in a too-loud voice in her heavy Caribbean accent.

“No. No, I'm fine. Thank you,” Herb answered, looking uncomfortable at being hovered over.

He was a proud man. Knowing what he knew about Herb, Xavier figured it had to be demoralizing for Herb to be babied this way. But Herb had suffered a major health setback that would mean having to suffer being babied for a while.

Xavier had gotten a call yesterday that Herb had to be rushed to the hospital. Xavier had known for months that Herb's cancer treatments weren't going well and that the older man's body was growing weaker and weaker, but Xavier hadn't been prepared for the emotional punch he suffered when he heard that Herb had fallen seriously ill. It was similar to the punch he endured a few days ago when he had to shut the door on his feelings for Dawn.

He could still recall the yearning he felt when he watched her walk out the classroom door. That feeling would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. He had wanted to run after her. He had wanted to kiss her again, and it took Herculean strength to fight those impulses.

I made the right decision,
he silently reminded himself as Herb's nurse shifted to the end of the bed to adjust the sheets.
I made Constance a promise. It was the honorable thing to do.

“And if there's anything Xavier Hughes is, it's honorable,” a voice in his head mocked, but he quickly shut it out.

Mock all you want, but I did what I had to do.

“Thank you so much for visiting me today, Xavier,” Herb said, snapping Xavier out of his heavy thoughts. “I know things are busy for you at the office. You have better things to do than to check on an old man.”

Xavier slowly shook her head. “You know damn well that isn't true, Herb. Things are never so busy that I couldn't come here to see how you're doing. I heard that you had a real scare yesterday.”

Herb waved his hand dismissively. “I have scares
every
day. That's part of the fun of being terminally ill,” he said with a smirk. “Compared to everything else, it wasn't quite that bad. My doctor merely overreacted to my last lab results.”

“Humph,” the nurse grunted as she fluffed his pillow, looking incredulous.

Herb narrowed his eyes at her. “That's quite enough pillow-adjusting, don't you think, Hortense?”

She stood back and grunted again in response.

“You know, you don't have to stay here,” Herb said to her. “I am perfectly—”

“I'm supposed to stay with you at all times, Mr. Allen. Those were my orders,” she insisted. “I'm fine
right
here. I'll just read my book.”

She then pulled out a raunchy paperback romance and a pack of Oreos from her pocket, sat down in a chair on the other side of the bedroom, and flipped to one of the book's pages.

Herb let out a beleaguered sigh, making Xavier chuckle.

“She's right,” Xavier whispered. “You need someone to watch over you until you feel a little better. I'm sure Constance and Raquel would agree.”

“Feel a little better?”
Herb glanced at the nurse again. “I'm afraid we both have to accept the truth, Xavier, that it's only going to go downhill from here.”

Xavier felt his throat tighten at those words. His eyes got a little misty. But he quickly pulled himself back together. His congenial expression stayed locked in place.

“Either way, you need a nurse,” he said.

“Which is why I agreed to let Raquel hire one. She wanted to make sure I was taken care of while she and Constance take their trip to St. Thomas. I said, ‘So be it. If that's what you want, darling.' ”

Xavier did a double take, wondering if he had heard Herb correctly. “What do you mean while they take their trip to St. Thomas? They're canceling it, of course.”

Herb shook his head. “No, they aren't.”

“But . . . but how could they still go? I mean . . . with you being so sick. They can't go to the Caribbean now!”

“I doubt having them here will make much of a difference. I'm not going to miraculously get better. And Constance has had her heart set on this trip forever. You know that. She and her mother have been planning this for months. I told them that unfortunately, the cancer is really starting to take its toll now and I would no longer be able to go with them, but they shouldn't let me hold them back. Have a good time.”

Xavier frowned. “But you're on your sickbed, Herb. You're . . . you're . . .”

His voice faded as he let Herb's words sink into him. Constance and her mother planned to take a trip to St. Thomas while Herb was hooked up to an IV bag and lying in bed? The idea sounded so absurd and so selfish that there was no way it could possibly be true. Or was it? He had to talk to his fiancée about this.

“Where is Constance?” Xavier asked.

 

Xavier found his fiancée ten minutes later in one of the workout rooms. She was running on one of the treadmills with earplugs in her ears and her ponytail flopping wildly behind her. Her back glistened with sweat, and her rear end and breasts bounced with each stride. The digital screen in front of her showed a mountain trail. She seemed to be making her way up a steep hill at the moment.

“Constance?” Xavier called as he walked into the brightly lit room, tripping over pink hand weights that littered the floor. He mumbled under his breath as he made his way toward her. “Constance!”

She glanced over her shoulder, saw him, and smiled. She held up her finger, motioning for him to wait as she quickly pressed a few buttons on the treadmill screen. The tread belt gradually lowered and decelerated to a slower pace. She went from a jog to a power walk.

“Hi, pumpkin!” she said, taking out one of her earplugs. She wiped her damp forehead with a white hand towel that hung off the treadmill's guardrail. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see what's going on with your dad.”

“Oh?”
She turned back toward the screen. “That was nice of you. He had a little scare yesterday, but he says it's no big deal.”

“Your dad
always
says it's no big deal. But obviously it
is
a big deal if he's on bed rest!”

“But he's only on bed rest until, you know . . . he regains his strength. No big deal!”

Xavier closed his eyes and took a calming breath. How could Constance not see how serious this was?

“He told me that you and your mother are still taking that yacht trip to St. Thomas in a few days.”

“Yeah!” Her smile broadened into a grin. “Mommy said we already made plans. Even though Daddy can't come with us, we might as well go. Plus, it'll be the last vacation Mom and I can take together before the wedding. You know . . . girl time. It'll be a great stress reliever!”

“But what about your father?”

“Oh, he'll be fine, pumpkin!” She pressed a few buttons. The
thump-thump-thump
of her feet picked up the pace again. “We have a . . . nurse sticking around . . . to watch him. No reason . . . for
all
of us to be . . . stuck at home,” she said between huffs of breath as she jogged.

She then put the earplug back into her ear and started to hum to the music. The treadmill let out a few beeps. Her jog suddenly increased to a run.

Xavier stared at her like he was looking at a stranger. He couldn't fathom how his fiancée could be so oblivious. Her father was seriously ill and here she was more concerned about enjoying “girl time” with her mother and relieving stress in St. Thomas. Who the hell was this woman?

“The same woman who refused to reschedule her wedding to make sure her ailing father was present because it would interfere with her ‘vision,' ” a voice in his head chided. But Constance's vision was obviously more than just a little skewed. As her fiancé, Xavier had to set her straight.

He walked around the treadmill, reached over and pressed the red button underneath the digital screen, bringing the tread to an abrupt stop. Constance had to grab the handrails to keep from flying off the back.

“Hey!”
she shouted, ripping out her earplugs. She jumped down and glared up at him. “Why'd you do that? I could have hurt myself!”

“I did it because I need you to listen to me and stop fucking running for five goddamn seconds!”

Her mouth fell open in shock. “How . . . how
dare
you curse at me?” she sputtered. “What's gotten into you?”

“No, what's gotten into
you?
Your father is dying, Constance! How do you not get that?”

“He's not dying!” she yelled. “Don't say that!”

“It's true! And he needs you and your mother
here,
” Xavier said, pointing down at the floor, “with him! Not on some deck putting on sunscreen or on a fucking beach drinking margaritas!”

She slowly shook her head in astonishment. “I cannot believe you're talking to me like this, Xavier!”

“And I can't believe that I have to! Don't you realize how selfish you're being? How callous this is? He's your father, God damn it!” he exploded. “You were pissed at your dad when he lectured you about being more self-reliant and responsible, but he was right!”

Instead of being chastened by his words, she seemed to get angrier. Constance crossed her arms over her sweaty chest.

“Xavier Hughes, you either apologize to me
right
now for speaking to me like this, or you can get out of my house! I mean it!”

His jaw clenched. His father had been ripped away from him in a matter of minutes! He hadn't had time to prepare. Constance had days, maybe weeks to spend with her father and treasure these last precious moments, and she didn't care enough to stay. She cared more about her vacation.

“Fine,” Xavier said as he turned. “I'll leave, because I'm sure as hell not apologizing.”

He walked toward the workout room's entrance, leaving his fiancée gaping.

Maybe his mother and Dawn had been right about Constance after all. All these years he thought Constance was oblivious to things and other people because she was overprotected and innocently naïve. Now he realized it was just because she was hopelessly self-involved. In fact, she was so self-involved that she took him and even her dying father for granted.

And he had pushed Dawn away because he thought it was the right thing to do. He had fallen in love with her and had sacrificed those emotions for his loyalty to Constance, for a woman he now doubted deserved that loyalty.

“M
ama, are you ready?” Cynthia called as one of the maids shut the door behind her.

She stepped through the richly decorated entryway, with its mahogany furniture and lush velvet curtains. She was immediately hit with the overwhelming fragrance of hyacinth bouquets in the glass vases that dotted the side tables inside the foyer and along the echoing corridor. Cynthia glanced at her gold watch and then into one of the sitting rooms. Her mother wasn't there, making Cynthia mumble loudly to herself.

Where the hell is she?

Again, Cynthia would be going alone with her mother to one of Yolanda's wedding appointments. Lauren was busy at work. Stephanie was now too exhausted from her pregnancy to climb out of bed—except to go to the bathroom or grab a carton of her favorite Fudge Ripple ice cream from the downstairs freezer. And Dawn had called at the last minute to say she couldn't make it because her father had taken a turn for the worse, was now on bed rest, and she had to visit him.

“Mama, we have to leave now if we're going to make your last fitting!” Cynthia shouted. “Mama, where—”

She paused near the entryway of the dimly lit library. She saw her mother sitting at her writing desk near one of the windows. The older woman was wearing her cashmere wool coat. Her black Chanel purse sat on the tabletop beside her. She was staring down at a sheet of paper.

“Mama, I've been calling you and calling you,” Cynthia said as she walked across the Persian carpet toward Yolanda. “Did you hear me?” As she drew closer and saw the perturbed expression on her mother's face, she frowned. “What's wrong?”

Yolanda slowly looked away from the note and gazed up at Cynthia, shaking her head. “I just don't know what to make of this.”

“Make of what?”

Yolanda handed her the sheet of paper. The note was written on a legal notepad sheet in blue ink with wild handwriting worthy of any doctor, but Cynthia could still read its loopy scroll:

Cynthia lowered the letter after she finished reading it. “Oh, my God! Mama, it's a death threat!”

“I
know
it's a death threat, honey,” Yolanda replied dryly, rising from her Queen Anne chair. She reached for her gloves, which sat beside her purse. “And a death threat with atrocious spelling and horrible grammar, at that.”

“Mama, how can you possibly joke about this? This crazy person just threatened to put you six feet under!”

“Do I look like I'm joking?” Yolanda asked, raising her finely arched eyebrows. “Because I'm not! I swear, this Beatrice woman will not let up. I am really starting to get tired of her foolishness.”

Cynthia's frown deepened. “Wait, you . . . you knew about her?”

Yolanda nodded as she tugged on her gloves and draped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She ruffled her hair, fluffing her curls. “Of course I knew about her! She isn't exactly inconspicuous with how she's been carrying on. She follows me
every
where! That woman has all the subtlety of a buffalo charging across the Great Plains.”

Cynthia stared at her mother in disbelief. This whole time she thought she had been protecting her mother by keeping Beatrice a secret, and Yolanda had known about Beatrice all along.

“So what are you going to do?”

“What I've always planned to do! Marry Reggie.”

“I'm talking about what are you going to do about Beatrice, Mama? You have to show this note to the cops. Hell, take out a restraining order while you're at it! She's taken it past just following you to the hairdresser's and the grocery store! Now she's—”

“I will do no such thing! If I call the police and tell them what's happening, then I'll have to tell Reggie. What if he wants to call off the wedding?” She grimaced as if the thought left a bad taste in her mouth. “He's been acting strange enough as it is.”

Cynthia dropped a hand to her hip and tossed the note back onto the writing desk. “Mama, now I know you're joking! Are you honestly going to risk your life just to marry a man?”

“Just to marry a man?”
Yolanda's red lips tightened. “Cindy, do you realize how broke I was before Reggie and I started dating? Before he started paying my bills?”

Cynthia nodded tiredly. “Yes, I do, Mama. We all knew how broke you were! But—”

“So broke that I was selling my furniture to antique stores! So broke that I thought I was going to have to put up your childhood home for sale! So broke that I was calling old boyfriends that I hadn't spoken to in decades and asking them for money! And some of them were so smug about it. Oh, they couldn't get enough of it . . . ol' Yolanda Gibbons begging for money like some grubby panhandler!” She ruefully shook her head. “Do you know how humiliating that was? I'm not going back to that—absolutely, positively not!”

“I'm not asking you to go back to it!”

Cynthia of all people knew what it was like to treasure the financial security that a rich man could bring, but it certainly wasn't worth dying over! She had thought she could handle this, but it was apparent that things were quickly spiraling out of control.

“I'm just saying that Beatrice doesn't seem like she's going to let up
or
back down. She's actually getting worse! I'd hate for you to go to sleep one night and wake up with that crazy behemoth standing over you with a knife at your throat!”

Yolanda waved her hand as she walked across the room toward the open doorway. “Oh, don't be ridiculous, Cindy! I have a state-of-the-art alarm system all around this property. She couldn't make it across the front lawn, let alone into my bedroom to stab me in my sleep!”

Cynthia clenched her hands into fists. Damn, this was frustrating! Why couldn't her mother understand how serious this was? Instead, Yolanda had a glib response to every legitimate point Cynthia believed she was making.

“OK, so she can't get you here, but what about when you drive around Chesterton, Mama?” Cynthia cried. “What about when—”

“Cindy,” her mother began, “I really don't want to talk about this nonsense anymore. That woman is not going to scare me off from what I want, and I want Reginald Whitfield III's ring on my finger. We have an appointment to make and”—she paused to point at the ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the spacious library—“it looks like we're going to be late.”

Cynthia knew it was useless to continue this argument with her mother. It was obvious Yolanda's mind was set. “Fine, Mama,” she muttered.

 

For the rest of that day, during the drive to the fitting, even during the appointment, Cynthia kept making furtive glances into her rearview mirror and over her shoulder, wondering if she would find Beatrice or her Grand Marquis there. While her mom flitted around, laughing with the seamstress and rambling on and on about her wedding details, Cynthia kept having visions of Beatrice bursting through the bridal shop glass doors and charging toward them “like a buffalo across the Great Plains” with a butcher knife in her hand.

It had Cynthia on edge the whole afternoon. She jumped at every sudden sound. She almost punched the poor salesgirl who tapped her on the shoulder to ask her if she wanted water or tea. By the time Cynthia dropped off her mother and drove back home, her sense of unease hadn't waned. Something bad was going to happen. She could sense it, and her mother refused to do anything to prevent it!

Cynthia was at a loss for how to change her mother's mind. Maybe her sisters would have better luck. She called Lauren first and rolled her eyes when she got her voicemail. She called Stephanie next.

“Hey, this is Keith.” Stephanie's man answered on the second ring in his deep baritone.

“Hi, Keith, can you put my sister on the phone?” Cynthia asked as she stepped out of her high heels and walked barefoot over the cold tile into her kitchen. She opened the stainless steel refrigerator door and peered at the shelves.

She had been so tense that she hadn't been able to eat anything during lunch with her mother.

“Baby, can you come wash my back?” she could hear Stephanie shout in the background. “Please!”

Keith sighed gravely on the line while Cynthia laughed to herself as she took out a loaf of bread and some turkey deli meat. Keith Hendricks was supposed to be this hard-nosed, über-masculine detective, but now he was basically playing handmaiden to a belligerent pregnant woman.

From sexy PI to Stephanie's bitch
, Cynthia thought sardonically.

“Can Steph call you back?” Keith asked hurriedly. “She just got into the bath.”

“And don't forget to bring my new loofah!” Stephanie yelled.

Cynthia pursed her lips in annoyance. She opened one of her overhead cabinets and pulled out a plate. “Well, can you put her on the phone anyway? It's kind of—”

“
Keith!
Where are you?” Stephanie barked.

“Look, as soon as Steph's done, I'll have her call you, all right? I swear.”

“Keith!” Stephanie screeched.

“Gotta go,” he said before abruptly hanging up the phone.

Cynthia stared at her phone receiver, completely flabbergasted. “Did he just hang up on me?”

She knew Dawn said she was going to see her father, but she figured it was worth a try calling her too. Besides, the Allens weren't the only ones dealing with a family crisis right now!

She dialed Dawn's number and listened to the line ring.

“Come on, Dawn,” she mumbled as she glared at the ceiling. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up!”