The House on Sugar Plum Lane (18 page)

Having no solid answers, she continued to read the last entry on the prayer list.

A bevy of goose bumps chased up and down Amy's arms. She wasn't sure how God would choose to answer that prayer, because Ellie's mind was all but gone, and she was still here.

The familiar tone of Amy's cell phone rang, drawing her from her musing. So she tucked Ellie's list back into the Bible and went for her purse to answer the call.

It was Brandon, and his voice seemed to be lugged down by something. Despair? Weariness?

She gripped the phone tight and pressed it against her ear, trying to pick up background noises or some clue as to where he was and why he was calling. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you. Let's have dinner tonight.”

“We're talking now,” she said.

“Not over the phone. I need to see you in person. I'll pick you up at seven.”

Whoa,
she thought.
Slow down, Brandon.
A conversation over dinner sounded way too much like a date, and she wasn't up for it. Not if he had candles, soft music, and a bottle of wine in mind.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” she said.

“Why not?”

Because she didn't want to go soft, didn't want to back down from the decision she'd made to go forward with her life. She still had feelings for him, but they were no longer strong enough to even attempt to work things out.

“I've already told you how I feel about reconciling,” she said.

Silence stretched across the phone like a bad connection.

“Is there someone else?” he finally asked.

“No.” She never would have cheated on him, and even now that they were separated, she wasn't interested in getting involved with anyone else. It was too soon.

“Then why won't you go out with me?” he asked.

“Because I don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

The silence returned, and the line sparked with unspoken feelings, pain, and disappointment, creating an imaginary static.

Brandon blew out a restless sigh. “I've never met a woman as stubborn as you, Amy.”

That was too bad. He might see her determination and resolve as a flaw, but she considered it an asset. She was sticking to her guns, doing the right thing. Protecting herself and her daughter from untold disappointment in the future.

“I'm sorry, Brandon. I care for you. You're the father of my daughter. But I want so much more than you're willing to give me.”

“I've given you everything I possibly could. What more do you want?”

“We've been over this before. I wanted your
time.
”

“That's not a problem. You can have it—”

“Your promises aren't good enough anymore.”

That prickly silence returned, threatening their conversation.

When she'd had enough of it, when she'd sensed a change of heart, when she was just about to roll over and agree to meet with him one last time, even if it was over a candlelit dinner and a glass of wine, Brandon said, “Fine. Have it your way.”

His receiver slammed down like the lid of an airtight casket, and the next thing she heard was silence—the cold, shuddery kind that followed death.

Tears welled in her eyes, and a long, hard ache burrowed deep into her heart.

The first time she'd told Brandon their marriage was over, she'd been angry. But now that it was truly over and buried, all she felt was a deep and brutal sense of loss.

 

At his wits' end, Brandon stared at the telephone in his office, slammed his hand down on the desk and uttered a curse.

It was over. It was
really
over, and there wasn't anything he could do to fix it.

His heart rate was raging out of control, and he had the urge to get some fresh air, to escape the confines of the room that seemed to have sucked all the life out of him.

The red light on the intercom flashed and the familiar buzz sounded. His world might be spiraling out of control, but life as he knew it at the law firm was going on as usual.

He pressed the button, accepting the call from his secretary. “Yes, Kara?”

“Are you up for lunch? You don't have any appointments this afternoon, and you came in early.”

That was because he'd hoped to have a dinner date with Amy tonight, and he'd wanted to cut out before five so he could pick up flowers and take a shower.

He glanced at the clock across from his desk. 1:23. He really wasn't hungry, but he wasn't going to be able to focus on anything other than Amy if he stayed here one minute longer.

Before the walls closed in on him, he said, “Sure. Why not?”

Moments later, as he was slipping on his jacket, a light rap sounded at the door he'd closed in order to have some privacy during his call to his soon-to-be ex-wife.

“Come in,” he said.

Kara, a petite brunette in her mid-twenties, poked her pretty face into his office and smiled. “I thought it'd be fun to try that new bistro that just opened up down the street, Jazzy Blue's. What do you think?”

Brandon had wanted to try it, too. “Sounds good to me.”

He closed his office door, then followed Kara down the hall and into the reception area. His gaze first lit upon the glossy dark curls that she sometimes wove in a twist. Today she wore her long hair loose, and it danced along her shoulders when she walked.

And speaking of walking, her hips swayed seductively side to side.

Had his secretary always been that attractive?

If so, when had he stopped noticing other women?

The sun cast a lazy summer glow over the San Diego streets as Brandon walked with Kara to Jazzy Blue's.

After they turned onto Coast Highway, she nudged his arm, as if their outing had made them friends instead of coworkers. “I heard through the office grapevine that you and your wife have separated.”

He really didn't want to discuss the split, although he wondered where she'd heard about it since he'd tried so hard to keep it quiet. Jake Goldstein might have spilled the beans, but he was usually pretty discreet and not prone to gossip. So maybe it had just begun to show in Brandon's eyes, in the clothing he wore—Amy used to buy all his ties and would suggest which one he ought to wear, since she was more style conscious and had a good eye for that sort of thing.

Before Brandon had hung up the phone just minutes ago, he would've been unhappy to learn that people were talking and making assumptions about his personal situation; he'd had enough of that in the past, when he'd been a kid. But now that he'd faced the fact that the marriage was really over, he supposed there wasn't any reason to keep it a secret.

Deciding that he'd pondered a response to Kara long enough, he finally said, “I'm not proud or happy about it, but Amy filed for divorce. And I guess we're going to follow through with it.”

That meant talking to a family law attorney, he supposed, but he didn't want to retain anyone. Not yet. Amy had been fair so far, and he had no reason to believe things would get nasty. If they did, he'd have to hire counsel, but he didn't plan to fight.

That was odd, he realized, since he'd had to fight so hard to get to where he was. If he hadn't, he might not have survived his childhood, gone on to college, or climbed the ranks at the firm.

They walked several more blocks before Kara spoke again. “I'm sorry to hear that, Brandon. You're a great guy, and a woman ought to thank her lucky stars to be married to you.”

He ought to be flattered by the comment, and actually, he was. But did she really mean it?

In spite of having a reputation as one of the top litigators in the county, he had to admit that he still harbored a few insecurities about his worth—thanks to Chuck Masterson never caring enough to suck it up and be a real father, one a kid could depend upon. So Amy's rejection and his own sense of failure only seemed to make it all worse.

Brandon had won a full ride to UCLA and gone on to graduate from Cal Western School of Law at the top of his class. He'd also worked day and night to make partner at Price, Feller, Goldstein and now Masterson, but none of it seemed to matter at this point. He'd been with Amy for almost as long as he could remember, certainly as long as his life had held meaning, but she'd thrown a wrench into the well-oiled, carefully crafted works.

And as angry as he was, as much as he wanted to forget all about her and start fresh, he couldn't seem to let go of the memories, the dreams he'd had, all of which included her and Callie.

He couldn't help wondering what another guy in his situation might do.

Take off his wedding band, he supposed.

Would a relationship with another woman make him feel better?

He stole a gaze at Kara, noticed her chic profile, the flush on her cheeks, the hint of a grin on lips that had been artfully defined with a glossy shade of pink.

Could someone like Kara help him to set his out-of-step life back on track?

And if so, would she even want to?

As they turned right and continued along B Street, Brandon sneaked another look at the shapely brunette, a woman most men would find attractive.

Why not push the issue, take advantage of the opportunity beside him?

He looked up at the summer sky, caught the ocean breeze on his face. It didn't make sense, but he just couldn't do it, didn't want to.

When he tried to contemplate why, family values came to mind, which was a flat-out-ridiculous reason since he no longer had a family to speak of. Yet he had to admit that his father, with all his faults, had been a one-woman man. So much so, that when his mom had died, his old man had fallen completely apart.

There hadn't been anything else on the face of the earth that could take Marianne Masterson's place in Chuck's life—other than the prescription pain meds he routinely dropped and the booze he chugged.

Strangely enough, Brandon could almost understand why he'd taken that route, since he was having such a hard time calling it quits himself and letting Amy go. And for the first time in his life, he saw just what his mom's loss had done to his dad—from his father's perspective. He could see how it had crippled him, at least in the beginning, and he understood how the inability to get over it and move on with his life had eventually taken its toll. Not that Brandon planned to let it go that far, or to drink himself into a stupor each night, but he could see why someone might want to take an easy way out.

Up ahead, he spotted Jazzy Blue's, the trendy new bar and grill that several of the other attorneys had been talking about.

“I heard that they have an extensive wine list,” Kara said, “and a martini bar. It might be fun to come back some evening after work. I love jazz music.”

Was that an opening he ought to snatch? Should he ask if she'd like to come back with him later today? Maybe take advantage of happy hour?

If it was an opening, he couldn't quite bring himself to take advantage of it, which was pathetic, wasn't it?

At the intersection they were approaching, a homeless woman, her shoulders slumped by the weight of her plight, was pushing an overladen grocery cart along the cross street. Then she turned right and continued a slow pace in front of them.

Her unkempt hair and shabby clothes reminded Brandon of the guy named Jesse. And even though the woman hung another right and pushed her cart into an alley, disappearing from sight, his thoughts remained on Jesse.

The words the homeless man had spoken resonated in Brandon's mind as clearly right now as they'd reverberated on the city street the day they'd shared a bench near the bus stop.

Sometimes fixing a key relationship can help you make sense of everything else in life…. It can also help a man rebuild a marriage.

Yeah, right. He hadn't seen his old man in more than fifteen years. Even if he knew where to look for him, he couldn't imagine how patching things up with his dad would help move things along with Amy. She'd never even met the guy, so how could that affect her?

You got a raw deal as a kid,
Jesse had said,
and it's created havoc in your interpersonal relationships ever since.

Brandon had only stared at Jesse in both disbelief and annoyance. It had bothered him that a stranger had taken it upon himself to butt into another man's life. But still, the words, which held more than a semblance of truth, struck a raw chord.

It's a fairly easy fix,
Jesse had added.

Brandon had complicated courtroom trials that seemed to be an easier “fix” than his relationship with Amy.

He'd laughed the guy off at that point, although the laughter had been hollow.

As if Jesse could read minds, he'd added,
Everyone makes mistakes that can have an unexpected effect on the lives of others. And it's tough to correct what's already been done. But the future offers healing, if you'll open your heart. And making peace with the past is often the first step.

The man had clearly been crazy, one of those curbside charlatans who claimed to be psychic.

“We're here,” Kara said, pointing at the eatery that was only one storefront away.

But Brandon wasn't hungry anymore, not for trendy California cuisine.

The next time you're in Fairbrook,
the homeless man had said,
stop by the soup kitchen at Parkside Community Church.

For some wild reason, that's exactly what Brandon was going to do.

As he and Kara approached the entrance to Jazzy Blue's, Brandon pulled to a stop. “I'm sorry. I can't do this. I really have to go.”

She looked at him as though he was completely off his rocker, and maybe he was.

Call it a last-ditch effort to save himself, much like the terminally ill cancer patient who traveled to Mexico or Europe for an unproven and unconventional treatment, but Brandon just couldn't quite give up on his marriage.

“Where are you going?” Kara asked. “Back to the office?”

“Believe it or not, I'm leaving for the rest of the day.”

She still wore a bewildered expression.

“I've got to meet with someone in Fairbrook,” he added.

“Who?”

While it wasn't really any of her business, she was his secretary. She kept his schedule, did his bidding, made his excuses. So he couldn't blame her for asking.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he was going to a soup kitchen and seeking out a minister named Craig.

“I'll talk to you about it when I get back.”

He doubted that he really would, though. No matter what happened, or what Craig might say, Brandon couldn't see himself talking to Kara about anything other than business. Nor could he imagine pursuing anything even remotely romantic.

Not when the only woman he'd ever loved was Amy.

 

Already waylaid by a preventable collision with a police cruiser, Barbara didn't dare waste another minute. Her heart was racing as she gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands, yet she wouldn't risk another accident or a speeding ticket, so she drove slowly through town.

All she could think about was getting to Joey's bedside. Her son had become such a part of her that she feared she would crumble into dust without him in her life.

A few of her friends had been burdened by a ton of problems their adult children had heaped upon them: financial troubles, the custody of neglected grandkids who needed stability and love in their lives.

Some of those grown children had gone through messy and painful divorces, while others had lost jobs, abused alcohol or drugs, or had uncovered some adolescent need to “find themselves.”

Either way, many of them moved back home, creating trouble for their poor parents, who'd wanted nothing more than to enjoy their retirement and who now could no longer do so.

But Barbara had been blessed with a son who was bright and successful, a man who'd made her proud.

As she reached the hospital, she looked for a place to park that was close to the entrance, but she had to drive to the far corner of the lot to find an empty space.

Apparently, Fate or someone—God, she supposed—hadn't wanted her to arrive any sooner than she had, and she found herself tense and ready to snap in two.

She quickly climbed out of the Jag, locked the doors, then hurried toward the lobby, tucking her car keys into her purse as she went.

When she heard the jangle and clang of metal hitting pavement, she realized she had yet another hurdle to go before reaching the hospital entrance.

She grumbled under her breath as she turned to retrieve her keys and stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted a homeless man trailing her—or so it seemed.

His eyes were a stunning shade of blue, and his gaze was almost mesmerizing.

“You lost something,” he said, as he stooped to pick up her key ring—a Gucci.

When he handed it over, she thanked him and dropped the keys into her purse.

“You need to own your mistakes,” he said.

Was he talking about her dropping the keys in her rush to get to the ICU? Or had she missed something?

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Once you confess, everything will fall back into place.”

Oh, for goodness sake. She should have realized that he didn't have both oars in the water. And if she needed or even wanted counseling, she'd pay top dollar for a professional.

She turned to go, eager to put some distance between them.

“I'm talking about Angel,” he added.

At that, her steps froze, and she slowly turned around. Over the years, her mother had referred to the baby as Angel, and there was no way this man would know that. Unless, of course, he was one of her mother's friends, which wasn't likely.

Or was it?

She'd been shocked to find out recently that her mother had been frequenting the soup kitchen in town, so maybe they
had
known each other after all.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he said, “Angel found you last year, and you refused to have anything to do with her.”

Barbara's heart thumped a hollow beat, and her blood turned to sludge. No one, not even her mother, had known that a woman named Susan Rossi had called Barbara out of the blue.

If her mother had known, she would have insisted, at the very least, that Barbara do something, that she seek out the younger woman and apologize for refusing to see her.

“I had no other choice,” she admitted to the man. “My husband doesn't know about any of that, and if I'd reached out to her, it would have destroyed my life.”

“The secret has already destroyed you in many ways.”

Had it?

She tried to wrap her mind around this weird encounter with a stranger who seemed to echo her mother's voice.

Would her mom, who was only a shell of her old self, still continue to nag at her via others for the rest of her days?

You need to come clean with Joseph,
her mother had advised time and again.
It's not right for you to keep that a secret from your husband.

If I tell him, it'll crush him, Mom. And he'll leave me.

Maybe he will, but he's your husband, your life partner. And that's his choice to make.

Barbara again studied the stranger who appeared to be a down-and-out friend of her mom. Maybe he wasn't homeless, as she'd once thought. Maybe he was actually a private investigator—the unkempt, bumbling,
Columbo
type—and Susan Rossi had hired him to speak on her behalf, to encourage a mother/daughter relationship of some kind.