Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller (20 page)

I knew my daughter, knew that if I could phrase the letter in the right way, she would take it in and, although she’d be surprised and perhaps a little shocked, she could absorb what I had to say without becoming overly upset. It was the verbal confrontation we had to avoid, a confrontation in which she was certain to listen only to part of what I had to say before yielding to the ever-present temptati
on to blame me for everything.

For once, I would be completely honest and tell her about the problems in my marriage, and though I dreaded telling her about her father’s secret life, she needed to know she had a half-brother. The words seemed to pour out, but I trie
d to temper them, to be as even-handed as I could be. I didn’t want to alienate her by blaming her father or even her aunt and uncle. But I told her of my shock when I discovered Stan and Maggie had known all along. I wound up by telling her all of the ugly details of my finances, at the same time assuring her that there was nothing here that I couldn’t deal with. But that I had to deal with it now.

Why was it so easy to say on paper what I couldn't tell her face to face?

Now I needed to tell her about Terry.

How could I tell my daughter that I was in love for the first time in my life? I had loved her father as much as I could under the circumstances, but Terry’s love and acceptance had
triggered an emotional journey into my self-discovery as a woman. And I was still learning.

I also wrote that because of my financial situation, I’d prefer to wait to visit until the birth of her child, but if she continued to bleed, or if it progressed, to let me know. I’d be there in a matter of hours. Most importantly, I told her how much I loved her, and how much she, Kyle and Leif, meant to me.

When I finished the letter, I almost sent it as an email attachment, but hesitated. If, by any chance the Internet server went down, the letter could be lost. No, I didn’t want to risk it. Even though it would take longer, I’d take it to the post office and send it priority mail.

After a sleepless night, I slipped out of the house
before Terry woke, made the trip to the post office, and sent the letter. About three days, they said, then she’d have it.

Walking back to my car, I felt a curious sense of irony. It had been here where I’d discovered my husband had betrayed me and it was here where I was desperately trying to let my daughter know I wasn’t betraying her.

I could only hope she’d read it and understand.

Now I could only wait for her response.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Over the next few days, Terry brought clothes and some personal items to my condo and we were settling into a form of domesticity. While I loved having him there, I wasn’t ready to officially commit to another marriage. Not yet.

He stocked the house with groceries and wanted to shop and pay for a new sofa. I didn’t think it was fair for him to purchase a piece of furniture
for my home, but he protested.

“After all, I’m here most of the time,” he said, “and I
like to stretch out and relax.”

Knowing how cramped he felt in my small wing chairs, I relented, suggesting we compare prices at the disco
unt stores. He had other ideas.

“How about Homestead House? Or who around here carries FlexSteel? Their furniture is comfortable and will
last far longer than we will.”

I checked the computer, and after a short jaunt on the freeway, we were browsing the showroom. We picked out a soft material, similar to corduroy, with muted gold and maroon tones and a touch of green. I loved it. My hunter green wing chairs would match perfectly, and, it was entirely different from the one I’d had before. Terry paid for expedited delivery, so by that evening, the new three-cushion sofa sat in my living room.

While I’d loved playing house with Terry, I had to get back to work. The next morning I dressed in a pantsuit, but this time, instead of picking out my small realtor pin, I fastened one of my sparkly crystal brooches to my lapel, then stood back and admired the flash. There. If anyone didn’t like it, that was too bad.
I
liked it.

When I walked into the kitchen, Terry was taking an English muffin from the toaster.

“Wow!” he said, splitting his muffin and slathering each half with butter and peanut butter. “You look gorgeous. Going somewhere?”

“Work.” I poured cream into my coffee and eyed his muffin. When he went to the fridge to get the orange juice, I swiped half of his muffin, gobbling it down like a guilty child. I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, and when he saw his half-empty plate, I laughed at the expression on his face.

“Good God, I’m hooked up with a thief!”

Paying no attention to him, I licked my fingers. “Got any more?”

He sighed dramatically. “Guess I’m recruited to do double-duty in the muffin brigade.”

“You poor thing.” I glanced at my watch. “No time for more,” I said, rising, then I
leaned down to give him a kiss.

“Honey, I don’t like you going to the office without that spray.”

“Relax. I’m just going to get some addresses to preview later. I’ll be home around noon.”

“I’m not comfortable with that, babe.”

“I’ll be okay.” Waving my arm, I headed for the door.

Most of the agents had already been in the office and left, except for Ed. As usual, he sat at his desk, steadfast in his dogged determination to answer phones and greet walk-ins. I was glad the office was quiet, which gave me the opportunity to make copies of the current listings and checking them with the Thomas Guide map book for exact locations. Then I made my own list for houses to
preview for another open house.

Sometime later, my grumbling stomach told me it was nearly noon, so I punched in Terry’s cell number to let him know I’d be home soon. He didn’t answer, so I called the home number. Still no answer so I left a message. He was probably out shopping to surprise me with another fabulous dinner.

Heading to my car, I thought about Shanna. When would she get my letter? I mentally calculated the time: three days since I’d dropped it into the mailbox, which covered a day for the post office to do their processing, plus a couple more days for it to reach Minnesota. She could get it at any time. What would she think? And, would she call after reading it?

She had to. We had so much to talk about. I could only wait and pray that she would understand.

Just as I unlocked the door, something red caught my eye and I glanced up and saw a Corvette buzz by the office. Rick? I hustled into my car and locked the door, but the red sports car didn’t stop or even slow down.

If it were Rick, what could he be doing? I didn’t want to think he might be watching me, couldn’t imagine why he’d do so. Surely he knew I wasn’t a threat. If I had intended to turn him in for assault, I’d already have done so. But if he’d intended to visit the office, why hadn’t he
stopped?

Checking both directions when I pulled onto the street, I felt uneasy and I didn’t like it. I certainly didn’t want to start glancing over my shoulder every time I left the house, but wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Since Mac had been a large man, I’d never overly worried about crime, but I knew I’d better give it serious thought. I’d always felt confident enough to disregard most of Ben’s guidelines, but I realized how naïve I’d been. Naïve? Now, idling at a red light and checking the rearview mirror for a red Corvette, I suddenly realized how utterly stupid I’d been to not have armed myself after the episode with Rick. What had I been thinking?

That was the problem. As if standing by and helplessly watching my husband weaken and die wasn’t emotionally draining enough, after his death I’d been slammed with one deplorable catastrophe after another, and I’d been too grief-stricken and preoccupied to think straight.

Then, of all things, I fell in love.

Thank God Terry had been there to come to my rescue with Rick, but what about the future? I needed to feel I that I didn’t have to rely on anyone, that I could take care of myself.

Terry was right. It was time, past time, actually, to investigate pepper sprays and other items of self-defense.

When I got home
, Terry was waiting in his car.

“You coming or going?” I asked, walking over to the driver’s window.

“Hop in and I’ll show you what I’ve discovered.” Backing out of the driveway, he told me he’d been to several self-defense shops while I was at work. “We’re not waiting for your boss’s next meeting; we’re getting something today for you to carry. I’ve gone along on almost everything, but not this. Understand?”

“Yes, dear,” I meekly answered with a smile. I didn’t tell him about seeing Rick. Might as well let
him think he talked me into it.

Yucaipa didn’t have a self-defense shop so we headed west on I-10 to San Bernardino. The Tippecanoe exit was just ahead and my stomach rumbled. Most of the good restaurants in the area were clustered on Hospitality Lane
just off Tippecanoe and Waterman.

“You have to feed me first,” I told him. “My half-muffin this morning is gone.”

“
My
muffin, you mean. Serves you right if you’re hungry.”

“Now how can I shop for anything when I’m starved? All I’ll pay attention to is my stomach.”

“Lord, I’ve never met such a whiner.”

I’d thought we’d have a quick sandwich at Coco’s, but he had other ideas. He pulled into the parking lot at Mimi’s, an upscale café with beamed ceilings and Mardi Gras prints on brick walls. When ordering, I found out I wasn’t the only hungry one. I selected the pot roast sandwich, and Terry had the French onion soup followed by an appetizer plate with spinach and artichoke Dip. My sandwich and his entrée arrived, the garlic shrimp spaghettini, a pasta with large shrimp and marinara sauce. When I looked at our table
loaded with food, he shrugged.

“Gotta keep up my strength, you know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

I laughed and dug in,
helping
him with the appetizers.

An hour later, we stood at the counter in Milo’s, a shop specializing in self-defense products. The wall behind the counter was covered with metal hooks holding plastic cart
ons of sprays in various sizes.

“Take a look at this.” Bruce, the owner, the sleeves in his white t-shirt rolled back to expose tanned muscles, placed a shiny red metal cylinder about the size of a lipstick, in my hand. “Perfect for a woman.”

“Looks like lipstick,” I said.

“That’s the idea, but inside you got a powerful pepper spray. Reaches up to six feet.”

During the next half hour he patiently showed us a variety of pepper and mace sprays, all which, according to him, swell mucus membranes and make breathing difficult. “And when the guy rubs his eyes, he rubs the pepper in.”

He took another black cylinder with orange wrapping from the cabinet. It was larger than the lipstick.

“Now this mace spray is great,” he told us. “It’s a thick foam and covers the guy’s face. But get this: the foam leaves a dye the cops can see. The asshole, pardon my French, wouldn’t be able to deny a thing.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it
.”

**
*

At seven that evening, I eyed the phone. Shanna should have received my letter by now, so why hadn’t she called? The stove clock told me it was seven here, so it would be nine at Shanna’s. She’ll call now, I kept thinking. She probably wanted to wait until after dinner and Kyle was asleep. I just needed to occupy myself fo
r a few moments more.

Terry had gone to his apartment to pick up some odds and ends, so I tried to read one of his thriller novels. I sank onto the new sofa’s soft cushions, but it didn’t take long to realize I’d skimmed the same page several times and still didn’t know what I’d read. Glancing again at the phone’s hand
set, I picked up the TV remote.

I scrolled through the channels and settled on an old Mayberry episode, watching as Andy and Barney grimaced after sampling Aunt Bee’s newest batch of homemade pickles. She was anxiously waiting for their reactions and they were groping for something nice to say about something so sour. While it was comical, I thought that was the way families should be—loving and supporting
each other, even when it hurt.

Just as I took a sip of tea, the phone rang and I almost dropped the cup. My heart pounded as though I was readying for battle. Or my execution. Grabbing the phone, I cleared my throat.

“Hello?” From the other end I heard nothing but silence. A crank call?

“Lisa? Is this Lisa Montgomery?” Jenna’s voice. I bristled. Just hearing her voice filled me with outrage.

She cleared her throat. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me—”

“How dare you call me.”

“I’m sorry, but I want to talk, mother-to-mother.”

“What could you possibly want? You’ve already taken everything I have.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but—”

“You’re sorry I feel that way? You stole my life from me. How else could I feel?”

“I’m not calling to rehash the past. I want to talk about Marsh. Surely as a mother, you can understand.”

The door opened and Terry walked in. “Shanna?” he mouthed.

I shook my head. To Jenna, I said, “Yes, I’m a mother. I have a legitimate daughter, which is more than I can say about your son.” Feeling proud of myself for speaking up, I glanced at Terry.

He was frowning. I had not expected that and was slightly taken aback. While I tried to read his face, he carefully set down his stack of books and sat beside me.

“I have a favor to ask,” Jenna continued, ignoring my comment. “I’d like to have you meet with Marsh and—”

“Meet with Marsh?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You actually want me to meet my husband’s illegitimate son? You’re out of your m
ind.” I slammed down the phone.

“She wants you to meet her son?” Terry asked. “Why?”

Fuming, I paced the living room. “Of all the nerve . . .”

“So tell me. And stand still, honey, you’re making me dizzy.”

Halting, I faced him, my arms crossed over my chest. I was so angry I couldn’t keep still and my foot tapped a cadence on the floor.

“When I met her in Big Bear,” I said, making an effort to say each word without screaming, “she said something about her son wanting to know more about his father. If she thinks I’m going to sit that kid down and tell him about my husband, she’d better think again.” Losing the battle to stand still, I paced again
. “I can’t believe that woman.”

“I can understand how you must feel,” Terry said, his tone level, “but you migh
t think about talking to him.”

I stopped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Honey, growing up without a father can be a lonely existence for a boy. I know. You could talk to this child, tell him about his father. That might not be so bad.”

“I’m sorry if Marsh will suffer, but I’m not
going to talk to him. No way.”

“Just remember,” Terry said, “what happened was not the child’s fault. He needs to know every
thing he can about his father.”

“He has Stan and Maggie. Let them talk to him.”

“It’s not the same and you know it. There are so many things you would know that they don’t, things that would delight a child. You must have photographs of Mac when he was young. Baby pictures, even.”

“I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”

“Ah, honey, don’t look at me like that. I just tend to look at everything a little differently now.”