The Consequences (2 page)

“Bastard!” Izzie said grimly. “That's what they all do. Bastard!”

“Well, actually, I sort of pushed him in that direction. I didn't want him, Izzie. I suddenly realized I didn't want to become like Kathy Walker. So, he's gone.”

“And you. What about you? How are you doing?”

“I'm doing okay,” Stephanie said, and was surprised to find that it was the truth. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “But you know what I'd really like to do: I'd like to go home for Christmas. I want to spend Christmas with my family.”

“Well, do it,” Izzie said decisively.

“I'm trying. I'm sitting here looking at Orbitz, but there are no flights left to Madison,” she said bitterly. “So I guess I'm stuck.”

“No, you're not. What's the closest airport to Madison?”

“Milwaukee.”

“What's the closest big airport?”

“Chicago. But that's a really long drive.”

“You really never make your own arrangements, do you?”

“No, not really.” Stephanie's fingers danced across the keys. “There are a bunch of seats left on flights to Chicago: United, Delta, US Airways, American. . . .”

“Good. See if you can get a flight into Milwaukee that connects in Chicago,” Izzie said decisively. “This late, it'll probably cost a lot. . . .”

“Izzie, I'll pay for first class if I have to.”

“Then you'll definitely get a seat. Look, find a seat. Book it. Dave and I are on our way over. We'll drive you to the airport.”

“It'll ruin your Christmas Eve. I'll get a cab.”

“On Christmas Eve!” Izzie snapped. “Don't be ridiculous. We're on our way.” And she hung up.

By the time Izzie, with a sullen Dave in tow, had turned up at Stephanie's condo in Jamaica Plain, Stephanie had managed to book a United ticket to Milwaukee's General Mitchell Airport with a quick layover in Chicago. She'd bought first class—an outrageous extravagance of over a thousand dollars—but after what she'd been through, she deserved it. Her only concern was that the timing of the two flights was incredibly tight. If the Boston flight was delayed by even an hour, she would miss her connection, and then she'd be doomed to spend Christmas Eve and probably Christmas Day in a grim hotel near O'Hare Airport.

It had taken her less than ten minutes to pack, throwing in underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, a yoga outfit, and a little black dress . . . just in case. She didn't need to take much more; she had a closet of clothes in Wisconsin. When she'd initially come to Boston, she'd been desperately homesick for the first two years and had taken every opportunity to head home, often twice or even three times a year. It simply didn't make any sense to keep dragging the same bulky clothes back and forth, so she'd finally left a huge suitcase full of clothes in a closet. Her mother had been delighted, and the last time she'd been home, she'd discovered that her mother had hung up the clothes and laid out the rest in her childhood bureau, which still sported a scuffed Pippi Longstocking sticker on one of the drawers.

Stephanie had just finishing dressing in her preferred traveling outfit—black jeans, black polo-neck sweater, and three-quarter-length black leather coat, all chosen to show no stains and splashes—when Izzie arrived.

When Stephanie opened the hall door, Izzie hugged her.

“Don't take this the wrong way,” the petite blonde said softly, “but I'm glad it's over. You're finally free. Now you can move on with your life.”

“I'm glad too,” Stephanie whispered. And, in that moment, she had meant it.

CHAPTER 2

S
tephanie was settling into her window seat when she felt her cell vibrate in her pocket. Probably Izzie. She pulled out the phone, leaned against the window, and hit the Answer button without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?” she whispered, cupping her hand over her mouth.

“Stephanie? Stephanie? Is that you?”

The voice stopped her cold. It was Robert. She felt her breath catch, and her mouth was suddenly filled with cotton.

“Stef . . .”

She hit the End button, abruptly aware that her heart was racing. A couple of hours ago, he hadn't been able to look her in the face as he'd slunk from the room. And now he had the gall to phone her!

The phone buzzed again.

Stephanie hit the Decline button and shoved the phone in her pocket. What did he want? To apologize? Possibly. To get her to reconsider? Probably.

The phone buzzed again, but this time she knew it was a voice mail alert. It could stay there until after Christmas, she decided. In fact, she might just as well delete it without listening to it, because she was finished with him. Finished with his big lies and small promises.

Abruptly her throat closed, and her eyes stung with bitter tears. Were they all lies? It had only been a few days ago that he'd asked her to marry him, and he'd sounded genuine. She had believed him.

She'd also believed him when he said that his wife didn't love him. She'd been wrong then.

Stephanie reached into her pocket for the phone.

One Missed Call.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to turn the phone off and put it away. The doors were about to close, and the flight attendant would remind passengers to ensure that all electronic devices were turned off. Stephanie wanted to ignore the voice mail message until after the holidays. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

Pressing her head against the fuselage, feeling it cool and solid against her hot pounding head, she dialed into her voice mail.

“You have one new message.”

Then she heard his voice: “Stephanie? Stephanie, it's Robert. Look, we need to talk. We have to talk. About today. About us. About everything. Please call me back. I'm on my cell.”

Of course he was on his cell, Stephanie thought savagely. He wouldn't want her calling the house, would he? She deleted the message and turned off the phone.

There was nothing to talk about. Their relationship was over. She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. Stephanie settled back into the seat, closed her eyes, and popped noise-canceling earplugs into her ears. Instantly, the world grew muffled and seemed to go away. She breathed deeply and did a mental inventory of their relationship.

It was difficult now, looking back over the past eighteen months to remember what she'd seen in him—and really it was only in the last six months that things had turned very serious and she'd begun to think that he might indeed be the one. He was handsome, in an ordinary sort of way, sixteen years older than she was, though there had been many times that she felt she was the more mature partner in the relationship. He ran his own business, a small production company, now making shorts, fillers, and ads instead of the groundbreaking documentaries he had once aspired to. His job certainly wasn't an attraction for Stephanie, who drew a bigger salary than he did and with much better benefits.

So what was it? What attracted a thirty-three-year-old, single, unattached, attractive woman, with her own mortgage and car, to a man with the ultimate baggage: a wife, two teens, and a struggling business?

It wasn't a question she'd chosen to ask herself too often in the past, though Izzie had asked it of her often enough, usually phrasing the question slightly differently, reminding her friend just how one-sided the relationship was. Stephanie brought much more to the relationship than Robert: She was a younger, prettier, slimmer version of his wife, who now had the cares and struggles of raising two teens etched into her face and body.

Stephanie was someone able to bring business to his company. She shook her head slightly. No, it wasn't just that. She refused to believe that it was just that. Certainly that was an additional benefit for Robert, but all that had come later.

Besides, thinking back to those early days, she had actively pursued him, and she had certainly made the first move.

What had attracted her to him, with all of his faults?

When she first met him, over six years ago, he had seemed so lonely. She'd been hired as a research assistant for a documentary that R&K Productions had been working on. Little by little his story had come out as they had trekked up and down the East Coast scouting locations. Although he shared joint ownership of the company with his wife, Robert had been struggling to grow the company alone, because Kathy had stepped away from the business. He was working fourteen- and sixteen-hour days just to make ends meet. Stephanie had no time for him then; she thought he was ignorant and arrogant and completely absorbed in the company. But, she had gotten her first break in the advertising business from Robert, and for that she would be eternally grateful. That first job had paved the way for the rest of her career.

When she met him again about eighteen months ago, that loneliness still radiated from him. He was still working ridiculous hours, scrambling from job to job and, from what she could gather, the relationship between him and his wife seemed to have broken down irrevocably. He'd also insinuated that when the children were grown, he was going to leave Kathy.

Once she knew that, Stephanie had felt no compunction about letting Robert know that she was available . . . if he was interested.

And he was interested.

But that still didn't answer the question. What had attracted her to him?

Stephanie was vaguely aware that the engines were revving up and that the plane was moving. It looked like it was taking off on time; that was a good omen. Maybe she would make the O'Hare connection.

What had attracted her to him? That was going to bother her now until she had worked out a satisfactory answer.

She could feel the sensation in her feet and stomach as the plane took off, and with the sudden lift came an answer: It was the sense of loss that he carried around him. The loss, the hurt that clung to him and perhaps the desperation too. That had appealed to her. He was someone in trouble, and she could help him. Fix his problems. Make him happy again.

How wrong she'd been!

She hadn't made things better; in fact, she'd made it worse, so much worse. Because of her—and Robert too—his family was condemned to a difficult and bitter Christmas. She'd already disrupted her friend's Christmas Eve, and she was doing something she really didn't want to be doing: flying to the Midwest to a family she didn't really know anymore. She'd already been censured at work because of her relationship with Robert's company, and she knew she'd have a lot of bridge building to do to repair that damage.

Everything had a price; she knew that. You just had to be prepared to pay the price.

And she had a feeling that she was only now beginning to pay for her relationship with Robert Walker.

CHAPTER 3

S
tephanie made her connection with less than ten minutes to spare. Although it had taken off on time, the United flight had circled O'Hare for the better part of thirty minutes before it had finally been permitted to land. Stephanie then had a mad dash to make it to the connecting flight.

“You're the last one,” the flight attendant said, as Stephanie came panting onto the plane.

“I thought I was going to miss it,” she gasped.

“Take a deep breath. You made it.” She directed Stephanie to the right, into the first-class cabin. “Although, if you'd missed this flight you'd have ended up stuck in Chicago over Christmas!”

“I can't think of anything worse!”

“I can.” The flight attendant smiled.

Stephanie heaved her suitcase up into the overhead storage, slipped into one of the large comfortable seats, and only then allowed herself to relax. She sighed deeply. For the first time since Kathy Walker had appeared at her door, she felt a little of the stress slip out of her system, though her stomach was still cramping with tension.

“That was a close call. . . .”

Stephanie buckled her seatbelt and glanced sidelong at the overlarge balding businessman in the three-thousand-dollar suit beside her. He exuded the faintest whiff of whiskey with every movement.

He stretched out his hand. “I'm . . .”

Stephanie held up her right hand, palm outward. “Please don't take this the wrong way. I don't care. I'm really not interested, and I don't want to talk to you between now and Milwaukee.”

The fat man blinked, frowning slightly, trying to decide if she was joking or not.

“I'm just trying to be friendly!” he began to bluster.

“Don't be. I'm not interested.”

“Well, I never. . . .”

“I'm glad we got that clear,” Stephanie continued. She pulled her earplugs out of her pocket and popped them in. She could hear them hiss and crackle as they expanded and the world slowly went away. She opened the novel she'd shoved in her bag. It had been sitting on her bedside table for months, and over the past few months she'd only managed to read three chapters, and she'd forgotten those already. Of course it might not necessarily have been the book; maybe it was just her state of mind.

Stephanie closed the book, tilted her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. The flight attendants were going through the emergency routine. Stephanie made a point of never watching them. If the plane crashed or fell out of the sky, she didn't think she'd have much chance to put the techniques into effect anyway.

She'd gotten out of the habit of reading during her time with Robert. He rarely read—claimed he never had the time—and he seldom listened to music. That should have been her first clue that their relationship would never work: She loved books and music.

However, it also made her realize just how much time an affair consumed. Before she met Robert she would have lunch at her desk or in one of the small restaurants close to her office, and read, and in the evenings she'd come home, set up a long, hot bath, and lose herself in her current book. She could get through two and sometimes three books in a week, more if it was something from one of her favorite authors.

But that was before Robert. . . .

Once she started the affair with Robert, they ended up having lunch together most days, often in his office or in one of the nearby cafés. Driving to his office and finding parking had cut her lunchtime in half, and she'd often ended up with a quick sandwich—even though she'd been determined to give up refined white flour—rather than the salads she preferred. Then, Robert would come to her place two or three times a week. When they were together, there was little time left for reading. The last book she'd read right through was . . . She couldn't remember.

Well, all that was about to change.

When the plane took off, she kicked off her shoes, tilted her seat back, and closed her eyes for the fifty-minute flight.

And when, exactly, was she going to return? Before or after the New Year? It really depended on when she could get a flight, she supposed. If she got back to Boston before New Year's Eve, there was bound to be a party she could go to—start off the New Year on a high note. Then she wanted to go through the house and strip out everything that belonged to Robert; she was determined to keep nothing of his. There wasn't much: some clothes, a toothbrush, a razor, a pair of shoes, a spare tie. She'd stick them in a bag and drop them—no, messenger them—to his office. She wasn't petty enough to send them to his home. She wondered briefly about the jewelry he'd given her. Should she return it or keep it? But if she kept it, she would never wear it because it reminded her of him. She wasn't sure she wanted to return it to him however; she didn't quite like the idea of him passing it on to his wife to wear. Then she smiled, quickly, fleetingly. She'd grabbed her jewelry case when she was packing. She guessed that most of the pieces were in it. She could always give them away as presents to her sisters and mother.

Stephanie dozed off and drifted into a sleep in which the events of the past couple of hours cycled and recycled through her consciousness, twisting and turning into a dream that was not quite a nightmare, in which she was the woman going to face her husband's lover. She came awake with a gasp, and for a brief moment didn't know where she was. Realization came slowly, but the emotion in the dream—that combination of terror and rage—remained. The more she thought about Kathy Walker, the more respect she had for the woman. What courage must it have taken to face her husband's mistress? A lesser woman would have been inclined to wait until after Christmas, so as not to disturb the status quo.

What would she have done, Stephanie wondered. She liked to think she would have done the same thing—confronted the other woman—but she wasn't entirely sure.

Stephanie's stomach lurched when the plane touched down. As soon as the seat-belt sign went off, she was out of her seat and had pulled her bag out of the overhead. The man sitting beside her opened his mouth to say something, but the look on her face silenced him. She was one of the first people off the plane, and as the blast of chill air hit her face, she was determined to leave her complicated past behind and enjoy returning to the simplicity of her childhood home.