Read Contingency (Covenant of Trust) Online
Authors: Paula Wiseman
Contingency (Covenant of Trust)
Book One: Covenant of Trust Series
Paula Wiseman
MINDSTIR MEDIA
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contingency: Book One: Covenant of Trust Series
Copyright © 2010 by Paula Wiseman. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, e-mail all inquiries to: [email protected]
Published by Mindstir Media
PO Box 1681 | Hampton, New Hampshire 03843 | USA
1.800.767.0531 | www.mindstirmedia.com
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-10: 0981964826
ISBN-13: 978-0-9819648-2-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010941896
Book design by Find The Axis
www.findtheaxis.com
Visit Paula Wiseman on the World Wide Web:
www.paulawiseman.com
For Jon, who lives true love daily
Thank you...
To Jon for your unwavering confidence in me and in the story. I would have quit long ago without you.
To Amanda for the endless hours of plotting, and revising. The book is better, deeper and stronger because of your help. And so am I.
To Kristi for your emotional investment from the beginning, and for the inside look at second grade.
To Mary for your photos, your comments and your awesome proofreading.
To countless others who read and gave feedback.
To J.J. for his enthusiasm for the book and his help and encouragement.
All glory to God, who gives the story, who opens doors, who accomplishes His purposes in all things.
Chapter 1
Revelation
Thursday, July 28
Chuck,
I’m meeting Chad and Michelle for drinks at Baker Street Pub at 6. Can you join us? My whole evening is free again. *wink*
Tracy
Bobbi Molinsky stared at the e-mail. Yes, it was addressed to her husband. Yes, it automatically forwarded from his account at the law firm since he was out of town again. But it didn’t make any sense.
Her fingers hovered over the mouse as she grasped for the “logical explanation.” Chuck never mentioned a Tracy. Who was this woman, and why was she inviting Chuck to a pub, when he didn’t drink? Why would Tracy say ‘again’? Unless …
She swiveled the chair around, grabbed the cordless handset, and punched in the speed dial number for Chuck’s cell phone. She’d hear it straight from him. He would clear up everything, and they would laugh about it. What’s more, he would rib her for her jealous paranoia for the next twenty years.
His cell rang once, then rolled over to voice mail.
Strike one.
Now what? Chuck’s office must have a number where he could be reached, but if she interrupted him in the middle of the biggest deal in the firm’s history ...
“Benton, Davis, & Molinsky, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Bobbi Molinsky, Chuck’s wife. I need to get in touch with him.” The receptionist gave her Chuck’s hotel number and three different client numbers. She also promised to have Chuck call home if he called in.
Bobbi pulled her notepad closer. Eight, one, three ... then she froze. The receptionist. Was that Tracy? She hit redial with both thumbs.
“Is this Tracy?”
“No, it’s Christine. Tracy Ravenna is no longer with the firm, and I don’t have a number where she can be reached. If you’re a client of hers, I can put you through to Mr. Davis.”
Tracy ... an attorney ... but no longer with the firm. Did Christine know anything about Chuck and Tracy? Office gossip?
“Ma’am? Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Bobbi switched the phone to her left ear and hunched over the desk. “Maybe there is. This is Bobbi Molinsky again. We received an e-mail from Tracy Ravenna, and I’m almost positive it should go to someone else. Is there anyone else there named Chuck?”
Please God, let there be another Chuck.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. If you want to forward the e-mail to our IT guy, I’m sure he could help you.”
Strike two.
One e-mail doesn’t mean anything. Besides, why was a Monday e-mail just now showing up in their inbox three days later?
If this Tracy person e-mailed him, did she call him, too? Bobbi knew she could call in to Chuck’s voice mail, and find out in thirty seconds. She bought the phone for him and set up the voice mail. She pulled the cordless phone closer, but hesitated. Was she ready to admit her marriage had slid to the place where she would cross that line of trust, that she could, or rather would, doubt her husband?
She dropped the phone back on its cradle and closed her eyes, envisioning last year’s Christmas party. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the endless stream of clients, attorneys, and guests Chuck paraded before her that night?
Wait! She remembered Chad. He joined the firm last fall, and his wife was named Michelle. Chad and Michelle from the e-mail! Had they introduced Tracy to Chuck? But they knew he was married. None of this added up.
Chuck was a lot of things, but an adulterer? All those other girls, he knew them in college, before they even met, before he discovered his parents’ faith, before he committed himself to follow Jesus Christ. A shared faith drew them to each other in the first place. Shouldn’t that faith stop him from ...?
Just because they’d had another argument Monday morning, that didn’t justify monitoring his phone calls. People have arguments all the time. She and Chuck still slept in the same bed. Most nights, anyway. They were going through a phase, that’s all.
She glanced up at the e-mail again and dialed.
The factory-set PIN no longer worked. Why would he change his PIN? She tried 1234, but the system rejected it. She tried their house number, then his birthday. Still no access. What would he have chosen?
My birthday?
Bingo. He had four messages. The first two were work–related, but the third was from a woman.
“Now I know why you never gave me a home phone number!”
The message continued with a profanity-laced tirade about being used and lied to by a married man until the machine cut her off. On the fourth message, Tracy picked up where she had left off.
Bobbi watched the phone slide out of her hand, unable to will her fingers to close around it before it dropped onto the carpet under the desk. She had run out of straws to grasp. It
was
true. Chuck had been unfaithful. With Tracy. The e-mail was from Chuck’s mistress.
Bobbi pushed the chair back, leaving a sweaty handprint on the desk. Perspiration beaded across her back and her jaws tingled with an odd hollowness. She grabbed the wastebasket the instant before she threw up.
She staggered around the desk and across the hall to the downstairs bathroom, dragging the wastebasket with her. Her brain, misfiring on all cylinders, managed to put two coherent words together—
how
long?
How long had she been blind? How long had she been a failure? How long had Chuck ...?
“NO! No, no, no, no, no!”
She snatched the hairbrush lying by the sink and slammed it to the floor. It echoed in the tiny room as it hit the tile, then ricocheted up and knocked the wastebasket over. Seizing the basket before it could spill, she set it in the shower, then turned the hot water on full blast.
If Chuck was cheating, she would know it. He couldn’t hide that from her. How could he have taken her out for their anniversary if he broke his marriage vows? How could he kiss her goodbye in the morning?
When he kissed me goodbye ...
Would Chuck try to smooth things over with Tracy and continue their affair? Was Tracy the first or just the latest? Gagging on the acid rising in the back of her throat, she tried to vomit again, but her stomach was empty.
Dizzy and lightheaded, she flipped the toilet lid closed so she could sit down. She rested her forehead on the sink and concentrated on each breath.
Don’t pass out ... Breathe ...
She rubbed the back of her neck, her icy fingers soothing the flush of heat that washed over her. Long moments passed before she felt steady enough to sit up.
Dear God, how could he? How could You let him? How ... how are we supposed to recover from this?
How?
She would give him the chance to come clean, that’s how. Back in the study, she kicked the cordless out from under the desk, then punched in Chuck’s cell phone number. “Your call has been forwarded to a voice mailbox.”
If she left a message, he would have time to prepare, time to get his story straight before he faced her. She considered waiting for him to get home, then broadsiding him the way he had done her. No, she needed to keep the high ground, but when the beep sounded, her throat closed off.
“Chuck, we have to talk … about Tracy.”
*******
Chuck Molinsky snapped
his briefcase shut.
Mission accomplished.
Mentally spending his portion of the ServMed fees, he checked his watch on his way out of the hotel conference room.
A Rolex. That’s what I need. I’ve earned it.
A quarter past eleven meant he could grab a quick lunch before boarding his plane and getting out of Kansas City. He threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his rental car, yanked his necktie off, and powered up his cell phone. A tweet indicated a missed call.
“Bobbi, there’s nothing wrong with your car, and no, I won’t let you apologize.” Hers wasn’t the only call he missed, though.
He halfway listened to the first two messages from Walter Davis and Gina Novak. The third one hit like a slap in the face. “Now I know why you never gave me a home phone number! How long were you going to lie to me about being married? Did you think you could just use me as a little side distraction?” Tracy sprayed accusations and epithets like a verbal machine gun, spitting words Chuck hadn’t heard since the high school locker room, and even a few new ones.
