Matter of Choice (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Triston flipped the page of the Wall Street journal, but couldn’t shake the uneasiness percolating from the lobby walls. Flipping through the pages, he looked past the ink and paper, concentrating on the surroundings. Usually the atmosphere was comfortable, easy. Now hushed whispers and melancholy circulated through the air, suffocating the space. His brows furrowed as he folded the paper, laid it down, and leaned forward. Something felt wrong.

A couple walked past, their child sandwiched silently between them, as they chattered quietly. He recognized the family immediately, as the couple whose daughter lagged behind a week earlier when he arrived at the Grande and was waiting for Shannon. Tristo
n cleared his throat and stood.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry, but has something happened? If you don’t mind me saying, something seems out of place here today.”

The man nodded, signaling his wife to continue on with their child. He stepped closer to Triston, the tenor voice hushed. “You haven’t heard?”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, heard what?”

“There was an altercation here yesterday. The hotel manager’s husband threw her against the wall, and knocked out one of the maintenance men. Police were here, ambulance, it was quite a scene.”

“The manager?” Rage boiled in his gut. The bastard hurt her. He didn
’t wait for the man’s response.

*

“Ms. Winters, I appreciate that you can not bear all the responsibility for last night, but I have many people who are very angry and disturbed by what took place. My supervisors are considering, at this point, locating another venue for next year’s gala.”

“I understand, Megan. They have every right to be disappointed. I can not apologize enough, and only wish there was something more I could say.”

A silence engulfed the phone call, and Shannon’s eyes drifted to the letter Rick’s parents sent by messenger an hour earlier. The boy was at home, with a minor concussion, the parents threatening suit against Greg. A hand drifted up and rubbed a bicep, bruised with black handprints. All these years, it finally happened. And her mind still couldn’t process it.

A deep sigh echoed across the line. “Ms. Winters, everyone knows you can not control your husband.”

Shannon felt her heart stop. She thought she had hid it so well.
How many more knew the truth?

“And we all have the utmost respect for you and the Grande Marquis. But you must understand, our people require professionalism at all times, and not just from you, but as an overall atmosphere. The Grande Marquis lost that highest level of prestige last night, and that is unfortunate. I will talk with my boss again, and do my best. We have never been disappointed before, I hope we wouldn’t be again.”

“Thank you, Megan, I appreciate the kindness.” Shannon paused, fingers massaged her forehead, pinching the center shallow creases. “I am at a loss for words and can only apologize again, and ask we be given another chance to prove our reputation. Steps are being taken to assure this type of thing does not happen again.”

“I trust that they are, not just in the interest of our people, but I must say I am concerned for you as well.” Silence overtook the line, and Shannon sensed Megan wanted to say more. She didn’t. “I will be in touch shortly to either confirm or cancel the reservation for next year.”

“Thank you, Megan. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Shannon hung up the phone, fingers rushing to her temples as the pounding against her skull worsened. Security had removed Greg from the premises and detained him until the police arrived. She didn’t know if he had been released from custody, hadn’t bothered to call the station to che
ck on his status. She couldn’t.

She lifted an arm to brush hair away from her face, grimacing as t
he bruises screamed in protest.

The office door swung open, bouncing off the wall as Trist
on caught it with his shoulder.

Furrowing her brows, she asked, “Triston? What are you doing in here?”

He rushed to the desk, eyes jungle wild, “Tell me the rumors aren’t true. Tell me that man didn’t put his hands on you.”

She looked away. “What have you heard?”

He rounded the desk, his hands covering the bruises concealed by the business suit. Shannon winced, and Triston loosened the grip, expression tightening with fury. “He put his hands on you. The rumors are true.” Triston’s fingers pinched his nose, drawing downward to circle his mouth. “I’m going to kill him. Where is he?”

She shook her head and rested a hand against his cheek. “I’m okay. Greg’s in jail, or at least he was. Maybe he’s at hom
e now, I don’t know. I’m fine.”

He pulled her upwards into a waiting embrace, the trembling voice unmistakable. “You are not fine, and I’m going to kill him. Or at least put him the hospital. Who does he …”

With quickening breath, she buried her head into a shoulder. “No, I don’t want that. I just want … please just hold me.”

The warmth of his arms and rhythm of his heart engulfed her, the recognizable safety blanketing her. Shannon closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, clinging to a promise broken long ago at an age promises shouldn’t be made. All the years melted away as she pressed against Triston, and all she could think of was how badly she wished never to be let go.

“I could lose a lot of business because of this. I almost don’t care. One of my employees has a concussion because of what Greg did. And he’s a kid. Eighteen years old. He was just trying to protect me.”

Triston smoothed her hair, kissing the top of her head. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. His parents are livid. Understandably. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to work and they want to sue Greg. They’d sue me if they could figure out how, I’m sure. I would if I was in their shoes.”

“What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Don’t leave tomorrow. I know I don’t have any right to ask, I don’t even know where my life is going right now. If there’s any way we could …” she couldn’t say the words. What life could they have together? Why did her heart want it so badly? “I just know I need a friend, and you’re the only one I have right now. I’ll comp a room, just please don’t go.”

Triston pushed backwards, cupping her chin gently. “I told you before, Shy, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t even have to ask.” He smiled. “I’ll take that comp’d room though, if it’s all the same to you. It’s not cheap staying here, you know that?”

Shannon laughed and wiped away her tears. “Thank you, Triston. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

“So there’s hope after all.”

Shannon smiled, her heart begging to be confessed. She swallowed the urge, and allowed a kiss to her forehead.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work. If you want to come by my room later, or get out of here, or whatever you would like to do, just let me know.”

She watched as he turned and left the room, closing the door gently. Shannon sat at the computer, reserving Triston’s room for two more weeks, blacked out the accounting fields. Dropping against the back rest, she stared at the monitor. Triston staying for a couple of more weeks would help keep her sane, Megan may be able to save the banquet for the following year, and Shannon was resolved to visit Rick’s home to apologize personally to him and his parents for what Greg had done. The divorce would be filed and Greg would have to figure his way through the darkness alone, or with any of the women he chose to find company with. Choices were being cemented, and as she leaned her head back, it seemed like all the right ones.

Now she only needed to figure
out what to do with her heart.

Chapter Nineteen

The Stockard home was twenty minutes from the hotel, further inland within a small neighborhood populated with colonials and cape cods, SUVs and minivans. Shannon drove down the road, gazing at houses able to fit in the first floor of the house she shared with Greg, and couldn’t help but fall in love with the community. Smaller homes, less money, simpler lives. The ache inside swelled, and she wondered for the first time if she had always been out of place in the world she married into with Greg. An outsider doomed to fail. A fairytal
e without the storybook ending.

Blinking away the stray thoughts, she concentrated on the street numbers: 781, 779, 777. Shannon glanced down at the employee file resting on the passenger seat: 745. A couple more blocks. Her pulse quickened as she drove closer to the home where Rick must still be lying in his teenage bedroom or sprawled out on the couch with a temple still throbbing from the punch of an older, stronger man. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the soreness of her arms. Greg stepped over a line she never anticipated, and someone else was injured because of it. Was he really that lost within his mind? Amnesia didn’t change a person like that, not from what she’d read. But the alternative answer didn’t make sense either - he’
d never acted like that before.

Shannon slowed and pulled into the Stockards’ driveway leading to a two story colonial which stared back with perfect symmetry. White siding, navy shutters, decorative door. A white picket fence restrained a barking dog only visible in a mid-size outline. Shannon stepped out of the car, wondering if the Stockards also had the cliché two and a half children, then chuckled at the image of perfection. If she’d learn anything in the past couple of years, it was that perfection was an image portrayed for rest of the world. It didn’t exist in reality. Like a desert mirage, i
t could be seen, never reached.

Triston’s face danced before her heart and Shannon shook it away. Why she couldn’t keep her heart under control where that ma
n was concerned was beyond her.

She strolled up the flagstone walkway, hoping against hope she looked the picture of confidence, despite feeling anything but. The Stockards had every reason not to want to see her, she knew, to be angry, hate her. It would be a perfectly reasonable response. Steeling herself against the greeting she was sure would come, Shannon reached out and rang the doorbell, listening to the
ding
singing behind the door. An image appeared behind the oval glass, obscured by the frosted floral design.

The door opened, a woman with bobbed frosted hair and stout figure stood before her wearing an uncertain smile. “May I help you?”

“Mrs. Stockard?” The woman nodded. “I’m Ms. Winters of the Grande Marquis. I was hoping to speak to you and your family for a moment, and to check on Rick, if I may.”

The smile brightened, and the woman stepped back to allow Shannon admittance. “Ms. Winters? Yes, pleas
e come in. This is a surprise.”

Shannon stepped across the threshold and glanced around. The Victorian interior flattered the home, with its flowers and lace, soft muted shades of mauves, lavenders and pinks, and classically designed furniture. Dining room to the right, living room to the left, square footage stretching back and up, left and right. The outside had been misleading, the home much larger than she envisioned, yet much more modest than the one she’d lived in for the past fifteen years
.

“Can I offer yo
u anything? A soda pop? Water?”

Shannon shifted attention to the woman, and guessed Rick’s mother was at least a good ten years older. “No, thank you. I actually came by to apologize for my husband’s actions at the Grande. For him hurting Rick. I can’t tell y
ou how sorry I am it happened.”

Mrs. Stockard reached out and took Shannon’s hand. “You have no reason to apologize. From what Rick has told us, you were as much a victim of that awful man’s actions as my son was. We don’t blame you,
Ms. Winters.

“Would you like to come sit in the living room?”

Shannon nodded, speechless as she followed into the living room where Mrs. Stockard motioned in silent invitation to a camel back sofa. Shannon settled on the edge of a cushion, setting her purse beside her. Ankles crossed, she rested folded hands in her lap as the older woman sat in a nearby armchair.

“How is Rick?”

“He’s in bed. Probably not sleeping as he should be. Teenagers, they think all they need to survive is a video game and pizza and soda pop. Lots of all three.” Mrs. Stockard laughed. “When he woke up in the hospital, the only thing he wanted was to get out and finish the level he’s on in one of those games of his - I can never keep up with which one - and was furious when the doctor told him he would need to remain in bed for a day or two. It was only under threat of staying in that hospital bed that Rick finally relented. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy.”

Shannon smiled, the worry and dread fading a little, her muscles relaxing. It was apparent where Rick inherited the gentle temperament. “I’m so glad. I saw him rushed out in an ambulance, and then the notification of your intent to sue my husband. I can’t tell you all the awful things going through my mind. I have to admit, I was terrified to come today, but I couldn’t
not
come and apologize. Rick was trying to defend me. You have a wonderful son.”

“You had no reason to fear coming here. Our intent against your husband has nothing to do how we feel about you. Rick tells us all the time how wonderful you are to work for, and the scenes your husband makes at that hotel, how gracefully you try to handle him. And how patient you are with Rick. I can only thank you for helping my son, teaching him, allowing him to make mistakes while pushing him to try harder. I’m afraid he has a small crush on you.” She chuckled. “Has a girlfriend and still has a crush on h
is boss. I have my hands full.”

Shannon smiled as she glanced down her hands. The heat simmered in the back of her neck as yet another revelation in the reality of people understanding more than
she wanted flushed her cheeks.

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Ms. Winters. I venture to guess I’m a couple of years older than you, old enough to dare saying you can only do so much. If his tendencies are turning violent, you must not stay. There will be a time when someone like my son won’t be there, and you may not be able to escape the tirade. Your life is not worth a promise you can’t keep.” She paused with a smile. “I’m sorry. This isn’t my place to say. You’ll find, I’m afraid, as you get older, it’s harder to be tactful and much easier to speak your mind.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for your concern.” Shannon dropped a hand against the purse, drawing it tighter against a leg. “I’m actually in the process of filing for divorce. I can’t allow what happened yesterday to happen again.” Making confessions to a complete stranger now. Her pulsed raced, unease stirring within. Drawing in centering breath, she stood. “Would it be okay to see Rick? Is he well enough for company?”

Mrs. Stockard rose from the armchair. “Of course he is. Up the stairs to the left. I’ll be in the
kitchen if you need anything.”

Shannon nodded, thanked the woman again, and headed up the ste
ps, words ringing in her ears.

Your life is not
worth a promise you can’t keep
.

She drew in a breath, pushed her hair back. The vows spoken had become that promise, and, as she climbed the stairs carpeting with plush mauve, she knew how hard it was to keep. Love was a feeling, but more, it was a choice.
And Greg stole the choice away.

The ache in her heart subsided, realizing the love had evaporated. S
ome bridges couldn’t be mended.