Matter of Choice (4 page)

Chapter Four

Shannon’s keys hit the oak kitchen table with a clanking thud, defining the silence stretching throughout the house. Laying her purse next to them, her eyes lifted to survey the darkened kitchen. Empty alcohol bottles strewn across tiled countertops, and ceramic floors glistened in the moonlight, the smell of alcohol drowned only by the smell of women’s perfume. Shannon pursed her lips, drew in a deep breath, and flicked on the overhead light. Fingers stripped the clip from her hair, and as the strands blanketed her shoulders, perched her hands on her hips. It made no sense to cry anymore. Not for the hundredth, not the thousandth, time. Tears spilled following the accident, Greg’s diagnosis, and all the many times since. At some time, the tears had to stop. At some point, she had to settle with the choices made.

With a heavy sigh, she fetched the plastic trashcan from under the sink and clutched it tight against her body as a forearm swept bottle, after bottle, after beer can into the receptacle, along with all the candy wrappers, stale chips and empty pizza boxes.
No wonder he showed up at the hotel drunker than a skunk
.  The scene resembled a college dorm after a kegger – only this was her husband. A grown man. Lost somewhere inside his mind.

With the table, countertops and floors cleared, Shannon slipped the trashcan back under the sink, and began to turn away when her eyes caught sight of two empty wine glasses in the sink. One was ringed with deep cherry lipstick, kissed against the rim. She pushed her shoulders back, resting her palms on the edge of the countertop and hung her head. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Shannon reached down and grabbed the glass. With a scream, she whirled around and slammed it against the wall. Whirling around, she swung open the kitchen cabinet and snatched four more glasses, then pounded them into the basin of the enameled cast iron sink. Glass shards splashed back at her hands, arms and face. She laughed, grabbed four more and shattered them. Then four more.

She reached towards the shelf, chest swelling when she realized there were none left. With an eyebrow raised, she brushed a hand over one arm and then the other, and surveyed the fragments. No tears, just a deep satisfaction. It didn’t matter she never drank wine, or that the flutes were only in the cupboard because they had been received as gifts. Greg wouldn’t be using them to share romantic moments with another woman any longer.

With shoulders dropped low, she tipped around the crystal shards that found their way to the floor, heels crunching the tiniest pieces she couldn’t see, and retri
eved the broom from the pantry.

The knob turned at the back door as the last of the glass slid off the dustpan into the trash, and she turned to see Greg standing in the ope
n doorway with a faint smile.

“Hi, Greg. How are you today?”

He glanced down at the dustpan hanging at her side, and stepped forward to lay car keys near hers. “Hello. Are you my maid?”

Shannon’s eyebrows raised in consideration, then she turned away, dropping the dustpan on the floor next to the island. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” She faced him, hands on hips. “It’s Shannon, Greg. Remember? You know me.”

“I know a lot of people. I guess it would make sense I know you. You’re in my house.” He walked to the refrigerator and reached for a container of orange juice. He guzzled the citrus straight from the container, wiping a sleeve across his mouth and returned the container into the fridge.

She leaned against the countertop, and watched as he took an apple from the bin and closed the refrigerator door. “It’s our house, Greg. I’m your wife, remember?”

He shrugged and bit into the fruit. “I don’t remember ever being married. I guess you’re pretty enough.” The words grew muffled as Greg chewed. “But you’d think I’d remember being married.”

Shannon nodded, the smile vanished as she turned to wipe the counter with a damp towel left over from the cleaning spree. “Yeah, I suppose you would.”

“Ah, don’t be sad about it. You don’t have to leave. If you say you live here, and that I know you, I guess there’s no harm.” Greg yawned with a wide mouth and a loud groan. “I’m tired. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to go upstairs to bed.” He walked to the door in the left corner of the room, opened it to expose a spacious pantry. With a nervous chuckle, he closed the door and turned to Shannon. “Guess I’m not remembering anything right now. Do you know where the bedroom is?”

Shannon nodded, but didn’t bother to look at him. The tears she promised never to shed again were threatening to rebel. There was no allowance for a peep show into her pain. He’d show no sympathy or remorse. That wasn’t what she needed anyway. “Down the hallwa
y, up the stairs, to the left.”

“Thanks, doll.” Greg headed towards the hall, but turned to face Shannon. “You seem like a sweet gal. I guess I’d like to marry someone like you someday.”

“Mmm …”

He disappeared down the hall, and Shannon threw the towel down, shaking her head. His maid? Sure, his maid, his nurse, his doormat. His wife in title only. Why would he remember their vows? It wasn’t the role she played any longer. Not in his mind, at least. And aside from promises she stubbornly h
eld to, not in practice either.

Yet, she thought as she hung the rag over the faucet and turned off the lights, he did call her a term of endearment, something Greg hadn’t done since before the accident. At least that was something. She was like someone he’d marry someday. The foggy compliment was more than she got most days. Who knew? Maybe it w
as the start of something more.

Shannon flicked off the light switch just as a glint of silver against a floorboard caught her attention. Brows furrowed, she stepped towards it and bent down, wrapping long fingers around a delicate bracelet, the clasp broken. Swiping the lights back on, she studied it for a moment, recognizing it quickly. Lauren’s. “Hmm, must have left it here the last time we had dinner together.” She thought for a moment. The dinner was almost two weeks ago. Shrugging, she tucked it in her pants pocket. She’d take it into work tomorrow, her friend had probably been searching all over for
it, not realizing it fell off.

Shannon left the kitchen to cross a Persian rug resting against the hardwood floors of the dining room into a two-story foyer with winding staircase and overhead crystal chandelier. She paused at the staircase, hand resting on the banister as she stared up the steps, knowing all that waited was an empty king-sized bed in a bedroom suite she used to share with her husband. Now he slept down the hall in the guest suite, sometimes alone, sometimes not. The sometimes not happened only when she wasn’t home, which helped a little. Not nearly enough, but at least she didn’t have to see it.

It was bad enough knowing, and hearing about it, through the Hudson Valley grapevine.

His words played again in Shannon’s mind,
“Are you the maid?”

Right now, maybe.

But someday. Someday the amnesia would have to relinquish its hold on his mind. She would be Greg’s wife again. His best friend, his life partner.

At the top of the stairs, she looked down the hallway to the closed door. Funny how he didn’t remember even the every day stuff. Like where his room was. He’d been sleeping there for two years, she would think he’d remember that much. He never seemed to have a hard time remembering when he brought women home where his bed was.

Shannon swallowed the bitter thoughts, eyes trained on the closed door. No light shone from underneath, and she imagined he was sound asleep, snoring off the beer and liquor. Someday, Greg would be back in the master suite with her, the alcohol and women a sad, disjointed memory.

There was nothing wrong with hoping. What more could she do?

*

“How about another hour south Triston? It beats going back and sitting in that hotel room.”

With a roll of his eyes, he paused for a stop sign, a terrible driving habit since the first day of driver’s ed, and glanced at the clock in the dash before accelerating to the speed limit. “I’m really not up for it Jennifer. Aren’t you getting hungry or something? There’s a restaurant just off the lobby, and it sounds wonderful. We should try that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Triston saw her turn to look at the window, her tongue making the weird clicking sound it made when she was mad or losing patience. Right about then, he suspected she was doing a little bit of both. They’d spent the day out, touring the Vanderbilt Mansion in Hyde Park, and though it wasn’t far from the hotel, just forty minutes east including the hop across the river via a long enough bridge,
he was ready to call it quits.

The mansion itself had been beautiful, and more than worth the trip if a person was into old architecture and older money. Triston was, and equally enthralled in the history - the first building in Hyde Park with electricity, they had enough dough to make it happen - and the expanse of a home with 50,000 square feet of space he’d never figure out what to do with, and the gardens. He could have spent hours j
ust walking around.

Triston leaned over and turned on the music, glancing over at his companion, her face fixated on the passing landscape. The day’s sightseeing found Jenn less enthusiastic. The lines were too long, the tour too rushed, bathrooms unavailable o
utside of the visitor’s center.

His shoulders stiffened into a stretch and loosened again. The trip wasn’t turning out how he hoped it would. But then, what exactly was it he had in mind?

Jennifer reached over and tentatively wrapped her fingers around Triston’s hand, his grip returning the loosened hold. “It’s not really working out between us, is it?”

He shrugged. “I like you, Jenn, you know that.”

“’Like’ isn’t what I was going for when we started this relationship.” She sighed. “And I’m not even sure you do very much of that.”

The words punched at his gut, and his throat tightened.  Triston wasn’t trying to hurt her, even if she did wear on his last nerve a good part of the time. He glanced at her quickly before focusing again on the unfamiliar road. “I’m sorry. I know I should try harder. Let’s do that this week. What kind things are you interested in doing while we’re out here? Historic homes aren’t your thing, that’s fine. What is?”

“I don’t want you to force yourself into this relationship, Triston. That can’t work for either of us.”

“Forcing isn’t trying, and trying isn’t forcing. I’m
trying
, going to be more attentive. That’s not a bad thing, right?”

His peripheral vision confirmed the debate was won, his internals flipping and turning in relief. He was a horrible boyfriend, that wasn’t Jennifer’s fault. “How about New York? You could be all cosmo right?”

“Maybe a play on Broadway? Or the symphony or something?”

“Sure. Let’s get dressed up when we get back and go tonight. It’s early, we should be able to make that two hour drive.”

“Especially the way you drive.”

Their laughter shattered the tension, and Jenn grew silent again, but without the tongue clicks. Triston grinned and turned up the music. Who needed to know the artist or song when peace was humming along?

Chapter Five

After a night at home, Shannon’s heart was elated to be back at the Grande. Her own bed, her own room, none of it nearly as comforting as it should have been. It didn’t matter she owned high end furniture, expensive sheets and trinkets. The king bed was lonely, the keepsakes from the many vacations to top destinations taunted instead of supplying comforting memories. The master bedroom, dressed in the favored hues of plum and navy, was nothing more than a mausoleum to painful reminders.

Now, standing in the middle of the lobby, reveling in the five a.m. calm, the comfort missed the night before now swaddling her. The Grande Marquis was home, and though she prayed she could one day return to her old life, this was where s
he wanted to be.

Shannon glanced at her watch again and strolled to the seating area with its comfortable loveseats and armchairs. In a few short hours, the lobby would be bustling. But for now, only a few early risers rested in the alcoves overlooking the Hudson, sipping coffee, reading newspa
pers or laptops, faces at ease.

Settling into a loveseat across from the fireplace, Shannon leaned into the cushions while a hand ran across the surface of the fabric. The loveseat, like every other piece of furniture in the hotel, was changed every couple years; sometimes sooner, depending on wear. It was one of the ways she guaranteed guests the best possible stay. She was pleased this loveseat was still in great condition.

“Good morning, pretty lady.”

Shannon’s consideration lifted toward the voice she recognized but couldn’t place. Until she turned around. “Good morning Triston. Don’t remember you being a morning person.”

“I told you, things change.” He motioned to the space next to her. “May I?”

She raised an eyebr
ow and nodded in consideration.

“Thank you.” He circled the coffee table and settled next to her, edging his body to catch her eyes. “Don’t you ever leave this place?”

That brought a smile. “Sometimes.” She leaned back, glancing towards the lobby. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

He made a funny grunting sound and shrug
ged. “Still sleeping probably.”

“Don’t spend much time together, huh?”

He shifted his weight and reclined into the armrest. “How about you? You’re married. Don’t you ever spend time at home with your family?”

Shannon’s gaze faltered then veered from probing eyes, nodding at a passing couple who never looked her way.
“We have our own arrangement.”

Triston smiled. “Isn’t that the way with everyone? What’s he like?
"

Shannon glanced away, looking the Hudson. The waters flowed smoothly, and even when she wasn’t standing above its shores, close enough to hear the song of the liquid, a peace flowed within the water she couldn’t find elsewhere. Her voice was distant when she spoke, and cooler than she intended. “Well, you know. He’s …”

A silence lapsed for a mere moment, and Triston leaned closer, resting a hand across her fingers. “Shannon?”

Shaking her head, she yanked the fingers away. Too close, too much. Nearly twenty years and his touch electrified her. “Everything’s great. Marriage is great, my husband is great. Life couldn’t be better.” She stood, a spark ignited within her. Concern? What right did he have? It’s been years, and it was him who handed the right over with a side of one night fling. What was that girl’s name? Shannon couldn’t recall, but she remembered how easily he left her be
hind to chase the new conquest.

Triston stood and gently grasped her wrist. She turned with
an ember sparkling in her eyes.

The fire quickly dissipated with one look from him. “And you are totally lying to me. What? So many years have passed that you don’t think I’d be able to se
e it? What’s going on Shannon?”

She looked up at Triston, the near foot difference in height between them never a bigger deal than at that moment. The shame over the marriage, the embarrassment of covering for countless indiscretions, the spark of desire Triston lit from the moment she saw him. It was all
wrong
. Her marriage to Greg shouldn’t have ended up this way, and she shouldn’t be feeling anything when it came to another man.

A five second
accident, that was all it took.

Triston’s voice broke through her preoccupation.  “So are you going to tell me? You’ve always been able to tell me anything.”

Shannon’s nostrils flared. “You keep saying things like that. Why do you keep saying things like that?” she hissed. “It’s been years Triston. Years. And its not like we had a relationship based on mutual trust and honesty, now was it?”

Triston stepped forward. He wasn’t supposed to, not in Shannon’s mind. The strike was supposed to send him reeling backwards, to end the conversation. He was supposed to walk away in a huff. But no, not Triston. He always ha
d to play the role of good guy.

Well, almost always.

“Don’t be like that. So doggoned stubborn. Always have been. Come on, tell me.”

She dropped her head against a shoulder. “I should get to work.”

Triston scratched an eyebrow with a single finger, a gesture Shannon remembered well, and glanced over the lobby. He turned back to her, both eyebrows arched, face elongating. “Really? It’s barely seven o’clock. Nobody is even in the lobby, except that desk clerk over there. Talk to me.”

Shannon glanced over a shoulder at the employee, who seemed to be working hard on not paying attention to what Shannon and Triston were talking about. Every fiber of her being begged for a moment to unload, lessen the weight burdening her heart. Turning back to Triston, there was no other pretext. She’d lost the argument. Her lips curled gently up and she glanced downwards for a mere second. “Not here. Let’s go to the back garden.”

A smirk played across his lips. “A private rendezvous? Oh, I’m up for that.”

“Triston.” The tone was a warning call and a silent promise jetted through her thoughts. One more admonition and s
he’d call the whole thing off.

He held palms high in the air. “Just calling it as I see it. But I promise. No funny business.” Dropping his hands, amusement vanished from his eyes. “Seriously, it looks like you need to talk to someone. Do you want to do it clandestine? I’ll go back first, you follow in, say, five minutes?”

“Very funny Triston.” She cracked a smile, and remembered his way of getting to her. “I don’t think there’s any need for so much drama.”

He shrugged and dug into his back pocket, pulling a wallet out and flipping through a handful of bills. “I know people talk, Shannon. If you want to keep it private, I understand. Listen, I’m going to buy myself a coffee, and then find my way to this back garden of yours. I imagine there’s signs somewhere to guide me.”

She considered for a moment, then nodded. He was right. People talked. And though she knew her employees held her with respect, Greg’s theatrics had rippled tidal waves of murmurs throughout the Grande Marquis. The employees didn’t judge her, necessarily, but still, the whispers she could do without.

“Okay, Triston. I’m going to drop my purse off in my office, see who will be checking out today, and I’ll meet you in the back garden in fifteen minutes. Just follow the hall behind the lounge to the right, all the way down, and there’s some French doors that’ll open to the walkway which will lead to a sitting area.” She smiled broadly. “Clandestine enough for you?”

Triston laughed. “I’ll be there.”

*

The message in voicemail from the banquet’s contact person, Megan Savoe, requested a return call for a last minute event. Shannon grinned. More business, and special events always brought in good money, and last minute shouldn’t be an issue. Shannon was well aware she had the best possible team of people employed anywhere in the state of New York. She looked at the time. Megan called the night before, and it was still early, she couldn’t call yet.

She gazed at the heavy list of checkouts. A lot of big names who attended the banquet two nights earlier, but most made arrangements for their bills. Senators, Congressmen, some big names from Wall Street. It was nothing
the front desk couldn’t handle.

Shannon combed the list again, and couldn’t tell whether she was dismayed or elated she wouldn’t be needed. Was she looking for an excuse not to meet Triston, or hoping not to find one? She wasn’t sure. But, looking at the desk clock, the fifteen minutes were just about up. Her fellow managers wouldn’t be in for at least another half hour, and she’d have to wait another two hours before s
he could touch base with Megan.

So much for excuses.

Outside, the air was cool, crisp, and inviting. It would warm up soon, with summer just around the corner. That was fine with Shannon. The heat of the mid-year months signaled her favorite time of year. But now, with arms wrapped around herself, being outdoors, breathing in the fragrances of the blooms slowly undressing from winter slumber, and seeing the dull browns and faded greens preparing to lighten into rich emeralds, it was having a positive impact on her mood. Usually did. It was a good time of year to live in upstate New York.

The back gardens were fragrant with sweet blossoming colors: reds, pinks, lavenders, blues. Rich rainbows weaving through tailored walks and decorative archways, which would soon be adorned with olive ivy. She walked past a small wooden birdhouse, where only a few sparrows fluttered. Soon it would a meeting grou
nd for other feathered things.

Shannon made a mental note to order a few additional birdhouses. Nothing like the songs of the wild to give someone a little peace.

The gardens were her favorite part of the hotel grounds, the place she came to the most often when she needed a rest from the business of running the Grande. Lunches, late night picnics with crackers and cheese from the restaurant. She couldn’t count how many amber sunsets she watched among the dimmed brilliance of flowers, night colliding with day against the pines and illuminating the river’s shores.

Now it was the spot where her present was going to collide with her past in a big
way. She drew in a deep breath.

Standing among the English gardens, hands in the pocket of his Levis, Triston smiled as she approached. Her heart rumbled, while her mind lit fuses of alarm. What was she doing? She moved forward. Never mind how he looked or that she idolized him once upon a time, in that teenage infatuation kind of way. That wasn’t what
she was looking for right now.

And if not that, what?
She wasn’t sure.

“I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you were going to.”

“Honestly, me neither. I’m not even sure why I did.” Her body tightened a bit, she should have known to bring a jacket.

“I’m glad you did, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.” She stood before him, taking in the musky smell of cologne as it blended with the morning air.
This was getting dangerous.
“I should walk away, go back inside.”

His face fell. “Is that what you want to do? If it is, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Shannon stopped, considering. But she didn’t move.

“Do you want to sit down here?” Triston nodded tow
ards a couple of stone benches.

Two of them. Separate. Good. Shannon nodded. “Okay.”

“Are you cold? You were never one for temperatures below seventy-five degrees.”

Shannon eyed him shrugging out of his jacket, and her skin prickled. It was the last thing she needed, to have that cologne of his next to her n
ose. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

They settled, taking one another in, seeing the invisible lines between them with sharp clarity. She couldn’t help wonder, in the silence, what Triston was thinking. If she crossed his mind in all the many years they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other. If Shannon was honest, he had crossed her mind a time or two, but only in passing, and mostly since the accident while Greg was running around on her.

A girl never forgets the first love, or so the saying goes. Shannon found it mostly true.

Still, she adored her husband, loved him with all her heart. Doubt she’d married the right man never surfaced when they celebrated their union of love.

Now it seemed doubt was all there was left.

Triston’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Talk to me, Shannon.”

“I don’t really know where to begin. It’s all been such a mess.”

His shoulders grew wider. “Does he beat you? I’ll hurt him, personally, if he beats you.”

Shannon smiled. There was that protectiveness she remembered, some things didn’t change. “No, its nothing like that. But, he has his struggles.” She dropped her gaze to her lap, her voice becoming a whisper. “You’ve met him, you know.”

“Met him?” His face went blank. “I don’t understand. I haven’t met anyone since I’ve been here. Just you, and that crazy nutjob in the lobby who was trying to pick up Jennifer.”

She didn’t say anything, expressionless, waiting.

It didn’t take him long. “
That
was your husband. That … he …” Triston paused, and Shannon suspected he was fighting to find the right words, the ones to hurt her the least.