Once Tempted (44 page)
He dragged a hand through his hair with rough frustration. “So you’ll just walk away? What about Carrie and Brian? What about my family?”
“I’ve left your parents and Quinn a note. I hope they’ll understand my reasons. I think Estelle Vargas would make an excellent replacement for me. And Natalie would be great at keeping the Twitter feed going and posting pictures on Pinterest. I already said goodbye to Carrie and Brian. I told them something had come up, so you don’t have to worry that they’ll ask questions, though I’m sure Erica will fill them in on the real story as soon as she can.”
“And what about us, Tess? Why are you turning your back on us and what we had together?”
She looked at him sadly. “Because I’m not sure it was real, any more than what I had with David was real. That love turned to ashes all too quickly. I kept something important about myself from you, and that was stupid, yes. Tonight, when I came up to you and Erica talking to Edward Bradford, I was so scared—terrified that my actions had destroyed all my hopes for you and me and the future we might have. But you know what? A tiny part of me was hoping, just hoping, that you’d believe in me, Ward. That you’d think I’m even better than I am.”
“Tess—”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t stay any longer. I’ve got to go. This hurts too much.”
“Tess, you can’t go. I want you to stay.”
“Don’t you see? It won’t work, Ward. You’ll always wonder whether or not I’m using you just like Erica tried to—” For the first time she glimpsed the naked pain in his eyes. Her heart sank when she realized she’d hit upon the truth. His next question seemed only to confirm it.
“And what about David’s trust fund? Did you know about that?”
“No.” She refused to say more. She was through trying to defend herself. He was going to think as he chose. Would it be easier for him to believe that she was a gold digger? Would it hurt her any more to know he thought of her as one? She knew the answer to that.
“Tess, you can’t leave. It’s late. It’s dangerous.”
“Yes, I can. I have to. Don’t worry, I’ve been through this before.”
She brushed past him, avoiding the hand that reached out to catch her. Grabbing her purse from the side table, she ran to her car, her heart shattered and bleeding.
At first, she was grateful for the darkness as she drove from Silver Creek. It hid from her the ranch’s lush green meadows, the sheep and cattle dozing on the other side of the fence line, the contours of the forest-covered mountains beyond. Seeing those would start the tears, and she couldn’t start crying. If she did, when would she stop?
At the end of the private road, she turned right. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and she stared at the inky blackness ahead. She knew the roads she had to take, knew now how to get to Route 101. Farther on she’d turn onto Route 20, which would take her to Route 80. Three thousand exhausting miles later she would reach New York. Home. Was it still?
The two-lane road was empty, the few houses that were built near it lit by single porch lights or lanterns suspended over front doors. No motels appeared with vacancy signs. The world was dark and asleep.
A wave of fatigue hit her: physical exhaustion combined with the emotional turmoil of what she’d just done …
Oh God, had she been a fool to leave? Yes—no—she wasn’t sure anymore, only knew that her heart hurt more than she could have ever imagined. She’d lost Ward, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever find such happiness again. Her eyes closed against the pain and then abruptly she opened them, terrified at what she’d just done. It was increasingly clear that she was in no condition to drive. She needed a place to rest.
Maybe when she neared Route 20 she would come upon one of the larger chain motels and she’d find refuge, a place to gather herself.
Suddenly, Tess became aware of a car following her. Had it been there long and she’d been too preoccupied
to notice? She wasn’t sure, but for some reason its presence on the lonely road caused her heart to stutter and then race as the darkness pressed closer. She was now miles from anything she knew.
Maybe the car would turn off into a driveway or onto a crossroad. She alternately cast nervous glances in the rearview mirror as she checked ahead for intersections. Whenever one neared, she looked back, hoping to see the bright orange flicker of a turn signal. None. Her apprehension grew.
Was the car following her? Really following her? Was it getting closer, the driver planning to overtake her? Tired and wrung-out, she could no longer distinguish justified alarm from paranoia.
Fear clawed at her. Her breathing grew heavy as panic edged closer. She jumped at the ring of her cellphone lying on the seat next to her. “Yes?” Her voice was shrill.
“It’s me. I’m behind you. There’ll be a Super 8 Motel in about eight miles. I’ll wait until you’re safe in your room.” Ward disconnected before she could reply.
Oh God, oh God, what had she done? She pressed her lips tight to stop their trembling, the words ricocheting inside of her, bruising. Even now, after everything, he was still keeping her safe.
She made it to the motel and roused a sleepy night clerk for a key to a room. Stepping outside again, she saw his Jeep idling. But he didn’t leave the car. She took that as a sign. Too much had gone wrong—was still wrong—between them.
Her fingers were clumsy as she inserted the key and pushed open the door to a sterile box of a room. It was almost more than she could manage to shut the door and draw the deadbolt, because she knew what she would find when she moved to the window and drew back the drab yellow curtain to peer out at the parking lot. Ward’s Jeep was gone.
Exhaustion and misery overtook her. She fell onto the bed and lay curled on it as sleep claimed her, too quickly, too thoroughly, to resist. Her dreams were not, as she’d feared, of Edward Bradford. Worse, they were of Ward, of his smiling face as he held her in his arms.
Astoria, Queens
Dear Tess
,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Who knows how much time has passed. It could be weeks; it could be years. To butcher Faulkner, “Only when the clock stops does time come to life.” My clock has stopped and so it’s time to give you the answers you deserve. I’m not sure an apology is possible. I’ve acted selfishly, yet I know myself well enough to recognize I’d fail again if I were lucky enough to meet you in a crowded party and see your smile. The first time I heard your laughter, it reminded me of the Trevi Fountain on a bright summer day, one of my favorite places on earth. I’d have liked to have gone there with you. I would have liked to show you so many of the places I love
.
Unfortunately, even then I knew it was not to be
.
The first headache struck a week before that party where you were passing appetizers. The headache had been accompanied by vertigo, the dizziness severe enough to empty my stomach before I could reach the bathroom. The sensation was not new. I’d suffered such headaches before, when I was a senior in high
school. I knew what they heralded. I already understood that faithless time was slipping away from me
.
But when I saw you, I wanted that smile for my own. You were so very lovely. I repeat, I was selfish, I was greedy
.
The headaches began to plague me with tiresome, vicious regularity. I managed to keep them from you, even once I’d convinced you to move in. But their frequency told me that I had to act quickly. So I proposed and was given the light shining in your eyes as my reward. In asking you to marry me, was I out of my mind as well as dying? Not at all. I wanted to be able to give you what was mine and the only way I felt confident that my wishes would be respected was to make you my wife
.
Would I have asked you had I not been knocking on hell’s door? I know you’re wondering. Honestly? Probably not. I spared you the unpleasantness of my family, Tess—perhaps my one unselfish act—but let’s say my parents’ example of matrimony wasn’t particularly inspiring
.
Anyway, we wed. And then a problem I hadn’t anticipated presented itself. I hadn’t really thought about how my illness would affect you once the symptoms became obvious. I could handle my love for you. I couldn’t cope with yours for me. Tess, my intent in marrying you was never to have you nurse me or grieve for me, but to allow you to spread your wings and fly—that would come after my death. So I had to rectify things
.
Here I must tell the ugly truth again. It wasn’t that hard to hurt you, Tess. The pain I’ve been suffering for months now is merciless. It’s made me so, too. But, though I did my best to drive you away as quickly as I could, you were stronger than I ever gave you
credit for. My only recourse was to leave you and kill any remaining affection you might hold in your heart
.
You may no longer want even the memory of my love. My money, however, is now yours, all yours, and I hope it will allow you to achieve your dreams. The lawyer’s letter that you’ll find included here will outline the basics. When you meet with him, he’ll explain everything in full
.
I regret much, my darling Tess. Knowing you, never
.
David
The letter rustled between Tess’s shaking hands. A tear and then two escaped and fell, with more following. She didn’t notice. She was already rereading her husband’s words.
The letter had been waiting for her on the dresser in her childhood room, propped against an old photograph of her and Christopher when they were children, before Christopher had to be placed in the facility.
After four days of solid driving, she’d reached home late that afternoon, pulling up to the modest brick house. Her mother’s rosebushes, planted along the metal fence enclosing their front yard, were in bloom. Her father had mowed the tiny lawn. A few stray clippings were scattered along the walk up to the house. Her mom and dad must have been listening for her, for they were there, pushing open the storm door and stepping onto the stoop before she’d reached the concrete steps.
Exhausted and heartbroken though she was, Tess had been happy to see them after so many months and had smiled tremulously as she and her parents exchanged hugs. Her mother’s pretty, careworn face was creased in a smile, and her father, in his short shirtsleeves and pressed trousers, had patted her back as they entered her childhood home.
The house was the same as always: immaculate and
just a little threadbare. The aroma of her mother’s marinara sauce reached her, drifting in from the kitchen’s open door, past the dining room with its square dining table and cut-glass vase of her mother’s roses in its center.
She sniffed. “It smells good, Mom.”
“It’s almost ready. We’ll eat early. I can see how tired you are, Teresa.”
“Dead on my feet.” And sick at heart.
“Give me your keys,” her father had said. “I’ll bring in your bags for you.”
Dinner had been a quiet affair. Tess had nearly fallen asleep before finishing her pasta. “I’m sorry, Mom. I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be more myself tomorrow, I promise.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“That’s a long drive you made, Tess,” her father had said. “And in such a small car.”
A car that, thanks to Ward, was a lot safer than the one her father had steered her toward. Just the thought of Ward opened a floodgate of pain and regrets. She forced her thoughts to the here and now. This was her real life. “It’s small but it runs really well, Dad. I’m afraid that other car wasn’t up to a cross-country drive. Can I go with you to visit Christopher tomorrow?”
Her mother smiled. “Your father is going to take the afternoon off. We’ll visit Christopher together.”
“That’ll be nice. Really nice.” She’d risen from her chair and made to clear their plates, but her mother put a stop to her effort.
“Leave the dishes, Teresa. I’ll tend to them. You go upstairs now. Sleep will do you good.”
On leaden legs she’d tripped up the stairs and then made it down the short hallway to her room, which
overlooked the backyard—the same postage-stamp size as their front yard. She glanced out the window.
The sun hadn’t even set yet. At Silver Creek, Pete, Jim, Carlos, Holly, and Frank would be beginning to water and feed some of the animals. Quinn might be in the garden, weeding or pinching back lettuce, or perhaps she’d be working with Tucker or making sure her goats hadn’t gotten into mischief. Up at the main lodge, Roo and Jeff would be ratcheting up the energy level in the kitchen. She could almost hear the music coming out of the iPod’s playlist. Jeff would have liked her mother’s marinara. The tomatoes tasted so fresh.
