The Glory Game (20 page)

Belatedly it occurred to her that it might be Drew calling to say he had changed his mind. She hurried to answer it, stumbling over the shards of pottery and glass in the dark foyer, and fearing he might hang up before she could get to the phone.

“Hello?” There was an anxious pitch to her husky voice as she gripped the receiver in both hands and waited for the sound of Drew's voice in response.

“I was beginning to think no one was there,” a woman answered with a trace of exasperation. “This is Connie Davenport. Let me speak to Luz.” Luz couldn't say anything for several seconds. “Hello?” The woman demanded a response.

“She isn't here.” Luz groped for the telephone and pushed the receiver onto its cradle, abruptly hanging up on her friend before she could say more.

The darkness became alien, and she searched for the wall switch and flipped on the overhead light. The phone started ringing again. This time she backed away from it, the debris crunching under her feet. A noise came from the rear of the house, and Luz swung around in vague alarm. The phone was silenced in midring as it was answered elsewhere. Some distant part of her mind registered that Emma had returned. She didn't want to see her. She didn't want to see or speak to anyone. She headed for the oak stairs, seeking to escape the questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

“Mrs. Davenport is on the phone, Luz. She wants—” Emma Sanderson stopped abruptly in the foyer, her usually unshakable composure broken by the wreckage she saw. Luz's haunted and tear-stained face did little to reassure her. “My gracious, what happened? Should I call the police?”

“No,” Luz answered dully and faced the stairs, wanting to hide. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to explain to anyone that Drew had left her … for a younger woman … an intelligent woman.

“Are … are you sure, Mrs. Thomas?” her secretary said. “If you've been harmed …”

“Harmed” was such a gentle word that Luz almost laughed. “Destroyed” was more apt. “No, Emma.” She paused with one
foot on the first step. “I don't want to speak to anyone … except Drew.” She held out the hope that he'd come to his senses and spare her all this humiliation—that he'd miss her and come back. “If he calls, I'll be upstairs.”

“Shall I try to reach him?”

“No.” It was a forceful reply. She had virtually begged him not to leave. She wouldn't plead with him to come back.

She climbed the stairs to the master suite and shut the door, hoping to shut out the world a little longer. She ventured as far as the door to his bedroom. The dresser drawers and closet doors were open and emptied of clothes. No personal items remained in the room. It looked bare and abandoned—the way she felt. She went into her own bedroom and closed the door.

For three days, Luz didn't venture outside those four walls, refusing all calls and returning her meal trays virtually untouched. None of the household staff commented on Drew's absence or his missing clothes, not even Emma, but Luz knew they had guessed that he had deserted her. Sometimes she sat for hours staring into space. Sometimes she cried until there seemed to be no more tears left, but there always were. At night, she prowled the room, bitterness and anger running deep, hating him and swearing she'd never take him back even if he came crawling on his knees.

Each time she saw her reflection in the mirror—the pale and drawn face with its faint age lines deepened by sleeplessness—her resentment toward him grew. All their years together had been for nothing, thrown away for someone younger. What man would want her now—a forty-two-year-old woman with grown children? They all wanted twenty-year-old nymphs who could make them feel young and virile again. She'd seen those pathetically lonely middle-aged divorcees, starving for affection, and didn't want to be one of them.

So she waited, half hoping he'd come back before anyone found out he'd left her and postponing the moment when she'd have to admit to someone that Drew had walked out on her. She dreaded facing her friends. Worse was the prospect of telling Rob and Trisha.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Go away!” But her sharp command was ignored; the door was opened. Luz glared at Emma. “I told you I didn't want to be disturbed for any reason.”

The plump woman hesitated only briefly, then crossed the room to hand Luz a thick envelope. “This came for you. It looked important.” She quietly withdrew from the room, leaving Luz alone to open the envelope.

She stared at the return address printed in the left-hand corner.
Thomas, Thorndyke & Wall—Attorneys at Law.
Mechanically, she lifted the sealed flap with a fingernail and removed the official-looking document. She scanned the first page. There was no need to go farther. It was a notice that Drew had filed for a legal separation. He wasn't coming back.

With the notice in hand, Luz walked out of the bedroom where she'd slept alone for so many years and down the stairs to the living-room bar. The first drink tasted like water, so she fixed a second, stronger, and reached for the telephone.

“This is Luz Thomas calling. Jake Kincaid's daughter. I want to speak to Arthur Hill.” She took a swallow of the drink while she waited for the attorney to come on the line. When he did, she explained the facts to him with as little detail as possible.

“I strongly advise against any hasty action, Luz.” He'd known the family too long not to speak to her as a father. “A reconciliation is always possible—and preferred.”

“No.” Her tone was decisive and cold. “I want a divorce as quickly, and as quietly, as one can be arranged. No delays.”

The desire for revenge was strong, but she was thinking clearly if only temporarily. She stood to lose more in a messy divorce than Drew did. Dragging a pregnant Claudia into divorce court would likely illicit sympathy for both the woman and Drew, and bare her humiliation to public ridicule. Not to mention how awkward it would be for Rob and Trisha. A quick and quiet dissolution was the way to handle it. Reluctantly, the attorney acceded to her wishes.

The doorbell chimed as Luz hung up the phone. She ignored its summons to take another drink while Emma's footsteps sounded in the long corridor. The minute the door opened she heard her mother's imperious demand: “I have come to find out what is going on here. You have repeatedly refused to put my calls through to my daughter. Now I insist that you take me to her.” During the past three days, Luz had not bothered to ask who had called for her, but she wasn't surprised to learn her mother was one.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Kincaid, but your daughter left very definite orders not to be disturbed—by anyone.” Emma stood up well to her, respectful yet firm.

“Emma, I'm in the living room,” Luz called to break the stalemate that was bound to occur. She slid off the bar stool as her mother swept by Emma and entered the living room, followed closely by Mary. The wry thought crossed her mind that at least she'd be spared from telling all this twice. “You're just in time. What can I fix you to drink? Gin and tonic, Audra?”

“Two o'clock in the afternoon is much too early to be drinking.” Her mother took the glass out of Luz's hand and set it on the counter with a resounding thump.

“This is my house and I drink when I please.” Luz grabbed up the glass and stiffly walked behind the bar to replenish its contents.

Audra's lips narrowed in disapproval at Luz's defiance, but she didn't pursue it. “Have you been ill?” Those sharp eyes inspected the wan and haggard face. “No one has seen or talked to you in days.”

“No.” Luz freshened her drink with ice. “I've simply been incommunicado.”

“You should have been out, letting yourself be seen and silencing those wagging tongues spreading rumors that you and Drew are having marital difficulties,” her mother decreed.

“Why? They're true.” Luz avoided looking at Mary, aware her sister would see through her bravado. “As a matter of fact, I talked to Arthur Hill a few minutes ago and instructed him to begin the divorce proceedings. So you see”—she lifted her glass in a mock salute—“I do have something to celebrate.”

“You can call him right back and tell him you've changed your mind.”

“But I haven't.” She took a swig from the glass, feeling the liquor burn down her throat.

“No Kincaid has ever gotten a divorce,” Audra informed her.

“Then that makes me the first, doesn't it?” Luz declared, but she couldn't maintain that brittle facade of indifference, and the bitterness came through. “He doesn't want to be married to me any longer. He's in love with someone else—someone younger. So at least allow me the dignity of being the one to divorce him.”

“Love has nothing to do with it. Whether he's in love with you or someone else, it makes no difference. That is no justification for breaking up your marriage. This little affair he's having will pass. For the sake of your family, you must wait it out.”

“The way you did with Jake?” Luz did the unpardonable and referred to her father's philandering ways. “Do you think people admired you for letting him make a fool of you? They laughed behind your back and pitied you for being so stupid that you couldn't see what they really thought. Your marriage was nothing but a farce, and you were the fool in it.” She watched her mother go pale, but she couldn't stop the vindictive attack. “No matter how miserable I might be, I never want to be like you. The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.”

She never saw the arc of her mother's hand, but she felt the stinging blow to her cheek when it struck her. The force of it turned her head, and she kept it turned after the sound of the slap ended in absolute silence.

“I won't apologize, Audra.” She breathed in slowly and deeply, struggling for control. “That is how I feel.”

“Luz,” Mary said to fill the chilling silence. “Aren't you being too hasty? After all, in a few months, Drew may decide that this woman isn't worth giving up his home and family for. There's no need to rush into a divorce.”

“You're saying I should give him a chance to make a fool of me again.” This time she didn't have to say anything about her parents. Both women knew. “He already had his chance to end it with Claudia. I believed him once and behaved like a gushing bride. Never again. Besides, there is a little matter of a baby on the way.”

“My Lord, you mean she's pregnant?” Mary's eyes widened.

“According to Drew, yes.” Luz swirled the liquor in her glass, feeling wretchedly bitter and hurt. “Tell me, Audra, did you ever have to deal with any illegitimate Kincaids running around?”

“No. But that changes nothing,” Audra stated. “Your duty is to your family. No sacrifice is too great if it keeps a marriage intact and the family together.”

“Even if that sacrifice includes losing the respect of our children?” Luz challenged. “I loved you and Jake, Audra, but I never respected you—either of you. I swore I'd never let any
man destroy me the way Jake destroyed you—or you, him. I was never sure where the blame properly belonged. On both of you, I guess—Jake for running around and you for putting up with it. I'd rather live alone the rest of my life than endure a marriage that's a sham.” She took another drink. Alcohol was a weak comfort, but it was the only one she had.

“I suppose you think you can drown your sorrows with that.” Her mother viewed her drinking with disgust.

“Temporarily, Audra. Temporarily.” Her smile was as twisted as her humor—and her pain. She wished she were alone so she could cry.

“What about Trisha and Rob?” Mary inserted quietly. “How did they take the news? Or haven't you told them?”

“Not yet.” She dreaded facing them, dreaded their questions more than anyone else's. They'd want to know why the marriage had failed. How could she answer something she didn't understand herself? Drew's rejection of her had left her feeling that somehow she was at fault—that she had done something to drive him to another woman's bed.

“You can't wait very long. There's always a chance they'll hear it from someone else,” Mary warned.

“I know. But it isn't something I can explain over the telephone. I thought I'd ask them to come home this weekend.” She felt a hot flare of resentment. Drew should be the one to explain to them, since he had walked out on her. Why did she have to endure the pain of their questions?

“It's a shame you didn't have a houseful of children the way I did,” her sister said, then sighed.

“Why?” She couldn't imagine anything worse than telling twelve children instead of two that their parents were getting a divorce.

“Any man who would walk out on a wife with twelve children would be considered a first-class heel.”

Luz frowned at her sister, hearing something that surprised her. “Is that why you had twelve children? So you could hold them over Ross's head in case he ever thought of leaving you?” She saw the dull flush creep into Mary's face.

“I wanted a lot of children. So did Ross,” Mary insisted somewhat defensively. “But I admit a part of me recognized that they were a kind of insurance our marriage would last. And stop looking at me as if I've just poisoned an apple. I've
had to be realistic. My looks aren't the kind that make a man's heart beat faster and inspire undying love. Even with the Kincaid name and money, I knew I could wind up dumped on some shelf. So I surrounded myself with love the best way I knew how. I reinforced the marriage knot with family ties. Maybe you should have done the same, Luz.”

“Maybe I should offer that advice to dear Claudia,” Luz murmured and tipped the glass to her lips. Illusions were shattering all around her, it seemed.

“What do you want us to say when people ask why you and Drew have separated?” Her mother refocused the conversation on the matter at hand, requesting the official family response for any inquiries. Luz knew her answer would be passed to her brothers, Michael and Frank, creating a united front.