Twice in a Lifetime (Love Found) (19 page)

“You don’t really plan to die.” It startled her that the word came easier already. It was heavy, though, and echoed as if hauled from a deep cavern. “I wonder how all this would have played out if he had more time.”

“He had nearly ten years, Allie.” Her eyes flew to his at the sharp reminder. “I keep thinking that I should have been more aware of what Ben did.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, over the short hair on his head. “Maybe I got too involved with the projects. He never said anything though.”

“This has brought a few things into perspective for both of us.” And didn’t that understate the matter considerably? “I went to school; I took care of Trey, Ben, the house. The rest I took for granted.” The anger flared again, this time accompanied by guilt, all directed inward. “The more I think of what he did, I’m ashamed.” She’d remained composed at the attorney’s office, and up until a moment ago, but she gave in to tears now, let embarrassment and humiliation intensify her grief.

The server came to refill their tea. Allie turned away, wiped her eyes with her napkin. When she was gone Jake reached across the table and took Allie’s hand, curled his fingers around hers on the cool table top.

“No need for shame, Allie. You didn’t know. I think he didn’t tell you because he did love you—you and Trey.” Jake’s glanced skipped around the room—the diner was busier now, the buzz of the lunch crowd rising and falling around them. His eyes drifted back to Allie. “It was what he did to take care of his family. He would have done anything in the world for you two.”

That night she thought back over her conversation with Jake. The steel trap was still locked around her icy heart, but her brain was ready to process the alarming revelations.

For his own reasons her selfish, lying, cheating bastard husband turned to another woman rather than ride out a black time in their marriage. Did he love the woman? Did he really end their affair? The facts did not throw a favorable light on her husband. Looking back with a suspiciousness borne of betrayal, chunks of time were now haunted by great big question marks emblazoned on them in red.

She made it easy for him to cover his tracks. Took the easy way out when he offered to manage their finances. Or did he insist? Who could remember after so many years? Either way, she didn’t want to do it back then, and still had no interest.

He played cards with the same group of guys for longer than she could remember, but somehow it was never Ben’s turn to host poker night. Allie blithely accepted his reasoning that Joe and Steve, both men she couldn’t pick out of a lineup, owned large homes with green baize tables already in place. Ben would need to rearrange furniture to squeeze a pair of card tables into their living room. Sick, she recalled several times she shoved a hot appetizer or a twelve pack into his hands as he left the house.

Conjecture was pointless. Even so, how
would
this have played out? Would she have found out at some point? Would there at last, at some point in the future, have been a tell-tale clue that would have broken through her naiveté? A hotel receipt? The wrong name uttered in the heat of passion? It was all so cliché.

An affair that lasted nearly as long as his marriage. It was bizarre to say the least, nearly beyond comprehension. And though it galled her, she was at least thankful he took care of his daughter.

Memories floated to the surface. Business trips—trade shows, conventions. Did Jake go as well? Her thoughts shifted, chasing an obscure conclusion. The Christmas Ben ran out for whipped cream—Trey was eight that year, he’d played Rudolph in the school program the week before. Ben was gone for hours and seemed especially quiet the rest of the day. Was he really gone so long because nothing was open? And finally, the Tuesday nights. Poker with the guys. Why wasn’t Jake a part of that? How many of those nights did her husband come home late and hold her in the dark, smelling as fresh as when he left, proclaiming his undying love? Allie dragged in a breath, blew it out.

Damn his selfish, lying, cheating bastard heart.

Still riding the emotional roller coaster that was her day, hope and relief lifting her temporarily from her grief only to plunge her to new depths of pain and betrayal, she was more than chagrined that she did not know more about the business end of running a household. No matter how disagreeable the chore, it now fell squarely on her shoulders.

She now had a new life, this life that was dumped on her, and she needed to learn how to live it. With a nod of satisfaction she made a call, made an appointment. She would start the next afternoon.

She sat in Tom Gainey’s office and pored over investment statements like her students tackled phonics flash cards. There were money market funds, and retirement accounts. And for Trey, a big fat college fund, drawing interest and exempt from federal income tax. She gave Tom the information about Ben’s insurance policies and together they came up with a strategy for preserving her newfound wealth.

And as she left his office, walking a little more confidently through his tiny lobby, the first building blocks of a new life slipped firmly into place.

Allie was mad. No, not mad. Livid, that about covered it. She flung her purse onto the kitchen table. Tossed her keys to land with a clatter beside it. Nothing had gone right for the past two years and it was all Ben’s fault. Not her problem he wasn’t here to defend himself, the selfish, lying, cheating bastard. She had a laundry list of problems and they could all be laid right at his doorstep. Or… wherever.

It all started way back then with the automatic sprinkler system—and a timer she knew nothing about. One afternoon as she strode across the lawn, her eye on the daily paper, it suddenly began spewing. Geysers gushed that would put Yosemite to shame; every last one of the heads completely sheared off.

She ran to the controls on the wall just inside the garage door, blindly flipped switches, twisted dials until the water shut off.
Oh, that Trey
, she’d seethed, plowing the mower straight ahead rather than veering around those pesky pop-ups—all in order to finish the chore fast, damn kid. And Ben—they’d lived together in this house for five years—don’t you think he could have mentioned, just once, how to operate the system? So, besides needing to learn about the damn timer, every sprinkler head in the entire yard needed to be replaced.

They were idiots.

Both of them.

With a firm grasp on her shopping bag she strode back to the living room toting her new paperback and trio of scented candles, her mind still spinning. Her little bout of retail therapy had done nothing for her mood.

“Jake, I have a problem with my sprinkler system.” She’d called him as soon as she’d had a chance to change her clothes, to dry her hair. “Trey ran over the sprinkler heads with the mower.” Her frustration buzzed through the atmosphere, circled the satellite and crash landed in his cell phone. She was helpless to stop it.

“How many?” What would she do without Jake? Of course he’d drop everything to come over, pry her out of a jam.

“All of them.”

“All of them!?”

Poor Jake.

With her new candles scattered on a shelf of the wall unit, wicks lit and jasmine floating on the air, she stormed into her room. It was shortly after the sprinkler incident that her car began to chug and choke. Out of warranty, it was in the shop so often now she’d named the sardine can the dealership offered as a loaner.

She’d scarcely sprung her car from the mechanic—if God was kind, for the last time—and was trying to make it home before rush hour when her tire popped.
Dammit!
Ben was supposed to handle these things. She steered the limping vehicle to the shoulder and parked while a dust storm rolled in from the west. There was nothing to do but call for help and wait, random acts of mayhem gleefully flitting through her head, aimed directly at her dearly departed.

Tossing her new romance into the seat of her reading chair—at least
someone
got to have a happy-ever-after—she continued into the bathroom and walk-in closet beyond. But
that day
she’d picked up the handset and called Jake. “Can you believe it? It took them
three hours
to get there! Three! I was a damn goldfish in a glass bowl, everybody staring at me as they zoomed past.”

“Hold on. The game’s too loud.” The phone clunked like it was dropped on a hard surface, then he was back. “Now, what are you talking about?”

“Triple A. I got a flat and it took them forever to get there because of the storm. I was stuck on the side of the freeway, getting sandblasted in the dark.”

“Really, Allie? You thought they’d rush right out to change your tire in that wind and sand? You were lucky they got there in three hours.”

Allie changed into drawstring cotton pants and a thin tee, finally comfortable and well on her way to calmer. That was, until the squeal of electric guitar and the battle fire of twenty-third century weaponry poured from Trey’s open doorway and followed him like a cloud down the hallway and toward her room. Which brought her temper flying full circle, and back to his son. That’s right,
his
son
.
Her
son was conscientious, helped around the house without nagging. Was polite and pleasant. Dubbed the Stepford student at a very young age.

Now he acted out, rushed through chores irresponsibly. Sassed her relentlessly. Was moody, inconsiderate, argumentative. And the frosting on the cake? His grades had dipped dangerously into the red zone.

He’d figured out how to push her guilt button, too, and was on her last nerve. The worst part was she was pretty sure she brought this on herself, giving in to him too much—the poor kid, doesn’t have a dad…

The long, long stare she leveled his way was hot, the arm she thrust out as he crossed her threshold wordlessly pointed the way back out. He gusted out a laugh and turned around. “Come on, Mom, you gotta let me out of the house some day. Today works for me.”

Dear God, give me the strength to not kill him
. She could not allow this to continue. She was holding up her end of the deal, dammit, but he was clearly not holding up his.

Just shy of his sixteenth birthday, she’d taught him to drive, like a good mom. Took him to the mall in the evenings so he’d have a great big piece of asphalt all to himself. Demonstrated the knobs, the buttons, and then braced herself against the dash and the door while he mastered the intricacies of an automatic transmission. And at eight o’clock in the morning the very day he turned sixteen there they were, waiting in line to take his driving test. And of course he passed the first time, the little creep.

Allie dropped into the comfort of her scarlet chenille chair, reached out to switch on the reading lamp. Nestled in the quiet corner of her bedroom, she opened her paperback and then ignored it as she contemplated problem number four with a sigh of frustration. Once the kid in question could drive, he thought he
could drive
. Whenever he wanted. Her car. Without asking. That was the kicker. ‘Little creep’ was tame compared to some of the things she called him under her breath these days. She’d tolerated this for a full year already, but now the little creep was grounded. Restricted to the house. And turning into a monster.