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Deanna longed to crawl back in bed and restart the morning. If only she hadn’t gone looking for that picture, she thought. Then she wouldn’t have to know. But time could not be turned back, and she had to deal with the reality of Colin’s treachery.
She stared down at the wedding ring set on her left hand. The large center stone glinted, even in the dim light. She was so careful to get the rings cleaned every three months, have the prongs checked to make sure nothing was loose. She’d been so careful about so many things. She’d been a fool.
Deanna tugged the ring off her finger and threw it across the hallway. It bounced against the wall and rolled to the center of the polished hardwood. Then she covered her face with her hands and gave in to tears.
* * *
Boston King arranged the tulips on the small hand-painted table she’d brought in from the spare bedroom. The top of the table was white, the legs a pale green. Years ago, she’d stenciled tulips around the sides, a perfect echo of the flowers she now moved around, trying to find the right air of casual disarray.
She positioned a long dark green leaf, shifted a petal, moved the yellow tulip closer to the pink one. When she was pleased with what she’d done, she picked up the whole table and carried it so that it sat in a shaft of bright sunlight. Then she settled on her stool, picked up her pad and began to sketch.
She moved quickly, confidently. Her mind cleared as she focused on shapes, contrasts and lines, no longer seeing an object, but instead the parts. Pieces of the whole, she thought with a smile. She remembered one of her teachers who would remind her, “We view the world on a molecular level. The building blocks, not the end results.”
The first of the flowers grew on the page. Impulsively, she reached for a piece of chalk, thinking she could capture the purity of the yellow petal. As she guided it to the paper, her charm bracelet provided a familiar melody. Her eyes drifted closed, then open again.
Gray. She’d picked the gray, not the yellow. The darker of her grays, nearly black, but not quite. The piece was stubby and worn, but sharp. She always kept it sharp. Then her hand was moving again, faster than before, the lines so comfortable, her movements almost habitual.
What had been a flower became something much more beautiful, much more precious. A few more strokes and she was staring at the face of an infant. Liam, she thought, running her hand across the picture, smudging and softening the defined lines until they were as sleepy as the boy.
She drew in a few details of background, then studied the result. Yes, she’d captured him, the curve of his cheek, the promise of love in his half-closed eyes. Her best boy.
She put her initials and the date in the bottom right-hand corner of the paper, then tore it from the pad and set it on top of the others already there. After picking up her mug of white tea, she walked to the window and stared out at the rear garden.
Spruce trees lined the edge of the property. In front of them, Pacific wax myrtle swayed in the afternoon breeze. They’d all survived last winter’s big windstorm. The last of her tulips danced, their promise of spring already met. Over the next week or so, she would plant the rest of her garden. She enjoyed the fresh vegetables, although she didn’t share her neighbor Deanna’s rabid obsession with growing her own food whenever possible.
She was aware of the silence, feeling rather than hearing the steady beating of her own heart. That’s what she experienced these days. Silence. Not quiet. Quiet had a restful quality. In quiet, she could find peace. In silence, there was only an absence of sound.
She turned and walked to the front of the house. The big moving van in Andi’s driveway rumbled to life. It had been there since early morning. Zeke had told her about Andi’s plans to store most of her furniture in an upstairs bedroom and live in the attic during the remodeling. Boston didn’t envy the movers the work of hauling heavy furniture up the narrow stairs.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, her husband drove his battered red pickup around the retreating moving truck and up toward their house. She watched him park, then get out and walk toward the side entrance.
He moved as easily and gracefully as he had the first time she’d seen him. She’d been all of fifteen—a new sophomore at the mainland high school. It had been the first week of classes and she’d clung to her friends like a motherless monkey abandoned in the jungle. He’d been a senior. Handsome. Sexy. On the football team. Despite the heat of the September afternoon, he’d proudly worn his letterman jacket.
She’d taken one look at him and had fallen deeply in love. She’d known in that instant that he was the one. He liked to tease that it had taken him longer. That it was only after he’d been talking to her for ten minutes that he’d accepted his fate.
They’d been together ever since. Married when she was twenty and he was twenty-two. Their love had never wavered and they’d been so happy together that they’d put off starting a family. She had her career to establish, and he’d been busy with his business. There had been the world to see. Their lives had been perfect.
“Hey, babe,” Zeke called as he walked in the kitchen door. “Our neighbor moved in.”
“I saw.”
He came out of the kitchen and walked toward her, his brown eyes affectionate, as always, but now also wary. Because in the past six months, they’d seemed to stumble more than they got it right.
It all came down to blame, she thought, tightening her hold on her mug of tea. In their heads they knew neither was at fault, but in their hearts... Well, she couldn’t speak to his heart, but hers had turned into a void. Lately she’d started to wonder if it was possible for love to live in a black hole.
“Her remodeling is going to have a serious effect on our bottom line this year,” Zeke said. “You be friendly, you hear?”
She smiled. “I’m always friendly.”
“I’m just saying you might want to put off talking about the power that flows from the earth until we cash the checks.”
Boston rolled her eyes. “I only celebrated the summer solstice once and that was just to be nice to my friend from the art class I was teaching.”
“You can be plenty weird without blaming other people.”
“Redneck.”
“Flake.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Let me go get my stuff.”
He walked back outside to his truck. Boston glanced at the clock and saw it was too early to start dinner. With the weather so nice, she was thinking they would just barbecue burgers. Their first of the season. Zeke had pulled out the high-tech stainless monstrosity the previous weekend and was itching to fire it up.
She could make a salad, she thought. Maybe invite Andi over. She had to be exhausted after a hard day of moving, and Boston knew there wasn’t anything remotely close to a working kitchen in her house.
Zeke returned, his arms full of plans and contracts. He had his lunch box in one hand and a small box in another.
She smiled. “Is that for me?”
“I don’t know. I bought it for the most beautiful girl in the world. Is that you?”
Whatever else might go wrong, Zeke always tried, she thought. He was a thoughtful guy, regularly bringing her little presents.
The gifts themselves weren’t expensive. A new paintbrush, a single flower, an antique pin for her hair. For all the years they’d been married, he’d always gone out of his way to let her know he was thinking of her. That she was important to him. It was part of the glue that held their marriage together.
She reached for the box, but he turned, keeping it out of reach. “Not so fast, young lady.”
He put his paperwork down, then slowly held out the box. She took it, letting the anticipation build.
“Diamonds?” she asked, knowing they weren’t something either of them would be interested in.
“Darn it. Did you want diamonds? Because it’s a new truck.”
Despite the tease, something in his voice sounded different. When she looked up, she saw the hesitation in his eyes. Boston opened the box slowly. Her gaze settled on the tiny pink booties.
They had been knit in the finest gauge, with a little crocheted lace trim and delicate ties. Lovely and girly. Staring at them made her chest tighten. She couldn’t breathe. Her body went cold and the box with the booties slipped from her grasp.
“How could you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Pain shot through her, slicing and cleaving. She turned away, determined to keep the monster that was her pain firmly in its cage.
Zeke grabbed her arm. “Boston, don’t block me out. Don’t turn way. Give me something, hon. We have to talk about it. It’s been six months. We could still have a family. Another baby.”
She jerked her arm free and glared at him. “Our son died.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“You’re not acting like it. You say six months like it’s a lifetime. Well, it’s not. It’s nothing. I will never get over him, you hear me? Never.”
She watched the affection fade from her husband’s eyes as something much darker took its place. “You keep doing this,” he told her. “Shutting me out. We have to move on.”
“You move on,” she told him, the familiar numbness settling over her. “I’m staying right where I am.”
Resignation settled into the lines around his mouth. “Like always,” he said. “Fine. You want more of the same, you can have it. I’m leaving. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
He hesitated before turning, as if waiting for her to ask him not to go. She pressed her lips tightly together, wanting, no, needing to be alone. He was off to get drunk and she was fine with that. She got lost in her painting and he got lost in his bottle. It was how they got through the pain.
He shook his head and stalked out. A few seconds later she heard his truck start up.
When the sound of the engine had faded away, she walked back to her studio. As she stepped inside, she didn’t see the light spilling in through tall windows, the hand-built shelves, carefully constructed to her specifications, the easels and empty canvases awaiting their destiny. Instead her gaze fell on the pictures of Liam. Her son.
Tiny sketches and life-size portraits. Drawings and watercolors. She’d used every material, every medium. She had created hundreds of pictures, maybe thousands. Since they’d buried him, he was all she could draw. All she wanted to create.
Now, her heart still pounding, her body still cold, she picked up a sketchpad and a pencil. Then she settled onto her favorite stool and began to draw.
Chapter Three
DEANNA SAT IN her car in the parking lot. Spring had come to the Pacific Northwest. New leaves reflected sunlight and buds covered the bushes. The municipal park had soft green grass that had yet to be trampled by the children who would soon come to play.
She reached for her take-out coffee, only to realize she was shaking too hard to hold it, let alone guide it to her mouth. She’d spent the past two days shaking. Shaking and not eating and trying to figure out how to salvage the shattered remains of her once perfect life. She’d alternated between blaming herself and wanting to kill Colin. She’d cried, screamed and when the children were around, pretended absolutely nothing was wrong. Then she’d come up with a plan.
On the passenger seat next to her were several sheets of paper. Notes she’d made, phone numbers and statistics. She had all the girls’ paperwork and copies of her and Colin’s joint bank statements.
Her options were limited. The bottom line was, she didn’t want a divorce. Being married was part of her identity, part of what she’d always wanted, and Colin wasn’t going to take that from her, too. So she was going to explain that while she might forgive, she wasn’t planning on forgetting. That he would have some serious work to do if he planned to win her back.
She had several weapons she was willing to use. The girls, of course. His standing in the community. Colin loved the island, but if he didn’t come around, he would find himself ostracized.
In the back of her mind, a voice whispered that maybe he didn’t want to give up the other woman. Maybe he wasn’t interested in his family anymore. And by family, she knew the voice meant her because no one could doubt Colin’s love for his girls.
She ignored the voice, knowing it came from a weaker part of herself. Strength was required, and she would be strong. She knew how. She’d survived so much worse than this.
She drew in a breath and steadied herself enough to pick up her coffee and take a sip. Once Colin agreed to end the affair, she was going to insist on couple’s therapy. She would casually mention that she had the names of several good lawyers. Lawyers who weren’t sure a straying father deserved much time with their children.
The house wasn’t an issue, thank God. It was in her name and would be until the day she died. A few times over the years, she’d thought about putting his name on the deed, but never had done it. Now she was grateful.
She glanced at her watch. About an hour ago, when she’d known he was close to home, she’d sent Colin a text saying that she knew about the other woman and telling him to meet her at the park. This conversation needed to be conducted in private, and with five girls in the house, privacy was rare. Madison was with a friend, and Deanna had hired a sitter to stay with the other four.
Colin’s battered sedan pulled next to her SUV. Deanna put down the coffee and reached for the folders. As her fingers closed around the door handle, anger flooded her. Cold, thick fury that made her want to lash out, to cut and wound. How dare he? She’d spent her life in service to her family and this was what he did to her?
She sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. She had to keep her mind clear. She had to be able to think. She had to stay in control.
Colin got out of his car and looked at her across the roof. He was still in his blue suit, although he’d changed his shirt and tie. Buoyed by the righteousness of her position, she opened her door.
“Hello, Deanna.”
Hello? Not “I’m sorry”? She pressed her lips together and nodded, then led the way to a bench on the grass. She sat on the side with a view of the sound. It would give her something to stare at as he groveled.
He sat across from her. His blue gaze settled on her face. She waited, prepared for the explanation, the apologies. She hoped to see a little fear in his eyes. No, she thought grimly. A lot of fear.
But it wasn’t there. If anything, he looked as he always did. Tired from his trip, of course. If she had to pick a second emotion, it would be resignation. She would almost say he looked determined, but that didn’t make sense.
He nodded at the folders she held. “You came prepared.”
“I did.”
He leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not having an affair. I’ve never had an affair.”
“I saw the picture.”
“You saw a picture.”
She drew back and squared her shoulders. “If you’re going to play word games, we’re not having this conversation.”
“I’m saying you saw a picture of me with a coworker. The whole office was celebrating. Val had just gotten engaged. A few weeks ago, her boyfriend was acting strange. She thought he was trying to end things, but I told her to hang in there. It turns out he was preparing a romantic weekend away so he could propose. The picture is her thanking me.”
“With a kiss?”
“On the cheek, Deanna. She’s a kid. I’m not cheating.”
She saw the truth in his eyes. Colin had never been much of a liar. A good quality in a husband, she thought, as relief replaced fear. The folders she held suddenly felt heavy and obvious.
“You could have said something,” she murmured, aware she owed him an apology.
“So could you.” He straightened and studied her. “I’m sorry you think I’m the kind of man who would cheat on you.”
“I didn’t know what else it could be,” she admitted, uncomfortable being in the wrong. “Your work life is separate from us. You were kissing another woman and you’re gone all the time.”
“Your misinterpretation isn’t my responsibility,” he told her.
“I know.”
She was an idiot, she thought. She had to explain and admit fault. It’s how these things went. “I just...” The words stuck in her throat.
“No,” Colin said suddenly when she didn’t continue. He stared at her. “No, that’s not good enough.”
“What?”
“You not apologizing. Again.”
She stiffened. “Colin!”
“I’m sick of it. Of you, of us. I’m not happy with our marriage. I haven’t been for a long time.”
She blinked, the words hitting her directly in the chest. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
His expression tightened. “I’m tired, Deanna. I’m tired of dealing with you. You don’t care about me or our relationship. I’m not sure you care about anything except getting your way and how things look to other people. You sure as hell don’t seem to want me around. You want my paycheck and then you want me to get out of your way.”
Heat burned on her cheeks even as fear froze her chest and made it impossible to breathe.
“You think I don’t notice how impatient you are with me every time I try to do something with the girls? You make all of us feel like unwelcome visitors in our own home. Nothing is good enough for you. We certainly aren’t. You’re constantly riding the girls and you can’t stay off my ass. The house is your domain and you make it damn clear I’m not welcome there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, battered by the unexpected attack. “None of that is true.”
