Her Last Letter Part 15

I called Linda early the next morning.

"I'm so sorry I didn't answer the phone last night. I know you kept trying to call."

"Oh Gwyn, I'm sorry too. I-"

"It's okay. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It was an accident, and I understand why you might have wanted to throw the journals out."

"I didn't want to. I told you. Not after I thought about it. If I did, it wasn't on purpose. I wouldn't do that."

"But maybe you were right to do it. I have to stop obsessing so much about things I can't change, stop living in the past. It's taken a huge toll on me-on you-on all of us. I loved Kelly. I always will. But she's gone. And we're still here."

"I loved her too, Gwyn."

"I know."

"I never wanted anything bad to happen to her. I didn't-even when I was hating her."

"You don't have to explain."

"No, I need to say this. You know how awful it was between us. She knew exactly how to get to me. I'm not sure why it started, except maybe she knew I wanted to be closer to you. Ever since we were small, there was a kind of compet.i.tion between us for your attention. Over the years, she and I did a lot of mean things to each other. After a while, I don't think either of us knew how to stop."

"I should have done something."

"I'm not sure it would have helped. Some things are so bad they can't be undone."

"Do you want to tell me? Any of it ...?"

"No."

"Wouldn't it help?"

"No. I don't want to speak ill of the dead. Kelly's not here to defend herself. And I don't want to make it real again."

"I should have done something."

"Well ... you didn't."

The barbed retort stabbed at my heart, but I knew I deserved it. "Linda, we've been drifting away from each other lately. I know a lot of it's my fault. I've been so preoccupied. But you don't call me like you used to. I feel like you're closed off somehow."

"I called you yesterday."

"I know, but it's so rare."

"I'm busy, Gwyn. Good grief, I've been up to my neck with this remodeling, and then you bring up all this stuff about Kelly's letter, and-"

"No, before that, for a long time now."

"I'll try to call you more often. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Besides, as soon as I get that report, I'll be calling you immediately."

I decided to drive over to Trevor's real estate office at lunchtime. He wasn't at his desk, so I did a quick survey of his quarters, then headed back into the main part of the office. The agency consisted of three rooms, a small reception area, a large open s.p.a.ce with four desks for the sales a.s.sociates, and Trevor's office.

On my way in, I'd walked past the reception area, which was devoid of a receptionist, then strode past the one lone agent, a beefy linebacker-type guy about twenty-five, shirtsleeves rolled up, elbows on his desk. He was inhaling a submarine sandwich, but stopped chewing as I pa.s.sed.

"Can I help you?"

I'd waved and smiled and kept on going.

But now I returned to question the man. "Hi, I'm Gwyn Sanders, Trevor's wife. Do you happen to know where he might be?"

"Lunch, I think."

"Yes, I was supposed to meet him, but I forgot where he said."

"Really? Oh ... well you know, I'm not sure. Ask Molly. I think she's in her car out back. Molly keeps track of everybody around here." He pointed to the rear door. "She likes to eat her lunch out there."

"Thanks," I said. "I'll go check."

I saw three cars parked close together, but no Molly. Carefully, I stepped between the vehicles. Then, like a corpse arising from the dead, Molly popped into the pa.s.senger window of a tan Chevrolet. I stumbled back, landing on the adjacent car.

She rolled down her window. "Sorry, were you looking for me?"

The girl wore thick gla.s.ses and a piece of food-probably bread-was stuck to her upper lip. As if aware of it, she quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Not Trevor's type, was my first thought.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she said. "I dropped my pickle on the floor."

"No problem. I'm looking for Trevor. I'm his wife, Gwyn." I held out my hand to her through the open window. "Sorry to bother you on your lunch break, but I'm supposed to meet him and I forgot where he said."

"Trudo's."

"Oh, that's right. Thanks. How long ago did he leave?"

"Half-hour ago, at least. Do you want me to call him?"

"No. I'll call. I should have before, but I don't want him to know I forgot where to meet. Silly." I shrugged.

Molly smiled and raised her eyebrows, the window slowly rolling back up.

"Thanks again," I said before it closed completely.

I rushed to my Jeep. Trevor would probably take a long lunch, and maybe, just maybe, I'd catch him with his amour of the moment.

Trudo's was packed.

I stood in line, trying to remain partially concealed as the hostess came by and asked, "How many?"

"Two," I said, for no particular reason.

I scoured the restaurant from my cramped position in line. I'd decided not to act surprised if Trevor were with a woman, instead I'd appear innocently ignorant. I hoped to spot him long before he spotted me, for it would give me time to study his body language. Although, how openly affectionate could he be in public? Surely, he'd want it to look like an ordinary business lunch.

Well, I knew him better than anybody else, except her possibly, and I was aware of Trevor's secret little ways of telling a woman she was special. Of course, the possibility existed that the woman he might be lunching with today was not a lover, might actually be a client, or an a.s.sociate with no close ties to Trevor.

Either way, I had to try this. I couldn't sit still any longer.

As I was being seated in the bar area, the main dining room still a half-hour wait, I glimpsed Trevor on his way toward the back of the restaurant. No doubt visiting the restroom. I positioned myself so my back would be toward him when he exited the john, and so I was directly behind a man whose girth would certainly hide two people adequately.

While Trevor was occupied, I used the time to move out of the bar and peek into the main dining room. I concentrated on finding an empty chair and a beautiful woman. I saw a few of both. But one woman in particular caught my attention.

I ducked back into the bar area, thinking how different scenarios might play once I finally faced him. I didn't like this picture of myself as the jealous spying wife, but I was limited in my choices, since I couldn't ask him directly about the affair. And I had to know.

I waited five minutes, long enough for Trevor to return to his table, then I walked cautiously toward the dining room and glanced inside again. There was Trevor. There was the woman, and as I had correctly guessed, the woman was the same I had spotted earlier, the most gorgeous brunette in the room. I stepped quickly back to my table, slumped into my seat, and took several quick breaths. I realized now how clearly I had wanted to be wrong.

After several minutes, I gathered my courage and walked purposefully toward my husband. His back was toward me, and the woman didn't seem to recognize me as I approached.

I walked slightly past Trevor, then turned. "Hi, honey," I said, kissing him on the cheek. I carefully observed his expression, expecting ill-concealed horror, but instead was met with a wide delighted smile.

"Gwyn," he said, rising from his seat. "What a surprise."

I turned to the woman, hoping to at least catch her off guard, but could read nothing in her face, an inscrutable porcelain mask of full-lipped mouth and intelligent almond eyes.

Trevor pulled up a chair for me.

"I didn't realize you were busy," I said, smiling first at Trevor, then at the woman.

"Oh," he said, "let me introduce you two. Gwyn, this is Sylvia Breslin. Sylvia, my wife, Gwyn."

Sylvia offered her beautifully manicured hand. "h.e.l.lo, I've heard so much about you." But her smile was only a slight one.

"I feel like I'm interrupting," I said.

"No," Sylvia a.s.sured me, "we're done talking business. We've been at it all morning. Lunch and small talk are very welcome right now."

Trevor waved a hand at the waiter, then looked at me. "Did you see my car parked out front? You were in town?"

"No, I stopped by your office hoping to catch you at your desk and invite you to lunch. Molly said you were here, so I took a chance."

My hands lay on my lap beneath the table, and I felt Trevor's fingers slide over mine, then withdraw.

We ordered drinks, then seafood, and I tried to remain quiet and listen to their conversation. I felt entirely foolish and ridiculous. Either Trevor and this woman were a lot sharper than I ever could have imagined, or it was a business lunch, one between a luscious woman and a gorgeous man, but still a business lunch.

I endured the rest of the meal, slowly becoming aware that this woman was "big bucks," the controlling financial force behind Trevor's condo project in Denver. She was in Glenwood to discuss another possible project, being extremely pleased and impressed with Trevor's handling of the first. I did notice that the woman's ring finger was empty, and that Sylvia Breslin was an extremely cool and polished cuc.u.mber.

Sylvia wanted to stop back at the real estate office, and I excused myself from joining them, claiming to have important errands to run. Instead, I went home and reluctantly dialed the office of my therapist and scheduled another appointment.

Trevor was home by six o'clock, and I was happy to see him, incredibly relieved that Sylvia Breslin had turned out to be a false alarm. I'd made a special dinner for him too, prime rib, his favorite, and twice baked potatoes.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, sniffing the air. "Something sure smells good."

"I'm just glad to have you back. I missed you this weekend."

"Then I'll have to go away more often if I get this kind of reception." He put his coat away and walked into the living room where I'd started a fire, the flames curling peacefully around the logs. "The Christmas tree looks great," he said. "You did something different."

"I added some new ornaments. I left a lot of the old ones in the box."

"Nice." He strode over to the tree and reached for a gaily festooned replica of Santa on his sleigh. "Such a lot of detail. Where did you get these?"

"In town. It's the work of a local artist over in Redstone. I was totally intrigued and bought a whole bunch of them."

"And a fire in the fireplace." He smiled.

"And prime rib."

He came close and kissed me on the forehead, then on the mouth, lingering for a while. "You're totally amazing," he said. "And confusing. I swear I will never figure you out."

"Don't try."

"I take it you're feeling better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well ... you were depressed. That's what you said. I was concerned, that's all."

I pulled back. "And you had to mention it."

"Now wait, don't beat me up if I say the wrong thing. I'm not good at this."

"Not good at what?"

"Gwyn, don't. I didn't mean anything bad."

"But somehow you managed to remind me again that I'm the one with a problem."

He held my shoulders. "Gwyn, don't. I didn't mean it that way. I didn't. Okay?"

I tried to let the anger slide away, not sure where it had come from. I closed my eyes along with my lips, determined not to spoil the romantic evening I'd envisioned. "I'm sorry," I said finally. "I guess I'm a little oversensitive. I'm tired of everyone seeing me as the recovering manic-depressive."

He hugged me. "I don't see you like that." Then kissed me. "Not at all. Will dinner burn if we leave it in the oven for a while?"

"No, I guess not."

He continued to hold me and the tension gradually eased away, my body relaxing, responding to his kisses. We made love on the floor, there before the fire, as I'd hoped we would, and I enjoyed myself more than I had in a very long time, and wondered if it were possible for a man to make a woman feel this loved, this special, and still be a cheat. At the moment, I didn't care to guess, but hoped that it wasn't possible, and that I was wrong about him.