0451471040 (27 page)

She’d been walking a fine line between truth and lies the whole time. “You said you weren’t ‘there.’ You made it sound like it was an emotional thing, like you were getting over a relationship.”

“It’s true. I was. I
am
. That didn’t stop you from kissing me a second time, though,” she reminded him.

“Don’t try to turn this around on me. You kissed me, too. I had no way of knowing—”

Molly pushed to her feet and started to pace. “Do you think I’m
happy
about this? Do you think this is what I wanted? You’re angry, yes, and you have every right to be. But I’ve also been humiliated in front of the entire town, and now Mark can amend the filing to include a charge of adultery.”

“Well, that should at least speed things up.”

She met his eyes. “You think the judge isn’t going to use that against me?”

He didn’t know much about divorce law, but he knew plenty of divorced people and heard their stories. “He can’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe not outright, but judges have ways of being punitive when they want to. And now I’m the bad girl, an admitted adulteress. As soon as Judge Ramsey finds out, he’ll make sure this drags on just to punish me. And if I ever actually get a hearing, I’m sure he will find a way to hold me accountable somehow.”

He felt bad for her. Really. The situation sucked. But . . . “This is all very interesting, but it doesn’t change the fact you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie about it. I just didn’t tell you.”

“Don’t split hairs, Molly.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t have to know. Do you not understand how embarrassing this is?”

“More embarrassing than what happened today?”

She flushed. “I know that was terribly embarrassing for you, and I’m so,
so
sorry you got caught in the fallout of Mark’s drama. I’ll make sure everyone knows that I was dishonest and you didn’t know anything about it.”

“If you’d simply told me the truth, no one would have been embarrassed.”

“No one other than me.” She said it quietly.

“If what you say is true, you wouldn’t have had a reason to be embarrassed at all.”

“No? I’m supposed to admit to you that I got married too young, and for all the wrong reasons, to a guy who turned out to be a bully and a jerk? That I’m estranged from my family and friends because none of them believe me, and I can’t even go home now because he’s trashed my reputation in my hometown and painted me
to be an immoral, selfish jezebel?” Her voice, which had started out calm and dispassionate, was growing more agitated with each word until she was nearly shouting again. “That my grandmother had to
die
before I could even afford to do anything about it? And that while I’ve started over, I can’t really get a fresh start because I can’t even manage to get a damn divorce because Mark wants to jerk my chain? What’s
not
embarrassing about that?”

“Things that are done
to
you are out of your control. You don’t have to be embarrassed about them. It’s how you react that matters.”

She shook her head. “I’m disappointed in you, Tate. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

That sent his hackles up. “Sorry, but I’ve never been married.”

Molly let the snark slide without comment. “No, but you know what it’s like.”

“To be married?”
Has she lost her mind?

“To have someone you love hurt you. To have the people who are supposed to love and protect you turn their backs on you and let it happen. For them to deny it, to say it was your fault and you somehow deserved it. Not to mention the shame you feel for believing it, even for a minute, or not ending it sooner somehow.”

He fought to keep his voice calm. He was not going to let her land that punch. “Don’t go there. It’s not the same thing.”

“I didn’t say it was. But I guess I really thought you’d understand. Or at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

He did understand—rationally, at least. “You could’ve trusted me with the truth. I could’ve helped.”
That
was the kicker. The part that really hurt.

“How?” she demanded, angry again.

“Well . . . I don’t exactly know.”

“Oh, well, that’s very helpful indeed,” she snapped. “Look, I didn’t
want
you to know. I didn’t want
anybody
to know. I didn’t want that part of my life touching my life here.”

“So you were just going to let him pull your strings as long as he felt like it? You just said he refuses to see the truth about your relationship. You were just going to let that go on indefinitely? You didn’t see a problem with that?”

“I got myself in this mess by marrying him. That’s embarrassing. Keeping huge parts of my life on hold because I can’t divorce him is embarrassing. And it’s frustrating as hell, too. And it’d gone on for so long . . . But I finally moved on. I decided to try to have a life and actually live it, which is the exact opposite of letting him pull my strings. And even though I knew it could blow up in my face, I risked
everything
to be with you. And now all the worst-case scenarios are coming true.” She grabbed her bag and walked toward the door. Hand on the knob, she turned. “I’m sorry I’m married. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you had to find out like you did and that you were embarrassed and hurt by it. But this is who I am, and this is the situation, and this is how I’m dealing with it. I’m sorry that it’s not good enough for you.”

With a shake of her head—apology or disappointment?—Molly left, slamming the door behind her.

He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. This day had gone to hell and he hoped to God there weren’t any more hits coming his way. He wasn’t sure he could handle anything else.

Not that he’d handled this particularly well.

For the first time in a really long time, he
needed
a drink.

•   •   •

She’d never actually watched a ceiling fan go round and round. It was boring as hell, but even after three hours of staring at it, Molly still didn’t have the energy or desire to pull herself off the couch.

Nigel lay on her chest purring contentedly. She appreciated the company, but Nigel was probably just taking advantage of the fact she was lying still, rather than actually offering her any moral support in her deep blue funk.

She’d never taken a day off like this before. Unable to even contemplate facing people, she’d called Jane at five this morning and asked her to go open the shop. She had a sneaking suspicion Jane had expected that, as she’d sounded awake already and agreed to do it, no questions asked. It was pure cowardice mixed with a healthy dose of humiliation, and Molly fully admitted it.

To Nigel, at least.

She’d given up trying to figure out what to do late last night and was now just wallowing in self-pity, anger, and depression. In one fell swoop, she’d lost her dignity, the respect of her community, and Tate.

It sucked and it hurt and she wasn’t sure which part of that was the
worst
part.

She had no one to blame but herself, really. Oh, she’d talked a good game. She’d even managed to convince herself that she’d done the right thing by moving on, and maybe she had, but she’d let fear and shame drive that bus without realizing it. She hadn’t wanted to tell Tate the truth—not only to keep her past out of her present, but also because she wasn’t willing to risk Tate’s reaction. So she’d ignored it, pushed it out of her
head, even sort of forgot about it, and now it was blowing up around her.

She’d unplugged the house phone, turned off the ringer on her cell phone, and put the laptop under the bed. She had nothing to say to anyone anyway. And she was staying inside for the same reason, with the added benefit of minimizing her risk of running into Mark somewhere in town and creating yet another scene for everyone’s entertainment.

Early this morning, she’d toyed with the idea of leaving town for a day or two, only to be hit with the depressing realization that she really didn’t have anywhere to go.

Good Lord. This was her worst nightmare come to life, and it was too depressing to even cry about.

Eventually, she’d have to start seriously thinking about what to do, try to come up with some kind of plan to mitigate the damage—if she even could—but that would be later.

She still had a lot of wallowing to do.

The knock on her door that became a pounding on her door when she ignored it wasn’t all that surprising, considering she’d cut off all possible avenues of contact. Then she heard Helena’s voice. “I know you’re in there, Molly. Let me in.”

Nigel lifted his head, ears twitching.

After a moment of silence, she heard keys in the lock.
Crap.

“I’m coming in,” Helena called as she opened the door.

“That key was supposed to be for emergencies,” she grumbled.

“Since you’re not at work, not answering your phones, and not answering the door, I’m declaring an emergency. For all I knew, you’d fallen and hit your
head. You could have been bleeding to death on the floor.”

Hadn’t Tate jumped to a similar overdramatic conclusion? Those two . . .
Damn.
She didn’t want to think about Tate right now.

“Well, I’m not.” She draped an arm over her eyes as Helena turned on a light. “I love you, and you now know I’m alive, so could you please go away?”

“Not on your life. Here—” Helena appeared by her side, extending a Latte Dah to-go cup toward her. “Rocket Fuel.”

Molly struggled to sit up, displacing Nigel, who shot her a dirty look. “If I’d wanted coffee, I could have made my own,” she groused, but took the cup anyway. It smelled divine, causing caffeine-starved nerves to twitch like a junkie in need of a fix.

Helena took the chair across from her. Leaning back, she sipped her own coffee. “So . . . what’s new with you?”

The smugly casual question made her laugh, which felt weird in the middle of her carefully crafted depression. “You obviously know, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I know what I’ve heard, but I also know better than to believe everything I hear. That guy . . . is he really your husband?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why did I not know this?”

“It was something I was trying to forget. Why would I tell people—even you—things that I would really rather forget?”

Helena nodded. “I can’t fault you there. I know how that is.”

“I know. And I like that about you. And by the way, thank you for never asking.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I knew there was
something you didn’t want to talk about. But now that it’s not a secret anymore, do you want to tell me about it?”

She sighed. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about the beginning.”

The story felt dusty—she hadn’t told it in years, not since she’d first unloaded all of it in therapy. Helena, bless her, was as good as any therapist, listening without comment, her face neutral.

So Molly told her everything. The way her parents had rejoiced at the news she was dating Mark, seeing him as the steadying, calming presence needed after a rebellious adolescence—not to mention that being connected to the Lane family was quite the bonus. The arrogance that had led her to the altar, even though she was ignorant of what marriage would entail and had been oblivious to the warning signs of Mark’s unstable personality. The belief system that had kept her trapped in an unhappy marriage because it must have been
her
fault Mark treated her poorly and how she deserved what she got because he was the man, the boss. The emotional abuse. The physical abuse.

The refusal of her family to believe her, much less help her.

Finally, she paused in her recitation and looked at Helena.

“Well, that sucks,” she said.

The simple statement made her laugh. Trust Helena to skip all the platitudes. Helena had had her own set of troubles, and since she wasn’t the type to want sappy sympathy, she wasn’t the kind to give it, either. Which was somehow exactly what Molly needed right now. Nonjudgmental understanding without emotional baggage. “That it does.”

Helena lifted her coffee cup in a toast. “Well, you’ve
come a long way, baby. Why the hell aren’t you divorced already?”

“Mark won’t give me one.”

Helena frowned. “It’s not his to ‘give.’ Surely he understands he can’t make you stay married to him.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s worked so far for him. We’re still married.”

“That’s just ridiculous. Like you’d go back to him. Like I’d
let
you go back.” Making a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl, she added, “Right now I want to go find him and smack him.”

That buoyed her spirits. It was nice to have a friend. “It’s not worth the jail time, honey.”

“I know the mayor pretty well. He could probably get the charges dropped. By the way,” she added, “Ryan says Mark tried to pick a fight with Tate.”

Oh dear God
. “What? When?”

“Outside Latte Dah yesterday. It must have been right after he . . .”

“Humiliated me in front of God and everyone?” Molly supplied.

“Yeah. Look, I don’t want to ask you anything you don’t want to answer, but I do need to know one thing. Are you in any danger? I mean, this guy obviously has some serious problems. Any chance he’s going to come after you? Or Tate, for that matter?”

The mention of Tate made Molly jump, but Helena seemed focused on the immediate issue. “No. I don’t think so. Mark’s a hothead and a bully, but like most bullies he’s a coward at heart. He doesn’t know what to do when someone actually stands up to him.”

“Why don’t you come stay with me at Grannie’s for few days. Just to be safe.”

“No. I’m not afraid of him, and I’m not going to let him disrupt my life more than he already has.”

“But you’ll be careful, though, right? No more taking
him out into the back alley by yourself?” There was a touch of censure in her voice.

“I’m not worried. I could tell he wanted to slap me yesterday—”

“Molly!”

“Don’t worry. I called him out on it and he backed down. He’ll try to run his mouth, but— What?” Helena was making a face.