Abide With Me (15 page)

Just like Madge would have to do.

Inexplicably drawn to this child by a bond forged in mutual pain and loss, Madge hugged Sarah to her breast and left the room, closing the door behind her. She started down the hall. “It looks like we’re both in the same sinking boat,” she told the child. Without life vests, without a pair of oars, a compass or emergency flares, and the captain who had steered them into this mess was asleep! “What are we going to do?”

She hoisted Sarah to her hip, while the kitten held on to Madge’s blouse with sharp claws that pinched her skin. She settled the kitten back into Sarah’s arms.

With her bottom lip quivering, Sarah looked up at her. “Find Mommy?”

Madge sighed. “You know, if I could find your mommy, I would. I surely would.”

B
y eight o’clock that night, the storm that had badgered Welleswood all day had swept father east and closer to sea. The heavy rains had become a drizzly mist. The winds had softened, but heavy clouds still guarded the moon and stars.

Madge, however, remained stuck in the eye of the storm that had swept into her home. After negotiating through a few tantrums, she and Sarah had managed through breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime. Sarah had a surprisingly good appetite. Their major battle had been over milk. Sarah had refused to drink a drop, but Madge’s distaste for regular milk as a child made her sympathetic rather than upset. She would have given anything for a bottle of chocolate syrup; instead, she had taken a few of the imported French chocolates that Russell had given to her, melted them in the
microwave with a little milk, and stirred the chocolate sauce into Sarah’s glass of milk.

With that problem solved, Madge had moved on to the next. She had found a suitcase filled with the clothes Russell had brought along for his daughter in the trunk of his car, along with his luggage. She left his suitcases where they were, but Sarah’s clothes now filled the dresser in the guest room, where the toddler had fallen asleep once Madge had taken the night-light from the hall and put it into her room.

Getting Baby situated required a little more ingenuity. Luckily, Russell kept stores of samples of various pet foods and supplies in the basement. For food and water bowls, Madge used two of the small silver bowls that Russell had received as awards at one time or another. Somehow, the idea that the kitten would be eating food and lapping water from bowls that had Salesman of the Year inscribed on the bottom seemed rather fitting since the man had obviously been catting around with at least one woman and who knows how many more.

The only thing she had not found was a plastic pan for the litter. After searching through the other half of the basement where Russell kept the tools he rarely used and the old “treasures” he intended to restore someday, she settled on an old wooden soda crate that had once held quart bottles of carbonated water. Once Madge had lined the crate with plastic, it made an adequate makeshift litter pan, which Baby used almost before Madge had added the last of the litter.

With Sarah tucked into bed and Baby snuggling in beside her, Madge sat alone in the living room in the dark. Russell was still upstairs sleeping, she supposed. She had
not heard him stir or move about, but she had not had the nerve to open the door to their bedroom and check on him. She might never go back into that room, not while Russell was there. Maybe not after he had gone, either.

She toyed with her wedding ring and knocked her diamond engagement ring each time she twisted the narrow gold band round and round her finger. How could he sleep through the entire day? Was he
that
exhausted?

He knew she would not be able to take out her anger on a little girl. He knew how much she loved little children, especially her nieces, Katy and Hannah, now that their boys were grown. She loved children. Period.

Her backbone stiffened. Did he really think she would simply forgive him—or forgive him more easily for the sake of his daughter?

“She’s your daughter, not mine,” she whispered. She tried to imagine what Sarah’s mother had looked like. Was she young and fair, like Sarah? Was she—?

A thud, followed by a groan upstairs ended her musings. She heard Russell limp his way down the hall and turn on the foyer light. Hidden by the shadows, Madge remained in her chair, silent and still. She felt no guilt for taking the night-light from the hallway. After all, she had moved it for his daughter. When she heard Russell descending the steps, she lowered her gaze, and said a prayer.
Please, God. Help me to be strong. Help me to bear the pain to come.

“Madge? Are you in there?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m here.”

He stepped into the room, saw her sitting in the chair and dropped into the chair directly across from her. “What happened to the night-light?” he asked as he crossed one
leg over his knee and massaged his foot. “I think I might have broken a toe.”

“Sarah needed it. I put it in her room.”

He froze for a moment, then nodded and put both feet back on the floor. “I stopped to see her on my way downstairs. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep—”

“Or sleep all day?” She asked the question, but she knew the haggard look he still wore was real.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten any sleep. Deep sleep, that is.”

She wanted to take the lump out of her throat and throw it at him. “I’m sure it’s been very difficult. Losing your
wife,
that is. And so suddenly. I’m sure you weren’t prepared for that to happen. How inconvenient for you.”

The blood drained from his face. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

“Expected what, Russell? My anger? My disappointment? Or has it just now occurred to you that you’re also going to lose this wife and you’ll be alone, unless there’s a third wife you’ve hidden away somewhere. How many wives do you have left now, anyway?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and moistened his lips. “You’re the only wife I have.”

“Now,” she cautioned, although some deep part of her was relieved to know there weren’t any more women calling themselves Mrs. Russell Stevens. Unless he was lying.

When he did not respond, she held silent. She had no intention of making this easier for him. She let the silence build between them, as cold and stiff as the wall his betrayal had already built.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve
hurt you…the boys…I’m not going to make any excuses for what I’ve done. I—I just don’t know where to begin or if you’ll even stop hating me for what I’ve done long enough to listen to what I have to say.”

Her mind screamed for vengeance and created one bitter response after another to hurl at him. Already wounded, her heart trembled with the fear his words would deliver a fatal blow that would forever destroy the love she had for him. Her soul, filled with faith, begged her to let patience and understanding prevail. “Begin at the beginning,” she whispered.

His eyes glistened with tears, which he swiped away with the back of one hand. “The beginning…The beginning was only a few years ago when I met Stacy. She is…was a lot like you, but I suppose you don’t want to hear that.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I met Stacy through work. She had just moved to the Pittsburgh area and she started working as a secretary for the Sales Director at Noah’s Ark. Their headquarters are in Collsworth, right outside the city.”

Madge nodded. Noah’s Ark was a major pet store chain on the East Coast and one of Russell’s largest accounts. A mental image of the biblical ark formed in her mind. She shook her head to get rid of the image.

“Stacy…she had a flat tire in the parking lot one day. I changed it for her. From there…well…you can see how things ended up.” He released the sigh of a totally defeated man, tilted his head and laid it against the back of his chair. His body slumped, as if his muscles were too tired to hold his body erect, and he closed his eyes, as if ready to surren
der to death, to escape the nightmare he had created for himself.

The part of Madge that loved Russell yearned to take him into her arms and comfort him. The part of her that wanted justice urged her to pack a bag, walk out of this house and head straight to the best barracuda of a lawyer she could afford.

She decided to wait to learn more before she made any decision at all. “There’s a lot that happened between meeting this woman and now. I deserve to know what happened, what made you take another wife without bothering to divorce the one you already had,” she insisted. She was proud of herself for the even tone of voice she had used.

He sat upright and stared at her. “I never wanted a divorce. I never stopped loving you. Never. It’s just…I was weak, I’ll admit that. I sinned. Yes, I sinned. I broke my vows and I betrayed you, but I never wanted to hurt you. But things got…complicated. I didn’t know what else to do. God help me, I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered.

Her throat constricted. “You mean what to do about Sarah?”

When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “I was already prepared to end the affair when Stacy told me she was pregnant. She didn’t know I was married. I couldn’t let her have the baby alone or raise the baby alone, either. She had no one. No family at all. She was all alone, living in a strange new town. Marrying her seemed the only option.”

“So you lied to her, too. Did she ever find out—”

“No,” he whispered. “She never knew I was already married to you. I couldn’t tell her, especially after Sarah was born. I couldn’t tell you, either. I didn’t know when or how
either one of you would find out, but I never dreamed it would be like this.”

“Lies always come home to roost. My grandmother told me that more than once when I was a little girl. I guess it’s true, isn’t it?” Madge murmured. “What…what are your plans now? What did you think would happen when you came home to me with your daughter?”

Russell locked his gaze with hers. “I—I don’t have any plans. Not beyond staying here for a few days. I—I won’t fight a divorce…if that’s what you want. Beyond that, I guess it’s up to you, isn’t it?”

She stiffened. Was it up to her? Did she have a choice? Could she find it in her heart to forgive him, or was the wall he had built between them so strong and so filled with anger and resentment that it was impenetrable?

She bowed her head, but her heart was too weakened to attempt to find the answers to her questions. She was blessed that her wounded heart was able to beat at all.

Suddenly, she was tired, so very, very tired. Without answering him, she stood up and walked to the staircase in the foyer. She paused at the bottom step, but she did not turn to look over at him. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. I’m going to get a few of my things and go to bed. I’ll be in Drew’s room.”

“No, please. Don’t do that. I’ll take his room.”

She started up the stairs without answering him. When she got to the master bedroom, the room where both of her sons had been conceived, she paused and turned away. She went straight to Drew’s room down the hall and closed the door behind her. She did not bother to turn on the light or take off her clothes. She just stepped out of her shoes,
crawled into the single bed and pulled the covers up to her neck.

When the dam finally burst, when all of her emotions finally broke free, she buried her face in the pillow to stifle her sobs. She curled into a ball and cried as if her heart had broken, because it had. She cried as if she still loved this man, because she did. She cried as if all that she had treasured in the world was now slipping from her grasp, because it was. And she cried as if she had no other choice to make now about her marriage, because deep in her heart she knew she had no other choice but one.

When her tears were spent and her body was limp with exhaustion, she barely had the strength to pray. When she finished, the answer to her pleas for guidance spoke directly to her heart, but she did not find the answer any easier to bear than her husband’s betrayal.

“This isn’t my fault. I shouldn’t have to do this. I’m fifty-five years old. I shouldn’t have to start over again,” she whispered with a breath of defiance, “and I won’t do it.”

But you must.

“I can’t do this.”

Yes, you can.

“Not alone. I can’t do this alone.”

You are never alone. He is always with you.

“But I’m not strong enough. I’m not strong, like Andrea.”

He is stronger. Lean on Him.

She shook her head. “I’ll fail. I’ll still fall.”

He knows.

“Soon everyone will know. The scandal will be unbearable.” She paused. “My life will never be the same. No one will love me. Not like they do now.”

He will. He’ll always love you.

She wept until the moment she fell asleep, still too heart-broken to believe in much of anything beyond the pain that pierced the very essence of her spirit.

T
rouble practically met Andrea at the door when she got to work on Friday morning, even though she thought she had put this particular trouble behind her.

She did not even have time to check her calendar for the day or retrieve the messages from the answering machine when six-feet-something of trouble sauntered into her office, pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her desk.

She met Bill Sanderson’s gaze and matched his obvious determination by squaring her shoulders. “We didn’t have an appointment today.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe we did. You haven’t called, and you haven’t set another date to show me any more houses, either.”

“An appointment. I didn’t set another appointment. We’ve never had a date,” she insisted.

“We really should do something about that.”

She almost let out a sigh, but caught herself. “I’m not interested.”

“Sure you are, but before you get all steamed up—”

“I don’t get ‘steamed up.’ I’m simply getting frustrated. You don’t seem to be getting my message.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I’ve gotten the message. You like me. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“And you’re too persistent for your own good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run and clients who respect the time I spend trying to find them a home, unlike other so-called clients who only pretend to be interested in moving to Welleswood,” she snapped.

He ducked as if he were trying to avoid her words. “I’m glad I don’t fit into that last category.”

Her eyes widened. Rather than use words to defend herself and prove him wrong, she grabbed at the keys hanging from the lanyard around her neck and unlocked her new credenza.

“That’s an interesting necklace you’re wearing. Having trouble with thieves getting to your files?”

“No, only hurricanes,” she muttered, pulled his file and put it on the desk between them. “Take a look. It’s your file. Count the number of houses I’ve shown to you over the past two months.”

He thumbed through the file so fast he could not possibly have counted them all. “Sixteen. I believe that’s accurate.”

“Sixteen exactly. And how many did you consider seriously enough to make an offer?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling. “Only the first one.”

“Which you reneged on.”

“Like I had a choice?”

“There were fifteen others,” she countered, to change the subject rather than admit he was right. It had not been his fault that he had been victimized by hijackers.

“They weren’t quite right.”

She meant to wave his words away, but her gesture was more like a swing. “You weren’t really serious about any of those houses. You only looked at them because you…I mean…” Feeling a little foolish to say she thought he only wanted an excuse to see her, she faltered—until she saw that twinkle in his eyes again. “You only looked at them because you wanted an excuse to see me.”

He smiled. “I warned you I was persistent.”

“And I distinctly told you that I’m—”

“Stubborn. I remember. Scared, too, I gather. One date would fix that.”

She stared at him. “Were you born this brazen or is it an acquired fault?”

He laughed out loud. “Probably a little of both. At the moment, though, I guess I’m just interested in knowing one reason why you’re not interested.”

“In you?” she asked.

“Yes. Other than the age thing.”

She cocked a brow.

He shrugged again. “It bothers some people.”

“But not you.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay then, it bothers me. I’m fifty-seven years old. You’re…”

“Forty-six.”

“I was eleven years old when you were born!” Andrea exclaimed.

“A lot of people were. Now aside from the age difference, which neither one of us can change—”

“I’m not interested. I’m perfectly happy being single, so there’s no need to date you or anyone else,” she insisted. She was not going to explain anything beyond that because she did not need to. He just could not argue with that reason.

“I’ve been single for the past eight years. Being single is lousy, so I know better. Try again.”

“I’m too busy to date. I have a business to run. Even if I wanted to date, I don’t have the time.” There. Argue with that, she thought, triumphantly.

His brow furrowed. “From what I hear, you do have the time. Mrs. Blake is a lot busier here at the office than you are, and she’s been seeing the pastor’s brother-in-law for the past few weeks.”

“D-Doris? And the pastor’s brother?”

“I also heard he’s a few years her junior, too.” He winked, and his smile had victory written all over it.

She could feel her heart pounding, and her temper slipped right out of her grasp. Even hours later, she could not figure out whether it was desperation or sheer orneriness that had prompted her to be so blatantly honest with him. “I’m not well, which means I’m not exactly dating material right now.”

“Your ankle has been healed now—”

“I have bladder cancer. For the second time,” she blurted. “I’ve been taking chemotherapy treatments since the end of July. I had one yesterday, and I have eight more
months of chemo ahead of me. Which means I shouldn’t even be thinking of dating you or anyone else right now because I don’t have the time or the inclination to think about it because if I were interested, it wouldn’t matter anyway. I can’t date you because I’m not sure the chemo is going to work or not. I can’t see my own future clearly, let alone anyone else’s. Not right now. Understand? That’s the truth, the awful truth, and nothing but the truth. So please don’t worry about hurting my feelings. Just don’t slam the door on your way out, and if you tell one person on this entire planet or any other what I just told you, I will find some way to haunt you for the rest of your natural life.”

With her chest heaving, she watched his expression change from brazen and playful to serious and thoughtful. Her hands clenched into fists, ready to pound on her desk if she saw even the slightest hint of pity in his eyes. She steeled herself, certain he would get up and walk out the door, like any other man would do.

Instead, he took a deep breath. “What’s better for you? I can make dinner reservations for eight at La Casita, or I can pack a picnic, pick you up at six, and we can head for the shore. I have it on very good authority that the storm is long gone. After we watch the sun set, we can take a walk on the beach.”

When her mouth dropped open, she slammed it shut and almost bit her tongue. “You will what? Are you serious? I just told you that I—”

“You have cancer,” he whispered. “I heard you.”

“And you still want a date?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Not good enough,” she argued. “Give me one good reason why you’d want to date me. An honest reason,” she cautioned, trying to toss his earlier challenge to her right back at him.

He smiled and held up the index finger on his right hand. “One, I find you incredibly fascinating. Two,” he said as he held up his middle finger, “you have more gumption than any other woman I’ve ever met.”

When she tried to protest that he had gone beyond the one reason she had asked for, he silenced her by adding a third finger. “Third, I happen to find stubborn women very appealing. Do you need a fourth reason or a fifth? I’ve got those ready, too.”

She swallowed hard. If the persistent man wanted a date, she would give him one he would remember for a very long time. “Make it for the beach at six-thirty. I’m on standby. If Doris isn’t finished her three-o’clock settlement, I’m showing a house for her at four-thirty.”

He grinned, stood up and started toward the door. He had barely stepped outside and shut the door before he opened it again and peeked inside. “Make sure you bring a sweatshirt. The beach gets cold after sundown,” he suggested, then shut the door again before she could answer him.

When the door opened again, only seconds later, she sighed. “What now? A reminder to bring a flashlight?”

Jenny strolled in, backward, then turned around and shut the door. “Wasn’t that Bill Sanderson?”

“None other.”

“Why do you need a flashlight? Don’t tell me you’re taking him to see a house at night that doesn’t have electricity.”

“Of course not.” Andrea fiddled with the papers in a blue folder labeled Sanderson, the color she reserved for impossible-to-please clients. She could feel a hot blush rushing up from her neck to her cheeks. Women her age did not blush. They had hot flashes, but they did not blush.

Jenny sat down in the chair that Bill had just vacated. “Then what do you need a flashlight for?”

“Nothing. It’s just a…a joke. The man’s impossible. I told you that. What brings you here? I thought you were going to see Madge this morning.”

Jenny put one of her hands on top of the folder to stop Andrea from fiddling. “What kind of joke?”

Andrea finally met her sister’s gaze. “It’s nothing. It’s not really a joke. I was just telling him—”

“I don’t believe it!” Jenny chuckled and leaned back in the chair. “He asked you out. You have a date with him!”

Andrea caught a lie before it slipped out. Jenny was her sister, and she would know it was a lie before Andrea finished telling half of it. “It’s not really a date. We’re just having dinner.”

Jenny cocked a brow.

“All right. It’s just a picnic at the beach,” Andrea admitted.

“Tonight?”

Andrea nodded. If life were fair, she and Bill would be able to slip out of town unnoticed and head for the shore, and no one in town would be any the wiser. “It’s only one date. I couldn’t talk him out of it,” she added defensively.

“Are you crazy?” Jenny asked.

Andrea bristled. “Crazy for going on a date with him? I’ve been asking myself the same question for the fifteen seconds I had to myself between the time he left and you got here.”

“No, silly. I think you were crazy for trying to talk him out of it.”

“Well, I tried hard, but the man is annoyingly persistent, not to mention he has an ego that is boundless. I told him I wasn’t interested in dating, that I like being single.”

“And he said you were full of soup, as Mother used to say.”

Andrea chuckled and ran her fingers through her hair. “Something like that. Good grief, what am I going to do with this mop of mine?”

Jenny pulled out a tube of conditioner and placed it next to the blue folder. “Madge asked me to give this to you.”

“She and Russell are feeling better? I called, but she’s still not answering the telephone.”

“I guess not. I stopped on my way home from work, just to see if I could do something for her, but she wouldn’t let me in. She only opened the door wide enough to pass the conditioner out to me. She’s afraid to spread whatever Russell brought home with him.” Jenny shrugged her shoulders. “Like I’m not exposed to a hundred things worse than the flu five nights a week,” she grumbled before covering a yawn. “What else did you say?”

“When?” Andrea asked, startled.

“When you were trying to convince Bill you didn’t want a date.”

“Oh, only that I was too busy to date.”

“A woman should never be too busy to date.”

“That’s what he said, more or less. He was so sure of himself, I lost my temper.”

Jenny grinned. “You did? Why do I find that a little too unbelievable?”

“Well, I did. I—I even told him about the cancer. That
didn’t stop him. What kind of a man would want to date a woman with cancer?”

Jenny stood up, walked around the desk, and put her arms around Andrea’s shoulders. “Exactly the kind of man we’d want dating our sister,” she answered.

Andrea leaned into her sister’s embrace. “What kind of man is that?”

“Just the kind of man who could love you as much as we do.”

There was only one man Andrea knew who had loved her like that, and Peter had died so long ago. “Maybe I should call Bill and cancel,” she murmured.

“No you don’t! You go on that date and have a good time. Now, forget the date for a minute and put on your thinking cap. We have a mystery to solve, or I won’t be able to get a wink of sleep.”

Grateful for the opportunity to change the subject, Andrea looked up at her sister. “What kind of mystery?”

“Russell’s car, which is in the driveway behind Madge’s.”

“That’s your mystery? Is there something wrong with the car?”

“No. The car is fine, but there’s a child’s car seat in the rear seat. What’s Russell doing with a car seat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. He certainly doesn’t need one.”

Andrea laughed. “Since Drew and Brett aren’t even married yet, it’s a little early to anticipate grandchildren.”

“Especially for Russell. Madge might think that far ahead, but even for Madge—”

“Maybe she said something to Russell about needing a car seat for Katy or Hannah.”

Jenny nodded. “She did mention wanting to take Katy to the beach house for a few days, and that she couldn’t do that without a car seat. I guess that’s it.”

“Mystery solved.”

“What about the other mystery?” Jenny asked with an impish grin.

“What other mystery?”

“What are you wearing for your big date tonight?”

“A T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and I’m taking a sweatshirt. We’re going to the beach, remember?”

Jenny tugged Andrea out of her chair. “Come on. We have to hurry. Michael is taking us away for the weekend, and I promised I’d be home by eleven.”

Andrea pulled back. “What are you doing?”

“Dragging you to Jolene’s. Kick and scream if you want, but we’re going to Jolene’s to get you something new to wear tonight.”

Andrea laughed and let herself be dragged to her feet. “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll go?” Jenny asked.

“Sure. I haven’t bought much in the way of clothes for a while.”

Jenny laid her hand on Andrea’s forehead. “No fever. Must be love.”

“Wrong, little sister. This is all about right and wrong. One date with me, and Bill Sanderson will know I was right and he was wrong.”

“About what?”

Andrea stiffened her back. “He really doesn’t want to date me. He wants to prove a point.”