Belonging (5 page)

"Then make something happen! With all the
local big shots in attendance, I can't think of a better place to
snag a rich husband!" The words were delivered with Janice's usual
zeal. Her short dark curls danced as she bobbed her head
emphatically. Janice was very open and honest, unafraid to show her
feelings.

Angie's eyes grew wistful. She had once been
like Janice, though perhaps never quite so buoyant. But that had
been a long time ago.

"You know I don't need the money, Jan," she
said with a shake of her head. She had made some excellent
investments during the past few years, and she was thankful that
she had no financial worries. But there was a time, and not so long
ago, when money had been both a curse and a blessing. "As for
finding a husband—" her laugh was forced "—I'll leave that to
someone else." Rising, she busied herself with pouring another cup
of tea.

She knew by the small silence that followed
that she hadn't fooled Janice. She heard the click of the high
chair as Janice lifted Eric out and set him on his feet. A second
later she heard the screen door slam behind Janice as she took the
baby out to his sister.

Angie was still standing motionless at the
counter when Janice returned. "Evan really did a number on you,
didn't he?'' she asked softly.

Angie closed her eyes. Her ten-year marriage
to Evan—one that had started with endless days of sunshine—had
ended in shadows. Through a will born of desperation and a very
real need to save her own sanity, she had spent the first year
after his death trying to forget. Even now, when she could remember
without all the old bitterness and hurt creeping through her, the
good memories were tainted by the bad. Evan had killed their love
as surely as he himself was dead.

For just a moment the tea bag hung limply
suspended from Angie's hand. It was the only sign that Janice's
words had disturbed her as her mind traveled fleetingly
backward.

It was four years earlier that Angie's life
had undergone a radical change. She had exchanged her role as
full-time wife and mother for that of full-time career woman, a
move that had initially been made solely for financial reasons.

Evan had been employed by one of the local
banks since his graduation from college. Over the years he had
worked his way up to vice president. But shortly after Casey had
been born, the bank had been declared insolvent and he had lost
his job. For a man who thrived on success, it had been a deep
blow—a very deep blow indeed.

"We don't have any choice," she'd reasoned
with Evan as she prepared to go on her own job search. "We have a
family to feed and a mortgage to pay. Besides, you'll find
something else in no time. It doesn't really matter which one of us
brings home the paycheck, as long as it's there."

But it had mattered to Evan. It had mattered
far too much as she'd discovered during the bleak months that
followed.

"Evan resented me," she finally said to
Janice. She didn't bother to turn around. "After he lost his job,
he resented the fact that I supported the family, and he was
jealous because I had no trouble landing that job as a financial
advisor with Pacific Investments. And he was jealous because I made
just as much money as he ever had." When she returned to the table,
her face was as expressionless as her voice had been.

"He was wrong," Janice said bluntly. "He had
no right to be jealous of your success. All the while he was
climbing the ladder, you were there—behind him all the way."

Her words were no less than the truth. Angie
had been proudly supportive of Evan. Busy with a home to run and a
small child to raise, she really hadn't had time to regret not
making use of her education. And Evan had really preferred that she
stay at home.

"It certainly wasn't your fault that no one
wanted to take a chance on him because the bank folded," Janice
continued hotly. "If anyone—or anything—is to blame, it's the
economy. Is there anyone it hasn't touched? When the bottom dropped
in the housing industry, everyone's been hit hard. And with
cutbacks everywhere, Bill was even laid off for a while." Bill was
an electrician who sub-contracted out for builders.

Angie ran a finger around the rim of her cup.
"At least before he was rehired, he had enough sense to keep
looking for a job," she recalled quietly. "Evan just... gave
up."

It was then that the situation at home had
worsened. Evan had come from an old-fashioned family, and Angie
had always secretly thought of his father as rather domineering.
Very much a man's man, interested in hunting, fishing and sports
of all kinds, Evan had found it frustrating that he was no longer
the chief breadwinner. He had become jealous and resentful of her
success, bitter at the world and everyone around him.

Especially Angie—Angie whom he had promised
to love, honor and cherish. The fabric of their marriage had been
in tatters. Evan had become angry and surly. Countless times Angie
had returned home from a hectic day at the office, nearly dropping
on her feet, to find the house a mess and Evan nursing a six-pack
of beer, his eyes glued to the television set. She hadn't been able
to fault his care of the children, but no matter what she did or
didn't say, did or didn't do, Evan had sniped at her, yelled at
her, streamed at her.

Angie's nerves had begun to fall apart with
the strain she was under. She loved Evan, but she simply hadn't
been able to stand the present situation any longer. "Evan, this
can't go on," she had told him quietly one night after the girls
had been tucked into bed.

Another argument had ensued. Angie had tried
to reason with him, calm him. Too late she had realized the amount
of liquor he had consumed. Then it happened.

He had been as shocked as she was by what he
had done. "God, Angie," he'd cried hoarsely. "I didn't mean to hit
you, I swear." They had wept in each other's arms then while he
begged forgiveness.

She supposed she was lucky it had only
happened twice . . .
Twice
. Yet even if he had only struck
her once, she couldn't have been more shattered.

She took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to
control the sudden churning of her insides. Something of her
thoughts must have shown in her face. Her eyes flickered to
Janice, who watched her closely.

"I'm sorry, Angie," her neighbor said gently.
"Maybe we shouldn't even be talking about Evan, especially when I
know how bad things were for the two of you."

Bad? Angie fought to control a mocking laugh.
That was far too mild a word to describe the hell Evan had put her
through. Evan had hurt her so much, robbed her of her dignity, her
sense of self-worth.

But it hadn't been just his physical abuse,
the abuse she had hidden from everyone, including Janice. She'd
been so eager, so vibrantly aware of her own sensuality when her
marriage had begun. It hadn't ended that way—far from it. She shook
off the shadow of memory and forced herself to concentrate on
Janice's voice.

"There are a lot of nice men out there," she
was saying.

"And I've done quite well without one for two
years now." This time Angie couldn't prevent the faint note of
bitterness that crept into her voice. "I'm happy with my life as it
is, and I'd like to keep it that way."

They had been friends too long for Janice to
take offense. And if it hadn't been for the durability of their
friendship, she was aware she'd have been testing its limits with
the line of her questioning. "You're old enough to know what you
want, Angie," she said evenly. "But you have Kim and Casey to think
about, as well."

Angie knew Janice was talking about the lack
of a father figure in their lives. For a second she almost wished
she could pretend she hadn't heard her. But she found her eyes
drawn to the scene just outside the kitchen window.

Bill Crawford had just pulled into the
driveway. A big, robust man with a thatch of reddish-gold hair, he
worked as a purchasing agent at a nearby lumber mill. Apparently he
had heard the commotion in the backyard. Nancy and Casey were
laughing and giggling, huddling around his feet. As she watched,
Eric toddled across the patio and launched himself at his
father's legs.

The only one absent, as Angie had already
known she would be, was Kim. Her eight-year-old body all arms and
legs in her swimsuit, she had moved away to sit on the edge of the
picnic table. She saw Bill smile and call out something to her, but
Kim only nodded and drew her towel more tightly around her thin
shoulders.

The child's shyness around men was something
that hadn't appeared until after Evan's death. It bothered Angie
more than she cared to admit. She supposed Janice was right: it
was, in part, due to the lack of a male presence in the home. But
there wasn't an easy solution.

She didn't say anything for the longest time.
Then her gaze swung back to meet Janice's. "I know," she said
quietly. "Casey was only two when Evan died, so she doesn't really
remember him. But Kim...well, she's even shy with Bill and she's
known him for years." She mulled over the implication of her words.
"Can you imagine what she would do if I brought someone home and
said 'Look, sweetie, here's your new daddy.' You know how she
idolized Evan. I think she would resent any man who wasn't her
father."

There was a sympathetic look in Janice's eyes
as she nodded. Then she hesitated. "Kim and Casey aren't the only
ones I'm concerned about." A frown appeared

between her dark eyebrows. "What about you,
Angie? I know how you value your career, but you have so much else
to give. Children are fine, but sooner or later they leave the
nest. I hate to think of you spending the rest of your life
alone."

Angie injected a light tone into her voice.
"You and Georgia must be in league together. She was telling me the
same thing just this afternoon." At the concern she saw reflected
in Janice's eyes, she found herself yielding. It was strictly for
her friend's benefit, but she heard herself say, "Maybe someday,
Jan. Maybe someday." But not now, she added silently.

And maybe not ever.

***

Just around the corner from the Crawfords was
Angie's house. The neighborhood was an old one, though over the
years the streets had been widened and sidewalks added. Dainty
flowering plum trees bordered the walkway in the block where Angie
lived, and in the next stately oak trees shielded the
thoroughfare.

Her house was a rambling Victorian structure
flanked by a wide veranda. A sun porch had been added shortly
before she and Evan had purchased it, and while Evan had thought it
made the house appear slightly unbalanced, Angie had thought it
lent a certain charm.

"You look pretty, Mommy," a little voice
piped.

"Thank you, sweetie, so do you." Angie turned
to smile at the small figure perched on the side of the wide brass
bed. Aside from the one blond pigtail that had escaped its
confining band and the trail of spaghetti sauce at one corner of
her mouth, Casey did indeed look very pretty in her pink gingham
sundress, which was tied at each shoulder.

She frowned over at her youngest daughter.
"Casey, didn't you wash your face after dinner?"

"Nope." Impish blue eyes sparkled.

"And you didn't brush your teeth, either, I
suppose."

The child looked at her as if she'd never
heard of a toothbrush. Angie sighed and pointed her in the
direction of the bathroom. "Go, young lady. And make sure you
remember to turn off the water after you rinse." Two weeks earlier
she had walked into the bathroom to find it nearly flooded after
Casey had been inside to wash and to brush her teeth. She'd left
the facecloth in the sink, and it had blocked the drain.

Five minutes later, Angie had finally managed
to shoo Casey in the right direction. She braided her hair into a
sleek coronet atop her head, and after dusting a light coat of
powder over her face, she stopped to give herself a brief but
critical glance in the mirror mounted behind the door.

The dress she wore was a simple ivory sheath
shot through with silver threads. Slim, tapered sleeves fell to
just below her elbow. The design was simple, almost plain, but on
Angie the effect was sheer elegance. A single strand of silver
gleamed against her throat, and matching studs glittered at her
ears. The jewelry and the silver-heeled shoes were the only
concession to her sex. She was, after all, in the business of
running a city and she had chosen the majority of her wardrobe to
create an effect that was more businesslike than womanly. Yet even
if she wasn't mayor, she wouldn't have been inclined to buy frilly,
fancy clothes.

Satisfied with her appearance, she moved to
pick up her purse from the top of the bureau. It was then that she
noticed Kim, dressed in shorts and a tank top, hovering near the
doorway. Her eldest had Evan's thick, chestnut hair and deep brown
eyes, and Angie suspected she would be tall like him, as well.

"What's on your mind, hon?" Angie crossed the
polished oak floor and pressed a brief kiss on her daughter's
forehead.

Kim smiled up at her. "Mrs. Johnson's here—"
The sound of a cupboard door slamming downstairs brought her up
short. She jumped, and for an instant there was a faint look of
alarm in her eyes.

Sudden noises always affected her like that.
They had for quite some time now. Angie knew better than to make an
issue of it, however. She knew from experience that Kim would only
clam up and retreat into that somber mood that disturbed her mother
so.

Instead, she shook her head. "Casey must be
into the cookies again. Try to keep her out of them so Mrs. Johnson
doesn't have to do too much cleaning up after her, okay?" Mrs.
Johnson lived next door and stayed with the girls in the evening if
Angie had to be away. She was a spry and active sixty-year-old, the
type who was there with a cloth before a drop of water could ever
hit the floor. She was wonderful with the girls, but Angie worried
about Casey wearing her out.