Emerald Windows (22 page)

Horace cleared his throat and tried to explain. “I know it’s not much,” he said. “But I want people to know that you were capable of doing the job and that this decision had nothing to do with you.” He looked down the table at Abby. “But the Finance Committee does control the budget.”

“So, what you’re saying,” Brooke began, struggling to get the ruling clearer in her mind, “is that it’s over? All the work we’ve done? All our plans…they’re worth nothing? The windows we designed will never be built?”

Horace sat back wearily in his chair and rubbed his temples. “I guess that’s about it,” he said. “The renovation will continue, but there won’t be any stained-glass windows.”

The harsh reality of the decree assailed Brooke. No stained-glass windows…no notice for her work…no redemption from Hayden…no excuse to stay.

Her heart plummeted and her eyes flitted to Nick’s. Was history destined to repeat itself? Another job lost, another relationship broken, another defeat to overcome? Would she follow the script Abby Hemphill had written for her and leave town again?
Would seven more barren years go by with nothing but regrets and recriminations?

The emotions evident on Nick’s face told Brooke that the same questions plagued his mind. He got up, and she followed. Without saying another word that could be rebutted or repeated, the two left the meeting together.

By the time they reached the parking lot, Brooke’s veins pumped with fury. “She’s done it again,” she rasped. “How could she do this to us
again?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know. But don’t blame the church. There are good people there. Those like Abby are just louder and angrier. It seems like they’re getting their way, but—”

“They
are
getting their way,” she said.

Behind them, the door to the building opened, and the somber Renovation Committee members spilled out one by one, along with Abby Hemphill’s team of supporters who bubbled and buzzed with the elation of their “moral victory.”

But what had they been victorious over? Brooke asked herself miserably. Over the distaste of a misunderstood relationship? Nick opened Brooke’s car door for her, then slipped in next to her. Together they watched those who had condemned them going to their cars and driving away without even a look back. Abby Hemphill, in all her glory, was one of the last to leave. They watched her march to her gold Mercedes, get in, and start the engine. When she pulled out of her space, she made a U-turn and drove up beside Brooke’s car. Her automatic window drifted down, and within the solitary shadows of the car, they could see Abby’s cold, smug smile.

“I trust you’ll have your things out of the church as soon as possible,” she said. “And leave your forwarding address, darling, so Horace can send you a check for the little bit you’ve done.”

“What makes you think she’s leaving town?” Nick asked.

“Well, maybe I was a little premature,” she said chuckling. “I assumed she had to make a living. One of you really should, you know.” Then, rolling up her window and disappearing behind the tinted glass, Abby Hemphill drove away.

Nick didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his voice was shaky…his tone tentative. “Well, I guess I’ll go to the church tonight and gather up our things.”

“I can’t believe this,” Brooke whispered, looking dismally up at Hayden City Hall and the buildings beyond. Despite its hatred of her, there was something innocent about the town that Brooke still loved. “Those windows could have been so special.”

“Yeah,” Nick whispered. “A sermon in themselves. But maybe you can’t really do that in windows. Maybe we were just kidding ourselves.”

Brooke gazed off into the distance after Abby Hemphill. Her anger shot bursts of adrenaline through her, giving her an energy that demanded a confrontation. Maybe some people never could be convinced, but they could be confronted. They could be made to think. And they could be forced to see the truth in themselves, no matter how ugly it was.

“So, you want to come back to St. Mary’s with me?” Nick asked.

Slowly Brooke shook her head. “Not yet. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

His eyes were a misty black beneath the light in her car, and she saw him swallow. “Brooke, you aren’t going to leave now, are you?” he asked. “Not yet?”

“No, Nick,” she said. “I’ll see you later tonight. I promise.”

Slowly, he got out of her car. As she drove away, she looked in her rearview mirror. He stood watching her with sad apprehension and dread in his eyes. The tragedy was that she didn’t know how to banish that pain from his heart. All she did know was that, whether it helped matters or not, there were a few things she had to settle with Mrs. Hemphill tonight.

CHAPTER
   

A
BBY
H
EMPHILL’S HOUSE WAS ON
the upper-class side of town, nestled in a neighborhood of bankers, lawyers, and doctors. Brooke pulled into the woman’s driveway and peered through the darkness at the huge Tudor-style house. Much too extravagant for a superintendent’s salary—but everyone in town knew that both Abby and Gerald Hemphill came from old money and that they had brought equal portions of wealth into the marriage.

Abby Hemphill probably hadn’t had to worry about money a day in her life, Brooke thought as she sat in her car, yet she was so concerned about the money Brooke and Nick would have made. Idly, Brooke wondered if the hateful woman had ever known the feeling of accomplishment, of creating something out of your own heart and with your own hands, of seeing a project through, of sharing it with another human being. Abby had probably never in her life known the satisfaction that came from intense involvement and struggle.

In a way, Brooke almost felt sorry for her.

She got out of the car, not knowing what she planned to say to the woman, but trusting that the words would come when she called for them. Hands trembling with the emotions wreaking havoc in her soul, Brooke went up the wide steps to the door and rang the bell. A chorus of chimes rang out with regal authority. She stood still, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, the other clutched around the strap of her purse as she waited for her self-appointed archenemy to answer.

In just a moment the door opened, and Abby Hemphill stood looking at her. Abby’s expression became instantly guarded, as if she braced herself for a physical attack.

“I’d like to talk to you, Mrs. Hemphill,” Brooke said, her tone dangerously calm. “You don’t have to worry. No screaming, no yelling, nothing distasteful. Just one adult to another.”

Abby Hemphill crossed her arms and stroked the column of her throat with her index finger. “I don’t really believe you and I have anything to discuss. My mind certainly won’t be changed.”

“I’m not here to change your mind,” Brooke said, stepping inside despite the fact that she hadn’t been invited. “I just want to try to understand.” She turned around inside the foyer, making it clear that Abby would have to contend with her. Stiffly, Abby closed the door, bolted it, and turned back to Brooke. “I wanted to ask you to explain it to me,” Brooke went on, “this vendetta you have against Nick and me.”

Abby smiled condescendingly and shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s no vendetta. It’s business.”

“Was it business seven years ago,” Brooke asked, “when I was eighteen and you lied about what you saw Nick and me doing in the art room? Was it business when Hayden High School lost the best art teacher they’ve ever had? Was it business when you spread smut around town about what we were doing when, the truth is, we were working day and night on those windows, knowing that you would do everything in your power to pull the rug out from under us?”

Abby’s pale, pampered skin flushed to a rose color. “Whether you can understand this or not, the church trusts the Finance
Committee to oversee how their money is spent. We can’t allow church funds to be misspent as a cover for your little affair.”

Brooke tightened her lips to keep them from trembling. “Why are you so threatened by the idea of Nick and me?”

“Because you brought scandal upon my husband’s school system seven years ago!” Abby shouted. “It took us
months
to recover from that, and I won’t have it tainting our church!”

“You
brought scandal on
me!”
Brooke returned, the fraying thread of her control snapping. “I
still
haven’t recovered from it, and it was all lies! All I did was thank him for all he did for me to help me get the scholarship, and then I gave him an innocent hug. I’ve had to pay everyday since.” She paced across the room, groping for the reins of her control. Then she spun around, knowing that she was exposing all her wounds to Abby Hemphill. “Is your life so empty that you have to do cruel, bitter things like this to find reason to get up in the morning?”

Myriad emotions passed like a color wheel over the woman’s face. “Get out!” she said, reaching for the door. “You are not welcome in my house.”

“Of course I’m not,” Brooke said. “Why would you welcome me when you won’t even welcome your own daughter and the grandchild you’ve never seen?”

The woman drew in a deep breath. For the first time since Brooke had known her, Abby Hemphill was speechless.

“That’s right,” Brooke said, her lips trembling. “I saw Sharon, working in a diner to support her child.”

“I told you to get out!” Abby shrieked.

Knowing that she’d said even more than she had come to say, Brooke started through the door. But behind her another door swung open.

“Mother? Is everything all right?”

Brooke turned and saw her sister’s boyfriend—the infamous, mysterious, cheating Bill—standing in an inner doorway with his pregnant wife peering out from behind him.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hemphill said, trying to steady her breath. “Miss Martin was just leaving.” She looked pointedly at Brooke,
who stood staring at the man. He met her eyes with incredulous recognition, but rather than the guilt she would have expected, he offered her a cold, amused smile that dared her to expose him.

For a moment it occurred to Brooke that doing just that to his wife and his mother would provide justice for them all.

Run this through that value system of yours, Mrs. Hemphill. Your married, soon-to-be-a-father son is involved with my sister!

For a moment Brooke glared at him, until his grin faltered the slightest degree…until she could see the briefest flash of fear in his eyes. He had miscalculated her silence.

The revelation on the tip of her tongue faded, as clear thinking prevailed. She couldn’t use this ammunition on the Hemphills without destroying Roxy in the process. The last thing she wanted was Mrs. Hemphill blaming her sister. Besides, some gentler voice in her throbbing heart cried out, his wife probably didn’t deserve this family she’d married into, much less the misery the news would inflict upon her. Despite her wish to put Mrs. Hemphill in her place, to repay her vindictiveness with a little of her own, Brooke couldn’t be that cruel.

Slowly she tore her eyes from Bill and turned back to the woman waiting for her to walk through the door. “You know, Mrs. Hemphill, if I were you I’d make sure my own house was clean before I started trying to clean up the town.”

The second she was through the door, it slammed behind her. Hurrying to her car, Brooke realized she felt no better than before she’d come.

Her car flew with a vengeance—not to St. Mary’s where Nick would be waiting for her—but to her parents’ home, where Roxy probably sat waiting at the smutty beck and call of that man.

The car screeched to a halt in the driveway, and Brooke saw that her parents’ car wasn’t there. Roxy’s light was on, so Brooke went into the house and stormed back to Roxy’s room.

“How could you?” she yelled, before Roxy even knew she was there.

Her sister looked up, confusion distorting her face. “What?”

Brooke’s teeth came together, and she bit out each word. “How could you have an affair with Abby Hemphill’s son?”

Roxy came to her feet. “Brooke, don’t—”

“Mrs. Hemphill’s son! The
married
son of the town dictator!” Brooke repeated. “Do you know what will happen if it ever gets out? Do you know what that woman will do to you?”

“You don’t—” Roxy started to answer, but Brooke stormed across the room.

“Roxy, are you trying to self-destruct? Is your life so terrible that you’re just trying to ruin it once and for all? Or are you just determined to follow in my own miserable footsteps?”

“Maybe I don’t have a choice, okay?” Roxy cried. “Maybe I’ve never had a choice! Maybe because of you, I’ve had my life mapped out for me!”

“Don’t you
dare
blame this on me!” Brooke said. “Don’t you dare!”

Roxy threw herself onto the bed and thrust a fist into her pillow as she glared at Brooke. “You don’t know anything about me,” she cried. “So don’t come in here judging me when you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about!”

Brooke looked at her, her green eyes frosty as ice, feeling as if every miserable moment since she and Nick had been caught hugging in the art room seven years before had been compressed and packed into this one. “Why not?” she asked her sister. “You’ve judged me for the last seven years.”