Family Inheritance (5 page)

“Boy, I'd like to know who sold you that bill of goods.”

“I know I've got that report that needs to go out today.” Suzanne was suddenly all
business.

“Stepped on tender ground, did I?” Melanie quietly asked.

“Really tender.”

“Okay. But I care.”

“I know.” Suzanne smiled as Melanie turned to leave.

A male voice sounded from the outer office. “Hi. Anybody home?” Melanie grinned at
recognition of the voice as Suzanne began searching her desk for something.

“We're in Suzanne's office, Richard,” Melanie called and headed to her office to
greet the man.

“Is it break time yet?” A man's head peeked around the door of Suzanne's office.
“Have time for a cup of coffee? You've probably been working too hard.”

Suzanne's
heart beat a little faster. The dark-haired man entered the room. He was about five-ten with a stocky build.

“Sorry, Richard, but I can't get away now. We don't take breaks here. I've told you
that. I'm such a slave driver. I keep Melanie anchored to her desk.” Suzanne grinned,
and the man smiled in return.

Richard casually leaned against the doorframe. “Well, ease up, girl. You work too
hard, and Melanie could probably use a break.”

The conversation was relaxed and pleasant. Richard would often stop by for small
talk and occasionally ask her out for coffee, lunch, or a drink after work. Each
time he did, she had an excuse why she couldn't go. He still occasionally asked,
and actually, she was really glad he did, but she wasn't ready to accept his invitations.
She didn't know if she ever would be, and she knew someday he would just quit asking.

Richard left after a little more light teasing, and Melanie came back into Suzanne's
office and sat down. “I don't understand why you don't take him up on it. He's cute,
nice, educated, has a great career, and is definitely interested. Besides, all work
and no play and all that stuff.”

“I've told you before, I just don't have time for dating.” Suzanne leaned back in
her chair.

“I know you well enough to know that you definitely are not into women, so what is
it? Don't you get lonely?” Melanie's tone was light but careful. She seemed to sense
she was pushing the boundaries of their relationship. Even though Suzanne considered
Melanie a friend, the walls that surrounded Suzanne were very high and very thick.
But today for some reason, Melanie pushed just a bit against those barriers, and
Suzanne wondered if she could sense her hidden desire for someone to be brave enough
to reach in and pull her out of her solitary world.

But she wasn't ready to reach out, even if Melanie was reaching in. Suzanne got busy
with something on her desk so she did not have to look Melanie in the eye as the
reality of her life settled into her thoughts.
Yes, I'm lonely! Sometimes so lonely
that it consumes me with its darkness. But I don't have a choice. I can't get close—not
to somebody nice.
Her thoughts created a tightness in her throat and a longing in
her belly. She couldn't let anyone into her world. If she did, they'd find out—they'd
know.
They'll know who I really am. How disgusting I am.
Panic grabbed at her chest.
She had to do something to stop the thoughts, so she reached for the phone and the
list of calls she needed to make. Melanie quietly left her office.

Chapter 5

Dallas, Texas

That evening, Suzanne paced the floors of her spacious condo as she ran her hands
through her hair.
I'm not going out—not tonight.
She was surrounded by a calming,
beautiful environment with soft blue walls, contemporary furniture, and sleek pictures
in shades of black, white, and blue, but she didn't see any of it. Her internal demons
were so dark and menacing that they often overshadowed the beauty she intentionally
created in her rare moments of serenity.

Yes, I'm going out, damn it.
She couldn't stand it. The walls were closing in, and
she needed to get out, even her nightly drinks of scotch weren't helping keep away
her demons tonight. She would go where there were people and music, somewhere dark
and cozy.
I'll have just one drink—no more. I promise. Just one.
She ignored the
fact that she had been making this promise to herself for over two decades and never
kept it. Besides, it was the weekend. She hated weekends. They were so long—too long—devoid
of any distractions. She punched the soft sofa as she passed by.

She was thirteen the first time she had snuck a drink of her father's whiskey. The
alcohol soothed her and helped her cope. By the time she left home at the age of
eighteen, alcohol was a part of her daily routine. She was the youngest of three
girls, and the last to leave home. Her oldest sister, Helene, had left
home as soon
as she graduated, three years before, and Alice had graduated and gotten married
right out of high school.

The sisters had been close when they were very young, but over the years they had
grown further and further apart. At first, she had called Alice once a month and
had even called Helene several times a year, but the conversations had been stilted,
so Suzanne had quit calling. From the time she left home, she had made no effort
to stay in touch with her mother or father. She had wanted to wipe them and her painful
childhood completely out of her memory.

With the help of one of her high school teachers, Suzanne had found a receptionist
job and a room at the YWCA in Duluth, Minnesota, and had left home early in the morning
the day after graduation. She had taken the bus to Duluth and hadn't been home since
that day, over twenty years ago.

Standing at the mirror, Suzanne took in her appearance. Melanie had said she was
beautiful. She ran her hand over her cheek but didn't notice her delicate features,
high cheekbones, and smooth, almost flawless skin. Instead, she saw a plain face
with little or no attractiveness. Removing her glasses, she unpinned her hair and
let its gentle curling ends fall past her shoulders, taking a moment to run her fingers
through its silkiness. Maybe tonight she would wear it down and try some lipstick.

Abruptly turning away from the mirror, she resisted the urge to pull her hair tightly
away from her face. Suzanne ran a brush through its thickness, then quickly headed
out the door.

As soon as she was seated in her car, Suzanne turned on her favorite country music
station and spent the thirty-minute drive from Dallas to Fort Worth singing along.
The parking lot was crowded, but Suzanne found a spot, parked, and hurried inside.

As she paid her cover charge, Suzanne watched the man who was taking her money gaze
over her from head to toe. She was so uncomfortable that she wanted to reach up and
pull her hair back. Maybe it was a mistake to wear it down, to try to feel pretty.
She didn't like the attention, especially this kind. Lowering her head, she hurried
past him and into the anonymity of the crowded, noisy, Crazy Horse Saloon.

The twanging guitar sounds of the country band permeated into the dimly lit, smoke-filled
rooms. The bars in Fort Worth were much different than the
posh bars near her office
and condo in Dallas, and Suzanne preferred the country hangouts that were filled
with men in cowboy hats and boots. They felt more real to her and answered an ingrained
need that she didn't understand, but one that demanded to be fed.

Her hands were shaking as she slid onto one of the wooden bar stools that were lined
up along the long wooden bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. She had intended to sip
it, but when the bartender set it in front of her, Suzanne picked up the glass and
gulped down the contents. Warmth invaded her chest and stomach, working its way down
her body. She ordered another drink, and then another. As she continued to drink,
the warmth consumed her. Now she could finally relax.

She enjoyed country music, especially songs where women were special and loved. She
would like that. But she wouldn't ever have it. She was tainted and damaged, and
nobody wanted damaged goods.

Her eyes wandered to the adjacent room where a dance floor was packed with couples
dancing to a slow tune, and her body began to sway to the music. An ache deep inside
her chest reached out its ragged fingers and grabbed at her heart. She yearned to
be held. It would be nice to feel the warmth of arms around her, kisses on her face
and lips, gentle caresses whispered in her ears. She was heartbreakingly lonely.
She ordered another drink.

The more she drank, the more her mind blurred and the less lonely she felt.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a deep voice from behind her interrupted her thoughts.

The alcohol haze in Suzanne took over as she turned and smiled. “Sure.”

“Great. Are you alone?” A tall man was smiling down at her. His dark brown eyes twinkled
at her, and he was dressed just the way she liked, in a western shirt, jeans, cowboy
boots, and cowboy hat.

“I am.” She felt brave. The alcohol did that for her. It helped her to not be so
frightened by life. In this state, she could allow herself to be held and loved.

This man wasn't really good looking, but he seemed nice. What more could someone
like her expect? Maybe he would hold her. The liquor blocked out her memory of all
the other men who had bought her drinks and how often she ended up in bed with them.
She never intended to, but a desperate need
to be held and touched took over. The
need gnawed away at her insides. It was a need that had to be filled at any price
. . . any price at all.

As the evening progressed, Suzanne became vague about where she was, but she was
dancing and being held, and it felt wonderful and calming. The arms around her smothered
the lonely, aching need. That was all that mattered. His kisses started out gentle
and Suzanne was pulled into the softness. She responded, and they grew more and more
demanding. With little prodding or encouragement, she quietly followed as he took
her hand and led her outside.

Suzanne stirred and felt a body next to her. In her confused mind, past and present
blurred into one surrealistic cloud. She stretched her hand and touched the mound
of covers next to her.
It's okay. It's Stephen, your husband, remember?

Warmth spread through her. She loved Stephen. But pain and agony nipped at the heels
of the warm glow as memories scorched their way into her hazy mind. Stephen had been
trying to make love to her. She hadn't been drinking, and she had panicked, fought,
screamed. He had not understood. She'd told him she needed a drink, that it would
have helped her relax. She had needed to relax to do what he wanted.
Please, Stephen.
Stephen's face loomed large in her dream. He was sad, so very sad. And he was leaving,
fading farther and farther away.

No, don't go. Don't go . . .

Early morning light filtered into the room. Suzanne ran her hand over her throbbing
head, slowly awakening. Traces of her dream clung to the shadows of her mind, and
she turned in bed, hoping it wasn't a dream. A man's body was curled away from her.
She could see his shoulders and dark hair. It was not Stephen. Stephen's hair was
blond, and a part of her mind kept trying to remind her that Stephen had left long
ago after just a few short years of marriage. Yet, the longing in her heart made
it feel like it was just yesterday.

It doesn't matter who it is.

She had met Stephen when she was twenty-two and, by that time, she had advanced to
a sales position in her company. Drinking had been a way of life
for her for years
by then. When they were married for six months, Stephen's work had transferred them
to Houston, Texas.

They had waited until they were married to have sex and, when they did, Suzanne realized
there was really something wrong with her. She learned that if she was drinking she
could have sex, but when she was sober, she couldn't. And Stephen refused to be intimate
when she was drunk. Just before their third anniversary, they filed for divorce.
By that time, they hadn't been intimate for close to two years, and their arguing
had become constant. Finally, they were both so miserable with no solution in sight
that they agreed to go their separate ways.

After her divorce, Suzanne had found a sales position in Dallas. Her life was very
lonely in Dallas and her drinking had escalated. At first, she always carried around
a small bottle in her purse and would often drink during the day when she was out
making sales calls.

Then one day a client had called her boss and she had been questioned and warned
that drinking during working hours wouldn't be tolerated. Suzanne's career was her
lifeline, so from that point in time, any drinking she did was in the evenings or
on weekends. She was now a Regional Sales Manager and had learned to keep her drinking
and her private life to herself.