Forever Starts Tomorrow (6 page)

‘Scott, I know you are very stubborn, and you hate to admit being wrong.’ Marnie was watching him, and he had a feeling she knew exactly how he felt. She was usually the only person who could read him, for better or for worse. Except for Melanie, of course.

‘YOU miss her. You know that,’ she said, refusing to be silenced by his thunderous gaze. ‘She is the best thing that ever happened to you. To let her go because of someone like Vanessa is really ridiculous.’

‘You never gave Vanessa a chance,’ he grumbled, aware of how pathetic it sounded. Vanessa had been a part of his past, important but not really relevant as he moved toward the future. But he needed to distract Marnie from the topic of his fiancée, at all cost.

‘There was nothing to give, really.’ Marnie shrugged, her dismissive gesture speaking volumes. ‘She is lovely and smart, of course. You’d never date her otherwise. But she isn’t really interested in anyone but herself, and you know it. In all the time you guys dated, has she ever done anything just for you, if it meant going out of her way? Like missing one of her parties to be with you, when you broke your leg? I remember you moping alone while she had her fun.’

‘I didn’t date her to have a nurse, Mar.’ He hated how right his sister was. Of course it had bothered him at the time, a lot. He had been in an accident and walked away with only a cast on his leg and stitches on his arm. He’d had to spend some time in the hospital, under observation for possible concussion. Vanessa didn’t visit him once, her explanation based on selfishness, much like everything else in her life: she hated hospitals and couldn’t bring herself to come visit. Her art exhibit was coming up, and she needed positive energy, she complained. Scott had listened, incredulous. Did she want him to apologize for getting hurt and ruining her plans?

‘The bottom line is, I didn’t cheat on Melanie—not with Vanessa and not with anyone else.’ He sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. The fragrant brew warmed his throat, and for a second he felt almost happy. It didn’t last, though. Memories of all the mornings he shared coffee with Mel turned the aromatic beverage into tasteless, bitter sludge he could barely swallow. Damn, would it be like that forever? He’d broken up with many women, but never before had he felt so utterly and completely miserable.

‘I still hope you’ll do the right thing.’ Marnie was eyeing him with concern, and Scott realized she was really worried that his breakup with Melanie couldn’t be fixed. It hit him like a wall of bricks, because however hard he tried to act normal and ignore the situation, deep down he had no doubt he’d eventually fix it. Life without Melanie was not an option. To think that his sister, one of the most perceptive and intuitive people he knew, thought it might actually happen was unbearable.

He thought about it as he parked in front of his office. The building had always felt like a home away from home. He sprinted up the steps, eager to immerse himself in work. He’d decide what to do about Melanie later.

Even though it was Sunday, and the office wasn’t nearly empty, most of the people on his team were working in their scattered stations, and the consoling glow of computer screens and the hushed murmur of voices took away some of his misery.

Entering his large, open-concept office put an end to the beginning of feeling better. Actually, things fell apart even before he reached the door. Usually Scott worked on the main floor and used the office for the more important meetings or brainstorming sessions. Never one to separate himself from his workers, he preferred it that way. But if he were to forget Melanie, he needed the peace and solitude his office offered.

He turned the corner, ready to walk in, but paused when he heard agitated voices. One belonged to his personal assistant; another was much lower and harder to understand. There was only one way to find out what was going on. He pressed the handle and stepped in.

Teresa Brett, his personal secretary, was there, visibly flustered. The short plump woman looked at him with relief, her brown eyes round as saucers. ‘Thank God you’re here.’ She shook her head, a thousand dark-brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. ‘I was just about to call you anyway, Scott. She just won’t go away, no matter how many times I tell her you’re not here.’

For one crazy, hopeful second he thought she was talking about Melanie. Had Melanie come to make peace? But the thought died as soon as it appeared. Teresa wouldn’t mind Melanie coming over. Everyone in the office had embraced Melanie. They had proved their enthusiasm for the romance by attending the parties he had thrown in Melanie’s honor.

Scott looked around the office and noticed the other woman. She was standing in the shadow of the open door, her tall, skinny frame barely visible against the unlit backdrop. He’d never seen her before. He knew he’d have remembered her hawkish features and strong jawline, a face that made him think of a barracuda he’d seen once on a trip to the Caribbean.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked challengingly, annoyed with her silent stare. “I don’t believe we have an appointment?’

‘You don’t remember me, of course.’ Her words were slightly slurred, as if she had difficulty speaking. ‘No wonder. I’m sure I’ve changed in the last thirty years.’

‘Should I remember you?’ He stepped back and gestured toward the white armchair, inviting her in. After a brief moment of hesitation, she followed, her movements tense, and perched on the edge of the chair. Just like a bird ready to take off at any sudden movement, he thought, his curiosity growing. He didn’t remember her at all. He racked his brain, trying to come up with some plausible connection, but failed.

‘I used to look better.’ The stranger regarded him, her eyes narrowed into slits. ‘But you turned out really nice, Scott. Of course I saw you only once or twice, when you were around four. Who would have thought you’d grow into such a fine man?’

It was getting creepy. He’d heard about stalkers and unstable people with crazy imaginations, but never actually thought it could happen to him. He was successful and rich, but he thought that those types of fans were reserved for movie stars and musicians.

‘OK, before you think I am mad, I’d better tell you who I am.’ Her thin lips made the coldest smile he had ever seen. ‘Does the name Dolores Martin ring a bell?’

Of course it did. It was the name of his father’s lover, the woman he’d chosen over his family when he’d taken off with all of their savings. Scott had been only four at the time, but his mother spoke about what had happened later, and often. Over the next five years, he was with his mother almost daily. Other children had their favorite bedtime stories; he had the story of his father’s betrayal, repeated over and over again until it became as familiar as breathing. He heard his mom talk about it to anyone willing to listen, oblivious to her children overhearing the bitter tale.

Scott looked at the woman again, more closely this time. Could it really be Dolores Martin? He'd seen a few photographs of her, because she'd been a distant family friend before she decided to run off with his father. His mother hadn't destroyed the photographs—quite the opposite, actually. She kept them in her box of sentimental mementos, together with the letter his father wrote to her when they were dating. Scott recalled vaguely the tall, good-looking girl with a wide smile and the figure of a goddess. Could the black-clad, thin woman in front of him, who looked old enough to be his grandmother, be the same person?

‘It's me.’ She nodded, one bony hand going up to fix her hair, a gesture that was as futile as it was instinctive. The woman, with her thinning hair and a net of wrinkles etched deep into her skin, was miles away from the Dolores he remembered, who had looked like a model.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked hoarsely, unwilling to open the can of worms that was his childhood. He had worked hard enough to put it behind him, resetting his clock to the fateful moment his uncle had announced his adoption and in doing so opened a new, happy chapter. Whatever had come before that had to be pushed away and dismissed.

‘I need to talk to you about a few things.’ She was watching him with her red-rimmed eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel pity. She hadn't aged gracefully, and he could only imagine his dad’s role in that process.

‘Your father passed away.’ The four words were spoken quietly and without an ounce of emotion. Scott listened, his brain refusing to fully comprehend what he was hearing. Throughout his life, he had imagined multiple times what he’d say to his father if given the opportunity to meet him in person, how he’d confront him and ask why didn’t he ever visit him and Marnie. Scott had played out the conversation in his head, trying to predict his father’s responses.

There would be no conversation. His father would never know how deeply he'd hurt Scott and Marnie. His reckless pursuit of pleasure had cost them everything. Their family ties had unraveled until there was nothing left but a pile of tangled, messy yarn that couldn’t be put back in order. It was only when his uncle decided to take them in that they had relearned to be happy again. Scott seriously doubted if either his uncle or his aunt fully understood the depth of the gratitude both Marnie and he owed them.

‘When?’ he asked, going over to the large window and looking outside, away from her hawkish gaze. If she thought he’d tear up, she was wrong. He was unable to mourn the loss of a man who hadn't really cared what happened to him since the day he left, thirty years ago.

‘Three months ago or so.’ She shrugged, her cool expression showing no emotion. Either she was the best actress in the world, or her passionate romance with his father hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped it would. He felt the urge to shake her, the absurdity of it all making it impossible to stay calm.

‘He had cancer and was dying slowly over the last two years.’ Her monotone voice sounded like a rehearsed lesson. ‘Caring for him had drained our finances; I had to sell our house to pay off the hospital bills. I got his life insurance payout, but still need to watch every penny.’

‘Why did you come then?’ Scott didn’t really trust her declaration of independence. His success in the world of business had taught him that people usually wanted something as soon as they realized he could afford to give it. ‘Why not send me a card, if you feel the need to share it with me? It’s not like I’ve ever heard from either of you in the last few decades.’

‘We’ve had our problems.’ She swallowed hard, the perfect façade slipping long enough to offer him a glimpse of anguish that he didn’t expect to find. ‘Your father had not been the best of husbands, Scott.’

Well, how about that? Scott felt tempted to ask, a morbid bout of laughter threatening to break out. Wasn’t that karma? She had wrecked his parents’ marriage in the first place, never once looking back or wondering how his family would deal with her selfish ways.

‘He cheated on me, many times.’ Yep. He was definitely right. Dolores was reaping what she had sown. A sense of satisfaction in seeing her disappointment didn’t come, however. He felt tired and empty, with the reality of the fact that he’d never talk to his father finally sinking in. It didn’t matter that he'd declared, loud and clear, how little interest he had in pursuing their relationship. Deep down, there had always been a spark of hope that, against all odds, they might repair some of the damage from the past.

‘The last time he cheated on me was with our housekeeper. Can you believe that?’ Dolores was still talking, an ugly cackle escaping her thin throat. For one absurd second he felt the insane urge to choke her, if only to stop her from speaking. He didn’t want to know the details of that sordid affair. It wasn’t his life. Instead, he felt a childish wish to pick up the phone and call his real father, Tom Masden. He usually visited him twice a month, and it was an island of peace in his otherwise busy, and sometimes chaotic, life. He wanted to hear Tom's voice, calm and reassuring. Tom was his anchor and his true home, and the ugly details about his dad were unable to smear that with dirt.

‘I’m sorry for you, but you could have seen it coming.’ He shrugged, eager to finish the pointless conversation as soon as possible. ‘You should know the saying—"Once a cheater, always a cheater."’

‘Believe it or not, I thought about it more than once.’ Dolores smiled bitterly, the grooves around her thin-lipped mouth deepening. ‘Still, I wasn’t going to sacrifice our house and savings if it came to an ugly divorce. I knew his madness would pass, as it eventually did. I fired the woman myself and never heard from her again.’

‘Well, good for you, then.’ He was done. He’d get her out as soon as possible and return to work, the conversation over. “I need to get back to my work, Ms. Martin.’ He couldn’t bring himself to call her Dolores. The familiarity would imply some kind of bond, and he refused to acknowledge that. She had been a stranger and she’d remain one, now and ever.

‘His affair produced a child.’ The silence that followed her words was heavy and oppressive. Scott could only stare at her, too surprised to react.

‘He had a son with this… this woman.’ Dolores gave a small, brittle smile. ‘He tried to hide it from me, of course. He knew I’d make him pay.’

She stood up, surprisingly swift and fluid. She paced the pale birch floor, too agitated to sit.

‘I found out about it when he was dying. He begged me to take care of this kid. Can you believe it? Apparently, his mother died a few years ago, some kind of a rotten accident. The boy lived with his old grandparents, and your father was sending them money. Not much, but enough to buy food and clothes for José.’

José. He had a brother named José? Scott blinked and watched Dolores prowl around, the dress reminding him of a shadow of a cloud passing over a sunny field—dark and ominous.

‘I was very happy.’ Dolores was actually making the insane grin of a person who didn’t care about anything anymore. ‘For all those years when your father humiliated me and I had to suffer in silence, finally I got my revenge. You should have seen his face when I told him his bastard would not get a penny from his money, ever. He was desperate. Of course, he wanted to include him in his will, but he had no money left anyway. After his chemo treatments and the hospice, we were broke. The house was borrowed against, the car sold, nothing left. Nothing for our dear José.’