Betrayal

  “You didn’t want to give your mother-in-law that kind of influence over your lives.”

  “Right. And a baby is expensive. The crib and the car seat and the little, tiny shoes…” She half smiled at the memory of the little tiny shoes. “The baby kept me looking to the future, planning ahead. I was reading books on raising a child. Searching for the best care facilities. Working really hard at my job, because while I was on maternity leave, I didn’t want to be a casualty of some downsizing scheme.”

  He took her hand, entwined their fingers, held his palm against hers in some futile attempt to take the weight of her grief.

  “She was such an active baby. I suppose they all are, but I felt her move a month early, and in a couple of weeks, I joked to Keith, she would play soccer for the pros. She’d get her fist in my hip and her foot in my ribs, and she’d push.” Penelope writhed as if she could recall the pain. “I thought she was doing isometric exercises.”

  “So she was healthy?”

  “She looked great in the ultrasounds. The doctor was so pleased.”

  What happened?

  Penelope continued. “One of the reasons I handled Keith’s death as well as I did was because… I knew I was never alone. I had to get past the grief and focus on our child. She was there, rolling and twisting, alive inside me. Even now, it’s amazing to me how much connection I felt. She took over my body, and everything from that moment was animal instinct. So primal and so… She controlled my life. My every thought was for her.” Penelope’s tears dripped onto his arm. “My every thought… even in my sleep…”

  She paused so long he wondered whether she had decided she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t tell him the whole story.

  But at last she resumed talking, her voice weaker, quieter. “That morning, a year ago today, I woke up really early, and my first instinct was… ‘There’s something wrong.’ I didn’t even have to think. I knew that sometime in the night, she had stopped moving.”

  He imagined Penelope waking alone in the big bed she had shared with her husband, and knowing… knowing her baby was dead. “What did you do?”

  “I called the doctor. Told her she had to help us. She told me late-term babies stopped moving because they were cramped. I knew better. I got hysterical—which I’m not the type. I insisted on coming in. She listened, thank God. She met me at her office, put the fetal stethoscope on my belly.…” Penelope shook her head over and over, her eyes dull with remembrance.

  “How…? What… caused…?”

  “The cord slipped around the baby’s neck. It happens. Not often. But sometimes. I went into the hospital. They induced me, and I delivered my beautiful infant.” Penelope shivered and shivered.

  Noah rubbed her, held her, tried to convey comfort where no comfort was to be had.

  In a low voice, Penelope said, “She was so beautiful, Noah. Perfect in every way, fingers and toes, a beautiful, still face… I delivered her knowing she was gone. I held her, just held her.… I gave her her name—Keith and I agreed on Mia, pretty and simple—and then… I let them take her.” Again, Penelope broke down, turning away from him into the pillow, sobbing without restraint.

  He rubbed her back, smoothed the hair out of her face, felt ineffectual and stricken with grief for a child lost before she lived.

  He faced his own death, and hated that he would die so soon. But he had at least lived. He had drawn breath, walked and talked, had a family who loved him, made an impression on this world.

  No one remembered Mia… except her mother. That was the tragedy that broke his heart. And Penelope’s.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Penelope’s crying began to calm.

  He disengaged himself, grabbed a bottle of water off the desk, the box of Kleenex out of the bathroom. He came back to see her watching him, her hand tucked under her cheek, her brown eyes wide pools of endless sorrow. And now… a kind of peace.

  He sat back down, opened the bottle, handed it to her. “What happened next?”

  She sat up and drank, then slid back on the pillows and huddled under the blankets. “The day I delivered Mia, my mother arrived in Cincinnati. I was ready to leave the hospital when she walked in, and I almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a wig. She was bloated from the steroids and pale from the shots they had given her to build her bone marrow—her blood count was down—and she had trouble breathing when she exerted herself. I don’t know how she made the trip, but I’d been waiting for her to arrive to cry, really cry.” Penelope rubbed the center of her forehead as if it ached. “And you know what? When I saw her… all my tears dried up. There was no point in breaking down. She couldn’t help me. She had death written on her bones.”

  The picture rose in Noah’s mind: the stark hospital room, the two women parted for too long, and soon to be parted forever.

  “She knew it. I knew it. We signed me out. I took her to my home and put her to bed—she was exhausted. I called a real estate agent to come and look at the house, and I started packing. The next afternoon, we buried Mia in the same grave as her father.” Penelope set her chin. “It was awful. Barbara said… unforgivable things.”

  Noah did not like the sound of that. “What do you mean, she said unforgivable things?”

  “She blamed me for Mia’s death, said she died because I worked too hard after Keith’s death, said I had destroyed the last piece of her son left on earth.”

  Noah wanted to reach across the stretch of time and slap the woman.

  “My mother went feral.” Penelope did not seem surprised. “I thought she was going to kill Barbara right there in the cemetery.”

  “Good for your mother.”

  “Yes, but she didn’t have the strength to get to the car afterward. I sold the house at a huge loss. Within the month, I moved to Portland. My mother lived another seven months.” Penelope sat up, gathered half of a box of Kleenex, and blew her nose. Hard. She threw them in the trash, then blew again. “I just… as soon as I saw my mother, I couldn’t mourn my baby. She reminded me I still had family. I had other priorities, pressing commitments to the woman who gave me birth and who sacrificed everything for me. My mother knew it was wrong; she urged me to take the time to grieve, but my emotions directed differently.”

  “You’d been through too much.” He ached for her.

  She shrugged wearily. “How much is too much? That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” She slid out of bed, grabbed her pajamas out of her suitcase, and disappeared into the bathroom. She called, “I just don’t see why I need to be so strong.”

  He heard water running, some splashing, and when she came back, dressed in a comfortable-looking cream cotton tank-and-boxer combo, her face was damp and a little less red.

  She climbed back in bed with him, moved close, and let him take her in his arms—and he felt a fierce pride that she turned to him for comfort.

  “Today… I was determined to get through today. I mean, it’s just another day, right?” She pressed her head against his chest as if listening to his heartbeat. “But Brooke wanted to talk about decorating the baby’s room. I tried to head her off, but”—Penelope sighed—“she’s got one thing on her mind, the baby she’s carrying, and what could I say? I remember. I know how much that life within you means. So without meaning to, Brooke reminded me of all I had lost.”

  “In a way, I think it would have been more awful if you’d managed to get through the day without breaking down.” He was out of his comfort zone, not sure he was right, but he struggled on. “Mia deserved for her mother to cry for her, and you wouldn’t be the woman I”—love—“admire if you never gave her her due.”

  “That’s… that’s right. You’re right, I think.” He was afraid she was going to cry again, but instead she nodded as if he had comforted her.

  Thank God, because right now he felt like a big, dumb, clumsy guy.

  She snuggled closer again. “How did you know I was at the Beaver Inn?”

  “Primo called.”
r />   “He’s like an old lady.”

  “Primo’s a good guy.” Noah rocked her a little. “If I’d known about the baby, I wouldn’t have jumped you like that.”

  “It was what I wanted. If the liquor wasn’t going to erase the memories, I thought sex might. But it worked a little differently than I thought. It broke open my emotions.… I’ve never told anyone. Ever. I’ve never had the chance to talk about it.” She looked up at him, red eyed and anxious. “Thank you for listening.”

  He almost said something then. Something stupid like, I’ll love you forever.

  But by a stroke of good luck that made him so happy he wanted to slam his fist through the wall, he was saved by some piece-of-shit bastard who knocked once, hard, on the door.

  Chapter 50

  Penelope jumped, clutching the blankets to her chest. She’d been spilling her guts to the one guy she should distrust, and that intrusion from the outside world made her feel more naked than she had ever been in her whole life.

  Noah glanced around. “Were you expecting someone?”

  “Who do you suppose…? It wouldn’t be Mrs. Marino, would it? She doesn’t police the rooms and eject anyone who’s having sex, does she?” At the thought of Arianna, Penelope sat up and finger-combed her hair, as if that would erase any sign of their fabulous, wanton lovemaking.

  There wasn’t much she could do about the tears.

  “Heaven forbid.” Noah’s voice sounded deep and fervent. “If it’s her, I’m hiding in the bathroom. The woman terrifies me.”

  Penelope grinned at the thought of this big, strong man cowering at the thought of meeting Arianna Marino. She grinned, too, at the sight of him wearing nothing but a worn white turtleneck T-shirt, the material so thin she could almost see through it. The impulse to amusement felt odd. But good, too, and natural, as if this were what should come next in her life.

  “I’m serious.” He rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed. “I suppose I have to look and see who it is.”

  “I can.”

  He glanced at her, and she must have still looked like she’d been dragged through a keyhole, because he said, “No. You stay where you are. For you, I will joust the fearsome Marino dragon.”

  Penelope laughed, low and warm, then stopped, surprised at herself. The day had started with a distant dread that had grown closer until it covered her gaze with a murky gray mist, separating her from human contact. At the time, that seemed good; better to be removed from life than broken on the rack of sorrow.

  Then Brooke had picked out those wallpaper samples, had talked about using yellow for the baby’s room and wrapping her baby in the softest cloth and holding it close while she rocked and sang… and all Penelope’s dreams of Mia came rushing back, shattering at her feet like small treasures dropped by careless fate.

  That afternoon, Penelope got into her car to drive and drive, trying to outrun the pain, until at last, not knowing what else to do, she had gone back to the motel and there it was—the Beaver Inn. Anesthesia in a bottle.

  “Where’s your robe?” Noah asked, like he knew she had to own a robe, like every woman kept a robe nearby and he knew every woman in the world.

  Of course he was right. She did have one. “On the hook on the back of the bathroom door.”

  But getting drunk hadn’t worked, either. Despite the fact that she didn’t have to drive anywhere afterward, Primo was absolutely resistant to allowing her to get plastered. He acted as if he were her big brother or something.

  So she got mad. And she welcomed that feeling, because anger held off the agony. Maybe she would escape the mourning she feared.…

  Noah showed up, and that was even better. She had practice being mad at him.

  Noah grabbed the white cotton wrap, tied the tie around his waist—his shoulders strained at the seams, the hem reached his midthigh, and his T-shirt covered his chest and hid his neck.

  She reclined on the pillow, her arm under her head, and watched him walk toward the door.

  He looked silly.

  He didn’t seem to care.

  He didn’t seem to care about a lot of things. This afternoon at the Beaver Inn, when she turned her hostility on him, he had been unfazed. A little reluctant to give her the sex she demanded, but his wavering morals didn’t stand a chance against a determined woman.

  And she had been determined. The anguish that had grown sharper and more real throughout the day was vanquished by sensations of first warmth, then pleasure, then… passion. And somewhere in the middle of all that raw sex, her chalice of sorrow shattered, leaving her broken by memories.

  Closing her eyes, she remembered Mia’s sweet, small face, and tears swarmed up again.

  “No one’s there,” he reported.

  She opened her eyes to see him looking out the peephole.

  Stepping around to the side of the door, he opened it an inch and squinted out. “Huh.”

  His voice was so full of suspicion, she sat up. “What is it?”

  “A bag hanging on the knob. And a pizza box on the mat.” He reached out, unhooked the bag, brought it inside. His eyebrows rose. He looked at her, his mouth quirking. “It’s a box of a dozen condoms. Someone has a lot of faith in me.”

  She nodded. Nine years ago, she’d had sex with him. Probably he had a reputation.

  But… was she going to have sex with him again?

  Yes, they’d just enjoyed the best, most explosive, most mutually orgasmic sex imaginable, and yes, he’d been incredibly good about her breakdown afterward. She couldn’t imagine another man who would let her cry all over him without fleeing in terror.

  But when they’d had sex tonight, it had been impulse and heat and need. She couldn’t call a second time, and a third time, compulsion.

  She and Noah had a history, and not a good one. She should be cautious. She should be smart. She should think about tomorrow.

  Yeah. She needed to think about tomorrow.

  Soon.

  He opened the door the rest of the way, stepped out, and came back with a large pizza box. In case she wasn’t sure what was in the box, the smell of Italian sausage, pepperoni, onions, peppers, garlic, marinara, and crispy crust filled the room.

  She moaned, but it had nothing to do with sex.

  “You look more turned on about the pizza than you’ve ever been about me,” he said.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” She thought she was going to faint with hunger. “I’m not really drooling over a pizza; I… I haven’t had a lot to eat today.”

  “I suppose you haven’t.” He shut the door and flipped the lock. He latched the chain and then, in some excess of caution, he stuck a chair under the door handle. “Let me call Primo and make sure this is from him.”

  Noah was acting, and sounding, paranoid. “Who else would it be from? He’s the only one who knows we’re here.”

  “You never know.” Noah found his pants on the floor, dug out his phone. “Someone might want to poison us.”

  Sometimes he said the oddest things. “I can’t decide if you’re being funny or not.”

  “Or not.” He made the call. “Primo. Was that you, man? Did you bring the stuff and put it at the door?” He nodded, pleased, then shook his head and frowned. “Oh, Primo. I didn’t want to know that.”

  “What don’t you want to know?” she asked.

  He held up one finger and listened again to the voice on the other end of his call. “Okay. I appreciate it. I owe you.” He hung up.

  “What don’t you want to know?” she asked again.

  “Arianna Marino called and told him to get us, um…” Noah gestured with the bag.

  Penelope didn’t want to know that, either. “Why did she do that?”

  “There are a lot of boys in the Marino family. She probably knows guys all carry one condom in our wallet for emergencies, and after that, it’s a matter of self-control.”

  “A dozen condoms? She doesn’t think much of your control.”

  He looke
d at Penelope, making her self-conscious about her messy, dark hair, her prosaic pajamas, her red face and eyes. “Arianna Marino is one smart woman.”

  And suddenly, Penelope was flushed and basking in warmth. Noah made her feel… beautiful.

  Noah wiggled the pizza box. “Primo, being Primo, figured we would need sustenance, too.”

  Surprise caught her. She flung herself back onto the pillows, and she chortled. “I love this place!”

  “This place?” He looked around.

  “Bella Valley. I could live here forever.” She sat up again, alarmed at what she’d so carelessly said. “I mean, not with you. I just meant…”

  “I know what you mean. I love this place, too.” Something in his voice made her wonder… why was he yearning over Bella Valley as if he were in exile, when he had everything here at his fingertips?

  But when she looked more closely at him, he seemed relaxed and amused. “So.” He stood over the bed and lifted first the pizza box, then the condoms. “EF, or FF?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Eat first, or…?”

  She sat there and looked at him—intelligent and handsome; at his magnificent body, wrapped in a woman’s robe and yet not womanly at all; most of all, at his green eyes. In them, she saw an aching loneliness that called to her across the vast gap between one human being and another, and the upsurge of love was almost more than she could contain.

  Why she loved him, she didn’t know, but no matter what she had done, no matter where she had gone, no matter where she would go, that love was alive, constant, eternal. Why run from it right now, when she needed the human contact?

  She took his hand and tugged. “I like cold pizza,” she said. “How about you?”

  Chapter 51

  “Help me forget,” Penelope said as she had said once before. But this time she added, “Make love to me until all that’s in the world is me and you.”

  Noah’s eyes changed from stark pain to warm delight. “Yes. Let me love you.” He placed the pizza on the desk and stripped off the robe.