All She Ever Wanted (25 page)

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me the truth about yourself, Eleanor.”

“You never asked about my family or I would have. Besides, I never dreamed that it would matter to you. You said you loved me for who I was, the same way I loved you. We agreed that nothing else mattered.”

“Well, it does matter. We’re no longer married, Eleanor.”

“Can you honestly stand there and tell me you never loved me?”

“I thought I did… at the time. But you never told me the truth about your parents, and—”

“What difference does it make? They have nothing to do with us or with the future we planned. We used to talk about values and what was really important in life, remember?”

“Family is important, too. My grandfather started this company. My father has worked hard to make sure he had something to pass along to me. I’m his only son. How can I throw that all away? Especially when you lied to me.”

“This has nothing to do with my family, does it? It’s about money. It’s always about money. That’s what you don’t want to give up, isn’t it? He threatened to cut you off if you stayed married to me.”

Rick didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His face spoke the truth. Cynthia glanced at Eleanor in alarm. She was slowly comprehending the terrible truth that the man she loved had betrayed her. The shock of it would probably devastate her more than his supposed death had. Eleanor’s cool, calm facade began to slip as she struggled for composure. Cynthia could feel her body trembling uncontrollably. She took Eleanor’s arm and pulled her to her feet. More than anything else, Eleanor would hate to break down in front of Rick and his father.

“Let’s go, Eleanor. We were right all along—Rick Trent
is
dead. He must be, because he stinks just like a corpse!”

No one spoke as Cynthia helped Eleanor to the door, the classical music still tinkling pleasantly in the background. When Cynthia noticed Rick following them to his car at the end of the driveway, it took every ounce of restraint she possessed to keep from punching him.

“You no-good, rotten coward!” she shouted. “Oh! It’s a good thing I don’t curse or I’d tell you exactly what you are! How could you lie to her and let her think you were dead? You loved her, Rick. I know you did.”

“I thought it would be kinder to let her think I died. She would mourn for a while but—”

“But she’d never find out what a louse you really are, right? She’d think you died loving her rather than discovering the truth that you threw her aside for your daddy’s money.”

“It’s not that simple, Cynthia.”

“What a cowardly thing to do! You don’t deserve Eleanor. She’s too good for scum like you!” Rick climbed into his car and slammed the door, peeling out of the driveway, tires squealing.

Neither woman spoke as Cynthia led Eleanor back through the quiet neighborhood to the city bus stop. It seemed to take forever to ride across town to the bus station in rush hour traffic. The next bus to Bensenville didn’t leave for another two hours, and it would be well after midnight by the time they got home.

Cynthia didn’t know what to say as they sat side by side on the hard wooden bench, surrounded by cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. But she had to try.

“Eleanor—”

“Don’t say anything, Cynthia, please. I don’t want to talk right now.”

Eleanor’s heart had broken in two when she’d learned that Rick had died, but at least she’d had an enemy to blame for his death, an enemy that ultimately had been beaten and destroyed. This was so much worse. This time her heart had been shattered beyond repair, and the damage had been deliberate. This time the enemy was the man she loved—and Cynthia feared that he had destroyed her.

A week after they returned to Riverside, the mailman delivered a thick, registered letter addressed to Eleanor Bartlett. As soon as Eleanor saw Rick’s name on the return address, she handed it to Cynthia.

“Send it back. Whatever it is, I don’t want it.” She turned away and stood with her back to Cynthia, staring through the window. Tears blurred Cynthia’s vision as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out an officiallooking document, complete with the seal of New York State. The marriage between Eleanor Bartlett and Richard Trent III had been officially annulled. Included in the envelope was a pile of U.S. Government War Bonds—five thousand dollars worth—and a note from Rick.

Eleanor, I never meant to hurt you. Please accept this money along with my sincere apologies, and use it to further your education.

Rick

For a long moment, Cynthia was afraid to speak. “Rick sent the official paperwork and some money,” she finally said.

“I don’t want his guilt money. Send it back.”

“I think you should keep it, Ellie. He owes you at least that much. You can use it to start all over again, and—”

“There’s no such thing as starting over,” Eleanor said in a hollow voice. “That’s just a myth. We can never escape our past. It follows us wherever we go. All of the things our parents did, and their parents did before them—they follow us and we can’t escape.”

The despair in Eleanor’s voice alarmed Cynthia. She recalled how Mr. Trent had used something from Eleanor’s past as an excuse to annul their marriage, but Cynthia couldn’t imagine any past so bad that it didn’t deserve a second chance. Eleanor never talked about her family, and Cynthia wasn’t about to pry, but she needed to convince Eleanor to keep the money. Rick owed her much, much more.

“Ellie, don’t give Rick power over you to ruin your life this way. He’s a cowardly liar who used any excuse he could dream up to get his hands on his father’s money. You really
can
start all over again—I did. I got away from my small-town life, thanks to your help. You can start again, too.”

Eleanor didn’t respond. Cynthia exhaled and tried again.

“Look, Rick did a terrible thing to you, and I know that he hurt you very deeply. But take the money, Ellie. You can use it to go to college and have that career you always wanted. You deserve it.”

Eleanor turned to face her, hollow-eyed, despondent. A dead woman.

“No… I don’t deserve anything.”

Chapter
19

R
IVERSIDE
, N
EW
Y
ORK—
1946

C
ynthia studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pleased with what she saw. Her blond hair, pulled back in an elegant French twist, shone like white gold in the light. Her makeup was as fresh and flawless as a movie star’s, and her new black cocktail dress was sure to turn heads— worth every penny she had spent on it.

She glanced at her watch. It was still too early to go downstairs and wait for her date. She had agreed to meet him in front of the Valley Food Market, unwilling to have him climb the rickety stairs to her apartment and see where she was living. It might spoil his image of her as a highclass woman.

Cynthia switched off the bathroom light and carried her high heels out to the living room. No sense putting them on until the last minute. She was searching for a notepad and a pencil to scribble a note to Eleanor when she heard footsteps slowly tromping up the stairs, then a key turning in the lock. She looked up in surprise when Eleanor came through the door.

“You’re home early. I was just writing you a note.”

“Yeah, the diner was slow tonight and I’m exhausted. I gave my tables to one of the other waitresses and came home.” She sank down on the sofa as if her legs couldn’t possibly hold her for another moment, then stretched out on her back. Cynthia was about to ask how she could be so tired after working only three hours on a slow night, but Eleanor spoke first.

“Where are you going all dressed up? I never saw that dress before.”

“It’s brand-new. How do I look?” She paced a few steps and made a slow turn, like a runway model.

“Like a million dollars. You’ve turned into a real class act, Cynthia.

Although I can’t imagine any man here in Riverside who’s worthy of such an elegant-looking date. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Cynthia hesitated, afraid to tell her. She hadn’t discussed her social life with Eleanor since they’d argued over Eleanor’s refusal to go out on dates.

Eleanor had deliberately asked for the Friday and Saturday night shifts at the diner and was usually working when Cynthia went out and sleeping when she arrived home.

“He’s just a guy I met at work,” she said, glancing at her watch again.

“Come on… Tell me all about him.” Eleanor smiled, but it lacked warmth. “You’re way overdressed for any of those jerks on the assembly line. Is it one of the salesmen?”

“No. … It’s my boss.”

“Your boss! Wow, that’s news. I didn’t know that bosses were allowed to date their secretaries.”

“There’s no law against it,” Cynthia said, smiling shyly. She couldn’t help smiling when she thought about Howard. “We’ve gone out for coffee and to the movies a few times, and we always have a lot of laughs. We talk about everything under the sun. But this is a step up, and I’m hoping it will be the turning point in our relationship. He’s taking me to a dinner dance at his country club.”

“Whoa! His
country club
?” Eleanor’s smile vanished. “Are you out of your mind?”

“No—why?”

Eleanor pulled herself upright on the couch, frowning angrily. “Who is this guy? Tell me his name.”

Cynthia was reluctant to reply. “His name is Howard—Howard Hayworth.”

“Not the same Hayworths who just bought the electronics plant?”

“Well, sort of. The factory is owned by Howard’s father. But what difference does it ma—”

“Cynthia! You didn’t tell me you were working for the owner’s son, much less dating him!”

“Why are you getting mad? You should be happy for me. Howard needed a secretary, and he picked me out of the typing pool. Now we’re dating. What’s the big deal?”

“You’re so nai
ve! Can’t you see that he’s using you? Of course he picked you—you’re gorgeous. But you’d be a fool to trust a spoiled rich boy. Run, Cynthia! Run before you get hurt.”

“Not every rich man is another Rick Trent,” she said quietly. “Can’t you be happy for me?”

“I’ll be very happy for you when you tell this guy to get lost. I’m warning you for your own good—ditch him before you get hurt.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about him,” Cynthia said angrily. “Just because you’ve stopped living, you think that everyone else should, too. You refused to go to business school with me, you gave up your dream to get an education and a career, and now you’ve stopped taking care of yourself. You dress sloppily, your hair is a mess, you work at a dead-end job. You seem to accept it as fact that you’re no good, that you’re not worthy of nice things or decent clothes. I know Rick did a terrible thing to you, but you’ve been depressed about it for much too long. I wish you would go back to the doctor, Ellie. Get some help!”

“For your information, it isn’t just depression. I’m ill. The doctors aren’t sure what it is yet, but I’m worn out all the time. I don’t have the energy to go to school. And I don’t feel like wasting my time and my money to get all dolled up just to impress a man. I’m trying to warn you for your own good not to trust this Hayworth creep, and you’re jumping all over me! Thanks a lot!” She stumbled into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Cynthia knew that she should apologize, but there wasn’t time. Besides, how dare Eleanor criticize Howard when she had never even met him? Cynthia put on her shoes and snatched up her purse, slamming the front door on her way out.

Cynthia was falling in love. Her night at the dinner dance with Howard was like a fairy tale: Cinderella waltzing with her handsome prince beneath glittering chandeliers, sipping champagne. The country club in Bensenville was the most elegant place Cynthia had ever been, the food exquisite, the orchestra sublime. And when Howard led her out onto the balcony beneath the stars and kissed her for the first time, she thought she had died and gone to heaven.

“You’re so beautiful, Cynthia,” he murmured in her ear. “How have I been lucky enough to find you?” She returned home from her date as if walking on air—and knew that she could never share one word of it with Eleanor.

On Monday the florist delivered a dozen red roses to their apartment.

Tears filled Cynthia’s eyes when she read the card:
I can’t get you out of my mind—Howard
. But when Cynthia looked up, she saw Eleanor shaking her head, frowning.

“Please be happy for me, Ellie. I don’t want this to come between us.”

“How can I be happy when I know you’re going to get hurt?”

“Howard isn’t Rick Trent.”

Eleanor exhaled angrily, then snatched up a letter from off the table.

“Listen, my brother wants to come visit me. Is it okay if he stays with us for a few days?”

Cynthia didn’t know why Eleanor had changed the subject, but she was grateful. “Of course! You don’t even have to ask.” Eleanor seemed to have a close relationship with her brother, and Cynthia hoped he could help lift her out of her depression.

“Promise me one thing, though,” Eleanor said. “I don’t want Leonard to know about Rick.”