Best She Ever Had (9781617733963) (5 page)

“Darling, why are we talking about Korey now? What brought this on?”

Cynthia stared at the Persian rug beneath her feet. “I ran into him a few days ago.”

“Oh, dear! And how did that go?”

“All right . . . I guess. But it brought back lots of memories, both good and bad.”

“Looking backward can be
very
dangerous, baby. That's why I always look forward.”

Cynthia sighed. “But what if he hadn't cheated on me, Mama? What if he hadn't married Vivian Brady? Would he and I still be together? Instead of raising a kid with Vivian, would we be raising
our
child together and—”

“You can always imagine multiple realities, Cindy . . . see hundreds of ways life could be different. But the only reality that matters is the here and now. You made the right choice.”

Cynthia took a deep breath. “You're right. You're right, Mama.”

Yolanda smiled. “Of course, I'm right.” She rose to her feet and walked toward her daughter. “Now don't forget when you arrive home to call your sister Stephanie and apologize to her. I'm sure she's crying her eyes out right now, stuffing her face with a gallon of fudge ripple ice cream.”

Cynthia stood. “I won't forget, Mama.”

Yolanda walked Cynthia to her car. She stood near the driveway as Cynthia climbed inside her Lexus.

“Now remember,” Yolanda called as she stood on the brick steps and waved, “always look forward, not backward, honey!”

Cynthia nodded. She put on her designer sunglasses, shifted the car into drive, and pulled off.

“L
ookie here. Lookie here.
Lookie here!
”

Korey frowned. “Huh?”

He was in the middle of removing a dead spark plug from a 2002 Cadillac Escalade when he heard the shout behind him.

“Ray, what the hell are you talking about?” Korey said over his shoulder. “Don't you have something to do?”

Ray was one of the mechanics in his shop. He was a good guy, but unfortunately he spent most of his time shooting the breeze and talking about last night's heavyweight fight than he did actually working.

“Oh, no, partna! I can't describe this one to you.” He thumped Korey on his back. “You gotta see this one for yourself.”

Korey set the spark plug aside and leaned back from the car's engine. He peered around the raised hood, expecting to see the most beautiful automobile Detroit had ever created. Instead he saw a woman standing at the garage entrance.

She slammed the door of her SUV shut, took off her sunglasses, and tucked her snakeskin purse underneath her arm. She was wearing a tight-fitting purple dress that dipped low in the front and hugged her hips. A black patent-leather belt showed off her svelte waist. She wore matching black stilettos that clicked on the cement floor as she strode toward them. Her blond hair was swept up today, revealing her long, delicate neck. Silver teardrop earrings dangled from her earlobes.

He had to hand it to her; Cynthia Gibbons certainly knew how to make an entrance. Ray and about half of the other men in the garage were almost salivating over her as she walked across the room. The conversation and chaotic clamor in the garage died down to a near whisper as they stared.

“Oh, I gotta get me a piece of that,” Ray said, elbowing Korey. His smile widened into a grin as he watched her hips sway as she walked. He let out a low whistle.

“Trust me.” Korey gave a consolatory pat on Ray's shoulder. “You couldn't afford a piece of that, so put your tongue back in your mouth and get back to work.” He grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped as much grease as he could from his hands. He gestured toward the Escalade. “Finish this, will you?”

Ray nodded, though he still kept his eyes on Cynthia as he began to fiddle with the SUV's engine.

“Can I help you, baby?” one of the younger guys asked, rushing forward.

With him now blocking her path, Cynthia came to a stop. She narrowed her eyes.

The young man licked his lips, ran his fingers over his mustache, and looked her up and down. “Anything you need, you only have to ask. Trey can take care of it for you.”

Korey shook his head. “That's all right, Trey. I've got this one.”

Trey's shoulders slumped. He looked disappointed. The young man nodded and slowly turned around, returning his attention to the Chevy he was working on. A few guys in the garage laughed.

Korey strolled toward her. “Hey, Cindy.”

“Hello, Korey,” she answered flatly, then extended her keys to him. “I'm here to drop off my car.”

He glanced at the dangling car keys.

Korey had been thinking about Cynthia a lot lately, especially since he found out that Jared and her daughter were dating. Frankly, there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't recall at odd times a moment he had spent with Cynthia Gibbons: those afternoons driving to secluded spots to catch a few quick kisses, those nights they had spent making love underneath the stars. Of course, he knew he was being nostalgic. Their past had been far from perfect; they had argued just as they had loved. Still, they had had some good times. It was a shame things had ended so badly between them.

But we're grown-ups now,
he reminded himself. Almost twenty years had passed. Maybe he could finally put the heartache behind him and they could at least be cordial to one another. Cynthia couldn't be that bad if she managed to raise a sweet girl like Clarissa.

“You mind if we talk for a bit?” he asked, leaning his head toward the garage entrance.

Her lips tightened. “Why?”

“No reason.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to catch up. We didn't really get to talk the last time I saw you.”

She stared at him for several seconds, not saying a word. Finally, she nodded. “Fine . . . but I can't stay long.” They walked across the garage. “I have a very important appointment after this and I will not be late.”

Hey, don't do me any favors,
Korey thought irritably, but he bit back those words. It was obvious she was angry at him for some reason, though he couldn't understand why. He was the one who got dumped!

The other mechanics' eyes followed them as they walked together. Korey caught two of the men giving him the thumbs-up and grinning like hyenas.

If only they knew,
he thought.

“So how have you been, Cindy?” he asked when they reached the sidewalk. He glanced at the busy roadway near the shop. “How's life been treatin' you?”

“Okay, I guess.” She glanced down at her wristwatch, making it obvious that their conversation was on the clock. “I can't complain. And you?”

“I guess I can't complain either.” He smiled despite her rudeness. “I've got my own business now and a roof over my head. Though I heard my roof isn't quite as nice as yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you've been doing pretty well for yourself. A nice home on Pembroke Lane.” He glanced at her dress. His eyes lingered on the delectable swell of her cleavage near the V-neck of her top. “Nice clothes.”

She dropped a hand to her hip. “And just what is wrong with having a nice home and nice clothes?”

“Nothing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. His gaze leapt back to her face, where she was now scowling at him. “I just know that's what you always wanted. I'm glad you got it.”

“What I always wanted.... Is that supposed to be some kind of a jibe?”

Despite his efforts to keep the conversation light, Korey could tell he was saying the wrong thing. He only seemed to be angering her more. “No, not at all.”

“Well, that's exactly what it sounded like to me!”

“If that's how it sounded, that wasn't what I meant. I just—”

“You said that's what I always wanted. I always wanted a nice home and nice clothes . . . like I'm materialistic. That
is
what you meant, right?”

“Well . . .” He shrugged. “You
are
materialistic. You always have been. That's no secret.”

Her mouth fell open. She sputtered for several seconds. “To . . . to hell with you, Korey Walker!” she shouted, hurling her keys at him.

He caught them just before they hit his face.

“Just fix my damn car like you were paid to do! Call me when it's ready!” She then turned on her heel and stomped down the sidewalk.

Now he was just as furious as she was.

“Can't stand to hear the truth, huh, Cindy? Can't stand to hear that all you care about is money? Wasn't money the reason you married Bill?”

She halted.

“You left me and married him because he could buy you everything you wanted!” he yelled. “Admit it!”

She turned to face him again. “You're right, Korey. That's
exactly
why I married Bill. I like nice things, nice clothes. I always have, but it's still better than being a romantic like you.”

“I'm a romantic?”

And even if he was, what was wrong with that?

“Of course, you are! That would explain how you've always been able to fall in love so quickly. One moment you were in love with me. Then”—she snapped her fingers—“the next moment you were in love and having a baby with someone else. It was amazing how quickly it happened, how easily you just shifted gears like that. It's like what we had didn't even matter.” She inclined her head. “But then again, maybe what we had
didn't
matter to you.”

She then turned again and walked off. He watched her retreating back, and he seethed.

That was so typical of her. She was the one who wronged him and yet she acted like some martyr.

Fine,
he thought as he angrily strode back to the garage. If she wanted to pretend to be the wronged party, so be it. This would be the last attempt he would make to be civil with Cynthia Gibbons.

C
ynthia shifted uncomfortably on the plush leather cushions in the restaurant booth, trying yet again to delicately fend off another kiss. Lyle wasn't taking the hint, though. He'd had enough champagne and oysters that his libido was on overdrive. If his mouth wasn't on her, then his hands were. One of his hands was currently sliding up her knee and inner thigh. He had started to roam higher underneath her skirt when she swatted the offending hand away.

“What do you say we go back to my place afterward? Huh?” he whispered hotly against her ear. Cynthia had to fight back a cringe. “We can put on some jazz music, turn the lights down low, and you can wear nothing but high heels and that beautiful smile of yours.”

“Not tonight, Lyle.” She motioned to get the waiter's attention as he passed their table. “I'm a little tired.”

The young waiter quickly nodded and walked off in search of their dinner bill.

“Tired?” Lyle sat back. “It's only eight thirty.”

“I'm aware of what time it is,” she snapped.

When Lyle glowered at her, looking offended, she backtracked a little.

“I've just had a hard few days, sweetheart.” She patted his arm.

The truth was that her mind was still focused on the last time she had spoken with Korey. She couldn't believe he still had such an unnerving effect on her, but he did. She kept replaying her argument with him, remembering his jibe about how all she cared about was money. Frankly, it wasn't something she hadn't heard before. Usually she could dismiss it with a smile or a laugh, but she couldn't this time.

Worst, Korey had the gall to act as if she had hurt him by her leaving him and marrying Bill instead, which was just a load of bull! If he was hurt by her leaving him, he certainly had an odd way of showing it. It didn't take him long to hook up with Vivian, the girl who had hung on his shoulder whenever Cynthia wasn't around. Cynthia knew Vivian had been waiting to steal Korey from her. She just didn't know that Korey had been sneaking around with Vivian that whole time.

“I'll tell you what can cure a hard few days,” Lyle said, leaning toward her ear again. He draped an arm around her shoulder. “A nice massage with some warm baby oil. I could lather you up and . . .”

Jesus, this man will not give up,
she thought as he prattled on. She finished the last of her wine and told herself to focus on the sports car he had driven to their date, on his Caribbean vacation home, on the stock portfolio he had boasted about earlier, but she couldn't. It was true that she was shallow, but even her shallowness had limits. She had to get away from this guy.

“Here's your check,” the young waiter said as he walked back toward their table. He set the leather case in front of Lyle. “I'll take it whenever you're ready.”

“We're ready
now
.” Cynthia opened her purse, took out her wallet, and slapped her credit card on the tablecloth. She rarely, if ever, paid for her own meals, but this time she would make an exception.

They left the restaurant five minutes later. Lyle had shifted from selling the benefits of a massage with baby oil to how a warm bubble bath in his oversized, jetted hot tub would make her feel better. It was funny how his suggestions for her feeling better always required her to get naked. He opened the car door to his Corvette and she climbed inside. When he shut the door behind her, she gazed out the passenger window at Main Street, trying her best to ignore him.

A few people strolled past the storefronts, though much of the foot traffic had winnowed down for the day. Cynthia noticed an elderly man walking his cocker spaniel. She saw an evening jogger pausing at the intersection to let a car pass before the jogger made a mad dash for the next sidewalk. Cynthia also noticed a teenaged couple strolling in front of an antiques shop. They walked hand in hand, the girl leaning her head against the boy's shoulder. The light from the overhead lamp silhouetted them.

As Lyle put his key in the ignition, Cynthia got a pang of wistfulness. The teenaged couple reminded her of herself and Korey. How many moonlit strolls had they taken together back in the day? How many kisses had they stolen under the Victorian street lamps on Main Street?

Lyle pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, passing the young couple. Cynthia could see them more clearly now. She smiled at them, but her smile abruptly disappeared as the car drew closer. She recognized the young beauty holding the handsome boy's hand.

Clarissa was supposed to be at the movies with her best friend, Kayla! Why was she here, and who the hell was this boy?

Cynthia watched in horror as Clarissa stood on her toes, linked her arms around the boy's neck, and gave him a kiss. And it wasn't just any virginal kiss. It was long, heated, and wet. Cynthia could swear she saw tongue!

“Honey, you all right?” Lyle asked as he drove. He glanced worriedly at her.

Cynthia couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe! She had just seen her worst nightmare come to life, and she was still reeling. She closed her eyes, took a calming breath, and opened her eyes again. She gave one last glance in the rearview mirror and slouched lower in her seat so that the young couple couldn't see her.

Lyle looked to his right, saw her almost sitting on the Corvette's floor, and did a double take. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Shssssh!”
she snapped. “Just keep driving!”

Lyle grumbled but did as he was told.

In the rearview mirror, Cynthia could still see Clarissa. The boy's arm was now draped around her waist. He opened the door to an ice cream parlor, and he and Clarissa walked inside, gazing into each other's eyes.

Cynthia's hands tightened into fists. Her thin nostrils flared.
This won't do. I won't have it!

She would have a talk with Clarissa about this one and nip it in the bud faster than you could say “young dumb love.”

 

Cynthia was sitting on the sofa in the living room, still wearing her clothes from her date and fighting a raging headache, when Clarissa walked through the front door. She watched as her daughter locked the door behind her and twirled toward the stairs at the end of the foyer. A sparkle was in Clarissa's eyes that made Cynthia nauseated.

Cynthia had a sense of déjà vu as she watched Clarissa, except it was herself she recalled wandering into the house late at night almost twenty years ago and her mother quietly waiting for her to come home. Three and half weeks after a tear-filled argument with her mother, Cynthia saw Korey one last time, then broke up with him.

“Clarissa,” Cynthia called out, fighting to keep her voice even, fighting to hold back her anger. She could feel it threatening to boil over though.

Screw déjà vu,
she thought. Clarissa had lied to her and probably had been lying for a while now. Cynthia could tell from the kiss she'd witnessed between Clarissa and that boy that they weren't on a first date. Her daughter had probably been sneaking around with him and lying to her over and over again.

At the sound of Cynthia's voice, Clarissa stopped on the second riser. She turned and looked at the darkened living room. She squinted and finally saw her mother sitting on the sofa.

“Hey, Ma,” she said, stepping back down to the hardwood floor. She walked into the room. “You're back from your date already?” She tugged her purse strap over her head and set her purse on one of the wooden end tables. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“How was the movie?” Cynthia asked, gazing into her daughter's eyes.

Clarissa shrugged. “Umm, okay, I guess. I'm not a big fan of action movies, though. That's more Kayla's thing.”

“You two have been seeing a lot of movies lately.”

“Yeah, I guess. It isn't like there's much else to do around Chesterton. You know how it is.” Clarissa paused and looked at her mother more carefully. “Ma, are you all right? You don't look so well.”

Cynthia clenched her hands in her lap. “Have a seat, Clarissa.”

The young woman hesitated before lowering herself into a leather wingback chair facing the sofa.

Cynthia scanned Clarissa's face, wondering how her daughter could look so innocent.

“Ma, what's wrong?” Clarissa laughed nervously. “You're starting to freak me out a little.”

“I saw you tonight. I saw you on Main Street—and you weren't with Kayla.”

Clarissa's eyes widened.

“You were with a boy, and you were kissing him. Who is he?”

Clarissa loudly swallowed. “Ma, I-I didn't . . .”

“If you're about to lie to me again, don't do it. Because I'm ten seconds away from slapping you right across the face! I'm twenty seconds away from opening that front door and telling you to get the hell out of my house!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting to regain control. She promised herself that she wouldn't show how furious she was, and she was failing miserably at hiding it. “Now who is he?”

Clarissa's eyes began to water. She bit down hard on her lower lip and sniffed. “His name is Jared and . . . and . . . we're in love.”

“In love?”
Cynthia gave a cold laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Ma, that is so! Jared and I are in love and . . . and we want to get married . . . one day, maybe after we both graduate from college. Jared said he—”

“I don't think so.” Cynthia slowly stood from the sofa and shook her head. “You're not getting married to this boy. I don't care how in love you
think
you are. I'm not going to let you be so stupid and just throw your life away like that! You're not seeing him anymore either.” She whipped around and pointed toward the stairwell. “Now what you
will
do is—”

“Yes, I am,” Clarissa said softly with her eyes downcast.

Cynthia stilled and stared at her daughter. “What did you say?”

“I said I'm still going to see Jared and you can't stop me. I'm not a little baby, Ma!” she shouted as she shot to her feet. Tears were streaming down her face now. “Stop treating me like I am!”

Who is this person standing in my living room?
Where was her meek little girl?

“I'm . . . I'm a woman! You were pregnant with me and engaged when you were my age! I should be able to make my own decisions! I want to be with Jared!”

“Not while you live under my roof.” Cynthia took a step toward her so that they were almost nose to nose. “When you live under
my
roof and
I
pay for the clothes on your back and the car in the driveway, you will do what
I
say. When it's my money that—”

“That's all you care about is money,” Clarissa hissed, pulling back her lips. “That's why you don't like him! You don't even know him and you say I can't see him anymore! Why? Because you want me to end up with some old fart with money, some old guy just like dad! But I don't want your life, Ma!” she yelled into her mother's face. “I don't want to be rich and divorced and alone and pissed off all the time like you! I want to be in love and happy and—”

“There is no such thing,” Cynthia said. “And the fact that you believe that being in love with a man will bring you anything but grief in the end shows me just how damn naïve you are and why I have to save you from yourself.”

“That's not true!”

“No, money doesn't buy you happiness, but it does buy you independence. It's one of the oldest family rules, and it's a lesson you've obviously ignored. You shackle yourself to deadweight and he'll bring you down your whole life. That's not freedom. That's servitude to your heart—and sheer stupidity! So I'm cutting the chain
now
. You're breaking up with this boy, and that's that.” She pointed to the stairwell again. “Now go to your room!”

“But I don't—”

“I said ‘go,' Clarissa! Go upstairs or you can leave this house!”

The young woman balled her fists at her sides. She clenched her teeth. Again, Cynthia saw herself reflected in her daughter's face. Based on the fury she saw in Clarissa's eyes, she wasn't sure if Clarissa was going to do what she had not done all those years ago: march to the front door and walk out. Cynthia held her breath, wondering if she had played the wrong hand and if she was about to lose her daughter forever.

But suddenly Clarissa relaxed her fists. Her eyes went flat and cold. She slowly walked toward the stairs and Cynthia released a breath.

She watched as Clarissa marched up the stairs, taking two at a time. Seconds later, Clarissa's bedroom door slammed.

Cynthia's heart felt heavy in her chest, and her pounding headache only got worse.

But I did it,
she thought. She had stuck to her guns in order to save Clarissa.
She hates me now, but she won't in the future. She'll see I was right.

Cynthia leaned against the newel post on the stairs, hoping that would prove to be true.