Eternally Yours (25 page)

“Let me explain how it happened--”

“Oh, I know how it happened.” She felt her lower lip quiver. “When you couldn’t bully me into changing my plans, you decided to pull some strings with your friends at Town Hall. This trick was on top of all the little ways you tried to butter me up--giving me the autographed book, helping me with the kitchen, even suggesting that I illustrate your next manuscript.”

“I never meant to--”

“Save it,” she snapped. “That wall must mean a lot to you. I hate to think how far you’d go to preserve it. I’m afraid to ask how much of the past week has been inspired by me and how much by my house.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. The way I feel about you has nothing to do with--”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mark.” Suddenly, all she wanted to do was hide. She didn’t want to let him see how much he’d mattered to her. Obviously she hadn’t even meant enough to him for him to be honest with her. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

Pulling the cordless phone away from her ear, she pressed the “off” button. She wished she’d used the regular phone so she could have slammed the receiver down.

A pathetic, childlike sob escaped her, and she finally let her tears flow. Her arms went limp, and she dropped the phone on the floor. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. In the last few days, she’d really believed their relationship had grown. Now she wondered how much of his behavior had been designed merely to get on her good side. Did he feel anything for her at all?

Slumping onto one of the dinette chairs, she cried until her watery nose forced her to get up for a tissue. In the bathroom mirror, a repulsive figure with a pink, puffy complexion stared back at her. Her head started to ache.

Opening up the medicine chest, she swung the reflection out of her view. She grabbed a bottle of pain reliever and went back to the kitchen for a glass of water.

While she stood at the tap, the phone rang in the hallway. She jumped--then let the call go until the answering machine picked up.

“It’s me, Lara.” Mark’s voice floated into the room, his tone anxious. “I realize you don’t want to talk to me, and I understand why. But I need to try to convince you that I wasn’t the one who went to the zoning board, and I never intended for anything I said about you to get back to them. I wish I could have that day back and do it over again.”

Still holding her glass, she wandered into the hall. Though she doubted that anything he said would make a difference, she couldn’t resist listening.

“The day you applied for the permit, I ran into Karen outside of Town Hall.”

She frowned. What the hell did Karen have to do with any of this? Just the mention of the woman’s name turned her dejection into outrage.

“She asked me if I’d met you through the historical society,” he went on.

Karen was asking questions about her? Lara shouldn’t have been surprised, given the woman’s nosiness in the office that day and her interference today. Well, she’d had just about had enough of Mark and his ex-girlfriend sticking their noses into her business.

“You may remember that she was the one who told me you’d applied for the permit. A friend of hers works in one of the town offices. Karen’s also the person I told about your studio. It slipped out before I realized what I was saying.”

He’d told that woman about the studio! She slammed her glass down on the table beside the answering machine, sloshing water over the rim.
Does he expect me to find that less offensive than his going to the board himself?
Why was he always with that woman anyway, if they weren’t still involved?

She reached for the receiver, but suddenly another thought struck her: Were they really not involved anymore? Was it possible he’d lied when he denied having dinner with her the other night?

“I’m not trying to claim that this isn’t my fault,” he said, “but not like you thought--not directly. Please try to believe that I never set out to hurt you. Her questions took me off-guard, and--”

She yanked the phone cord out of the wall, putting an end to the call.
Off-guard, my foot
, she thought. He had gone out with the woman and he didn’t know how nosy she was? Lara had known it after two minutes in her company. Besides, if he hadn’t intended for his “slip of the tongue” to hurt her, why hadn’t he at least warned her about what had happened? She could have gone to the board herself and explained the nature of her studio.

The cradle for the cordless phone stood next to the machine, and she unplugged that too, throwing the plug down on the floor. Now he couldn’t bother her again tonight. Picking up her water, she gulped down two painkillers.

Going to her room, she collapsed on the bed, disgusted with herself. How could she have been so stupid? She had overlooked Mark’s hot-and-cold treatment of her time and time again. She had even seen Karen walking into his house with a casserole dish. But all he had to do was deny they were together and she’d bought it hook, line and sinker. He’d told her what she’d wanted to hear.

After another round of sobbing she had to get up for another tissue. Trying to calm herself, she considered calling Di but remembered she had unplugged the phone. It didn’t seem worthwhile to run downstairs again and plug in the cord, risking another call from Mark. Di couldn’t help her anyway. Why interrupt her vacation?

She spent most of the day in bed, trying to read or watch TV but mostly thinking about Mark. When night came, she lay in the dark for what seemed like hours before she eventually fell asleep.

In the morning she woke up late and didn’t feel like getting out of bed. Life felt like too much work. She was tired of trying so damned hard all the time, only to end up failing. Her marriage had failed, and she hadn’t even learned from her mistakes.

She dozed off and woke a second time around eleven--later than she’d slept in years. Guilt crept through her. Time was too valuable for her to waste it wallowing in self-pity. She had to pull herself together. Determined to get a few errands done, if nothing else, she dragged herself into the shower.

By the time she’d dressed and dabbed on some lipstick, she felt somewhat better. So she’d picked the wrong man again--what else was new? She reminded herself that she still had her art to fulfill her and her house to keep her busy. All in all, things could have been worse.

As she put on her sneakers, she heard a knock downstairs at the back door. Her first thought was of Mark, but he always came to the front.
Strange
, she thought, hurrying to finish tying her laces. Could Di be home early? She wasn’t due back for another day, and it seemed unlikely she’d rush over to Lara’s the moment she arrived. Who else would come to the back of the house?

Just as she opened the door, she thought of one other person who had always used this entrance.

Sure enough, her ex-husband stood outside.

“So you
are
here,” he said as if they’d spoken five minutes ago, instead of months before. “Yesterday I got home from a business trip and your message was waiting for me. I tried calling all last night and again this morning but couldn’t get an answer. Isn’t your machine working?”

“It works.” Surprised by his appearance, she ran a nervous hand through her hair.
Damn.
She’d completely forgotten that she’d called him. “I have the phone unplugged...too many telemarketers.”

“You should plug it back in. Who knows how many calls you’re missing?”

“Sorry. I’ve been so busy I forgot all about it.”

A moment of awkwardness passed between them. Eventually he asked, “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

She didn’t want to but couldn’t see a way out of it without causing unnecessary friction between them. Having an ex-husband was uncomfortable enough; she didn’t want to make him her enemy. “Oh, of course. Come on in. I’ll make some coffee.”

“Wow, what have you done in here?” he asked as he stepped inside. He took a turn around the room, taking in the newly exposed brickwork.

“This is the original floor.” Expecting him to criticize her for the change, she kept her gaze fixed on the coffee carafe as she filled it with water.

He hesitated. “This was under the vinyl?”

“Yes--under several layers of it.”

Another moment passed, and she couldn’t resist asking, “So what do you think?”

“I don’t know.” His brow wrinkled as he looked around the rest of the room. “Didn’t you have a table and chairs in here the last time I stopped by?”

“I moved them into the dining room.”

He peered across the hall. “Oh. You use the dining room now?”

“Yeah, I have to, now that the table’s in there.” She was grateful for his innocuous comments but not in the mood for small talk. Dumping a scoop of coffee into a filter, she turned around to face him. “I’m afraid that I have a lot of work to do this afternoon, Ron, so we can’t make this a long visit.”

“No problem. I’m on the way to a meeting in the city.” He leaned against the counter. “So what’s this question you have about my family?”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot.” She flicked on the coffee maker, hardly able to believe she’d gone two days without thinking about the letters and the ghost. Now that Mark was out of her life, she wondered if Geoffrey would leave her alone or continue to haunt her. “It’s no big deal. I only wondered if you’d ever heard of an ancestor of yours named Mariah Sulley.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”

“Probably not.” Reaching into the cupboard for two mugs, she realized she should have known he wouldn’t have anything to tell her. He’d never shown much interest in his family history. She considered her remarks carefully, not wanting to tell him about the ghost and definitely not about the secret room. Even he might be curious about something that unusual and would probably want to see it. She didn’t want to have him in the house any longer than necessary--especially today. “I came across some letters of hers and wondered who she was.”

“Anything interesting in the letters?”

“Not really. They’re dated from the end of the nineteenth century.” She hesitated. “Would you like to have them?”

He looked down at his shoes. “I don’t have much storage space in my apartment.”

“Right. Why don’t I just keep them here for now?” To her surprise she felt relieved that he didn’t want them. If she’d had any sense she’d have been eager to get rid of them, but somehow she felt attached to Mariah.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll take them off your hands when I get a bigger place.”

“Okay.” She knew he’d never ask for them. To forestall other requests he might have in the future, she thought she’d give him an opportunity now. “While you’re here, is there anything else you left behind that you wish you’d taken? For instance, I know I have more than my share of the Christmas decorations. I don’t think you took any of the lights.”

“In the apartment I can’t really use much in the way of lights. Wait--” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Come to think of it, my mother did ask me to check with you about something she wanted. Do you remember the ceramic tree that Aunt Helen made--the one with the little plastic bulbs that light up?”

She nodded. “And I think I know right where it is, too. Let me run upstairs and take a look. Can you fix the coffee for us when it’s ready?”

“Sure thing.”

As he stepped up to the counter, she turned toward the back stairs. Wanting to end the visit as soon as possible, she hurried up to the spare bedroom where she kept the decorations. She was glad that she and Ron seemed to be getting along, but seeing him brought back all the disappointment of her failed marriage. After yesterday’s fiasco, she didn’t need any further reason to feel sad.

* * * *

Mark hadn’t slept much. He’d spent most of the night searching his brain for a way to make things right with Lara. He couldn’t stand losing her now, when he’d finally come to realize how much she meant to him. Damn it, he really wanted to be with her. Why had he ever opened his mouth up to Karen about the studio? He swore that from now on he’d never speak to that interfering bitch again.

In the morning he’d woken up feeling frantic rather than rested. If only he could convince Lara to give him a chance, he would find some way to make this up to her. In his state of mind, he wasn’t sure how. All he knew was that he needed to talk with her and try to explain.

As soon as he got up he tried calling her house again, but the phone rang without any answer. When her line had gone dead the night before he’d had a feeling she’d pulled out the cord. Presumably she’d never plugged it back in.

Throughout the morning he dialed her number every fifteen minutes but had no better luck. He had only one choice: He would have to go back to her house and hope that she’d calmed down enough to see him today.

The three miles of road between their neighborhoods had never seemed so long a drive.

What if she won’t talk to me when I get there?
he worried. What if she wouldn’t even answer the door? Even if she did, he wasn’t sure what he would say to her.

He pulled up to the house and had to park along the street because the driveway was full. Besides her car, it held a second vehicle, an unfamiliar van.

Great, she had company. He considered turning around but decided the circumstances might work in his favor. With someone else watching, she might not want to make a scene by chasing him away. Maybe she would take him aside and give him a few minutes of her time. A minute or two would be infinitely better than nothing.

Gulping down his nervousness, he parked along the road and got out of the car. He took his time walking up to the house, half-expecting her to run outside and cut him off before he got to the porch. She didn’t. He climbed the front steps and knocked at the door.

In a moment he heard the latch clicking open. His heartbeat quickened. For a split second he dared to feel hopeful. Then the door swung open to reveal a man.

Mark stared at him in surprise. Probably in his early thirties, the guy stood about average height and had a stocky build.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Mark wondered if he could be Lara’s brother but saw no resemblance to her in the man’s sandy hair and brown eyes. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. Is Lara home?”