The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) (19 page)

But her heart
seemed to be a wellspring of saltwater, and it came climbing up her throat
until she felt she was drowning. She clamped her hand over her mouth, watching
herself in the mirror, and cried silently, hoping she could get herself back
under control. Shouldn't she be past this by now? Shouldn't she be moving on
like Greg so obviously was ... willing to uproot and do something different?
She felt mired in a murky pool of hurt and lost hope and had no idea how to get
past it.

Finally she
splashed water on her face again and dried it, then went back to the kitchen to
help Barbara finish the clean up.

"Who was
that on the phone, dear?" Barbara asked. She stood at the sink scrubbing
the huge roaster that had been a part of every holiday gathering Cara had ever
been a part of in this family, regardless of what might have been cooked for
the meal.

"Oh, sorry.
It was Greg calling," she said, trying to make her voice sound light and
unconcerned. She gathered napkins to take to the laundry room, but ventured a
quick look at her mother-in-law.

Barbara had
stopped the scrubbing and half-turned to look at Cara. "Oh?" she
asked.

Cara nodded
tightly, then moved toward the laundry room. "Said to tell you he called
with Thanksgiving wishes and to save him some pecan pie," she called over
her shoulder.

There was a long
pause, and Cara knew Barbara was pressing her lips together in a tight line and
nodding in that way she did when nervous. "Okay. I will," she said,
and turned back to the sink just as Cara came back from the laundry.

"You want
me to dry?" she asked.

Barbara nodded
again. "Oh, sure." She passed the roaster to Cara, then dived back
into the dishwater in search of something else to wash.

Silence seemed
the go-to tactic in this situation, and it held sway again, stretching out
between the women as they worked side-by-side. So unusual, Cara thought.
Normally, they'd be chatting up the Black Friday ads, or recipes, or something,
but hardly ever did this strained silence stretch between them.

Cara hated what
this was doing to her entire family.

"I'm okay,
Barbara," she said quietly, but didn't look at her.

Barbara didn't
look either, but put great deal of concentration into washing a gravy ladle
spotlessly clean. "No, you aren't, love," she said, just as quietly,
but with much more conviction than Cara's statement had held.

It broke the
dam, and to Cara's horror, she began to cry again. Tears rolled down her cheeks
as she dried the ladle like they had complete dominion over her will. It was
undoing. For so many years she'd trained herself to control her emotions and
keep a tight rein on what she allowed others to see of her true thoughts. But
there was no discipline for this, no strength of will that could stop it from
overwhelming her. She covered her face with the tea towel and let it have its
hateful way with her.

Barbara made a
clucking sound, dried her hands quickly on the apron stretched across her
belly, and gathered Cara into a hug. "Oh, honey ... I've known you were
not okay."

"I'm not,
Barbara," she warbled into the towel. "I'm miserable and not okay at
all."

"Shh, now.
It's going to be all right," Barbara told her, patting her like she might
a child.

"It's not,
though," Cara said, removing the towel from her face to argue her point.
"He's out there interviewing for a job. He's going to up and move to
California and leave me here. How can he do that?" she whispered.

Barbara's face
was lined with worry. "We don't know that yet. They might not even offer
him the job. He's only interviewing," she said, trying to be hopeful.

Cara sank back
into Barbara's embrace like a child might, seeking comfort, assurance, just
anything that might make her feel better. She was completely beyond pride,
denial, or even worry about her children in the other room hearing her crying.
Purely selfish, purely survivalist, it was all about her and her fears, her
pain, and doing what she could to get through it at this point.

Barbara did the
best she knew how, but it was all just placating and empty assurances. She
didn't have any idea that Greg might not take the job if offered it, though she
tried to tell Cara that. But what did it matter really, whether he was here or
there? They hadn't spoken in nearly a month before today. Proximity had little
to do with the gulf between them.

Cara did her
best to shore up her defenses and get her crying jag under control. She'd
fallen quite handily off her
Stepford
Wife perch and
didn't think she'd ever regain that long held ability to pull a stiff upper lip
and fool anyone. It was gone, forgotten, and she found that, except for her
children, she simply didn't have it in her to worry anymore about what the
world thought of her decisions, her life.

The ride home
was unusually quiet. Whether from stomachs full of turkey and pecan pie, or a touch
of sadness for the loneliness of this Thanksgiving, her kids were nearly silent
all the way home. Cara pulled into the garage and killed the engine and was
about to get out of the car when Maddie stopped her.

"Mom?"

Cara had picked
up her purse and unbuckled her seat belt, but paused before opening the car
door. "Yes?"

Maddie looked at
her with a genuine concern shining in her brown eyes. "What were you
crying about at Nana's house?"

Ryan, who
normally might have been in the house and halfway up the staircase by now, sat
eyeing her from the backseat. The garage door opener offered little light, but
it didn't take much to see the worry in her kids' faces.

Cara exhaled a
long deep breath. It felt like she'd been holding that breath for about six
months now, just waiting. Waiting to admit to herself that she was in love with
Greg, waiting to get caught by the kids, waiting to tell Barbara, waiting for
the censure of the world. All for the great crime of loving Greg Brooks. She
set her purse back on the console between herself and Maddie, then half-turned
in the seat so she might look at both of them.

"I was
crying because I'm in love with your uncle, and he's possibly moving to
California for a new job," she said, done with being dishonest with her
kids. Her reserves were empty. She had no more heart for deceit or hiding. This
was who she was. If they found they couldn't handle it or didn't love her
because of it ... well, she'd simply have to seek some kind of help for them.
She was tired of trying to act like she had all the answers.

Ryan slumped
back against the seat and looked sullen. It was less than she might have
expected, given his recent hysterics about the subject. Cara tried really hard
to ignore it.

"Are you
guys still seeing one another?" Maddie asked timidly.

"Not
much," Cara said. "But that doesn't mean I don't still love
him."

"I hope he
goes," Ryan said.

"Shut up,
Ryan," Maddie said, turning around from the front seat to shoot irritation
at him from narrowed eyes.

"You shut
up, Maddie," he said right back. "Why'd you even have to bring him
up?"

"I didn't
bring him up. I asked Mom what she was crying about, and she told me. Why can't
you pull your head out of your ass and act like you're more than a
four-year-old brat?"

"Why does
it make me a brat because I don't want my mom to be in love with my
uncle?" he asked plaintively. "I freakin'
don't get
what you
don't get about that."

"Why does
it matter to you who she loves as long as she's happy?" Maddie asked.

Ryan had no
ready reply for Maddie, but he was thinking about what she'd asked, Cara could
see. She watched this play out between her kids, knowing that any honest
communication was better than none, even if it was painful.

Maddie's voice
dropped lower, less provoking. "What do you expect her to do with the rest
of her life, Ryan? Sit here and mourn for Dad? Cry all day and be sad? Is that
what you want for her?"

"No,"
he said, defensive. "I want it to be like it was. Mom and Dad together and
happy. There's just something jacked up about her dating his brother. It's
cheating," he said, gathering a head of steam again.

"That's
crap, Ryan. And you need to stop putting Dad on some stupid pedestal, like he
was perfect. He wasn't."

"None of us
is perfect," Cara said, trying for the middle ground, smoothing the fracas
a little.

"Dad was
pretty damned close. And he wouldn't have done this to you, Mom. If you had
been the one who died, Dad would never have dated your sister if you'd had
one," Ryan told her.

"Whatever,
Ryan. You have no idea what you're talking about," Maddie said
dismissively.

"Bullshit,
Maddie. Dad was honorable to a fault. This shit is just jacked up," he
said, flinging a hand in Cara's direction.

Maddie's eyes
went hard. "Just who do you think that woman was? The one in the car with
Dad the night he died, Ryan?" she asked, making Cara's heart drop through
her stomach. The silence roared in her ears in the quiet of the car.

Ryan looked back
and forth between his sister and mom. "What are you talking about?"

Cara looked at
Maddie intensely, her breath held, heart stammering in her chest. She shook her
head slightly, a small but powerful signal to Maddie to stop. Maddie shook her
head right back, reading her mother's mind.

"It's time
he found out, Mom," she said, sounding so certain and grown up. She turned
back to look at her brother. "The woman in the car with Dad the night he
died was his
girlfriend
, Ryan," she said. She didn't coddle it and
clean it up. She didn't even temper her voice, but delivered it with a straight
face and more
honesty
than Cara had used in her
dealings with Ryan ... maybe ever. It humbled her to be so championed, so
protected by her daughter.

Ryan turned a
fierce expression on his mother. "Is that true?" he demanded.

Cara closed her eyes,
wanting to delay the inevitable for a heartbeat longer ... for forever.

"Answer me,
Mom. Is it true?"

She opened her
eyes and nodded. "It's true, Ryan. I'm sorry. I didn't want you guys to
ever know it."

Ryan leaned his head
back against the cushion, eyes squeezed shut, his Adam's apple bobbing in his
throat, and they were all quiet for a moment, as if they were noting the
passing of an era.  And it was in Cara's mind.  A passing of her
children's innocence. After a time, Ryan sat up and shook his head sadly.
Without another word, he got out of the car and went into the house, closing
the door quietly behind him.

Cara and Maddie
sat in the dark now, the automatic light on the garage door opener having timed
out. Hushed and cocooned from the rest of the world, Cara leaned her head back
against the headrest and closed her eyes for another moment.

"When did
you find out?" she finally asked.

Maddie shrugged.
"I don't know exactly. I don't remember. It just sorta came to me that
that's who she was. The paper reported she had the same address as Dad's work
apartment up there. It made sense."

"I'm sorry,
Maddie," Cara said, reaching across the console for Maddie's hand.

Maddie dashed
her other hand at tears streaming down her face. "It's not your fault,
Mom."

"I know,
but I didn't want you guys to ever know."

"But it's
really
not your fault. You know that, right?" Maddie turned to face her, and Cara
could see the trail of tears on her face from the porch
light's
dim offering beyond the open garage door.

"Well, I
know that you didn't hear it from me. I've never told a soul what I figured out
... what I knew about her."

"No, I
didn't hear it from you. I used to hear Dad talking on his phone to someone
sometimes when you weren't around. I could tell it was another woman. And he
was always pretty secretive about it. I had my suspicions then. And when there
was a woman in the car with him in the accident ... well, I just couldn't let
go of needing to know who she was. It was something I
had
to know."

Cara sighed for
the loss of naiveté, her heart breaking for her children's grief. "I'm
sorry, Maddie."

"Don't be,
Mom. It's really, really not your fault. I quit believing Dad's BS a long time
ago." Maddie wiped her nose and sniffed.

"Your dad
had his faults, Maddie, but he loved you and Ryan so very much," Cara told
her, trying to undo some of the damage she hadn't even known Maddie was dealing
with all these months.

She nodded.
"I know he did. And I loved him, too. But I don't want you to ruin the
rest of your life sitting here mourning him like he was some perfect specimen
of honesty and fidelity and goodness. He was just a man ... and far from
perfect. I think you ought to move on, Mom."

Cara studied her
for a long moment, wondering when her daughter had grown up, had become this
level-headed young woman who, at the moment, had more wisdom than her mother.