Letters from Peaceful Lane Read online

  “That sounds like an easy choice. Do you have an investor in mind?”

  “I do—someone who’s very interested and has the resources we need. But Burke’s dragging his heels—doesn’t want anybody else to have a say in his business. I think he’s in denial. The original bank loan’s due at the first of the year. If we just let things slide, we’ll be in foreclosure.”

  Allison stared up at him, feeling as if the blood in her body had drained into the floor, leaving nothing for her heart to pump but thin, dry air. She must have swayed on her high heels because Garrett reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “We’re trying to keep it under wraps,” he said, “but you need to understand. Burke’s been under one hell of a strain.”

  “But why didn’t he tell me?” she whispered. “I’m his wife, for God’s sake, not some child who needs to be coddled and protected!”

  Garrett’s fingers were smooth and hard against her bare skin. “Knowing Burke, I’m sure he had his reasons. Right now, the best thing you can do for him is go back to the party. Be nice to his friends. Act as if nothing has happened.”

  “They don’t know?”

  “Nobody here knows except you and me. For now, consider it our little secret.” His hand lingered on her shoulder, his touch suddenly too intimate. Allison stepped away.

  “I’m going back by way of the kitchen,” she said. “If dinner’s ready, maybe you can help me seat the guests. And don’t worry about my giving anything away. I’m a good actress.”

  But as she thought about the coming ordeal of a five-course dinner, she wondered how the glassy smile on her face could fool anyone who cared enough to look. She’d counted on Burke to keep the conversation lively. Alone, surrounded by people who despised her, how could she possibly hold her own?

  Why hadn’t Burke told her the American Heartland was in trouble? How could he have let her spend money on herself, on refurbishing the house, and on this god-awful charade of a birthday party, when he was facing financial meltdown? And how could he have let her say the things she’d said to him tonight? If she’d known about the trouble, she would have understood. She would have stood by him, supported him, sacrificed anything to help him save his dream.

  If Burke had shared his concerns with her, she could have been a real wife to him. Instead, in her innocence, she’d behaved like a spoiled child! Burke’s headstrong nineteen-year-old daughter, Brianna, would’ve shown more maturity than she had, Allison chided herself. But this latest clash wasn’t all her fault. When Burke came home, the two of them would need to have a long, serious talk.

  Evanston, Illinois

  The vintage Harley-Davidson cruiser roared northward along Sheridan Road, past the Grosse Point Lighthouse and onto the side road into Evanston’s Lawson Park. Brianna clung to the driver’s leather jacket, her jeans-clad legs nestled behind his. Until six weeks ago, she had never ridden on a motorcycle. And she had never in her life known a man like Liam Shaughnessy.

  Liam Shaughnessy was twenty-three years old. He was six feet tall with tawny, shoulder-length hair, piercing blue eyes and an Irish cross tattooed on his upper left arm. He was soft-spoken and polite, but with a subtle manner about him that whispered of controlled danger. Being close to him made Brianna’s blood simmer with womanly urges.

  Not that he’d tried to sleep with her. In her time attending Northwestern, she’d survived more wrestling matches with entitled frat boys than she cared to remember. But so far, Liam hadn’t crossed the line with her. It was driving her crazy.

  Now he pulled into a near-empty row of parking spaces between the green swath of the park and the long strip of sandy beach that edged the shore of Lake Michigan. At this hour, with the last rays of the sun setting behind them, the beach was all but deserted.

  Brianna removed her helmet and shook out her russet curls. Then they yanked off their boots and socks, and raced, barefoot and laughing, across the sand. The water was cold. They stood at the edge, letting the small waves lap at their toes. When Brianna began to shiver, Liam took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, holding it in place with his arms. “Warm enough now?” he asked, nuzzling her hairline.

  “Warm enough,” she murmured, closing her eyes and leaning back against him.

  “What is it with you, Brianna Caldwell?” he asked. “Here you are, a fancy college girl with big career dreams, hanging out with a man who sleeps over a garage and had to drop out of high school to get a job. What would your father say if he knew about you and me?”

  “My father’s a fair man. He wouldn’t judge you for that.”

  “But you haven’t told him about us, have you?”

  Brianna didn’t reply. The truth was, her father would want her to find a man with an education and a future that would promise the kind of life she’d enjoyed growing up. But Liam was a good man who cared about her, and she’d fallen in love with him. How could she explain that to Burke Caldwell, who believed it was a man’s first duty to provide a bountiful life for his family?

  “I knew you hadn’t told him,” Liam answered her silence. “Don’t worry, I understand. You might want to hold off until you get the key to that new car he promised you. A BMW convertible—that’ll be one hot set of wheels.”

  “Stop it, Liam.” She pulled away and turned to face him. “You’re making me sound like a conniving, materialistic little bitch. It’s not about the car. The car is just a thing. I’m waiting for the right time, that’s all.” She glanced at her watch. “And speaking of the right time, I need to get back to the dorm. It’s my roommate’s birthday, and we’re going out for pizza. It’s my dad’s birthday too. I want to call him before we leave.”

  Brianna had her phone with her and could’ve called Burke from here. But Liam had never liked the idea of dating her behind her father’s back. That old-fashioned attitude was one of the things she loved about him. But it was also an ongoing source of friction. Making him wait while she made the call would sour the good time they’d enjoyed this afternoon.

  He caught her close and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “Wish your old man a happy birthday for me.”

  As they rode back toward the campus, Brianna clung to his back, holding on tight. She could feel his rigid muscles through the leather jacket. Liam was poor but proud; and the thought that she might be ashamed of him would be enough to drive a wedge between them.

  She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. But if she wanted to keep him, changing things would be up to her.

  Branson, The same night

  By eight fifteen, the meal was over and the guests were making excuses to leave. Allison stood at the door and spoke to each couple, her smile frozen on her face. They thanked her politely and trooped down to their cars—Ron and Debbie Ellis, who’d been friends of Burke’s since high school; Tricia Kenwood, Kate’s cousin, with her husband, Rich; Burke’s long-time fishing buddy, Hoagie Atkinson, with his wife, Cindy, and the others who’d known Burke over the years. They were probably as relieved to see the evening end as she was.

  Garrett was the last to leave. He lingered at the door as the other guests vanished into the night. “Will you be all right?” he asked, taking her hand. “If you need any help or just want to talk, I’d be happy to stay.”

  Allison shook her head. “The caterers will clean up, and I’ll be fine. If you want to help, go find Burke. Try to see that he gets some rest.”

  “I’ll do that.” His handclasp lasted an instant longer than necessary. “Get some rest yourself. You look as if you could use it.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, still smiling as if her lips had been glued into place. “I just need time for all this to sink in.”

  And it would have to sink in fast, Allison told herself as she watched him jog down the front steps to the drive. If the worst happened, she could certainly handle being poor—she’d been poor most of her life. But how would Burke survive the collapse of his company? And apart from everything else, how could she ignore the fact that her husband had kept a terrible secret from her?

  Fragments of conversation drifted up to her from the cars that were parked along the curb—laughter, bits of gossip, promises to get together in the weeks ahead; then, booming above the rest, she heard the bullhorn voice of Hoagie Atkinson.

  “Remember how we used to come back from a day on the water and Kate would toss our fish on the grill and haul the cold beer out of the fridge, and we’d sit around that old picnic table laughing our damn-fool heads off? Now there was a woman who knew how to throw a party!”

  * * *

  The phone was ringing as Allison re-entered the house. She plunged across the foyer to answer it, twisting her ankle as one stiletto heel caught the edge of the mat.

  On the fourth ring she fell against the wall, grabbed for the phone, and snatched the receiver off the hook. “Burke?” she gasped.

  “No, it’s Brianna. Where’s my dad?” Burke’s only child had not been home since the wedding. On the phone, she treated Allison more like an answering service than a member of the family.

  “Your father’s on his way back to work,” Allison said. “You might be able to reach him on his cell phone.”

  “Work? You let him go to work on his birthday?”

  “It’s not as if I had a choice, Brianna. It was an emergency.”

  There was a long silence on the line. “Well, I’ll try to call his cell,” Brianna said. “But I can’t believe he’s working tonight. Good grief, what are his managers for?”

  Allison’s left eyelid had begun to twitch, heralding what was apt to be a murderous headache. “Just in case you can’t get through, is there anything you’d like me to tell him?”

  “Just happy birthday. I sent him a pres
ent—he should be getting it in the next couple of days. Oh, and I found a car I like. I’ll have the dealer call him tomorrow.” There was a pause. Allison could hear girls’ voices in the background. “All right, I’m coming! Just hang on!” Brianna shouted, muffling the receiver. Then her voice came back. “Gotta go. You will tell him I called, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Allison’s twitch had migrated into her temple and begun to throb. “Take care of yourself, Brianna.”

  The only answer was a click. Allison sagged against the wall. From the kitchen, she could hear the caterer and his crew cleaning up the dishes. How much would Anthony’s bill be? A thousand dollars? Two thousand? She’d paid scant attention when she’d ordered the food and service. Until now, a few hundred dollars either way hadn’t mattered.

  Limping on her twisted ankle, she made it to the couch and collapsed on the black leather upholstery. Her eyes roamed the splendid great room, from the cathedral ceiling with its hand-hewn beams to the tall flagstone fireplace.

  After their wedding, Burke had given her carte blanche to decorate the two-story frame house on Peaceful Lane, with its stunning view of the lake. He had bought the property sixteen years ago and kept it after Kate’s death. When Allison had moved in, the inside was much as her predecessor had left it.

  Kate had favored homey florals, ginghams, quilted wall hangings, and framed Thomas Kinkade prints. Allison had replaced the sun-faded curtains and sheers with plantation shutters. The timeworn flowered chintz furniture and baby-blue carpet had been hauled off to Goodwill. Polished hardwood now gleamed on the floors. The black sofa and earth-tone chairs, decorated with bright red and gold cushions, were arranged around a glass coffee table in a conversational group that seemed to drift on the thick, white flokati rug.

  The walls had been stripped of their patterned paper and refinished in cool tones of ivory, pewter, and latte. Around the room, Allison had hung her precious collection of Australian Aboriginal paintings—the one thing she’d lavished money on in her single days. The Kathleen Petyarre above the fireplace—a five-foot expanse of tiny dots that looked like the surface of a rough granite slab—had cost more than her old car. These days the painting was worth three times what she’d paid. Maybe she could sell it. She would sell the whole lot of them if it would help Burke. What did it matter?

  The sound of closing doors told her the caterers were leaving by way of the kitchen. They would send her the bill in the morning. She would pay it in full, of course, along with a generous tip for the servers.

  Deep in her chest, a tangled thread of annoyance jerked into a hard knot of anger. Why hadn’t Burke told her about his problems? Why had he let her blunder ahead, spending money like a drunken sailor while his friends sneered at her extravagance?

  Why in heaven’s name hadn’t he stopped her?

  More to the point, why hadn’t she stopped herself?

  The pain in her temple had mushroomed into a blinding headache. Trying to read or watch TV until Burke came home would only make her feel worse. For now, there was nothing to do but gulp down some ibuprofen, go to bed, and try to sleep it off.

  Rousing herself from the sofa, she dragged herself up the stairs to the second-floor landing. The guest bathroom was on her right. She opened the medicine cabinet, dumped two extra-strength ibuprofen tablets into her palm, and tossed them down with a glass of water. The pills would help the pain. Too bad they couldn’t help anything else.

  Across the hall was the one room Allison had known better than to redecorate. From the stuffed animals and ruffled cushions on the bed to the old Lord of the Rings Orlando Bloom poster on the ceiling, Brianna’s bedroom remained exactly as she’d left it when she went off to college. Allison rarely ventured into her stepdaughter’s territory, but tonight, with her mind in turmoil, it seemed like a natural place to wander.

  Or maybe she craved some deeper punishment to take her mind off the pain in her head.

  The door was ajar, probably left that way by the cleaning woman when she’d finished dusting. Allison slipped into the alien space and switched on a dresser lamp with a ruby glass shade. The reddish glow cast Brianna’s childhood collection of stuffed unicorns, dragons, and other mythical creatures into monster shadows on the walls.

  It was a child’s room, a teenager’s room, a young woman’s room, every corner crammed with the memorabilia of growing up. Allison had never known such a room. Her own single mother had dragged her from job to job, from town to town. Life had been a string of dingy furnished apartments and motel rooms, her childhood treasures whatever could be crammed into a cardboard box and tossed into the back seat of a rusty Chevrolet Impala.

  She would have died for a room like this, a place to keep and call her own.

  Brianna was nineteen now, a striking young woman with her mother’s red hair and her father’s chiseled features and long-limbed stature. She’d been accepted into a prestigious journalism program at Northwestern University, where she was working toward a career as a TV reporter.

  Allison’s eyes roamed over the shelves of books and CDs, the photo albums, the school yearbooks—finally coming to rest where they always did, on the eight-by-ten leather-framed photograph that sat on top of the bookcase.

  Brianna, she suspected, had left the photo out as a gesture, to remind her new stepmother that this was, and always would be, her family. The three figures in the informal portrait were standing on a dock with a boat behind them and a huge, black Newfoundland dog at their feet. A younger Burke, ruggedly handsome in jeans and a faded polo, stood with one arm around his carrot-topped twelve-year-old daughter and the other arm around his wife.

  Kate.

  In recent months, Allison had begun to identify with the heroine of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca—the young second wife, overshadowed by her glamorous predecessor. But Katherine O’Malley Caldwell was no Rebecca. Her photographic image showed a short, almost dumpy-looking woman whose baggy blue CHIEFS sweatshirt hung over a waist that had already begun to thicken with early middle age. Her wind-tossed cinnamon hair was touched with gray at the temples, her skin spattered with freckles and etched with laugh lines. Her generous, unpainted mouth had been caught in an impish grin.

  Now there was a woman who knew how to throw a party!

  Head still pounding, Allison turned away from the photo, switched off the lamp, and wandered down the hall toward the master bedroom. When she’d married Burke—the ceremony a romantic dream in the hilltop chapel at Big Cedar—her friends had told her she was fortunate to be getting a widower. No ex-wife to deal with. Wasn’t she lucky? But there were times, like tonight, when she wished she could call Kate on the phone and invite her to a long, chatty, insightful lunch. Maybe it would help her understand why Burke had shut her out of his life.

  The silent phone mocked her from the nightstand as she struggled to unzip the back of her dress—a job she’d planned for Burke. Her skimpy new black lace teddy, along with the black satin sheets on the bed, were to be part of his birthday gift. She’d imagined letting him unwrap her like a present, then pulling him down onto the pillows for a night of slow, sensuous loving.

  Not tonight, dear, I have a headache . . . After wiping off her makeup, Allison let the dress collapse around her ankles, stepped out of her shoes, unpinned her hair, and slipped between the watery layers of satin. Burke might not be home until tomorrow—there was a room above the agency office for when he had to stay in town. But, damn it, the least he could do was call and give her a chance to make things right—if they could ever be right again.

  She slept fitfully, distracted by the rain outside, the slithering sheets on the bed, and her own warring emotions. What should she do when Burke came home? Confront him and demand an explanation? Apologize and melt in his arms? Play innocent and hope he’d decide to be honest with her? There was no good resolution to this kind of betrayal.

  At eleven fifteen, with her nerves in tatters, she reached for the phone, punched in the first six digits of his cell number, hesitated, then changed her mind and hung up. Trying to talk with Burke at a bad time would only make things worse. Wait for his call; that would be the smart thing to do. Sooner or later it would come. He almost always phoned her when he was going to be late.