CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

"You absolutely mortified our daughter," Neal said after several minutes of icy silence. His fingers drummed angrily on the Explorer's steering wheel as they waited for the dance to be over. "I'd be surprised if she ever forgives you." Sending her a suspicious glance, he added, "And all because you had a ‘feeling'?" Disbelief and anger colored his words. "There had to be something more for you to come that unglued!"

What could she say? "I was just worried."

"Beyond worried!" he threw back at her. "Everyone who has a kid in this school is worried, but did you see anyone else bullying their way inside and racing through the gym with their hair on fire? No! Just you, Brooke. Just you!" He pounded the steering wheel with a fist. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit! You've been acting like a crazy person for weeks!" He let out a long breath. "Or maybe even months."

She didn't respond.

"I feel like I don't even know you anymore," he admitted and watched the headlights of a pickup as the truck bounced into the lot.

"Maybe you never did," she said.

Other cars began to appear, creating a line of idling vehicles as it neared time for the dance to be over.

"Jesus, how did this happen?" he asked, but it was a rhetorical question that didn't require an answer. So Brooke remained silent, her eyes trained on the gym doors, her thoughts returning to the beginning with Neal. Maybe it was true what they say, that if you cheat with someone, you can never trust that person. Ever. Once a cheater, always a cheater. In their case the old saying cut both ways. But until Jennifer Adkins came along, neither Neal nor Brooke had crossed that invisible line of adultery in their marriage.

Well, as least as far as she knew.

She could only speak for herself.

There were times in the past when she'd suspected Neal was involved with someone else, though she'd never had concrete proof. In any case, though her suspicions had lingered nothing had ever come of it.

As for her?

She'd never looked at another man.

Until she found out about Jennifer Adkins.

And then all bets were off.

Brooke had heard rumors, a whisper at the company picnic when she'd first met the tall brunette with a retro shag haircut, her bangs fringing her huge brown eyes. She'd seemed shy and sultry, but Brooke had noticed how she'd lit up around Neal. While sitting at a picnic table drinking iced tea, Brooke had witnessed how he'd gone out of his way to be friendly to the newest member of the staff.

Then again, during the Christmas party at one of the partner's homes on Lake Union. When Brooke had finally extricated herself from a knot of wives whose conversation had turned to some charity art function, she couldn't find her husband. After a short search she'd discovered him alone with Jennifer on the deck facing the lake, smiling and laughing, standing a little too close, she thought. When the brunette caught sight of Brooke approaching, she'd taken a step back, her smile fading for a second before it widened again as she said, "Hi," before making an excuse about refilling her wineglass.

"What's the deal with her?" Brooke had asked.

"What?"

"Well, you're out here and it's what? Forty degrees?"

"Oh. She wanted to see where Troy Brent lives and you can see his home from here." He pointed across the lake. "It's the house all lit up, triple boathouse—there, to the left of those huge trees. See it? With the huge star on the roof?" He leaned close to her, adjusting her shoulders so she was facing the lake. "Jenny is working with Troy. Well, not directly with him, but on his account." Troy Brent was one of the firm's biggest clients. Neal wrapped one arm around her and extended his arm, pointing to the largest house on the other side of the lake, but Brooke spun away.

"I know where the Brent complex is," she said. "You've shown it to me before."

"Oh, right."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Neal?" she asked.

He had the audacity to look innocent. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, with the newbie. Jennifer."

"Nothing." He actually smiled. "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "And don't patronize me. I'm not an idiot," she'd said, then stormed into the house, plucked a drink from a waiter's tray, and tossed back the wine. A moment later she spied Jennifer giving her the side-eye from a spot near the grand piano, where a pianist was taking requests and currently playing "Hallelujah."

Brooke left her empty glass on an ornate table, then walked to the front closet, found her coat, and didn't wait for Neal, who caught up with her in the circular drive. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, obviously upset.

"What does it look like? I'm leaving."

"But you can't. Not yet."

"Watch me!"

She reached into her purse for her key ring, then swore under her breath as she remembered she didn't have a key to his damned Range Rover.

"Brooke," he said more softly, and she let out her breath to watch it fog in the cold night air. "Come back in. I've got clients here. It's important."

She didn't want to but told herself that somehow she would get through the night. "Another hour."

"Yes. Sure. That'll do."

The rest of the night he remained by her side. Though she was wound tight, forcing a smile, sipping champagne, half listening to conversation. She heard as if from a great distance the piano renditions of "White Christmas" and "Jingle Bell Rock." She was aware of Jennifer Adkins's every move as she worked the room. Jennifer talked easily to the senior partners, engaged their wives, smiled, and fit in easily.

It was Brooke who felt like an outsider.

Still, she might have relaxed a little, but she noticed that whatever room she and Neal entered, Jennifer soon followed. Casually. At a distance.

A coincidence?

Brooke didn't believe that.

The hour went by excruciatingly slowly. As people laughed and glasses clinked and some, lubricated by liquor, sang the lyrics of the Christmas carols being played, Brooke counted the seconds.

Neal was at ease, and when she pointed out it was time to leave, he held up a hand until he'd finished his conversation with a junior partner and finally said his goodbyes.

Jennifer watched them go and—God, did she blow a kiss at Neal as she waved goodbye? Surely not. Brooke must've imagined it, but in the car on the way home, she barely spoke a word to Neal and then, two months later, she saw the text message and realized her husband had been unfaithful.

Tonight? At Harvey's? Can you get away?

Her stomach had dropped and she'd followed Neal to the bar seven blocks away from their house. After parking around the corner and crossing the street to the small tavern, she peered through the window. Quickly scanning the large room, she saw the two of them huddled in a booth near the back. They were close together, Neal's arm over Jennifer's shoulders. She leaned into him and tilted up her head for a kiss that he delivered so tenderly Brooke felt her heart crack. She backed up, stomach churning, and ran into a parking meter.

No!Her mind had screamed. No, no, no!

She'd suspected of course. All those late nights when he was "at work." But to be confronted with the bald truth was jarring. The door to the establishment opened, and for a split second she thought about striding inside and confronting her husband and the shrew who was with him, but as the door swung closed behind two men in similar Seahawks jackets and caps, she changed her mind.

What was the old saying? Something about revenge being best when served cold?

Well, she was hot at the moment. White hot with a fury only tempered by a sudden, icy onslaught of fear. What if Neal left her? What if he was emotionally entwined with this woman? What if the affair—if indeed their relationship had become sexual—was more than physical? What if, God forbid, her marriage, which had seemed to be foundering recently, was over? What about Marilee? Young, impressionable, on the brink of womanhood? Oh. No.

Brooke's stomach twisted as she stumbled backward, lurching onto the street, and slipping into a puddle. A passing car honked, nearly hitting her. It splashed up a sheet of icy water, drenching her clothes.

She didn't care and stared dully as the car flew down the street, taillights winking bright red. Tears blurring her vision, pain cutting to her soul, she stumbled back to her own vehicle, unlocked it, and before slipping into the interior, threw up on the asphalt.

"Shit." She fell back onto the seat and tried to pull herself together.

So Neal lied about work and met a woman at a bar.

So she saw him kissing that woman.

That didn't necessarily mean her life as she knew it was over. It just meant her husband was on the cusp of cheating on her—well, maybe beyond the cusp. But it wasn't the end of the world. Lots of marriages survived setbacks, including infidelity.

Big deal.

She turned on the ignition but let the car, lights on, idle as she pounded her head against the steering wheel. How had this happened? What had she done wrong? Had she been so disinterested in Neal that he'd felt compelled to—

No, no, no!

This is not your fault!

Brooke Fletcher Harmon, do not take the blame for Neal's weakness.

And don't accept the role of victim.

You're strong.

You can handle this.

Haven't you always done what you were called upon to do?

When Mama was sick and dying? Didn't you handle it, accept it, tamp down your own fear and heartache for the sake of Nana and Leah?

Yes, her grandmother eventually took control, but in those first few weeks of her daughter's diagnosis, even Brooke's gritty little grandmother had stumbled when faced with the loss of her child. As ever, Mary O'Hara had turned to God for answers and advice. She had stumbled, her grief and despair nearly swallowing her. Until the old priest came to the house a week after the funeral, when Mary, Brooke, and Leah had watched the coffin be lowered into a neat pit cut into the manicured lawn of the cemetery. They had all tossed white roses onto the casket, and Nana was like a zombie, only aware enough to whisper prayers.

She hadn't functioned, accepting visitors with casseroles and cakes as if in a fog, while Brooke kept track of who had come to offer condolences and meals. It was only after the old priest had visited and comforted her, somehow reaching the woman shrouded in grief, that Nana had returned to them.

Yes, Nana's emotional breakdown was short-lived, but in those few weeks, Brooke, as a teenager, had held the little family together.

As she stared through the windshield to the city street, it began to rain again, at first only a few drizzling drops, then faster and faster. Silently, she told herself that she could handle Neal's attraction to another woman. She'd find a way. No matter what it took.

She had to.

For her own sanity.

And for her daughter's well-being.

Marilee deserved better.

And so did she.

Washing out her mouth with a half-empty, watered-down Diet Coke in the cup holder, she spat on the street. Then, with renewed determination, she started the SUV, pulled onto the street, and pushed down any remaining shreds of self-pity. No way would she let some upstart young attorney ruin her life.

Even if she was beautiful and had her sights set on Neal.

No damned way.