The Scarlet Thread (7 page)

said, her fury far exceeding the incident. Swinging around, she

went back into the master bedroom and plunked down on the bed.

Alex came in a moment later, tight-lipped. “We’re going out

for a while.”

“Out?”

“For an hour or two. To talk business.”

She clenched her hands, wanting to scream. “Is Clanton back

from his swim?” she said with icy sweetness.

He stalked across the room. “You can sit nice and cozy where

you are and keep an eye on him while you’re sulking.”

Raw and exhausted, she looked at him. “What about groceries, or will there be enough pizza left for breakfast?”

“If you look out the front gate, you’ll see the back of one of the

biggest supermarkets in North Hollywood. You’ve got a car, and

you’ve got the checkbook. Get what you need.” He went to the

door and stopped. He uttered a soft curse and slammed the heel

of his fist against the frame. “I’m sorry,” he said bleakly.

Blinking back tears, she looked away.

“This is only temporary, Sierra.”

Still she said nothing.

“I’ll hook up the TV before we leave.”

“Great. That’ll be a real comfort,” she muttered under her

breath as he left the room. A few moments later she watched him

walk by the bedroom window with Steve and Matt. They were

so intent on their conversation that he didn’t even spare a glance

at her. She was already forgotten.

Clanton and Carolyn were asleep in bed before he returned.

“An hour or two?” she said when he walked in the door.

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. “We had

a lot to talk about.”

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She snapped off the television. She hadn’t even been paying

attention to what she was watching, so intent was she on the

time. “It’s after midnight, Alex. I’ve been worried sick. You

could’ve called.”

“I would’ve if I could’ve remembered the number. We’re unlisted.”

An excuse, not an apology. “I’m going to bed,” she said in a

choked voice and left him standing in the living room.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then went into the

bedroom to undress. Alex came in as she was pulling on her

nightgown. “It’s been a long day,” he said.

“The longest of my life.”

She got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, staring

up at the dark ceiling. She heard the whisper of clothing as Alex

undressed. The bed dipped slightly when he sat down on it. He

didn’t say anything more. What could he say? Swallowing hot

tears, she turned her back to him while he set the alarm clock.

When he lay back, he let his breath out slowly.

She felt his hand curve over her hip and squeeze slightly. “I’m

sorry.”

His apology brought a rush of feelings and a flood of tears. She

dug her fingers into her pillow, trying to stifle her sobs. Alex

turned to her. Curving his body around hers, he pulled her into

him, holding her firmly when she resisted his comfort. He

stroked her long hair back and kissed the curve of her neck. “I

love you.”

She cried harder.

He turned her to him gently. “Trust me,” he said raggedly and

kissed her, comforting her in the only way he knew how.

And for a while, Sierra was able to forget everything but the

fact that she loved Alejandro Madrid above all else.

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A R M E D W I T H A M A P A N D A N A D D R E S S , S I E R R A S E T

off to enroll the children in school. She missed a turn and got lost.

By the time she found what she was looking for, she and the children had seen North Hollywood, a portion of Studio City, eaten

at a McDonald’s, and toured most of Sherman Oaks and San

Fernando Valley. They arrived and entered the school building

just as the bell rang to end the day.

Children poured out of classrooms and filled the hallway. The

cacophony of squeaking tennis shoes, friends calling to friends,

and the general rush for the buses assaulted them. Carolyn

clutched frantically at Sierra’s hand as they went against the flow,

while Clanton plowed ahead and led the way to the main office.

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tired and ready to go home. “Fill these out,” she said briskly and

went in to speak with the principal. Returning, she informed

Sierra that Clanton would be in Mr. Cannon’s fourth-grade class

and Carolyn in Mrs. Lindstrom’s third grade.

“Both teachers have after-school meetings today, so you’ll

have to wait to meet them until tomorrow morning. School starts

at eight-thirty.” The secretary turned the forms around and

looked them over. “Kling Street,” she said. “That’s only a few

blocks from here.” Sierra’s face went hot with humiliation at the

disclosure.

“We have a list of parents who take turns walking their children to school each day.”

“I’ll be driving mine,” Sierra said, unwilling to entrust her

children to anyone. Clanton groaned expressively, and she

gave him a quelling look.

Back in the car, she sat studying the map before starting the

engine. She didn’t want to get lost again and end up in Watts this

time.

Alex laughed when she told him about it. “I wondered where

you were,” he said. “I called twice today and got no answer. I was

afraid you’d packed up and gone back to Windsor.”

She didn’t think his remark amusing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, leaning his hip against the

counter. “My first trip down here, I had an appointment in

Burbank. I got on the wrong freeway and ended up in Agoura.

It’s not hard to do.”

His words were hardly comforting.

They went to Steven’s house for dinner. Alex’s new boss had

even made arrangements for a professional babysitter to look

after Clanton and Carolyn. She came complete with references

and a list of classes in first aid that she had completed at

Northridge.

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Alex found his way to their Sherman Oaks home without difficulty. Steven answered the door and ushered them into a spacious, elegantly decorated living room. His wife, Audra, was

perfectly charming and courteous, but Sierra felt an undercurrent of disdain that nullified the show of warmth and hospitality.

Audra wore a fine, lacquered veneer of friendliness, leaving Sierra to wonder at what lay beneath the flawless surface.

Alex seemed perfectly at ease with both of them, making Sierra wonder if she was imagining the crosscurrents and undertow. But within the course of the first ten minutes of

conversation, she knew it was not her imagination. Somehow

Sierra had been made fully aware that Audra was a graduate of

USC who had studied—and mastered—liberal arts and who had

been a member of one of the more prestigious sororities.

Then Audra turned her perfect, elegant gaze on Sierra and

asked where she’d gone to college. It was the first time in Sierra’s

life that she was embarrassed to admit she had only graduated

from high school and finished a year at a secretarial college.

“Oh,” Audra said, looking utterly taken aback. There was a

brief, mortifying lapse in conversation, until Steve jumped in.

“Do you like the theater, Sierra?”

“I haven’t been to many plays.”

“What have you seen?” Audra inquired, her eyes lighting with

interest.

“Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat,”
she said, not

telling Audra it had been a high school production. “And a few

concerts,” she added, which was true—in just the last six months

she’d gone to a country western concert and to hear a few Christian singers who had visited local Santa Rosa churches. Of

course, she didn’t think Audra needed to know the details.

And yet, even without the details, the other woman laughed.

“Well, we’ll have to correct that. Los Angeles has a great deal of

culture to offer.”

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While the men talked business, Audra gave Sierra a rundown

of the current cultural events. It seemed she had attended every

major play and concert in the area and had a critique for each

one. She quickly reviewed every theater company and artist currently performing, until Sierra wondered if she was dining with a

normal woman or with some odd, sophisticated, upper-class

incarnation of Siskel and Ebert.

Dinner proved spectacular. Any critic of fine cuisine would

have given Audra a ten-star rating. She accepted all compliments

with an air of casual amusement, skillfully turning the discussion

to restaurants. Audra knew all the finest. She also knew where to

shop for the highest quality meats, vegetables, and fruit. Prices

never came up.

Sierra glanced at Alex and saw he was impressed with everything—especially with Audra. Was that the kind of wife he

wanted now? Depressed, she ate the fluffy spinach soufflé. It

melted in her mouth and made her heart sink into her stomach.

What on earth was she going to serve these people for a reciprocal dinner? Her specialty was meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

Oh,
that
would go over big! Or perhaps Clanton and Carolyn’s

favorite: tuna casserole. There was a meal custom-designed to

impress high society!

“You were pretty quiet tonight,” Alex said on the drive home.

In her mind, she had been busily packing and moving back to

Windsor. She didn’t appreciate his interruption of her daydream.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Audra was trying to make you feel

welcome.”

“Is that what she was trying to do?” she snapped, surprised

herself at the coldness in her tone.

Mouth tightening, Alex stared straight ahead, the headlights

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from the oncoming traffic casting a glow over his handsome features. “She was offering to take you under her wing.”

“I’m not a chicken.”

“Give it a break, Sierra. She grew up down here. She could

show you around.”

“I’ll remember to thank her properly next time, but I’ll find

my own way around, thank you very much. You gave me a

map, remember?”

“A lot of good that did. At least try not to get lost again. I won’t

have the time to come find you in the middle of the day.”

They didn’t say another word to each other for the rest of the

drive home. In fact, they said very little to one another over the

next week. Alex left early, came home late, and always brought

work with him. They shared a perfunctory “How’d your day

go?” “Fine. And you?” “Fine”—and then he would settle in

front of the television, studying the papers he spread out over

the coffee table while she cleaned up the dinner dishes, saw to

the children’s baths, read them stories, and tucked them into

bed.

It was a perfect life—for someone who adored misery.

Ten days and four telephone calls to her mother later, Sierra

received a package in the mail.

“What’s this?” Alex said, picking up a worn leather book from

the coffee table before he spread his work across it.

“It’s a journal. Mom sent it as a housewarming present.”

He handed it to her.

“It looks old.”

“It is,” she said warmly. “It belonged to an ancestor of mine.

Mary Kath—”

“Mm-hm,” he replied absently, cutting her off as he turned to

concentrate on the papers spread out in front of him. “That’s

nice.”

Hurt swept over her at his casual dismissal. It shouldn’t have

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