Change of Heart (12 page)

“Evelyn? What’s going on?”

The look of panic on her face scared him. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it
 
—hard. Was she having a heart attack? Should he call 911?

“You’re lost in thought, Whit.”

Maggie’s voice yanked him from the past, away from the first time he discovered Evelyn suffered from severe anxiety disorder, the first time he truly understood what a panic attack was.

Maggie smiled, but she had to be annoyed he’d been, as usual, a less-than-engaging conversationalist. This whole thing was a bad idea.

“Sorry. Lots going on.”

Maggie stared at him over one of the house specials
 
—burger and fries. “You might feel better if you talk about it.”

She was wrong. Talking never made him feel better.

“You’re really caught up in the middle of this thing, aren’t you?” Maggie doused a french fry in ketchup, then tossed it in her mouth. “I bet it’s hard, being friends with both of them.”

She was perceptive, he’d give her that. Maybe a little
too
perceptive. He didn’t want someone dissecting his feelings.

“It’s complicated.” He sucked in a drink of his chocolate shake and swallowed without tasting.

Maggie covered his hand with hers. “Well, they’re both lucky to have you.”

Yeah, I’m the guy who’s been in love with his best friend’s wife since the day I met her. They sure are lucky.

“You seem worried. I mean, I don’t blame you. Chris will probably go to jail and no one really knows if Evelyn was involved.”

“She wasn’t.” Trevor turned his glass in a circle.

“But you’re still worried?”

Maybe Maggie was right, and he should talk to someone about the situation. Not about all of it
 
—definitely not about his feelings
 
—but he had reason to be worried.

The image of Evelyn slumped in the chair in the lobby of Chris’s apartment building, struggling for breath, rushed through his mind. He didn’t know much about anxiety disorders, but if it had that kind of hold on her, it couldn’t be good.

“I’m losing you again.” She ate another fry.

“Evelyn’s . . . fragile, I guess.”

Maggie’s brow furrowed as a confused look spread across her face. “How so?”

“Anxiety. She has these attacks.”

“Like panic attacks?”

Trevor drew in a breath. He’d promised himself he was done interfering. “You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“Okay. But I would be worried too, Trevor,” Maggie said. “I hope you’re right and she’s not involved with this mess.”

“She’s not.”

Maggie stopped chewing. “But you said you don’t really run in the same circles anymore. How do you know that for sure?”

Something inside him sparked, and he fought the need to defend Evelyn. “I think she’s just got a lot of stress right now.”

“I’m not trying to be argumentative,” Maggie said, turning her attention back to her plate. “I just think it’s worth considering. It’s hard to believe she lived with him all this time and didn’t know any of this was going on.”

Trevor pushed his half-eaten burger away, his appetite gone.

Maggie frowned. “You’re upset.”

He shook his head. “I just don’t like talking about my friends, is all.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. “Suit yourself. What kind of dessert are you buying me?”

CHAPTER

T
REVOR NEVER FULLY RECOVERED
from the line of questioning during his so-called date with Maggie, and since he had little to no tolerance for pretending, it had no doubt been obvious to her that he wasn’t as removed from the Chris/Evelyn situation as he’d led her to believe. Or rather, as he’d led himself to believe.

He did know one thing, though: he was a lousy date.

The night ended abruptly as he fumbled an awkward good-bye, no promise of another phone call or conversation. She probably thought he was a jerk.

And he was. A jerk with someone else on his mind.

He should’ve known better. Had his relationship with Rachel taught him nothing? He had no business getting involved with anyone else.

He’d first met Rachel at the farmers’ market downtown. Turned out she and her mom and sister never missed one, and when they spotted Trevor, they started making a point to frequent the Whitney Farms booth.

She’d been everything he could’ve wanted in a wife
 
—beautiful and kind and smart. She had an infectious laugh that he could still sometimes hear echoing at the back of his mind. He’d loved her in a way, but when it came down to it and she asked him if he was ready to commit to their relationship, he’d hesitated long enough to give her the answer that broke her heart.

The look on her face had nearly killed him. He couldn’t let that happen again.

He drove home from Barb’s in silence, and as often happened in the quiet of a dark truck, he started to pray. For Evelyn. For wisdom. For forgiveness.

He’d wrestled for years with coveting what Chris had in Evelyn, and he begged God to forgive him almost daily. He’d go long patches without thinking about Evelyn or about what he didn’t have, but then he’d see her in the grocery store or read a story about Senator Brandt and his beautiful wife in the newspaper.

Loves Park’s reigning king and queen.

“She’s not mine to love, God, but I can’t abandon her. Not now.” The words trickled out as a whisper, and he prayed God would understand the position Trevor found himself in.

No answer came. Nothing that told him to flee. Nothing that told him to be there for her. “I guess I’m on my own, huh?”

On his own with what he already knew
 
—that he had to keep his motives in check, and that meant resisting the urge to tell her to get as far away from Chris as she could. He’d never point out that his old friend didn’t deserve someone like Evelyn and he’d certainly never mention that if she’d chosen him that night he’d scored the winning touchdown against Dillon, her life would look very different right now.

“I would’ve loved her right, Lord.” The words shamed him. Who did he think he was, confessing these kinds of desires? Justifying his feelings for a woman who was so far out of his league she practically had a different zip code?

If Evelyn decided to try to work out her marriage, Trevor wouldn’t tell her to do otherwise. It wasn’t his place. And he didn’t want her to regret her decision because of him.

When he pulled into the driveway, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at the bungalow. A light was on in the living room and he wondered if Evelyn was all right. Given the circumstances of the day
 
—her panic attack and her run-in with Chris
 
—he thought it would make sense to go check on her.

This time, his only motive was her well-being.

That’s okay, isn’t it, Lord?

He wasn’t surprised when no answer came. Either God had bowed out of this moral quandary or it was fine to proceed . . . with caution.

Or maybe God had stopped listening to him pray the same things over and over again.

He drove toward the guesthouse, parked in the driveway, and made his way to the porch but stopped before he reached the stairs. In the distance, underneath two sprawling cottonwood trees, Evelyn sat in one of the two white Adirondack chairs that had been in that same spot since before his parents left the farm.

He corrected his course and walked toward her, praying for strength and wisdom with every step that brought him closer.

“Evie?”

She barely moved.

“You okay?”

By the pale light of the moon, he could see she’d been crying, and once again he felt out of his depth. He could still throttle Chris for putting her through this, leaving Trevor to flounder as he tried to navigate the fallout.

“I went to the store tonight,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I just wanted some ice cream.”

Trevor sat down next to her.

Evelyn drew in a staggered breath. “When I handed the cashier my card, she took one look at it and threw it back in my face.”

His fists clenched
 
—an involuntary reaction to what she said. “What?”

“She said they couldn’t accept stolen money.” Evelyn’s voice shook as she recounted the scene. “She said it loud enough for the people waiting behind me in line to hear her.”

Trevor swallowed what he wanted to say.

“It’s not enough the FBI has restricted my access to our savings, but people I’ve known for years think I knew about all of it. They think I was a part of it.”

Guilt nipped at him. The fleeting question had entered his mind at first too. Even at dinner with Maggie when the question of Evelyn’s innocence came up, he didn’t know if he was angrier that she’d asked it or that he’d wondered the same thing himself.

But that was not something he’d ever say aloud.

“It’ll blow over. You know how things are around here. As soon as there’s something new for people to talk about, everyone will forget.”

She sniffed. “I wish I believed that. How many more weeks do you think it’ll be before it’s safe for me to come out of hiding?”

He shifted in his chair, wishing for words that never came. Comfort, like conversation, was not his forte.

Evelyn hugged her sweater around her more tightly, sleeves covering her hands. “I feel so stupid. I guess I just have some hard decisions to make.”

He begged his heart to stop racing and reminded himself of what he already knew. He didn’t have the right to want her to leave Chris. He didn’t have the right to tell her he never would’ve done this to her.

It would be wrong. Just like not telling her about his part in all of this was wrong.

So he stayed quiet, as usual.

She pushed herself up out of the chair. “How was your date?”

He was thankful for the cover of night; otherwise she might’ve seen the red hit his cheeks at the memory of the awkward date and his inability to focus on anything other than his concern for Evelyn.

“Just trying to be a good friend.”

Guilt brought up the rear of that thought, as it often did when he wasn’t being honest with himself.

Wanting it to be true didn’t make it so.

“You like her?”

Trevor faced Evelyn. How he wished he could reach out and touch her. “She’s nice, yeah.”

She smiled. “Good. You deserve someone nice. Even if you are kind of grouchy.” She clapped him on the arm and started for the door. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

“Anytime.”

Her presence lingered long after she’d gone, long after he returned to the farmhouse, forcing himself to lie in bed. He knew her words were faulty
 
—he didn’t deserve someone nice at all. What kind of man battled thoughts like he did or put his life on hold for a woman who would never
 
—could never
 
—be his?

All those failed attempts at moving on taunted him now, but this time he had to see it through. Because he was pretty sure he couldn’t live with the guilt for one more day.

CHAPTER

E
VELYN HAD LEFT
D
ENVER
after her visit with Christopher tempted to rush straight back to Loves Park and file for divorce. He wasn’t sorry. He showed no remorse, and he certainly wasn’t going to change.

So why did she wake up the next morning
 
—the day of the hearing
 
—with an unbearable burden on her shoulders? How could she abandon him when he needed her most? Yes, Christopher had let her down, and no, he wasn’t the man she wished he was, but he was still her husband. If she could help him, shouldn’t she?

The pain of his betrayal collided with her overwhelming sense of obligation as she went through the motions of getting herself ready to drive to Denver and take her place at his side.

Christopher’s observation of her appearance yesterday had left an indelible mark on her, and she returned to their Brighton Street house to pick up the crisp, tailored gray pantsuit he’d suggested, along with a pair of black heels. Back at the guesthouse, she took extra care with her makeup and hair.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked the part. Dutiful, doting wife. Strong and put together, no matter how fragile she felt on the inside.

Fragile, yet angry. And anger wasn’t something she usually allowed herself to feel.

She made herself a cup of coffee, poured it into a travel mug, grabbed her purse, and headed out to the car, surprised to find Whit walking up the hill. Embarrassment washed over her. He must think she was such a pushover to even consider going back to Denver after the way Christopher had treated her. And in the exact clothes he’d ordered her to wear.

“You’re going,” he said when he reached her.

She steeled her jaw. “I am.”

She expected him to have an opinion on her decision
 
—or to say something to make her question herself
 
—but he didn’t. Instead, he pointed at the coffee mug she’d dug out from the back of one of the guesthouse’s kitchen cabinets. “You have enough to get you through?”

“I think so.” Gratitude overwhelmed her. He seemed intent on doing the opposite of what she’d expected. What a relief.

But as she studied him, she realized her relief was unfounded. Whit wore his standard pair of old jeans, work boots, and T-shirt underneath an unbuttoned plaid shirt, along with a pained expression.

“What is it?”

He looked past her, down the hill toward the greenhouse, where Lilian was in charge of the organic vegetables.

“You obviously have something on your mind, so just say it.”

“What if . . . ?” He sighed. “Do you have some medication or something? You know, in case . . . ?” His worried look finished the sentence for him.

Evelyn nodded. She’d dug out one of her old prescription bottles that still had a few pills in it. Was he actually concerned about her?

He toed his work boot into the gravel drive. “Let me know if you need anything.” He squeezed her arm and then walked away, toward one of the barns at the back of the farm.

The weight of his decision not to judge her lodged a lump squarely in the center of her throat. She wasn’t accustomed to being accepted without question. How had he managed to do that?

She supposed that’s what it was like to have a real friend. Not like those women she spent most of her time with, the ones who had stopped calling the day her husband was arrested.

Evelyn watched as Whit disappeared inside the white barn and, for the first time since she arrived at Whitney Farms, wondered what was in there. Probably more cows. Did her onetime friend share his secrets with them?

She began the drive to Denver, fighting off the barrage of unwanted what-ifs and whys and
What am I going to do next?
questions. She nearly turned around twice, certain that showing up in that courtroom would make her look like either she condoned Christopher’s behavior or she’d been a part of it.

But duty trumped everything else and she arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early, parked the car, and stared at the building, wondering how she’d make it to the courthouse door alone. She’d have to march her way through a throng of reporters, and Christopher hadn’t even arranged for his lawyer to meet her there.

She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and placed her oversize sunglasses on her face. As if that would hide her shame.

Evelyn stood outside the car for a long moment, visualizing her walk from the parking lot to the door. Years ago, her therapist had told her it would help to visualize uncomfortable situations
before
she walked right into them.

So she did. Over and over.

“It’s now or never,” she said, smoothing back her hair and forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. She inhaled. Exhaled. Kept her eye on the courthouse door.

“It’s her!” A throng of reporters shuffled their way toward her, shouting questions intended to garner a reaction.

She ignored them. The cameras clicked in her face as the small crowd circled around her and moved toward the steps of the building. She continued to focus on the door, breathing steadily, wondering why on earth no one had thought to send someone out here to escort her in. She was doing Christopher a favor
 
—the least he could’ve done was provide a safe entrance to the building. She’d almost made it to the door when, without warning, her heel caught in the crack of the sidewalk and sent her tumbling forward.

She landed on the pavement, her knees taking the brunt of the fall, the contents of her purse spilling out onto the sidewalk. She reached out with her skinned hand and was grabbing a runaway lipstick when one of the reporters dropped to her knees beside Evelyn, raking other escaped items back into Evelyn’s purse for her.

Evelyn didn’t look up, concentrating instead on collecting her wallet, her phone, and her car keys. She zipped the purse closed, and before she stood, the woman handed her a small bottle of hand sanitizer.

Evelyn took it with a quiet thank-you and glanced toward the woman. She’d already turned her back and begun disappearing into the crowd, but there was something familiar about her. Evelyn couldn’t place it.

She tucked the hand sanitizer into her purse and pushed herself up, humiliated, forcing herself to move forward. She couldn’t wait to watch that replay over and over again on tonight’s news.

Her heart raced, the threat of panic lingering at her edges. She concentrated on the
click-click-click
of her heels on the pavement until she finally escaped inside the courthouse, drawing in a deep breath as the door behind her closed. She spotted the sign for the restroom and hurried in, locking the stall behind her and willing her pulse to slow, her breathing to steady.

When she was unsuccessful, she rummaged through her purse, searching for the medication she should’ve taken before she ever left Loves Park.

She took everything out but found no pills. She wouldn’t have left them behind, would she? An image of her fall outside rushed at her like the bulls of Pamplona.

Oh no.

What if one of those reporters had her medication? They would know she’d been to a therapist, and they’d learn from the date on the bottle that it wasn’t a result of Christopher’s arrest.

Quietly, she bowed her head in the stall and whispered a prayer, begging God to do for her what the missing medication would have done. “I don’t deserve it, Lord, but if you could give me a little help today, I would so appreciate it. Calm my nerves and give me strength.”

Her phone buzzed. A text from Christopher’s lawyer.
Where are you?

She shoved everything back in her purse and opened the stall, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. On the outside, she looked like a wealthy politician’s wife. No one would ever guess that within, she was falling apart.

She found the courtroom where Christopher’s hearing was about to begin, rushed inside, and slid into a seat, taking a moment to survey the crowd.

Reporters, mostly, but also a few people who worked for Christopher. One unfamiliar woman sat across the aisle, glaring at her.

A wave of nausea skittered through her. What if this woman was one of Christopher’s mistresses? Or one of the people he’d cheated? He had amassed more than his share of enemies. Would they take their anger out on her?

She folded her hands in her lap and drew in a deep breath, praying for the second time that morning. A record for her these days.

Nothing elaborate, just a simple
Help me, Lord. Please give me strength today.

Two police officers ushered Christopher into the courtroom. He was clean-shaven and wore a suit and tie.

Christopher met her eyes and smiled, warmth in his face. The clicking of cameras behind her pulled her attention from him, and she knew his greeting was only for show. How did he do that? Didn’t he tire of always being “on”?

Before he sat, he gave her a barely noticeable nod as if to tell her to do everything she could to make him look better. In other words, don’t mess this up. She turned away.

After the judge entered through the door behind the bench, Evelyn listened as the two lawyers argued opposing sides of the case. The prosecutor wanted Christopher locked up. The defense attorney tenaciously maintained his client’s innocence.

The prosecutor let out an audible laugh. “Do I need to remind the court of the exploits of our good senator?” He held up what appeared to be photographs. Exhibits.

Evelyn’s gaze fell to her hands. She didn’t want to risk being accosted with another image of her husband in the arms of someone so very unlike the woman she’d become.

The arguing continued.

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney protested, “this man has expressed remorse for his extramarital indiscretions, but that doesn’t make him a criminal.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Evelyn whispered. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. An upgrade from the original he’d bought her just after college graduation. This one would likely be repossessed, leaving her left hand naked, the way she felt with the contents of her personal life splashed across every news outlet in Colorado.

“You’ll notice Senator Brandt’s wife is here with us today,” Christopher’s lawyer continued. “The senator is anxious to get back home so the two can begin counseling and repair their marriage.”

He’s what?

Evelyn shot Christopher a look, but he was focused on his lawyer. Wasn’t it only yesterday she’d asked him to go to counseling? Wasn’t it only yesterday he’d rejected the idea as if he were above it?

The judge peered in her direction. “Is this so, Mrs. Brandt?”

She must have looked as startled as she felt when everyone, including Christopher, turned and looked at her. Was it customary for a judge to address someone sitting in his courtroom? She wasn’t there in an official capacity. In fact, she wished she weren’t there at all.

“Mrs. Brandt?”

Only then did she realize she’d been staring. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“Is what your husband’s lawyer said true? Will the two of you begin counseling?”

Evelyn stood because on television that’s what people did when they spoke to a judge. Never mind that those people were usually the ones on trial. She glanced at Christopher, the memory of their conversation, the way it had made her feel, still strong in her mind. Her sense of obligation had brought her here, her desire to give her marriage every fighting chance, but the reality was even clearer now. Christopher wasn’t going to change. He was still using her to make himself look good.

Their marriage was over.

“Mrs. Brandt?”

She lifted her chin, avoiding Christopher’s glare.

“I had hoped Christopher would attend counseling with me, Your Honor.”

“But . . . ?” The judge squinted at her over thin, wire-rimmed glasses.

“But he refused.” Evelyn swallowed, her throat dry, as chatter raced through the courtroom.

“Evelyn.” Christopher’s tone warned.

Evelyn dared a glance in her husband’s direction. He stood, wearing a dark and angry glare. How long had it been since she’d truly defied him? Had she ever?

The judge clapped his gavel. “Sit down, Mr. Brandt.”

Slowly Christopher sat, all the while steeling his eyes at her, his misbehaving wife.

Evelyn’s hands fisted at her sides as she continued to speak. “Furthermore, my husband has shown no remorse for his actions, and while I have no knowledge of any fraudulent activity, I can only hope he hasn’t treated his public office with the same lack of care that he’s treated our marriage.”

The judge raised a brow, and for a moment Evelyn wondered if he was angry or impressed.

“Mr. Nyquist?” He turned his attention to Christopher’s lawyer, who shot her a look and mumbled something about a woman scorned, then shuffled through some papers on the table in front of him.

Evelyn picked up her purse and stepped into the aisle, the room’s attention fully on her.

A deafening silence permeated the air as if everyone in the crowded courtroom was waiting to see what the senator’s dutiful wife would do after her uncharacteristic outburst.