Scenes of Passion (17 page)

“He's good and kind and funny and smart, and I'm crazy about him,” Maggie spoke right over her.

“I thought you were in love with that jungle man from the health club.”

“Matt is the jungle man. I didn't recognize him at first.”

“Oh, come on! You didn't
recognize
him? God, I should have told you to marry Brock. I don't know why Matt's married you, but he must have some ulterior motive.”

“Gee, thanks a million.” Maggie's voice shook with indignation. “Like what? Tell me what on earth his motive for marrying me could possibly be!”

“I don't know—”

“How about because he loves me? How's
that
for an ulterior motive?”

“No,” Angie said. “Matt doesn't know how to love. You're just a prize.”

“What?”

“A
prize
. You're something he always wanted but couldn't have. Now he's the winner. Except now that he's married to you, every other woman on the planet is some
thing he can't have. How long 'til he goes after some other prize? One month or two?”

“No.” Maggie gripped the telephone so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. “He loves me, Angie. He's my husband now, whether you like it or not.”

“I don't like it. Damn you, Maggie—how could you do this to me?”

“To
you?
What is your problem? You sound jealous, like you're still in love with him. Is that what this is about? You're angry because I got what you couldn't have?”

“No!”

“Damn right, no! You didn't want him. You married somebody else, remember? It's not like I slept with your boyfriend—”

“Did you?” Angie asked hotly.

“What?”

“Did you sleep with him when he was my boyfriend?” Angie's voice was rough with anger. “Jesus, all this time I was trying to protect you from him, and maybe
you
were the one who started it.”

“I can't believe you're accusing me of—”

“And I can't believe that you could do something like marry that lying bastard and expect us to continue to be friends as if nothing was different,” Angie spat.

“I won't talk to you if you're going to call him names.”

“Then obviously, we have nothing more to say to each other,” Angie said tightly. “Have a nice life, Mags. With luck, he'll die young and you'll still have a chance at happiness.”

There was a click as Angie hung up the phone, leaving Maggie staring sightlessly at the walls.

What a horrible thing to say—even more horrible, considering the circumstances. Angie didn't know about Matt's battle with cancer, but that was still no excuse to say such a thing.

Tears flooded Maggie's eyes and she cried.

 

Maggie stood in her mother's kitchen, cutting up tomatoes for a salad when Stevie breezed in.

“Hi, y'all,” he said. “Am I late?”

Maggie thrust a cucumber at him. “Wash this,” she said. “And your hands.”

“I know, I know.” Stevie pretended to be insulted. “What kind of skeevy type do you think I am, you have to tell me to wash my hands?” He looked at her over his shoulder from the sink. “How's Matt? You bring him along, or is he locked in the office, reading financial reports from the 1960s?”

“He's in the living room, talking to Dad,” Maggie said.

“You tell Mom?” Stevie asked.

“Tell me what?” Mrs. Stanton asked.

“Nothing,” they both said in unison, Maggie with a dark look at her brother.

“Maggie, please go find out what Matt and your father want to drink with dinner,” her mother said. “And where is Vanessa?”

“Where
is
Vanessa,” Stevie echoed, with a humorous look at Maggie. “Funny how she always disappears right before dinner, when there's work to do….”

Maggie rolled her eyes, as she dried her hands on a towel and went into the living room.

Her father sat along in a chair, reading the newspaper.

“Dad, beer?” Maggie asked.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Please.”

“Have you seen Matt?” she asked him. “Or Van?”

“I think they're out on the deck.” Her father got to his feet. “I better go see if your mother needs any help.”

Maggie crossed to the sliding glass doors that led out to the sun deck. She could hear Matt's voice, talking quietly.

Looking out through the screen, she saw him sitting up on the railing. One cowboy boot was hooked around the bottom rail, the other foot swung loose.

Van was standing next to him. “…married probably next summer,” she was saying. “After the divorce is finalized.”

“You sure you want to jump into another marriage right away?” Matt asked her. “It seems to me you might want to take your time.”

Van snorted. “You're a good one to give advice. I can't believe you and Maggie are married.” She laughed, and just as Maggie was about to open the screen and join them, she said, “Do you remember that night we were up at Wildwood?”

Maggie's heart stopped. Matt and Van? At Wildwood—Eastfield's version of Lover's Lane, where kids went to party and make out?

“How could I ever forget?” Matt's voice was dry.

Maggie went back into the kitchen, feeling dizzy.

Matt had gone out with Vanessa. When? And why hadn't she known about it?

How
could
he? He'd always disliked Van. Or so he'd told Maggie…

She sat at the kitchen table, trying to calm herself. It didn't matter. It had happened ten years ago. Matt loved
her
. He'd married
her
.

 

Out on the deck, Matt gazed at Vanessa. “You were lucky it was my car you climbed into that night. If it had been someone else's…”

She laughed. “I was so drunk.” She shook her head. “I couldn't believe Bill Fitch dumped me.
He
dumped
me
. It was…mortifying.” She looked at him. “I would have slept with you, you know.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“You were in love with Maggie, though. Even back then, weren't you?”

Matt nodded again. “Yeah.”

“She is so lucky,” Vanessa said. “Did I ever thank you for driving me home that night?”

He laughed. “Not exactly.

Stevie came to the door. “Dinner is served.”

Van caught Matt's arm. “Thank you,” she said. “Be good to my sister.”

He smiled at her. “I will.”

 

Maggie was silent in the car on the way home. Matt glanced at her. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

No, it was
terrible
.

“Now that your folks know we're married, we can tell the rest of the world,” Matt said. “I want to shout it from the mountaintops. Although, have you noticed that Connecticut is seriously lacking in mountaintops?”

Maggie couldn't manage more than a wan smile. Try as she might, she couldn't get the picture of Matt with Vanessa out of her head.

Had they made love in the back of Matt's car? It was ancient history and it shouldn't matter. But it did. And she had to ask him about it.

As they went into the house, Matt pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Ask him
, she ordered herself.

“If you don't mind, I'm going to do some work,” he told her. “I haven't finished reading that crap on packaging. There must be three more files I haven't even looked at yet.”

“Matt.” Maggie's voice sounded breathless to her own ears. “Did you ever…”

Sleep with my sister?
It was what she wanted to know, but she couldn't ask. Not like that. Not point blank.

He was watching her, waiting patiently for the end of her sentence.

“Did you ever go out with Vanessa?” A better start. Much less difficult to ask. And although she already knew the answer—she'd heard him say as much—they could go from there, and—

“No,” he said. He was laughing, as if he found her question amusing.

Maggie stared at him, shocked.

“I never did,” he said. “I didn't think she was that attractive. I still don't. She's so desperate, you know?”

“Not even once?” she managed to say. God, was he actually lying to her?

Matt smiled, his eyes so warm and sincere. “Not even once.”

Do you remember that night we were up at Wildwood?
Maggie heard an echo of Van's voice. And,
How could I ever forget?
had been Matt's reply.

If he couldn't forget just a few hours ago, it wasn't likely that it had slipped his mind right now.

He was lying.

To her.

Lying.

He opened the door to the office and turned on the lights. “You coming?” he asked.

“I have to get something upstairs,” Maggie fabricated an excuse as she hurried away.

“Do me a favor and bring those files on packaging down from the bedroom, will ya?” he called after her.

She didn't answer, taking the stairs two at a time, wanting to get away from him, needing to think.

She sat for a few minutes on Matt's bed, looking out the windows, at the setting sun.

Matt had lied to her.

Even more frightening was the thought that if she hadn't already known the real truth, she never would've suspected he was lying. His voice and expression had been so sincere, and his eyes…

Dan Fowler's words came back to her.
Matt is a pathological actor. Don't believe anything he tells you
.

And Angie had been adamant, calling Matt a liar again and again.

But Maggie loved him. And he loved her.

Didn't he?

She couldn't believe he would lie about something like that. He'd
married
her, for crying out loud.

She stood up, resolving to ask him again, and to tell him what she had overheard. There must be a good explanation.

Turning, she gathered up the files Matt had asked her to bring him. Three files, right? But only two were out on the bedside table.

Maggie opened his briefcase and quickly leafed through the file folders he had inside. None of them were labeled, so she opened the top one and flipped through the papers, hoping to identify its contents quickly.

She scanned an official-looking document. Then with growing shock, she read it more slowly.

It was the codicil to the will. Matt had had a copy all along. Why hadn't he given it to her?

It was a wordy and lengthy document that boiled down to one thing: If Matt were to get married before the end of the fiscal quarter, he would automatically inherit.

The bedroom, still adorned with all those roses, began to spin.

Maggie sat down. The codicil specified conditions to the marriage—the woman Matt chose had to be over twenty-five years old, with a graduate degree. She had to be an upstanding member of the community, and preferably a longtime resident of Eastfield.

Maggie was that woman. The description fit her perfectly. Too perfectly.

Angie's words of warning about Matt's ulterior motive came back with a force that nearly knocked her over. By marrying her, Matt would inherit a fortune.

He didn't love her. He'd never loved her. He had only married her because she was willing and available and met the conditions of the will.

Her mind lined up all of the facts and the implications, but still she denied it.

No.

Matt loved her. He
loved
her.

No one could lie so absolutely, so perfectly, so consistently.

Could they?

The phone on Matt's bedside table rang.

Maggie picked it up.

“Hey.” She could tell from his voice that he was smiling. “You get lost up there or something? Where are my files? More importantly, where's my
wife?
”

“I'll be right down,” Maggie heard herself say.

Maybe it wasn't the real codicil. Maybe the real one was different. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with marriage. Maybe…

Tomorrow the real codicil was going to be released by the court. Please God, Maggie prayed, let it be different. Let this be one big mistake…