THE GREAT BETRAYAL (22 page)

In the meantime, please don’t stop writing to me! I love getting your e-mails and look forward to reading them every single day!

Yours always,

Leslie

With tears in her eyes, Leslie clicked send. She sighed heavily, pressing her palm against her mouth.

Luke still needed time. And their marriage needed more time to recover from the blow of Grace. If she pushed for more than Luke was ready for, like having Grace join in on Thanksgiving with his family, she might be putting her marriage in jeopardy. So it wouldn’t hurt to wait a little while longer to take that step, would it?

Their moment would come, hers and Grace’s. Of that Leslie was sure. Only then, given enough time, would Luke and Kathryn be better able to accept and appreciate her daughter, to value her and realize that she was the missing member of their family.

Chapter 40

Memphis, Tennessee

Her grandmother was not doing well.

They had just returned home from the hospital, where they’d visited Ingrid, and from what her doctors said, there was little hope she’d live long enough to see 2002.

The entire family—Beth, Billy, Grace, Jude and Mindy—left the hospital clinging to one another, in tears. Ingrid Armstrong had always been the backbone of the family—the best chef and baker in the house, not to mention their bottomless well of wisdom and strength. Losing her was unthinkable.

So it was in this frame of mind that Grace Cunningham sat down at the desk in her room to check instant messenger and read her e-mails.

When she saw the reply from Leslie, her heart felt like it stopped beating. It was hard to get air. She read it a total of three times before she could begin to sort out the myriad of feelings that washed over her.

Doubt, confusion, panic, disappointment…anger. The anger pooled in her belly and saturated her chest.

Parents were supposed to love you unconditionally! More than anything in the world! Why the hell did
she
need digesting? What was she, a bad meal or something?

The container of silver paper clips on her desk caught her eye. Moving slowly, as if dreaming, Grace reached across the keyboard and fished one out. She pushed the open side up, bending it in the opposite direction so it pointed straight toward the ceiling. Like a dagger.

It had been a long time since she’d done this—since junior high—but she pushed that thought from her mind as she jammed the sharp end of the paper clip into her forearm. Grace winced in pain—and relief.

The blood pooled around the hole in her skin, the shiny silver of the paper clip now slicked a deep red.

It hurt
.

She couldn’t help it, and she hated that it did—but it hurt.

How could she?
How could you not want me with you no matter what
?
How
?
Mom and Dad were right about you
!

She’d been left all over again. Abandoned for convenience, yet again.

Grabbing a Kleenex to staunch her bleeding arm, Grace crawled into her bed. She ignored the near-constant buzzing of instant messages from her school buddies online. Crawling under her blanket, to her own surprise, she cried like never before.

“
You were right,” Grace said, coming out into the backyard.

“Right about what, sweetheart?” Beth Cunningham looked up from watering her vegetable patch.

“About Leslie Cavanaugh. She’s nothing but a selfish bitch.”

“Watch your mouth, Grace Cunningham.”

“Sorry.”

“What happened?” Beth tossed the hose onto the grass and came to join her daughter, where she’d plopped down at the patio table. Her face was unusually hard, sterner than Beth had ever seen it.

“She sent me an e-mail yesterday brushing me off for Thanksgiving. She says her precious little family needs a little more time to
digest
me. Can you believe that?”

“Oh, Grace. Honey, I’m so sorry…but we did try to tell you.”

Grace gave no reply, just stared out into the yard.

“Honey…
now
do you see why it’s best to stay away from her? What more can you expect from a woman who left her baby and never knew whether you were dead or alive for fifteen years?” She reached over, smoothing Grace’s sleeve. “Do you see? This is exactly what we wanted to protect you from.
Exactly
. It’s killing me to see that hurt look on your face.”

Grace bit her lip. Her eyes filled with tears.

“
I can tell you’ve been crying; your face is all blotchy and puffy. I’m sorry, Grace…so sorry. We wanted to spare you from going through this very thing.”

That night Grace never finished her dinner. She barely touched it at all, which was a first. She simply sat there, quietly pushing the food around with the fork. The change in her behavior immediately worried Beth and Billy.

“
I knew something like this would happen, Billy; I just knew it!” Beth squeezed dishwashing liquid onto the sponge and began vigorously scrubbing the dishes after dinner.

Everyone had just cleared the table and gone their separate ways. Jude and Grace had taken off for their respective rooms, and Mindy was in the den watching
Friends
.

“
Why did we let my mother convince us that contacting that woman was the right thing to do?
Nothing
good could’ve come out of it. And now it’s been proven! Now that selfish bitch—Grace’s words, not mine—has left her heartbroken, devastated. The poor child can’t even eat! I’ve never seen her like this.” She threw the cup she was scrubbing into the soapy water. “Damn and blast that Leslie!”

Billy Cunningham, a lanky slim-jim of a man with a kind, careworn face, put a comforting arm around his wife. “I know how you feel. I saw it coming, too. Just as plain as the crooked nose on my face.” He sighed heavily. “Well…I guess she just had to find it out on her own, eh? Nothing that we could’ve said or done was gonna bank her fires to get to know the woman. ’Least now she knows what’s what. It’s finally over. And she knows who her
real
mother is.”

“
You’re right, Daddy…I certainly do.”

They both turned at the sound of Grace’s voice as she came back into the kitchen.

She walked right up to Beth, slipping her arms around her. “And I’ll never forget it. I love you, Mommy. I hope I never did anything to make you think I’d ever choose her over you…or hurt your feelings.”

“
Thanks, honey,” Beth said softly, returning the hug. “Well, you know I didn’t like it much, not at all, but I guess I tried to understand why you wanted to get to know her. I’m just hoping you can put this all behind you now. Just forget about Leslie Cavanaugh.”

“
Positively forget her,” said Billy, chiming in. “No doubt she’s already well on her way to forgetting
you
…just like she did fifteen years ago.”

Before they knew what happened, Grace was biting into her lip so hard she drew blood.

Later that night—after she’d spent nearly two hours convincing her parents that she wasn’t losing her mind—Grace decided she had to reply to Leslie Cavanaugh’s e-mail. Her father’s words had pushed her over the edge.

No doubt she’s already well on her way to forgetting
you…
just like she did fifteen years ago
.

She told them she’d forget about Leslie. That she no longer had any interest in her birth mother. They had been right all along. But, of course, her words were only to pacify them—nothing could be farther from the way she really felt. The needs churning within her.

Grace didn’t trust herself to say too much, but she wanted to say
something
. Leslie Cavanaugh simply could not forget her. She just couldn’t.

She had always said that she never had. She said too much time had passed before.
Too much time
.

So time was the enemy.

To:
L. Cavanaugh [
[email protected]
]

From:
Grace C. [
mailto:[email protected]
]

Subject:
Re: Thanksgiving

Message:
I won’t stop writing to you as long as you don’t stop writing to me. I get it about your family. They aren’t ready to accept me yet. I hope one day they will be, and I can fit in somewhere. And like you said, hopefully before too long.

Bye,

Grace

She’s still my mother,
Grace thought as she clicked send on the reply to Leslie’s message.
I’m her flesh and blood—I can’t let her forget me again. Not again
.

Part III

Chapter 41

Palm Beach, Florida

Early 2006

The man had just come, but he was still hard. He was still inside her. And she was soaking wet.

Rising onto his elbows, he stared down into her face. His eyes pierced hers. His forehead creased and glistened with sweat.

She could see his torment. She could
feel
it, though she didn’t fully understand it.

“
We can’t keep doing this,” he whispered fiercely. Then he pressed into her. Slowly sliding in again. Sinking deeper.

“
Christ…this feels so damn good.” He closed his eyes at the sensations coursing through him. He nuzzled her neck.

She raised her hips to meet his thrust. They both moaned.

It felt so good.

“Damn it. This is crazy,” he murmured. “Why do you keep coming to me? We have to stop this…” He clenched his teeth, the feelings taking over. He bent to kiss her deeply.

Slowly…he began stroking her again. But before she knew what hit her, his thrusts became harder. Angrier. Far more intense.

Fast and hard. He pounded her like a jackhammer, frantic with a maddening need for release.

As always, she came first. She moaned into his mouth, her nails digging into the flesh of his firm ass as it continued to move.

Her climax sucked him into his own release. Cupping her buttocks he bit his bottom lip and took one final plunge. His back arched sharply. He cried out in pleasure. And pain.

Then…he died a little. Another small part of himself.

Gone.

Chapter 42

West Palm Beach, Florida

Late 2005

Lauren Samson loved money.

She also loved independence, and very early in her life she’d learned that money was the one—and only—key to having it. Lauren Samson was committed to making sure she always had plenty of both.

Hers was a wealthy family, a family of esteemed professionals. Her parents ran their own multimillion dollar accounting firm, her older brother was an award-winning chemist working in French fragrance development, and her aunts and uncles were a similar breed of overachievers, from an aunt who practiced gynecologic oncology to an uncle who practiced entertainment law in Hollywood.

Yes, theirs was a family of respected professionals, and Lauren simply loved being a member of the Samson dynasty. Their achievements were inspirational, their standard of living distinguished. They had all inspired Lauren to strive for excellence and be the best that she could be in whichever line of work she chose.

So when Lauren had enrolled in cosmetology school and studied hair, nails, and permanent makeup, intent on launching a chain of salons around the Metropolitan Palm Beach area, her entire family had been suitably proud. Proud and fully supportive. They could scarcely contain their pride once she graduated and opened up her first salon: Lauren Samson’s Chalet of Beauty.

With great advertising and a few key connections, the first location became an overnight success, yielding more profits than anyone would’ve believed. Within a year Lauren had a second salon open near the beach—an excellent locale for catering to tourists.

Business was great. The profits rolled in. She was doing her family proud.

Or was she?

Because all was not what it seemed at Lauren Samson’s Chalet of Beauty.

Lauren Samson had a secret. A secret that could cost her the very fortune and independence she treasured more than anything in the world. A secret that could ruin many lives.

A secret Kathryn Cavanaugh might not even live to tell.