THE GREAT BETRAYAL (9 page)

After she’d tossed the diaper, Leslie went into the kitchen to start dinner. Luke would be home soon, and he’d already called to place his order. He’d said he felt like steak tonight, so she was firing up the trusty new George Foreman grill.

Dawn could scarcely believe they’d actually gotten married nearly four years ago, and had a beautiful little baby girl. Their picture-perfect family was the envy of many a neighbor and co-worker.

Most notably of Dawn, Leslie Cavanaugh’s best friend. Her only friend.

“What the hell’s wrong with all the single men these days?” Dawn continued. “You know, I’m beginning to think that dumping Lyle was a big mistake.”

Lyle Burns was a handsome Wackenhut security guard from work whom she’d dated about a year before. They’d gone out on a few dates, fooled around a bit, but although he was interested in getting serious, Dawn had choked.

“You know what I think,” said Leslie, chopping onions.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “No, I’d never guess.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“You still won’t
let
yourself like anyone that’s not…you-know-who.”

Dawn fell silent. In five years of friendship she could count the number of times Leslie had uttered Michael’s name. Dawn realized long ago that the subject of their widowhood was off-limits. Leslie had a firm wall in place, and it bothered Dawn.

To say that any reference to Michael or Jeffrey was taboo was putting it mildly. Reminiscing was still a painfully raw nerve for Leslie…but it was a lifeline for Dawn.

The bond they shared seemed inherently broken.

Leslie looked at her. “You can’t stay lonely forever, Dawn. Unfortunately he’s gone.” She paused. “But you’re not. You’re still very much alive.”

Dawn toyed with a place mat on the table. “I hear you, Les, but it’s easier said than done, you know? It’s hard to find anything that can compare to that. When you find
true
love…it’s like you don’t want anyone else. And I’m still just really pissed off that I lost him. ” She gave a heavy sigh. “I still miss him. A lot.”

Leslie’s head turned then, and she gazed out the kitchen window, staring out into the backyard. “Yeah…I know.”

Dawn watched her. As usual, she felt the urge to ask about her husband Jeffrey. What was he like? How did he die? Those were questions she’d never gotten answers to, even now.

There was a tacit understanding—Leslie did not talk about her past. And as the years went by, Dawn struggled to keep her curiosity under wraps, always reining it in out of respect for her friend’s feelings and privacy. But while Leslie’s life bloomed, Dawn’s languished. And she was finding it increasingly difficult to suppress the frustration.

She needed more from Leslie. She needed everything.

Later that evening, when Luke Cavanaugh pulled onto their street, he pushed off a touch of annoyance at seeing Dawn Chadwick’s car in the driveway yet again.

Why didn’t the woman just get a life? he thought crossly. No man. No kids. No nothing. From the day he’d met Leslie, Dawn Chadwick had been glued to her like a hollow tick.

Luke had no idea what upset him more: The fact that Dawn was always around, or the fact that she seemed to know his own wife better than he did.

Five years of marriage, and he still felt as if he were living with a virtual stranger. His torment was festering daily, because he loved that stranger so much it hurt, but he couldn’t quite explain why. And at times it infuriated him.

Over the years he’d waited—waited for time to strengthen her trust in him, and for the pieces of the puzzle to snap into place, finally.

Well, he was still waiting.

She was a wonderful mother to Kathryn. He loved the tenderness their baby had brought out in her. But a mysterious void still lingered, and showed no signs of disappearing with time.

The odd behavior remained. Whenever he tried to express his feelings, Leslie would shut him down. Change the subject. Tell him she didn’t know what he was talking about, that he was imagining things.

Well, his imagination was getting the best of him.

He had married a woman he did not understand. He’d married a woman he wasn’t sure he ever really knew at all.

Chapter 18

Palm Beach, Florida

Early 2005

The couple on the bed—slick with sweat and fucking like mad—had no business being there. At least, not together.

He knew it. And she knew it. But they couldn’t stop.

It was all about usage—each for their own purpose.

They were satisfying their needs; deep, hedonistic needs they both felt powerless to suppress—or control. It was what brought them back each time for more.

“You were a virgin,” he said gruffly as the dust settled. He still couldn’t believe it. He’d had no idea!

Last time she’d actually thanked him for being her first.
Thanked
him. He’d immediately run into the bathroom to shower, trying desperately to wash his self-disgust down the drain. It hadn’t worked.

And tonight he’d still come back for more.

“
Why
me,
for Christ’s sake?” Confusion clouded his temper. “Why did you have to come after me?”

He rolled away from her, as he’d done before when the sex was over. The release seemed to decompress the storm of complex emotions plaguing him daily—but it was temporary. Once his head cleared and he descended from the clouds, the torment returned…and guilt burrowed in.

What in the hell were they doing?

At this point, did he even want to think about it?

No
.

Hell, no
.

Leaving the bed, he got dressed. Quickly.

“Where are you going?” Her disappointment was palpable.

“This can’t happen again,” he said, unable to look in her direction now that it was over. “Never again.
No more
. Understand?”

“Wait a minute!” she cried.

But he was already gone.

Chapter 19

West Palm Beach, Florida

Late 2000

“
Harvey Nichols, the new MBR manager, stopped by when you were at lunch, Leslie. He wants to know if you can squeeze a brief meeting in this afternoon. Personnel issues.” Nichols was Crystal Clear’s newest employee. Hired as head of the Medical Bill Review department, he’d been with the company only a short while.

“What’d you tell him?”

“Well, I know you’ve got your hands full with the reports for legal, but I told him I’d see if you could give him ten minutes.”

Leslie smiled. “I should’ve known. My bleeding-heart assistant. What, are they giving him a hard time already? He’s only been here a few weeks…”

“Well, he didn’t elaborate, but he looked pretty uneasy when he came in, so I said I’d see what you could do. Be nice.”

Chuckling, Leslie moved toward her office doorway. “Call down and tell him to come up at four thirty.”

Monica nodded. Then she called out, “Oh! Almost forgot to mention the package that came for you today, in case you didn’t notice it. It was addressed to you, looked personal, so I put it on one of the chairs in front of your desk.”

“
Okay, thanks, Mo.” She entered the large office and closed the door.

Leslie Cavanaugh was now the director of human resources at Crystal Clear. The last several years had been more than kind. Her dedication and hard work had paid off, and though it was a demanding post, Leslie truly enjoyed her work and the unique opportunities it provided to help others attain gainful employment, and to also build and steer careers internally.

This day had started off just like any other day. She’d gotten up and made a quick breakfast for Luke and Kate. This morning it had been cheese omelets and English muffins.

It was her turn for the carpool. She’d rushed Kate through the door so she could make the rounds and avoid being late for her eight-thirty meeting.

By midmorning, Luke had called to say he’d found the Neiman Marcus bags she’d left in the trunk of their BMW. He was pissed. So she knew exactly what squabbles awaited her when she finally made it home that evening.

As usual, she’d gone out for lunch with Dawn, who was now the head of the finance department (the HR gang had long since dispersed, as Melanie’s and Shirley’s jealousy had grown in direct proportion to her friendship with Dawn), and they’d chatted about plans for Thanksgiving, which was that coming weekend.

Yes, it had been a pretty normal day. As normal a day as any could be for Leslie Phillips Cavanaugh—because if she dared acknowledge the truth, she hadn’t had a “normal” day in fifteen years.

But when her eyes caught sight of the medium-sized brown box in the armchair, the air in the room stilled immediately, all illusion of normalcy permanently shattered.

Instinctively, Leslie knew. Even before looking at the postmark, she knew it was from Memphis.

Her knees nearly buckled.

It was from Ingrid Armstrong.
Upon seeing the name printed on the label, Leslie knew it was all over.

The past…had finally come to pull the plug.

What had been slated as a ten-minute squeeze-in wound up eating up over an hour of her time. Once Harvey Nichols finally left her office, Leslie glanced at her watch. Five thirty-eight.

She rose and walked over to the door. She locked it. Monica had gone for the day, and the staff still working were in their respective offices.

The package was sitting there, begging to be opened, but she’d been avoiding it all afternoon, keeping busy.

Now Leslie placed the box on the top of her desk and slowly cut it open with a letter opener. There was a plain white envelope inside, on top of a compact plastic container. Her name had been printed in blue marker across the envelope.

Leslie Cavanaugh.

Her name.

For a moment she just stood over the box, staring at the envelope.

What lay inside? What would it say?

It wasn’t sealed, so she simply lifted the flap, and a photograph slid out. It landed atop the container inside the box.

Leslie gasped.

Speechless, she picked it up. Stared at it.

It was her as a teenager. The same wild auburn hair, a mass of unruly curls. Jade green eyes set in a face smiling cheerfully for the camera.

She stared at it.

Then suddenly her eyes closed. She closed them against the shape of the mouth. The striking bone structure.

Jeff’s mouth. Jeff’s jawline.

Dear God.
Jeff’s smile.

It was Grace.

Leslie’s heart began to race, and her palms grew moist. Her legs felt unsteady, but she could not move to take her seat. She was stiff—stiff with shame.

The shame that had always been only a thought away all these years…an old, beleaguered friend always waiting to pay her a visit.

Now it crushed her outright.
Shame.

Suddenly, unable to stand it any longer, Leslie broke free of the paralyzing trance and hurriedly took the container from the box. She unsnapped it, and the top popped open.

Inside were more photographs, several photographs held together by a large plastic paper clip. The first one caused her breath to catch once again.

It was taken the day of the barbecue.

And there he was.

Jeff.
His lips locked with hers.

The tears came then. They, too, had always been only a thought away. Fifteen years and she still cried for Jeffrey as if he’d left yesterday.

The next picture was of him in mid-glide on the skateboard. His friend Brad could be seen not far behind, apparently trying to catch up with Jeff.

Suddenly Leslie’s phone rang. She looked at the screen display. DAWN CHADWICK
x3279.

She couldn’t answer. Would Dawn’s feelings about her change once she finally knew about this? All these years she’d managed to conceal her worst deed. Her reason for hating herself. For scarcely being worthy of all that was good in her life—no matter how much she indulged in those things.

As close as they’d become—having keys to one another’s homes, taking vacations together, calling each other to discuss almost everything, and even to discuss nothing at all—there was still a gap, a silent distance that stood between them. A wall they both wished wasn’t there, though it was never discussed. But she knew Dawn felt it.

Her cell phone began to chirp. She glanced in the direction of her purse, kept in the bottom drawer of her desk. The intrusive noise seemed to ground everything all too well. This was it. The flight was finally over. They’d all have to know now. Everyone would.